#rotting away in bed witchcraft | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hwxnghyynjin · 1 year

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You Should See Me In A Crown

Pairing: park jongseong x reader Genre: royalty!au, horror, smut, angst Warnings: character death, mentions of throwing up blood, gore, illness, mentions of witchcraft, nightmares, smut (unprotected sex, biting, grinding), swearing, I think that's it Word count: 6,063 Taglist: @foxdaisy @heeseongism

There are two types of people in the world. Rich and poor. You came from the latter. Growing up, your family didn’t really have much, which meant that you couldn’t afford to buy medicine in case you end up sick. Luckily that didn’t happen. Until one day.

Your younger brother suddenly got really sick, to the point where he was vomiting blood. A fever so bad, he felt like he was in a sauna, sweating profusely. He felt so weak, couldn’t get out of bed. He couldn’t even eat or drink, his throat burning, feeling like he was swallowing daggers.

You didn’t know what to do, crying every single night to sleep, worried about your little brother. He got sicker as the days passed, starting to smell like rotting meat, which confused you. You’ve never seen anything like that before, and it scared you.

On the 7th day of his illness, your brother passed away, his eyes bleeding out of their sockets, blood trickling out of his mouth and nose. That was one of the worst days of your life, you felt like you failed to protect him. The sight of your dead brother made you scream, tears blurring your vision. Your parents didn’t say anything, crying silently as you laid over your brother's body. Your mother tried to pry you away from him but you wouldn’t budge. Your younger sister sitting in the corner, sobs leaving his small body.

A few days after his death, your sister was the next person to get sick, the same symptoms as your brother had. She even died the same way: eyes bleeding out of their sockets, blood trickling out of her mouth and nose. You didn’t know what to do at that point, but you were definitely sure that something was wrong.

Your questions were answered a few days later as your mother was sentenced to death from being accused of witchcraft. Why would your own mother kill her own children? Your own brother and sister? Did she actually do it, or was she framed? Or was it something else?

Seeing your mother being burnt at the stake was something you weren’t expecting, but being accused of witchcraft is the worst type of crime, according to the government. Hearing her screams echoed in your mind, haunting your nightmares every single night.

Now, 8 years later at the age of 20, everything else has gone to shit.

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You woke up in a dark room, more specifically your bedroom, the sound of birds knocking on your window. Getting out of bed, you trodded your way towards the window, drawing back the curtains to see a bunch of crows knocking into the window, some of them falling to the ground. Not again, you thought. That’s the third time this week, and it’s only a Tuesday.

Since you’re now out of bed, you thought it would be a good idea to get dressed, and that’s exactly what you did. Taking your nightgown off, you grabbed the first items of clothing you saw, which was a pair of black pants and a white dress shirt, buttoning it up. You brushed your hair, getting rid of your bed hair, brushing through the knots. Tying the laces of your boots, you left your bedroom, going to do your daily errands.

You walked through the woods, taking in the surroundings around you. Leaves crunched under your feet, the smell of smoke hits your senses. You wondered where the smoke was coming from, until you found the culprit. A small barn was engulfed in flames, which wasn’t surprising to you anymore, especially after the riots. You just hoped no one was in there.

Ever since the rich and the poor have gone against each other, there have been numerous wars, both big and small. All the poor have been trying to do is live their lives, but the rich have been ripping that away from them: stealing their money, livestock, even their homes. Thousands of people have died because of it, you’re surprised you haven’t been attacked.

You walked further into the woods, on your way to the farmers market. A sudden loud noise made you stop in your tracks, a loud growl ringing in your ears. A shiver ran down your spine as the sound got closer, fear running through your body.

Suddenly, a huge boar-like creature came charging towards you, its teeth sharp and tusks massive. It seemed rabid, drool dripping from its mouth, the creature roaring aggressively. You screamed, turning on your heels as you ran away, flight kicking in.

You avoided running into any obstacles, jumping over any rocks so you wouldn’t trip. You didn’t bother turning around, not wanting to see the rabid creature chasing you. Suddenly, the roaring of the creature stopped, replaced by a squeal as a loud thud was heard from behind you. You turned around, seeing the creature lying on the ground, an arrow piercing its side, blood gushing out of it.

You tried to find where the arrow came from, looking in different directions. A boy around your age appeared, holding a crossbow. His jet black hair slicked back, wearing what looked like protective gear. You don’t know who he is but he's really attractive.

