#one of my friends described it as a knife being pushed and twisted inside you

[evansbby]

Hey guys, genuine question about periods!

Never in my life have i ever gotten period cramps. Is that normal??? Bc i see girls always describing period cramps as literal hell and excruciating pain. Now i get my period regularly, healthy flow, for about 4-5 days every month. But i have never had period cramps. I get mild back pain and muscle soreness in the weeks leading up to my period, but never cramps. I have no idea what it feels like. And it’s crazy bc all my friends get cramps, and I’ve seen how excruciating it is for them, especially on the first two days of the period. So maybe I’m overthinking this but like… why do i not ever get cramps??? Is this normal??? Is there anyone else who has never gotten period cramps before?

[starksvixen]

Part 1 - The Deal

Masterlist

Summary: The Child wasn’t the first time Mando broke a contract to save someone. You were the first, presumed dead thanks to help after he was supposed to capture you. Now, you work under a false name with Mando to pay off your dues. However, as time drags on and he breaks another Guild contract, buried feelings between you two bubble to the surface. 

Warnings: Violence, sarcasm, some pretty spicy angst

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter alludes to different types of abuse. Viewer discretion is advised. 

Against the harsh winds of Hoth, your wisps of breath seemed like a whisper. Pulling your hood further over your head in attempt to block out the cold, you trudge on through the many feet of snow before you. On the run, a bandit, an escapee, a one way gate to a mighty sum. That’s all you were to anyone anymore. But who were you before that?

You were nothing.

During the Siege of Mandalore, you were separated from your parents, and quickly snatched away.

Dropped on the doorstep of a ring fighter, your life was nothing but pain and struggle. From the moment you could walk, you were trained with blasters, snipers, sabers, any weapon imaginable. You learned within days that losing was not an option. Not unless you wanted another slew of scars to appear upon your back. Not unless you wanted to be locked into the room with the opposing handler you had lost too. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. 

You broke out from it all, trying to kill your handler in the process. Unfortunately, you had to choose between your freedom and killing the bastard that took it in the first place. For years, you kept bounty hunters off your trail, habiting the most desolate of planets. With each day passing by, the sum would get higher, the more hunters sniffing you out. 

That’s what lead you here, on the frozen, desolate rock known as Hoth. Bundled in Gherlian fur lined coat and pants, you found refuge in a small cave that blocked you from the bitter snap of the wind. Exhaling once more, you watched as the frozen air quickly disappear. Why couldn’t it take you with it? 

You pull out what’s left of your rations and water from your pouch in an effort to find your fire starter. Except it wasn’t there. 

“Haar’chak!” you exclaim in Mando’a, your mother tongue.

A subtle crunch in the snow reverberates into your ear, making you want to freeze. You resist the urge, to hesitate was weak. Instead, you feign innocence in trying to find the stolen starter. Really, you were slipping out your dull blade, ready for the attack. 

“I haven’t heard that language in a long time” a modulated voice says from behind you, holding a very warm blaster to your head. 

Without a stutter, you spin on your ankle and stand, smacking the blaster away. Still holding the blade, you press it right under the masked menaces helmet, where the only skin you could see that was exposed. His hand quickly grabs the dagger, twisting your wrist to turn you around.

But you were smarter. As he spins you, you send your ankle back, hitting him right where the sun don’t shine. A loud groan translates through the helmet with static, but he doesn’t back down. Wrapping his arm around your neck, he holds you close to his body, grabbing a knife of his own. 

“Give up,” his static filled voice says.

“Hmm, no,” you whisper despite the lack of air, sending your head into his face and escaping his grip. 

As he recollects himself, you kick the fallen blaster in front of yourself, bending down, seizing it, and aiming it directly for his helmet. But your steady hand becomes shaken as you get the full view of your attempted captor.

“You’re a Mandalorian,” you say.

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” he spits, sarcasm laced in his tone.

Knowing that the helmet is made of Beskar, you drop the now useless blaster and sigh. 

“I thought a man of your honor would leave me alone,”

“I’m a part of the Guild. I don’t ask questions.” 

“Maybe you should,” you reply, an intense glare in his direction sent from your eyes. 

“Look, lady, I’m just here for the money. I don’t care about your life story,” the Mandalorian says as he pulls a pair of cuffs from his belt.

With a sigh, you hold your wrists out like reflex, ready to be trapped once again.

“How much do they want for me now?” you ask as he clasps the metal tightly around your wrists. 

“Why do you need to know?” 

“Don’t you think a girl wants to know her worth?”

“You’re mouthy,”

“You’re clueless,” 

The Mandalorian releases a harsh sigh before pushing you out from the crevice that had protected you both from Hoth’s winds. Within a matter of minutes, you were on the ship and being shoved towards the carbonite freezer. You remember the tool all too well, being familiar with it’s affects. Without any control, you feel the cold touch of fear trace the scars along your spine, making you shiver. The masked menace looks towards you in question. You keep your line of sight forward, swallowing the bile that had piled in your throat from nerves with force.

Unexpectedly, he turns you towards some spare seats and sits you down into one. He straps you in, avoiding eye contact through his visor at all costs. 

“While you’re taking me to that bastard,” you mumble. “do me a favor? Look up (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

He still avoids eye contact, pulling a way and climbing up the ladder nearby to what you assumed was the cockpit. You feel the ship roar to life and all you can do is lean your head against the metal wall. It was going to be a short ride through hyperspace, so you let your eyes flutter close, gaining any sleep you could for the torture ahead. 

You’re awoken by the rustling of the Mandalorian grabbing weapons from a closet close to you. The ship’s loud thrusters had drawn quiet and the knawing pain at the pit of your gut told you to run. But you know you were stuck, captured, doomed.

The Mandalorian tugs you from the seat with a rough hand and shoves you out of the ship, stepping onto the planet’s surface you swore to never step on again. He directs you through the crowd of hunters and beggars alike, heading towards the building you knew was coming.

As you approached it, he raps on the door the secret code you had memorized from years ago. The door is opened within seconds and you both are ushered inside, uncontrollable tears filling your eyes as you stare down to hall to your owner.

“I told you...I own you, bitch,” his voice scratched, scarring your ears just like the real ones adorning your body. 

“Slanar at haran,” you whisper like poison dripping from your lips. 

‘Go to hell,’ the Mandalorian stationed by your side translated to himself.

“You’ll pay for that...” he seethes, a disgusting smile breaking the many wrinkles on his face. “Why don’t you show your Mandalorian friend a good time, as a bonus to your return home?” 

You want to vomit right there, a violent shiver over taking your body at the thought. But then the Mandalorian surprises you. 

“I don’t want your payment, Arro,” he says calmly, without a quiver in his voice. 

“Are you sure? She is quite talented, Mando,” Arro replies with the same disgusting smile. 

As Arro speaks, you feel Mando’s hand slip across to your hands bound behind you and unlock them. Adrenaline fills your veins in response. 

“I want her,” he replies coldly. 

The cool metal of a spare blaster embraces your hand. It makes it nearly impossible to suppress the grin bursting through onto your face, imagining Arro’s slumped body on his seedy throne. 

“Well you have her, Mando,” Arro replies, his grin becoming disgustingly excitable as he stands. 

“Not like that, demagolka,” he says, quickly aiming his blaster at him. 

‘Damn,’ you thought, following his lead and aiming your blaster. “he really just called him a real life monster.’ 

The soldiers surrounding you both quickly aimed their own blasters at you. With a small chuckle, you quickly turn in unison with the Mandalorian, taking out the soldiers with the ease of a trigger beneath your finger. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Arro trying to escape from your wrath against him. You quickly aim, but couldn’t find the motivation to pull the trigger while pointed at his head. No...that monster didn’t deserve something as sweet as death. Instead, you aimed lower, quickly shooting both of his knees out from under him. You swore you heard Mando whisper something, but all you could see was red. 

Walking over to the whimpering man, you kicked him in the ribs hard enough to hear some cracking beneath your force. Kneeling in front of his face, you turn your head and force him to look at you.

“Come for me...and my name will be engraved across your face,” you whisper menacingly. 

Standing back up, you kick him hard enough to send him into a state of unconsciousness. Turning back to the Mandalorian, you noticed he hadn’t moved one inch. 

“Vor entye,” you express your thanks, expecting him to leave after you admission.

“C’mon, we should get to the ship before more of his Imps come back,” 

Without another word, he walks out the door with you following close behind, a confused look scrunching up your face.

Once you returned, the Mandalorian wordlessly closed the doors to the ship behind you. He walks over to another hidden closet, tossing you a new blaster and a newly crafted blade.

“I could use a new partner,” he says without turning towards you.

“I’m gonna need a new name then, Mando,” you reply, looking at the blaster and tucking it into your worn holster.

“Dar’manda,” he states matter of factly, his visor finally pointed towards you. “But I’m still calling you (Y/N).” 

The name fit perfectly for you. In Mando’a it meant a state of not being a Mandalorian, not by choice or by being an outsider. Rather, it was to describe one who lost their heritage. 

“Yes, sir,” you say out of reflex, something deeply engrained into you thanks to Arro. 

“It’s just Mando.”

You simply nod, sheathing your new blade. Mando quickly makes his way over to the ladder braced against one of the walls. Before he fully climbs up, he turns back to you.

“You coming?”

With a soft smirk, you nod, following him into the cockpit. 

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[plant-flwrs]

sun // ginny weasley

masterlist!

a/n: is this a reenactment of a happier ending than the reality i endured with my first experience falling in love with a girl? maybe. was this incredibly painful to write? yes. am i now suffering way too much? most definitely. umm. let me know what yall think! <33

summary: Six years of being in love with Ginny Weasley. Watching her date boys and capture the attention of Harry Potter. Eventually, confessions are the only things left. 

(3.5k)

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The white sheets curled around her were shaded a heavenly yellow under the sunlight invading the room. Actually, it didn’t feel like an invasion, it felt like the sun followed Ginny, like it followed her on her command with the sort of loyalty Hedwig had to Harry. So, Ginny, unconscious, was somehow inviting the sun into the room, turning her white sheets a soft yellow. She lay on her back, perched on some pillows, and twisted slightly diagonally on her bed. She made her bed seem so huge, like it was begging you to crawl into it with her, like the bed was a devil on your shoulder. Her arms folded over her stomach, an abandoned Quidditch magazine sprawled across her chest. Her head had lulled back against the pillows, orange hair falling and spilling and cascading and somehow just sitting atop her head like a crown. 

You felt completely out of place in what you could only describe as heaven. You, standing in your Hogwarts robes, with your harsh face and your cold gaze, felt completely separated from the heavenly plane Ginny Weasley managed to curate in this dorm.

It had been like this since the third year when, somehow, Ginny Weasley returned to school cool. She became her own person-- Quidditch legend, funny, friends with everyone-- and you simply trailed along beside her. It didn’t help your cause, either, when boys began to notice the same things you were noticing about Ginny.

Ruben Hash had come first. He’d never made a move on Ginny, but you noticed him. Sometimes, it felt like you were a hawk over Ginny’s shoulder, one she tossed her scraps of food to and patted on the head. So of course, you noticed Ruben. 

And then, you noticed Neville. You couldn’t even be mad about Neville. He was sweet, and he’d even been good-humored about you cutting in to dance with Ginny for one of the few and far between slow-dances at the Yule Ball. You held Ginny, and Ginny held onto you, and you wondered if she saw it behind your eyes.

Then came Michael Corner. Michael was a sting. Michael was a kick to the stomach, a punch to the face, and a knife to the thigh. Ginny watched him beat you, step on you, until you were filled with harsh bile and spiteful words for him. Of course, Michael was nice to you. He didn’t understand your cold glances and your distaste for him, simply chalking it off to him being Ginny’s boyfriend and you not thinking he was good enough for her. 

That summer was weird. You tried to remain a semblance of normalcy, tried to write lighthearted letters back to Ginny, tried to accept her invitation to the Burrow before school started again. Any other summer you practically lived at Ginny’s house, but now it hurt. Everything hurt, all the time, because Ginny wasn’t like you. Ginny didn’t like you, and what hurt even worse was that she liked other people. She liked so many other people, her most favorite to talk about being the Harry fucking Potter (I mean seriously, how did she expect you to have any sort of self-worth when you were pining for her while she was whinging about The Boy Who Lived?).

So, that was the summer you didn’t go to the Burrow. 

Michael stuck around for a long time. However, fourth-year was different.

Fourth-year was a time you liked to think about often, at least until your sixth-year, because once you were in your sixth-year, there truly was nothing better. 

Fourth-year. Ginny seemed to be distancing herself from Michael. You stopped asking about him and she stopped talking about him. She asked you to sit in the stands of her Quidditch practices, and when you got there for the first time, you noticed Michael wasn’t there. It was like she had given you a rose and not Michael. Small things like this really made fourth-year worth fifth-year. You tried not to think about fifth-year.

Fourth-year. Ginny walked with you, all sweaty, back to the castle. Ginny sat with her thigh pressed against yours as you ate dinner and lunch and breakfast. Ginny woke you up in the mornings and told you goodnight every night-- every single night. While you walked to class, Ginny lopped her fingers with yours and said it was because she couldn’t believe how soft your hands were. You scoffed, and fueled the fire by insisting you didn’t even use lotion on them. Ginny indulged, or maybe she truly was baffled by it, and ran her thumb over any space of your hand she could as you walked. Fourth-year, there was a week where the elves were occupied with something Dumbledore had requested them for. There was a week where laundry wasn’t being done, and utter chaos was amongst the castle. You had been one of the lucky ones, finding a pile of clean clothes and sheets on your bed just before the elves’ vacation. Ginny insisted her sheets smelled too horribly from her post-Quidditch practice naps, that she couldn’t sleep on her own bed. Ginny slept in your bed, for an entire week. Ginny was a cuddler. Ginny had her hands wrapped around your middle with her head tucked into your shoulder every night for an entire week. You thought about revoking your membership in S.P.E.W. if it meant Dumbledore could whisk off the house-elves more often. 

Fifth-year, there was no hand-holding or thighs brushing beneath tables or goodnights or good mornings or cuddling. Fifth-year was the year of Dean Thomas. 

Dean Thomas had successfully managed to whisk Ginny off her feet. You hadn’t even realized that at some point during your heavenly fourth-year, Ginny had broken it off with Michael. You were afforded about two weeks of a nice fifth-year before Dean.

As with Neville, you couldn’t even be mad at Dean. Well, you were mad at Dean, all the time, for no reason recognized by him. You were cold, and harsh, and selfish. You put up a wall between you and Ginny, leaving her no place to go but Dean’s arms. And to Dean’s arms she went. She spent nights in his dorm. She ate with him at meals. She asked him to her Quidditch practices.

You are completely and utterly alone.

As her roommate, she believed she was still your friend. She assumed you had your own issues to work out-- and right she was-- and incidentally, she spent more time with Dean. She didn’t put together the two things.  

By the end of fifth-year, Dean Thomas was over. 

By the summer going into sixth-year, you were invited to the Burrow. You accepted it with grace.

Things fell back into place with Ginny in a way that made you want to cry. It was like she had either not noticed you were gone, or she found things so easy with you that it didn’t matter how much time had passed. In the warm comforts of her small bed, she insisted you not sleep on the floor. She invited you into her bed, and you nearly launched yourself on top of her with the anticipation of how you knew it felt to be held by her. Even if it wasn’t like that to her, you still knew. You knew she felt some sort of love for you, and you felt that was enough for now. You made it enough. 

Ginny slept with her window open and her curtains swept to the sides. At the Burrow, as you lay on your back with Ginny curled into your side, her nose brushing into your hair, you looked right out of the window. The stars were so much brighter out here than they were at home, almost as bright as they were at Hogwarts. Maybe it was Ginny that made the stars so bright. 

That summer made things alright again. Ginny seemed to be sitting atop a fence, looking down at you and Harry Potter on opposite sides, deciding on who she was going to let catch her. You stood with outstretched arms for an entire year.

Sixth-year. Ginny, laying in her bed basking in the sunlight that worshipped her, all you could do was stare. You stared until your other dormmates pushed past you into the room, talking loudly and taking no care to not wake Ginny. 

You watched her stir as she rolled onto her stomach, falling deeper into the bed. She saw you and her mouth perked up into a sort of lazy smile, raising her eyebrows. You flushed, feeling warm and tight and strained when she looked at you like that. It was on her face, come here, and so you went, crawling into her bed and curling next to her. It didn’t feel weird; the girls now rummaging through their wardrobe didn’t find it odd, and so you closed your eyes, feeling Ginny’s sun now coating you in the heavenly light. 

Waking up next to Ginny was always a struggle. You were warm and uncomfortable and often sweating, but nothing made you want to move. Ginny, with her body pressed against yours in these rare moments of intimacy, was something you didn’t want to disturb. In the first weeks of fifth-year, before Ginny went to Dean, you would pretend to be annoyed with Ginny’s touches. You would throw her an annoyed glance or a sarcastic comment with a little too much seriousness in it when she rested her head on your shoulder during lunch. You’d stiffen when she tried to reach for your hand in the hall, pretending you had not noticed and reach for something in your bag instead. You hated to think of those moments; moments wasted. 

When you woke, it was Saturday. Saturdays were days where Ginny had afternoons full of Quidditch practice and you sat in the stands doing your homework for the upcoming week. 

This Saturday was no different.

Sparing a glance at her, you regarded her pink nose brushing against her red and gold scarf pulled over her lips. Her long, red eyelashes ghosting over her tanned and freckled cheeks. The crinkle of her eyes, and oh, you just realized she was laughing at one of your jokes. This in itself made your heart twist inside itself. 

The wind worked in spite of you both, pushing against you as you walked to the pitch. Ginny was dressed in her uniform, and you had gone for your heavily padded and warm winter coat. Ginny huddled close to you as you walked, stuffing her hands in your pockets. Her fingers splayed over your hands, pressing into you like they were seeking your warmth. 

In the stands, you did your homework. When you finished your homework, you watched Ginny. You preferred to watch Ginny. She glided through the air with an ease that came with her personality. No part of her was practiced or rehearsed, but she was also so careful and cool at the same time. She was the best parts of all her brothers. She was Ron’s sense of humor, Charlie’s bravery, Bill’s coolness, Percy’s sensibility, and Fred and George’s wicked gift for mischief. This all made Ginny herself. Ginny was no one but Ginny. In a sense, she made it seem like her brothers learned all those qualities from her, just because she did them so well. You were in love with Ginny Weasley.

Back in the castle, hours after practice, you and Ginny sat side by side against the headboard of her bed. You had the blankets pulled to your chins, and laughter filled the air in front of you. Ginny had told the sun to go away, so it did, and instead, a muggy and cold day replaced it. Clouds stormed outside, and you knew you would be lulled to sleep by the sound of rain later. 

“Think the rain will last until tomorrow?” Ginny asked, leaning over you to look out the window.

“Maybe. Why?”

“Ron said he and Harry were going to Hogsmeade, wanted me to come with.”

Something clicked away inside of you, like one last light that had been tortured to stay on for years and years.

“Oh.”

Ginny was quiet, not realizing the separate storm raging inside of you. You could not believe you expected anything else from Ginny. Anything else but her tireless and never-ending efforts to get every boy at Hogwarts to notice her. Ginny and her perfect eyes and hair and skin and body and personality and laugh. 

“I don’t want you to go tomorrow,” you hadn’t realized you said it, the words twisting on your tongue like they knew you were trying out this honesty thing for the first time. 

“What?”

“Don’t go.”

Ginny laughed. You felt every bone in your face sharpen and freeze. It was like the tears you knew would well up in your eyes were first coursing through your face like a complicated sewer system.

“Ginny,” you managed to breathe it out, turning to her with glassy eyes and tight lips.

She stopped laughing, turning her entire body to you and pushing off the blankets.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong? Y/n?” her voice was full of breathless worry and concern at your rare showing of vulnerability. It made you want to cringe away and fall into her.

Her face was so close to yours, it was like a dream. It was like you were back under the stars at the Burrow, under Ginny’s stars and in her bed. You lifted your eyes to hers, hoping she saw the same look behind them from the Yule Ball. Her face softened and for a second you swore you saw it in her eyes too. You realized she was getting closer, her look of concern morphing into a look of unknown. 

Her lips were so close to yours, you wanted to reach out; you kept your hands tucked beneath the blanket and stopped her lips from meeting yours as you rested your forehead against hers.

“I-” you started, finding the rush of the plumbing beneath your face all clog at once, like the blood had stopped flowing through your veins. You were so close to her.

“Please,” her words fell onto your lips like they were physical things in the air, and all of a sudden your hands plunged from under the blanket and your face was on hers and your lips were touching hers. 

You held her hair in your hands and she ran her hands down your back. Her lips were so soft, and you were self-conscious because you wondered if all the lip biting and worrying you had done on your lips would make yours rough and harsh. You wondered if Ginny loved your hands like you loved her lips. 

You wondered about a lot of things, after that. You wondered about the looks Harry seemed to give Ginny. About the looks Ginny refused to give back to him. You wondered if she would mind how scared you were all the time. You wondered if she noticed how much you didn’t want to be scared. You wondered if she was ever scared. 

You slept in Ginny’s bed every night.

“Does Harry love you?” 

The question had felt almost as scary as when you’d asked her not to go to Hogsmeade. Her reaction to the first scary question, however, made you believe it was going to be okay. It would always be okay with Ginny.

“I think he might,” she said.

Your head was pressed into her neck, her long hair getting caught in your nose every time you breathed. It was hot and a little uncomfortable, but it was Ginny, and you just wanted to feel her. Her arms were wrapped around you, her head inclined slightly so her mouth was by your ear. Your legs were tangled and her feet were warm against your cold ones. Ginny had told the sun to go away a long time ago.

“Do you love him?” 

Waiting for Ginny to answer was like waiting for her to tell you whether or not she had lost her virginity to Dean Thomas. She had said she had, and you felt like your world was going to end.

“Not anymore,” she whispered, even though you had already cast a silencing charm around her bed.

You breathed a breath you hadn’t realized was reserved for this moment.

You turned to face her, your mouths inches apart. You couldn’t help but stare at hers, feeling now blissful and for the first time without any worry or insecurity. Then her face inched away and her brows knitted together. You brought a warm hand to them, running the pad of your thumb across them until they smoothed out. 

“I’m sorry.” Ginny was whispering it over and over again, like a prayer, and you felt panic surged inside of you. 

You pushed yourself off of her, thinking she was lying about Harry and apologizing for that. 

As soon as you were off of her, she was wrapping her arms around you again, pulling her back into her. She was cradling you, rocking you back and forth as she kept chanting it. You felt pathetic, like this was a goodbye she had been wanting to say since the day she met you. Like she was apologizing to some god for the things you had done together. Like she was apologizing to Harry for the lie she told you. 

You pulled away far enough to look at her face, seeing shiny streaks creating a river down each side of her face. She was crying. Your hands on her face again, pushing the tears away as they endlessly leaked from her eyes. 

“What?” you whispered, almost cooed, curling into her lap and holding her face in your hands.

“I didn’t see you sooner,” she whispered, choking out strangled sobs as she threw her face into your chest. 

“Yes you did,” you whispered back, finding the volume too loud for the weight of the conversation. You felt like saying anything aloud would be inappropriate. You wanted to write it all out and exchange it all in wax-sealed letters.

“You were always there, and I was never there, and I made you sit and watch,” Ginny was almost screaming, guilt throwing itself from her throat. “I was so selfish!”

You didn’t dignify this with a response, instead, waiting for her to calm down again. Her shaking ceased and her breathing settled into hiccups.

“I’d do it all over again. I’d sit through each boyfriend. I would go to every Quidditch practice and watch you at every breakfast and I would walk to every class with you. I would wait forever. I don’t want to, though, so stop feeling so awful about it. We are now,” you felt your own tears sliding down your face, a voice coming out that cracked and shivered unlike your own.

Your words racked a new wave of sobs through her, and you could practically feel the relief and the guilt washing off her in waves. You were no stranger to guilt.

You had felt guilt every time you looked at Ginny that way when she was with her boyfriends. You had felt guilt every time you wanted to brag to Michael when she didn’t invite him to her practices. You wanted to throw every piece of intimacy you and Ginny shared in Harry Potter’s face, just so he would stop thinking he had a chance. 

You also knew that relief. You knew that relief when Ginny didn’t stutter with her hands. When she breathed against your skin and smiled when you pulled apart. When it wasn’t anything different between you; when you could just as easily sit next to each other at the Great Hall. 

Ginny’s eyes were tired and puffy when they finally turned to you. She wiped your cheeks with the backs of her hands, because you had told her how gripping the broom made her fingertips rough. You kissed her hand, capturing her skinny wrist in your grasp and flipping it over to press your lips against her palm. She breathed, for what felt like the first time, in even and contained patterns. 

She had both hands on your shoulders, pushing you further into the mattress, until she climbed on top of you. Her strong legs were on either side of you, sitting just above your hip bones. She didn’t bend to kiss you, just sitting straight as she looked down at you: laid down at her mercy.

Her hands started at yours, interlocking them and then leaving them to trail up your arms. She ignored the shivers following her touch, continuing her warpath until she started again at your hips. Her hands slid up your sides, featherlight touches that made your back arch off the bed. She sighed with a smile, cocking her head in a disbelieving way.

“You’re all mine?” she whispered, voice hoarse and weak with melancholy and shock spilling into her words.

You couldn’t find the words to tell her just how much you were entirely hers, so you nodded helplessly. 

She began to giggle, finally bending down to bring her lips to you. They traced up and down your neck, like she was finding the right place to pot a plant, and then finally planted one searing kiss just below your jaw. 

“I’m yours,” you moaned, begging for her to do anything.

“Yours,” she answered, doing anything. 

[slashersthings]

I'll Make You Scream / Billy Loomis x Reader

It was a chilly fall night, with colorful leaves whirling through the sky and landing every which way, even crunching under your boots as you took a brisk walk through the neighborhood.

The sun was setting in the distance and your mother's calm warning about not staying out too late was still ringing inside your head, but you shrugged it off and kept heading further and further out of your quiet suburban neighborhood.

You knew your mother had a slightly good reason for why she didn't want you out late, especially when Halloween was fast approaching, but the real reason being that a ring of murders and break-ins were happening in nearby neighborhoods and rumors were spreading that the killer - or killers, would hit up the neighborhood you lived in soon.

You weren't worried. Not to say that it didn't freak you out, it did, but the chances of your house getting broken into were slim. But the murders were the talk of the town and you couldn't go anywhere, not even school, without hearing about it.

You stop suddenly when the clear sound of twigs and leaves being stepped on inside an acreage of dark woods across from you seems to follow your path. Feeling a rush of bravery, you turn to face the ominous-looking woods, hollering out a, "Hello?"

Woods go silent after that. You laugh at your ridiculous behavior and spin back to the road, the laughter dying off your lips when you spot a figure twenty feet away.

Your gasp is the only noise heard from the quiet street. The figure's head tilts as whoever it was stares menacingly at you, hand gripping something at its side. "Who are you?" You wanted that to come out as confident and seem like you weren't scared, but instead, your voice shook and trembled.

The figure takes a step closer, you take two steps back. "What'd you want?"

When the figure moves under a well-placed street light, you see that the person wore a black cloak of some sort, and had a white ghost-like mask with the mouth dropped open. The thing they clutched in their gloved hand was a large hunting knife, blood dripping from the tip of it.

You were face-to-face with the infamous killer, who'd been harassing and killing people in your town and had no way of getting out of this alive. You start walking backward, causing the killer to follow you slowly.

"Please, please, don't do this. I won't tell anyone I saw you. Please." Your pleas are cut short when a flash of headlights appear behind you, followed by a loud honk. You quickly spin and rush to the car, arms flailing about.

The driver unlocks the passenger's door and you don't hesitate to hop in. "What the hell's going on?"

You look at the driver, an older man with grey hair, and exclaim, "Someone's trying to kill me!"

The man's eyes widen slightly and look up through the windshield, finding nothing but an empty street. "There's no one out there."

You stare at the vacant road for a minute, eyes furrowing at the unbelievable sight. "Yes, there was! I saw someone holding a bloody knife and, oh my God, you saved my life. If you hadn't shown up, I'd be dead."

The man sighs and puts the car in drive, "Tell me your address and I'll take you home. You shouldn't be out here by yourself anyway."

You nod and give your address, leaning against the seat with a heavy sigh.

--

At school the next morning, last night's horrifying events still plagued your mind, refusing to let go. You had a run-in with the town's serial killer and made it out unscathed.

