#or attempt to kill. and then realize he no longer cares. i'd love to see what could get him to that point!

[everysongineverykey]

being a sherlock holmes canon fan sucks. what the fuck is "i have never loved, watson, but if i did and if the woman i loved met such a fate, i might act even as [that story's murderer] had done" and "by the lord, it is as well for you. if you had killed watson, you would not have got out of this room alive."

[therottenkingsreckoning]

Couldn't stop thinking about how I would've written the ending of Chapter Black if it was my story, so I decided to write it down.

The way I would've done it, Yusuke's friends would believe him to be dead for much longer. Maybe this was just step 1 of a larger plan, with the portal actually being to a forbidden, quarantined section of Demon World where a weapon that could end all humanity is. The three of them still go in after him, and still aren't strong enough to stop him, but seeing how they care for each other starts to trigger memories and questions within him, would somehow break through to the empathy of his core self.

He has a mental breakdown fighting his selves and realizing that he's actually the bad guy, and then maybe Kuwabara (the absolute Chad that he is) tries to say they could forgive him and it looks like he could redeem, but then! Mr. Murdergun alter Kazuya tries to kill him, only to be stopped last minute by True Shinobu killing Kazuya (and thus himself).

You'd think it's done, but- time for phase two! Itsuki comes outta nowhere and fights them, insane and hateful over the loss of his love, and he has no sympathy for mankind so he can't be reasoned with. It's only then, in a dramatic moment, that Yusuke returns and utterly fucking destroys him.

At this point I'd go one of two ways- either he once again snaps back to himself a moment too late and with the dying Itsuki in his hands, or as he is attempting to fight the friends who are both overjoyed to see him alive and horrified to see him like this. Either way, it would end on a much more bittersweet note, with Koenma looking on from the sidelines, even more brokenhearted and blaming himself for one dead detective and another who's been permanently scarred.

Would've gone much darker than a kid's show should normally have any right to, and quite possibly included some visuals that'd get this shit banned from TV. But the emotional impact such an ending would have would, IMO, be entirely worth it.

[afarcry5fromstraight]

☀️😚🍁🐇💤

☀️  - Did they both want children/How many children did they want? 

I'd like to think they both want kids, but have the exact same crippling fear of that much responsibility, even genetically.

Jacob never considered giving himself the option, thankfully Joseph was a better 'mom' to John than he could be when they were kids. Jacob is weary of kids for a lot of the same reasons dogs are.. They're loud and unpredictable, cause complications frequently and in general are difficult to predict. Mistakes are a given and the general automatic acceptance of that is a large pill to swallow, mentally.

Chloe remembers the earlier years with her mom, she was ethereal. Meredith Felix had a seemingly endless well of patience, both for mistakes and questions alike. Her brother was constantly breaking things, Chloe taking blame in an attempt to cover it up. Mere just took it as an opportunity to learn something new, and somehow was incredibly good at whatever it was she was trying for the very first time... That was before Luca died. That same woman never breathed another breath of life, a ragged shell void of anything familiar at all left in her shadow. Chloe's worst fear is emotionally neglecting her theoretical children.

😚 - When one gets sick, what does the other do? 

Chloe is 1 of 2 ways when Jacob is sick and it's entirely dependent on his attitude at the very moment. She will either take care of him tenderly, or yeet the costco sized Tylenol at his head. Can't hurt that bad if he thought it was a good idea to talk to her like that.

Jacob does the slightly gaslighty 'what are you, a pussy?' ploy up to a certain degree. Over a certain line of sick it becomes his absolute upmost priority to make sure Chloe takes her meds exactly the minute she should. He weighed her 4oz of soup at a time when she had the Flu- Theo almost lost his life making a joke over it- thankfully her fever came down shortly after and Theo was given the privilege of greeting another morning.

🍁  - How was their first kiss? 

I'd love to tell you there was this super hot scene but the moment was rather human and awkward. Chloe knelt down to the ground, Jacob kneeling down in front of her to try and see her tear stained face better. She was coming out of a close overdose of bliss, and still incurably out of sorts over her failure to even follow these plans through. Leaning forward she lost her balance, the dirt softer than she realized making her topple forwards into him. Jacob didn't have the most secure foot stance on this hill either, arm bracing the weight of them both as she fumbled into his chest. They miss, before Jacob rights both of them by pulling her into his lap. No mistaking what she just attempted, so.. fuck it. She'd blame it on the bliss later.

🐇  - Who wants to cuddle the other longer in the morning? 

Chloe. Jacob wants to lay in bed, but the longer he lays still the more ache his body dons for the day. Worse for wear is worth it, but only to a degree. Chloe thinks Jacob sleeps through his first alarm and bitches about it constantly to Theo, but Theo knows damn well Jacob wakes the first time. Those are Jacob's 5 minutes of solace, committing Chloe in her most peaceful state.

💤   - Who falls asleep first? 

Chloe falls asleep first. In the beginning she would try her best to outlast the Seed, particularly when she started in the trials. It took Chloe a very, very long time to comfortably fall asleep in the same room as Jacob. Between her distrust of his brothers and own instinct, she was slowly killing herself by refusing to rest until after Jacob.

This is why Jacob started pretending to fall asleep first. He'd always been good at faking a true sleep, between his childhood and the Army. At her best Chloe would be able to tell the difference, but sleep deprived and living out of spite it was easier to fool her. The more she got into the habit of sleeping though, the more natural the cycle was. Jacob doesn't really even pretend anymore, just waits a few minutes until he hears her breathing change to the rhythm his conscious recognizes as his own cue for rest.

[imarawbu]

I don't really feel like there are any safe places to vent anymore. I feel like I say too much and everyone will judge everything I say. I am pretty much anon here. There are no names or real identifying information. Nobody reads anything here anyways lol.

I've had a variety of feelings over the last few days. Alot of women I know who had a baby around the same time as me are now pregnant again or already had another baby. It's surreal. I really did love being a mother until around 7 months when I realized, that I was alone in being a mother and how I would never enjoy life again. After having gone to the pre wedding events for my husband's, best friend's fiance and after having to go meet up with a group of my friends and having to bring my daughter. I spent all my time taking care of her, I enjoyed nothing, all my attention was on her. I could not even eat. Since then it has just gone more and more down hill. I love her. I'd love another baby but it should have happened in the future with some man that actually wanted to have a family. Now I have messed up both our lives. It is sad that I will never have another kid and how my life since having my daughter has been hell.

At the same time, my husband has been pushing for another kid, boy specifically. Complains about my weight, complains I had a C-section, complains about my daughter, but wants another kid because he sees the same people as I do. Has zero interest in being a father but wants more kids. Say he can't afford another kid (what are you affording, I bought everything people didn't buy from the baby registry, I assembled it myself too. I bought her clothes and toys, and everything for her room. He pays diapers, wipes, and food, so credit where it's due but still,) but he wants another kid. Complains I am a bad mother, leaves me to parent alone, but wants another kid.

I've still been having flashbacks. This has been going on for a year now. It was somewhat better when we were in my husband's home country as there was less to trigger me but things still came back. Honestly, I don't know what it's going to take to make it stop. Just when stuff gets better, something comes up that reminds me and restarts this all over again.

I had been doing better since the beginning of the year and especially since Ramadan in my faith but that's been slipping. I would never consider leaving Islam but I've considered no longer wearing hijab and other things- once I leave. If I did anything like that now my husband would kill me, literally. I've felt these feelings before, I've temporarily taken it off and been less observant but not to the extent everyone knew and it was just a phase that lasted a few months. This only happens when I'm really depressed and just done with life. I also want to cut my hair, I ran it by my husband since he got very angry when I cut some of it off because it was super long and heavy. He said he'd end it right there because I'd look like a fat piece of shit if I cut anymore off.

I am really bothered and angry that I probably will have to see F in the near future. I tried to write a response in my notes to help me vent off some of the anger but it has not helped. If I see him in person, I will be fine. If he tries to talk to me or him and his wife tries to interrogate or whatever, it's going to come out. I do not technically have proof he sent that message, if I say anything I know he will deny it. I can always ask his mother to verify her son's writing, I'm sure she would be able to, but she'd probably not admit it though. I just want to stay away and block all of them. I've been treated like shit all my life and when I have gotten upset and called people out for how I'm treated, I've been called manipulative, too young to really understand, "going about things in the wrong way," or other gaslighting bs. Nobody comes to my defense or cares about my side. Every single time. When I was molested as a kid, family abuse, depression and attempts, abuse in treatment centers, bullying at school, bullying in camp, my ex husband's abuse, my current husband's abuse. Nobody is ever on my side and makes an effort to show it. I get it, I'm not the greatest friend but I will always be there if someone needs me and this is how you get shit on.

I had this same anger and I vented on Facebook and sometimes unfairly attacked people trying to help while I was in excruciating emotional pain. I said I was sorry, I've never been involved any of them again and I won't now either though my anger is not like it was then after my divorce. My ex husband was still active in my life and abusing me, this went on for over a year after my divorce. Other things happened and I felt totally powerless. So I lashed out online. Not really at people unless they tried to say I needed to be positive. I did share what was going on with those people on Facebook, only one person reached out sort of, I don't know how many saw it, I had to remove the post after 15 hours. That's fine. They may not want to put themselves back in my line of fire, they have never met me in person, they have their own life, I understand. I gave them opportunity, only one person responded. That's that. I fully accept my responsibility in that for my previous behavior. I am not like this in person, I rarely talk much in person. I am much more open and expressive in writing. It's a habit that forms when you have no friends for a long time and most of your conversation is online or via text. Also I am socially anxious and have become more so since my husband says when I do talk I never get to the point and just keep giving more information that it's boring and he just ignores me 90% of the time I talk.

[shadowsinger11]

Inspiration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested by anon: Could you do a Fred Weasley imagine where he falls in love with Harry’s younger sister. (Maybe a after the war where he lives)

Word Count: 3.3k (my hand slipped oops)

Genre: Fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining etc.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, Fred being cute and hot simultaneously

Tags: @self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @elf-punk @heart-of-tempered-steel @itseatyourdamnapples

Message me if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England, July 16, 2000

It was a chilly Sunday evening. The summer air buzzed with excitement and the tender aroma of magnolia as tiny white and pink petals were gracefully falling from the huge cherry trees, carried by the light breeze. Twilight painted the horizon in liquid gold and fiery red, soon followed by mellow shades of dark blue that brought countless sparkling stars.

It was getting the slightest bit colder, but it did not matter; nothing else mattered but the loud cheers and cheerful music, celebrating the official bond between a Potter and a Weasley under the wide night sky.

You couldn't have been happier for your older brother, Harry, who was currently dancing with Ginny, his now wife - now and for the rest of his, hopefully, but not really likely, peaceful life. For the longest time you've been wondering how he'd always manage to get into trouble even as a small First year with no experience in the wizarding world whatsoever. Or, perhaps, that was the exact reason as to why evil-battling and rule-breaking were such common practices when hanging out with him.

However, there was no fighting that day. There was no room for worry and fear when the entire Weasley family and their loved ones were gathered on the clearing in front of the Burrow, chatting, laughing, dancing, singing, drinking, celebrating and living for what seemed to be the first time since Lord Voldemort's fall. Danger was practically nonexistent in that blissful moment which was frozen in time, once having looked agonizingly distant and impossible to hope for. But that dream was no longer just a foolish fantasy to heal wounded hearts. It was there, and it was happening in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And suddenly, all those clichés of a married life weren't even clichés. They were simply humble wishes of people who had witnessed far too many horrors in such a short period of time, and only craved stability among the massive chaos. So when you glanced at Ginny, a twirling blur of flaming red hair and a gorgeous wedding dress, you didn't feel the need to comment on how banal the color white was. You genuinely smiled, admiring the pure, exuberant joy, visible in her eyes and scarlet cheeks. Harry looked just as, if not even happier than his wife, dancing in the ridiculous but wholehearted way that only he could, and old memories of him winning the golden egg, training Dumbledore's Army and kissing Ginny in the common room for the very first time flooded into your mind.

It had truly been a long time since you had seen Harry careless and free like that.

You yourself had spent an ungodly amount of hours preparing the yard for the ceremony all day; rearranging chairs, decorating, making sure everything was going by schedule, only to then dance your tired feet off, and though you wanted to continue having fun with Hermione, Luna and the rest of the girls waiting for you, you really needed a break. And a drink.

Excusing yourself to leave the particularly interesting conversation you were having with distant Weasley relatives, you slipped off your black flats that, despite looking absolutely stunning, hurt your feet terribly after an entire day of fussing over the color of napkins and flower bouquets. Barefoot on the grass, you walked over to a chair next to a table which seemed to have been occupied, but judging by the mostly empty glasses and plates, the guests weren't coming back anytime soon.

You tossed your shoes aside with a sigh and rushed to rub your aching toes, hissing from how sore they were.

How has Ginny been dancing like that for hours?

"Enjoying the party, I see?" a familiar deep, slightly husky voice commented, causing you to look up.

It was none other than Fred Weasley, dear friend from childhood, staring down at you, his ever-present charming smirk resting on features and hands shoved into the pockets of his dragonskin suit. But it was his flaming red hair that made your eyes widen - it was carefully smoothed back, shining under the moonlight like liquid iron.

Fred's eyes still contained their famous, loveable mischief, except now slightly tamer and calmer. His firm biceps had visibly grown in size, stretching out the fabric of his coat just a bit to give you a prominent silhouette that caught you off guard.

It had been two years; he had changed so much.

And you were afraid to admit you had too.

You blinked in surprise, processing his uncharacteristically sophisticated appearance before realizing what he had asked you.

"Would've enjoyed it far more if my legs weren't killing me," you groaned half-heartedly and leaned back on your chair. "What's with your hair?"

"What's with your feet?"

"I asked you first," you cut him off. "I bet Ginny is responsible for this."

"Actually…" Fred trailed off, and, whether on purpose or not, ran a hand through the ginger locks to keep them in place, unaware of how you suddenly wished the hand doing the graceful motion wasn't his. "Mum insisted that I looked my best. What can I say, it's not like George and I usually listen to her, but we thought we'd make an exception this time; our sister doesn't get married every day. But honestly, Ginny couldn't care less about how we looked as long we showed up."

"So like usual, you mean?" you giggled. "Showing up is an achievement for you even if you're underdressed?"

Fred beamed, pearly white smile complementing his formal outfit. You wondered if he used that exact smile to effortlessly allure costumers and business partners at work.

He rested an elbow on the table as he leaned forward.

"Come on now, darling. I know you find my messy hair irresistible either way."

His cockiness only caused you to laugh, though Fred was quick to spot the flash of nervousness in your eyes; it brought him immense pride to know he was the one to turn you from confident to adorably bashful and flustered in the matter of seconds.

He was looking at you intensely, expectantly waiting for you to deny his flirty accusation despite your shyness.

"Nah, Weasley. It only reminds me that even at twenty-two you still do not know how to use a comb."

Fred's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, mouth agape. For the first time, he actually needed a second to form a reply.

"Didn't see that coming, I give you that. Courageous one, you are."

Your heart fluttered with joy and you openly grinned, shrugging in half-hearted humbleness.

"Perhaps I am."

Speaking to him felt unusually energizing, as though you had jumped headfirst into a chilly lake. It was unfamiliar and it set your nerves on fire, causing your stomach to twist and turn with sensations that left you dizzy, but unbelievably thrilled. And you wanted more of it, you wanted more of him.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred offered, already pouring champagne into a glass before handing it to you, and you keenly took it.

"Thanks, I've been thirsty with all the preparations I was doing."

"Is that why your legs are killing you?"

"Exactly, I've been running around all day, making sure everything was in order… you know, a lot of organizing and the like."

"It must hurt quite a bit then," Fred commented with a pained grimace. "But I absolutely get you, Georgie and I are just like that when it comes to the shop. It's a lot of accounting if I'm being honest, though I admit he's way better at it. We need to be completely precise; we can't allow any mistakes."

"Woah," you laughed. "Control freak much?"

He wettened his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps I am."

You tilted your head to the side, gaze piercing into his in hopes of finding out what those gorgeous brown eyes were hiding. The tiny playful flames in them were eloquent.

Shifting slightly in your seat, you smoothed out your bridesmaid dress and raised your glass, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

"Cheers to us control freaks then."

Fred mirrored your smug expression and your glasses met with a clink. The bubbly liquid tingled your throat, undoubtedly refreshing you and cooling you off. You glanced at the people dancing in the centre of the clearing and giggled - Ginny had apparently thrown away her white shoes long ago, bare feet stepping elegantly on the grass.

"You see, I'd like to chat a bit more with you, but I'm afraid it's a bit too loud here. What about we go to the pond across the field?" Fred suggested, pointing at the woods behind his back. You had visited them countless times when staying with Harry at the Burrow during holidays years ago; the tall trees and the glistening waters had never ceased to bring you comfort.

The noise started to become bothersome, and you felt it even more necessary to continue your conversation somewhere private, the unknown causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Fred's presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, or the sensation of anticipating a tidal wave to crash into you in less than a second. It was wild and the tiniest bit terrifying, but oh so tempting as it pulled you in.

"I'd love that, but… you know," you grinned and playfully swang your sore feet. "Can't really walk."

But this didn't at all seem like a problem to Fred Weasley who only shrugged and stood up, "You don't have to. I'll carry you."

"Merlin, no! Please, it's not necessary."

Fred frowned, but his confused expression was soon replaced by an amused one.

"You said it yourself that your feet hurt like hell. And even if carrying you around isn't necessary, it doesn't mean I don't want to."

You attempted to tame the butterflies.

"No, no! You seriously don't have to, I promise," you frantically protested as you held up your hands in front of you to reassure him, but he only gave you a weird look. "I can walk on my own. I'll be too heavy for you."

"There's only one way to find out."

Fred walked over to you and leaned down, one hand sneaking around your waist and the other slipping under your knees. You shrieked in terror, arms flying to clutch at his shoulders, and heat rose to your cheeks from the abrupt contact. Your chests were pressed together, and you were afraid he'd be able to feel your racing heart. His skin was warmer than you had thought, and it successfully fought off the night summer chill.

"Are we going?" Fred whispered down at you, lips so close to yours that you recognized the nuance of champagne in his breath, mixing unbelievably well with the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne.

Not only is he sinfully attractive, but he smells heavenly too?