“Ma’am, what are you doing out here? You’ll get yourself killed if you’re not careful now please, turn back around. Unless you want to get yourself killed”, what an asshole. You scowled at him, not even bothering to thank him for saving your life. You turned around, leaving the woods.

“Hey, a thank you would be nice!” he yelled, earning a middle finger from you, making him speechless. How dare a peasant give him that attitude?

“Who was that?” one of his knights asked him. “I have no idea but she’s feisty”, he continued looking at you as you disappeared into the distance, completely out of the woods. “Jay, we should head back, I don’t like these woods, they’re creepy”, the knight, known as Jake, said.

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You laid down on your bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what happened a few hours ago. That man saved your ass from being eaten, yet he was a complete asshole to you. By what he was wearing, you were sure he was one of the rich. Now it makes so much sense why he was an asshole. You scoffed to yourself, already beginning to hate your saviour. Then again, you’ve always hated the rich for how they treated the poor, including yourself.

Back in the kingdom, Jay walked down a corridor, minding his own business when he heard 2 distinct voices coming from behind a door. He’s not one for eavesdropping but he just couldn’t resist.

“What do you mean the king has proposed a meeting? A meeting for what?”

“I’m not sure but he said something about something, or someone, wanting to destroy the kingdom, which might lead to hundreds of deaths and he wants to do something to stop it”

Jay’s heart stopped. Something wants to destroy the kingdom? He was deep in thought that he didn’t hear the door opening until it was too late. One of the guards that came out of the room cleared his throat which got Jay’s attention.

“You ok, sire? You look like you’ve seen a ghost”, one of the guards said, raising one of his eyebrows. “I-i’m fine”, Jay said as he walked off, going towards his room. He closed his door, thinking about what the guards were talking about. Why would someone want to destroy the entire kingdom, wanting to kill hundreds of innocent civilians?

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It’s been a few days since your near death encounter, and you’re wandering around the forest, and you know you shouldn’t but your curiosity got the better of you. The sound of leaves crunching under your feet is all you could hear apart from the sound of your breathing, it was that quiet, which was strange. The atmosphere felt heavy around you, your breathing becoming heavy. You felt like someone, or something, was watching you, your movements getting slower. As you turned around, you felt your body being thrown, your body hitting against a tree, knocking you to the ground with a thud.

You groaned as you held the back of your head, trying to sit up. As you eventually managed to sit up, you came face to face with a woman. She had fair skin, long dark hair and her clothes looked dirty, her feet bare. The thing that stood out to you the most, though, was her eyes. They looked cloudy, lifeless. She was looking at you but she also wasn’t. Like, she was looking at you but her focus wasn’t on you.

You went to get up to go towards her but as soon as you moved, she disappeared. She didn’t turn around and leave, she literally disappeared into thin air. Did you just witness a ghost? You managed to stand up, holding onto the tree for support, when the sound of footsteps startled you, making you turn around. There he was, the same guy who saved you, the asshole.

“I told you to stay out of these woods”, he said, narrowing his eyes at you. You didn’t say anything, just continued holding your head, feeling a lump forming. Suddenly, a whistling sound could be heard around you, making the both of you look in the same direction. A black mist headed towards you, fear running through your body. Jay suddenly grabbed your hand, turning on his heels.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?!” you shouted, wondering what he was doing and where he was taking you. “Do you want to die? Because I can leave you out here if you want to”, he said, raising his eyebrow. You didn’t want to die so you just followed him. Jay jumped onto his horse, helping you onto it after him. He held the reins of the horse, whilst you held onto Jay for support, not wanting to fall off. The horse galloped away, heading out of the woods, heading towards the castle. You turned around to see if the mist was still following you, and to your surprise, it wasn’t. It stayed above the woods, the black mist getting thicker as it surrounded the trees.

Jay reached the castle, the sound of hooves trotting against concrete as he headed into the grounds of the castle. The horse came to a halt, other knights came running out of the castle. Jay got off the horse, helping you down after him. “Jay, who’s this?”, one of the knights said, when he suddenly recognised you. “Isn’t this the same girl you helped the other day in the woods?” he asked, to which you rolled your eyes.

“I do have a name, you know”, you said, looking between the two. “Well, what is your name because I don’t recall you telling me it”, Jay said, looking at you. You glared at him before telling him your name: Jung Y/N. Just hearing your name made his eyes grow wide. “Wasn’t your mother burnt at the stake for witchcraft? Well, accused of witchcraft”, Jay said, making other knights look at you. You felt uncomfortable with all the eyes on you, glaring at Jay.