You didn't tell your parents about it. Nor did you mention a word to your friends. You figured your parents would make a big deal with this, and your friends would joke around and wanna return to the location, hoping to see the killer for themselves.

As far as you were concerned, you just wanted to forget the entire thing and go about your life, ignoring that fateful night where you found a serial killer.

...But your friends had other ideas. "Did you see the news? The killer struck again."

You overhear some of your friends talking about the murders near your locker and sigh at the inevitable conversation. "Where'd it happen this time?"

"Out near Oak Ridge, that street that leads into those woods."

Your stomach flutters with fear at the news. "Apparently he killed a couple that was taking a walk in the neighborhood."

"How'd you know it's a man?" Your close friend asks the guy who was going on and on about it.

"Aren't most serial killers male?"

"Not necessarily. There have been quite a few female ones."

You felt sick at the conversation and quietly open your locker. "Hey, Y/N."

You look up at the sound of your name and find Billy Loomis staring at you with a smile. He stood beside Stu and your two other close friends, who were too caught up in their talk to notice you.

"Hi. I see this killer's still the talk of the school."

"Who isn't talking about it?" One guy, Morgan, interjects, glancing at you with confused eyes, "It's all over the news."

"Don't you guys think it's kinda starting to get repetitive? I mean, this person, whoever they are, breaks into a house, kills the people inside, then gets away without ever leaving a clue. Then the media shitstorm starts all over again, probably blowing it out of proportion."

You wanted to seem indifferent to the killer and show no interest in the subject. "You act as if this is all boring to you."

You give a dismissive shrug, "It's all the same, really."

Stu's eyes narrow at you, "The killer isn't boring. I mean, you can seriously stand there and pretend that if you ever came face-to-face with him, somewhere dark and alone, that you wouldn't be freaking the fuck out? He gutted that couple like a fish, heard their pitiful screams that begged him to stop, blood everywhere, but had no remorse."

You suppress a shiver as dread twists like a knife in your gut. "Whaddya think he'd do to you if you were all alone?"

Bile rises in the back of your throat and with a slam of your locker, you hurry to the nearest bathroom to empty the contents of your upset stomach, with last night's events and Stu's chilling question becoming more than you could handle.

--

You tried to put Stu's upsetting words, along with the memory of last night, out of your frazzled mind, but it kept sticking. The way Stu said it, how he stared at you, something felt off.

Why would he single you out as being alone by yourself somewhere dark? You hadn't mentioned a peep about last night to anyone, certainly not to Stu, but he almost in a way, had managed to describe what happened last night.

He even seemed offended that you showed no interest in the killer, which seemed strange to you. Sure, Stu was into those things, but it just seemed weird.

You're pulled out of your reverie by a finger tapping your shoulder, making you look up from your history book and glance behind. Billy, once again, stared at you, this time with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry for what happened earlier with Stu."

You shrug, "It's not your fault. I'm just kinda tired of hearing about this killer."

"But Stu shouldn't have said what he said. He upset you and I'm sorry. Stu sometimes can just be... you know?"

You nod with a chuckle, "Yep. I'm well aware of how he is."

"Mr. Loomis." Your history teacher, Mr. Henny, calls out his name with a disgruntled sigh, "Care to pay attention to your book instead of Y/N?"

A few snide remarks and giggles are heard, but you ignore them and turn back to your desk. You're surprised when a few seconds later, you feel another tap on your shoulder.

You can't help the smile tugging at your lips as you turn to Billy once more, "Your gonna get in trouble."

"You're worth it." Your cheeks turn a pretty pink color at that. "You doing anything tonight?"

Your heart races at the thought that Billy Loomis was asking you to come over and hang out one-on-one with him. "I'm babysitting a neighbor's kid until nine-thirty. Then after that, my schedule's wide open. Why?"

"Just wanted to see if you were free to watch a movie or something at my place. There's a Halloween marathon on TV tonight, so I thought we could hang and watch it."

"For sure. I'll head over around ten."

"Cool. I'll see ya then."

You smile brightly and turn back to your book, mind racing with ideas for tonight.

--

10:00 PM

You check your watch for the fiftieth time that night. Why were you so damn nervous? It wasn't like this was the first time you'd been at Billy's house. It was more like the third or fourth time.

The other ones had been with your friends and when Billy threw a party, this time was just you two. One-on-one. No one to interrupt or drag Billy's attention away.

Maybe that's why you were so nervous. You take a deep breath before pushing the car door open and stepping out. A few more steps forward and you reach the front door, shakey hand reaching out to knock.

It takes a few seconds before the door creaks open, revealing Billy's smiling face behind it. "Hey."

"...Hi." Jesus. You were acting as you've never been around a guy before. You were getting flustered just by seeing him and saying hi.

"You wanna come in... or...?"

You realize that you'd just been standing there like a moron while Billy held the door open and mentally curse yourself out. "Oh. Yeah. Heh, that's a good idea." You say and slip inside, brushing past Billy as you go. The slam of the door gets your heart racing, as does Billy sliding his hand down your back.

"Halloween's about to start. You want something to drink?"

All you can do is nod as the will to speak leaves you. "There's some popcorn in the cupboard above the fridge. I figured we could have some with the movie."

"Part of me thought Stu would be joining us." You say while following Billy into the kitchen, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

"Eh. I thought you and I could hang out for a night. We don't spend a lot of time together outside of parties or school."

"I never realized you wanted to."

Billy stops at the fridge, glancing back at you over his shoulder, "Why not? We are friends after all."

Friends. You frown at the title, but quickly cover with a shrug and laugh, "I guess I'm just a little... I don't even know."

"Well, I got just the thing to make you feel better."

He turns and waggles two bottles of beer in front of you. "Aren't you a Godsend."

He chuckles and tosses you one, "I can get the popcorn if you wanna go relax."

"Don't have to tell me twice." You say and follow the path into his living room.

--

Two hours later and the first Halloween was over, making you look at the time and sigh. The night had been like a dream you didn't wanna wake up from.

Billy looks over and sees you dejectedly staring at the clock on the wall. "You gotta get going or something?"

 "Eh, yeah, I probably should. My parents will flip if I'm not back."

"Oh, well, I was hoping you'd stay a little longer. The night was just getting fun."

His dark eyes staring into your own was enough to convince you that staying there was the right choice, especially when he leans a little closer, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Then again, Halloween two's about to come on." You shrug and lean against the cushion.

"And I wouldn't want you going home alone this late with a killer running around."

For the first time tonight, you recall last night's events with a heavy sigh. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, no. It's not you, it's just..." You swallow hard and look down, "I haven't told my parents or anything, but, I saw the killer last night."

Billy quirks a brow but didn't seem too surprised by what you said. You expected him to freak with worry, but no. He just sits up with a shrug. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. There was this old man who showed up at just the right time. I couldn't stop thanking him for saving my life."

"You didn't tell anyone, did you? Like the cops or something?"

Your brows furrow while your heart grows uneasy by Billy's strange interest in wanting to know if you spilled last night's horror to the cops. "Why?"

"Just tell me, Y/N!"

His eyes grow wide and worried, obviously not for you, but some reason. "No. You are the only one I told, Billy, no one else."

He takes a breather, eyes softening on you, "Where'd you see him?"

"Near Oak Ridge. By the woods."

Billy tilts his head and you push away the gnawing feeling that it looked suspiciously familiar. "Weird he didn't take the opportunity when you were alone. They don't hesitate with the other victims."

They?"

"I, uh, I meant, he. Or whoever it is." He pushes his hair back and turns his attention to the TV. Michael Myers had just finished killing another teenager and was heading outside, easily avoiding the police and Dr. Loomis.

A commercial break restarts the awkward silence and you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. You feel eyes on you and look over, finding Billy already staring back.

"Billy..." You say his name softly as he inches closer, eyes glancing at your lips. His lips brush against yours, the delicacy taking you by surprise. Your arms come around his neck while he urges you closer, nearly pulling you onto his eager lap.

Even though you were already touching, Billy wanted you closer, needed to feel more of your heated body pressed against his. Your mouths mash together, tongues tangling for dominance, as he slides one hand under your leg, pulling you fully on his lap.

He uses the position to rake his fingers up your bare thighs, the short skirt you wore revealing more skin than you realized, making you gasp when his fingers dip under the band of your panties.

Your legs part for his touch, writhing against his lap, begging for it like never before. He pulls his hands away to tear off your shirt, not bothering with the buttons, tossing it to the floor with a smirk.

Your quickly flopped on your back under him, followed by Billy wrapping your legs around his hips. He rocks against you once, then twice, your moan being followed by his own groan.

Your just starting to come undone when a slam of the front door, followed by a female scream on the TV, has you yelping and banging your head against Billy's, causing a muffled stir of curses and hissing.

"Argh, shit," Billy murmurs and pushes back slightly, rubbing at his sore head.

You lean up, eyes widening when you spot Stu standing in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest, goofy grin on his face. "How's it going, guys?"

Billy turns the TV off with a huff, slamming the remote down with extra force, making you jump. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"How'd you even get in?" You ask at the same time, making Stu laugh.

"Back door was unlocked. You two look pissed off. Sorry I didn't realize I'd be interrupting a grope fest."

You blush, but then quickly remember that during your horny makeout session, Billy had taken your shirt off, which was probably why Stu was showing more interest in you than usual.

You gather your shirt from the floor, throwing it on quickly before standing, "I should get going."

Billy makes a noise of protest, groaning in annoyance at Stu, "He'll leave. You stay."

"No, Billy, I should be getting home anyway. My parents are gonna be flipping. I just need a minute, I'll be right back." You say and brush past Stu for the stairs, already knowing where the bathroom was.

--

A few minutes later and you head out of the upstairs bathroom, pausing when you overhear Billy and Stu arguing. You figured Billy was bitching Stu out over interrupting them, but quickly realize how wrong you are.

"Real nice, man, thank you for that."

"I said sorry. Besides, I would've never imagined you'd get someone like Y/N over here, legs wrapped around your body, tits in your face."

"I didn't think it'd happen either." Billy shrugs, "But it did."

Your brows furrow. Was this some kind of... plan? No, it couldn't be.

"Yeah, well, thanks to you, our original plans for tonight have been rescheduled. Unless you still down for it."

...That gets your attention. "C'mon, man, Y/N's here. I'm trying to get her to stay."

"We made these plans yesterday, Billy. There's only a short period we can use for this. And we've already lost a few hours."

What in the hell was Stu talking about?

"Can't you do this one night alone?"

"We're a team! I can't do it without you, man."

Billy huffs in annoyance, raking a hand through his hair, "I invited Y/N over. I can't just leave without a good excuse."

"Y/N's heading out anyway."

"Because you showed up."

"Whatever. We need to do this soon if we're going through with it."

That uneasy feeling in your gut returns in full, making your heart race in fear. Whatever their little 'plan' was, it wasn't good. And they obviously did these things often.

"Just do it by yourself. It'll be fine."

Stu scoffs, "We started it together, we do this together. I can't do it all by myself while also wearing this."

He drops a black duffel bag by his feet, pulling out a white ghost mask, the same one the killer wears, handing it to Billy. "You wore it last night anyway."

Your eyes widen and can't help the gasp that slips past your trembling lips, the noise sounding so loud through the quiet house.

Billy and Stu's eyes narrow and glance up at you, finding you peering down at them over the railing.

"Your right, Billy, guess we're not going anywhere," Stu says after a tense moment, smilingly menacingly up at you.

[crystalstar8]

Knights of the Night (ch 22)

Chapter 22

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12, ch 13, ch 14, ch 15, ch 16, ch 17, ch 18, ch 19, ch 20, ch 21, ch 22

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France, human trafficking

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j  @daechwitad-2​ @zobadak​ @fallenstar-7​​​

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

Catalina figured she was in hell when the first thing she felt was fire. It was burning her from the inside out. It was a pain she had never felt before, completely blinding, completely debilitating. The only thought that consumed her was make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.

The fire felt like it was licking at her veins for what felt like eternity. At some point, she became aware of her body, namely, her face, which began feeling as though it was being stretched to its limits. The only thing she could liken this pain to was how allergy season made her face feel in the mornings: swollen and full. It was a similar feeling, but a thousand-fold. It eventually moved to her jaw. She felt like her teeth would fall out if this continued. She felt as if her jaw would come unhinged if this didn’t stop. This pain overwhelmed the fire, which was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because the fire was sharp and all consuming, a curse because this pain was almost worse. A curse because Catalina was sure her face was being torn apart.

Every time she thought she couldn’t take any more, the fire or the pain in her face would persist, keeping her in an immovable state even longer. When would this end? Would it ever? She felt as though this kind of pain had been described to her before, but she couldn’t be sure. She had to be in hell. She died, right? She remembered dying. She must be in hell.

It felt like absolute eternity, but eventually, the pain began subsiding. Every time it would lessen slightly, she would thank whatever deity was doing this to her. The more it subsided, the more room for memory made its home in her mind. She died. Amanda slit her throat. Her friends. Jimin was beside her, a knife to his throat as well. Did they kill him too? She hoped not, but she figured it was likely. Hoseok wasn’t there. She hoped he was found, and that he was okay. The others as well. She hoped they were all okay.

Jungkook. He wouldn’t be okay. If Catalina was really dead, and Jungkook survived, he would be having a hard time right about now. And she really, really hoped he did survive. She wished she could have said goodbye to him, and given him one last kiss, told him she loved him one last time. But she didn’t, and she hoped he could get through this. She didn’t want that sweet, intelligent, beautiful boy to be ruined by this. She hoped he could keep living.

The pain continued to subside and consciousness came to her in small segments. This was when she realized that she wasn’t dead. Through the haze of pain, she managed to open her eyes. Everything was quite blurry, but she recognized the room she was in. The lighthouse painting gave it away.

Her bout of consciousness didn’t last long. She fell back into a daze, the pain coming in waves now.

The next time she opened her eyes, the room was bright. Too bright. It hurt her eyes. But she could turn her head to the side. Jimin was beside her. His eyes were closed and his body was twitching every now and then. There was an awful scar across his neck.

The third time she opened her eyes, the room was dark and there was a hand gripping her own. The pain was still there, but it was dull. There was a new feeling slowly clawing its way up her throat. Jimin was still lying beside her. They looked at each other. It was his hand that was in hers. His eyes looked scared; Catalina was sure she looked scared too. She was beginning to understand what was happening to her. And when she looked into Jimin’s eyes, her suspicions were confirmed. His eyes were bright red. Bloodshot and terrified, but his irises were red.

Voices were chattering over her, but they were faint and garbled, as if she were underwater. She wanted to say something to Jimin, but she still couldn’t move much. He looked like he wanted to speak too. She found that she could move her fingers, so she squeezed his hand, hoping it would provide some kind of comfort. He squeezed back. She felt a smile twitch at her lips before falling back into her sleep.

This sleep was painless, at least, as painless as it could get. There was a persistent soreness at the back of her throat, but otherwise, she was able to sleep peacefully.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Keep your feet planted and your knees bent,” Jungkook said. His hands were on her bare waist, his chest pressing up close to her to her back. She figured that wasn’t necessary, he didn’t do that to Hoseok, or Taehyung, but she certainly didn’t mind. Having him close meant she could hear his heart speed up. It meant she could smell the blood rushing to his face. It was cute. He was cute.

“When you’re on the water, and once you stand up and get your footing, just stay calm and let the wave move you,” he said. “It’s gonna feel like you’re falling at first, just keep your balance and carve your way down.”

“And if you fall off, it’s just the water,” said Jin, who was waxing his own board a few feet away. “No harm.”

“Right, no harm,” Jungkook said, his hand wandering to her butt.

She giggled and turned around to face him.

“Did Hoseok get this treatment when you taught him?” she asked with a wide smile on her face.

“Not that he would mind even a little bit,” said Jungkook. “But this is only reserved for my favorite students.”

“Ooh, so Jimin got this too,” Catalina said, winding her arms over his bare shoulders. He threw his head back and laughed. This was her favorite sound. The waves crashing along the beach, Jungkook’s laughter, his heart beating against hers. It was like her favorite song, a song she never wanted to end. 

Catalina leaned up to press her lips against his, the board wobbling in the sand beneath their feet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pain in her throat was the thing to finally wake her up. She didn’t want to wake up, she was thoroughly enjoying her dream, but it was distracting. It was like waking up starving, but this hunger was all consuming. It was the only thing she could think about. She needed to take care of this first, before anything else.

When she opened her eyes, she was still in the same room. The lighthouse painting stared back at her, along with Taehyung’s other art. A charcoal sketch of Yoongi sprawled across a couch made her smile. She felt a body shift beside her. Jimin was still asleep, curled up to her side. Catalina pet his head, pushing his hair away from his face. His hair felt extra silky and his face was way prettier than she remembered. He had always been an attractive man, but he looked ethereal right now with his face relaxed and the morning sun illuminating his features.

Catalina sat up abruptly. She glanced at his neck. It was smooth and unblemished. No scar in sight. She felt her own neck. It felt smooth as well. She leapt off the bed and stumbled over to the vanity. Controlling her movements was difficult. There was a power behind every movement that she’s never felt before. It reminded her of playing a video game with the sensitivity on the controller turned all the way up.

She looked at herself in the mirror and let out a gasp. Her eyes were red, just like she suspected. Her skin was smoother than she’d ever seen it. Her hair was shiny and fuller than usual, laying just right over her shoulders and around her face. Radiant. She looked radiant. She wanted to keep looking at herself, but the craving she felt was getting distracting again. She needed to find something to satisfy it before she went insane.

That’s when she heard it. It was faint, very faint, but she was sure it was there. Downstairs. A heart was beating. A heart was pumping blood, which she could smell all the way from here. And it smelled divine. She needed, needed, to get a taste. She knew that if she could get a taste, the pain in the back of her throat would go away. The twisting in her stomach would subside.

She took one step toward the door before it swung open, revealing Taehyung.

“You’re awake,” he said with a smile.

“I need to go downstairs,” Catalina said.

Taehyung shook his head. “You shouldn’t. I’ll get you what you need up here.”

“I need to go down there,” she said again, moving toward the door. Taehyung closed it and put his back to it.

“No, you don’t,” he said, the smile falling from his face. “You don’t need to go down there. You will regret it if you go down there.”

Realization hit Catalina like a truck. That heartbeat belonged to someone. She didn’t want to hurt them, whoever it was. If she went down there, she most certainly wouldn’t be able to control herself.

“Who’s down there?” she asked. “I won’t go down there, I promise.”

Taehyung sighed and said, “It’s Jungkook. I told him it wasn’t a good idea to wait around here, but he insisted.”

Catalina felt her chest flutter. He was alive! He was here!

“Can I see him?” she asked. “I know I shouldn’t, but I promise I’ll control myself, you guys will be there…”

“That’s not a good idea right now,” said Taehyung. “Let me get you something to drink first, then we’ll talk. You look crazy right now.”

“No, I don’t!” she said, looking at herself in the mirror again. Her eyes were crazed, her pupils blown out bigger than the last time she saw herself in the mirror. Okay, maybe she did look crazy. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to see Jungkook just yet.

She turned back around, but Taehyung was gone. She went to the bed. Jimin was still sleeping soundly. He didn’t seem like he was in pain anymore. He looked peaceful, his little snores making Catalina’s nose scrunch in a smile.

Taehyung came back in with a full plastic grocery bag. He dumped it out onto the vanity and Catalina’s eyes widened. She lunged for one of the blood bags, not bothering with the valve on top. She bit right into it, her teeth piercing through without resistance. She gulped it down as fast as she could, squeezing every last drop from it. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Taehyung held the empty grocery bag out to her.

“In here please,” he said. “Don’t drip on my floor.”

Catalina threw her garbage into the bag and grabbed another one.

She sucked ten bags dry before finally feeling normal again.

Taehyung chuckled as he tied off the grocery bag and set it aside.

“You’re going to have to pee a million times later,” he said.

“Vampires pee?” she asked.

“I mean, yeah. Where do you think all that liquid goes?” he asked.

“I guess I never thought about that,” she said. “I’m starting to realize that vampirism isn’t as magical as I thought.”

“It’s really not,” said Taehyung. “Namjoon wrote some biology books on us. They’re in the library if you ever want to give them a read. I would highly suggest that.”

Catalina collapsed into the cushioned wicker chair in the corner. Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at Jimin. He ran a gentle hand through Jimin’s hair, tucking it away from his eyes and letting his thumb brush against his cheek. All of a sudden, Catalina felt like she was intruding.

Jimin stirred, mumbling something under his breath and rolling onto his back. Taehyung took his hand and stroked his knuckles, keeping his eyes on Jimin’s sleeping face.

“Did you turn him?” Catalina asked. Taehyung nodded.

“It was selfish of me,” he said. “I know he didn’t want this, and I did it anyway. But I couldn’t lose him. Not again.”

“Again?” Catalina asked.

“I think he’s Adrianna,” said Taehyung. Catalina’s jaw dropped. He glanced up and noticed her shock. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

Catalina shrugged.

“I do,” said Taehyung. “I think he might be Adrianna. He reminded me of her from the moment I met him. And if he isn’t, then he’s my second soulmate. People can have multiple soulmates, did you know that?”

“I never really believed in soulmates,” said Catalina.

               “Well, I do,” said Taehyung. “So, whatever the case is, I couldn’t lose him. He’s too important.”

               “I understand,” said Catalina, thinking of Jungkook. She wanted to see him. But she was worried she wouldn’t be able to control herself. Her craving was no longer overwhelming, but she could still smell him, and he smelled incredible. She could still hear his heart beating.

               “Who turned me?” she asked.

               “Hoseok,” said Taehyung.

               “Is he okay? I never saw him again since the beginning of the raid,” said Catalina.

               “He is okay,” said Taehyung. “He was hurt really badly during the fight, but he healed up fast. He’s downstairs if you want to see him.”

               “I want to see Jungkook,” said Catalina.

               “You need a chaperone for that,” said Taehyung. Catalina wanted to argue, but she knew he was right.

               Just then, Jimin’s eyes fluttered open.

               “Taehyungie?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

               “I’m right here, Jiminie,” said Taehyung, smiling down at him.

               “I’ll go find Hoseok,” Catalina said, slipping out the door. Neither of them seemed to have heard her.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Infected/Undead Boyfriend

Warning: some language and fluff.

Part 2  -  Part 3 (FINALE)

When It Rains, It Pours

It always rains in January-- or was it February? It didn't matter, it had been a long time since you remembered, and you didn't care. It wasn't a problem for you in fact: what was a problem for you was how you were going to get out of the city without being taken out first.

The city was swarming with infected since the beginning; when the world had gone to rot.

You had been attempting since day one to get out, but the military had been doing its damn best in containing the population through fear and control. They kept the those from coming in and from leaving, practically blocking you all in like cattle from the very start.

The military was eventually taken out, leaving their cells and high walls that were impossible to pass. And it wasn't just the living that had been out of control; the dead were rare but they were rising daily – it didn't matter how you died, they returned stronger and in larger herds; carving their way through the city with little care.

It had been three years since you had heard from your relatives: from your uncle and cousins who had been living outside of your city and had found a refuge to live in. They assured you a safe place to stay when you escaped, but you had last heard from them three months ago; the signal dying.

It was risky, but you needed supplies, and gaining them not just for yourself but for your radio was to help you get out quicker. You weren't going to rot alive inside these walls, no matter how few humans and dead remained.

The supplies were growing scarce, the food dwindling: your fears of starving to death seemed to be the worst way to go out, but you wanted to endure and live, but raiding shops for food was difficult.

The sky was gloomy and bleak when you had been caught by oncoming dead, their swarm had surprised you in the back of a building, where they had been twistedly been locked away for someone like you to run into on purpose.

The many corridors chasms seemed to get deeper and deeper the further you ran in, the less hope you had for getting out when you were certain you would be dead. It was only with a certain gap between the floors had given you a chance to get away only for the very weak floor you had been standing on to collapse beneath you, sweeping you with it to hit the very pit that welcomed you and not very much else.

Your head was pounding, a soaring ache in your sides from how you had fallen had gotten you whimpering and groaning in discomfort and fear: the darkening walls had been slicked so sinisterly that it was impossible to see what could be lurking within the shadows.

When your trembling hands came to touch at your head, there was a slick pool of something falling into your sight, like water heavily, it dampened the front of your face to make you look as if you were wearing a crimson mask.

There was a scuffle of shoes, a groan of the floorboards as something lurched within the dimness that came from the right side of you, and in your short time to respond or react and with your blinded sight that was washing over your vision quickly, you had clumsily pulled out your knife just as you saw the figure stumble out from behind a fallen cabinet.

You reacted loudly, grunting and swinging as you defended yourself pitifully, the figure had kicked the knife out of your hand almost too precisely, the clatter of it hitting the concrete ground brought your attention that you had no case of surviving.

The figure loomed over you momentarily: your bleeding head made it difficult to see when you were trying to stay focused and alert, your head was drubbing with thrums that came every passing second, screaming for rest, with your hands still scrambling before you finally whimpered before you had collapsed fully; your fall not as hard as you had predicted.

There had been light pouring through the small opening when you had come back around: the slow movements that came from not too far to you made you aware that you had been taken out by someone; someone had dragged your unconscious body out from that dreaded Hell.

There was a tentative hand at your forehead, feeling at your temperature, before their touch came to lift individually each eyelid, earning a low groan from you each time. You were alive – for now.

Your eyes had adjusted to the brightness that shouldn't have been coming so early in the day—no not during this month, it always rained. You pondered, your eyes had fallen on the figure beside you, momentarily stunned before your body had kicked yourself free from their grasp, and for you found yourself falling back against the iron wall.

When your unsteady eyes had fallen over their silhouette, you would've been certain that they had been dead. There could've been something human over their shape and how they stayed squat in the same position from nurturing you prior, but you couldn't lay why their appearance didn't look right.

Maybe it was their skin: it was milky and ashen, their hands were darkened and reddened around the knuckles and fingernails and you had assumed they had been wearing gloves, but their nails were peeling and uneven, wild to the fault.

Their—he – you were unsure how to describe them at first, they had masculine features, but you didn't know whether to describe this person in front of you as a human or the glimmer of an apparition.

Your eyes wandered past his wan face, his dark hair was chin-length, thrown messily up with strands that had fallen out and hanging over his deep-set eyes. His eyes—oh, God – the eyes were maybe the most human thing. They held more than just the husk of a shell of a human once. They were alive and conscious even when they had looked so unresponsive from afar.

He observed you carefully, his body language told you that he wasn't like any other infected creature you had dealt with in the many years since the outbreak, he was nothing like them- no, he was still aware of everything going on around him as if he was not one of them at all.

You didn't realise that the two of you had been staring at one another for quite some time, neither one speaking nor reacting in any way, but he watched, being aware of what you did or how you moved, making sure you didn't do anything that would harm him; his angular features told you so.

"Holy fucking shit, how—I-" Your words were stiff in your mouth, like hardened honey everything had solidified in your throat, leaving you just as lifeless as the infected. He had remained in his spot, rigid and hesitant in your language, but he didn't seem reluctant, as, from his jacket pocket, he was pulling something out, some granola bars and a can of dried beans.

He slowly slid them across the hardware floor, the can hit the sole of your sneaker, the granola bars he held up as a peace offering for you to take, all whilst you stared at him in what you could describe as disbelief.

"I- Where'd you find these?" You picked up the can and gave it a gentle rattle; they seemed decent still. He pointed to behind you, and from your view from behind, you never noticed that the two of you were secluded in an area that had a high spot that allowed you to onlook the entire city. It was nothing perfect, but you could tell that he had done a lot in keeping the area cut off with the desks and chairs barred up against the doors. From here, you could even see the deserted block you had been staying in for the last few weeks.

When you had turned back to him, he was standing, now a little closer to you, his hand outstretched with the food. "You got this for me?" You asked, warily taking it from his grip before stuffing the items into your pockets. You could get back to your place before the day ended if you were lucky; with hopes of finally finalising what you needed finishing.

He nodded, and you understood that there was now something of him conscious that was still alive and living: he was infected but not as dead as you had assumed.

"I need to get out of here, I need to get back to my place before it gets too dark." You found it troubling to think of the right words and whether he would say yes. "Will you help me get out of here?"

He didn't have much on him, but he had grabbed at your backpack and handed it to you, and already you knew his silent gestures was him saying yes. It was all that was needed to get you out quicker.

You and your... your new friend had left and travelled east through the stilled avenues and lonely desolate streets, the infected man lingering not too far behind you but close around if you needed help.

When you finally arrived in your place it was eerily tranquil, the sky had reached a calming picture of calmness over the horizon from your barricaded window, the dim light flooding through as you threw your bag to the couch you had been sleeping on; the half-dead, half-living man remaining close by in your closed doorway.