"Yes," you breathed and let Fred effortlessly walk across the meadow with you in his arms. They brought this new, odd, yet familiar sense of security, and you allowed your head to rest against his chest, nervous gaze wandering off into the distance in hopes of not meeting his. Nevertheless, curiosity eventually took the best of you, and your eyes would occasionally flicker to his, which were now completely black under the night sky. They could swallow you whole, you swore.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in the company of old, enormous willows which surrounded the pond you so vividly remembered from your teenage years. You thanked Fred as he carefully let you down, and took a few steps forward to look around and drench in the misty moonlight that enveloped the area. The waters were crystal clear and completely still, reflecting the moon and its majestic silver glow. The bushes had grown significantly over the time you were away, and you fondly looked back at the moments when you would pick up colorful wildflowers in the summer before your fourth year.

"Shall we sit?" Fred asked quietly from right behind your shoulder, and you followed him with a nod. You found a comfortable spot on the fresh grass to sit, a few feet away from where the water met the soil and moved back and forth ever so slightly.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," you noted, lips curled up in a barely visible smile. Fred hummed in agreement.

"That's why I always make sure to come here every chance I get when I return. But, unfortunately, that's very rare in my case."

For a moment, there was only the chirping of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.

Fred turned to you.

"Remember when mum used to call for us to de-gnome the garden and we'd hide here? We could stay in the bushes for hours before we eventually came back," he recalled, seeming deep in thought. It was an extraordinary sight; for once the playful spark in his eyes was more mellow, there was no cockiness seeping into the way he was holding himself. He was just Fred, the man who was currently thinking with so much adoration and love about his childhood, the most significant memories of it being marked by you.

You wondered, given you ever had the chance to spend with Fred as much time as your older brother did, if the charismatic prankster would have fallen for you like you had done. You wondered, given the chance you had let Fred get to know you better all those summers ago, if his heart would have belonged to you by now just like yours did to him.

Had you possibly missed your chance?

"Oh, I do," you sighed, the tension in your chest vanishing as warm nostalgia crept in like an old friend. "I also remember when I got this really bad nightmare that night. I was so terrified that you took me on a ride with your broom in the middle of the night to cheer me up."

"That's true! My parents don't know about it to this day," he replied smugly. "I can still hear you screaming like a lunatic."

You jokingly smacked his arm, "I was twelve!"

Fred's grin grew wider.

"Excuses…"

This only caused you to stare at him in disbelief and cross your arms, managing your most serious expression, but Fred was aware you were on the verge of failing to keep your stern facade. He squinted his eyes as a teasing attempt to provoke you, smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Alright then, that's enough about me," you announced, and Fred nodded in mock agreement as he studied your playful pretence. "If you're so much better than me, Mr Darcy, what else do you do aside from stealing ladies away?"

"Stealing their hearts," he said confidently, flashing you a seductive smirk, reserved only for special girls back in your Hogwarts days. You giggled, finding his antic utterly ridiculous, but you hated to admit that it still turned your blood into liquid fire. Fred apparently saw right through you, because when your eyes landed on his, they appeared completely dark once again, but, you suspected, for a reason other than the lack of light.

Your throat went dry, and you found it hard to swallow down the lump that cut your breath short.

He ran a hand through his ginger hair as he began to explain, "I'm kidding, you know. But to answer your question, George and I have been working on this potion that should be able to change the color of the eyes and hair. Fun for those who enjoy experimenting with their appearance, but it can also be useful to the Ministry. They're actually going to send a team of a couple of aurors to visit us next month so we can update them on our progress and negotiate the details."

"Wow! That's certainly exciting!"

"Is it? I mean, it probably is, but I've been having second thoughts lately if I'm being honest." He scratched the back of his neck, and you realised you had only witnessed him being anxious when it came to his greatest passion. "I'm afraid we might not be done on time, there's still plenty left to improve."

You put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually. Keep working as you normally do, try not to stress too much over the deadline, and even if things go wrong at some point, don't go too hard on yourself. It wouldn't take away any progress you've made so far."

Fred's body relaxed just a bit and he looked down at you. He couldn't deny the sense of serenity that he felt only when he was with you. Even as a careless young boy, he was able to pinpoint the way his midriff would clench every time you'd laugh at his jokes or ask him to play with you, without knowing what it all meant.

But now, as a grown man, he had a word to describe the bittersweet fire within.

"You know what?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I could really benefit from having someone like you around to give me motivation."

"Motivation, huh?" you raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Fred sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Yes, motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

"Marketing strategies, work projects…" he shrugged nonchalantly, "...among other things."

You quickly caught on, suddenly becoming way too self-aware of the way you were practically cuddled into Fred's side, hand resting on his shoulder while his were wrapped around your waist. But his shining confidence seemed to rub off on you, because you asked.

"What's with you offering me a job all of a sudden?"

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he took his sweet time devouring you with his darkened gaze. You didn't know whether you wanted to hide from it, or expose yourself even further to the way it burned its way straight to your core.

"Well…" Fred dragged out in his low, hoarse voice, and caressed your cheek with his thumb before slipping it under your chin to guide it towards his face. You could nearly taste the remaining flavour of champagne on his lips. "I've certainly been feeling…"

Fred went quiet as he got lost in the way you fit so perfectly in his arms; you had always meant to be there, he realised. His mouth crashed into yours, hands tightly gripping your waist, and you let out a gasp. Fred's lips were soft, although slightly chapped, and they moved gently but firmly against yours, turning you into their slave. Your palms naturally slid up his chest and he closed any remaining distance between your bodies by placing you to straddle his lap. The kiss was a dance of pushing forward and pulling back, two lovers having finally found their rhythm after years of living in fearful desire. You were positively drunk on his taste, on him, and you wished to never become sober.

When your need for air overcame the one for physical contact, you pulled away. Your chests were heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, hearts beating in synch like they had always done. You let a finger tenderly trace his cheekbone down to his jawline, then it came back up to draw different affectionate patterns on his face.

"What were you saying?" you asked, clearly out of breath. "How were you feeling?"

He fondly took your hand that was caressing his skin, and lifted it up to press feather-light kisses on your knuckles. His lips retraced their path until they reached the tips of your fingers, and he kissed those with the gentlest of touch.

You heart ached pleasurably from the way he was handling you with such care, much more than you ever believed he was capable of.

After minutes of worshipping you by the moonlit lake, Fred looked back at you as though you were his entire world. And replied with a smile.

"Inspired."

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

[midnight-in-town]

Hi so I came across your Femto punishing both Guts and Casca meta and even tho I kinda like it I found myself at odds with a part of it.

I think punishing Casca and feeling mad she picked Guts over him and considered leaving him wasn't really a consideration at all. In the thoughts he has after the weird trippy hallucination thing they put him through during the eclipse his only thoughts are about Guts. How he was the only one who made Griffith forget his dream. And when he forgot this torture happened and his body was broken.

Guts was the one he risked life for by going to save him from Zod. Guts was the one who managed to get close to him despite his attempts to keep his distance from his men. Griffith was at that point after all only human. Humans need close relationships which he was denying himself and that led to his overattachment to the one he had which caused him to end up in the situation he got tortured in. He had to blow off steam he was so upset by Guts leaving and the concept alone made his fight with Guts more erratic.

But Casca leaving isn't reflected on at all during the Eclipse. Griffith said once that a true equal was what he considered a friend and while he was talking to a royal at the time that might still be true. Griffith who was human, and despite being in denial about it, craved friendship.

An equal who didn't leave him might be something he wanted. But Femto who has thrown away his humanity doesn't want a friend he doesn't want a equal. A power play is required to prove that Guts is beneath him. He needs to disempower Guts to feel empowered. To feel that Guts isn't a equal that Guts is beneath him.

The scene where he pushes down Casca is a parallel because it is also about power but in a different way. The sequence of events is Griffith asks Guts to put on his armor he wants to be able to put it on fight again. Guts obliges excited to see Griffith recover.

Elsewhere Casca is told he will never recover enough to hold a sword again. A demon attacks them rips off Griffiths armor and mocks him and his group over how he's already broken. Afterwards Griffith hears his group come apart as they come to terms about his condition. Casca berates Guts for expecting that recovery when it not possible which Griffith also hears.

Griffith then pushes Casca down I think because Casca used to be someone he was stronger than her. It's just a desperation to show he has even a bit of the strength he used to possess.

He manages to stay in the position she doesn't try to push him off he doesn't try to do anything and just puts his effort in maintaining position. Flopping on her and groping would probably be less physical effort but I don't think that what he trying to do . His mouth is open like he's trying to say something but no words come out. She hugs him pulling him close and as he's no longer holding up his own body weight his trembling stops.

I think its supposed to contrast with Femto later and his mentality in this moment vs that one.

The first scene with Casca is desperation to show he has even a bit of the strength he used to possess. That it'd not over for him.

The second one where he attacks Casca in front of Guts is to show no one is equal to him everyone is beneath him. Guts is beneath him. In this world where Griffith reigns Guts has no power to stop anything to do anything and he wants to mock and hurt Guts. That it's his time to rule.

When Griffith is rescued his immediate reaction is to lash out attack Guts. He is mad at Guts for leaving because in his mind Guts leaving led to this. But it only led to this because Griffith cared enough about him that he would be upset at not having Guts around. Its because they were friends. So when he sees Guts crying over him that anger dissappears and he puts his hands on Guts hand in a almost comforting gesture. He can't go as far with his anger or hatred because he loves and cares too.

Which is why that first scene with Casca is only her being pinned. He wouldn't go that far because even if he doesn't see her as a equal he still gives a shit. Its why he attempts to move to her when she attacked by demons after they escape with him. Maybe he wouldn't even consider doing something like what Femto does to her.

But that caring and giving a shit is the humanity he gives up. Femto still has emotions he had feelings Griffith used to have. If he didn't making Guts feel disempowered wouldn't matter. The idea of Guts as a equal in anyway wouldn't occur. Femto is just that anger and rage he felt when he tried to strangle Guts without the caring he felt when he put his hand on Guts hand.

Casca only mattered when Griffith cared about people who he thought he was stronger than. When he sacrificed that Casca ceased to matter. She was never a target of his anger or frustration. But Guts continued to matter. Because Guts was a target of that. He wants the target of his frustration to suffer, and he knows this will make him suffer.

Just my opinion thought I'd share. Still love your meta tho!

Well, damn, that’s a long ask. xDD Next time, just reblog and add your thoughts, I also answer that way, hahaha!

Also, not sure which post of mine you’re referring to, by the way. I’m thinking this one, but I honestly can’t be sure because I also reblogged posts on the subject?

Anyway, if I sum up your take: Griffith was out to punish Guts only and not Casca, because Guts >>> Casca in terms of significance as far as Griffith is concerned? 

Thank you for your input :) but see, I disagree, because this is exactly why I once said that...

I don’t understand why some fans somehow reduce Berserk’s plot to being about Guts vs Griffith, Casca often becoming some random secondary character. For me, no matter how you look at the series ever since the Golden Age, it just ain’t the case. :))

However, all I ever wrote was that Griffith punished both of them; I never implied that their “betrayal” amounted to the same significance for Griffith, because it’s indeed not the case.

After all, as you said, we know Guts always had a bigger impact on Griffith since the day they met...

...but, while we will never know for sure, I for one am quite convinced that if Casca (who was Griffith’s right-hand woman) was the one who had left in the same fashion as Guts, it would have triggered Griffith in a similar way. 

Because Griffith is a man of influence: he knows that and how to use such charisma on others. That’s why he totally means the words he said to Charlotte about what kind of people he would see as a friend. So he uses people’s feelings for him in a way that would serve the path to achieving his dreams. Casca herself said that, as a leader after he was gone, all she did was "try to protect the dream of someone who might not even be alive”. 

The Band of the Falcon lived and worked to help Griffith achieve his dream, because they saw him as special, since they had no achievable big dream of their own (kinda why Griffith said they’re not “friends”). 

So yeah sure, Guts’ actions would always leave a bigger impact on Griffith, as you showed he said it himself, but Casca falling in love with Guts and envisioning a future far away from Griffith’s schemes still clearly stung. 

After all, everyone in the group knew of Casca’s unrequited feelings for Griffith, meaning that Griffith obviously knew too and, instead of telling her it would never happen, he entertained the possibility so that Casca would entirely devote herself to him.

Take Judeau, as a counterexample: he too had some feelings for Casca, but he urged Guts several times to take her with him and away from the group, because he couldn’t stand her unhappiness. Griffith said nothing about her feelings, because he knew that’s how Casca would do everything for his sake. 

Still, Casca was not any random member of his Band so, when she emancipated from Griffith by falling in love with Guts, in my opinion it’s why...

...she also was on the receiving end of his jealousy. 

It’s distasteful but, otherwise, why did Femto rape Casca instead of killing her? Again, we will never know, but if Guts had left Griffith behind for a future with any other random girl, I think Femto would have just killed her in front of Guts. Raping Casca, when she used to long for Griffith’s affection, was revenge against both of them for choosing each other instead of him and his dream. 

You can see it in the way he stared at both of them so many times, coming to the realization that he was not at the center of their little trio anymore. So yeah, Guts > Casca in terms of significance since day 1 as far as Griffith is concerned, I never discussed that, but Casca was not such a random member of Griffith’s band either that her actions of emancipation would not taste bitter to him. That’s my opinion. :)

Additional points: I never said he was trying to grope her in that scene when he fell on top of her as she was changing his bandages, just that “he was trying to gauge or reenact Casca’s old devotion to him by showing some affection”.

And finally, Femto who was entirely reborn as a Godhand has no emotion left about Guts or Casca, he said it himself. Thinking he’s only anger and revenge would be confusing Femto with the Skull Knight or Guts as the Black Swordsman.

Friendly reminder that Femto is not human anymore so, while Griffith thrived on thinking that he didn’t bother with overwhelming bonds to anyone and that only his dream ever mattered, it is actually the case for Femto. 

I hope I answered your points. Thanks for reading and have a nice day Anon! :))

[shyrose57]

2: I will figure it out eventually and that's a promise.

3: Watson is aboustely heart broken and near tears multiple times as well hearing Ran in so much distress and actually crying. Jackie does cry, he attempts multiple times to hug Ran and make it known he's there to comfort him, but it only works sometimes, and when it doesn't work Ran gets scared and tries to get away believing an attacker has gotten him. Grievous is almost like silently grieving, knowing he can't do anything to help his close friend. Cletus feels bad, and since he isnt too good with emotions, focuses on instead attempting to cheer everyone else up. Isaac and Benjamin feel awful as they feel at fault for letting it happen, so to hopefully help they make plans on how to make Ran as comfortable and safe as can be while also getting him to a nearby town they heard about to hopefully reverse it. Charles is doing his damn best to comfort Ran while also distracting him from his own thoughts, which mostly means Charles (and Watson) play the role of story teller for a while. Ranbob is the hardest hit by it, he's suffering so much because he so badly just wants to go over and hug his little brother and comfort him, tell him that it'll all be ok and that Bobby would protect him. But also knows he can't because he knows that would most likely do nothing but make it worse. For a while he spends his time blocking his ears and wrapped in a comfort blanket trying to comfort himself, as everyone else tend to his suffering brother. One thing that makes it harder is that Ran begins to purr to himself in a vain attempt to comfort himself (cause I personally like to think Enderman hybrids are like cats and purr like them, when their happy, content, comfortable, but also to soothe themselves and heal wounds), when Ranbob knows Ran's never purred, so knowing he's so desperate to try it now hurts him. 

You will get some comfort, like Watson manages to convince Ranbob to at least hug Ran, and Ranbob manages to purr alongside Ran a bit, which does actually help to calm Ran down. Ran getting wrapped up with the fluffiest blanket they have and always having Watson, Jackie, or Grievous by his side. With Jackie tending to hold his hand. 

4: All of the above. Sudden touch can be overwhelming to Ranbob at times, especially when he's not doing well mentally. Also while in this state, touch reminds him of the desperate grabbing and touching of the people he killed that tried to escape or fend him off. And Dream was able to hurt Ranbob by starving and dehydrating him of course, but when Ranbob was being particularly disobedient and tried to fight back Dream would often take control and cut or stab Ranbob then gave back control as punishment. 

10: It does get better! Idk if I already said but Kelalen is actually where they get the antidote for Rans blindness potion! And when their given it for free and it works, they become very grateful to Adler and Lucia (the one who actually convinced Adler to give them the potion in the first place cause it was the only one left). And a few days after they arrive they actually decide to explore the town, where they meet Siren and get more information on Dream and who he was, they also get their weapons and armor repaired by them. But while talking with Siren, Cletus and Grievous sneak off and run into Atlas, then Cletus and Grievous agree to help Atlas with his prank. But by the end of their second week in Kelalen the group starts to truly enjoy their stay, Ranbob often saying how it kind of reminds him of Mizu before everything happened. 

12: Thats funny though and is exactly how I'd want to be seen.

13: *CLAPS HANDS* OH BOY DO I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU. I RECENTLY TOLD MY FRIEND ABOUT RANBOB SEEING HIS DEAD FRIENDS AND FAMILY BUT FAILED TO TELL THEM IT WASNT ACTUALLY PART OF THE STORY. SO THEY TOOK IT LITTERALY AND THEY HAVE GIVEN ME IDEAS, WHILE ALSO HELPING ME REALIZE THAT THIS COULD ACTUALLY BE USED TO SET UP FOR RANBOB MOVING PAST HIS TRAUMAS AND CAN LEAD TO MORE FLUFF AND ANGST. SO NOW IT IS PART OF THE STORY, WITH CHANGES THAT IT HAPPENED DURING A DREAM AND HE DIDNT BELIEVE IT AND CONSIDERED IT A CRUEL JOKE BY FATE ITSELF AT FIRST. AND YES BY AT FIRST I MEAN THIS HAPPENS MANY MORE TIMES.

Also my friend has a message for you, "HahA THEY BETTER THANK ME I SET THEM UP FOR MORE MISERY 😈😈 /j" (I wanna be safe so if you don't know /j means that their joking)

14: Im not doing Foolish and Dream brothers because I personally don't like/get it. But I was thinking maybe they meet Foolish after Mripat tells them that there was a member of the SMP who was said to be a god and immortal. And after some long conversations they decide to go hunt for this apparently immortal god. Which takes a while since no one actually knows where he is, just that he likes deserts, and have to go off possible sightings or hints in history books. And when they finally meet him they manage to learn about totems (which they previously didn't know about) and even get some. They also learn that infact even during the SMP time no one quite knew what Dream was, and learns the ways the SMP tried to permanently get rid of him. Foolish is also devastated to know that Dream infact survived and becomes determined to help them. Even offering his help that if they ever go back to Mizu to face Dream, he'll come along and help in anyway he can. 