“Shut up”, you muttered under your breath, running into the castle, wanting to get away from all the attention. Jay and his knights followed you, wanting to ensure that the king doesn’t see you. Jay caught up with you and grabbed your wrist, turning you around to look at him. “Don’t just come running into the castle without me, the king might see you and kill you”, Jay said, a hint of fear in his voice, which you weren’t expecting. Why would the king kill you? Jay noticed the confusion on your face, bringing you into a room. He closed the door behind him, pushing you into the middle of the room.

“I heard a couple of knights talking the other day, after I saved you, talking about someone or something wanting to destroy the kingdom, which could lead to hundreds or thousands of deaths, and if he sees you, someone who he doesn’t know, in his kingdom, he might kill you. He’s been cautious the past few days, being careful about who he lets into the castle. So I would be careful if I were you”, Jay said, his eyes burning into yours.

“This means I can’t go home, doesn’t it?” you asked, Jay nodding his head. You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “There’s a spare bedroom which isn’t in use opposite mine, if you want to use that. I mean, only if you want to”, Jay said, his turn to run his hands through his hair. All of a sudden, the sound of thunder boomed loudly throughout the kingdom, making you jump into Jay’s arms. Jay wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your arms up and down, trying to calm you down. You pulled away after a few seconds, apologising. Jay may be attractive, but that doesn’t mean you will fall for his charms.

A few hours went by, and you're sitting on a bed, which was a lot more comfier than yours. You looked around the room, noticing the details. The red velvet curtains, which had a gold fringe, the textured cream walls detailed with a large gold mirror. There was a knock on the door, making you jump. You called for the person to come in, a woman revealing herself, holding something in her hand. She bowed, putting some clothes on your bed and left without a word. You noticed she put a nightgown on your bed, the material soft underneath your hands.

You realised it was getting dark outside so you decided to get changed into your nightgown, and turn in for the night. You wondered if the dark mist had moved past the woods, the thought alone just terrified you to the core.

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You saw your brother and sister, their backs towards you. You raced after them, but the more you ran, the further they got from you. You ran for what seemed like ages, getting nowhere near them. The more you ran, the more your vision became clouded with blood. There was blood everywhere, the sound of your brother and sisters screaming deafened your ears, the screeching became louder and unbearable. You covered your ears, your running came to a stop.

You dropped to your knees, your vision now blurred with tears. The screaming wouldn’t stop. You screamed for it to stop, shaking your head from side to side. You screamed once more for it to stop, finally being able to hear yourself shout as silence surrounded you. You looked forward, seeing your brother and sister ahead of you, now looking at you. But there was someone standing behind them. It was your mother.

You shouted at her to leave them alone, but it was no use. She grabbed your brother and sisters shoulders, gripping them. Blood started pouring out of their eyes, nose and mouth. That’s when your mother burst into flames, her screams making your ears bleed.

You woke up with a scream, covered in sweat. Another nightmare. You tried catching your breath, your heartbeat erratic. You managed to calm down after a while, but you couldn’t seem to fall back asleep.

You just laid there, looking up at the ceiling. You laid there for a moment, when the sound of whispering from outside your bedroom door caught your attention. You got out of bed, tiptoed over towards the door and carefully put your ear against the door. The sound of 2 men talking to each other, but you couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. You realised you weren’t going to find out what they were talking about so you turned around and went back to bed but in the process of turning around, you knocked into something and fell over with a yelp.

The door opened, revealing 2 knights, who you assumed were the ones outside your door. You were prepared to get yelled at but to your surprise, the complete opposite happened. “You okay, m’lady?” one of the knights asked, causing you to clear your throat. “I’m okay. Just wanted to stretch my legs since I had a cramp, but I must have tripped in the process of going back to bed”, you managed to come up with an excuse, and luckily the knights believed you, nodding their heads and closing the door behind them as they left. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in, and got back into bed.

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Over the course of the next few days, the black mist has gotten closer to the kingdom, a few people in your village getting sick, which ended up with them dying. Everyone in the kingdom is panicking, running around like headless chickens. You and Jay have been helping each other come up with a plan on how to stop whoever, or whatever, is trying to destroy the kingdom. You were in your room whilst Jay was in his, getting ready to go out with the other knights to go on a hunt to the woods. The both of you knew it was dangerous, but you had no other choice. All you had to do was be extra careful.