You made your way to your stationed radio, finalising the parts of bolts and wires that you finally had with you, twisting, tinkering and pushing buttons you had to learn in knowing, before finally turning on the HAM radio to be greeted with distorted and unruly squeaks and shrieks of the channels.

Behind you, the undead man grunted, covering his ears, a haunting cry that came from him threw you off as you looked back on him, quickly quieting the sound as you turned through the signals quicker, quieting the static.

"Come on, this gotta work." You gritted your teeth, trying again and again, "Hello? Is anyone out there? Are there any survivors?" You repeated the questions, nothing but your own voice ringing out and dying along with the signal.

Your eyebrows furrowed, slapping the side of the radio, your cheeks burning. "No! Come on! I have everything for it to fucking work, why isn't it working?" You let out your pent up feelings on the old thing, shoving it away as if the sight of it would make you feel better. It didn't.

An unexpected hand came to rest on the back of your shoulder, your body stiffening with your head twisting to look up from your kneeling spot, the male behind you. From his close-up, you could see his face so clearly, the skin had broken into a state of decay: with veins protruding along his round cheeks.

His eyes weren't as dark now that you saw them so closely, they were brown, and a lovely shade too. His eyes had broken blood vessels in his sclera but there was clearly still something so sympathetic that was in the surface.

So alive, but he's trapped in a dying body.

It startled you for a moment when his hand gingerly came to hesitate inches from your face. You didn't back away, inquisitive rather than cautious as to what he was going to do, his eyes looking back and forth over your face before he reached forth, the back of his ashen fingers collecting a just-to-fall teardrop from the corner of your eye.

"Oh, thanks." Your body came to wipe at the unwanted tears, looking away from him momentarily as you looked around your small haven. 

"You can uh, I don't know if you wanna stay for a bit?" You suggested to him, watching in your peripheral that he had moved away, and had gone to move towards your window, looking out. You stood yourself, looking to him finally before going to the bathroom, shutting the door and deciding to have a shower to calm down.

When you had finally emerged out, it was now dark finally, and your stomach hadn't settled, the need to eat was making you not think properly. That had to be the real reason. You found the male in the small spot on the wide windowsill, his head and body slouched, eyes shut as he peacefully slept.

Rummaging in your bag had woken him from however long he had been sleeping for, his eyes blinked in and out as they finally landed on you, and you came over to sit opposite him on the sill, watching the empty world outside.

“Want one?" You held one of the granola bars out to him, but he had shaken his head. He doesn't eat, but does he eat... humans?

You chewed nonchalantly on the brittle bar, the dryness was unbearable but it was still decent to eat regardless of how stale it had been. When you had finished your bar, he was still looking at you, as if reading you as best as he could. Not many people do that, but he isn't exactly... normal.

"How long have you been here for?" You asked once the granola was out of your teeth, and the male beside you gave a sign with his darkened fingers as he held them up for you to see. Three. "Three years?" You asked and he had nodded.

"How did... how did you turn?" Your voice was oddly quiet when you had asked him, uncertain.

He didn't seem so sure by your question and how to answer it, but he gave a short answer by the gesture that you could only guess was what he meant. Bitten. "But you didn't... you're not like them. The infected."

His face had given a small smile since your meeting, and it made you wonder how his laugh would sound. You could only hope you would see him smile again. It quickly fell from his face as if it had never been there, to begin with. No. He shook his head. "That's good," you reassured with relief, "you did scare me when I fell through the ceiling."

He gave a silent laugh, his eyes vivid. Sorry. He gestured, his motions tender when his hand came to rest on your knee, squeezing softly. The act itself didn't disgust you nor did you pull away, the mere feel of a person's touch was soothing.

The two of you spoke as best as you could (he found communicating hard and he didn't speak) and by the time early morning had come, you had found yourself lying on the sofa with his folded up jacket beneath your head as a pillow, with no sign of him at all.

You felt a bit gutted that he had left before you had a chance to see him leave; maybe he didn't want to hurt you or risk getting him harmed. You told yourself, but when you heard the soft twisting of your doorknob being opened, you kicked into overdrive, your knife in hand as you hid along the wall so you weren't seen.

You had lunged forward before the person had seen you, your wrist had been caught before you could harm them, those brown eyes were widened and fearful of the situation, but his grip had lessened, as if ready if you wanted to plunge your knife into his colourless flesh.

"I'm sorry," You pulled away quickly, putting your knife away as you led him inside and shut the door, "I didn't know it was you."

Sorry. He had gestured sheepishly, handing you the bag that he had over his shoulder. You took it from him as you opened it up, pulling out the many items he had found. Your eyes were wide, a closed-mouth smile had lit up on your face. "Where'd you find all this?"

He didn't answer you, to begin with, but he had guided you, pointing out towards the cluster of shops that weren't too far from you. How he managed to find all this secret food was amazing, and you didn't know how he did it. "You didn't have to do this for me, you know." You said in an inquisitive tone.

He shook his head, making sure you kept hold of the can as he kept his hand around yours. It's yours. His eyes told you for a fact that he wanted you to have it, and you couldn't turn that away.

You spent the next few days hidden away in your shelter, with enough food that could keep you going, whilst your new friend had been there to go in and out and find necessary things and food if you needed it.

He had been gone like most of the mornings by the time you had woken up, the only thing that you had from him was his jacket, and the smell of rainfall was comforting when you smelt the leather. You had sat up and stretched your bones, finding something small that had fallen from his pocket.

Picking it up, you recognised it as a driver's license, the faded words and photo had caught your interest, your eyes peering back to the door as you had looked over the photo ID tentatively. The face had been oddly familiar to you, their facial features were fuller and healthier, a chiselled jaw and those eyes you could only describe as lifelike.

Your eyes drifted to the name found just below the picture, the name you didn't think you would find:

RYAN CHEN

You had just about heard the front door twist slowly open once more, the adrenaline was quick to make you panic, quickly throwing the ID card underneath his jacket, before slipping into the bathroom before he entered the room.

You had another shower and had opened the door to see him sat on the couch, staring off into space as if he was deep in thought. He didn’t seem to even sense you there. Your hands were shaking when you finally called to him after staring. “Ryan.”

You didn’t think he would react to the name being said aloud, but his head turned so quickly to look back on you, you feared he had gotten whiplash. It wasn’t long before he was standing in front of you, his eyes were so blown with fear that you could feel it radiate it off of him. A hand came to cradle the side of your face with a tenderness that it had made you flinch. “Is that your name?” You questioned softly.

He seemed to be fighting two sides in his mind, but it was more than an astounded you when he said, “Yes.” His voice was a soft timbre, mixed with hoarseness that almost made you back up from him in awe. “You can talk?” Your voice was gravelly, leaning into his touch against the side of your face.

“Sometimes,” he drawled thoughtfully, “it’s… been a while.”

The more you looked up at him, the more you saw the features that looked similar to what he had looked like on his ID, he was still there, and now, Ryan had an identity that hadn't been lost forever.

“Did you hide your ID from me? Or… did you want me to find it?”

“I wasn’t sure. It had been a long time since I had identified as him.” He said with a gentle doubt. “But I wanted you to know.” “You saved me that day,” you leant into the musky scent of his clothes, breathing in deeply. He had been oddly warmer than you had expected, “why?”

“I don’t remember when I last saw a living being, but you were brave and living.” He leant his forehead against yours. “I wanted to know what it felt like… to live again.”

“You’re more than that, Ryan,” you intertwined your fingers with his other hand, the grasp as affectionate as each other’s words. “you’re still to me very much alive.” His face came inches to your before his lips touched almost hesitantly against yours, the tenderness that you had expected when he pulled you in, as if he was trying to pull something from you that you didn’t know you held.

His lips were chapped yet welcoming, and you kissed him like he was the warmth you needed when you had been lonely for all those years, the loneliness you felt from missing another as you pulled him closer to you, both afraid of the other disappearing like a hallucination.

“Stay with me, as long as you can.” You promised him sweetly, running your fingers through his dark locks. Ryan smiled broadly, his smile seemed crooked but it was the sweetest sight to look at. “I won’t be going anywhere.” He pulled you close to his chest tautly. “Not without you.”

-

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[vitanitf]

BASIC QUESTIONS

First name? “Vitani.”

Surname? “Leu.”

Middle names? “Alala.”

Nicknames? “V.”

Date of birth? “August 20th, 1998.”

Age? “Twenty two.”

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

Height? “5′4.”

Weight? “121 pounds.”

Build? “Athletic.”

Hair color? “Pink right now.”

Hair style? “Buzzcut.”

Eye color? “Brown.”

Eye shape? “Shit, I don’t know. Deep set?”

Glasses or contact lenses? “I wasn’t born with no weak ass eyes.”

Distinguishing facial features? “Freckles.”

Which facial feature is most prominent? “My jawline.”

Which bodily feature is most prominent? “While I’d love to say my ass, I think it would be my arms.”

Other distinguishing features? “A shit ton of little scars.”

Skin? “Light.”

Hands? “Strong.”

Make up? “I do eyes and lips, that’s all. Eyeliner, lipstick. Eyeshadow and mascara if I’m feeling frisky.”

Scars? “Trust me, honey, someone like me has a lot of those.”

Birthmarks? “Wouldn’t you like to see?”

Tattoos? “None. Yet.”

Physical handicaps? “Non-existent.”

Type of clothes? “Depends on what kind of mood I’m in.”

How do you wear your clothes? “I’m guilty of a little tailoring if needed.”

What are your feet like? “What the fuck? Weirdo. Good enough, why? You want pictures?”

Race / Ethnicity? “Half black, half white.”

Mannerisms? “I’m a shifter. Always moving my weight from one leg to the other.”

Are you in good health? “Better be. I ain’t worked my ass off for nothing.”

Do you have any disabilities? “No.”

PERSONALITY

What words or phrases do you overuse? “Fuck, shit, Hell, ass, damn. Bitch too, if you catch me in a bad mood.”

Do you have a catchphrase? “What kind of cheesy ass bullshit would that be?”

Are you more optimistic or pessimistic? “Pessimistic.”

Are you introverted or extroverted? “Introverted.”

Do you ever put on airs? “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

What bad habits do you have? “Saying inappropriate things at inappropriate times. Wanting to punch something when I get pissed.”

What makes you laugh out loud? “People falling. Gets me every time.”

How do you display affection? “I don’t.”

Mental handicaps? “Listen, if I didn’t have any of those after my childhood, I’d be fucking unstoppable, huh?”

How do you want to be seen by others? “Important.”

How do you see yourself? “Lost.”

How are you seen by others? “Intimidating.”

Strongest character trait? “My independence.”

Weakest character trait? “My stubbornness.”

How competitive are you? “Hella.”

Do you make snap judgements or take time to consider? “I make snap judgements. I’m working on it, alright?”

How do you react to praise? “If I ever get any, I’ll let you know.”

How do you react to criticism? “I either get pissed or I try to do better. Or both. Usually both.”

What is your greatest fear? “That I can’t stop myself from turning into my mom.”

What are your biggest secrets? “I’ve done a lot of shit I’ll never repeat. I can’t.”

What is your philosophy of life? “I don’t know anymore. I’m just trying to go day by day.”

When was the last time you cried? “When I ended up at Kiara’s after beating the shit out of some poor girl in a club. First and last time I ever remember crying.”

What haunts you? “My past. A lot of it.”

What are your political views? “Anyone but Scar.”

What will you stand up for? “My beliefs, no matter how twisted or wrong or confused they may be. I think I’ve proved that point.”

Who do you quote? “No one.”

Are you indoorsy or outdoorsy? “Outdoorsy. I hate being inside too long. It feels like being a wild animal trapped in some tiny enclosure. I can’t stand it.”

What is your sinful little habit? “Oh, baby, I’ve got plenty of those.”

What sense do you most rely on? “You have to rely on all of them to get by. You can’t pick and choose. You have to keep them all sharp.”

How do you treat people better than them? “Excuse me? Who are you saying is better than me? At what?”

How do you treat people worse than them? “Depends what they’re worse at.”

What quality do you most value in a friend? “If I had friends, I assume it would be loyalty.”

What do you consider an overrated virtue? “Kindness.”

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? “I’d like to be content in my skin, not have to strive for approval anymore. It’s a hard habit o shake.”

What is your obsession? “Knives. God, I love knives.”

What are your pet peeves? “Hypocrites. Cutting in line. Loud ringers. Pop music. Too much traffic. Goody two shoes.”

What are your idiosyncrasies? “I lick my lips too damn much.”

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Is your family big or small? Who does it consist of? “As far as I’m concerned, there’s Nuka. That’s it.”

What is your perception of family? “It’s fucked up, it’s a trap, and you’re better off if you never have any.”

Do you have siblings? Older or younger? “Two brothers. I’m the middle child.”

Describe your best friend. “I don’t have one.”

Ideal best friend? “Someone that wouldn’t annoy the Hell out of me.”

Describe your other friends. “I don’t have friends.”

Describe your acquaintances. “Okay, those. They’re cool. I’d put Penelope, Sadie and my boss on that list.” 

Do you have any pets? “No.”

Who are your natural allies? “My brother.”

Who are your surprising allies? “I guess you could say Kiara.”

PAST AND FUTURE

What were you like as a baby? As a child? “Fucked up. I didn’t play with other kids. I wasn’t allowed to have friends. I went to school, I trained, I went to bed. A lot of times without dinner. I spent I don’t know how many nights listening to gunshots hoping we weren’t next. So, yeah. Fucked up.”

Did you grow up rich or poor? “Poor.”

Did you grow up nurtured or neglected? “What do you think?”

What is the most offensive thing you ever said? “How long do you got?”

What is your greatest achievement? “Making it out of that shithole alive.”

What was your first kiss like? “It wasn’t even a first kiss, it was a make out session during sex. I’ve never been kissed just to be kissed.”

What is the worst thing you did to someone you loved? “I let my family treat Nuka like shit, then I let him leave and I didn’t follow. I didn’t check up on him. I guess I thought… I guess I didn’t realize I had a choice, or how clear the right one was. There’s no excuse. I should’ve stood up for him.”

What are your ambitions? “I just want to do better.”

What advice would you give your younger self? “Run. As soon as you can, run as far as you can get. It has to be better than this.”

What smells remind you of your childhood? “Copper, mildew, sulfur and smoke.”

What was your childhood ambition? “To make mama and Scar proud.”

What is your best childhood memory? “You’re going to think I’m shitting you if I say I don’t have one, but I don’t have one.”

What is your worst childhood memory? “Oh, those, I’ve got a whole notebook of those.”

Did you have an imaginary childhood friend? “No.”

When was the last time you were crushed with disappointment? “When I was told to leave. Do you know what it feels like realizing your entire life was a goddamn lie? It’s maddening.”

What past act are you most ashamed of? “Thinking it was okay to live the way I was living.”

What past act are you most proud of? “Deciding I was going to move and move on. It took a push, but I decided to be a bigger person. I did that.”

Has anyone ever saved your life? “More than a few times. Where I grew up, if you’re not saving one another, you’re all fucked.”

Strongest childhood memory? “It was storming. We didn’t have any candles or lamps or nightlights. I remember wanting to run to Kovu’s room. I was so scared I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was just a kid… but I wasn’t allowed to be scared. So I laid there watching the lightning until I fell asleep.”

LOVE

Do you believe in love at first sight? “No.”

Are you in a relationship? “No.”

How do you behave in a relationship? “I wouldn’t know.”

When did you last have sex? “It’s been… what, a week?”

What sort of sex do you have? “I’m a little kinky. I’ll leave it at that.”

Have you ever been in love? “Hell no.”

Have you ever had your heart broken? “If you want to call it that.”

CONFLICT

How do you respond to a threat? “Threaten back.”

Are you most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? “Fists, but I can multitask if you want to keep it interesting.”

What is your kryptonite? “A hot girl. I’m putty in her hands.”

If you could only save one thing from your burning house, what would it be? “I don’t have anything worth saving.”

How do you perceive strangers? “Threats until proven otherwise.”

What do you love to hate? “Cockiness. It can be pretty damn sexy.”

What are your phobias? “I don’t have any.”

What is your choice of weapon? “Guns are more effective, but I’m a knife kid through and through.”

What living person do you most despise? “Zira.”

Have you ever been bullied or teased? “Kids were too afraid of me to tease me.”

Where do you go when you’re angry? “I’m trying to remember to just go away. Take a deep breath, count to ten, chill the fuck out. It’s really fucking hard.”

Who are your enemies and why? “The outsiders. I wasted two decades fighting tooth and nail for them. I put my life on the line. I gave them everything I had and more, and they turned their back on me. They can all rot in Hell.”

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

What is your current job? “I’m a bartender at the Pit Stop.”

What do you think about their current job? “It’s not a bad job. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills. The guy hired me on the spot. No experience. No nothing. I’ve got a lot of respect for Mr. McQueen.”

What are some of your past jobs? “You don’t wanna know.”

What are your hobbies? “It all revolves around combat training.”

Educational background? “High school GED.”

Intelligence level? “Higher than yours.”

Do you have any specialist training? “Twenty fucking years of it.”

Do you have a natural talent for something? “Yeah, martial arts and spear throwing.”

Do you play a sport? Are you any good? “I don’t play any sports, but trust me, I’d be good.”

What is your socioeconomic status? “I got too much other shit to worry about. Check back in a year or two.”

FAVORITES

What is your favorite animal? “Lions.”

Which animal do you dislike the most? “Giraffes. What do they even do with those long ass necks? Eat leaves? What a waste.”

What place would you most like to visit? “Africa.”

What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? “Don’t you dare laugh at me. I’ll fuck you up. There’s something about sunsets that always stops me in my tracks. I’m serious, not a giggle.”

What is your favorite song? “I don’t listen to music.”

Music, art, reading preferred? “Art.”

What is your favorite color? “Red.”

What is your password? “And why would I tell you that?” (576342rtsyssy572xlc2l)

Favorite food: “I’m partial to steak.”

What is your favorite work of art? “Dunno.”

Who is your favorite artist? “Dunno times two.”

What is your favorite day of the week? “There’s something about Thursdays that just feel right.”

POSSESSIONS

What is in your fridge? “I’m not gonna lie, it’s running low right now. I know there’s some strawberries and half a carton of milk left, probably not much else of mine.”

What is on your bedside table? “Glass of water, earbuds, phone charger, pocket knife, wallet. There’s a pistol in the drawer, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

What is in your car? “Don’t have one, but I left a spare charger in Nuka’s.”

What is in your bin? “It’s empty.”

What is in your purse or wallet? “ID. Fake ID, just in case. Cash. Debit card, credit card. Some grocery rewards card I got talked into signing up for. Oh, and a coupon for Fudge Stripes, I need to remember to get those before it expires.”

What is in your pockets? “A knife.”

What is your most treasured possession? “My most expensive sword. It’s not that expensive, I found it at a thrift store, but I fixed that baby up.”

SPIRITUALITY

Who or what is your guardian angel? “I’m not buying that I have one.”

Do you believe in the afterlife? “There’s gotta be something. There’s too many people I know that deserve to burn in Hell.”

What are your religious views? “Don’t really have any.”

What do you think heaven is? “Dunno.”

What do you think hell is? “A well deserved torture chamber.”

Are you superstitious? “Eh.”

What would you like to be reincarnated as? “Some big cat. That’d be really fucking cool. If not a lion, a tiger or a cougar or something. But not in a zoo. Hell no.”

How would you like to die? “I hope I go out in a blaze of glory.”

What is your spirit animal? “Lioness.”

What is your zodiac sign? “Leo.”

VALUES

What do you think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? “Taking everything from them.”

What is your view of ‘freedom’? “Not being forced to do anyone’s biding.”

When did you last lie? “It’s been awhile now.”

What’s your view of lying? “Don’t lie to me. Sometimes it’s gotta be done. But don’t you dare lie to me.”

When did you last make a promise? “I don’t make promises.”

Did you keep or break their last promise? “I’d probably break them. That’s why I don’t make promises.”

DAILY LIFE

What are your eating habits? “I have trouble remembering to eat, so sit’s a little sketchy, I’m working on it.”

Do you have any allergies? “Nope.”

Describe your home. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve ever had.”

Are you a minimalist or a clutter hoarder? “I’m a minimalist.”

What do you do first thing on a weekday morning? “Look outside.”

What do you do on a Sunday afternoon? “Work, usually.”

What do you do on a Friday night? “Stay up too late.”

What is your soft drink of choice? “I don’t like soda.”

What is your alcoholic drink of choice? “I lack too much experience to choose.”

MISCELLANEOUS

What or who would you dress up as for Halloween? “Dressed up as a kickboxer once, I think that’s it.”

Are you comfortable with technology? “Yeah. I guess. What does that mean?”

If you could save one person, who would it be? “Nuka.”

If you could call one person for help, who would it be? “Nuka.”

What is your greatest extravagance? “Don’t have much of one.”

What is your greatest regret? “Wasting so much of my life to come out empty handed.”

What is your perception of redemption? “All I know is I’m trying.”

What would you do if you won the lottery? “Buy Nuka and I a real place instead of an apartment.”

What is your favorite fairytale? “Hansel and Gretel.”

What fairytale do you hate? “Jack and the Beanstalk. It’s fucking stupid.”

Do you believe in happy endings? “No.”

What is your idea of perfect happiness? “I don’t know if it exists.”

What would you ask a fortune teller? “Where do I end up?”

If you could travel through time, where would you go? “Back to the start. Redo it all. Right this time.”

What sport do you excel at? “Never played much sports.”

What sport do you suck at? “I don’t.”

If you could have a superpower, what would you choose? “Shapeshifting. That’d be fucking cool. Turn into a mouse, squeeze in a crack, turn into a bear and rip someone’s fucking face off if you need to.”

[yodawgiherd]

Incantation of Incineration pt.2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

As we were blessed by a continuation of the GODLIKE fanart, I have decided to keep my word (for once). Check the picture out if you didn't yet, you are missing out O_O -----> https://twitter.com/NxngOna/status/1388902556693405706/photo/1 Anyway, this one is a bit longer and a tad more sinful than the first one, so beware. Unless you are here for the filth, that is.

How does one control a demon?

That was the question at the forefront of Mikasa’s mind in the last week. Despite her doubts, despite all of her previous bad luck she finally managed to summon one but he was not obeying her in the slightest. The opposite in fact, she very much remembered his whispered threatening question.

“Do you feel in power?”

She didn’t, not back then, and Mikasa wanted to be prepared for the next time. Of course that there would be a next time! She had so many questions to ask, so many wishes to fulfill so many…

Ok, easy, first the controlling part.

The last time he was here the Demon was doing whatever he wanted. While it was only eating her out, for some reason, it was done out of his will and the goth was simply swept in it. Never again. Next time they meet, she will be the one in control.

Yet it was hard to fulfill such a wish.

The internet gave her dozens of websites, hundreds of articles and discussions, but combing through them Mikasa didn’t see anything that caught her interest. Searching the amazing book she found in the library, she didn’t find any help there either. If there was a demon-binding ritual, she missed it.

In her anguish the goth asked the smartest person she knew – her friend Armin.

“Ar, any idea how I could control a demon?”

He looked at her, pushing his glasses up a bit.

“What are you talking about?”

“I summoned one last week but I couldn’t make him do what I wanted.”

“I see…”, he didn’t believe her, of course he didn’t, but Mikasa didn’t mind that.

He would still help her because Armin was a ray of sunshine and the best friend a girl could ask for.

“Any specifics about this demon?”, he asked, “Might help me in my search.”

“Well, he was human-looking, but with horns and black claws. He also had strange markings under his eyes and there were torn shackles at his wrists.”

“Horns, markings, shackles…”, dutiful as ever, Armin marked it all down, “Okay, I’ll do some searching and see what I can find.”

Leaning over Mikasa hugged him, whispering a quiet thank you into his ear.

As always, Armin delivered.

It was in the evening when Mikasa was laying on her bed, eyes rowing over the text in her new spellbook when her phone pinged.

A: Found an article that matches the demon you told me about. Apparently you can bind him to you by the shackles.

M: what do I have to do?

A: You need a key which you have, use the one you keep wearing.

Mikasa did like to wear an old key around her neck, an old trinket she didn’t even remember where it came from.

A: The spell is described in the article, use that and the “Demon” should obey :)

Yea. “Demon”. Whatever.

M: thx, I owe you one <3

Opening the link Mikasa’s eyes quickly scanned the spell, muttering under her breath. She lacked a few key ingredients, the biggest one being a live bird (?) for some reason. The required red scarf – that was another thing that Mikasa owned, making her wonder just what kind of spell this was.

Luckily her parents were gone on another business trip and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks, giving her ample time to gather these things. She bought a canary in a pet shop, a new set of black candles and few flowers. Back home she made those into a flower crown, just as the spell required.

In the middle of the room stood the birdcage, the canary watching Mikasa prance around. The key was put in front of the cage, the flower crown around it. Last the scarf – the goth circled it around the crown before putting the candles in required positions, lighting them up.

There, that should be everything.

Keeping the article open on her phone Mikasa began chanting, strange words once again leaving her lips. Whatever those meant she had no idea, but the effect was almost immediate. First of all the candles snuffed out. Then the flower crown caught fire, burning into nothing in a split second. After that the scarf moved, flying towards her and wrapping itself around her neck without anyone touching it. Last it was the key – it turned on the ground with a screech and suddenly the birdcage sprung open, the canary flapping its wings and disappearing out of the window in a split second.

Mikasa stared at it all with wide eyes.

Well, that was quite something. When everything calmed and nothing moved anymore, she concluded the ritual. Hiding the birdcage and scarf and putting the key back around her neck, the goth prepared the usual pentagram with candles, pulling out the knife. Ready to cut herself under the eye again, she said the spell, raising the blade to her skin.

Yet before it could make contact, the smoke explosion was back.

Knocking her backward same as before, the Demon was there in full glory, eyes immediately flying to Mikasa. Thin lips twisted into a grin that exposed the sharp teeth.

“You don’t have to cut yourself anymore, my beauty, I have your scent now. When you call me, I will answer.”

Collecting herself from the ground, Mikasa took a deep breath and straightened, staring the demon in the eye. With just a slightly trembling hand she gripped the key around her neck, thrusting it towards him. It glowed, his shackles did too, and the demon’s face changed from smug to surprised.

“What is this?” he wondered out loud, raising his hand to inspect the torn chains.

“A spell I used.”, Mikasa said triumphantly, all giddy inside that it worked, “I bound you, you are now under my control.”

“Is that so…”

Slow, testing, he took a step towards her, the chains rattling slightly. Summoning all her mental strength Mikasa stood fast, clutching the key like a lifeline.

“S-Stop!”, she commanded the demon, praying to the dark god that the spell will work.

The demon’s whole body shook as he tried to take another step, muscles refusing to move.

“You…”, his eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint entering them, “You don’t know what you are playing with…”

With a grunt he threw himself against the invisible bonds, straining.

“Release me! Or I will make you regret it.”

Despite all these dangerous words, despite all the threats he was forced to stand still and Mikasa felt her lips curving into a smile. She won. Finally, she had a demon under her control.

“I don’t think that I want to do that.”, confident she circled the frozen statue, admiring his body now that she could take a good look, “I think that I will keep you.”

He had a lot of scars, crisscrossing all over his skin, cuts of all shapes and sizes. Fascinated by one that went around his throat, Mikasa reached out, running her fingers over it.

And that was a mistake.

Fast as lighting the demon’s hand caught her wrist, pulling her body against his. Suddenly staring upwards into his smirk, Mikasa felt all her newfound confidence melting away because there was pure rage hidden in the emerald orbs.

“That was a good spell you had prepared, witch, but unfortunately for you, I am very good at attaining my freedom.”

“I-…”, she tried defending herself but the demon wouldn’t let her speak.

His other hand came up, circling Mikasa’s neck and for a second she feared that he will choke her to death. That fear didn’t come true as instead of pressure she could feel his fingers drawing patterns into her skin.

“Let’s see how you like being controlled.”, he whispered, and suddenly there was searing pain on Mikasa’s neck.

She stumbled backward, released from his embrace, and fell to her knees, hands clutching her throat. It burned like hell itself and Mikasa screamed in pain, but as quickly as it appeared it was gone, leaving nothing but a memory in its wake.

Or not, as there was something hugging her neck now.

Carefully tracing the thing with her fingertips Mikasa identified a new choker. She had one before, a simple strip of black leather, but this one was different. It was more like a tight collar, adorned with metal spikes all around.