15: I like to imagine Edward remembers Ranboo as the young troubled enderman that he basically adopted and took care of. So Edward sees Ranboo in both Ran and Ranbob, so he offers his help and advice. Basically becoming their Grandad, telling stories about everything he's seen. Especially about Ranboo because Ranbob is so curious about his ancestor he just cant help but ask. One convo I've been particularly thinking about goes something like, "Edward: Older one, what do you think your brother thinks about you? Ranbob: I..I think he doesnt like me, and that he wants me gone. Edward: Hmm, your wrong. Ranbob: What? Edward: When I look at Ran, I see a child, not an adult yet, scarred, scared and traumatized. A child that wishes you two were closer, that he could forgive you and wants to believe you, just so you two could be family again. But is afraid too, for he already has a family, that he is terrified of losing, and is scared if he attempts to trust you again that they may leave him. But make no mistake, your brother wants to make amends, your brother cares about you and wants you happy. He knows deep down that he can trust you, and that you are innocent, but you all must help him acknowledge those parts, and stand by him, helping him walk when needed, as he traverses his own nightmares." AKA I really want Edward to be the reason Ranbob realizes that Ran does want to be family again but needs help. Cause if I had to describe the brothers current positions with their trauma it'll be, Ranbob-Knows he has trauma and is trying to get better and live with it, willingly getting help. Ran-Is fucking drowning in trauma cause he refuses to acknowledge he has it and hides it well most of the time, also doesn't ask for help. 

2: I fear the day.

3: Hahaha, ow, ow, ow. That, overall, is...heartbreaking. At the same time though, it’s sweet to see everyone pitching in to do their best and help him. We got it with Ranbob, now we get it with Ran.

I am curious, though. From what you’ve said, Blindness potions don’t wear off immediately? Why’s that?

4: *Chants* Please punch Dream. Please punch Dream. Please punch Dream. How do the fishermen deal with this, and help Ranbob?

10: Oh, god, Ran’s blind when they arrive in town. That’s definitely a high tension situation. Not only have you got him out of commission, but everyone else high strung from it, and probably having their protective instincts in overdrive when they randomly get treated hostilely. What exactly does an antidote for blindness consist of? Do most potions have antidotes, or counters? Is milk no longer used, or is that not a thing in the AU? It does sound nice that they all end up making friends later on though. How does Ran adjust to having his sight back? And, y’know, having everyone see him like that, and his brother comfort him(if they aren’t on good terms at this point, the timeline’s confusing me a bit)

12: Throughout this conversation, every time I read something sad, the image struck me, and honestly, it’s what you deserve. If these keeps up, I’m gonna start inserting these little 🏹s every time you hurt my heart. 

13: I’m being conspired against. Does everyone see this? Brothers Anon and their friend are conspiring to break my heart. Such gremlins. What did I ever do to you two?

Also, you can tell your friend that from this point on, I will closely associate them with a tiny, purple, cackling imp. 

14: Huh. Why do they want to find Foolish? Curiosity? To learn more about the Smp? About Dream? Sounds like it has a lot of potential to be quite the interesting encounter. And, since they didn’t previously know about the totems, they probably wouldn’t notice if one activated in a certain situation where it’s popped...do with that what you will.

15: Anon, I love all of this. Tell me more about Grandpa Edward. Does he fondly look back to Ranboo being polite and quiet while Ranbob and Ran cause havoc in the background? Does he bake them snacks and tell them about Ranboo’s adventures, and how much he loved to mine-which, in hindsight, is kind of funny, considering you just mentioned that so few people follow Skeppy because of the mining, but apparently their ancestor did that thing for fun.

[beerecordings]

hey!!! i'd love to see more with the favored puppet au, that's always been one of my favorite concepts. maybe at a point where chase feels apathy in the face of anti, his caretaker, being a bad person? or something from before, when anti decided chase was worrying him and he didn't want to play the games anymore? :'D ty ty

Favored Puppet AU (Chase): After stalking, haunting, and toying with Chase for years, Anti eventually realized it was no longer fun to play with him while his suffering was so high. Instead, Anti kidnapped Chase and keeps him away from the world as its companion. Chase has learned to be alright with that. The human world, after all, was never very kind to him.

Triggers for heavy discussions of Chase’s past suicide attempts and depression and Chase trying to cut himself again, though he doesn’t succeed. Also might be considered soft!Anti, though Chase is the only one it’s soft for.

Florence I decided to combine that first prompt (Chase feeling apathy when Anti’s being awful) with another prompt so you will see that later! for this one I decided to do that moment where Anti decided he didn’t want to play games anymore. thank you for sending them my dude!! also this is my first time writing for this au so the mythology is really experimental but I just tried to do something new with Anti :) it’s very inhuman and doesn’t really understand Chase, but it decides it wants him, so...

.

It sits on top of his refrigerator and watches him have his first meal of the day, a depression snack at nine at night compromised almost entirely of the last crumbs in an old bag of Cheetos. The skinny little human creature – though Anti’s seen him staring at his shirtless torso in the mirror enough times to know he’s only growing more dissatisfied with his softening stomach and arms – throws his head back and dumps the rest of the crisps into his mouth, getting orange dust all over his unkempt beard. Anti giggles at the sight of him. Clown boy with his Cheeto dust and the bags under his eyes. Little human thing. Too small and silly even to be able to die. Goofy, stupid human. Slouching, miserable child.

But if there is one thing Anti enjoys about the human, it is his fierce, hateful courage. At first, the laughter in the edges of his hearing sent chills up the boy’s spine and made him turn around with wild eyes, spitting and gnashing his blunt mortal teeth, but now, after months of being haunted, he does nothing except turn around and glare.

Anti is invisible on his refrigerator, but the human – what is his name? Charles, Casey, something – he still tries to find it. He has eyes made to burn, blue as flame, though, to be perfectly fair, fire can be as much a source of life as the bitter weapon Casey makes with his gaze now.

He used to be warm. Anti remembers. He would stutter when the girl came to see him and he carried those little chips with him, rubbing them in his pocket when he passed the liquor store, and his children were all he thought about. But he’s changed. Anti watched it happen. For whatever reason, the girl stopped bringing the children by at all, and at some point the pain of it must have overwhelmed the man, and Anti watched him embrace old habits with a ferocity only describable as self-harm. After his second suicide attempt – that was the only time Anti let Casey see it, standing over him and staring at the crimson of his blood in the bathtub while the man screamed for it to kill him already, shrieking in despair as Anti picked up his phone from the bathroom counter and dialed 911, giggling at the thought of just how powerful his despair would be when he woke up in the hospital – he removed his children from the background of that phone and replaced it with a stock image of the ocean provided to him by Apple’s recommendation.

The light slid out of his eyes at some point. Anti was there. It watched the whole thing.

It enjoyed the whole thing. Mostly.

“Fucking kill me, then, bitch,” hisses Casey, slinking through his own kitchen like he’s being hunted. He is. “Playing games with me, always, well, I’m tired of playing, you know that, I’m tired… fucking kill me then, not afraid of you, not afraid…”

This is also true. Anti’s pretty sure the only reason he moved back to America was to make sure none of his friends would be in the way of the creature who haunts him finally finishing the job. And to stop them from telling him “you need to get help, you’re talking to the voices in your head and seeing things, it’s not real, you need to see a specialist” in an endless carousel of concern and – as Casey always perceived it – condescension.

“Fucking kill me!” he screams, slamming his hand down on his counter. He shatters a pile of unwashed dishes on accident and blood comes pooling up hot and coppery in the lines of his palm, but Casey doesn’t even look down, doesn’t even flinch, just keeps staring straight forward with fire eyes as wild as a horse’s.

But Anti’s bored with him. It hops down from the fridge and wanders through the apartment, whistling. In the kitchen, it hears the man howling as the whistling returns to torment him, the monster’s singing following him for hours and hours every day, never letting him sleep.

Anti used to think it was really funny, that something as simple as a whistled lullaby could make the man shatter in half and sob like his heart was broken open in his hands.

But honestly?

It’s less fun these days.

“Music, music, music,” rants the human in the kitchen, slamming his palm down again and again, cutting open his palm again, again. There’s banging on the walls and muffled yelling. The neighbors are sick of his screaming. He’ll be evicted soon, Anti reckons. Humans used to travel in packs, making it harder to pick them off, but these days ones like Casey often find themselves alone, and no one is around to stand up for him. “I’ll make you stop, I’ll make you shut up, shut up, shut up….”

Anti lets the human sprint past it and retreat to his bedroom, crawling under the bed and taking his laptop with him. He puts on big earphones and presses them hard against his ears, and he rocks himself as his music plays, turned up to one hundred on his computer, mumbling to himself, laughing sometimes, if Anti listens closely enough.

Anti crouches down to look at him. It hums to itself and touches Casey’s face, and he shrivels in on himself and whimpers, but he does not fight or push it away. Not anymore.

He used to be so much more fun before he started to crumble instead of break.

And yet, Anti has not killed him.

It does not know why.

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

When bored – these days, it often is – Anti likes to wander through the other apartments that surround its own. Watching the human sleep can only be entertaining for so long, even if it does like to hear his sleepy, thick breathing and see his peaceful, dopey face, and it’s nice to just roam sometimes. Anyway, the people nearby can be interesting, though Anti doesn’t mess with them the way it does Casey. No one else has ever been that entertaining.

A young couple lives to their right, newly-married with a little rat of a dog they call Barkley. Anti’s human likes most dogs, but he grew tired a long time ago of the shrieking yips through the walls. Anti itself doesn’t mind it so much. One more thing to annoy the human on his slow road to madness.

“Who’s the best boy in the world?”

It passes by their door and hears them cooing and praising the yelping thing. “Are you a good boy, Barkley? Who’s my good little boy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Barkley has been sick for a few days and their fussing over him has been endless as they clean the nasty little animal up after every time it vomits, carefully feeding it vet-recommended dog food and plenty of healthy human snacks whenever Barkley shows an interest. How anyone could care to look after a creature so pathetic and useless is well beyond Anti, but it thinks it’s funny, really. Humans will bow down to pet the lowest of creatures.

I am not like that, it thinks to itself, drifting through the door, invisible. It is important for me to not be like that.

Anti had never had an interest in pets before this year, but, increasingly, it likes to come over and watch them look after Barkley. Constantly it reminds itself – I am not like that. It is important for me to not be like that.

But it doesn’t understand why this is important or why it should not be like that. Truthfully, it has never been skilled with its own emotions. It does as it pleases and what makes it happy makes it happy. If there is depth to that, it isn’t interested.

“Okay, Barkley baby, mommy and daddy are going to go for a walk and be right back in a few.”

“Aww, poor baby, we know. You wanna come on our walk and see all the other puppies along the way, but you can’t go while your belly’s all grumpy!”

“Yeah, little Barkley can’t come today, but mommy and daddy will be right back.”

“Mommy and daddy will be right back, we promise.”

They shower the dog in pets and belly rubs as they baby-talk their way towards the door, blowing it kisses as they head out and lock the door behind them.

“Do you think we should check on this guy here who’s so loud sometime?”

“What, that Chase guy? Are you kidding me? What a creep. He’s so fucking loud. We’re going to have to complain to the landlord again. Guy’s out of his mind.”

Ah, yes, Chase, that’s his name. Slipping into their apartment like a ghost, Anti laughs at the human fickleness and leans down to tweak the little dog’s tail, making it yelp in alarm and start running in circles around the apartment. It giggles and spends some time chasing it and leading it around with its chew toys and such. It likes the way it can make the dog do anything. It likes the cute little dog even if it is such a disgusting, purposeless, stupid little animal. It coos and picks the puppy up, tickling its skinny little ribs and rubbing between its ears.

“Stupid puppy,” it manages to say, in its painful, broken voice. Human language has always been difficult for it, but it prides itself on understanding it well. One day maybe it will speak it clearly too, though for now it knows it would sound like a struggling, glitching machine to a real human. “Stupid baby doggy.”

Faint laughter reaches its sharp ears and it quiets, setting the dog back down. For a moment, only silence, and it crouches in the living room with its black eyes boring into the universe, motionless.

Then it hears raucous laughter as the window in the back of the apartment is pried open and a pair of much, much more pathetic creatures than itself or even this little dog crash their way into the couple’s home. It straightens up, shaking its head, and heads back towards the back room, where a baby’s nursery is beginning to develop. Above the cradle, a pair of imps stop short, staring at Anti as they hover, startled, in mid-air.

Wearing its human’s form, it puts its hands on its hips and waits for them to speak.

They begin to laugh again, loud and boisterous, spit flying out of the one’s mouth while the second’s eyes bulge with hilarity.

“A fairy in California?” The imp rolls in circles in the air, shrieking with laughter. “Who would have thought?”

“Little far from home, Mr. Potatohead,” quips the second, floating up to the ceiling, sneering and sticking out its little purple tongue. Anti’s mouth curls distastefully. “Why don’t you go back to your hunts and your parades, your highness?”

“How’d it get here without getting stuck behind all that running water?”

“Careful, pure-blood, this spoon looks like it might be made out of iron!”

They dissolve into maniacal impling laughter, rocking through the air, shape-shifting in the limited ways they can to make themselves look uglier. If it were the sort of fairy who gave a fuck, Anti supposes it would feel disrespected, but it doesn’t much care. They’re little annoyances who have clearly mistaken it for a much less powerful creature than it really is. They break the monotony for a moment. It’ll kill them in a second. Anti supposes they just came here to make trouble. Imps love break into human homes and stealing their food or making their milk go rotten. They may well have been the ones who made Barkley sick, just to watch the humans take care of the dumb little thing for their entertainment. They’re common in this part of the city because the mountains are close, and imps are snuffling, stupid little creatures of the earth.

“Ew, what’s that?” squawks the first imp, floating closer to it. “Do you smell it?”

“Yuck. His majesty stinks like a human.”

“Just like a fairy to keep a pet.”

“Aw, do you have a widdle human to look after?”

“Maybe we should pay a visit to your stinky little human.”

“Yeah, maybe it needs some company.”

“Some friends.”

“Someone to play a couple fun games with.”

“And then we can find out what it is that made Tinkerbell here go all soft in the middle, like a rotten – ”

But they never get to find out exactly what rotted thing Anti resembles. It snatches the imp out of the air in one snapping motion like the bite of a snake and crushes its body between its fingers, its eyes turning black as the juices run down its wrist.

In its fear, the other imp does not even scream. Its eyes bulge in alarm and it scrambles for the window, but it never makes it. Barkley yelps in victory, chasing his own tail around as Anti’s teeth come down around the meaty little imp and tear it to pieces, silencing the both of the little monsters, leaving nothing behind.

It’ll be picking that out of its teeth for a week, it muses, wandering back out of the apartment and towards its own. But that’s what they get for talking about Chase like that.

It’s odd, though, how it makes it pause and think. That is something other spirits do sometimes, isn’t it? Take a human and keep it as a pet.

The couple with the dog are returning from their walk, holding slushies and each other’s hands.

“Barkley!” they coo, greeting their excited dog at the door. “Are you a good boy? Oh, why are you shaking, baby boy? What a silly little puppy you are. Who’s a cutie? Are you a good boy? You just want a big hug, huh, you just want to be looked after. Mwah, mwah.”

It’s kind of a cute dog, in the end.

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

It liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it.

It liked the way his eyes changed. He was not afraid – Chase is a creature of courage and despair, and these, in Anti’s experience, are both flowers from the same root – but he was distressed. Anti would say that this was because the form he takes is such a disturbingly odd impression of a human that it scared the human, but, truthfully, he thinks he saw a sort of awe in Chase’s eyes that day as well.

He loves fiction. This is one thing it learned about Chase early on. He does not have a reputation for intelligence but he does love his fantasy escapism, or he did back when he still had the energy for things like interests and hobbies. He liked Gravity Falls and Doctor Who and anything with sci-fi or dragons and he would get stuck at bookstores every now and then just walking through the YA section and wishing he was still young enough to enjoy them as much as he used to. In the old days, human storytellers were vital parts of their social structure. Anti thinks Chase would have been a storyteller, in his own way, if this were a few hundred years ago. Maybe he would be happier then.

It does not know when it began wondering about Chase’s happiness. Do not ask it.

The point is that Anti liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it, that day he tried to kill himself.

“No,”  he shook his head as Anti took his phone and called for an ambulance. “No.”

But his eyes were looking at something beyond life and death, something he had only read about in books, and Anti did not understand it.

It thinks, now, that Chase was looking at something he had longed for when he was younger. But Anti does not know what. There are fairytales about prophetic heroes and novels about chosen ones and tv shows where fantastical creatures whisk people away on great adventures, but Anti is not a fantasy. Anti is a nightmare. This is something Chase has always known, and Anti has always known, and there should be no misunderstanding between them.

But it liked the way Chase looked at him, that one time it allowed him to see it. That’s all. That’s all it’s saying. It doesn’t mean anything. It is not like that. It’s important that it’s not like that.

Anti touches the human’s face. He has fallen asleep beneath his bed, and his breathing is clear and deep, rhythmic as the song of a bird.

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

Chase sleeps for fourteen hours and then gets up to make a Cup-o’-Noodles. Beef flavored. It’s the only thing left in the pantry except half a jar of strawberry jam and some milk he was too drunk to put in the fridge a couple days ago, spoiled completely by now. Even the cheap rum he’s been buying is out on the table beside the stove. He hasn’t bothered to get dressed and he cuts a pathetically small figure standing over the stove in nothing but some gym shorts and rolled-up Christmas socks because everything else needs to be washed.

Anti roams the apartment, humming distantly and checking up on things. It deletes an unread message on Chase’s phone from contact name “Marv” and waters the succulent Chase picked up on an impulse last week. It’s so funny to it how attached the human can get to things, and so quick too. He once found a bee on the windowsill, brought it sugar water, and looked after it for several hours before letting it outside. The human put on his loudest comedy show afterwards to try and keep himself cheerful, but he’d ended up crying about halfway through, and Anti couldn’t tell if it was related to the bee or not. He’s always crying. He didn’t always used to be crying. He used to be less deep in his despair and much more fun to play with.