You laced up your boots, straightened out your clothes (which was given to you by one of the female knights) and looked at yourself in the mirror, before leaving your room. You came face to face with Jay, who nodded at you and headed towards the entrance of the castle, where some of the other knights were waiting.

You made it into the woods, seeing dozens of dead bodies on the ground. Every single body has blood coming out of their eyes, nose and mouth. They all died the same way your brother and sister died, 8 years ago. Your mother didn’t kill your siblings. Whatever the black mist is, killed your siblings. And it’s come back to destroy the kingdom.

You didn’t realise you were staring at the dead bodies until you felt someone touch your arm. You came back to reality, looking down at the person touching your arm: Jay. “you ready?” he asked, to which you nodded. You’re not sure what you’re ready for but you’re ready for something. You got off your horse, heading straight into the woods. Once you made it into the heart of the woods, that’s when you saw something, or someone: it was the same woman you saw a few days ago only this time, she looked cleaner.

“Hey, what are you doing here, it’s dangerous”, one of the knights said to the woman, who didn’t budge. The knight, who’s name you didn’t get, walked towards the woman but that was a bad idea as she grabbed the knight by the neck, breaking it immediately. Is she behind this, or is she being controlled by something?

A few knights ran in the other direction, but the woman seemed to summon something, which grabbed the knights who tried to run away, killing them instantly, ripping some of them in half. It was a bloodbath. You didn’t know what to do as you just stood there, watching everything unfold in front of you. You saw Jay run towards the woman, and that’s when something clicked in you. You ran towards Jay, putting your hand out to try and grab him, but you weren’t quick enough. Jay was thrown against a tree, hitting his head. The woman clawed at his chest, making him scream out in pain. You stood behind her, grabbing her and throwing her backwards away from Jay.

“Leave us alone!” you shouted at her, or whoever she was because she was definitely not human. “You look like your mother”, she said, her voice definitely sounded non-human. You screamed, lunged forward and tackled her to the ground, grabbed the nearest object and whacked her over the head, but that was the wrong thing to do as she threw you backwards, your back hitting the ground. You don’t remember anything after that as everything went black.

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When you came to, you noticed you were in an unfamiliar room. You also felt… different. You couldn’t describe it though, you just didn’t feel like yourself. You sat up and looked around the room you were in. You definitely weren’t in your room that you were located in. Who’s bedroom are you in? Suddenly a voice broke you out of your trance.

“Oh thank god you’re awake, I was worried you weren’t going to wake up”, Jay walked over to you, and that’s when you realised he was shirtless. There were marks on his chest, from when he was clawed back in the woods. His hair was wet and slicked back, probably from recently being bathed. You weren’t going to lie, he was very attractive and you won’t deny it. There was something in you that just wanted to mark his neck up and down, which wasn’t like you.

Jay sat down next to you, placing an arm on your shoulder. He took back his hand with a gasp. “You’re freezing! I’ll get you something more warm to put on”, he went to get up to get you a blanket but you stopped him, not saying a word as you grabbed his wrist. You’re not sure what came over you as you kissed him, smashing your lips against his. His lips were soft, you could taste wine against them, the sweetness hitting your senses. You pushed him on the bed, climbing on top of him, not removing your lips from his.

Jay was confused as to what came over you, but he didn’t stop you. He deepened the kiss, holding your hips as you straddled his waist. You grinded yourself against him, gripping the material of the sheets on the bed, digging your nails into it. Before you knew it, you were underneath Jay, your clothes discarded on the floor. His lips attached to your neck, sucking purple spots on your skin, eliciting a moan from you. You grabbed his clothed cock, palming him through his pants, earning a groan from him. The next thing you knew, you were both naked on the bed, Jay thrusting in and out of you at a reasonable pace.

You arched your back as Jay hits your sweet spot, his cock hitting you in all the right places. You grabbed his buttcheeks, squeezing them as you dug your nails in the flesh of his cheeks, earning a hiss from Jay. You reached up, kissing him, sucking on his bottom lip. You weren’t usually like this. You were on the calmer side of things, like to be soft and sweet. This was a completely different side to you, and you didn’t know what got into you, but Jay loved seeing you like this. You came to your orgasm, your legs shaking as your eyes rolled back, Jay soon coming to his not long after you.