“How does it feel, being collared like a dog?”, the demon rumbled, getting her attention.

“I… Strange.”, she gulped, realizing that having this “gift” from a demon might not be a good thing for her wellbeing,  “C-Can you take it off?”

“I can but I’m not going to. First I have to show you what amazing things it can do.”, he pointed one black claw towards the magic book, lying on Mikasa’s bed, “You do love spells, don’t you? And what better magic is there than demonic one.”

“Wha-“

Again, the demon didn’t let her finish.

“What’s your name?”, he asked.

Mikasa didn’t want to tell him. Names had power, even more so in magic, and telling yours to a demon is a bad move. But as soon as the question left his lips she found herself answering, unable to stop the words from tumbling out.

“Mikasa Ackerman.”

He grinned upon seeing her confusion.

“See? I own you now, mortal. As long as the collar is on you, I can make you do anything I want.”, his eyes raked all over her body, a hunger appearing in them – the same one that was there the last time they were together.

“Anything…”

The thin, abnormally long tongue slid out of his mouth, licking his lips.

“And there is a lot I want to do with you.”

Despite literally owning her right now, Mikasa didn’t hear any malicious intent in his voice. There was the primal hunger, lust, and also a fair bit of anger but no real hate or resentment. He would make her pay, but it would not be done in a way that she couldn’t handle.

The implications left not only a tingle of fear in her, but also a tingle of arousal, and the goth unconsciously pressed her thighs together to hide it. Only it didn’t escape the demon’s ever-seeing gaze.

“Stand up.”, was his next order and Mikasa did so, body moving on its own.

“Take off your skirt.”, this time her face boiled red as she mechanically obeyed, and still the demon wasn’t done with humiliating her, “And your stockings too.”

Just as she unclipped the first garter, a new order followed.

“Do it slowly. Give me a nice show, I like watching you.”

And she did so, rolling the black material down her legs in the most sensual way she could muster, unwilling and unable to meet the demon’s eyes. She could feel them though, as his gaze burned its way all over her pale legs, now bare of any clothing. With her lower half in nothing but the black panties Mikasa straightened, waiting on the next command from her infernal master.

He was breathing heavily now, she could hear, every exhale laden with maddening hunger for her. Watching her undress got all the fires going, it would seem.

“As much as I would like to get on with the fun, I do have to punish you for trying to bind me.”, he twirled his long fingers, “Turn around and bend over, hands on the bed.”

Again, her body mechanically obeyed, turning around and bending over, exposing her ass to him. And what an ass it was, even better than the demon remembered. Pale, firm, and perfectly shaped, the memories of it in his hands made his mouth go dry. Not to mention the thighs right under, because those deliciously thick and muscled legs…. He was beyond hungry.

Not yet, he reminded himself, first the punishment. Then the fun.

There was a clink behind her and because peeking was not forbidden she looked over her shoulder, seeing that one of the multiple belts came loose from the demon’s black pants. He was twisting the leather between his fingers, snapping it.

The image itself was almost enough to make her fall on her face.

“I believe that a few lashes with the belts will do you good, wouldn’t you agree?”

It wasn’t an order, she realized, it was a question. The demon, a literal demon from hell, was asking her consent. Normally that situation would be so funny that Mikasa would burst out laughing, but that did not fit what was happening inside her body.

Logically she should say no, of course, but logic didn’t have a place here. She summoned a demon – one that gave her some incredible oral pleasure during their first encounter, one she tried to bind, unsuccessfully, and one that was about to give her some good old spanking in retaliation.

Fuck, she wanted it, she wanted it so much.

Biting her bottom lip Mikasa nodded, but the demon wasn’t satisfied with that.

“Words, Mikasa, use those.”

This time it was an order but he didn’t use the magic collar and when the goth girl spoke it was completely out of her free will.

“Yes, I deserve it.”

“Were you a bad girl?”

“I was… I was a bad girl, sir.”

Mikasa added that last bit unconsciously, and from the deep grumble she could guess the effect it had on the demon. Ooh, he liked that.

“Where I come from, there is plenty of sinners like that, so I have a good idea on how to fix you.”, the buckle clinked as he swayed the belt, “I want you to count the lashes, can you do that for me?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

A satisfied huff and a bit of silence after, making Mikasa wonder if…

The first blow landed on her ass, the slap of leather against skin loud. Taken by surprise she cried out, the flare of pain running through the whole body.

“One.”, she pushed out and was rewarded by a second sting. It was painful, sure, but it also sent pleasurable tremors towards her core. Mikasa was always a bit of pain enjoyer, and this rough treatment was something from her wildest dreams. Being punished by a demon was more like fanfiction than reality, but it was happening to her -right here and right now, and she couldn’t be more turned on.

By the fifth hit, there were tears in her eyes.

By the tenth she was dancing on her toes, clenching against the belt.

Fifteen was enough to satisfy the sadistic demon, and when she cried that number through her tears, the belt dropped to the ground. Suddenly Mikasa was picked up, turned around, and practically slammed against the wall. Her legs automatically hooked around the demon’s waist while his hands held her, one around the neck while the other caught her wrist and pressed it against the wall, immobilizing her.

He was sweating, droplets of liquid sliding over his scarred skin but it wasn’t because of the physical exertion. No, it was caused by the inhuman effort it took to hold himself back from ravaging the teary-eyed goth right here and there.

Even as a demon, he had certain standards.

“You took the whipping well, too well even. Tell me, do you like pain?”

“A little bit…”, she muttered, very conscious of the fire raging between her slick thighs.

A grin spread across his handsome features, the demon couldn’t help but admire her face, now that they were this close. Her grey eyes were regarding him with a hint of fear in them, but there was also the undeniable arousal smoldering, and he wanted to see that fire burn.

Letting go of her for a second the demon grabbed the bottom of her black top, bunched between their bodies, and pulled upwards, revealing her chest. Nice pair of firm tits, covered by a simple black bra, just as pale as the rest of her.

Fuck, he wanted to suck on them.

Returning his hand to its previous place, anchoring Mikasa’s wrist against the wall, the demon spoke up.

“I punished you so now we can move on to a more pleasurable activity. However - I may be a damned soul but despite your stunts I do not wish to force myself on you. So I’ll ask now, and I order you to answer me truthfully – do you want me to go on?”

The goth girl in his arms shook with what he guessed was pure lust, squirming against the restrictive hold he had on her body. Her midnight hair slid over his nose, the addictive scent reminding the demon of just how amazing she tasted.

Forcing himself to wait was torture, yet he held on.

Meanwhile, Mikasa’s mind was doing leaps and bounds all over the room. Her ass hurt but it was nothing compared to what was happening in the other place – she was beyond wet at this point, so turned on that stopping her hips from rubbing on the demon’s amazingly muscles stomach was a chore. Yes, she had to prevent herself from humping him like a sex-starved maniac. His words weren’t an order, just like last time, and when Mikasa spoke it was her own lust doing the talking, nothing else.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to touch you?”, he continued.

“Yes.”

“Now…”, he leaned closer, next words a whisper, “ Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Hng... I…”

“Answer!”

“Y-YES! Please!”

The self-satisfied smirk grew even wider.

“Well, all you had to do was ask…”

Letting go of her wrist for the second time the demon moved his hand between her legs, rubbing her place of weakness through the dark underwear.

“So wet for me, so willing…”, gently he nudged her face with his nose, rubbing skin on skin, “Is this what you want so much? To be railed by a demon?”

PleasePleasePlease

Unable to speak from the sheer amount of want inside her, Mikasa settled on nodding rapidly.

The hand moved again, much to her dismay, this time stopping in front of Mikasa’s face. A bit of transmutation magic later the claws were gone, replaced by black fingernails.

“Open.”, an order this time and Mikasa’s mouth fell open immediately.

Pushing his fingers between her lips, a new command followed.

“Suck.”

Again she obeyed, swiping her tongue alongside those long digits.

“As much as I want to take you right now, I must stretch you out a bit first.” The demon went on monologuing, his eyes glued to her face, “I’d prefer it if you screamed in pleasure when I fuck you, not in pain.”

Those words went right into Mikasa’s core as she throbbed, impatient to finally have him touch her. Maybe sensing her eagerness the demon pulled the fingers out, dropping his hand between her legs instead. Panties nudged aside and suddenly he was rubbing her directly, fingers parting her dripping pink lips. A slight tap on her swollen clit had her gasping for air, but the opened mouth proved to be a mistake.

The demon practically attacked her, lurching forward to press his lips against hers. The abnormal tongue was back, once again slipping into her mouth and caressing the familiar places. At the same time, his digits finally pushed inside her, slipping into Mikasa’s wetness with a somewhat disgusting sound. The moan forced from her throat by the penetration was swallowed by him, keeping her silent.

For now.

Even without the main treat it was still a full meal. The demon fingered her expertly, curving his digits to rub the good places inside while also keeping his thumb occupied by toying with Mikasa’s clit. The kisses were rough and breathtaking, sucking any oxygen from her and he only left her lips to attack the neck instead, biting and kissing everywhere, renewing the faded lovebites from a week ago. Again and again, those sharp teeth sunk into the porcelain skin and Mikasa felt like she was going to go crazy.

Not even fucking her yet but she was already on the edge. The demon sensed it, of course, having his fingers deep inside her, feeling the contractions of her walls grow faster and more desperate. Smirking into her skin, a single word fell from his lips.

“No.”

The collar burned around Mikasa’s throat and she found her body obeying, disregarding her wishes. On the edge but not falling, she found herself unable to climax, somehow being prevented from doing so by vile demon magic.

“You bast-“

Her protest was cut short because her lips were slammed by his own, stealing Mikasa’s ability to express herself. Whining in protest she was rudely ignored by the demon, who took his time to scissor the fingers inside her instead, stretching her open, preparation for what was to come.

Despite being denied her release Mikasa’s body was more than enjoying this. She was moaning into the kiss, writhing on his fingers, ready and waiting for him. Seven hells be damned, he couldn’t wait any longer. Tearing the panties away with a flick of his wrist and letting his pants dissolve into a puff of black smoke, the demon grabbed his painfully hard length as he angled it correctly against the inviting wetness.

Push.

Mikasa’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open when she felt the head of his member parting her. She didn’t get a chance to look at it but judging from how it felt the demon was rather well endowed. The girth was impressive, stretching her beyond anything she felt before right down to her limits. This was a lot she was taking, and the demon was unyielding, hands gripping her waist as he impaled her, inch by inch. Insistent he forced himself in and Mikasa couldn’t do anything about it.

Yet her body accommodated to this fullness and the unpleasant feeling was replaced by a pleasant one. He went on and on until she feared that he will ram himself all the way into her guts but just as she was about to ask him to stop, the demon was fully sheathed.

Mikasa had never felt this filled in her life. The head of his member was pressed against the deepest part of her sex, no more space and no more length combining.

“Fuck,”, he cursed, “we fit together perfectly.”

On her part the goth couldn’t say a word, so full of him that thinking was impossible. Not that the demon mind that.

Gripping her waist he slowly pulled out, letting his length rub all the nice places inside her. When only the tip remained he reversed his move, pushing in again. In it went with a wet sound, out it went glistening with her juices, and he almost went feral upon seeing that.

Pushing down the need to ravage her, to split her open by ramming himself inside with full strength he continued this gentle dance of his hips, forcing her body to get used to him. Only when he felt her muscles weakening - when she gave way did he speed up.

In and out like a jackhammer, the demon was finally rutting into her with added strength and Mikasa couldn’t take it. She whined and moaned and gasped, unable to control her body at all. Her head fell back, knocking at the wall while her fingers curved against his back. She was holding onto him for dear life, black fingernails creating bloody lines in their path and adding to the plethora of scars on the demon’s back.

Still she couldn’t climax, still the collar’s magic prevented her from doing so and the goth could feel her sanity slipping away. She would beg if she could but Mikasa’s voice wasn’t of any use to her, anytime she opened her mouth only a sound of pure pleasure came out.

Helplessly open, Mikasa’s “Ah-Ah-Ah” was a direct feed to the demon’s ego. Oh, and what an egoist he was. Her voice was one thing, but when she throbbed down there – that was a feeling the demon etched into his memory with each thrust.

Edged, led on, and denied with the orgasm at the border of her vision, Mikasa was truly losing it.

She couldn’t speak so she screamed, screamed in pure desperation because the demon was now ramming the deepest part of her over and over again, grunting into her neck. Mentally she begged – with her eyes, with her touches, with her legs that squeezed his waist.

This was some truly hardcore fucking she was on the receiving end of, and Mikasa needed to let go, she would go crazy otherwise. The coil in her stomach was wound impossibly tight but unable to snap and it was getting too much to handle. The tears that fell from the grey eyes slipped over the red cheeks and landed on the demon’s body, finally waking him up from whatever pit of pleasure he was in.

Watching her, listening to her, and feeling her all around him, the demon deemed the punishment complete. Not even slowing down in the wild hammering of his hips, the slaps of flesh against flesh echoing through the room, he spoke. Three words, one sentence, and it was the most beautiful sound that Mikasa ever heard in her life.

“Cum for me.”

The collar’s magic was gone, the barrier dissipated, the coil snapped and the dam broke. Mikasa howled, her eyes rolling back and vision going white, black spots dancing all over it. The orgasm ripped through her entire being, from the tips of her curled toes to the ends of her sweat-matted midnight hair. She clutched to the demon because he was the only link to reality that she had, and the goth had to hold onto something otherwise her mind threatened to break completely, swept away by the overwhelming raw pleasure.

Sensing that if he kept it up she would truly go insane the demon slowed down, letting himself fully enjoy this feeling. Her walls fluttered like the wings of a trapped butterfly, the already tight passage grew even tighter and pulsed around his whole length. It felt amazing, out of this world and if he wasn’t a demon he would call it heavenly.

The slight wiggle of her hips woke him up from that place, putting him back to reality. Mikasa was watching him with wide grey eyes, pupils completely blown, the movements suggesting that she wanted to go down from her perch against the wall. She probably thought that this was it, that one mind-shattering orgasm is enough of a gift.

She was wrong.

“None of that.,” he denied her, tightening his grip on her sweat-slicked body, “I am far from being done with you.”

With those words, the most intense night of the goth’s life began.

During his aggressive fucking Mikasa’s remaining clothes, namely the black top and bra, were torn to shreds, leaving her in nothing but the spiked collar around her neck. In some strange need to bare her completely the demon even snapped her own choker away, leaving only the one he gifted her on.

The key was also allowed to stay and it dangled uselessly between her now fully exposed breasts, reminding Mikasa of her failed attempt to capture the demon. Now she was paying for it, when his sharp teeth closed around a nipple, sweetly tormenting the sensitive flesh.

Overall the demon took his time with her chest, kissing, licking, groping, and biting all over her breasts. Her chest was ravaged and Mikasa was bound to have so many bruises bloom on the skin tomorrow. Yet that was a problem for the future Mikasa to handle, the current one cared only about how great it felt, to have the demon’s teeth and tongue all over her tits.

She was taken in more positions and in more places than Mikasa could even count. The bastard spiked her pleasure with pain, slapping her ass while taking her from behind, irritating the welts that didn’t even get a chance to fully form.

Every suitable, and some unsuitable, place in her room was defiled by their activities as she was being maneuvered here and there by his unyielding touch. The demon expertly shifted his torment from denial to overstimulation, giving her more than she could handle and then some. He fucked her right into an orgasm and then right through it, holding her writhing body as she lost her consciousness in an unending stream of pleasure.

A sharp bite into the neck woke her, but if Mikasa thought that she was getting a break she was wrong. It felt like the longest night of the goth’s life and it was far from over.

Mikasa came a lot, losing count early into the debauchery, but the demon never finished, holding his release back. He also never tired, his demonic stamina far outpacing the one of a poor mortal. While at the start Mikasa was an active participant in their activities, by the end of it she was practically limp, praying to the dark god that she will survive this endless assault on her body and mind.

When the morning sun peeked at them from behind the windows, when the demon saw that his partner was on the verge of total blackout from sheer exhaustion, slipping in and out of consciousness, did he allow his iron self-control to break.

Coherent enough to pull out at least, he decorated her muscled stomach with spurts of unnaturally hot release. Wouldn’t want any half-demons running around now, would he? It was a lot, a night's worth of it, and Mikasa felt some splash as high as her face, but she was too far gone to care. Being a perfect demonic gentleman he even cleaned after himself with a muttered spell.

Only after himself though, so Mikasa’s filth was left behind for her to take care of. Whatever it was the limitation of the spell or just the demon’s twisted sense of humor, that would remain a mystery.

Just like that, it was over.

He was slipping out of her embrace and soon would be gone, leaving Mikasa with nothing but the ache and exhaustion. A deep part of her needed something, anything to hold onto, a word to connect these memories to, and “the demon” didn’t cut it anymore. She reached out, weakly grasping his wrist but he didn’t pull away, turning back to look at her.

“Please…”, she whispered, only half-coherent, “What’s your name?”

“My name? Demon’s names have powers, great powers, we do not give it lightly.”

“You know mine, it’s only fair.”

He snorted.

“A mortal name in exchange for an eternal one? Hardly equal.”

“Please…”, she begged again, “I want to remember you by it.”

For some reason he couldn’t explain, those words were tugging at the very base of the demon’s existence. He shouldn’t be this affected yet this mortal, this exhausted, sweaty, and filthy mess that could hardly string two words together after a night of demonic sex, this bundle of trembling muscles and pale skin marked by blooming bruises he left behind, this beautiful piece of ass that was welted by his belt just had power over him.

It wasn’t any spell the demon knew, but it was perhaps the most powerful pull he ever felt in his whole damned existence. He couldn’t say no to her.

He simply couldn’t.

“Eren.”, he said, “My name is Eren.”

Leaning down he pushed some of the sweat matted hair away from her angelic face.

“I hope that I won’t have to wait long until you summon me again, Mikasa.”

Giving in to the temptation the demon pressed a last kiss to her forehead, strangely loving and very un-demonic. And with that he was gone, disappearing back to wherever he came from.

On the ruined bed Mikasa sighed, already missing his warmth.

Was there a way to make him stay longer? Maybe even… permanently? The thought of having a full-time demon boyfriend made her giggle and she pressed her face into the pillow to muffle it.

The leather choker-slash-collar was still on her neck, gently tight around the skin, most likely left behind as a gift, and Mikasa already knew that it would become her everyday accessory. The spiked looked might be a bit too aggressive for most people, but she couldn’t care less. It was a gift from a demon, her demon, and she would treasure it.

Eren. His name was Eren and she would be seeing him again.

Soon.

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (14)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

Rage... A sudden outburst of this emotion can turn a man into a real beast. A lot of things can make you get angry. Most often, it’s when someone is attacking your loved ones. And when you end up finding those responsible... let's say doctors have a hard time repairing some of the body members.

But when rage takes a narcissistic and sadistic assassin like Danny... Well, it's like you're treating of beast... A beast. He had spent the whole night looking for the one who stabbed you, thinking and imagining how he would take care of his "guest". He wasn't angry because that man wanted to steal the show by killing you, no... He was DRUNK with rage because that filthy bastard wanted to KILL you. If there's someone who has to scare you... if there is someone who has to hurt you... if there is someone who has to kill you... That's him. him and him ONLY.

He had fallen asleep in his office, passing his rage on the photo of McKellan who was unrecognizable, the knife planted on McKellan's forehead. He was lying on the couch with his glasses resting on the little table next to him, a plaid serving as a blanket. He moaned slightly and moved a little in all directions. Like when a child has a nightmare. And he had one. He remembered the long corridors, the nurses and doctors who passed through the rooms, the patients who were lying in their beds, others in wheelchairs and.... That door. This room: number 012. That's where she was... that's where she...

“Danny...”  

He awoke startling, drops of sweat beading on his forehead, panting as if he had run a marathon. The simple fact of having seen the façade of the hospital in which you are... brought him back bad memories. He thought he would never go back, he never wanted to go back... and yet... He got up, left his office to go into the bathroom, and put some water on his face. He needed to wake up. As he wiped his face with a towel, his phone rang. Mattew or Melina, probably.

“Hello?” Danny said, his voice sounded tired.  

“Hi Jed...it’s me Mattew... I know it's a silly question after what happened yesterday but...how are you? You seem tired. I don't mind you, do I?” said Mattew embarrassed.

“You never bother me, you know that. I... let's say I had better nights... I'm worried about (Y/N) . Even though I know she's safe there. How about you?”

“I didn't sleep better than you if it makes you feel better... Neither did Melina. The boss called me... you don't need to come to work if you don't have the strength. You can work quietly at home until you feel able to come back.” replied Mattew.  

“That's nice of him... I'll be back on Monday morning... I think I'll take advantage of this weekend to... to clear my mind. And go and see her. Until she got out of the hospital.” said Danny, rubbing his eyes.

“Do you feel able to go on your own? Do you want us to come with you? Because yesterday you were completely... paralyzed at the thought of getting inside.

If only you knew the reason, poor man...that's way too personal for Danny to talk about. But if he ever has to talk about it... there is one person, whom he "judges" worthy of being aware of.... It's you. Of course, he'll have to change two or three little things.

“Jed?” ask Mattew on the other line.  

“Sorry, I was somewhere else. I promised her I would go and see her. Then I'd go. Don't worry about me. I think I'll be fine on my own. I’m sorry but, I have things to do before I go to see her. Say hello to everyone for me. And don't forget to tell the boss.” respond Danny.

“Sure! Rest well Jeddy! See you Monday then!”

Danny hung up before returning to his office, putting on his glasses and removing the knife from his hunting board. He observed the photo, at least what was left of it, a bad look, but a crazy smile on his face. Oh, when he finally gets his hands on him... He's going to torture him like never before. A slow, painful, unbearable agony, before slaughtering him, tearing his skin, making him so unrecognizable that no one will be able to approach his corpse without immediately throwing up on him. He will no longer have the skin on his bones... it will only be a putrefaction heap.

Mike was a work of art... But McKellan will become a masterpiece. A bloody, twisted, disturbing masterpiece. The most beautiful trace of his existence, the most beautiful signature of Ghostface. And when it's over... He will ensure that no one comes near you. As I said, Danny does not share what belongs to him. And he intends to make it clear.

It's amazing that we found the headless body of the dealer but not the body of Mike as well as the photos... and his basement of fantasies. Danny had worked on it more than on the other and he felt a bit vexed. But sooner or later...someone will find him. And with the bloody arrows Danny left on the walls, he's not going to get lost. It's so nice of him that he surprises himself.  

Well... it's time for him to get ready, he said he'd come to see you, and he will. But first he had to go to the police station, witnessing what happened, the police asked him to come to hear his testimony as well as the description of your attacker. If only they knew who they were going to welcome, just thinking they were getting a poor witness... It's no longer taunting the police at this level, it's this openly mocking them.

And then he's going to do something he hasn't done in years... buy a bouquet of flowers. For you. Even if the beauty of the flowers will never surpass yours. His sweet little angel. What kind of friend would "Jed" be to you if he came with nothing? Of course, you wouldn't mind, but for Danny who has studied other people's stupid behaviours, bringing flowers is always well seen. And "Jed" is supposed to behave like that.

He tied his hair, put his glasses back in place, took his bag and left his apartment to go to his van. It’s not the desire that he lacked to go sneak into your apartment but, the police of this small town are not very friendly when the person they summon doesn’t respect the schedules. And for the moment he must not draw suspicions on him. Brush the police in the direction of the hair during the day, provoke them and humiliate them at night. So far, that's what he's always done. And that always worked.  

The police station... hmph. For Danny, getting in is like letting the wolf into the sheepfold, or a demon going to heaven. How ironic... But funny. He pushed the door and went to the reception to show his summons. The policeman showed him the way and knocked on the door of the man who was handling the case: Inspector Daniel Wilhelm. What a surprise... Wilhem was also in charge of the Ghostface murders... It's a small world. Or he did it on purpose.

“Inspector Wilhem...” said Danny with a smirk.

“Jed Olsen... Of all the witnesses who could have been there... You must have been in the heap. Are you going to follow me until I die?”

“I can turn the question over to you... But you didn't summon me to talk about coincidences and fate, did you?”  

“No. Take a seat. Coffee?” said Wilhelm turning his back on Danny to serve himself a cup of coffee.

“No thanks.”  

Wilhelm relocated to his office, taking out all the necessary to record the testimony and called a graphic designer for the description of the suspect. Danny told everything that had happened this morning, down to the smallest detail. Wilhelm asked questions as he went to see if there was a special connection between you and your attacker. Then came the portrait of the aggressor that Danny described without any problem, this idiot had his face completely uncovered... Amateur. The whole thing lasted many hours and once the graphic designer left and the deposition signed, Danny put his stuff in his bag.

“You said you suspect a certain... McKellan to be the instigator of this... attempted murder. Do you have any proof of that? Because such an accusation can cost you dearly if you're wrong, Olsen.” said Wilhelm looking at the file and then Danny.

“Well, he threatened her for a simple order that she could not carry out; And I know that this man is not the type to stop at the legal means to get satisfaction.” said Danny without looking away from the inspector.

“Always sticking your nose all over Olsen.... You're worse than a weasel. It will also cost you dearly one day …"  

“If it's to allow people to discover the truth down to the smallest detail, even the most disturbing, I don't give a shit about dying, Wilhelm...”

“Tsk...By the way Mike Harris' name must be familiar to you, right? It seems to me that he was working with you... Do you know if he had any connection to drug trafficking?”  

“I don't get myself into the lives of my colleagues... but recently I learned that he had big addiction problems, which would explain why he went after me and my colleagues... Why this question?”

“We found the headless body of a guy last night... autopsy revealed a high level of cocaine... and apparently after doing some research, we discover that he was a dealer and Mike was one of his regular clients. But if you don't know... I'm not going to hold you any longer. You can leave Olsen.”

Danny got up and left the police station after shaking Wilhelm's hand. Once outside, he insulted Wilhelm in a low voice before getting in the car and going to buy flowers. Then he drove to Zanesville Hospital. He went to the reception where he asked for your room number. He remained frozen for a few seconds when the young woman in the reception told him that you were in room 012...They say history repeats itself but... that's too much.

What are the chances that two people from his entourage, two women, will end up in the hospital, in the same room? knowing that this happens years after she... Danny clutched the bouquet in his hands and inhaled deeply before knocking on the door of your room. He waited for you to allow him to enter, to open the door and face you, his eternal angelic smile on his lip.

“Jed! I’m glad to see you!”  you said happily, as if nothing had happened.

“Hey...” he starts before giving the bouquet of flowers. “I'm not an expert in flowers... and I don't know your tastes but... I thought you'd like iris flowers.”

“Hawn you’re so sweet...you don’t have to Jed...Thank you. Don’t stay there, take a sit!” you said, taking gently the bouquet from his hands. “So, how are you? I must have worried a lot of people... I'm sorry.”  

“For what? To have been stabbed? Even if you didn't do anything or say nothing?  you don't have to apologize. And... I should ask you the question: How are you? What did the doctors say?”  

“I was lucky... the doctors took me just in time. The blade didn’t hit any vital points fortunately. Normally tomorrow or the day after tomorrow I could go out. But I'll have to be careful and not make too much effort. I owe you my life... Once again.”

“Good...You don’t have to thank me; you would have done the same for me. Mattew and Melina told me to say hello to you. they didn't sleep better than me.”

You talk for hours. Laughing about everything and nothing. That laugh... Danny could hear it for hours. And see you with that smile... that angel's smile. it reminded him of those same moments he spent with her. History repeats itself... but compared to her... You're alive and you're going out. But all good things have an end. And the time for Danny to leave came. He got up and prepared to leave when he felt your hand holding his arm.

“You... Will you be back tomorrow? I'd love to talk with you again.” you ask like a little child.  

“...Of course. Rest well.” he said, heading to the door before he stops and turn to you. “By the way who was this man...Parkson?”  

“Oh...He...He’s my banker! I told him I would call him when I was settled and ...as it had been a while, he preferred to travel in person to see me. I know it's not common but... He's a little weird. But I can trust him. Just like I trust you.” you respond with a smile.

Danny nodded and, waving his hand, he left the room and then the hospital. He still had a lot... A lot to do. He was not going to go after your attacker, knowing that Inspector Wilhelm had his robot portrait... But a little visit to McKellan's house couldn't hurt. And he's going to leave him a little passing gift. Nothing very extravagant... a little bloody on the edges... But something simple. or maybe go back to the traditional method of phone calls?