Anti shakes the thoughts off and decides to prove that Chase is still fun to play games with. There’s nothing deep about their relationship, Chase just happens to be entertaining. That’s the only reason it followed him all the way from Ireland. It floats towards the kitchen, silent and invisible. It’ll give him a quick scare, not enough to put him off his dinner, just enough to remind him he should still be fighting. Anti shape-shifts cleanly into a small boy with black hair and deep onyx eyes and goes to stand behind Chase, silent and still, staring up at the child’s father as he stirs the noodles in silence.

“I know you’re behind me,” he says after a moment. “Looking like Hunter.”

Anti startles and shivers back into invisibility, drawing away. Chase turns blearily to see that it’s gone and he laughs, deep and hollow.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, stumbling a little as he tilts back his rum. Anti knows he’s already drunk from the calmness in his tired voice. “Used to your tricks by now. You been getting to know me, I know. I been getting to know you too.”

He snorts to himself and leans back against the stove, seeming to forget his noodles. He squints blearily around the room, rubbing at his eyes. He hasn’t put his contacts in since the last time he tried to kill himself. Wanted to make sure he cut the veins, but after he survived that night, it didn’t much matter if he could see or not.

“I think I can sort of tell when you’re close, most of the time,” he adds. Anti sits at the dining table across the room, frowning. “Like… I can feel you. Or something. See you, maybe. I think you make things… a different color. Does that make sense?”

He points sluggishly towards the dining table and then shrugs, letting his hand drop again.

“Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

His pot is boiling over. The water will burn his hands in a moment, resting as they are against the edge of the stove. Chase laughs to himself again, shaking his head, and throws back the rum for so long that he’s panting when he’s done with the drink.

“Funny,” he says. “Would have almost liked for you to be there. As Hunter, I mean. See my baby one more time. My baby. Hunter, my son…”

His eyes trail far away. Anti doesn’t think he’s looking at anything at all. There’s nothing left for him to look at.

Water cascades across the stove, boiling. Chase whimpers as it hits his hands, but he doesn’t pull away.

Something yanks him back.

He stumbles away from the stovetop. Drunk, he can’t keep his balance, and he goes crashing to the ground, falling on his back and dropping his bottle, which shatters into pieces of glass and a small flood of rum across the kitchen floor. Chase gasps, grabbing at his bruised elbow, staring around for a sight of the monster that has haunted him for so long.

The pot of noodles goes spinning off its stovetop onto the other side of the stove and stops boiling after a moment, quieting the kitchen. The knob on the oven flicks to ‘off’ and the red light disappears from the stovetop, leaving it dark and silent.

Chase closes his eyes.

Anti stares at him and it knows, in the moment, that the human was not lying.

He can sense it.

He can tell it’s there.

“Why,” croaks Chase. “Did you call 911 that night?”

Anti steps back from him. His movement shifts glass on the floor with a faint clinking noise.

“Was this what you wanted?” Chase whispers. “Just to see me live like this a little while longer? Just to make sure I couldn’t get away that easy? Was killing myself too good for you? Are you ever going to actually finish me off?”

He is crying. He is always crying.

This isn’t fun anymore, Anti realizes. It isn’t funny.

And honestly –

Honestly…

Honestly, it doesn’t know why it called 911.

“I think that’s what I’ve actually been waiting for,” laughs Chase, sobbing as tears run down his reddened cheeks. “Fuck. Not even staying alive waiting for it, that’s not what I mean, I mean… like I haven’t killed myself because I’ve been waiting for you to do it.”

He throws his head back and cries and laughs and hugs himself with his burned hands and scarred wrists, his whole body shuddering with the tears.

“But you won’t,” he sobs into the darkness, as Anti’s presence draws away from him and the sun fades. “You won’t. Will you? No one will give me any mercy. No one wants me to have any fucking peace. So tired… You won’t…”

Anti retreats to his room.

It doesn’t want to face him right now.

He doesn’t want to face him right now.

Chase cries in the kitchen for a long time, until his whole body feels tired and numb and drained. He doesn’t clean up the glass. He doesn’t clean up the rum. He doesn’t clean up the water. He would probably have slept right there on the wooden floor of his kitchen, but the doorbell rings.

Too drunk to put himself together, he staggers to the door and throws it open to the cold, red-eyed and stumbling like a zombie.

“Uh,” says the delivery kid, fixing her alarmed expression after a moment. “Here’s your food, sir.”

Chase is too confused even to question. Almost dazed by it, he takes the bag of take-out carefully from her hands, thanks her in a mumble, and shuts the door behind him.

KFC.

Did he order this?

No, he was making ramen before he made a mess of it. But it’s what he always gets. Chicken tenders and mashed potatoes and a couple extra biscuits for the next morning.

In his bedroom, Anti closes out of the delivery app and drops his phone onto the bed, deleting one more message from Marv before it drifts past Chase and goes wandering, thinking, roaming, lost.

It’s not like that… it’s important that it’s not. It’s not like that.

Zayn and Mary are walking Barkley. Anti watches the happy little dog go yipping and dancing in the space between them, happy and safe and recovering, cared for by his masters.

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

The apartment fills with soft light in the evenings. White and gold from the weary sun. When it hits the horizon, the gold pirouettes and falls apart into a dozen different watercolors across the long shoulders of the sky. Pouring patiently through the windows, like syrup from the bark of a great dark tree.

Anti sits beside Chase’s bed and watches him sleep, playing slowly with his hair.

It likes Chase’s hair. It always has. Soft and dark but sometimes golden in the sunlight, and ever-so-slightly curly, so you can wrap it around your finger if you’re gentle, and make it spring back again afterwards.

Anti wants to kill something. It doesn’t know what. A human, probably, but not Chase. Chase, Chase, Chase. It had forgotten how much it likes that name.

You like a lot of things about him, it lets itself realize. When did that happen? When the fuck did that happen? One day you’re making him having a repeated dream where he’s carefully cut into pieces and eaten alive by a sentient crocodile because he always got scared of the one in Peter Pan when he was a child and the next you’re thinking about how soft his hair is. It makes Anti laugh, for a moment, but it thinks it feels… sad. It doesn’t know why.

Chase wakes up and it drifts back into invisibility, leaving him to sit up and look around. Check his phone for the time and stare at the floor for a while. Today he is groggy, but not sad, which strikes Anti as odd. Most days he is groggy and sad. Sad groggy stupid human. Anti’s sad groggy stupid hurting human. It sighs and spins lazily in the air, watching Chase push himself up on his feet, his eyes dead and weary.

Someone slams on their door and Chase groans, rubbing at his forehead. He’s hungover again.

“Brody!” The slamming insists. Chase stutters out a breath, slightly frightened, and totters to the door, pulling it open.

It’s his landlord. Anti’s lips curl up in a snarl. A mean, stupid man, stupider than Chase, even, and he looks angry.

And he starts to shout at Chase, and Anti does not like it. It doesn’t interfere, but it doesn’t like it either, and it knows Chase will do nothing. He stands there shirtless in his Christmas socks and stares at his landlord like he can’t believe any of this is real – not because it’s rare for him to be in trouble, just because his life is an alley puddle full of cigarettes and bathing rats and he’s most likely dissociating – and just nods when he’s told to get his act together and pipe the fuck down before he gets kicked out.

“Yes,” says Chase. “Okay.”

The landlord leaves.

Chase shuts the door behind him and looks directly at Anti, invisible on the ceiling above him.

“Jokes on him,” he says dully. “He’ll have to be the one to clean my blood out of the bathtub.”

Anti blinks. Chase pauses, letting his head rest against the cool wall for a moment before he pushes himself back up and wanders back towards his bedroom.

“What you will do?” asks Anti.

Chase startles so hard he slams into the wall of the hallway, whirling around to look at him. Unnerved by his response, Anti scowls and backs away again.

“Sorry, did you just talk to me?” asks Chase. “It’s a dream, then? Or did you talk to me in real life? Or am I really losing it finally? I mean, worse than I have already.”

Anti grumbles to itself and gets up in the fan, making the blades spin slowly, sulking. Can’t even talk to the human without him freaking out.

“Must still be drunk,” mumbles Chase, retreating back to his room.

Anti gets up and follows him.

“What, are you worried?” snaps Chase, digging under the bed, and Anti grins at the heat he’s showing again. That’s more like it. “Haunt me for, what, eight months and now you’re worried? I know you’re there, asshole.”

Anti lets him hear it giggling. Chase rolls his eyes and then he gives a short laugh, shaking his head.

Anti feels pleased, it thinks. Chase turns to look at him. He can’t see him, but he knows it’s there. Anti likes that.

“You really are a monster,” says Chase softly, smiling at it.

And then Anti sees, in his hand, the little tin where he keeps his razor blades.

Anti’s mouth falls in a frown.

Chase looks up into the sunset. Orange and gold, tonight. Flowing over his hair and into his eyes, making them alight. Fire eyes. Fire Chase.

“I hated you for a long time,” says Chase. “But you’re either a monster or the part of my brain that really wants to hurt me, so I guess either way I shouldn’t blame you for being what you are.”

He stands up, straighter than he has in a long time, still fixated on that sunset.

“I… I’ll miss…”

Anti stares at him, waiting, but Chase never finishes his sentence. After a long moment, he turns and takes his phone off of his bed. A slow, shaky breath escapes him.

He always takes his calls between the hallway and the living room so he can pace. Anti knows. Anti knows everything about him. Anti knows things about him he doesn’t know about himself. Anti likes things about him he doesn’t like about himself.

The human steps into the hallway and opens his contacts, carefully picking a name he hasn’t picked in long months, and he closes his eyes, and he waits.

But no one answers. Chase lets out a soft, miserable laugh, gripping the phone in both hands.

“Ah, damn… ha. Sorry, Schneep, I was really hoping you’d pick up.”

He circles quietly in the hallway, running his hands through his hair, his eyes closed and that phone held up to his ear, trying to breathe even instead of weeping.

“Look, man, um. I know we fell apart. Honestly, I really needed you, and you were just too busy for me, and that stung, it did. Maybe it was selfish, but I just… I needed you, Schneep. And I felt like all you cared about was the research, and…”

He rubs his face, brushing away tears. Anti stands at the end of the hall, staring.

“Well, I didn’t call you to accuse you of anything. I just wanted you to know that, um, even though we both hurt each other… I always loved you, man. And I don’t got the courage to call Jacks or Marv, okay, but I love them too. I love them too. And I’m sorry. Cause I was a coward for running away from them, and… maybe you needed me even more than I needed you, and I couldn’t even see it. So I just want you to know: you were my best friend. And I’m really sorry I couldn’t pull you out of your head and that I couldn’t help, or didn’t try hard enough, or just that I wasn’t what you needed. And I…”

Anti sees Chase close his eyes and breathe.

“And I hope I’m not one more person you spend the rest of your life wishing you could have saved,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault, Henrik. I love you. Good night, buddy. Maybe someday – ”

The voicemail beeps. End of recording.

Chase lets out a hurting breath and sets his phone down. His eyes are fixed on the rising sunlit moon, past his window.

“Maybe someday I’ll see you again,” he says.

He goes into the bathroom and crawls into the tub.

And Anti – Anti is paralyzed in the hallway, staring at him, invisible.

But Chase can sense it. Chase can sense him. He looks back at him, his face – fuck, so familiar now, like Anti knows every line of it, every shadow – and says nothing.

Something in Anti cries out against it.

Don’t let him do this. Don’t let him do this.

But another part – oh, another part recognizes what has happened. It has grown attached to this human despite all odds, despite everything. And attachments are dangerous and stupid and useless, just like this little mortal curled up in his white bathtub, holding a razor, staring at it. This is Anti’s chance to let Chase break the attachment. This is its chance to stop this before it goes too far. Before it actually does decide that it likes Chase, that it wants him, that it should keep him, that he loves him in his own fucked-up way.

So it steps back.

It won’t stop Chase.

Let him go. Let him go. It’s better this way. He was just supposed to be entertainment. There was never supposed to be an attachment. So now Chase can die and Anti can leave and they can go their separate ways, and everything in Anti’s life will return to normal. It will go back to Ireland and find something new to do, someone new to torment. And everything will be okay.

It doesn’t stop Chase.

But Chase –

Chase –

“No,” he whispers to himself, gripping the blade. “Please.”

Chase can’t bring himself to do it.

“No!” he screams, lashing himself once, but it hurts and he hates it and he wants it to stop and it’s not like the other times he’s tried to kill himself, not at all. There’s no numbness. There’s no comfort.

He doesn’t want to die.

“Please!” he howls, gripping his own wrists. “Please!”

He’s begging himself. End it. Finish it. Stop it, let me go.

He’s begging the universe. No more. No more, please.

He’s begging Anti.

He’s begging Anti with everything he has.

He turns his eyes to it and he’s screaming, and there’s blood on his wrists, and the glowing moon is like the eye of a god staring down at them, and Anti is illuminated in its light, visible in the shape of a man, visible in a shape like Chase’s, and Chase is begging him –

“Don’t make me live like this any longer!”

Anti turns and flees.

Chase is howling like a shot dog, holding his own shoulders, unable to kill himself, because he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Henrik to get that voicemail, he doesn’t want to never see the sun again, he doesn’t want to go, he isn’t ready, but he can’t live like this any longer, and he’s never felt more hopeless in his life, and he still doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die.

Don’t make me live like this any longer.

Why can’t he end it?

He’s so drunk and so tired and he thought he wanted to die, he really thought he did. No, no, not… oh, he needs somebody, he needs something, he needs something to change. Henrik. He wants Henrik, wants Jackie, wants Marv. He’s staggering to his feet, trying to get up, trying to get back to his phone –

He slips in his Christmas socks and in his own blood, and he crashes down hard in his bathtub, and lies still.

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

“Oh, no, oh, fuck,” Anti hears him whimpering as he comes awake. “How much did I fucking have? Stupid, stupid…”

It stands in the hallway, pacing, its eyes set on the ground. It is determined now. It has decided.

“Oh, shit! Oh.” There’s a nervous laugh from Chase as he notices the shallow cut on his arm. “Oh, wow, I… I must have tried to… but I didn’t! I didn’t, wow…”

There’s an awe in his voice that hasn’t been there for a long time.

Is it… pride?

“I didn’t kill myself,” Anti hears him whispering. “I didn’t… didn’t kill myself. Or I just passed out before I could, but either way, pretty impressive for a fucking idiot like me.”

Anti retreats back to his room and begins to pack the human’s things up, taking only what’s immediately necessary. It doesn’t care about the personal effects, but there are some things they will need – some clothes, his hygiene products, shoes, medicine. He places the succulent gently on top and zips it into place as an added present.

It can hear Chase wandering around the house, apparently dazed by his own survival, or maybe just still drunk from the night before. Anti shuts his phone down remotely and doesn’t let it turn back on when Chase scrabbles at the power button, mumbling about his friends back in England. Anti doesn’t know where the sudden interest in them after months of deleting pictures and ignoring calls has come from, but it doesn’t care.

Here are the facts, in its mind:

Chase survived last night.

It has grown attached to him.

Because he did not kill himself, it can’t escape the fact that it’s grown… fond of the human.

The human survived one night, but Anti has watched him through a great deal of ups and downs, and it knows that Chase will be suicidal again soon enough, and then he might not survive.

Anti does not want to watch him die.

And so the conclusion it came to last night, watching over the boy as he lay in that tub, gently curling his hair between its fingers, was this –

Chase will be its, and Chase will not die.

It has a great satisfaction with this plan now, more than it thought possible. After months of boredom, finally, finally! Something that makes it excited again, something that makes it feel – well – happy!

Chase is still playing with his phone. Anti steps back into the hallway and sees him frowning down at it, pressing on the power button a few times in a row, looking unhappy.

“Did I call him, or…? Need to tell him I’m okay or he’ll – ahh!”

Chase screams aloud at the sight of Anti standing in the hallway with his backpack on. Anti frowns as he goes tumbling to the floor in his alarm, groaning from the whiplash in an already concussed head.

“You’re – you’re showing yourself to me?” gasps Chase, scrambling away. “What’s – are you going to kill me? What’s going on? Hey, stay away!”

But Anti is moving forward, a smile already on its face. This is perfect! This is perfect! It could howl! It could shout! The man is looking at it again, just like he did that night he tried to kill himself, the night that Anti saved his life, and there is the change in his eyes, the recognition, and Anti feels seen and known and in control all over again, and everything is good, everything is perfect.

“What are you doing?” demands Chase, his hands reaching out to protect himself. A fighter, yes, just like Anti always saw. Small and weak and mortal and foolish, yes, but also courageous, courageous, always something special about him. Anti always knew. It grabs Chase’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, humming to itself, singing the old lullaby it always used to haunt him with.

“No, stop, I hate that!” screams Chase, trying to cover his ears, trying to yank away from him. “Stop it, let me go!”

He’s such a pretty little human, even if he is built so scrawny. Anti likes his dark hair and his fire eyes and his soft stomach and even his stupid tattoos, just because they’re his and he’s so goofy, silly human creature. It’s all familiar to him now. The boredom that it thought it was feeling all this time it now sees was a secret fear of the truth that it was becoming attached to him. But last night woke it up to the realization that it did not want to see the boy die and it’s so pleased that he decided to live. In a way, the human was deciding to stay with it! Everything is good. It wrangles Chase’s other wrist and begins to drag him towards the door, unbothered by the sound of his shouting, which is little more than white noise to Anti after so long spent following Chase.

“No, no! Help me, someone help!” he cries.

Someone pounds on the walls of the apartment. A muffled “can you shut the fuck up for once in your life?” makes its way through the plaster. Chase sobs, tearing at Anti’s hands, his eyes wild and desperate. Anti keeps humming.

It will set him up somewhere just as good as this stupid little apartment. Better even. Bigger and less worn. And it will teach Chase to take better care of it too, so he doesn’t make such a mess like he always does. It will give him things he hasn’t even realized he wants yet. It will give him his little succulent back and he will take care of it. Humans need things to take care of or they get very sad and they die sometimes – that’s the thing about humans, they can get so sad they can die, and it’s no longer fun for Anti to watch, so it will get Chase things to take care of instead. What do humans like to take care of? Cows? Hamsters? Potatoes? Whatever he wants.

It takes Chase’s keys and drags him out to his car, opening the door and letting all of Chase’s trash litter onto the street. Its foot crunches on garbage as it pushes its human inside, chirping politely at him when he struggles and gently blocking him from escaping, keeping him pressed inside the car. When Chase tries to lunge forward past it, Anti shoves him against the glass and makes him yelp, clutching at its aching head. Whoops! It pulls back quickly and pats his cheek, checking the bruise and patting Chase’s head. It will take some time to learn the boundaries for touching the human, but it will learn. It keeps him carefully inside until the human has gone breathless and shaky and realizes he can’t get out right now. Satisfied, Anti gets into the car beside him and starts the engine.

Oh, no, wait. One more thing it wants to do.

Anti sets Chase’s apartment on fire, whistling its song to itself as it disables the alarms and leaves a few rags beginning to spread the fire from the oven to the counters. Fuck that landlord who yelled at him. Now the other humans will probably think he died in the fire or something and not come looking for him. Not that they could find him if they tried. Anti leaves the apartment smoking and gets back into the car, chirping and purring to itself, too excited to care that it’s acting like a youngling on its first Samhain.

The human stares at the road as they begin to move, shell-shocked and trembling. Eventually his eyes flicker over to Anti, and it can see that he isn’t sure if he should be angry or terrified or just numb to all of this, numb to everything.

Numb is what he settles on. Numb and a little weepy, anyway. Anti coos and reaches out to touch the human’s neck, rubbing warmly at his soft skin.

Chase curls in on himself, shirtless and shivering in the seat of his own car, kidnapped and alone, and he begins to cry very softly.

There’s blood on his arm. He’s tired. He’s hungover. He’s still struggling with the desire to die despite surviving the night before. He thinks he left Henrik a weird voicemail. The monster that’s been haunting him for years has just appeared in the flesh and thrown him out of his apartment. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just wants everything to stop.

He just wants this to stop.

The monster repeats its cooing noise at his side, still petting at his neck and throat. Chase shudders and cries, rocking himself gently in the seat, wishing for his headphones. Anti turns on both the heat and the radio. A top-twenties station comes on and plays music familiar to Chase’s ears, and they drive, and they drive, and he begins to go quiet and still, sniffling to himself, hugging his shoulders. Feeling the monster petting him like an animal.

“Okay,” whispers a warbled voice when Chase has finally begun to calm down, and he looks up in shock to see the monster speaking, or trying to. He’d never known it to speak at all – only to watch him, and laugh, and whistle or hum, playing tricks on him or mimicking him in the corner of his vision. They’d never spoken.

“Okay,” it repeats, touching his hair. “Okay.”

Chase swallows and says nothing.

Anti pulls over after a couple hours of driving and hands Chase the backpack, helping him pull out the clothes and put shoes and a shirt on. It leads him inside a gas station and lets him use his bathroom and wash his face, staying beside him the whole time. Chase doesn’t try to protest or call for help. He does not know why.

Anti leads him carefully through the aisles of the gas station, a big truck stop station with rows and rows of snacks and toys and clothes and knick-knacks like phone charges for cars and California-themed snow-globes. It seems interested in everything, but in an amused way, like it’s laughing at everything, and Chase is supposed to be laughing with it.

He doesn’t know what to do. Anti’s arm is around his shoulder.

The monster buys something with Chase’s credit card while Chase shakes beneath his arm and tries to figure out what’s happening, though his brain seems to be shutting down from being so overwhelmed and he really just wants a drink. Anti pulls him back towards the car and this time, he clambers in without protest, sitting down in the passenger seat and buckling in.

Anti sits down beside him and offers him the bag from the gas station. Chase blinks and looks over, taking the bag numbly from its hands.

There are nuts for protein and three bottles of water. Chips and a breakfast sandwich and jerky and chocolate and a small, stuffed lion with the name “Lionel” in its ear.

Anti starts the car again. They drive.

“What are you?” asks Chase in a whisper.

The monster glances over at him and touches his face, stroking a finger down his cheek, down his beard, and, in that struggling, glitching, inhuman voice, it tells him:

“Anti. And you are mine. No more scares. No more slow dying. I look after you. Human. Chase. Mine.”

The monster who’s been haunting him for months wants to keep him as a pet.

The desert is rolling past Chase’s window. Lionel sits patiently on his lap. The radio plays something inane and catchy. Anti is touching his hand.

“Mine,” it says again. “Okay, Chase. It’s okay.”

Chase closes his eyes, and, leaning back against the headrest of the car, he lets himself drift into sleep.

[future-dregs]

Send Me a Fandom Ask Game

@nitghowl1600

Yu Yu Hakusho, I love that, thank you.

Let's dig in and see what the answers are.

The first character I first fell in love with: Hiei!

My sister actually read it first, and then we watched the anime together, and from the moment she showed me his first picture I knew I would love him. And I was RIGHT. He's a bastard gremlin (affectionate) and that's just the ones I like, so it was really no surprise that he rocketed right up to the top.

The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: Yusuke. Despite being the MC, he was an absolute ASS (which was all part of his character development but I digress), and I really, REALLY didn't like him. Brash, crass, sexist, and irritating, I did not want to spend any more time around him than was strictly necessary. Now, of course, if you've seen any of my posts or tags, you'll see that he's shoved his way into my heart and I love him very dearly. He's amazing, and his growth, maturity, and tenderness are something outstanding.

The character everyone else loves that I don’t: Yoko Kurama. Idk who was a closet furry in that translations room, but giving the giant, muscled fox man a "time for spankings" line was a damn choice and a choice they kept on making. Every time he opened his mouth I braced in horror and despaired of what he would say, cause ALL OF HIS LINES ARE LIKE THAT. (My sister assures me that wasn't in the manga….that...I have yet to completely finish). I do not like Yoko Kurama. But the fandom does. Oh, how they do.

The character I love that everyone else hates: Itsuki. He's not great and his relationship with Sensui is (imo) weird at best and unhealthy at worst (though I wouldn't go so far as to that its abusive). But idk man, he's a compelling, interesting character. He's a demon, who was being hunted by Sensui and was about to be killed by him, but Sensui thought he was funny and hot I guess so he let him live and they started hunting together. After Sensui's horrific (in every absolute sense of the word, holy fucking shit) realization about the humans he had been working to protect, and he was so shattered and disturbed and at loose ends that he had to make multiple personalities to protect himself and process what happened to him, Itsuki stuck with him. They may not have dealt with what happened to them in the healthiest manner, and Itsuki stepped back and let him go when he should have intervened, but what they hell else were they supposed to do, really? He supported and loved Sensui in the best way he knew how, even if that way turned out to be pushing him to the point of self destruction. Their last moments together were very moving, and solidified him as an intriguing character to me. Idk what the fandom feel for him is, but my sister greatly dislikes him, so that's who I'm picking.

The character I used to love but don’t any longer: Lame, but I don't think I have one.

The character I would totally smooch: Yukina. But a nice, cute little forehead kiss. She's precious and want all good things for her, and I'd like to kiss the top of her head like a cat. I don't have any character I'm attracted to though.

The character I’d want to be like: I admire Kuwabara. He's strong as hell and can fight like crazy, but he runs off of love. Like, the power of love is what motivates him. He's kind, loves his friends so much that he was willing to debase and humiliate himself so that no harm would come to them, he loves cats, his sister, PEOPLE in general and he just genuinely wants to make the world around as good as he can. He applies himself to his studies and is determined to make himself into a good man, and if I could be at all like him, I would consider myself to be a success. (The dub frickin' BUTCHERED him and all of his character traits btw)

The character I’d slap: Koenma. He deserves it. He bears a lot of responsibility for the REALLY bad stuff that happened and the unnecessary pain and torment that several characters went through. Aside from that he's also a little whiny and should really treat his second better but hey, what else is new?

A pairing that I love: YuHieiRama. This is not the most *popular* paring in the fandom (30 fics on Ao3, minimal art, there's…there's next to nothing, basically) but I LIKE it.

Kurama treasures Yusuke, he doesn't even attempt in any way to hide that fact. Also Kurama has two hands and he knows it. There's a reason Hiei/Kurama is one of the biggest ships in the fandom, their flirtation, instigated mostly and many times, by Kurama, is too much to be ignored. Hiei had THIS wonderous line "I would kill you before you could touch him (Yusuke)" which is HUGE for him and his character because his whole shtick is that he "doesn't care" about other people (he does sometimes he just doesn't show it) but when he thought Yusuke was in imminent mortal danger, he didn't hesitate even a moment to VERBALLY THREATEN (AND THEREBY ACKNOWLEDGE HOW IMPORTANT YUSUKE IS TO HIM) the one posing the danger. And he would have. And he's not a big talker, so this was a BIG MOMENT to him and his character development. Also, though not as open as Kurama, and more bashful about receiving, he reciprocates the flirtation, and seems almost to expect or wait for it at times (and then he tries it out on Yusuke, it's so cute). On Yusuke's end, he admires and respects them both, he likes them both and he just genuinely WANTS to be around them. They are right up there with the top five or so most important people in his life and his devotion is obvious. There's also the common bond between them with Kurama and Hiei being yokai, and Yusuke (SPOILER) also now being one. They have an understanding of each other and a deep care and they make such a wonderful unit, and their interactions, both between any of the two of them, or all three of them together, are just LACED with care and affection and (I think) romantic, flirtatious undertones. *deep breath* I'm so sorry about this.

A pairing that I despise: Yusuke and Keiko. And NO its not because I ship Yusuke with someone(s) else, its because I never believed them as a couple, and they seem supremely unsuited to each other. They kept saying "I love you, I love you, I like you, I miss you, I admire you, I want you" But they never seemed to show it, to prove or display that in any romantic way. They do care for each other, I'll believe that. But IN love? No. They make a horrible romantic couple, and I dislike it greatly.

[luci-four]

Would it be alright to request Mammon fluff with a little bit of sad :'^)? I really loved your Satan piece and I'd like to see what you do with Mammoney!

A/N: hey thanks for being patient!! i had a monster essay to deal with so I went a lil mia lmao; hope you like it!!! its a little long so it’ll be under the cut!!

Sunflower. {Mammon x Reader/MC}

A lot of things had constantly been just out of reach for Mammon—his freedom to live on his own, that one “A” he could’ve gotten on that test if he didn’t second guess his answers, literally every opportunity he had missed to make quick cash without much work—yet, none of them seemed to make a lasting impression. It sucked, sure, but Mammon had resigned himself to the idea that those things were simply just nice dreams that he could either try and attempt again, or would be okay living without.

One thing in particular, however, had just barely grazed his fingertips as he reached out as far as possible, feeling the muscle in his shoulder stretch as far as it could, his body desperately moving to catch even the smallest part of them—only for the thing he desired most to slip from his grasp; Now, that was the one that hurt.

And it continued to hurt.

Time and time again, he’d find his shoulder sore as though he had desperately reached for the sun despite never doing such a thing; He’d rub the muscle, wincing when he found a particularly tender spot, and mindlessly work to fix whatever the problem may have been. He never seemed to notice it tense up whenever his eyes landed on MC.

The tightness in his shoulders always seemed to linger heavily whenever he spoke to them; Was it from the words he neglected to say? Or perhaps it was stress from patting himself on the shoulder, expressing his greatness and exaggerating his emphasis to impress them? Maybe it was from the feelings for them he refused to take notice of and continued to deny their existence. Maybe it was the weight of his sins sitting on his shoulder, he was in Devildom, after all.

Smiles were the superficial cure for his muscle pain—their smile was constantly so bright that he didn’t need to reach for it, it came to him instead. The sound of their voice always danced its way to his ears. He needed only to reach a little bit whenever they needed him, he could easily sense their emotions.

His hand, whether he wanted it to be or not, had always extended towards MC; Why didn’t they hold theirs out back to him?

His own laugh started to irritate him, ignorant and egotistic. He knew the only reason he laughed a little harder, a little louder, was to drown out the sounds of anyone else speaking with MC. Had he become attached? No, not at all—not that he’d tell anybody outright. Mammon would do what he could to make sure they felt alright, made sure he was by their side, and definitely made sure no one, including his brothers, made a move that MC would regret. Anger, jealousy, insecurity, defeat—everything had found itself coated in childish praises only he could give himself. It was no wonder MC never reached back for him—he wouldn’t reach for himself, either.

There was no surprise when his brothers started to take to MC as well—jealousy, you bet—but no surprise. Why wouldn’t they? MC shines no matter what they do, even when they aren’t realizing it. Maybe he just thought their soul was pretty, shiny—like a diamond—maybe it was just his unquenchable greed that drew him to them, to their soul, and that’s all it was. Of course! He was the Great Mammon after all; No human would do him in otherwise… or so he told himself. The proud smile of his dropped fairly easy the moment they turned around.  

Truth is, he was terrified. He felt like a child trying to cling to their mother, one who cried the moment they found themselves alone with no sense of time to tell just how long they had been lonely. He felt so weak, so pathetic, so annoyed with the very idea that he wanted—needed—them around. He talks so big, so how can he feel so small?

He’s microscopic sitting beside MC as they focus their attention on Levi ramble on about some new nerd game of his. He’s tiny as they look over a new book Satan discovered while the language was something far too foreign for him to comprehend. He’s puny as he stands in the doorway to their room while Asmo goes on and on about something he couldn’t catch because all he could focus on was the way his brother’s hands danced across every part of MC he could get them on. He’s pathetic standing behind them during any interaction with Lucifer.

MC never seems to mind having him around, but what if it was just to be nice? What if they didn’t care whether he stayed or left? They were the sun and he was simply the sunflower, begging, pleading, reaching for their warmth—but reaching for so long hurt. He wasn’t sure if he should try to reach anymore.

They had some sort of conversation with the others, something about plans to go out that evening—not that he could join them, anyway. He’d come up with some bullshit excuse about some get-rich-quick scheme he’d come up with once again, just to avoid seeing how brightly his brothers can make MC shine. They looked happy—excited, even—to go out with everyone; He never felt more stupid in his life, and he had to admit that that feeling alone said a lot.

From behind his closed door, he could hear all of them bustling about, laughing, talking, getting ready for… whatever they had planned, he decided it was better not to know. He threw himself onto his couch, holding a pillow against his head to try and drown out the sounds of happiness just beyond the door; The pillow was also to drown out the sound of his short, frustrated screech.

“This is bullshit!” He cried through the pillow to his empty room, “Bullshit!”

He kicked his feet around like a child, tossing and turning from side to side as he let out strangled sounds of anger.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” He punched the pieces of couch at his sides, “Who needs them anyway? If MC wants to go hang out with everyone else then who cares? I don’t care!”

“Because you’re the Great Mammon?”

The sudden voice shocked him; Mammon fell to the floor and looked up to find MC leaning over the back of his couch—their stare made his face heat up quickly.

“Y…yeah, ya know it! Exactly!”

“So, I didn’t watch you just throw an entire temper-tantrum?”

“What? Of course not!”

“Uh-huh,” they drew out, “sure, alright.”

Mammon bit the inside of his cheek, eyes darting around the room; He thought it was inconspicuous, but MC could read right through him. Ridiculous—of course MC had to witness it! They saw him crack, break, throw a fit, of course they aren’t going to want him now; He felt so… insignificant the longer he soaked in his embarrassment.

“…you stayed?” he whispered with a shaky breath.

The silent pause killed him. It was like being stabbed with an entire pitchfork, over and over again; The pause lasted only seconds, but it was enough to make Mammon feel as though he were going to burst.

“N-not that I care!” he blurted out. “’Cause why would I care? I don’t care–”

“Of course I stayed.”

His eyes snapped back to theirs, an unreadable expression on their face. What did that mean? ‘Of course I stayed,’ their words just kept echoing in his head until they spoke again to break his trance.

“I mean,” their lips finally broke out into that burning smile Mammon loved so much, “how was I supposed to have any fun without you?”

Mammon’s body grew numb from shock as MC leaned over the back of the couch as far as possible, stretching their arm out to what looked to be an uncomfortably far length just to reach him; It looked painful. Sharp intake of breath, examine their hand—he could finally see past the beams of light to see the most delicate hand reaching back out for him, and he didn’t hesitate to take it.

“Psh, duh,” he hoped his hand wasn’t sweaty as he tugged on theirs to pull himself up, “I’m literally the life of the party. I’m–”

“The Great Mammon, yes, we know.” They let out a heartwarming giggle, “We’ll just have to have our own little party.”

“Maybe… a movie?” He sat back on the couch, never letting so much as a thought of letting their hand go pass his mind, “A party animal like me gets tired too, ya know.”

“Mmm, good idea. Only if we watch something scary.”

“What!”

“What? It’s a good excuse to keep holding your hand.”

Mammon had nearly choked on his own spit at the very idea that those words had left their mouth—hearing them made him actually choke. His face grew dark, he had to turn it away from them to hide just how much he loved what he heard.

Sunflowers always faced, begged, longed for the sun, but no one ever warned them about just how warm it was going to be when the sun looked back.

“What’s gotten into you? Cut it out.”

He no longer had to reach far, as MC’s hand had finally met his, and he didn’t plan on letting it go any time soon.

He didn’t even realize how the pain in his shoulder had disappeared the moment their head laid upon it.

[6ftslytherin]

Queer OC Questionnaire

Name: Sabine V. E. Lowell

1. What is your oc's identity?

Androgynous lesbian woman

2. When did they realize their identity?

In a way she's always known.

3. How did they feel when they found out?

(Trigger warnings: internalized homophobia and a suicide attempt)

Sabine had always felt like there was something different about her than the other girls. She never really understood how they could dream about getting married to a handsome gentleman. When she finally heard about other girls liking girls it was in a negative connotation. She hadn't thought that what she felt was bad but this was a respected adult saying it.

Her family being the famous Lowells taught her that one of the most important things that she could do was continue the bloodline by marrying a man and having children. When she asked about having children with a woman her grandfather Virgil laughed and told her it was ridiculous. She never brought the question up again.

Over the years the shame would build. It wasn't just her sexuality that made her feel bad. Her weird behavior caused her family to be ridiculed. She had indirectly killed her brother John. She was the cause of the argument that made Jacob leave. She wasn't feminine. Her parents deserved better. Being herself dishonored the Lowell name. She wasn't even sure if her parents actually loved her anymore.

She tried to be the best daughter she could be but she always felt bad about who she was. She couldn't even tell anyone because she didn't feel like her problems mattered compared to other's. Eventually all the shame and guilt built up which is when she decided to end things. She couldn't deal with the pain anymore.

She was fourteen when she stole a bottle of sleeping pills from a muggle pharmacy with the intent to take the entire thing. She decided on a date when the fewest people would be home and made peace with the people in her life. When the day came she wrote a note explaining everything and downed the bottle with a glass of wine. She became light headed and passed out a bit later.

She woke up in a bed at St. Mungo's. She didn't have the strength to argue when she was offered a spot in the pediatric section of Waterhouse Psychiatric Hospital and agreed.