In any case, don’t face a man until you know all the details about him. A little surveillance in the middle of the night, that's Danny's favorite activity. He got into his van and went home to pick up his other bag. The one that contained his outfit and his mask. No Ghostface for you tonight... Too bad. But don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to make up for lost time when you're in your apartment.  

He picked up his mail, went back to his apartment, put his belongings in his office and then picked up his other bag to leave. He went back on the road to McKellan's house, he had carefully searched for his place of residence, which frankly is not very hard to find. Look for Roseville's most eye-catching home and you'll know this is where McKellan lives. Quite isolated from everything and everyone which did not surprise Danny, when you saw the oversized ego of this rich rotten up to the marrow.

He parked in the little corner of the forest that hid his van to perfection, put on his outfit and mask before getting out of the vehicle. He observed the building that stood in the distance, the mad look and a bad smile on his face. Tonight, is not your time McKellan... You're lucky...

But soon...The devil will come and get his prize...

Your screams and your death.

***

(And it’s done! My head hurts as if a monkey had taken me for a bongo. But everything's fine! I'll be able to rest on my weekend! hoping you'll like this chapter! See ya!)

[2018shawn]

no rain, no flowers | th

a/n: hi I bashed this out this afternoon idk it just happened lmao pls don’t read if sadness will trigger you in any way and i would like to say my inbox is always open for anyone feeling any form of emotion 💓 o yeh, i also wrote this on my phone so there's like no capitalisation lmao don’t come for me

warnings: urm SADness, angsty, breakup shit y’no. 

word count: 2.5k 

it wasn’t that you didn’t love your life, you just didn’t love your relationship with it. you knew, more than most, that without the rain, the flowers wouldn’t grow. but the rain came more often than not, and it would leave you feeling completely and utterly drenched with exhaustion, emptiness and everything in between. the days where there was a drought and flowers were blossoming with new petals were the great days. the days where you could just see flowers sprouting were the nice days. the days where the rain pushed the flowers back into the ground were the bad days. the days where it poured that hard the soil overfilled, and mud dispersed everywhere were the worst days.

and now metaphorically speaking, soil was scattered all around your feet, the rain threatening to lift it higher and higher as each minute passed by. the water in the kettle bubbled on the stove top, the gas giving a sense of warmth to the cold kitchen you stood in. london was rainy, and so was your mood. you’d spent 4 weeks and 2 days without your significant other being by your side, and more than ever, you needed him back. it wasn’t a case of wanting him, this time, it was simply and purely a necessity. of course, you couldn’t tell him this. you couldn’t let on that you needed him to come home. you could wait, you guessed, the press tours could not.

what you didn’t know, is halfway across europe, tom sensed every inch of your emotion. he nibbled at the inside of his cheek between each interview, made sure to send you a snapchat when he could get to his phone, even ordered a bunch of flowers to be delivered mid week. how ironic, you thought.

you didn’t knock tom’s boyfriend efforts, in fact, it was the complete opposite. and the more the whistle from the kettle spout screamed louder in front of you, the more you could hear it screaming for you get out. leave him. you’re not worthy. you didn’t even smile when those stupid red roses arrived perfectly displayed on your doorstep. he needed someone that squealed with excitement, someone that saw the good, instead of the bad.

pouring your tea, you ignored the ping of messages coming through to your phone, sighing and flicking the small side switch to silent. you wanted to be in a silent room, with your silent thoughts and silent mind. the cup of tea warmed your hands as your palms encased the ridiculously large, speckled mug. tom had bought you it because he’d never met anyone who loved cups of tea more than him until he met you. you’d lit the long burner, the sound of wood crackling and flames roaring soothing you somewhat, filling the space inbetween your quiet thoughts as you took small sips of your warm beverage. a single tear trickled down your cheek, landing on the blanket covering your lap, and you wondered if you were even worthy of being sat in this house. you and tom had bought it together 8 months ago, when there were enough flowers to fill a football field. month after month, the flowers died off, because you didn’t feel like home should be somewhere you didn’t feel good enough.

the sun had vanished when you woke, the window only displaying a dark view of stars and the illuminated streetlight outside your house. your neck was stiff and arm dead from the position you’d ended up in, blanket kicked to the floor and log burner burning a deep shade of amber as it began to die out. just like you’d fallen asleep with a tear escaping your duct, you’d woken up with it too. your heart was dull, aching with emptiness as your eyes wandered around your painfully empty house.

you slumped into the kitchen, placing your mug down on the kitchen counter with a clink in order to swap it for your phone. you had the usual messages from your friends, who were used to your 3-5 business days responses because you simply had to mentally prepare yourself. alongside those, were a bunch of missed calls and messages from tom and your heart felt like it was being twisted with a knife as you scrolled down the words he’d sent you.

hey bubby, todays finally finished woooo 🤟🏽 interviewer asked about you and it made me miss you more than i already do

which is a lot btw 🥺🌍

i miss eating your hair mask in the night

and how crispy it looks when you wake up 🙈

i’ll be home before you know it. i love you all the days 💙

there were more, but these were the ones which made you feel extra fuzzy inside. and despite that soft feeling, you sighed, trudging upstairs and ending up in your dressing room. he didn’t deserve this. although you loved him more than words could say, you knew you didn’t show it, no way near as much as you should. tom begged to differ; he knew you struggled. he entered the relationship knowing your mental health was knocked, barely any signs of bricks becoming stable enough to rebuild.

you pulled open the wardrobe door before pulling up your stool in order to reach the top shelf. the top shelf is where you kept all suitcases and overnight bags and because of tom’s hectic schedule, it was a good job the wardrobe was the entire length of the room because you’d have no where else to put them otherwise. there was an already empty gap from his own case like there had been for around a month. you pulled yours down, almost knocking yourself out in the process, before laying it on the floor and zipping it open. in the middle of the case was leaflets and brochures from your last holiday with tom; a water park map guide and sea life show programme. you remembered how happy you were that holiday, how you knew you’d found the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

the leaflets and brochures were soon covered by a selection of your clothes, ones you knew were necessary to take with you. when satisfied you had packed everything you needed clothes wise, you headed to the en suite bathroom, taking a couple of travel cases with you with intention of filling them all. you began by sorting through your skincare, picking the most staple pieces of your collection and leaving the ones you knew tom secretly liked to pamper himself with on a sunday.

a beckoning from a familiar voice startled you, the sound of keys dropping on the side amongst suitcase wheels dragging along the floor following the calls of your name. what, why, when, and how was he home? he wasn’t due home for another 2 weeks and he’d literally just been texting you from another country. or so you thought.

“baby? your car’s here?” he shouted, almost asking himself the question in confusion. you heard footsteps padding up the stairs as you froze, holding your half full toiletry bag in one hand and hairbrush in the other.

“i... i’m in here.” you spoke, unsure if he’d actually heard you. he immediately knew something was off from the quiver in your voice and the level of your tone. he instantly followed your sound, finding himself running through the doorway of your shared dressing room. until he saw. until he saw your almost packed suitcase of pretty much all your belongings. until he saw you through the gap of the bathroom door, another travel bag in hand. until he saw the expression on your face, a vision he’d never be able to erase. “you’re back?”

“bub, what’s going on? are you going away or something? i didn’t think your work trip was until next weekend?” he was confused, darting past your open suitcase and creaking open the door of the bathroom a little further.

“uh... it’s not. i just...” he walked up to you, thumbs delicately landing on your cheeks where they wiped away recent pools of tears. it was enough to stop you from speaking, breath hitching in your throat.

“what’s going on? i’m worried? you haven’t texted all day.” if that was why he’d come home, that was more reason for you to leave, you thought. tom couldn’t have someone that needed baby sitting. he couldn’t be flying home from important shit just because you hadn’t replied. all of this piled on top of the balance scales more, the side of pros to your relationship being sky high and unable to go any further.

“i’m sorry...” you breathed, feeling tears prick at your eyes almost straight away. he pulled you in, hand resting on the back of your head and soothingly stroking your hair as you blubbed into his chest, no concern for the growing wet patch near his collar bone.

“sorry for what my darling?” he spoke into your hair, the scent of your weekly hair mask filling his senses, making him sure you must’ve applied it last night. it was coconuty and tropical and was every bit as lovely as he’d describe you to be.

you pushed his chest away, feeling a sense of betrayal as you returned to filling your toiletry bag. his eyebrows furrowed, watching you frantically fill the bag with whatever you could, no obvious concern whether you were picking up his tootherbrush or yours. all you knew is you needed to get out of there as soon as possible. “i just, need to go.”

“go where?!” he almost shouted, clearly concerned with your sudden announcement.

“i don’t know yet. i’ll figure it out.”

he was confused and speechless. you had everything together, you had each other. it’s 2 years and 2 months since he’d first laid eyes on you and he’s regretted nothing since. but you? he figured you regretted something. the suitcase and frantic attitude were the biggest giveaways. he was in denial. surely not. you were only speaking to him 2 days ago on the phone laughing and singing about wedding songs. he hadn’t proposed yet, but boy, did he have big plans to. “what are you saying?”

“i’m saying...” you started, growing sick of wiping tears away from your eyes. he was a human barracade, but you managed to sneak round him and out of the bathroom, zipping up the small cases and putting them into your main suitcase. “i need to leave. i can’t do this.”

and those words there, shattered him into a million pieces. he’d never felt anything like it, he thought. sure, he’d lost people before. but you? you were not just people; you were his world, his life, his future. he tried to start a sentence several times, failing miserably each time as his mind blocked him from processes any full thoughts. “what... what do you mean? this?”

he followed you around the room and you only moved quicker, not wanting to get too close to his deep but inviting aftershave. “this, tom. us. it’s not right. i’m not right, well, not for you anyway.”

“what the fuck, y/n? where has this come from! if i’m away too much, tell me. if i’ve said something, tell me. if i’m bad at....”

“fuck, tom. it’s not you. it’s me.” it was so cliche, but so true. he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from wizzing around the room like a bee collecting pollen. your eyes just stared at his hand, unable to look up and look him dead in the eye.

“talk to me, darling, what’s really going on?” his grasp wasn’t harsh, you could have got out of it if you wanted to, but he guessed from the way you didn’t, you wanted to open up to him more than you thought you did. “hey...” he almost whispered, using his other hand to place his fingers under your chin, guiding your heavy head upwards until your eyes clicked. he could see pain. you could see confusion. you could do nothing but sob dramatically and you hated yourself for it. you thought you would have run out of tears by now, but from the way your legs buckled beneath you and your body curled up on the floor, you figured they were only just beginning. tom spoke reassuring words, you thought anyway, arms wrapping tightly around your shaking frame as he joint you on the carpeted floor. he rested his back against the wardrobe, pulling you further into him with no intentions of letting go. “shhh.. just breathe. breathe for me.” his palm was stroking up and down your back, his other hand taking yours, circling patterns on your skin with his thumb.

“i... i just can’t, tom. i’m pathetic. you don’t need me. you need someone who can cope with you being away. you need someone who can actually get out of bed in the morning feeling like a half decent human being. someone who can make you laugh just like you make me. someone who has got their fucking shit together.” you stuttered, through broken tears and strings of coughs. he pulled your head up, using a hand either side of your face to support you.

“don’t you dare. don’t you dare tell me i don’t need you. i don’t want to hear those words ever again. i don’t want to hear you say you’re pathetic. y/n, you’re... you’re my life. and no you might not be a half decent human being, but you’re so much more than that. you’re everything i want our children to grow up and be. although maybe i’d like them to be able to cook steak without over cooking it.” you couldn’t help but smile through the pain, remembering how many times tom had asked for medium rare and you’d served him a severely well-done sirloin. “your shit is my shit. and i know you struggle, but you gotta speak to me, baby girl. you’ve got to.”

you sighed, leaning into his palm for comfort more than anything. “you... i... i don’t deserve you.”

he felt guilty. more than ever. he meant what he said, he really did know you struggled but over the years you’d got so much better at putting on a front, pretending the world was all full of flowers when really, it was full of rain. he kicked himself for not seeing signs, for being the one not good enough for you, for letting you down and putting his career first yet again. “you deserve a million times better than me.”

his hands were snapped away from you as you stood, brushing your clothes and sighing deeply. you returned to your case, zipping it up fully and standing it upright with the handle extended. he shot up, racing over and putting his hand on the handle to drag it away from you. “no... please. don’t do this. we can talk, you can shout, you can scream, i can listen.” you tried pulling the case, but his strength was much higher than yours. you didn’t want to talk. you knew he would be better without you. you knew you was a burden. you tried tugging again, only to fail missrably and turn to face his desperate feautures and teary eyes. “please stay?”

**

taglist: @imaginashawnns @fallinallincurls @mendesficsxbombay @cosmicholland

[naughtydaaikon]

Wonderstruck

Title: Wonderstruck 

Also on Ao3!

Fandom: Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun

Rating: T (warnings for some spicy kisses)

Word Count: 9,282 words (funny story, this was supposed to be like 3,000 words HAH.)

Summary: 

Hanako had never specified the time for when she would die. He didn’t seem to know either, other than the fact that it would definitely be this year. What if this is it? She thinks, icy horror stabbing at her heart like the honed blade of a butcher’s knife. What if this was the moment of her death?

Alone…

In an unfamiliar place…

Without Hanako-kun.

Was she going to die without even being able to say goodbye to him? Without even being able to see him one last time? The villagers squabble amongst themselves around her, but their voices seem far away, the sound of her own heart pounding more loudly than a large hand against a drum drowning them out.

----

Nene has some important realizations in the midst of a precarious situation, and Hanako is amazingly stubborn about all of them. (Post Chapter 67 fic).

Notes: So, I’ve taken the plunge and written by own chapter 67 fic. I just couldn’t help myself. This entire arc I’ve been dying for some Hananene development. Okay. Let me be honest, I’ve been dying for a Hananene kiss in an unfamiliar place -- just like Nene described in her idealised love event. So, here I am! I hope that you all enjoy the fic. Please leave a comment on ao3, or here -- or in my inbox if you enjoy the fic! I love talking with other Hananene fans~

----

“It’s one of those famed love events you always get to hear about! At an unfamiliar location! Then, a gentle kiss!”

 ----

Yashiro Nene had always been a dreamer.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to weave all kinds of intricate fantasies, whimsical daydreams in which she was the star of some fantastical romantic plot. The role that she chose for herself was often the same — always the beautiful heroine of her own dashing love story to be whisked off of her feet by some stunning prince who adored both her and her chubby, thick ankles. Heroines in stories always found themselves at the center of a magical adventure, whether that adventure was being spirited away by some powerful evil or experiencing the painfully sweet throes of first love. So, Nene couldn’t be blamed if she often craved a little bit of that for herself, too, right? 

Then, she wonders as she is surrounded by the unnerving masks of indifferent villagers while standing near the ledge of a very tall cliff. Why does it feel like I’m being punished for wanting those things?!

Nene had always been a little too idealistic, easy to mess with, and impulsive. Those were the characteristics that had first drawn her to Hanako-kun’s bathroom in the first place. She had wanted a wish granted — had craved love — at any price. Nene had wanted that affection even if it meant offering a part of herself to an apparition that she hardly knew. She hadn’t thought of the consequences of those actions, not until she was already covered in wet scales and breathing through slitted gills. Still, she likes to think that she hadn’t done anything quite so foolish since that point again! 

Well.

Then again, there was the time that she had nearly gone off to become a fish apparition for the chance at her own harem… and the time that she had gotten tricked by Natushiko-senpai because he was hot… and the time that Nanamine-san and Tsukasa-kun had nearly sent her off to nowhere because Nanamine-san was just a little too beautiful and the cakes she had been given were just a little too good… and…

Okay, but I didn’t do anything like that just now! 

She holds her hands up as the villagers advance all around her. They argue amongst themselves as Nene struggles to figure out just what was happening. Today had to have been the longest she had ever experienced. It was right up there with the time that she had gotten stuck in Shijima-san’s picture world and that really hadn’t been all that long ago. She had simply wanted to spend time with her friends at night during study camp! She would be able to make some good memories with Aoi. Maybe she had even hoped that someone special (who definitely didn’t have Hanako-kun’s face in her fantasies, no sir!)  would ask her out and pull her away from her friends for a little alone time. It was possible that she’d even get her first kiss if she were proactive enough! Though, most importantly, she would be able to distract herself from dwelling her shortened life span for just one night of peace and fun. 

Clearly, that was not going to be the case. Then again, since coming to Kamome Academy, was anything ever just simple?

Instead, Aoi had been kidnapped and was now behaving...strangely. She’d pushed them into the pit that had led them to this strange feudal hamlet that seemed to have been cut out of the fabric of time. It was a place that went against everything that Nene understood about boundaries. Shijima-san’s boundary was like this too. It was almost normal until something sticks out like a sore thumb, something that reverberates within one’s soul that this wasn’t quite right. Like a moon and stars that are far too visible to have been from Kamome’s rooftops in the brightly lit city of Tokyo, or in this case, a small town that was more at home out of the history books that she sometimes perused for friends.

No water that nipped at her heels, soaking her legs and bringing forth scales — no crooked and misshaped atelier that didn’t belong — just a small village filled with people who wore masks of kindness, so twisted by their own fear that they forced young girls to smash their bodies onto the jagged rocks at the bottom of a cliff in what was a vicious mockery of marriage. 

So much for a fun night with friends! 

A night that was supposed to be filled with fun and games with her classmates had quickly dissolved into a nightmare that she wasn’t sure that she could escape. Nothing was ever just normal at Kamome. Even taking classes, the most normal and boring part of being a high school student could quickly shift into something sinister amongst the sturdy halls of the school. She’s been sick with worry for Aoi from the moment that they had ended in this awful place.

It’s not fair! That thought plays on a loop track within her mind just as the mask clad villagers seem to finally realize that she wasn’t actually Sumire-chan. “I’ve been saying all along that I’m not Sumire-chan!” Nene screeches, hands balling into fists in a rage. Why is this happening? It had all happened so fast, and now, it only seemed to be spiraling even further out of control. Her belly aches, legs still weak from when she had been punched. This isn’t a wedding at all!

No, Nene knew weddings — they were beautiful events where two people would be joined in love forever. This… her eyes drift back to the cliff. She can hear the waves of the ocean crashing against the cliff-side and shivers. The wind shrieks, howling as it buffets her body. One wrong step and she might go tumbling over into the frigid waters below. The bride of death. 

This wasn’t love. 

She isn’t sure what this is, but Nene knows that without a shred of a doubt. Sumire-chan…. seemed so happy when she was talking about getting married to Number 6! She couldn’t have known… 

Nene suppresses a shiver, swallowing thickly as her legs wobbled. “What’s with all of this?” Then, they had meant to throw Sumire-chan from this ledge? They had meant to kill Sumire-chan like this? They had manipulated her feelings to lead Sumire-chan to her own death? She thinks of Nene’s sweet, forlorn smile back in the bath. She had thought that she seemed lonely back then, a melancholy permeating her features that Nene hadn’t been able to understand. Tomorrow is a very important day, after all. 

Had she known?

Had she known that the only groom that would embrace her beyond the large arched torii on this cliff was the frigid ocean waters as it swept her into the abyssal dark?

Her face grows indescribably hot, teeth clenching. “You call this a wedding?” Her pulse quickens, fury ballooning inside of her at the injustice of it all. “Don’t tell me you were going to kill--” she’s silenced with the threat of a sharpened bamboo staff being brandished towards her. “Kyaaaaa!” Nene had been met with many dangerous situations while in boundaries, but never anything that ever felt quite this real. The edge of the shaft looks as though it’d make quick work of her if she even so much as tried to struggle any further. One jab of that and… 

She doesn’t want to think about it.

Unease rolls like corrosive sludge in her chest. She hadn’t wanted to think about her own mortality during her study trip. It’d been plaguing her from the moment that she had learned of her fate while in the painted world even though she’d been showing a brave face off to Hanako and Kou. She’d only wanted one day to be a normal teenager, having a fun night with friends, cooking, and playing games without acknowledging the swinging pendulum that inched ever closer over her head. 

What if this was it?

Hanako had never specified the time for when she would die. He didn’t seem to know either, other than the fact that it would definitely be this year. What if this is it? She thinks, icy horror stabbing at her heart like a honed blade of a butcher’s knife. What if this was the moment of her death? 

Alone… 

In an unfamiliar place…

Without Hanako-kun.

Was she going to die without even being able to say goodbye to him? Without even being able to see him one last time? The villagers squabble amongst themselves around her, but their voices seem far away, the sound of her own heart pounding more loudly than a large hand against a drum drowning them out. 

She thinks of Hanako’s kind smile last night as he patted her head sweetly, bidding her goodnight. He’d probably stayed up all night to keep watch. She should’ve insisted that he sleep, but he had taken precautions to keep her safe, once more. He never worried about himself, after all. He viewed himself as nothing more than an afterthought. He was so gentle and she hadn’t even trusted him enough to tell him about Sumire-chan. 

I said I’d protect him, she thinks, blinking back tears, throat burning as a sob builds there. But I just let him take care of me again. I didn’t tell him about Sumire-chan and now I might never see him again!

No, she thinks, raw panic spiking as one of these villagers grab her wrist with a frigid hand. “No! Wait!” She’s pulled back against the person, but they were just too strong. “Stop! Let go!”

The voices of the villagers grow louder, echoing around her into a crescendo of sound that encircles her like a ring of fire. It’s deafening. Her knees feel as though they’re going to give out, palms growing slick with sweaty terror. 

“Well done catching her.”

“Drop her off just like that!”

“Congratulations, Kannagi-sama!”

“Congratulations!”

When had congratulations ever sounded like a eulogy? 

No, no — no! She can’t do anything like this. She can’t run, and even if she did manage to break away from this man, she’s sure that she wouldn’t be able to fight off the crowd. She’s trapped, nothing but a weak high school girl with no special powers besides her own impending death. She’s going to die. They’re going to trap her or make her walk off of that cliff, and Hanako was nowhere to be found. 

Nothing familiar was anywhere to be found.  

If she’s going to die, then she at least wants to see Hanako. At least once. There was still so much that she hadn’t told him or thanked him for. She hadn’t thanked him for agreeing to grant her impossible wish back in the painted world. She hadn’t even managed to thank him for protecting her from the moment that they had fallen into this den of spiders. She hadn’t even told him how she felt about it. Not properly, at least. She’d only whispered that secret to a boy who she had thought was nothing more than a copy in what was just a happy dream. No, she didn’t just like Hanako. This emotion was far greater than that. She can feel it filling up her heart, no -- her entire being like helium. 

Nene knows what this is.

She knows it by the way that she can use at least 50 different colorful adjectives to describe the exact hue of his eyes -- from the way that his smile sends her into near cardiac arrest. She’d grown so used to the unnatural coolness that emanated from his body that she had come to crave it. She felt safe in his arms. It felt right to be with Hanako. As though that was where she’d always belonged. It was almost funny, she was a girl who was always a little too silly -- a little too clumsy and a little too overly romantic to fit in fully with her peers, and yet the affection that she always craved -- that sense of this is where I’m meant to be -- came from the cold embrace of a ghost. 

And the last thing I said to him was good night. 

He… didn’t know that she loved him.

I love him, and the realization is so simple, so natural, that she wonders why she didn’t realize it sooner — and she’d never even get to tell him. It’s not fair! She’d realized that she truly loved a boy and he’d never even get to know? She’d die without even being able to tell him? That was the only thing that she’d ever wanted for as long as she could remember, and knowing that it was all about to be taken from her was just too much to bear. She was already going to die and couldn’t even do the one thing that she’d always wanted? Maybe it was a selfish desire, but it’s choking her, clogging her throat as she screams. 

“No! Hanako-kun!”

The wind howls, cloth fluttering all around her as she is suddenly pulled against the sturdy, cool chest of the person who’s captured her. The mask falls away from his face, revealing hooded eyes as golden as the incandescently lit full moon in the sky and the too-wide, almost feral smile that she never failed to make her heart feel as though she’s just finished running a marathon. Time seems to slow to a snail’s crawl as his hand entwined with hers, just as cool and comforting as it always was. 

“I’m heeeeeeere!~” He drawls, voice airy and cheerful, as though they weren’t caught at the mercy of a violent mob. Her throat tightens, tears of pure relief prickling at the corners of her eyes. Was she… dreaming? Perhaps this was some kind of elaborate hallucination just as she was pushed over the edge?

No —

He feels just as solid and cool as he normally did. A body that emanated no warmth, and yet Hanako himself was nothing but the balm of summer in the way that he made her feel. That was the same. It was really him!

Hanako-kun was here?

Perhaps it’s because he’s dressed in the same manner of the villagers and maybe it’s because the wind is still buffeting the two of them, but Nene is caught up within the magic of the moment. Hanako looks like something out of a storybook or a manga -- a powerful knight protecting a princess. She blinked back tears. He was here! He was okay! “Hanako-kun…?” She whispers, and this feeling that swells in her chest is more intense than the punch to the gut that she had received earlier. It feels as though she’s breathless, eyes still blurry with tears as she looks up at him. Had his smile always been this soft? His eyes, always so bright and filled with kindness — and perhaps… relief? 

He wraps his arms around her tightly then — so tight that it feels as though he doesn’t want to ever release her. There’s a slight tremble in his voice as he murmurs, “Sorry I’m late.” His cheek nuzzles against her throat, and she can almost feel the slight brush of his lips. It’s ticklish, but also so inviting that she almost melts into his arms. Hanako-kun was here. Relief rushes through her. Hanako-kun was here. Everything would be okay, now. She wouldn’t die with him around. Hanako-kun always kept his promises, after all.

She closes her eyes, sagging against him. She isn’t going to die. 

I’m not going to die… She repeats that thought to herself even as her knees buckle as her tension evaporates.

Maybe she’d even get to tell him —

“Sorry, but,” he flings the mask into the face of one of the more vocal villagers. The man cried out in pain as it collided with his skull, knocking him off of his feet from the force of the blow. “--The wedding is canceled!” The arms around her loosen, as one of his hands sliding down around her waist as he uses his other hand to rip the formal clothing off of himself, revealing his normal gakuran attire. Then, he squeezes her tightly, arm pressing her against his side. His cheek brushes against hers, much like a needy feline demanding affection. “I can’t just let some nobody out there take my assistant as a bride, right?” 

He speaks with such conviction, brandishing his knife towards the crowd. He’s still smiling, but the arm around her waist holds her securely.  Nene relaxes against him. If Hanako was here now, nothing could possibly go wrong. He squeezes her in a reassuring way and there’s something possessive about the action, as though he’s the one claiming ownership of her. 

Or -- perhaps, that was wishful thinking on her part. She so badly wants to be claimed by him. Her cheeks grow warm and she can’t help herself from throwing her arms around his shoulders and clinging to him just as tightly as he had done to her earlier. 

He’d saved her again. 

“You’re here, Hanako-kun!” She pulls back, and cups his cheeks, squeezing and stretching them out to make sure that he was really real. “It’s really you!” He laughs outright, then, eyes still focused on the people that were surrounding them. His voice sounds so merry that it’s enough to soothe some of her fear. 

“Yashiro, at least wait until we’re alone before you feel me up,” he teases, smile hardening as some of the villagers close in, finally regaining their bearings after Hanako’s sudden appearance. “We still have an audience of nosy pests here, after all.” He nuzzles her cheek again and she has to struggle to suppress the embarrassing whine that wells up in her throat. “You naughty daikon, you!” Nene flushes indignantly. He was really going to tease her right now? And was now really the time for daikon jokes!? “I’m not feeling you up!” If her voice was any higher at this moment, she’s sure that only dogs and small animals could hear it. 

Though, she can’t deny that there’s a part of her that wants very much to kiss him at this very moment. He just looks so heroic -- almost majestic as he bravely faces off against their enemies. It was at times like this that Hanako seems just as dashing as a prince out of her favorite novels. It didn’t matter that he was shorter than her, or that his cheeks lacked the angled sharpness of the men that she typically preferred. 

He was just Hanako -- the boy who was entirely dedicated to keeping her safe. The boy she loved. Her heart hammers. At least it was getting easier to say now. 

“Retrieve the Kannagi!” One of the villagers shouts loudly. It’s chaos as the angry group attempts to rush them. Weapons are drawn, pointed at them -- all manner of spears, swords, and sharpened bamboo as they jab the weapons towards the pair. “She must not escape!”  Hanako frowns, leaping backward as the crowd continues to approach. They were determined to have their sacrifice one way or another, it seemed. 

They’re trying to push us to the edge of the cliff! Nene realizes, horrified as they draw ever closer to the edge. 

“Yashiro?” Hanako asks, hand gripping even more tightly around her waist as her feet hit the edge of the cliff. “Are you scared?” 