4. How long did it take for them to accept themselves?

It wasn't until she was being treated in the psychiatric hospital that she began to let go of the guilt. Her parents hired a private psychiatrist to help them. The psychiatrist, Dean Garth, would help her and her family come to terms with their feelings.

She still sometimes has moments where she feels less than because of who she is. She now has technics and a stronger support system for those moments.

5. Are they open about their identity? Did they come out subtlety or dramatically?

She came out in her suicide note. She wasn't expecting to live so she didn't feel like it would be a big deal. When she woke up the day after she remembered the note and felt instant regret. When she had her first session with Dean she found out that her parents had read the note and given it to him. She felt deeply embarrassed about it.

After a few sessions with Dean he asked if she would be willing to have a session with her parents. She agreed. Sabine was surprised by how much her family really cared about her. They wanted to help her with her problems and felt like the worst parents in the world that Sabine thought the only way to stop the pain was to die. For the first time in years she cried in front of them. She no longer doubted she was loved.

She would slowly come out to her friends and extended family over the coming months.

She decided to be openly gay starting on September 1 1988.

6. What were the inital reactions of their friends and family?

Overall very positive. They were more concerned with Sabine's mental health at the time.

7. Did anyone know before they came out?

Her mother had an inkling by the time Sabine was 11. She thought she had a crush on Rowan. Her grandmother Colette knew by the time Sabine was 5. When asked to elaborate Colette responded with, "I just knew." Looking back on it, her grandmother had always been pro-LGBT. It turns out that Colette's uncle had been a closeted gay man that lived a double life until his death.

After she got out of the hospital she was hanging out with Rowan and told her. Turns out Rowan already knew. Not only that, but Rowan also liked girls and identified as a demigirl.

When she told Jacob his response was, "Yeah, no shit."

8. Was it a complete shock to some people?

Martinius Lowell, head of The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, a job that requires the ability to see minute details, had no idea.

Her oldest brother Sef came back from Switzerland to spend time with her. Turns out he wasn't aware either. He was embarrassed about never noticing.

One day when Marie was visiting Sabine in the hospital she told her cousin she liked girls. Marie responded by saying she also liked girls. That was when the girls realized they were both the gay cousin.

9. What has their love life been like?

There was a girl that went to the same ice rink as her when she was eight that made her feel strange. She loved watching her skate and talking to her. She wanted to say something to her. Then she remembered how her fellings were wrong. So she didn't say anything to her. She started avoiding her. Eventually her crush for the girl died off. They went to the beach when she was twelve and she saw an older girl she was unable to stop looking at.

Sabine joined the Slytherin quidditch team in her second year. There she met Skye Parkins. After months of training and playing together Sabine considered her a friend. Sometimes Penny Haywood would talk to Skye and make Sabine feel weird. For some reason she only wanted Skye to talk to her. After awhile she realized she was attracted to Skye. She felt awful for liking a girl again. She started to hang out with Skye less.

In the Summer of 1987 when Sabine was fourteen she met Yvonne Silverpot, a fifteen year old girl. She was doing some modeling work for Sabine's mother at the time and needed a place to stay. Yvonne took an interest in Sabine. She often asked Sabine to spend her free time with her, which she obliged.

Whenever Sabine or Yvonne were free they would be with each other, quickly becoming friends. One day Yvonne asked Sabine if she had ever kissed anyone before. She answered truthfully that no, she hadn't. Yvonne offered to be her first. This surprised Sabine. She tried to explain that girls aren't supposed to kiss other girls.

Yvonne closed her eyes and said, "I'm going to keep my eyes closed for five minutes. Kiss me if you want. I'd like it and I think you would too." Sabine fought against her instincts before she gave in and kissed her. Yvonne left a few days after that. Sabine knew she would probably never see her again.

It was late September when Sabine accidentally outed herself to Merula. She had felt so comfortable in the conversation they were having it had slipped out. It had clearly freaked Merula out. She didn't say anything. She just got up and left. Sabine sat there, marinating in her panic induced nausea. She closed her eyes and started to use deep breathing techniques.

Sabine could tell Merula was avoiding her. She wouldn't even look at her when they had potions class, even though they sat next to each other. In between classes Sabine asked Merula if they could talk in private. Merula agreed. Sabine asked her if she had told anyone, she hadn't. Sabine was relieved. She explained how she didn't want her to tell anyone. Merula agreed but stated it still made her uncomfortable. Sabine didn't like it but was glad she was being agreeable.

Weirdly Sabine and Merula started to get closer. Merula didn't seem capable of the venom she used to spew at Sabine. They even had a private sleepover to celebrate Merula's birthday, Sabine's roomates being gone due to Christmas. Merula had gotten comfortable enough to share a bed with her. Sabine had got to sleep happy that they had finally buried the hatchet.

That morning she woke up to an asleep Merula holding onto her. Sabine almost had a heart attack. That was when she had a thought; hold her back. She almost did. That was when she realized she once again had a crush. She would have to distance herself to keep her from getting hurt. She wasn't able to fall back asleep. When Merula woke up she apologized for holding her. Sabine said she didn't mind, even though she did. The day after she began to distance herself from Merula.

The problem with this being in the same house, having the same classes, and sitting at the same table. Merula often asked if Sabine wanted to hang out or study together. Everytime she would decline Sabine could see the hurt in Merula's eyes, even if she acted like it didn't bother her.

Then one day in spring Merula had enough. She challenged Sabine to a private duel at night. Sabine arrived at the location expecting an angry Merula ready to fight her. Instead Merula was quietly waiting for her. It was almost eerie. Sabine asked what was happening. Merula simply said, "Do you hate me?" Sabine would have been surprised by the boldness if it had been anyone else, she said no.

Merula then demanded to know why she was avoiding her. Sabine couldn't think of anything to say. How could she explain that she had developed feeling for her? Then something shocking happened, Merula hugged her. She said she wanted to be around her again. That it hurt not to be. Merula buried her face in Sabine's chest. She said, "I need you to stay in my life because your the only person that treats me like I'm worth a damn. I think I like you. And that terrifies me."

Sabine was in a daze. She liked her? Sabine was scared. She slowly moved her hand onto Merula's head. Sabine breathed in deep. She said everything she had been holding in her heart. She told her how special she felt Merula was. That was when a thought came to her. Sabine swallowed hard and said, "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

Merula looked at Sabine. She said yes. The two of them started to cry out of happiness. It was almost bitter when they had to part. They agreed to meet up in Hogsmeade the week after, Sabine would come up with a date plan. They went back to the Slytherin common room while holding hands.

A month later Sabine asked if she could refer to Merula as her girlfriend. She agreed.

Strangely, Sabine's never been romantically attracted to Rowan. That was when Sabine realized she had a type. Tomboys.

How do they feel about their identity now?

Sabine is significantly happier since she was able to get the help she needed. She accepts the fact that she isn't going to magically wake up one day as a feminine heterosexual and she's glad she won't. Her family likes her girlfriend and she wouldn't want it any other way.

Blank questionnaire here:

[sainadazai]

When your crush is angry all the time

Ch.4

I wanna be an intern too, you ragedy ann looking ass hoe 😠



Y/n pov

°•○●○•°•○●○•°

All goes well when you are ignorant is what my dear best friend would say to me now, as I sit in the very back of the class unfocused on how our teacher is introducing an activity I have no chance of participating in. All I knew was that when Mr. Aizawa walked up to the board and wrote names of people getting offers, I wasn't one of them. Not that I expected to be, considering I wasn't in the sports festival, let alone the school at all back then. 

However, I did notice a small inconsistency in the order of the most offers. I was pretty sure that boom boom had gotten first place in the festival, him being there is what convinced me to transfer, but his name was actually second on the board. 

Todoroki had taken the place of first as far as offers were concerned. Todoroki the nice boy who I used to meet when I snuck away from my fucking prison cell. Call me privileged for complaining about living in a mansion All my life, but I much prefer being here. With common folk. They ground me. 

I peeked up from my phone at the red and white head of hair in front of me, he didn't seem all that fazed. Although maybe it was just the lack of seeing his face that made me believe he couldn't care less about all but one of those offers. Still, his business is his, and my business is the new Ao3 update on my favorite chrollo lucilfer fanfiction. What a babe. 

I decided that the class as of right now would be of no importance to me, considering I will have no offers, and bakugou-the reason I came here- hates me like I'm a piece of gum stuck under his shoe.  Through that conclusion I allowed myself to dissolve into the world of hxh and forget about how boring this world is. 

Could my power beat Killua or go in a fight? I mean, it doesn't enhance my strength like they did trying to get into Killua's house so physically they must be stronger. 

"Y/n! Is there something you would like to share with the class?"

Mr.Aizawas voice seemed almost shot at me as my gaze rose from my phone in my lap to meet him at the front of the room. He looked displeased to say the least. Well good for him, im displeased too, I might not be able to beat a fucking twelve year old in combat. 

"Huh?"

"You were grumbling, what's so important you had to tell us, hm?"

I thought it through for a second- just kidding, I never think anything through. 

"Oh, well I wasn't sure if I could beat Gon in a fight, but I'm not coming to the realization that if Chrollo is my boyfriend, I shouldn't have to fight anyone at all. I can just be a pretty face in the backgrounds and then after he wins for me i'll suck his-"

"Enough, y/n." Mr.Aizawa no longer held a tired looking face, his eyes were wide and an uncomfortable cringed was set on his face. As I peered at the rest of the class many also had shocked eyes, but unlike our teacher, held faint blushes. 

Minus midoriya, his face was completely red and his eyes void of life. I must've killed him, huh. 

"Wait!"

In an attempt to regain some dignity, I tried to correct myself.

"I would....not suck his-?"

"Don't even say it, shitty princess !"

"Woah bakugou, you spoke to me on purpose!?"

"Shut up!"

"Hey, how come you call me princess, you like me or something?"

He growled at that, neither of us paying mind to the fact that everyone in the class was either dead from nosebleeds or extremely uncomfortable and staring at us.  

"Its cuz you act fucking entitled like a princess"

"I'll be your pillow princes-"

"Enough!" A robotic-like hand sliced the air in front of me. The voice sounded firm, almost more teacher-like than our teacher's voice. I followed my gaze up the hand, not failing to notice how as I drew up the guy's arm his muscles only seemed to get bigger and bigger and- iida? 

"Oh class rep-"

"Y/n this vulgar language and border-line harassment needs to cease immediately. I will not tolerante overtly sexual language and acts in this class-"

As he was speaking I noticed something ironic about the situation. If everyone here didn't like sexual jokes or banter, how were they so flustered at comments that objectively should be unknown to them. 

"How did you know what I meant, iida?" I rasped in a low sultry voice, allowing my fingers to dance up his arm starting at the wrist in front of my face. 

I heard a few chuckles from, who I would say are the only two people enjoying this situation: kaminari and...stinky mineta. Iida's face grew more red than previously and the arms in front of me began shaking. 

"Mr.Aizawa it seems I've disarmed the robot. Is there a restart button or something?" I question with a serious face using the search as an excuse to wonder my eyes all over his body. Perverted? Yes. Rightfully attracted to this giant hunk of a nerd. Yes ×10. 

"No, there is not." Todoroki, who was in front of me, finally turned around to address me. I guess he was unfazed by my words. Looks like someone here can be cool. Whether he is okay because he is more comfortable with sexual jokes, or because he has yet to pick up on them, its nice that somebody in here can still function. Otherwise, I'd feel like a nuisance. 

"Y/n I'm not really sure how to- let's just say to have detention with your m- midnight. Detention. Yeah." Aizawa publicly convinced himself of my punishment? 

"Okay"

"Now, back to this, even if you didn't get any offers ALL of you will have an internship" 

And so went on the class, kids chose their hero names, not me though. I wasn't even sure I wanted to be a hero at all, this was just a little less boring and sad than the way I lived before. This school had people who laughed in joy, not just to mask the pain. That was the real benefit, not being a hero, or being strong. Likely no one here realized that there were many places where none of this joy was possible. 

Some of the kids in class gave me suggestions for a hero name, but I didn't like them anyway. They lacked personality, and while I have many adjectives to describe my personality, my life, none of them are all that heroic. 

"Dark element"

"Girl who will die if her quirk doesnt like its environment" 

See, I'm not the best at this. Even bakugan names had some sense to it...well no. I'd say we're about the same, but still. Ugh. 

~timeskip~ 

Bakugou pov 😠

She came up with no hero names. Fucking entitled brat. Everyone at this lunch table seems to have no problem with the fact that she is here, just happy to have another pair of tits to stare at like perverts. Their gross. I bet she doesn't even want to be a hero, she sure as hell doesn't act like it. We don't even know what her whole quirk is. Ive seen her do that plant shit a couple times, fucking with flowers or whatever. Still, there's more to it. Something we don't know, at least. Cuz in the middle of class she gets up and whispers to Aizawa and he just lets her go. Where the fuck does she go? 

Interrupts class, got into the school because her moms a teacher, won't use her quirk. What a nuisance, I can't believe she is not expelled yet. Plus those bullshit sex jokes are so shitty. She is obviously faking something when she does them. Not like midnight, who always at least seems like she means that gross shit. 

"Hey, who did you guys choose for your internship? I haven't chosen yet."

"The number three hero guy," I spoke, knowing I'm the only person here who already chose. 

"Really? Best jeanist! That's so cool, but are you sure that for you bakugou?" Shitty hair raised a shitty brow at me. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean!?"

"Just that he seems pretty...uptight..for you?" Dunceface added, but he spoke like it was a question. Of course he is the hero for me, he is the highest ranting hero on my list. If I wanna be number one, I gotta train with the best. 

If I go to his agency I'm sure there will be a lot more action, since he is so high ranking. Then i'll get some real experience kicking villain ass, well, other than the USJ. 

"Of course he is the right option!"

"Woahhh~"

Shit. It's her voice. I honestly should applaud her for using it less often around me but, how can one small girl be so goddamn annoying. I don't even know what she has to say and I already wish she would just put a sock in it. How can someone so entitled like her, probably never had to lift a finger, walk  over here and talk like she has something to say. 

"You're working with the best jeanist! So cool, one time he saved me from a group of rapist guys, it was awesome with all these strings everywhere and I could only see half of his face. Oh and he had goofy hair too!"

Oh. I didn't really know how to respond to the girl who looked so excited about almost being violated. Another thing wrong with her? I looked back at the other people at the table to see if they knew how to respond to something like that. 

Dunceface was frozen, tape arms were frozen, shitty hair was frozen, and alíen eyes were looking like a lost puppy and trying not to cry. 

It didnt seem like the shutty princess was exactly understanding how what she just yelled was making things weird. She just stood there expectantly. She kinda looked like she thought being raped was something that must happen to everyone. Did she think that? Wouldn't put it past her weird ass. 

"Uhm...anyways, i'm sure you'll do awesome, he likes to put boys in tight jeans. Wish I could intern too, I'd love to see that boom boom~" she winked. 

A perverted joke...and then she had the audacity to wink at me. 

"You wish you could see me in tight jeans, shitty extra!"

"I know...thats what a I just said." She dead panned, blinking a couple times at me. 

"Tch, screw you!"

"I would-" 

"Can it, i don't wanna hear your shitty voice anymore"

The girl stopped herself after my words, pushing all her hair behind her head, except for the two blond stands in the front. 

(You don't have to acknowledge these if you don't want, but I made it so that they change color depending on what element your using and I thought it was hot*if you have short hair, then you just got a lil nishinoya type thing 🥰)

Lifted her obnoxious hands that moved around while she talked and made a zipper-like motion over her lips. Then she just stood there looking at me. I really wanted to just let her stand there and go back to eating. Ignore her completely and let her hope fizzle out and die or something like that. 

Yet here I am, still looking at her. Silently. Wishing she made a stupid joke so that I could stop flickering between those images I'd seen of her dancing. How even though ballet is a princess fucking dance, the pictures felt nice. Like if I was watching it live I would probably be unable to criticize it. That pissed me off, because I want to hate everything about her, but I can't hate those photos. Where she looks like she is flying, without any need for a quirk.

I see her in that weird gown, and now, in the UA uniform. I see her looking respectable, formal, and serious. Then I see her stupid little smirk as she takes pride in being able to shut up for more than a minute. 

"Why are you still standing there?"

Instead of answering, she took her hand up again, made a pinch with her fingers and unzipped her mouth. 

"I was enjoying the look in your eyes."she smiled. 

The look in my eyes? Could she tell I was seeing two different people? What the hell does that even mean? Even said it without that shitty flirt voice. Like she meant it. 

"You tryna make fun of me?"I stood up from the table to get in her face.

"Not right now, maybe later, I gotta do something." She smiled sincerely at me, for a second as she walked away, I forgot about how this conversation started. What a wierd fucking girl. I'll never respect her as a hero. Tch. (Yes, its canon he tchs even in his thoughts) 

3rd person POV 

Y/n briskly walked out of the cafeteria with a new goal in mind. She would come to remember how maybe being oblivious was a benefit in some ways, but for now, she had a clear plan .

"Mr.Aizawa, let me do an internship."

"You weren't in the festival, I can't just hand you to a hero who has no idea what you can do, y/n."

"Well, you know what I can do, right?"

"No. I'm not doing internships. Stop asking."

"That's not what I meant! You can just tell them, or I could, it's not that hard to explain. Just say i'm all- powerful or some play on words like 'she's got all the right elements' hehe, see how i mimicked your voice there?" Y/n grinned like a child. She was proud of herself. 

"No. Still not happening."

"I wanna be an intern too, you raggedy ann looking ass hoe" 

"Y/n, it doesn't make sense, insulting me to get what you want?"

"Maybe it doesn't, but I bet you feel real insecure about your hair right now."

"You already have detention, what more do you want!"

"An internship, I wanna do one with kamui Woods, I have a good reason, too. As far as my quirk control, i'm the weakest with earth, the aspect that allows me to grow and manipulate plants and stuff. That's why I've only been using that part of it all month. Im trying to get her up to speed so I can start using all four at once. He is like a tres guy, right? He manipulates earth all day long. He could teach me a lot, and that aspect of my quirk would suit his well. Please!?!?!?"

If the girl had just asked again in a normal way, his answer would have been the same. However Aizawa was taken aback to hear how much thought she put into this. From the stories of the teachers lounge, he came to understand her big life goal, was to rely fully on a rich man or woman, and do nothing at all forever. Just to try and forget about the terrible life she was destined to have because of that quirk.

This side of her was something he could not even her mother had seen, and it prompted him to speak those words she wanted to hear so badly.

"Fine." 

[bittydragon]

Hi hello yes I LOVE your blog also if it's not too much trouble I'd like to see a roceit piece with borrower!Roman bonding with a soft Deceit

[Thanks so much for the request! Was not expecting any if we are being honest. I appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the fluffy boys! Also, so sorry it took so long. It’s a longer piece though, cause I couldn’t stop myself from writing. So hopefully it makes it a bit better. Enjoy!]

Characters: Janus, Roman

Warnings: None, literally fluff

The silence in the room was tense. Neither person in the room had a clue on what to do, both were frozen and staring at the other. The TV glowed behind the smaller of the two, thankfully muted.

One decided they couldn’t sleep and went to the living room to silently watch a movie. The other was restless and thought a midnight adventure was in order. They both knew what they were doing this late at night would be frowned upon by the dad of their strange group.

After all, a group consisting of three humans and three borrowers was rather strange.

“If we agree not to tell on each other to Padre, you want to hang out?” Roman shot a pleading look to Janus. He was relieved to see Janus smile in relief.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind the company, but you better not tell him about this.”

“I may be reckless but I’m not stupid. Pat will have no idea about this if I have anything to say about it.” Roman paused for a moment in thought. He looked up at the scarred human. “If we are going to hang out, mind giving me a lift? The light over here is starting to hurt my eyes.”

That startled Janus out of his thoughts. Janus shot a brief look of acknowledgement at Roman to show he heard him before picking the remote back up. He turned off the television before walking over to the eccentric borrower. He set both hands palm up right by the edge of the TV stand so Roman could walk on.

Roman shot the human a strange look as he quickly settled on the hands. Very quickly he realized that Janus probably couldn’t even see him, but Janus seemed to be going to answer the unasked question.

“I decided a movie may have been a bad decision. The lack of sound was no fun and, like you said, the lights were killer. We’re just hanging out in my room. Patton also has no way of busting us if we go there anyways. Perfect time for plotting sabotage.”

Confused, Roman raised his head to try and read the human’s expression to gauge the meaning of what he just said. At least from what he was able to see with no lights. “Sabotage? Really? Against who?”

Janus opened the door to his room, careful not to jostle the tiny prince in his other hand. He closed the door behind him with a soft click and moved to settle on his bed. He reached over to his nightstand to turn on his small desk light. As soon as he could see, he shot Roman a look that could only be read as ‘are you serious?’

“Remus has been getting on my nerves recently. I also guess you haven’t noticed the pranks he has been pulling on you too.”

“Ah, that makes more sense. So what plans of ‘sabotage’ are you considering?” Roman replied, deciding to entertain Janus’ late night ramblings. Janus smiled at him excitedly.

“I think the best course of action… is to push him down the stairs.”

“Janus! You can’t push everyone down the stairs!”

“Fine. I’ll trip him in the hallway.”

“No!”

“Duct tape his door shut?”

Roman didn’t even dignify that one with a verbal answer, only glaring at Janus. Janus stuck his lip out in a clear pout as he lifted Roman up to his face. Roman held his gaze steady in a firm glare.

“You, my dear tiny prince, are so much fun.”

“I do try my best!” Roman puffed his chest out proudly. Janus couldn’t help but to break his pout into an amused smirk.

They both sat in silence. A couple of quiet minutes passed and Janus could tell Roman was getting fidgety again. No wonder the borrower got in trouble for late night adventures as much as Virgil got in trouble for attempting to pull all-nighters on his phone. Roman had way too much energy.

Just as Janus found himself losing himself in his thoughts again (and realizing he probably needed sleep), a sudden weight pressed up against his nose. He quickly crossed his eyes in shock to find Roman draped across his nose in a strange makeshift sort of hug. His face reddened as he let out a breathless chuckle.

“And now what are you doing?”

“I have no idea.” A pause. “We need sleep.”

Janus carefully maneuvered the hand holding Roman so that he could return the hug as best as he could while reaching over to turn off his desk light. He continued to press Roman against his nose with enough pressure to keep him there but not nearly enough to hurt as he laid down on his bed.

“Can I stay the night, Janus?” Janus wondered if Roman could feel his smile under his legs at the request.

“I definitely don’t appreciate the company.” He drawled. The giggle from the borrower confirmed that Roman understood the blatant sarcasm. Good. Roman could be a bit dense when it came to sarcasm. Though, Janus could agree that Virgil’s sarcasm was extremely difficult to translate correctly. 

“But are you sleeping on my face or my pillow? Not that I don’t mind the hug we got going, but I would like to breathe without worry tonight.”

“Actually, can I sleep on your stomach?” Janus could easily imagine the puppy eyes he was getting from the tiny drama queen. He rolled his eyes at the mere thought.

He then wordlessly picked the borrower off of his face with his thumb and forefinger. Roman squirmed at the sudden intrusion, but otherwise made no move of discomfort. Janus set the small being on his chest and settled his hand over the borrower as a heavy blanket.

He reached his other arm out and pulled the comforter over himself so it rested just beneath Roman’s head, leaving that the only visible part of the borrower visible under the hand and blanket. Roman snuggled deeper into the soft fabric of Janus’s shirt in response. Janus had to bite back the coo that was building in his throat in order to not fluster the borrower. He did finally get him to calm down, no need to work him back up.

Janus sighed in contentment and finally relaxed against his pillow. These are the nights he would kill for. One of the borrowers, especially Roman, trusting him enough to sleep with him. It made up for the rocky start. And with that thought floating through his head, he fell asleep with a small smile on his face.

[ma-gic-gay]

He'd always had the worst timing when it came to her.

In his defense, so had Sonny. Though, for them being together, those two had had good timing.

So timing was still just being a bitch. This time, though, it wasn't him in the shocked position. For once, he wasn't the one who was blindsided with something.

Well, not entirely anyways. He'd figured that Sam would run to Sonny, manipulating the situation, but he didn't think she'd get him here that fast. It was what, five minutes? He must've flown here or something, but that would've taken longer just to get through the flight frills. The only way for him to get there that quickly would be that he was nearby anyways, so there was a chance he heard a part of their fight. Realistically, Sam will be there as well, right behind the fuming mob boss.

Him and Carly had ended that kiss the second Sonny had announced his presence by loudly asking, "What the fuck?"

"I promise it's not what it looks like," Carly rushes out quickly, a blush overtaking her cheeks. Damn, she really isn't much of a liar anymore. Kinda sucks she lost that trait, though she's still one of the best liars he's ever met.

"What it looks like is that you were kissing someone else while we're married," Sonny says, voice scarily quiet. "How is that not what's happening here?"

"Alright, maybe it's a little bit what it looks like," she admits. "Actually, it's exactly what it looks like but I don't want you to be mad at him because it's a thing we both did and technically I kissed him first so it doesn't count as him doing anything. Well, maybe a little because he kissed me back, but it doesn't count as anything serious."

"Smooth," Jason mutters before looking at his boss who looks like he'll kill him right then and there without hesitation.

"I'm trying to save your ass here," she whispers back.

"And I'm trying to save your marriage!"

"You really think that's what's happening here? How- how is kissing her somehow saving my marriage, Jason? Please tell me, I'd be delighted to know," Sonny chuckles sarcastically. "Cause from where I'm standing, it seems like, if anything, you'd be the reason to end my marriage."

"He is not to blame," Carly exclaims again.

"I'm sorry, is this a thing about you two I just don't get?" Sonny asks mockingly, noting that she's mad. That's what he wants, her mad, as mad and hurt as he is.

"No," Jason says calmly. "It's not. That- this- that's the first time that happened."

"You two could've had a happily ever after decades ago," Sonny exclaims, "but you weren't. What, is this some nostalgia thing, huh? Now that he's single you suddenly can't keep your hands off of him?"

"That's enough, Sonny! In case you forget, you're the reason we didn't," Jason warns, voice not giving away emotion.

"She slept with me after she saw you and Eli-"

"After you told her I was dating Elizabeth? She was distraught that night, worried sick she'd lose me! You knew damn well that we weren't doing anything and that I didn't feel that way for Elizabeth but you didn't tell her that, no, you tell her I'm in love with someone who was a grieving friend! You knew what I felt for Carly and you still lied to her about what had happened, you. Not me, not her, you," Jason fires back angrily.

"That's got nothing to do with this! Last I checked, I wasn't the one who'd kissed a married woman," Sonny shouts.

"You're right, you tore my family away from me but you, somehow, are the victim," the morally grey assassin says, volume steady. "I forgave you for that a long time ago, but it still hurts to think about."

"And you kissed my wife!"

"I kissed him first!"

"He kissed back, and from where I was standing, he initiated the kiss!"

"The second one!" Carly exclaims.

There's a silent tension in the air between the two and Sonny when she admits that. "Second kiss? So you mean to tell me that he kissed you after you'd already kissed once?"

"That would be the meaning of second kiss, yes," Carly smirks slightly. "I kissed him first and he didn't register it until I'd pulled away so when he realized what was going on he kissed me back. We've kissed twice. Happy?"

"No, not really! I just found out my best friend and my wife have some unresolved feelings for each other!" Sonny snaps. "Things I thought had been gone for years are back and I don't know what to do about it because you're supposedly friends with me, supposedly my business partner! You helped me make this business from the start! I'm hurt that you did this, Carly, but especially that he kissed you back."

"I'm your friend," Jason attempts to defuse the situation, "but that doesn't mean I always have to do things you like."

"Things I like?" Sonny snarls. "I'd like it if you didn't have feelings for her!"

"So would I," Sam smiles, emerging from the hall, "I had my suspicions but you still shouldn't have been with me when you had feelings for her."

"I didn't know I did until maybe two days ago! I thought I was over that but clearly I'm not!" Jason glares.

"So did I. I mean, I figured I was taking this to the grave. Sonny's a good guy and I don't not love him," Carly says, confusing the hell out of everyone. "But it's friendly love more than it is romantic by now."

"So you stayed with me when you were in love with him?" Sonny asks, looking her dead in the eyes.

"Yes," the blonde quietly admits after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Him and Sam were together and they'd worked so hard for that. They were happy, as far as I knew."

"You managed to hide what you feel for that long? That in and of itself is a miracle," Jason teases her slightly, but being pretty serious still. "But in all seriousness, that must've sucked for you. I know how little you enjoy hiding your feelings."

"Well, what I feel affects a lot of people."

"But I care what you feel, you know that," he smiles at her. "Don't hide it because of how it'll affect me."

"Well right now I feel like running for the hills," she smiles.

"I feel like knowing why you two are acting like this," Sonny joins in. "You should be feeling like shit right now and full of guilt over these kisses and feelings."

"Surprisingly, I don't. Honestly, I feel... Relieved. It's refreshing to have everything out in the open. We both know how we feel about each other and it's love. I don't think guilt would go along with this," Jason informs him calmly.

Sonny charges at him and shoves the surprised assassin against the wall. "Don't you ever say that again! You don't love my wife and she doesn't love you!"

"I do, Sonny! Stop this! You're an adult for god's sakes, so just discuss this rationally," Carly shouts.

A very emotionally conflicted Jason shoves Sonny off of him and walks back to where he was before, next to Carly. "I had no clue he would do this, did you?" She asks him as he shakes his head. "I knew he'd be pissed, but this is a new level of anger. I've never seen it from him."

Nodding, Jason agrees with her. "Yeah, I don't know what to do."

"I've got a suggestion," Sam interjects. "You don't fall in love with her!"

"That's not something you can help, genius," Carly snaps, "and even if it was, you aren't doing much to help calm him down so leave, buy something, or be helpful."

"I was trying to be!"

"By suggesting something you know to be impossible?" Jason quips.

"I'm coping too!" Sam weakly defends herself. "I love you still even though you don't love me anymore. Stop acting like you two are the victims!"

"We're not trying to but you need to stop acting like everything stops because you're mad," Carly explains as calmly as she can.

"Stop it! Jason, get the hell away from her," Sonny warns, "right now. You two aren't in love! You're, what's the word, projecting! Projecting your feelings for other people onto each other. Jason's for Sam and Carly's for me."

"Don't touch her," Jason warns, arm around Carly. "I know what I feel better than you. What reason does Carly have to project feelings?"

"I don't know! But you aren't her husband! So stay away from my wife," Sonny argues and a slightly scared Carly is grateful for the protection of her best friend. Especially at that moment, it comes in handy always.

"I'm not projecting or faking feelings! Sonny, go home!"

"Where Joss and Avery and Donna are? That's a great idea, they can see me like this!"

"That's never bothered you before."

"You've never cheated on me before."

"Get. Out."

"No," Sonny says, grasping for his wife's hand. "Let's go."

"She said leave, Sonny. Go." Jason advises.

"I'm not listening to you, you worthless traitor!"

"Don't call him either of those things! He's stuck by you and me through everything, Sonny, everything, and is the most loyal man I could ever know! Stop being pissed and throwing a fit and grow the hell up!" Carly snaps at her husband, grasping Jason's free hand in hers.

"C'mon, Sonny, let's go," Sam agrees, having seen enough.

To be continued

AHH

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• PROLOGUE •

WARNINGS: if you haven't seen the movie or read the book and maybe this is somehow you're first encounter with this series, this is a very graphic story and I will not be shying away from the gore as much as I want to. You really can't interact with this series without it so again, if you are unaware somehow and/or you are squeamish around graphic descriptions of violence this book is not for you. Thank you.

- October 1988 -

     Gray skies and a thick layer of storm clouds blanket the town of Derry, Maine. Bill Denbrough sits in bed, he was tearing out a piece of paper from his sketchbook. His mother is downstairs on the piano, playing Für Elise. A song that would haunt him for the rest of his life. That song was playing the day Georgie died, he would think. Georgie, Bill's younger brother was at the window.

     He had fogged up the glass with his breath, and he drew a large smiley face on the glass, just before it disappeared. He turned over his shoulder to look at his brother, who was folding a paper boat for him.

     "You sure I won't get in trouble, Bill?"

     "Don't be a w-wuss." Bill replied.

     Bill had always had a stutter, and everyone who knew him was used to it. When he was three, he had been hit by a car and knocked into a building, and he remained unconscious for seven hours. This accident, his mother had said, caused the stutter. His stutter was light but it got worse after Georgie disappeared.

     "I'd come with you if I weren't," he stopped abruptly and coughed forcefully into his hand. "dying."

     Georgie stood from the window and walked over to his brother, sighing. "You're not dying!"

     He hated that his brother joked about stuff like that, he'd hate it if something really happened to him.

     "You didn't see the v-v-vomit coming out of my nose this morning?" He asked incredulously.

     Georgie cringed. "That's disgusting."

     Bill looked down at the finished paper boat. "Okay. Go get the wax."

     Georgie became uneasy. He shifted on his feet. "In the cellar?"

     Georgie was terrified of the cellar. He always imagined dangers of the unimaginable lurking at the bottom, waiting to snatch him up. He knew it was silly, but every time he would reach for the light, the image of long sharp talons reaching out for his tiny little hand.

     "You want it to f-float, don't you?" Bill asked simply.

     "Fine," he sighed.

     Georgie left Bill's room, not before grabbing his walkie talkie and headed downstairs. His legs, he realized, were moving slower than normal. A fact he was fine with if it meant it took longer to get to the cellar. He passed his mother in the dining room, where she sat at the piano, her fingers dancing along the keys. The music added a chilling tone that made his nerves spike.

     When Georgie reached the kitchen, he slowed. The cellar door was open and he could hear that same sinister voice in the back of his head, promising his demise. Georgie gulped, but oh, how he wanted that boat!

     Bill wouldn't be scared. Bill was never scared of the cellar, so neither should he!

     Georgie walked slowly over to the door, gently pushing it open. The door made a sickening creak and he crept to the edge of the stairs, hoping whatever possible creature lurked at the bottom wouldn't hear him. His breathing picked up and he gulped, he could hear something clattering down there!

     A sharp, piercing beep rang in his ears, startling him.

     "Georgie," It was just Bill from the walkie talkie. "Hurry up."

     Struggling to regain his composure, he clung to the wall, reaching for the light and tried not to think about the claw that could take his arm. His fingers reached the switch and flicked it back and forth. Nothing. He would have to go down into the cellar. In the dark.

     Georgie took several deep breaths, desperately attempting to swallow his fear.

     "It's okay," he whispered under his breath. "I'm brave."

     He trudges down the cellar stairs, an iron grip on the railing, letting darkness engulf him. He sighed when he reached the bottom. He had made it down the stairs. But now came the hard part. Taking a deep breath he began looking around, squinting in the dark trying to find the gulf wax and get the hell out of there.

     "Where's the wax?" He mumbled. "There's the wax. Yes."

     Georgie always felt that as long as he could talk, even if he was alone, he was at least somewhat safe. Perhaps hearing a voice, even his own was something to distract him from his fears. He stood on his tippy toes, extending his arm, reaching for the paraffin wax for his boat.

     He got it! Now he could leave the nasty old cellar. It always smelled sewage and gook you'd find in a gutter. It was a nasty smell. The cellar smell. But something in Georgie told him to look up, and he did. What he saw made him back up.

     In the sea of darkness, he saw two bright and shiny orbs, staring at him. Stalking him. His heart beating rapidly in his chest and he stifled a gasp. The flashlight. For some unknown reason that baffled him, he hadn't grabbed the flashlight next to him on the dryer before.

     He quickly grabbed it, his hands shaking as he felt for the button with his other hand. He pressed it and the light shined brightly, illuminating nothing but the same old shelf across the room. The two orbs, he realized, were just two empty jars that must have caught the light that made it through the tiny cellar windows behind him.

     But he couldn't shake the feeling something had been watching him. Something that was still watching him. He needed to leave, immediately, he thought. And he did.

     He heard a loud clatter near him, something he would never be able to identify, that was soon followed by a crack of thunder. He jumped into a sprint for the stairs, more words tumbling out of his mouth.

     "What was that? What's that? Oh, jeez!"

     He scrambled up the stairs, still clutching the flashlight firmly in his hands. The light jumped up and down the walls as he moved his arms and Georgie was certain he had never run the fast.

     But it was fine now. He was out of the cellar and he had the wax for his boat.

     Now, he stood next to Bill at his desk, his left arm wrapped loving around his older brother. He studied Bill's technique as he painted the paper boat - the boat now labeled the 'SS Georgie' in black marker - with paraffin wax.

     Bill set the paintbrush back in the bowl of wax and picked up the boat by the edges. He turned to Georgie.