She swallows anxiously, wondering just what kind of question that was. “O-Of course I am!” She tries hard not to look behind her. The rocks at the bottom of the cliff looked so sharp… “B-But, you’re not going to let anything happen to me?” She pauses. “Right?”

The grin that he gives her is more blinding than the sun itself. “Of course not!” He says, voice filled with confidence. “So, there’s no reason for you to be afraid, alright?” He nods as though confirming that simple fact to himself as well. His other arm joins the one tucked around her waist, eyes darting towards the cliff. He looks back at her, his smile growing wide and cat-like as his eyes take on a hooded appearance. 

“You trust me, don’t you?” Nene’s brows furl. Why was he asking her all of these questions all of a sudden? This was beginning to feel all too familiar, even if she couldn’t put her finger on why. 

“Y...Yes?”

“Good.”

The knife in his hand dissipates as though it hadn’t even existed. Why was he putting that away? Wasn’t he going to fight the villagers--

Oh no.

Nononononono.

He wasn’t —  

“H-Hanako-kun--” she says worriedly, “Hey, wait a second — AAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Nene screams wildly as he suddenly scoops her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style before he turns away from the villagers and takes and leaps off of the cliff. It feels as though her heart has leaped into her throat, as though her stomach had just dropped right out of her body. Hanako laughs merrily as the wind pushes against them like an assault. “Look out belooooow!” He calls out. If Nene weren’t currently screaming at the top of her lungs and clinging to him with all of her might, she would’ve wrung his neck. 

Her vision spots, a sort of fog entering her head. It’s as though she’d been thrust into static, white noise crackling in her ears.

Well, she thinks as the last traces of her consciousness begin to fade away. I’ll have time to strangle him later...

Among other things. 

-----

Nene awakes sometime later, groaning as she rolls onto her back. Something soft is cushioning her and she’s wrapped up as though bundled in a blanket. Her clothes are still wet, leaving her shivering as she grabs the edges of the blanket, holding it tighter. She can hear what sounds like dripping water, as though a glass of water has been spilled. There’s a rhythmic beat to the drip, one that is almost calming enough to lull her back to sleep. Her vision blurs as she opens her eyes, sitting up as she rubs the tiredness from her eyes. Wherever she was, it was dark. Only a small amount of light seemed to slither through openings that were in the ceiling or roof of this place. There’s some kind of stone surrounding her, as well. 

Was this… some kind of a cave?

She looks down, discovering that what she wasn’t actually a blanket, but heavy layers of clothing. They resemble the clothing that the villagers had worn. No, not the villagers… Hanako-kun had been wearing this as well when he had rescued her, hadn’t he? 

“You’re awake? Good,” she jolts at the sound of Hanako’s voice. He’s sitting beside her, knees drawn up to his chest. He gives her a small smile, cheek resting against his knees. His hands brush over her bangs. “You know, Yashiro -- it’s probably not normal to pass out like that all of the time. Those fainting spells can’t be good for your heart. Were you just that excited to be in my arms? For shame!” 

In his arms?

She’s puzzled before memories of leaping into the icy water below assault her. She must’ve turned into a fish! She was still drenched and her eyes narrow as she glared at the boy beside her. Jerk! It wasn’t the fainting spells that weren’t good for her heart, it was him! “A little warning would’ve been nice!” She barks back, sitting up fully now. She jabs an accusing finger towards him. “Why are you always throwing me from high places! That’s what’s not good for my heart!” she hits his arm, causing him to wince and rub at the abused skin. She chooses to ignore his innuendo-laden comment. Honestly! Did she have to be in love with such a perverted person?

Her heart flinches.

Right. 

She’d realized that earlier, hadn’t she?

That knowledge makes her grow strangely rigid. She covers a hand over her heart. It was pounding so loudly now that she worries if he can also hear it. Throughout that entire ordeal, she’d been afraid of dying and never seeing Hanako-kun again. She can still feel all of those emotions, taking up space inside of her, threatening to explode. Nene isn’t sure that she’d be able to put the lid on them again. 

Or if she even wanted to.

She’d made a promise to herself earlier, hadn’t she? 

It hangs over her head like a guillotine. Nene’s face grows redder, palms clammier as she sits rigidly. She had made that promise — and now she would need to make good on it. She casts a cautionary glance towards Hanako, who had already slid closer to her. “Hmm? I did give you a warning, didn’t I?” He wraps one of his arms around her, snaking it around her waist as his chin moves to rest on her shoulder. She’d long since grown accustomed to this kind of invasion of space from him. Though, with her earlier revelation in mind, it’s as though she can feel his embrace that much more. 

Even with their bond, Hanako’s body rarely had a solidness to it that seemed real unless he was touching her. He was like the moonlight filtering in through the cracks in a window. If she reaches out to touch him, he’d slip right through the gaps between her fingers fading into nothingness. 

But now? It’s as though every nerve within her body is heavily aware of him. As though she’s realized something, so vital, so crucial that she’s stunned that it’s taken her this long to realize that he’s always been right there. Solid. Firm.

Real. 

She only needs to reach out —

“You didn’t,” it’s an olympic feat to keep her words from jumbling together. It feels like her heart has been replaced by a drum, being struck with violent force. Did he hear it? He had to hear it! It was more like thunder than a heartbeat at this point! 

“You just asked if I trusted you and then flung the both of us off of a cliff, mister!”  She jabs an accusing finger against his chest, making him yelp and flinch back. Good, she had space. Space to think. Space was good. In fact, she scoots her butt a few inches in a different direction, putting even more distance between them. “Speaking of which, where even are we?” She’s sure that her voice is getting squeaky again. Kind of like she’s just breathed in a tank full of helium gas. 

Not good.

He casts a glance towards their left, amber eyes narrowing towards that direction and she sees the shining of sunlight in the distance. “I found a cave along the bank at the bottom of the cliff,” he explains, following her like a needy cat would. Nanamine-san really had been onto something with that comparison. Hanako captures her in his arms again, rubbing his cheek along the exposed clavicle of her throat and she’s sure that at this point, her heartbeat best resembles the rolling thunder of a storm. 

“I think we should stay here until it gets darker. Those people might have given up the chase by that point.”

It was a solid enough plan. The last thing Nene wanted was a fight, but the idea of staying alone with Hanako for that long was doing odd things to her insides. She feels all twisted up, like she’s a rag being rung dry as she sits behind him. Then again, she’d already spent an entire night alone with Hanako on the previous night. All alone in a darkened room, with nothing but the slight, dim lamp of a lantern to illuminate both of them. Come to think of it, that had been pretty intimate, hadn’t it!?

She hadn’t even considered —

“Aren’t you Gon’s lover?”

SKDFSLKDFS;KDFSKFIJS;LEDFSLFSF’S!

“At that point, we can search for Number 6’s Yorishiro,” Hanako continues, oblivious to her internal meltdown. “I’ll make sure that we escape as soon as possible. If I’m not careful you might just nearly end up as someone’s bride again,” his eyes sharpen as he glances at her out of the corner of his eyes, his smile dropping. He pinches her cheek as though to admonish her and Nene winces, releasing a whine of pure mortification. 

“It’s not like I wanted to get married! Everything just happened so fast — and where were you all that time, huh?” She turns in his arms, her annoyance enough to make her momentarily forget all about her dilemma. 

He had been beside her when she had first fallen asleep, only to be gone by morning. She couldn’t imagine that he had left her side after insisting that he’d stay awake in order to keep watch throughout the night. Hanako had been on edge ever since first arriving at this strange place, after all — not that she could blame him. Nothing had gone right since they had arrived. Even Hanako, who was normally as powerful and brave as a dashing knight had been subdued by Sumire-chan earlier. 

Nene can’t remember ever seeing Hanako so quickly bested, not even when he’d been beaten by Yako-san back in her boundary. Even then, that had been temporary. He’d been able to hold his own until she had finally found Yako-san’s yorishiro. 

To her relief — disappointment — she doesn’t know anymore — Hanako releases her, dropping his hands down to his side. He leans his head back against the wall of the cave, staring up at a small slither of light that peaks through an opening in the ceiling of the cave. “Our retainer friend found it prudent to incapacitate me while you took her place,” he’s dropped the teasing tone, voice going flat as his hands ball into fists, filled with tension. He uses one hand to pull the bill of his hat down, obscuring his eyes. “For a moment, I thought I wouldn’t make it in time.”

Large doe eyes widen, “You mean… Sumire-chan knew what was going to happen?” 

Hanako makes a soft sound of affirmation.

No — she’d seemed so genuine when speaking of her love for number 6. She’d wanted to marry him. She didn’t think that kind of emotion could be easily faked. Wait -- hadn’t the villagers said something about that? It was difficult to remember most of what was being said during all of the shouting and confusion, but one thing had stuck out. “To run from your duty… What a failure of a Kannagi you are. 

Duty.

If it was the duty of a Kannagi to literally wed death, then it made sense that a mortal would need to die to be with her betrothed. The villagers had all escorted her to the torii gate, speaking of marriage and showering her in congratulations, but had all grown panicked and angry when she had tried to run. Come to think of it, one of them had mentioned they hadn’t want to use the strange drug that they had poisoned her with. It all aligned in her mind neatly like pieces of a large puzzle being arranged.

“She… tricked me?” Nene asks faintly.

“She tricked us both,” he reaches for her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Remember what I said? She’s a retainer. Nothing but a puppet on strings--

“No!” Those words swell in her chest and then burst out of her before she can even stop them. “I — I know Sumire-chan isn’t like that!” 

Sure, it wouldn’t have been the first time that Nene had saw the good within someone who didn’t deserve it. She’s oftentimes naive, easy to trick, and impulsive, ignoring red flags that were waving right in front of her face. Hanako had told her that she was a sucker for hot guys and apparitions and with all of her past experiences, she knows that he’s right about that. 

Still.

She’d seen Sumire’s memories while in that dream-like state. At least, that’s what she thinks those feelings were. Glimpses of a life that had been cut far too short. Of feelings that had been manifested, and yet never fully requited. At least not in the way that Sumire-chan would have wanted. They had to have been her memories, right? It was like whenever she removed the seal of a yorishiro. Nene’s face scrunches up, lips pursed tightly and nose wrinkled as she thinks. Number 6 hadn’t shown a slither of remorse as he watched Sumire march steadily towards death. She tries to imagine what she would feel like in a similar situation -- if the person that she loved -- if Hanako had watched her die without even batting an eyelash.

Pain as sharp as a stab wound to the chest all but knocks the wind out of her. 

She can’t even imagine it. No — she doesn’t want to imagine it.

Those feelings… they couldn’t be just an illusion? She knows…. She just knows that Sumire-chan was no mere puppet. 

Hanako’s fingers cup underneath her chin, lifting her eyes towards his. “There’s no need to defend her,” he admonishes, lips pressing downward in apparent displeasure. His eyes harden. “You were nearly killed because of her. You understand that, right?” His voice has gone flat, like he got when there were all kinds of dark emotions swirling inside of him. She didn’t always understand it, but this was the side of Hanako that always unnerved her. He’s normally so playful, so kind to her that she often forgot that it existed at least until it appeared once more. He holds so many secrets, keeping his emotions bottled up inside of him, displaying them to no one but his own demons. 

It’s only at times like this that Nene truly feels her age. She’s nothing but a silly, 15-year-old teenaged girl. She’s Yashiro Nene — dreamy, reckless, and totally gullible and he’s the honorable Hanako-san of the Toilet. He’d lived a life that was drenched in blood, sin and now walked a solemn path of duty and  atonement in death. It’s always a little hard to wrap her head around. 

It was… frustrating. 

“That’s true,” she mumbles, sighing in a pleased way when he moves his hand up from her chin, cupping her cheek. It’s cool, lacking body heat as usual, but she appreciated the gesture, regardless. “But — I just… don’t think that she’s just a puppet, Hanako. She feels like she’s...real,” and if Number 6 had made her into his yorishiro — a real, breathing person with thoughts and feelings — then she must’ve been important to him? Had he changed his mind? If they had tried to make her take her place, then perhaps they were trying to save Sumire-chan from her fate?

Could she blame her for that?

If she could only be with Hanako-kun at the expense of another person, then…

She isn’t sure what choice she would’ve made.  She didn’t think that she could actually hurt someone knowingly, but also couldn’t be upset with Sumire-chan for her betrayal. There’s an ache in her heart that hasn’t subsided since she’d been drugged. A lonely longing that nearly swallows her heart entirely. 

Sumire-chan’s feelings...

She averts her eyes from Hanako’s oche ones, pulling the decorative haori snuggly around her shoulders and staring down at her knees. 

“She must’ve had her reasons,” Nene says confidently. That had to be it. She’s absolutely sure of it. 

“Yashiro.”

Hanako sounds disappointed, tone morose as he says her name like a parent scolding a child. “The only reason that she feels real is because she is a manifestation of Number 6’s memories,” he explains, though she can tell that there isn’t much patience within him at the moment. “She is a reflection of who he thought she was, but in the end, her will isn’t her own,” ochre eyes harden as his hand falls from her cheek and back to his side. She falls quiet, choosing to listen to him speak.

“He is looking for a kannagi,” he says softly. “To take her place. That’s why he took your friend Aoi in the first place. She’s not actually real. He wants to change that, as ridiculous as that even is,” when Hanako got like this, his words could become as corrosive as acid. 

“Why is it ridiculous?”

“Huh?” Her question clearly catches him off guard as his eyes are drawn back to hers. 

“Why is it ridiculous that he’s trying to find a way to keep the person that he loves by his side?” She asks quietly. She touches her heart; it’s throbbing with an emotion that wasn’t her own, and yet was so familiar. It’s a borrowed emotion, but it’s also her own. She understands Sumire-chan. She can even understand Number 6. “I think he’s being selfish like Yako-san was… and like how I used to be when I first sought you out for a wish, but I don’t think wanting to be with the person you love is ridiculous.” 

Her near-death experience was still too close. She’d been desperate to see Hanako, too. Just to see him one last time. Had that been a selfish wish? 

She’d even made a promise. 

Hanako’s brow furls, “Yashiro… what they’re doing is putting people in danger,” he says, this time taking her shoulders in his hands. He squeezes them, as though pleading with her to understand. “It put you in danger.” 

— And there it was.

Nene blinks, and the answer seems so obvious that she’s surprised that she hadn’t noticed it sooner. “You were afraid that I’d die.”

He nods, sighing as his head drops down, forehead brushing against her shoulder. “I.. thought that I wouldn’t make it to you in time. She had used her spiritual powers on me in the morning so there was nothing that I could do to stop those people when they came to get you. If I’d been any later…” 

If he’d been any later… 

That possibility remains unspoken, even as her chest grows tighter, something itchy forming in her throat. Words are lodged there and when she parts her lips, it’s hard to force her voice through them. “I would have died.”

“You would have died,” he repeats, nodding against her. His forehead is just as cool as the rest of his body. “We still don’t know when your lifespan will run out.”

That was true. 

Then, he lifts his head, smiling in that gentle way that never failed to make her belly throb with yearning. It’s such a kind, sad smile. It was less Hanako and more like Amane, the boy that she had seen in Tsuchigomori-sensei’s memories, though that wasn’t exactly right, either. Hanako was a role that he plays, and he hadn’t been Amane in many years. Or perhaps this smile was the real him? The person beneath the role. The person that Amane had become. 

He’d said before that the dead had no future — that nothing new could happen for those who had died, but… Nene’s not so sure that she believes that. He’d grown — changed, hadn’t he?

“Besides,” he tells her, giving her a playful but light flick on the forehead. “I told you that I’m going to grant your wish for you. You don’t doubt my abilities do you?” He pouts, donning the Hanako-san mask again effortlessly. A flirty gesture of a playful joke from him has always been an effective distractor for her, after all. She’s not sure why, but it makes her kind of angry. He’s rarely truly honest with her, not about his feelings at least. 

Perhaps that is what spurs her on.

She’s not sure where her confidence comes from. It surges in her chest, making her grab the collar of his gakuran as she tugs him forward and all presses her lips against his. 

He releases a startled gasp, even when their teeth clink together. It kind of hurts, honestly. 

I messed up! She thinks, absolutely panicked. Her lips were throbbing from where she had all but headbutted (lipbutted?) him, and she goes rigid against him. Their lips were still mashed together, but neither of them moves an inch. Nene can’t help but think that this was nothing like the books or even her own fantasies. Hanako’s lips were cold, and he was stiller than a block of eyes, his entire body taut with tension. He seems shell shocked, but she can’t exactly blame him.

She’d moved before her brain had even had a chance to catch up with her body, after all. Nene was a lot of things and a quitter wasn’t one of them. I promised, she thinks to herself, steeling her resolve, even if she wants to pull from the badly aimed first kiss and run for the hills. She promised that she would tell him how she felt about him, and she couldn’t continue to have cold feet.

After all, he’d been just as scared as she had been before… right?

He hadn’t wanted to lose her, either.

And if a first kiss ended this pathetically, she thinks that she’d actually drop dead from humiliation. So, she pushes through it, softening her lips so that the kiss became less of an aggressive assault and more of a chaste peck. Come to think of it, his lips were rather soft, weren’t they? They feel nice, inspiring a warm, pleasant feeling in her chest. She pushes closer, lips pressing more firmly against his own and Hanako makes a sound that sounds remarkably like a dying, yowling cat. 

It’s only then that she pulls back, face burning hot from her own boldness. “I’d never doubt you,” she says firmly. “I was just afraid before, back at the wedding. It was really scary but -- and for a second I thought I wouldn’t be able to see you again. That was scarier than when I thought I was doing to die,” she admits in a rush of words. Her heart thrums loudly, and suddenly it feels like the cave has grown excessively hot. She chances a glance at Hanako and nearly gasps herself at what she sees.

He’d been red back when she’d kissed his cheek before, too.  Though now, it was though his skin had been dyed with the color, splotches of color burning across his face. He gapes at her, as though she had grown a second head. It’s like his body has turned to stone. It feels like an eternity before he finally speaks. “Yashiro,” his voice is barely a whisper, trembling the entire time. “What are you doing?”

The answer seems so obvious to her that she almost laughs. Well, she would’ve laughed if she didn’t feel nearly just as faint. She’s sure that her face looks just as comical as his own. Though, his reaction brings her some relief. He’s just as out of his element as she is. “What do you think it means when a girl kisses someone, Hanako-kun?” She wants to sound sophisticated and sure, but her voice is chipmunk high. She’s sure she sounds just like Black Canyon-chan right now. She still can’t quite believe herself, either. She’d kissed him! She kissed Hanako! 

“I --,” he swallows like thick sludge is lodged in his throat. “You shouldn’t--.” he pauses as though trying to collect his thoughts. He tugs at the collar of his gakuran, fidgeting as though ants had crawled into his clothing. “You shouldn’t do things like that. I’ll get the wrong idea.”

Wrong idea? That statement throws her mind for a loop. How would he get the wrong idea from a kiss? She thinks that it’s pretty self-explanatory! Kisses usually only meant one thing, after all. He can’t be this dense, right? She had even told him that she liked him back in the painted world. She’s sure that he knows that, right? 

“W-What’s the wrong idea?” She demands, small hands balling themselves into frustrated fists. “I told you before, right? I like you!” The words are out before she can stop them, but she’s far too annoyed to even care about that right now. Her first kiss and he has the nerve to look like his favorite hamster had just died. 

His two index fingers press together as he fidgets, “I know,” he mumbles, then glances back at her, almost shy. “I just -- it’s probably not a good idea, you know.” She can tell what he must be thinking. He’s dead and she’s...not. Even if her wish is eventually granted, she will eventually need to leave the school and move on from Kamome academy. Her life would go on, and his wouldn’t.

It isn’t much of a future.

Nene had already thought about all of that.  If it wasn’t her shortened lifespan, she’d often spend her nights agonizing over her feelings for the ghost boy. It was love, but a doomed one. A relationship with a supernatural had a time limit, even in the best of cases. 

“There’s so much that you deserve,” he continues, and her breath hitches when he leans forward, lips brushing against her cheek. He hadn’t done anything like that since the incident with the confession tree. Her belly works itself into knots, especially when he wraps an arm around her waist. “I can’t give you any of that. I’m dead, Yashiro. I can only promise to fulfill your wish so that you can live to your 90s and go marry some lame fantasy prince.” He moves his free hand to ruffle her hair, smiling in that frustratingly self-sacrificial way. As though that was that. Like the discussion was over. 

It feels strange to hear him echoing her previous desires. True, before meeting Hanako, all she could dream about was being swept off of her feet by a tall, stunning prince-like boy. All of those wishes feel hollow now, like emptiness gnawing at her heart. 

She still wants love.

It’s just --

“I don’t want any of that unless it’s with you, Hanako-kun.” His eyes grow as wide as saucers, the light filtering from the top of the cave makes the gold within them sparkle like moonstones. He opens his mouth and she knows that he’s going to try to keep fighting her on this. He had so many reasons why this wouldn’t work.

I’m dead, Yashiro.

I can’t take you on dates, Yashiro.

I can’t grow old with you.

I’m bound to Kamome. 

You deserve better than me.

Unfortunately for him -- she doesn’t want to hear any of them. 

Nene surges forward, kissing Hanako again. This time, she sits up onto her knees, invading his space and taking his face into her hands. If she can’t convince him with her words, then perhaps she can convince through action? Nene tilts her head and parts her lips. There, that feels a bit better than just kissing with her mouth squeezed closed. Hanako’s lips are slightly moist. They shiver as she carefully another kiss to the corner of his lips, and then the other.

This didn’t feel as awkward as last time, but Hanako is still far too rigid for her liking. “We can go on dates in the boundaries,” she says as she pulls away. She loops her arms around his shoulders and moves to kneel in between his parted legs. Sometime in between her kissing him again, he’d sprawled back slightly, legs splaying and arms reaching out as though he wants to grab onto something, though he isn’t quite sure what. 

She brushes her lips against his lips again, softer this time as she opens her mouth experimentally. That feels… kind of nice, actually. There are no fireworks, but she begins to feel a slight, almost ticklish feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Even if you can’t grow old with me. I’m sure that we’ll figure something out. I just… I just want to be with you, Hanako-kun,” she draws back and makes direct eye contact this time.

She needs him to understand that.

None of those superficial things mattered to her anymore. It would all feel empty without at least trying to pursue her feelings for him. “And you -- you keep saying that I deserve better. But what about you, Hanako-kun?” He tenses at her words, and she knows that she’s nailed the true crux of the problem. Her eyes soften, and she presses her forehead against his. “Don’t keep saying that I deserve better than you. When I want you — and you — don’t you deserve some happiness, too?”

His eyes squeeze shut, pained. His voice sounds raw, as though he’d cry at any second, “I don’t -- Yashiro. There’s so much you don’t know--” “And I’m telling you that I don’t care!” She yells, cutting him off. It hurts to hear him speaking that way about himself. She knows that he’s killed -- his own brother, no less. But, she’s seen enough of his past self to know that he wouldn’t have taken such drastic action without there being some sort of reason. She didn’t know what that reason was, or if there was any excuse for murder. He’d promised to tell her everything when he was ready to and she was more than prepared to wait for him. 

There’s so much that she doesn’t understand about Hanako.

— But she can’t bring herself to judge him for any of it. 

His expression is one of slack-jawed shock like he can’t quite believe that she exists. She kisses him again, harder this time. She wants him to understand. No — she needs him to understand. Luckily, it’s this kiss where Hanako seems to finally regain some of his brain’s function. Or at least, his body has finally caught up to what was happening. He releases a soft, almost strangled sigh as his hands wrap around her. It’s a tight, almost desperate sort of hug. It’s like he’s never hugged anyone before in his life like he’s starved for her.

He clutches at her back, fingers digging into the fabric of her kimono as he finally returns the kiss. His lips part, mouth opening as he draws her bottom lip into his mouth. Nene whimpers, a thrill of pure heat blossoming in her chest. One of Hanako’s sharper teeth caught on her lips. It drags along the swell of the tender flesh, and while it stings, it also inspires a feeling inside of that that is so sharp that she can’t help but shudder.

What -- is this?

“Yashiro,” Hanako murmurs against her mouth. “Do you really mean all of that?” His question is a probing one. He sounds nervous, excited, and terrified all at once. He changes the angle of the kiss, inclining his head as his tongue swipes along the underside of her lip. If her insides had been jumbled up before, it was as though one thousand tiny butterflies had all been jammed inside of her belly now. She can’t stop the soft whine from escaping from her. He’d -- he’d just spoken, hadn’t he? 

“Y-Yes,” she admits, hands moving from their position up to his hair. She’s not sure why, but it feels right to do that. His hair is soft to the touch, like satin on her fingertips. Nene swipes his hat off of his head in her enthusiasm, and she’s not sure where it falls off to, nor does she care. “I want to be with you, Hanako-kun,” she repeats, feeling as though she is in a haze. Her brain feels like it’s filled with cotton candy or clouds as soft as the ones that had been in Shijima-san’s picture world.

She’d wanted to kiss him then, too.

He groans, this time ducking his head away from her mouth. She wants to protest from the lack of contact. Why had he stopped kissing her? Kissing had just started to feel very nice and she beginning to see what all of the fuss was about —  

He kisses the underside of her jaw and she whines. She wants to cover her mouth. She’s sure that sounded pretty embarrassing, but Hanako doesn’t seem perturbed by the sound at all. If anything, it spurs him on, his lips dragging down from along her jaw as he peppers kisses wherever he can find exposed skin along her throat. The collar of the kimono was high, and he couldn’t get as much access as she would’ve liked. 

Oh.

What is she thinking?!

“Yashiro — Yashiro,” he whispers her name against her skin. His lips part, open-mouthed as he draws the skin of her neck into his mouth. She trembles, goosebumps breaking out along her flesh from the feeling. Now that feels like fireworks. 

She finds herself on her back, Hanako sprawled out on top of her and she’s not quite sure how they ended up in this position. Her heart feels so full -- like it might burst at any moment. Hanako runs his fingers through her hair, combing his fingers through her scalp and it feels so nice that she can’t help but close her eyes and moan. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, but she grabs both of his cheeks, tugging him down to kiss him silent once more. 

“Don’t apologize.” Why would he be sorry for this? For making her feel like this.

For being as close to death as she was, she’d never felt more alive. 

“I just — ,” he struggles with his words. “I want this — I want to be with you, too,” his eyes burn, and as he draws away. No, she thinks breathlessly. I want more. Kiss me more — “I feel like I’m dooming you. If — if we’re together… then can I really grant your wish?” His hands tremble as he moves a hand down to cradle her cheek. “What if I want to keep you all to myself? I just...feel so selfish.”

More. More. More —

She kisses each of his cheeks and then finds herself fumbling with the buttons of his gakuran, if only to gain access to his throat. He sounds so stunned, head falling against her shoulder as he presses his body against her. Did he feel the same way that she did right now? He had been covered in so many bruises in the past when he was alive. She wonders if anyone had ever touched him with the intent of causing joy — and not pain. 

A tornado storms inside of her, feelings too intense for her to even put a name to overwhelming her. She can feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Their situation wasn’t exactly a fair one. Two doors were set before her. Death or life. Both options would take her away from him. Though, when he holds her this way — and says such sweet, honest things, Nene thinks that she’d be alright with dying. At least if it was like this. 

Was this -- how Sumire-chan felt? 

“Then have me,” Nene whispers. “Let’s be together.” 

He chokes on what sounds like a sob, eyes glittering with unshed tears as he smiles down at her. He chuckles.

“So many wishes. How can I keep up with granting all of them?” He uses his fingers to wipe at the tears that had begun to fall freely down her cheeks. He brings one of her hands to his lips, brushing them against the back of her palm. “You’re so needy, Yashiro.” 

“It’s a boyfriend’s job to grant his girlfriend’s needy wishes,” she returns his smile. Then, she kisses him again, opening her mouth he can suckle on the tip of her tongue. She shudders -- yes, this is where she is meant to be. 

“Is that so?” 

“It is,” she affirms, quieting him again.

She isn’t sure how long they were meant to last -- but Nene does know this. 

She’d brave it all for him. 

---- 

The end.

----

[flowercrown-bard]

The Boy who Ran: Chapter 4

Whumptober Prompt 9: “Take me intead”

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/ Jaskier

AN: Please tell me if my writing is too long for Tumblr. I honestly have no idea what the acceptable length for fic on this site is.

Read on AO3

part 1  part 2  part 3

After day that in the forest, when Jaskier had poured every ounce of chaos he had into Geralt, desperate to keep him alive, his resolve had slowly crumbled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to tell Geralt that maybe he wasn’t as much of a human as he once used to be? Surely Geralt wouldn’t be angry at him for not telling him. After all, Jaskier wasn’t even sure what exactly he was.