     "Alright," he handed the SS Georgie to his little brother and smiled. "There you go. S-she's all ready, Captain."

     Confusion and interest flickered over Georgie's face. "She?"

     Bill nodded. "You always call b-b-boats 'she'."

     "'She'," Georgie nodded, liking the new interesting fact. "Thanks, Billy."

     Georgie extended his arms and pulled his brother in for a hug, who gladly accepted. Georgie gave him a big squeeze and Bill smiled. He gently prodded his fingers in Georgie's side, knowing just where his brother was ticklish.

     Georgie giggled and pulled back, and Bill smiled. Georgie grabbed the walkie and ran skipping out of the room.

     "See you later. Bye!" Georgie called disappearing into the hallway.

     When he heard the front door close moments later, he rose to his feet and went to the window.

     There on the sidewalk was Georgie, who was now dressed in his yellow slicker and matching rain boots. He was gleaming and sent a big happy wave to Bill, who tentatively waved back.

     Bill didn't know why he felt the way he did suddenly. He felt a sense of dread, that he ignored at that moment. Something he would be kicking himself for, for the rest of his life.

     But he did bring his walkie up to his lips and spoke.

     "Be careful,"

     He had no idea what compelled him to say that. And he remembered thinking that was something you'd usually hear from a mom or a dad. Not your brother. But he shook it off.

     Bill watched as his brother placed the boat into the small stream that formed in between the curb and the street. The boat took off and so did Georgie.

     That was the last time Bill ever saw Georgie alive.

     He ran alongside his boat in a happy sprint. No matter how fast he ran, she was quicker. As he'd run he jump off the curb into the large puddles, watching them splash. Then he'd jump right back up and run off the grass again.

     The SS Georgie sped down the street. She zipped and zoomed and Georgie watched with delight, giggling merrily. She sped right under a sawhorse on the road. Printed on it, with big black letters were the words: DERRY PUBLIC WORKS.

     Georgie was sure to duck when he reached it, his boat just ahead by his feet. He was still bent over, eyes still on the boat, he failed to notice the second sawhorse just as he straightened.

     THUNK!

     Georgie lay on the concrete, his forehead and lower half sore from the fall and he winced. He could feel the stream of rain soaking his pants and sneaking into his boots.

     The boat! The boat was still getting away. He scanned the street, squinting through the splashback of thousands of raindrops in the street, but he finally spotted the boat. She had just hit a corner, but she persisted. She had no trouble getting around the large obstacle in the street and she turned. Georgie jumped to his feet and chased after her.

     His legs were small but they run fast. But not fast enough to reach the boat in time before it hit a snag and twirled into a storm drain.

     "No!" He cried, kneeling down into the gutter. "No, Bill's gonna kill me!"

     He peered into the gutter, squinting for the boat. Maybe it wasn't as steep as it looked, he thought. Maybe he could reach her. But his thoughts were suddenly cut short.

     A pair of yellow eyes opened in the darkness. They gleamed brightly and they were fixed right on Georgie. He jumped back with a frightful yelp. A darkened figure slithered forward.

     "Hiya, Georgie!"

     From the small portion of the face that was showing, he could see a pale white face, with blood-red lips. The ends of the lips trailed all the way up in sharp lines and didn't seem to stop. The smile was big and cartoonish, it was unnatural and he had two large teeth that reminded Georgie of a rabbit. But if he wasn't mistaken, the figure in the storm drain was a clown?

     The voice was cheerful and light, but it was gravelly and deep. Georgie didn't like this voice or the feeling it brought.

     And had Georgie been wrong before? I must have, he thought because the eyes were now a bright blue. But his attention was immediately drawn to the object in the clown's hand.

     "What a nice boat." The clown said, showing it the boy. "Do you want it back?"

     Georgie, was still very much startled from the turn of events, frowned uneasily. Yet he nodded.

     "Um, yes please."

     The face tilted its head and smiled a crooked grin. "You look like a nice boy. I bet you have a lot of friends."

     Georgie tilted his head, slowly his guard came down, but he couldn't quite shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. Nevertheless, he answered, timidly.

     "Three. But my brother's my best best."

     The face gleamed, perking up in interest.

     "Where's he?"

     Georgie noticed the slobber pooling in the clown's lower lip, and it dribbled over in long streams. He was drooling. Georgie tried not to stare. He had learned well and good from his mother that it was not polite to stare.

     "In bed. Sick."

     The shadowy face seemed to contemplate something for a brief moment.

     "I bet I could cheer him up. I'll give him a balloon!"

     Georgie looked away briefly, feeling very uneasy. The clown, who noticed the boy's hesitation and perked up.

     "Do you want a balloon too, Georgie?"

     "I'm not supposed to take stuff from strangers." The boy answered.

     "Oh," He scoffed happily. "Well, I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown!"

     He shook his head, and a small flurry of jingles accompanied.

     "'Pennywise?' 'Yes.'" The clown spoke to Itself and answered, feigning a conversation. "'Meet Georgie.' 'Georgie, meet Pennywise.'"

     Georgie couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped his throat, and Pennywise smiled.

     "Now we aren't strangers, are we?"

     At that moment, the inhabitant of the house just in front of that very storm drain stepped out onto her porch. She held her coat tightly to herself and shivered. The wind chimes were waving sporadically and tapping against the outdoor blinds.

     She grabbed the ropes and pulled the curtains up, surprised to see a young boy in a bright yellow raincoat leaning into the sewer. She frowned, losing interest and steeped away, her cat at her feet still watching.

     "What are you doing in the sewer?" Georgie asked curiously.

     "A storm blew away," Pennywise drawled. "Blew the whole circus away."

     Pennywise chuckled with the very same high and gravelly voice before his face fell unexpectedly. The clown stared at Georgie, his friendly mask falling briefly.

     "Can you smell the circus, Georgie?"

     Georgie frowned in confusion. He leaned ever so slightly forward.

     "There's peanuts, cotton candy, hot dogs, and...?"

     Georgie could, in fact, smell all those things. He could smell the sweet sugary aroma of cotton candy and he could practically taste the salty flavor of peanuts. But underneath all that, he could smell the familiar vulgar and repulsive stench. The cellar smell.

     But then he got a strong burst of popcorn.

     "Popcorn?"

     "Popcorn!" The figure chuckled and nodded eagerly. "Is that your favorite?"

     Georgie smiled for the first time in the interaction, and he nodded. "Uh-huh."

     "Mine too!" Pennywise chuckled, and voice cracked. "Because they pop. Pop, pop, pop!"

     Georgie giggled at the funny noise, and Pennywise continued.

     "Pop, pop, pop."

     "Pop," Giggled Georgie.

     Pennywise cackled along with Georgie but stopped suddenly. He stared at Georgie, drool dribbling down his chin once more and he was stared at Georgie hungrily.

     The uneasy feeling returned to Georgie. He could feel the pit in his stomach blooming. He forced a polite smile, unable to hide his discomfort.

     "I should get going now,"

     "Oh," The clown licked its lips. "Without your boat?"

     Georgie frowned. He wanted to get far away from the storm drain. Run all the way home and snuggle up under the safety of Bill's covers, where he would be protected, and never look back. Never think about the creepy clown in the sewers. But something else was gnawing at Georgie, a doubt deep-seeded in the back of his mind. A doubt Pennywise brought to light.

     "You don't want to lose it, Georgie," the clown warned. "Bill's gonna kill you,"

     Bill would. He would be very mad at Georgie. For bothering him while he was sick, goading him into making that stupid boat and to lose it immediately. And after going to all that trouble. Bill would be disappointed. That's what worried Georgie, and he didn't want his brother being mad at him.

     Pennywise extended the boat, ever so slightly, and grinned. His smile looked like that of the Cheshire cat, stretching into impossible lengths.

     "Here," the whisper chilled Georgie to his very bones. "Take it."

     He would take the boat, and say his thanks, and leave. The voice grew impatient.

     "Take it, Georgie," The voice was deep and low, but still gravelly.

     The very same thoughts that he always had about the cellar, popped back into his head. Bill would take it, a small voice in his head told him, he's brave. Against his better judgment, Georgie crawled closed, reaching out for the boat. It would be just as easy as getting the gulf wax, he told himself.

     The second his palm landed on the concrete, the second his fingers were within reach, the clown's eyes returned to a deep yellow. Georgie's hand was snatched, and the clown's head opened up, growing hundreds of sharp teeth and It chomped down on Georgie's arm, biting it clean off.

     Georgie's terrified cries of pain echoed down the streets of Jackson and Witcham and yet the only being that heard his muffled cries of help was the neighbor's cat, still perched on the porch. Georgie did his best to crawl away from the storm drain, he wiggled himself along the street, blood pouring out of his shoulder where his right arm once was.

     But it was no use. A long arm, slowly extending and protruding from the sewers came for him. Much like what he had always envisioned would happen when he used the cellar lightswitch. His small body was pulled into the storm drain, and Georgie Denbrough was no more.

+++

@seasidecrowbar @bevxmarsh @supernovavision @readyforitbitch @classiprincess @edsloveshisrichie @sivords @ravenclawsprincess @pigwidgexn @kricketwritesstories @sweetpeasserpentprincess23 @plum-duels @edmunds-torch @eddiegaykaspbrak @rosi3e @welcome-to-derry @beepbeep-pennywise @candycorntroll @bibliophilesquared @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @cocastyle @peachysinnermon @mochibarnes @captainshazamerica

[shawnpetermuffins]

In Case You Didn't Know

(Based off In Case You Didn't Know by Brett Young)

Summary: Shawn's so in love with you, but he doesn't know how to say it.

A/n: this is all over the place, theres time jumps and flashbacks and no real distinction between them, so yeah. I actually really like this song and I might end up writing some more stories based off songs, so let me know if you want that.

Requested: no

Warnings: just fluff

***

I can't count the times / I almost said what's on my mind / but I didn't

She's sleeping soundly on the couch, head laying on the arm rest, blanket up to her shoulders. She's absolutely beautiful, I think to myself. Her hair falls messily in her face, lips parted with a soft snore, and even though she's covered, I know her arms are wrapped around her middle in an attempt to keep warm in this arctic apartment of mine. I make a mental note to turn on the heater after I take her up to bed. She couldn’t even make it through half of the movie before her eyes became heavy, and if I was interested in watching the movie, I wouldn’t have even noticed, but I was watching her the whole time. It’s the first time I’ve been able to see her this way, completely exhausted from studying for her exams, hair a mess, face bare and slightly red and blotchy from stress crying.

I want so badly to wake her sleeping figure and tell her to just quit, come on the road with me for the second leg of tour. I’ll take care of everything; I’ll take care of her. Anything she wants, it’s hers, no questions asked. But I can’t tell her that. Because no matter how stressed she is now, I know it doesn’t change how incandescently happy she is when she talks about her favorite class, her favorite professor. The way she talks about all the things she’s going to change when she finishes school.

Just the other day / wrote down all the things I’d say / but I couldn’t / I just couldn’t

Being with her only a few months, eight to be exact, I keep finding myself refraining from telling her how I feel. And I know that being on tour for six out of the eight months we’ve been together is definitely taking a toll on her, and me too. I’m never here when she needs me, and to see her the way she is right now, I know that I can’t keep these feelings from her much longer.

Because if she’s crying over a test that she’s about to take when I am here, I’m scared to know what she cries about when I’m not. Does she cry about me? About me not being here? When I left before, she held in the tears - so did I - but we’d only been together a month. Maybe she didn’t want to seem too attached. I know I didn’t, but Brian knows how much leaving her put me in this week long funk. I called and texted her constantly until I realized that doing that only made it even harder to be away from her. So I calmed a bit, not by choice, but by necessity.

Seeing her sleeping so peacefully, now curled in my sheets, hugging my pillow, I can’t help but smile. I could write a million songs just about this moments alone, and that’s exactly what I go back to the living room to do. To write yet another song about the girl in my bed, hoping and praying that she’ll still be there come daybreak.

Baby I know that you’ve been wondering / mmm, so here goes nothing / in case you didn’t know / baby I’m crazy ‘bout you

Sheets of paper litter the top of the piano, the coffee table, literally any surface that was once clear isn't now. I'm scribbling out a new lyric, and start strumming the melody that's been stuck in my head since she fell asleep next to me.

My mind is a jumbled mess. She has me feeling every possible emotion and I can't convey it in just one song. So every new idea gets written down and I hope I'll find a place for it in another song later. I'm going crazy, my mind working faster than my hand can write, and the song doesn't sound right with the guitar riff, but then it doesn't sound right with the piano. It's all wrong. None of it is good enough for her and I need it to be good enough.

And I would be lying if I said that I could live this life without you / even though / I don't tell you all the time / You had my heart a long, long time ago / in case you didn't know

I know it hasn't even been a year and I sound like a love sick puppy. And that if you ask anyone that doesn't know me personally, they'd say that this relationship is all for show. That I'm doing it for the publicity. That she's getting paid. None of it's true.

She's everything I have ever wanted. Ever needed. And its so hard for me to think back to even just nine months ago. I wonder how I did anything before her. How did I cope with my anxiety when she wasn't there coaxing me through it, lulling me back to reality and not the fucked up place my mind always wandered to?

If I can't think back to nine months ago, before she became my everything, how am I supposed to look forward and not see her in every possible situation that I could be put it?

The way you look tonight / that second glass of wine / that did it, mmm

Dinner at her apartment is everything. Except she won't let me actually cook. She's scared I'll burn the building down. Which, to be fair, could very well happen. So I'm only allowed to cut things, and of course pour her wine. She's stirring the rice while I sit at the little bar area, head resting in my hand while I stare lovingly at her. Her cheeks are slightly pink from both the heat from the stove and from the glass of red she's sipping from.

"You're staring," she says softly, and looks over at me.

I clear my throat and look down at my half empty glass, "Sorry. Can't help it. You're just so pretty."

She looked down at her outfit, and squinted skeptically at me. "Jeans and a two-sizes-too-big flannel? Oh yeah, I'm sure I look real cute," she replies sarcastically, with a disbelieving eye roll.

"You do," I say, matter-of-factly. "With you hair pulled up like that," I gesture to pony tail that was currently falling because she didn't wrap the rubber band around enough. "And your eyes just being as beautiful and bright as ever. How could I not stare at you forever?"

This causes her to become even more red, if that's possible, and I pull out my phone, swiftly snapping a picture of her because she is just so pretty and I want to see her like this forever.

"Stop it!" She whines, turning away from me.

"But you look so cute," I say, turning my phone around so she can see the vibrant blush on her cheeks.

She just shakes her head and takes another sip. I can't help but watch the way her lips curve around the lip of the glass, and my whole body tingles at the promise of those lips touching mine later.

There was something 'bout that kiss/ girl it did me in / got me thinking / I've been thinking

I pull her body close to mine when she puts the dishes in the sink. "Thank you for tonight," I mumble into her shoulder.

She hums and her hands cover mine on her stomach. "You're welcome bub. So glad you could make some time for a meal this week. I was starting to think you didn't eat," she says teasingly.

I manage a small apology, pressing my lips to the soft skin of her collar bone. I know I've been literally everywhere but with her this week and it's been killing me. But even just a night like this was enough to make me forget about all my stress up to this point.

She turns her head to face me and plays with my currently overfluffy curls. "I adore you, my little rockstar," she whispered into my hair.

I look up at her with a sleepy smile and hooded eyes. I only have a second to react before her lips press to mine in a soft, passionate kiss. And all I can think is that I could stay this way for the rest of my life and never get tired of the feel of her lips.

One of those things that I've been feeling / mmm, it's time you hear 'em

I'm still watching her as we wash the dishes together. She's washing, I'm drying. It's the simplest of systems, but it's also so domesticated and it makes me sad knowing that I can't give her that domestic life one day. Husband a d kids, nice suburban home to come to every night. I'm traveling too often to give her that simple life that she so desperately deserves, even though she's told me before that she doesn't care about that.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She asks after washing the last plate, handing it to me. I smile sheepishly at the way she's leaning against the counter, one leg crossed in front of the other, hands playing with the neck of her shirt.

I finish drying the plate before I speak. I place the towel I was holding on the counter and reach for her hands. "Can I tell you something, pumpkin?"

You've got all of me / I belong to you / yeah you're my everything / in case you didn't know

"Anything," she squeezes my hands reassuringly.

I can't look into her eyes, so I stare at our linked hands and sigh contently at the feel of her small, soft, cold hands in my large, calloused, hot hands. I don't know why telling her this is so hard for me, it shouldn't be. I write about love all the time.

But I've never felt it. Not like this. Not when my heart feels like it's literally about to burst out of my chest when she smiles at me. Not when I can't help but stumble on my way to her because I'm staring so hard that I trip over my own feet. Not when an interviewer asks me what my favorite thing about going home is and my immediate thought is her. She's my home. Whether we live together or not. She's it. She's my everything and that's fucking terrifying. I never thought I would become this dependent on someone else.

"Bub, what's going on inside that beautiful head of yours?" She asks, breaking me from my own thoughts, trying to catch my eye.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and finally meet her intense gaze. If I had to decipher what that look meant, I'd say she was looking at me the same way I look at her. With that endless amount of love, lust, compassion, and adoration that my expression hopefully conveys. Why she chose me of all the people to be with, I'll never know. But she did. So I say it.

"I love you," I finally manage to say, but it's so low I don't even know if she heard me.

She doesn't respond for a while and I'm searching her face for any sign that it'll give me, saying that I crossed a line, that we weren't ready. But just as I'm opening my mouth to apologize, her lips cover mine, tongue slipping effortlessly into my mouth. And I hold her body tight against me, so tight I don't think she can breathe properly, but she makes no move to leave my arms and I have no intention of letting her go. So I hold her while we kiss under the harsh light of her kitchen and I let out a low whimper when she goes to ultimately pull away.

"Say it again," she begs.

And I do, kissing her cheek. "I love you." Her nose, "I love you." Her forehead, "I love you." And finally, once again. Her lips. "I love you."

She sighs, eyes fluttering shut while her fingers trace my jaw and then the curves of my mouth, my nose. "I love you, too." She kisses both of my eyelids before she says it again. "I love you so much."

***

Tags: @curlyshawny @shawns-badreputation @anamariel2301 @bbellbagel @turtoix @tomshufflepuff @ivegotparticulartaste

I've literally been writing this since February and it's not even the way I wanted it 🤷‍♀️ but I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. A little fluff to counteract with the angst I gave y'all on Wednesday.

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