With every hour he had spent in the Feywilds he had felt himself become more other. That didn’t mean he was something that Geralt would despise, did it?

That day when he had thought that he would lose Geralt, he hadn’t been worried about him finding out. He had only wanted to save him. And he had. He had made sure he wouldn’t lose Geralt just yet. There would be decades to come that they would be together – centuries, even, if Jaskier got lucky.

It had taken only a little while to understand that Geralt might not have the same reassurance. When Geralt had looked at him that night and told him how scared he was that he was going to lose Jaskier to old age, he would have almost confessed then and there. He didn’t know how much longer his life would become, but he knew for certain that he would outlive any regular human.

He should tell Geralt. It would ease his mind, make him happy even.

And yet, each night that Geralt held Jaskier close, each time they kissed or shared hushed secrets in the night, he remembered why he couldn’t tell him. Because if there was even the tiniest chance that Jaskier’s confession could break what they had, he couldn’t take it.

Tomorrow, he told himself each night, tomorrow I will tell Geralt. For now I will savour every moment I have with Geralt.

*

“What have you done?” Jaskier’s voice held no emotion. If it did, he would cry, he would scream and break.

He began to tremble, as Geralt looked up from the creature he had just slain.

“Jaskier.” How could Geralt’s voice be so even, as if he didn’t know what horrible crime he had just committed? “I had told you not to come after me.”

There was so much Jaskier wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the right words.

“Why?,” Jaskier whispered instead, the only thing close enough to describe what he felt witnessing this horror.

Geralt stood up. Bile rose in Jakier’s throat as Geralt ripped his sword out of the body with a squelching sound. He had to look away, to shut his eyes, as if it would help. As if the image wasn’t branded into his mind already.

He jerked violently when he felt a hand – a blood-soaked hand, a hand that had just taken a precious life - on his shoulder, his eyes snapping back to Geralt, wide and filled with horror. Geralt’s frown softened.

“Because it would have been too dangerous for you. If you had come with me, this creature could have manipulated you and I might not have been able to save you. I couldn’t risk that.” Geralt gave his shoulder what was meant to be a reassuring squeeze, but felt like a threat, death-grip he couldn’t escape. “It can’t hurt you now, Jaskier.”

Something coiled inside of Jaskier’s stomach, a grotesque mixture of fear and disgust and anger.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, unable to look away from Geralt’s eyes. Not out of bravery. Out of fear. If he looked down, he would have to see the bloody body Geralt had slain. “I meant why did you kill a Fae?”

His voice grew thick with the last word and suddenly it was as though a dam had broken inside of him. The words – the accusations – that Jaskier had not been able to find before took a hold of him, couldn’t be stopped now, even if he tried.

“They are sentient beings!” His voice cracked. “Geralt, you always, always said you didn’t kill beings who could think. They have a culture. They have families and names and songs they sing to each other to bring happiness or comfort.” They were my family. They gave me a new name and taught me their songs. “Why did you kill one of them, Geralt? Why?”

Would you kill me too, if you knew?

Geralt looked taken aback for a moment, before his eyes grew hard.

“Jaskier, those creatures are not the fairies from children’s storybooks. A Fae’s song isn’t meant for lovers, it’s meant to kill. Don’t talk about them as though they are innocent. They could bewitch even witchers. Despite what your fairytales might have told you, they are vicious killers. They hunt humans for sport. Their sole purpose in life is to manipulate and hurt people. Yes, they are sentient, but they are the worst monster of them all.”

That wasn’t true. Jaskier wanted to say it, but the words were stuck in his throat, the dam holding them back was rebuilt, stronger than before. All he was able to do was stare at Geralt with slightly parted lips.

How could Geralt talk like this about his people? Yes, not all Fae were kind. The gods knew there were plenty of Fae he despised out of the depths of his soul, but even they didn’t warrant the untamed venom that had left Geralt’s mouth with every word.

Finally, the words he had really been meaning to say found their way onto his tongue.

“What if you met a Fae who wasn’t like that?” He swallowed hard, trying not to let the small hope that still somehow lived in his chest die. “What if you ever met one that genuinely liked people? Would you kill them too?”

“Jaskier…” Geralt sighed. As if Jaskier was a child Geralt had to tell that his fantasies weren’t true. Almost gently Geralt plunged the knife into Jaskier’s heart with his next words. “I know you want to believe in your tales, but there are no Fae like that. I wish with all my being that I will never meet another one of those beasts again, but if I ever do, I will kill it, if only to keep you safe.”

The hope flickered and died, a candle blown out before it ever got the chance to light a fireplace.  

This was it. No longer would Jaskier lay at night telling himself that he would confess to Geralt the next day. No longer would he imagine Geralt’s smile as he realised that he might have centuries with Jaskier. Instead he would tense and tremble, praying that Geralt never found out, dreading the day that he would.

Because that was the thing. Despite all of Jaskier’s instincts telling him to run, to go back to the Feywilds where he would be safe from Geralt’s inevitable wrath, he wouldn’t. All this life he had run one way or another, but when it came to Geralt, it was impossible. He had to stay.

He let Geralt embrace him, but instead of burying his head in his shoulders like he wanted, Jaskier peeked over them and looked at the twisted body of the Fae that still lay where it had dropped dead, killed by the man who held Jaskier’s body in his arms and his heart in his hands. He owed the Fae that much, to be seen one last time.

Ugly guilt soared inside him and he didn’t push it away. What he was doing was wrong. But he couldn’t stop himself from returning the embrace.

His eyes lifted from the corpse.

His breath hitched.

For a split second his fingers clutched tightly at Geralt’s clothes, before he forced himself to loosen the embrace slowly, as though he didn’t want to push Geralt behind him and protect him with his life against the Fae who stared at him from behind some bushes with murderous hatred burning in their eyes.

“I –“ He broke off, mind racing to find an excuse that wouldn’t make Geralt instantly suspicious, but all he could think about was that Geralt was in danger. “This corpse is too disgusting, I think I’m going to throw up.” It wasn’t a lie. Jaskier’s stomach churned as though it wanted to turn itself inside out.

Geralt looked at him in concern. “Can I help somehow?”

Jaskier waved him off, as he stormed over to where he had seen the glowing eyes before. “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

He brushed the twigs aside, made his way through the undergrowth to where Geralt’s senses wouldn’t reach and came face to face with the last person he wanted to see, less so now than ever before.

The Fae had their arms crossed, a cold sneer on their lips, exposing their sharp teeth.

“So this is the reason you have been gone for so long,” they snarled. “You made friends with the Butcher.”

“Don’t call him that,” Jaskier hissed. Hearing the name from a creature that held names to more importance than anyone, the word sounded even worse than when a human spew it at Geralt.

“Is it not true then?” the Fae asked, unfurling their arms and stepping closer to Jaskier until they stood almost chest to chest. “Look again at what he had done to my sibling and tell me he isn’t a butcher.”

Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t deny it. He had seen first-hand what Geralt had done.

Jaskier’s silence was answer enough. With a disbelieving shake of his head the Fae stepped back again, as if Jaskier’s closeness was an insult.

“You think so too. You know what he is and yet you stay with him, let him touch you. Traitor!” The words stung, but what hurt even more was the truth of it. “Did you know that not a single Fae had been killed by a human in ages?” They thrust one clawed finger at Jaskier’s chest, almost drawing blood with the force of it. “And then you get born and suddenly two of my family are dead, slain by those who are close to you.”

“That’s not fair,” Jaskier whispered, his quivering voice betraying him.

“No it’s not. But it’s the truth. You have done it again, Julian. You are once again the reason one of my family died.”

Jaskier’s hands clenched into first, a meagre attempt to hide the tremble. “They are my family too.”

“Are they?,” An ugly snarl slit the Fae’s face. “Then how can you watch them get slaughtered and still stay with their murderer.”

“Because I-“ Jaskier broke off, shut his lips as tightly as he could. He couldn’t let the Fae know.

Judging from the slight widen of their eyes, they didn’t need to hear Jaskier say the words. “You love him.” They let out a disbelieving laugh. “You actually love the butcher.”

“So what?” Jaskier looked away, unable to hold the Fae’s eyes.

“So you are betraying your family.” Before Jaskier could open his mouth to defend himself, the Fae added “Don’t deny it. You have always been a half-bred. You said you don’t belong to the human world, but you left the Feywilds. You cannot jump between the realms as you please. It is time you finally choose where your loyalties lie. You say, we Fae are your family, then prove it. Stay with him and look on as we get slaughtered or stay with us and watch us slay him.”

Jaskier’s head jerked up. “What do you mean?”

The Fae’s snarl turned into a smile that turned Jaskier’s blood into ice. For the first time that day Jaskier thought he might understand what Geralt had meant when he had called the Fae monsters.

“I mean that you don’t use your eyes. You are so blinded by the arrogance of being able to run to the next shiny thing, that you can’t see it rusting with the blood it spills. I am saying that you can’t close your eyes for much longer, Julian. Either he dies or we do. And I for one know which side I think is going to win.”

Jaskier mimicked the Fae in baring his teeth. It didn’t look nearly as intimidating with his human teeth, but the message was clear. “You don’t get to make me choose. You hold no power over me.”

“Oh, but you don’t have to take my word for it. I am not the only one who caught wind of the kind of company you keep.” They got closer again, until their mouth was next to Jaskier’s ear and whispered “Word of advice as a friend: Kill him yourself. It will be more merciful. Better make your choice quick. Time passes so inconveniently fast in this world.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “No.” It was no more than a horrified breath as the realisation hit him, took his breath away as though he was thrust into a pool of ice water.

The Fae’s sole purpose in life is to manipulate and hurt humans. Geralt’s words echoed in his head, mocking him. Of course this hated Fae would never just appear in the human world to confront Jaskier. Everything done by them was calculated. This confrontation had been a distraction.

Damn it, why had be let himself be lured so far away from Geralt?

Jaskier bolted through the bushes, almost stumbling over his own feet in his haste to get to Geralt in time.

But time passes so inconveniently fast. Too fast.

“We have to go!,” he yelled, even before he could see his love. He wanted to call out for him, call his name, but if there was even a slim chance that a Fae could hear him speak the name of his beloved, it would be disastrous. “We have to leave, now!”

When Jaskier arrived at the clearing, panting and covered in scratches, he was too late.

Geralt was surrounded by three Fae. They looked different than Jaskier had ever seen them before, more feral, emanating a dark aura and wielding undeniable power. Geralt stood no chance.

He fought valiantly, slashed at them with his sword, but not even a witcher could overpower three Fae.

“No, wait!” Jaskier cried, trying to pull one of the Fae away. They snarled at him, but hesitated.

“What are you doing here?” they hissed, eyes hard and unforgiving. “He killed one of our own.”

He swallowed, shaking under their gaze. “I know. I know, but it won’t happen again. I promise.”

He looked over his shoulder at Geralt, pleading him with his eyes to relent.

He didn’t. Instead he grabbed Jaskier by the back of his shirt and yanked him back, until Geralt was standing in front of him, shielding him with his body from the Fae that were his family.

“Don’t!” His shout went unheard, as Geralt bolted forward, determined not to let any harm come to Jaskier, while the Fae attacked him, determined to avenge their fallen.

One Fae cried out as they were slashed across the chest. Geralt was thrown to the ground, claw marks and magical burns adding to the painting of his scars.

Unimaginable fear seized Jaskier as one of the Fae touched the ground, singing a haunting melody Jaskier knew all too well. Too often had he sung it himself, summoning mushrooms that sprouted in a circle and took him back to the Feywilds.

There was only one thought in his mind. He couldn’t let them take Geralt. If the Fae were terrible and powerful enough here to hurt Geralt, there was no telling what they would do to him in their own realm.

There was no time to think of the consequences. He screamed the first name that came to mind, the name of the Fae who had told him to choose. Now he made his choice.

He called their name and made a deal.

“Take me instead of him!” He prayed with all his being that the Fae would bite. Just a simple yes would be all it took and Geralt would be safe. He repeated the name, almost begging “I am trading my life for his.”

“Jaskier, no!”

It was too late. Jaskier felt the burn in his chest, binding him to his word as his deal was accepted.  

Geralt’s horror-filled expression and his outstretched hand as he tried to reach Jaskier was the last thing Jaskier saw, before he was swallowed by the mist.

** Geralt lunged forward, Jaskier’s name on his lips, but he was too late. His hand grasped into nothingness, where Jaskier had been but a moment before.

Gerlalt fell to his knees, looking frantically around for something, for anything that could bring him Jaskier back. It was in vain. Any trace of Jaskier and the Fae had disappeared and had left Geralt with nothing but the terror of not knowing what would happen to Jaskier, what punishment he would receive in Geralt’s stead.

He dragged himself to the fairy-ring, hoping against hope that the Fae magic still lingered and would be enough to take him to wherever Jaskier had been dragged to.

Nothing happened.

For hours Geralt searched for something to bring him Jaskier back until he finally collapsed to the ground. His hair that had gradually been freed from his tie fell into his face, obscuring his blank expression, as the dread finally overtook him. There was nothing he can do.

His hand balled into a fist on his tight. He might not be able to do anything on his own to help Jaskier, but the last thing he could do was give up on him.

The fleeting thought manifested into iron determination.

Jaskier wouldn’t want him to do this. He would tell him he was foolish and a hypocrite and he would be right. But Jaskier wasn’t here to tell him those things.

Without looking up, he whispered the name of the Fae Jaskier had called on before. The gods knew where Jaskier had learned the name. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that stubborn little hope inside of Geralt that refused to be crushed.

The name was but a whisper on Geralt’s lips.

“I want to make a bargain, Valdo.”

“How very curious.” The owner of the voice leaned against a tree, their wings lazily hanging down and he was looking at Geralt with unconcealed mockery. “Now what deal would that be?”

The Fae sauntered closer, pointedly relaxed and taking their time, knowing that as long as Geralt needed them, they had the upper hand.

Geralt gritted his teeth as Valdo crouched down in front of him, and brushed Geralt’s hair out of his face to get a better view of the determination in his eyes. Geralt repressed the instinct to push the hand away. He would do anything to ensure Jaskier’s return and if that meant being observed like a shiny new toy for the Fae and be submissive then that’s what he would do.

“Humour me,” the Fae said, finally letting go of his hair and straightening back up, towering over Geralt. “What could bring a witcher to his knees, begging a Fae for a deal.”

“Jaskier could. I need him back. Cancel the deal you made with him, please, bring him back.”

What if the Fae wouldn’t? What if they left him, told him that this was what he deserved? That he had slain one of their kind and Jaskier would be the one to pay the price for it.

Valdo tilted their head to the side, contemplating. Every second that passed weighed on Geralt’s chest.

“You have killed someone who was important to me,” the Fae finally said and Geralt tensed. This was it. He had wasted his last chance to get him back. “But oh, I do so love a good deal.”

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat.

“You will bring him back?”

Valdo nodded. “If only because I relish in imagining the look in his eyes when you finally figure it out.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “Figure what out? What game are you playing?”

The Fae laughed and waved a hand through the air dismissively. “Now where would be the fun in me telling you? You need to find out for yourself and make sure to take a good look at our dear Jaskier when you do.”

“Stop these games. Just bring him back,” Geralt growled. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed in the Fae world. Every heartbeat he spent listening to the Fae could be an eternity in which Jaskier got tortured.

“Fine. But my help is not for free. You asked me to make a bargain, here is what I offer: I will bring him back to you, but you will owe me a favour. I will let you know when I have decided to collect it.”

It went against everything Vesemir had ever taught him, but he clenched his jaw and bit out the word. “Deal.”

For a brief moment Geralt wondered whether he had made the right decision, when he saw Valdo’s face split with a smirk and an otherworldly heat branded his chest.

His doubts were pushed far from his mind, when a fog began to rise, just as it had only hours before and the silhouette of a man slowly manifested in it.

Geralt’s scrambled to his feet, as Jaskier tumbled out of the mist. He sprang forward, barely catching him and carefully guiding him to the ground in his arms. He could feel the frail body tremble and the hands desperately clutching at his shirt. Broken sobs wrecked Jaskier as he buried his face in Geralt’s chest, accompanied by the same words over and over.

“You’re alive. You’re safe.”

“Yes, Jaskier, yes I’m safe. You protected me.” He buries his nose in Jaskier’s hair and tightened the embrace, needing to feel Jaskier, needing to know that he wouldn’t disappear into the realm of shadows again.

The sun had long set and the sounds of the forest had turned hushed and secretive, when they finally loosened their embrace, still holding their hands, never breaking contact.

Geralt’s eyes roamed over Jaskier’s body, scanning him for any injuries as he should have done before. He realised a shaky breath when he found none, but then his gaze reached Jaskier’s eyes.

Haunted eyes with a broken look and an eternity of misery in them. Whatever Jaskier had endured in the Fae’s realm it had left him in shatters, even though his skin remained unbroken.

Geralt let go of one of Jaskier’s hands and lifted his own to caress his cheek.

“Don’t worry, Jaskier, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you again. Do you understand me?”

Jaskier nodded, fainty and pressed his cheek into Geralt’s palm.

As he did so, the echo of a laughter rang through the forest that held no joy but the promise of regret. Valdo’s laugh.

Every muscle in Jaskier’s body tensed. In all the years Geralt had known him, he had never looked more terrified than he did now.

Jaskier’s voice carried all the horror of the world.

“What have you done?”

[k-s-morgan]

Hey it's me! :3 I've been rewatching Hannibal with my mom who is watching it for the first time. And she and I both are wondering why did Hannibal send Will to jail? Was it to cover his tracks or to see if he could live without will or Hannibal wanted to see what would happen if he put Will in Jail. Thank you for reading this!

Hello! Ah, I hope your Mom enjoys the show - I forced both my parents to watch it with me and they ended up loving it, although my Dad slept through S1 :D

As for framing, there are two major versions. One is supported by Mads, another one is supported by Bryan. I believe in the one Mads described because this is exactly what I felt when I was watching S1, so I'll focus on it.

Version 1

I think Hannibal never intended to seriously frame Will, but he was forced to do it in Releves (E12 of S1) because Will got too close to the truth without being ready to accept it. I'll copy one of my posts about it and expand on it.

Hannibal has been actively trying to make Will realize he's a killer and make it easier for him to accept it. He's been planting suspicions around him but not the actual evidence. He wanted to back Will into a corner where he would have to either self-destruct out of guilt or to say 'fuck it' and embrace who he is. He and Will discuss it in E5, when talking about the Angel Maker: "Angel Maker will be destroyed by what’s happening inside his head. You don't have to be."

If Hannibal wanted to actively frame Will, he would have started taking much more decisive actions. Like with Sutcliffe: the FBI immediately determined that Will didn't kill him. Hannibal was in a hurry, sure, but he could have planted at least some actual evidence. He saw for himself that Georgia was completely out of it, so he could at least paint Will's fingers with blood and give the knife to him; better yet, he could quickly kill Georgia and set Will up for double murder. That would be very easy to do.

Similarly, apart from Sutcliffe, Hannibal tries to make Will believe he killed Georgia's friend Beth (not seriously but he deliberately talks about it like that to make Will at least consider it, to which Will protests). He always uses the available victims to make Will accept the idea of him being a killer a little more. He uses various approaches, including reverse psychology and direct faulty suggestions for that. He affects Jack's opinion to create a bigger distance between him and Will, hoping that Will will become fed up with such treatment sooner and accept the other side of the veil.

At the same time, Hannibal never actually does anything that could really set Will up. He does it only during Releves, after Will refuses to listen to him. Will insists he's going to take Abigail home because he can catch the Copycat, and Hannibal tries to talk him out of it. Then he is shown as frustrated and upset after Will storms out - he closes his eyes in defeat, as if forced to do what he would have preferred to avoid. That's when he uses the recording and plants the real evidence.

Hannibal is crying when talking to Bedelia after Releves. Mads said Hannibal is always emotionally genuine and I don't see a point in this scene unless it's to show that he's genuinely upset. His plan of a family got delayed, he was forced to set Will up, and Abigail went into hiding. Hannibal voices his annoyance at Will for that, so to me, it once again shows he didn't want it to happen. He found how to twist this situation to his advantage but I don't think it was ever his big intention. As a back-up plan in case of an accident or if no methods worked and Will continued to deny who he is - maybe, but I don't think Hannibal was ready to give up and use this option then. The circumstances forced his hand.

That's what Mads said: "There was never the intention to frame Will for anything, but the problem was that the arrows were starting to point towards Hannibal." You cal also see @bloodsmile's analysis of it here https://k-s-morgan.tumblr.com/post/164015612368/hannibalstan-k-s-morgan-typicalher.

Version 2

Another version supported by Bryan is that Hannibal wanted to push Will as far down as possible to trigger his fury and his Becoming. Here's a meta about it https://www.reddit.com/r/HannibalTV/comments/d3qqg6/hannibals_long_game_spoilers/. Here's Bryan’s quote: I think that everything that Hannibal has done to Will has been a radical, unorthodox form of therapy. I would argue that all of the deeds still come from a place of genuine care. He is trying to help Will see himself better and get to a truer version of who Hannibal thinks Will is. Even setting him up to take the fall for these murders has been an act of therapy, in Hannibal's mind.

So I believe in the first version, but the two of them are possible! The most important thing is, framing was never intended to be long-lasting. Hannibal treated Will as his potential partner from the start.

[gingyboo]

Mirror Mirror

A/N: Again many thanks to @booglebug

Description- Soulmates existed. People knew that much. Soulmates were rare, a handful in each generation, an unexplainable phenomenon that formed a bond closer than blood and more sacred than marriage.

Bucky finds his soulmate when he needs her most. Little does he know how much she needs him too.

(Soulmate au that slots pretty much in to the MCU but with soulmates. Set after TFATWS.)

Pairing- Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings- Mentions of violence and guns, but its mostly fluff, drama and angst.

This is a multi chaptered fic.

Please like, comment, reblog!

prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 9

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

Chapter 10

It was surprisingly simple tracking down the dark-haired man. Redwing managed to find CCTV footage showing the man entering and exiting the same river side apartment. Bucky and Sam had been hauled up monitoring the surveillance from a cheap B&B on the out skirts of the city for the past two days. Bucky lay reclined on his twin bed, gently tossing his knife in the air and catching it. He flipped the compact mirror open and shut. He’d spoken to Nancy earlier, she’d explained a theory Shuri had over the depth of their soulmate bond and how she’d managed to both summon and call off the Winter Solider. It made him feel uneasy, that without meaning to Nancy had managed to bring him out, if she did it once she might do it again.

Sam entered the room and sitting on the edge of the adjacent bed. He pulled the suitcase out from under it.

“It’s go time co-worker, he just left.” Sam looked over at him, he pulled out the Captain America suit. He’d been tailing the man himself, found he visited a local restaurant in the evenings. More CCTV footage found this to be a nightly occurrence. Therefore, they’d hatched a plan. “you good for this?” Sam called over to Bucky. He forced himself out of his reclined position, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.

“Yeah, let’s do this.” His attempt at enthusiasm was poor, he was tired, he hadn’t slept well since that night and he could feel the tiredness in his bones.

“Focus Buck, remember who we’re doing this for.” Bucky shot him an exasperated smile. “There he is, come on.”

They made their way through Amsterdam silently, hugging the shadows, as swamis of cyclists made their way through the early evening traffic. The apartment was in an old building with an ornate terrace. On the front there was a concierge, so Sam and Bucky made their way up to the balcony, Bucky slipped the lock on the door with his knife and they made their way inside. It was a modest size apartment, with modern furnishings and a plethora of screens and files adorning a large desk in the corner. Bucky made his way through the rooms, gun drawn, there was a small hallway off which the living room they’d entered through branched. There was also a small bathroom, a kitchenette and a bedroom with only a covered mattress on the floor. Bucky stared at the mattress for a moment, it reminded him of Bucharest. Deciding they were alone he circled back to the living room. Sam was running his hands across the files on the desk.

“What’s he got there?” Bucky asked over his shoulder.

“If you let me finish reading, I’ll let you know.” Sam held up a hand concentrating. Bucky clenched his jaw impatiently. A minute later he spoke again, “it’s all in here,” he held up one of the files. “Transcripts of some sort, ‘Cartwright will join us if we take the girl.’ This must have been the communication Katima and her team intercepted.” Bucky looked in the file he showed him, his stomach twisted, there was a picture of Nancy, she looked younger, slightly softer round the edges, her hair shorter but her smile just a stunning. She stood by her father’s side, her brother, in full uniform, stood tall next to her mother. Larissa Cartwright was tall like her children, with darker hair and long manicured fingernails. “There’s more, conversations describing her movements and activities. Timings for Swan Lake at the royal opera house.” Bucky felt rage burning inside him, anger boiling in his head. He breathed deeply, Sam noticed his shaking breath. “It’s alright, we’ll bring him in, he won’t get to her.”

“I swear to god, any of them lay a finger on her, I don’t think I’ll be responsible for my actions.” A voice inside him roared in agreement, sending a shiver down his spine.

“I swear to god, any of them lay a finger on her, I don’t think I’ll be responsible for my actions.” A voice inside him roared in agreement, sending a shiver down his spine.

Shortly after their search of the files the front door clicked. Bucky spun round instantly, finger pressed to his lips and gun drawn again. Sam raised his eyebrows at him, exasperated. The light came on before the man entered the room, as he did Bucky pinned him straight against the wall.

“Hello again.” Bucky said increasing his pressure on the man’s neck with his vibranium arm. Up close the man looked younger and smaller. He was wearing a long black trench coat, his skin once again seemed too high a contrast against his almost black hair. His jaw was clenched tight and he looked defiantly up at Bucky.

“Back off you bastard!” He spat back in Bucky’s face, pushing against him to no avail. Bucky kicked out the back of his knees and the man fell at his feet.

“Who are you?” Bucky demanded. He grabbed the file from Sam shoving it under the man’s nose. “What do you want with Martin Cartwright?”

———————————————————————————————

“Your brother was a very private person.” Shuri noted, scrolling through the feed on her screen, “No social media what so ever, no pictures of him on any of his friend’s pages no dating apps either.” Shuri looked quite disappointed.

“That kind of stuff just wasn’t important to him, and Kit didn’t really have any friends towards the end.” Nancy admitted. “He was quite obsessed with becoming the perfect solider, he cut everyone out, including me.” Nancy remembered the change well, his every breath was for queen and country, he came back only for fleeting visits, Nancy never saw him out of his naval uniform. Her and Shuri had been looking for days for any record of his final mission, though they had found nothing yet, in fact they had found no records for him after he moved units. They found no record of any unit like that which Kit had described. Shuri had moved onto scanning the wider web. They were yet to find anything there either.

“Did he ever mention anyone he worked with at this training unit?” The princess asked. Nancy wracked her brains, Kit had barely spoken to her in those last few months. One of her biggest regrets was not pushing him harder, not having something to remember as the last thing they’d spoken of.

“No, sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“It’s alright, it’s just very suspicious. There’s nothing here, it’s like he stopped existing the moment he joined this unit.” Shuri suggested.

“What if we looked for others, umm, similarly qualified individuals, who might have been recruited to this unit, if Kit’s record at that point is missing maybe his isn’t the only one. If there were others maybe they weren’t so secretive.”

“Good thinking, I’m on it.” She started typing frantically, records appearing and disappearing on the screen. “This program should find records with those similarities.” They both watched the screen with bated breath.

The search took a couple of hours, Shuri suggested Nancy train some more whilst they waited. She tended to like Nancy to train multiple times a day, always being monitored. Sometimes Nancy would catch her frowning at the statistics on her tablet.

“I’ve had a new theory.” She said this time after a few minutes watching Nancy running on the treadmill.

“Yeah, tell me it doesn’t involve more running.” Nancy said, catching her breath as she walked over to Shuri. In her hand she held out a set of wireless headphones.

“I thought we’d explore the subconscious theory, I think your capabilities might lie there.”

“Why are you so sure I have these capabilities?”

“You might not see it but there are things I’ve seen that would suggest you’re not so ordinary.” She waved away any further comment from Nancy and lead her towards the targets. “I want you to relax, listen to the music, and then, when you get the signal, throw the knife.” Nancy looked at her like she was crazy but Shuri only grinned, nodding enthusiastically. The music started in her ear and Nancy instinctively tensed up, Tchaikovsky, the same music from that night at the ballet. Nancy tried to relax, she breathed deeply closing her eyes. She stood there for many minutes, her breathing settled, and she twirled the blade lightly across her knuckles. She stretched her neck out from side to side. As the music built to its climax a loud klaxon sounded. Nancy’s hand shot out on instinct. The knife spun through the air and landed on the target, imbedded to the hilt, dead centre. Nancy’s head snapped round to Shuri who was clapping her hands.

“That was a fluke.” Nancy insisted.

“No, no it wasn’t, look.” She turned her tablet around, “See the rise in the subconscious, then when the klaxon sounded how it fell after. The subconscious is most active in dreaming or when relaxed. When you felt threatened, you threw the knife, no active thought.” They tested it again, first throwing knives, 5/5 hit the exact same spot. They also tested her running, much to her displeasure. With the music playing she reached higher speeds then ever before, Shuri mapped the progress on her tablet.

“But that doesn’t explain what happened with Bucky.” Nancy said after removing the headphones. Experiments over for the day, her and Shuri made their way back to the lab.

“You were asleep weren’t you, possibly dreaming, if you felt threatened perhaps your mind reached for the only weapon at your disposal.”

“And that was Bucky” Nancy froze for a minute, “I was dreaming, I was dreaming of Kit, I kept losing him.”

“You were distressed, the Winter Solider sensed that and reached through Bucky to stop the threat.” Shuri kept explaining, light building in her eyes from realisation as she pieced together the new information.

“Oh Bucky,” she croaked out. He thought he’d tried to kill her, he’d really been trying to save her, and worse because her head had asked him two. He would always try to protect her but if she had abilities like his, if she could control them, utilise them, then maybe she could defend herself. Maybe she could be more than just a socialite. Images formed in her head, her and Bucky fighting side by side. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought. A chance, a gift of sorts from destiny. She could defend the world, just like Bucky and Sam.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a notification on Shuri’s tablet. Match found. They looked between each other before approaching the large monitor.

The record was displayed on the screen.

Duncan Everett

Nancy didn’t recognise the name, but she knew the face. It was the dark-haired man.

[askaceattorney]

Dear askrikkaiandhyotei,

Thanks for waiting, first of all.  I’m finally finished with all the essay requests that came before yours.  As Nahyuta might say...

So, an essay about the Last Rites Prosecutor?  Let us begin our journey down the path of enlightenment.

In order to properly talk about this prosecutor monk, I first have to talk briefly about the concept of religion -- not any specific one, but religion as a whole.  Throughout history, religion has been described a thousand different ways -- something necessary for life and society, something needless or even harmful for life and society, and just about everything in between.  The reason I bring this up is that Nahyuta does a great job of portraying both the positive and negative sides of religion through the use of a fictitious one called Khura’inism -- a pretty bold move on Capcom’s part, but if you ask me, it paid off pretty well.

We first meet him in his natural habitat, as peaceful as anyone could be.

His peace is interrupted when the police drag a captured member of the Defiant Dragons into the temple.  As a prosecutor of high reputation, this rebel could be described as Nahyuta’s mortal enemy, but his attitude toward him, while disdainful, is far from unpleasant; he in fact offers him mercy on behalf of the Holy Mother if he’s willing to submit himself to the court’s judgment.  Even knowing how empty of a gesture this is, considering the unfairness of every trial in Khura’in since the enactment of the DC Act, it’s still somewhat refreshing to see him speak so calmly to someone considered to be the lowest of the low in Khura’in.  His patience stems from his calm nature, but also from his loyalty to the deity he serves, as evidenced in his words:

“O Holy Mother, as your humble servant, you would have me act to save this wretch’s soul?  I suppose this, too, is part of my fate.”  This demonstrates one of the nobler sides of religion -- a willingness to leave one’s fate in the hands of a higher power.

The next time we see him, he attempts to stop a potentially brutal fight between the police and a fugitive, who happens to be holding a knife to Maya’s neck.  His desire for a peace is admirable, especially in such an intense situation, but what he says next is of questionable virtue:

It’s here that Nahyuta displays one of the less noble parts of religion -- looking down on those who don’t share one’s beliefs.  Sure, a guy who’s willing to use an innocent bystander as a shield obviously needs some form of help, but what exactly are those condescending words supposed to do for him (or Maya, for that matter)?  Not surprisingly, he refuses to listen, but luckily, Nahyuta has reflexes like Little Mac.

Interestingly enough, immediately after this, we see his compassionate side again.  He not only rescues a foreign visitor, but wishes the Holy Mother’s divine favor on her.

As uppity as he’s shown himself to be, it’s hard to dislike someone who treats a stranger so well -- especially one who, as we know, has been through some serious rough spots in her life.  This introduction of Nahyuta -- a disdainful yet compassionate man of faith -- leads us to wonder if he’s meant to be a protagonist, antagonist, antihero, or something else.

And we haven’t even gotten into the game proper yet.  There’s still a lot to unpack about this guy.

Our next bit of info comes from his unlikely detec- sorry, forensic investigator, Ema Skye:

Like a lot of new characters, he’s shrouded in mystery from the very beginning.  We at least learn what his reason is for choosing the prosecutor’s path, and where his courtroom nickname came from:

We’ve seen all manner of bizarre prosecutors up until now, but so far, Nahyuta is the only prosecutor who wears his beliefs on his sleeve, especially in the courtroom.  For him, prosecuting is about more than seeking justice for the guilty -- it’s about seeking salvation for their victims.  In other words, it’s not only his professional duty, but a religious one.  Interestingly enough, his professionalism is no less strong than his religion -- according to Ema, he’s known for solving difficult cases around the world.

But religious, professional, or otherwise, Nahyuta proves to be the same as every other prosecutor, as well as every human being -- capable of making mistakes, both big and small.  Before we get to that, though...

Well, what do you know?  Looks like we have yet another connection between a new character and a current one.  Apollo, just how many people do you know that you never talk about?

The importance of their relationship is put to the side as we learn how Nahyuta operates as a prosecutor.  At first, he seems like a “gentle-mannered soul,” as Athena puts it, but that visage disappears in the next moment.  Like pretty much every prosecutor we’ve seen, he’s proud, demeaning, and flat-out brutal when he wants to be.  He even has a favorite adjective for describing his opponents.

Then there’s the sutra he often chants as a fancy way of telling them to “get real.”  And as if that wasn’t enough, he uses his “duty as a monk to punish sinners” as a way of claiming the moral high ground, even going so far as to threaten to cast the defense and defendant “into the pit of hell.”  It’s hard to blame anyone for getting upset after hearing that, is it?

But hey, at least there’s no physical abuse this time around, right?

...Oh.

And as fate would have it (or perhaps some divine being who decided to have some fun), his favored forensic detective is a lover of science.  Talk about a perfect match, am I right?

At least the clash is more on the hilarious side in this case.

But anyway, on to Nahyuta’s mistakes.  Aside from his sickening hypocrisy (which is par the course for most Ace Attorney prosecutors, anyway) and the oversights he makes in court, there’s one blatant sin of his that sticks out: ascribing to a principle that anyone, religious or not, should be able to see problems with -- namely, the DC Act and the persecution of those who defy it.  To be fair, his motive for doing so is a humanitarian one -- protecting his family’s honor and safety -- but his willingness to look the other way as his own countrymen are wrongfully imprisoned and executed (not to mention his father having to stay in hiding because of it) is quite the opposite.

This brings us to his signature catchphrase, which could also be called his motto:

There are a lot of situations where this would be good advice, but in Nahyuta’s case, it’s a convenient excuse for him to give up on dealing with the problems of his past and remain loyal to the whims of Ga’ran.  More specifically, it’s a mask he uses to hide what he feels inside, which we don’t discover until it’s forced out of him: a lack of faith.

Even as someone as who has no trouble believing in the Holy Mother, Lady Kee’ra, and the Twilight Realm, Nahyuta struggles to believe in change, no matter how much his family, his friends, and his nation need it.  And it’s here that we see one of the most beautiful twists in his story -- when it comes to change, his father and surrogate brother have more faith than he does.  It takes some persuasion from Apollo to make him realize it, but it turns out he hasn’t quite given up on righting the wrongs of the past.

Nahyuta’s unwillingness to confiscate his father’s badge is all the proof Apollo needs that his faith in Dhurke’s fight for freedom hasn’t disappeared completely.  After proving this and Dhurke’s innocence, he finally forces Nahyuta to do something few people have the courage to do -- look at his own sins.

Unlike Claude Frollo, Nahyuta managed to turn his focus inward and realize his own imperfection.  It took some push from a close friend for it to happen, but better late than never.  And as it turns out, his faith in Dhurke’s creed was as close to him as his right hand all along -- in fact, it was on it.

Much like with Rayfa’s moment of transformation, Capcom was nice enough to give us a voiceover for this pivotal moment.

Nahyuta’s story in SoJ ends with him beginning a journey down his own path of redemption as he attempts to undo the damage caused by Ga’ran and his obedience to her.  He’s even bold enough to ask for Apollo’s help in continuing Dhurke’s mission of restoring Khura’in’s legal system.

I love character redemption as much as anyone, but one thing I love even more is when a character takes it a step further by joining the same cause they were once fighting against.  Whether it was brought on by the Holy Mother’s will, a love for his family and country, a mixture of the two, or something else, Nahyuta ultimately becomes a changed man.  Transformations like this are a sight to behold, especially knowing how much struggle it takes to get there.

So, religion -- is it good overall, evil overall, or somewhere in between?  That’s a mystery we probably won’t solve here, but Nahyuta and his religious devotion provide an excellent example of both the good and the evil that can come from it.  As both a cliche religious bigot and someone who’s willing to make sacrifices for others, he illustrates the crucial fact that no one is perfect, and that religion doesn’t do much (if anything) to change this, but faith certainly does.

And finally, I have to agree with your analogy of Nahyuta as Apollo’s Edgeworth -- the two of them knew each other from a young age, grew up together, were separated by unfortunate circumstances, and followed very different paths, one being less noble than the other, but eventually undergoing a dramatic change in direction.  It makes me wonder what a spin-off game with Nahyuta as the protagonist would look like.  It might just be interesting...as long as we don’t have to chant that sutra into a microphone.

-The Co-Mod

[mor-beck-more-problems]

What Are Friends For || Morgan & Lydia

After Morgan accidentally strikes a bargain with Lydia, she is invited over to make good on her word. What are friends for, after all? 

@inspirationdivine

Morgan was eager to make a better impression on Lydia than she had at the beach. She brought one of the few bottles of wine she hadn’t wrecked in the house, assuming that whatever was good enough for Deirdre’s luxuriant tastes would suit Lydia as well. She put on a bright floral dress that was hanging in the closet from her old things, too attention-seeking with its sweetheart bust and bright pink belt to do for her everyday ‘don’t look at me I’m dead and depressed’ chic. Which meant it was clean and, mostly, unwrinkled. She did her hair. She checked herself, however self-consciously before the door to the rather intimidatingly large house. When Lydia answered the door, Morgan held out her gift bag automatically. “I brought this for you!” If she had any blood flow to her face she would have blushed. No hi? No how are you? Seriously? “It’s good see you,” she tried. “I thought you’d like this. And, um, there’s a rose quartz plate. I don’t know if you like it, but it is one of the nicer things I made.” It was part of an unfinished commission the buyer only wanted a refund for, but even Morgan wasn’t so frazzled as to mention that.

Lydia smiled as she opened the door, humans kept busy upstairs so as to not disturb them. Almost immediately Morgan was pushing a gift bag into her hands, which Lydia peaked into curiously. “Thank you, darling, it’s good to see you too,” she stepped aside, leading Morgan into the kitchen of her home. Large windows filled the room with spring skies, and a view over her garden. “Look at that, you did put on your Sunday best after all. You look good.”

Morgan stepped carefully into the house, minding not to scuff the tile as she walked in. Windows lined every wall that wasn’t adorned with bright paintings or strange sculptures that seemed to draw Morgan towards them. It put her in mind of an art gallery, or a home in a movie: some mysterious billionaire with a shark tank in the basement. “Have you collected all of this in only four months?” She asked, staring wide-eyed around her. So entranced and distracted, she nearly tripped on her way to the kitchen. “I did!” She said, summoning as much brightness as she had in her. Not much, but enough to sound pleasant. “I like to think I clean up good. Your home is amazing,” she said. “Almost like a museum.”

“No, I’ve had much of it for years. Every time I move, I choose my favourite pieces to bring to the new residence. I change it reasonably frequently.” Lydia looked around, smiling at her collection. For each piece, she could name the Leanan who had inspired it. Some of them distant friends or siblings that Lydia could see in the art itself. Either directly, the planes of their chests carefully etched into wood, or in the colour pallettes of the beautiful baroque scenery. “You do clean up well. I also hope this means you feel the slightest bit better relative to the last time we met.”

“Oh. Sh--stars,” Morgan corrected herself quickly. “It really is like a museum. That’s incredible. And when you say years, do you mean--” She hesitated, wondering if it was impolite to ask about age. Morgan didn’t even know what kind of fae Lydia was. If she was a banshee, she would have more skulls, right? And Deirdre wouldn’t be so lonely. She probably wasn’t like Jeff, Morgan would have noticed that too. “Well, just how many, I guess, if that’s polite to ask.” But, in case that wasn’t-- “I am feeling better, though. Thank you for asking. Still not, you know,” she fidgeted on the counter, “Kickin’ that well. But, better than last time. Haven’t almost drowned anyone since.”

“I’m over seventy years old, although I haven’t been collecting art for quite that long,” Lydia replied, preening herself under Morgan’s compliments. “Are you an art connoisseur, or do you just enjoy seeing it?” There wasn’t any judgment in her tone, for once. It was simply a question to find out whether they could talk art, or simply enjoy it together. “I would be more concerned if you were suddenly completely fine. Although, if pranks become part of your new lifestyle, that remains a good choice for a prank. Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

“Seventy?” Morgan balked with surprise before she could stop herself. Did this mean she and Deirdre would look this good at seventy? Her mind struggled to go in five different directions at once. “I don’t know if that’s especially old for fae, if your family treats you like a kid about it or not, but at least you don’t seem cynical or tired after all this time,” she said, trying to get back on course. “I’ve, um, I’ve taken a couple courses in art history. Came in handy when I was alive, a little, with curse research and the sacred geometry that goes into alchemy. But mostly I just think it’s pretty. I um...I mostly have a weak spot for anything with a dramatic enough emotional statement. There’s a chapel Rothko designed, in Houston? I would go there to think some times, as a weird treat for myself.” She scanned their surroundings again. The house was so open she could see all the way to the entrance still. “That one,” she pointed, “Is that an original baroque or something in the style?” She gave a hapless smile, this is as far as my knowledge goes, but I’m trying. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having. Or water,” she said, to be polite. At least water had never really tasted like anything in the first place.

“It doesn’t directly translate to either of those. I have a lot of life left to live, but seventy years is no short length of time for anyone.” Lydia replied, smiling. “Why would I become cynical or tired of it? The world has so much to experience and live for.” She sat on a stool by her kitchen table, as Morgan described her education. “Yes, I know the chapel. It’s incredibly beautiful.” Lydia looked down the hall and nodded. “It’s a Reubens. I do love the Baroque style.” She smiled, letting Morgan go from the discussion. “Water it is,” Lydia acquiesced, pouring Morgan a glass. “Now, shall we discuss that little deal of ours?”

“Oh,” Morgan said, chewing on the thought. “I guess, just because…” Life sucks and then you die. And sometimes you come back for even more hurt. She was able to think better of the statement and after a few moments of mouthing awkwardly in silence, “Humans do. Get cynical and tired. It doesn’t even take seventy years for most of them. I used to get crap for not being more...bitter, cautious, whatever. I was tired a lot, but maybe energy is different for fae.” She didn’t try to flex what little art factoids she had. Lydia was being nice and, fuck it, she’d let her be. Morgan had given her offerings, she made an effort, and despite Lydia’s airs of propriety, there was something about her that invited Morgan to drop her own pretensions and be herself. She gave a smaller, though more sincere smile and nodded gratefully. “Right! I said I’d do something for you. What kind of thing did you have in mind?”

“There are days that are terrible. Sometimes weeks or even years. To let that colour my entire life would be...wasteful.” Lydia replied, but knew it probably wasn’t what Morgan needed to hear right now. Losing another wasn’t the same as losing your own sense of self. Even if Morgan hadn’t lost her life, Lydia understood she currently felt like it. So she smiled, matching Morgan’s. “Yes. This is really… more of a heads up, if you will. I’m sure Deirdre is very careful with these things, with you. But if you’re to date a fae, you need to be aware that not all of us are as sweet as Deirdre or I, and that you might need to watch your words more carefully.” Lydia clasped her hands. “As for what I had in mind. I was thinking a small painting. I can offer you as much inspiration as you like. I don’t care if you paint the whole canvas blue, or if you throw the paint at it, or if you take rests. All of that is up to you. You could even take a knife to the canvas, for all I mind. Just create something, for me. That’s all I ask to end the promise.”

“Wait--what?” Morgan sputtered with confusion. She thought that Lydia was kidding. She had to be. A head’s up? “We’re always intentional with our promises, yeah,” Morgan said, straightening with a little pride. Their promises were better than any cheesy ring or one-time declaration any other couple might make. They were their trust, their fidelity, something that could stay true and real, even when Morgan could barely get out of bed. They never had to pull on the thread because they meant what they said. It only existed for something sudden, some hypothetical emergency or some time when the compulsion would be a comfort. What else would promises be good for, besides a proof of trust? Her expression wrinkled, confused and scrutinizing as she waited for some other punchline. Then her body began to ache, her insides burning and twisting. That was...weird. “Uh…” Her stomach tightened, and Morgan clenched her jaw to keep from dry heaving in front of Lydia. “Oh-kay.” She gripped the countertop to keep from doubling over. Was this--something fae let happen on purpose? “Canvas?” She asked, voice strained. “Can you, um, show me where, a-and paint, crayola crayons, whatever? Please?”

“Already set up,” Lydia replied smoothly, stepping over to help Morgan. “Darling, there’s no rush.” That would at least ease the ache that had Morgan keeling over, her jaw tight. Lydia tried to feel bad about it. She really did. It was the fae in her, that couldn’t stand to avoid taking advantage of such things. Perhaps it was a bit of a compulsion. She would have done it to anyone, really, and would expect it in return.  “Come along here, and I’ll bring you something you can really taste.” Lydia lead Morgan to a pre-set up canvas and paints. It was a small canvas, A4 sized. If Morgan wanted to, she could cover the whole thing in a couple minutes flat. “There you go. As I said, darling, no rush, take the rests you want, paint what you like.”

Morgan’s insides unclenched at Lydia’s words. She let out a deep gasp, bracing herself again, just so she didn’t go to the floor in relief. She looked up at Lydia, bewildered by how quickly this had turned around into something...not at all like what she shared with Deirdre. Was this the ‘heads up’? The lesson she was supposed to get out of this. “T-thank you,” she said quietly, averting her gaze. She followed her at a distance, still feeling a little clammy, or maybe just shaken. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she asked the universe to help her feel again. She looked between Lydia and the canvas and back again. It was all...waiting for her. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Okay. What I like. I can do that.” She tried to smile again, but she was too shaken to feel at ease just yet.

She lifted a drafting pencil and began to sketch out the bones of...whatever this was going to be. Why was this so hard? Of course she liked things. Morgan sectioned off the canvas for a close up landscape and set aside a circle for what she wanted to put in it. She had started on a base coat (she remembered that much from the extra curricular lectures she’d attended) when she worked up the nerve to ask, “So, can I ask--? When you say that other fae are not as sweet, do you mean...that they do this on purpose? For...what, exactly? I just...would like to understand better.”

“I mean that the kind of promise you made could be used for something much crueler than a simple painting.” Lydia sat down a few feet away from Morgan, watching her paint the base. She sat back, her wings fading into view as she considered the question.  “We do it in part because it is our culture. To us, there is little more valuable than our word. That everyone else gives it so thoughtlessly is infuriating. There should be consequences for such things.”  She turned her gaze back to Morgan. “When I was attacked by that vampire, when I was done being terrified, I was enraged. Not just because he’d turned me into a toy, or because he’d tried to kill me. What made me most angry was that we’d made a deal, and he went right against it. That made me more angry than the manner by which he did it.” Lydia shook her head to clear her mind. “I suppose though, perhaps what I want to warn you of, is that many fae don’t like other fae to date other species at all. That a commitment like the one you made to me could have been used to end the relationship between the two of you.”

Morgan could understand, a little, what it must be like to see everyone take for granted what was so essential to you. She still hadn’t been by to see the coven despite saying that she would, she needed to. It was too painful, too infuriating, to witness magic as if it were a matter of course when her power had died in the street with her heartbeat. She switched to a different brush and began to cover the canvas in blue before taking up another and layering a wide swath of green over it for grass. It was more of a clumsy child’s dreamscape than the spot in the woods by the river she had hoped to represent, but Lydia hadn’t asked her for the artistic value of her work. She paused, turning solemn as Lydia recounted the worst parts of her story to her. Morgan shook her head with dismay. “Vampires are the fucking worst,” she grumbled quietly. Then, with a little more poise she said louder, “He should never have done that. He should have to pay, pay to someone for being cruel in that way. I’m sorry, Lydia.”

At the suggestion that Morgan could be promise-tricked into deserting Deirdre, she put her brush down. “They might hate me, for being with her. I’m aware of that much,” she said solemnly. “But...we promised each other first. All she ever has to do is ask for me to come to her, and I will. Wherever she is, whatever else happens between us. Doesn’t that promise matter too?” They were careful. They still didn’t go shouting from the rooftops that they were together. But if fae could sense each other, it would only take one outing down the wrong street, bumping into the wrong person, for them to guess. “How do I keep that from happening?” She asked. “I didn’t...I was being sincere, Lydia, when I spoke to you about doing something. I just didn’t understand that it was possible to bind yourself without the word ‘promise.’” She picked up her brush again, sighing with dismay as more troubled thoughts floated and circled her brain. “I’m sorry for that too I guess.”

“He will. He made a deal, and now he will pay for it. As he should,” Lydia replied, sneering, before pushing the mysterious vampire out of her mind and out the conversation. Morgan had much more interesting things to say. “You made a promise to Deirdre that you would stay in a relationship with her?” Lydia asked. Deirdre could do Deirdre but… how completely bizarre. She’d have to ask Deirdre about it sometime.  “Yes, any such promise has incredible value. There is a separate danger there. When an unstoppable force hits an immovable object, what breaks? Usually, the person who has made two opposing unbreakable promises.” It was rather gruesome, really. It was horrifying. Lydia had seen it happen to a couple humans, but had once seen it happen to a gancanagh she knew, barely eighteen years old. The whole fae population had gone into mourning over it. “You watch your words, carefully. Any time you commit to something, any time you indicate a favour owed. It takes practice. That’s why I wanted you to learn this now.” Lydia leant forward, her eyes softer than the situation should suggest. “I appreciate your apology, darling. I don’t doubt your good nature.”

“Oh, no, that’s--” Morgan couldn’t help but scoff darkly. “That’s definitely not what happened. Not that I would ever fuck with our agency like that in the first place, but Deirdre--” Deirdre had been more livid, more hurt than Morgan had ever seen her before, or since. Everything was vanishing behind one locked door after another. Morgan, with her cursed track record, had feared the worst. All because of some stupid words she hadn’t understood. Morgan couldn’t bring herself to explain the horrible details, the guilt of having caused that kind of hurt still haunted her mind. It rose up, prickling her peace like needles whenever things grew tense between her and Deirdre, and when they were so light and calm, they seemed too good to last. But the unpleasantness of that day in the woods was clear on her face as she stared into the distance before resuming her painting. “She would’ve released me in two seconds if that had been what I was trying. We weren’t in a good place, when I gave her that promise. But I wanted…” What she had really wanted was for all the badness to stop. And for Deirdre to not give up on her own humanity just because Morgan had wounded her by mistake. But Morgan did not know how to tell Lydia any of this, or if she even wanted to.

“I wanted her to know that I would always be there for her,” she said at last. “Even if we never got back to the kind of place we were at before, I would still want to be there for her, if that was something she might...want. Even a little. No relationship conditions, she could have frozen me out for weeks or months, and asked me over for just an hour or a night or a week. When you care about someone enough...when you love them, it shouldn’t matter if you’re in a fight or broken up over some stupid mistake or you haven’t spoken in awhile. If you love them, you want to be there no matter what, as long as they want you to. But that’s hard for people to believe. And not everyone means things like ‘oh, i still wanna be your friend,’ ‘yeah you can still count on me.’ But I meant it. So I gave her a promise. If she ever decided she wanted to see me again, I’d come. She only had to ask for me.”

Morgan began to paint the drop of canvas she’d sectioned off a bright orange. Not at all like the amber fossil kept safely in their bedroom, but close as she could figure from her selections. “We worked things out on our own, eventually. She’s never pulled on that thread, even once. And I’d come without pressing her to take that measure, obviously. But I like knowing it's there. There’s no telling what could happen, and it’s still true, so…” She looked over at Lydia, a little heartened by her softness. She nodded at her words, accepting the gravity of her situation, why she might feel compelled to go to all this trouble. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. You must care about Deirdre a lot, to look out for us.”

Lydia listened. This hadn’t been intended to be a backdoor into Deirdre’s private relationship or private thoughts, but as Morgan explained, Lydia began to relax and ease. Not just because she had for a second believed that Deirdre would have accepted such an ethically questionable promise. She listened attentively as Morgan talked, watching the attention by which Morgan painted. She deliberately wasn’t watching the actual painting, willing it to be a surprise, and to ensure that Morgan wouldn’t feel too imposed on. Beyond the literal imposition, of course. “I’m rather relieved to hear that, I must admit. The alternative would have been alarming. For the both of you.” Lydia settled and rolled her shoulders, stretching wing muscles as she did. “It is still a major commitment, but I’m glad you thought it through with her. I’m glad you were there to help her.” She smiled, softly, at Morgan’s comment. “I do. She’s a wonderful woman. Ultimately, I want her to be happy. Everything else is secondary.”

Morgan painted as best she could, which was, honestly, not very well. She began to add what was meant to be a squirrel picking flowers, caught in the lens of the orange drop, but her inexpert strokes morphed the image into a strange brown blob, almost sinister. “You don’t have to worry about that with me. I love her,” she said simply, setting the brush aside. She stepped back from her work. Not an artistic vision by any means, but it was covered. She gave Lydia a sidelong glance, wincing at just how awful it looked next to the art surrounding her. “I, uh, I tried,” she said. “It’s...well, it’s supposed to be things I like, but you should maybe display it out by the dumpster.”

Love. Morgan had used that word twice now, so that it couldn’t be an accident. Deirdre had said many things, but she had said nothing of love. Lydia looked down to her hands for a moment, at the smooth skin and the burgundy nails she wore today. She wondered if she’d be so kind, if Morgan was still human. She wondered if she would have done this at all, if Morgan never had been. Lydia set those thoughts aside. There was an edge to this kindness, that if asked about, Lydia couldn’t deny. One that perhaps they would forget about in time. Morgan turned the easel, and Lydia raised an eyebrow at the monstrosity that Morgan revealed. “I wouldn’t throw it away, this is a gift. We’ll call it… dadaist modern art, and call it a day. I am very grateful, Morgan. For everything.”

Morgan couldn’t help but notice the silence around her declaration. She wondered if it had to do with her being only recently un-human’d. If she had been dead all along, would Lydia believe her more, would she see it more clearly? Or would it only look right to her with a pair of wings at her back and fae blood in her cold veins? She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself to hide the self-consciousness. Lydia was being kind, but it was the sort of kindness that gritted its teeth against something else. She should probably count herself lucky, she reminded herself, that Lydia was trying at all. That she had, in some spare moments, tried to extend whatever counted as friendship for her kind of fae towards Morgan. “I don’t think I’ve done all that much,” she said, side-eyeing her handiwork again. “But I appreciate you taking this time with me too. I’d like to get to be your friend too. At some point.”

“You made more of an effort than I expected. That has value,” Lydia replied softly. She stood up, smoothing her skirt. “I think I’d like that too, at some point,” Lydia replied in turn. Perhaps not today. Perhaps not in a month. Perhaps not while Remmy was made to hate themselves for saving Morgan from her curse. Some point, though. It was an easy, commitment to make. “I also think I’ve taken up more than enough of your time, as pleasant as it has been to get to know you better.” She smiled, looking at the painting one more time. “I am truly happy for you and Deirdre. I’m glad you have each other.” I hope it stays that way. Deirdre didn’t need more heartbreak. As Lydia showed Morgan to the door, she thought that Deirdre wasn’t the only one like that, either.