Without giving Jay a chance to breathe, you flipped the both of you over, you now on top. You grinded against his cock, your nails digging into the flesh of his thighs. Moans kept escaping Jay as you continued grinding against him, cum leaking out of his tip and onto his stomach, his abs glistening with cum. You leant down and shoved your face into the crook of his neck, attaching your lips to his skin. You sucked dark purple spots on his skin before latching your teeth into his skin, biting him. Jay hissed as you bit him hard, causing blood to trickle down his neck. Jay was surprised as he loudly moaned at the sensation, making him cum instantly, staining his chest with cum.

Jay laid there as he tried catching his breath, his chest moving up and down at a fast pace. As Jay continued to lay there, you grabbed your clothes, putting them back on without saying anything. You went to leave Jay’s room when you stopped you. “Where are you going?” he asked, looking at you, now sitting up. You just smirked at him, opened the door and left without another word. Jay looked at the door in confusion, wondering what the hell has happened to you. Did something happen to you in the woods?

You walked along the halls, which were lit up by lamps, the only source of light in the kingdom due to it now being dark outside. You put the hood of your cape over your head, your black dress, gliding along the floor with every step you take. You managed to leave the kingdom without being seen, running down the steps, the moonlight being your only source of light to lead you on your way.

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“Where’s Y/N? I can’t find her anywhere, she’s not in her room”, one of the servants exclaimed, worry evident on her face. She’s been trying to find her all morning, unfortunately with no luck. Jay, Jake, a couple of other knights and the King sat at the table in the great hall, looking at the servant. “What do you mean you can’t find her?” Jay asked, worry now written all over his face. He stood up, making his chair fall backwards. It was the King’s turn to stand up now, towering over the table.

“She probably wandered home since she doesn’t belong here. Jay, you brought her here, didn’t you? She lives in the poor part of the kingdom, right? I want you to go find her and when you do, I want you to kill her, no matter what”, the King ordered, but from the sound of his voice, Jay realised there was something more to this than the King is saying.

“What do you mean ‘kill her’?! What aren’t you telling us? You can’t keep things to yourself without telling us, sire” Jay said, annoyance in his voice. He kept arguing with the King until the King had enough. “Enough! You do as I say or I will kill you and then kill Y/N myself. Now go!” the King said, slamming his hands down on the table. Jay grumbled before leaving the table, Jake and a few other knights following him. Before they got to the door and left, the King spoke up, his voice full of fear.

“You really want to know what’s happening?” the King said, making them turn around to look at him. The King sat back down, sighing. “8 years ago, the same thing happened across the kingdom. Everyone in the village got sick, ranging from children to adults. I knew Y/N’s parents as I saved Y/N’s mother when she was still pregnant with her. I was just passing by when I saw her standing on top of her bridge, assuming that she was going to jump off, I ran to her and got her down, to which she broke down in tears, her husband running to me holding her. Since that day, I watched them from a distance, keeping an eye on them to see if they’re safe”, he took a deep breath before he continued.

“I continued to watch them from afar for years after that, watching Y/N grow up, as well as her siblings. One day, as I was strolling along through the woods, I noticed something strange. I saw a figure of what seemed to be a woman. They had long black hair, their skin looked pale and their clothes dirty. Though I had a feeling it wasn’t actually a woman, but a spirit. My suspicions were answered when a few days later, the village got infected, children and adults growing ill, dying. It was a bloodbath. When I got to their home, there was blood everywhere. Blood stained beds and carpet, as well as blood on the walls. The house was empty, or at least I thought it was empty until I heard a voice. A female voice. It was Y/N, she was talking to someone, or something. I looked inside a room, and there she was: Y/N sitting on the floor, tear clad cheeks. I saw the same thing I saw a few days prior, sitting in front of Y/N”.

“Get away from her!”, the King yelled, trying to get the thing away from Y/N. The thing ran away, out of the house and back into the woods. But in the process, Y/N got scared and ran in the same direction. What did the spirit want with Y/N?

“Why didn’t you do anything?” Jay questioned. “Because by the time I realised, it was too late! The spirit possessed Y/N’s mother, killing her children, but not before destroying hundreds of lives in the village. But that’s the thing. Y/N’s mother wasn’t supposed to become possessed. It was supposed to be Y/N. And I think that’s why it’s come back”, the King said, fear in his eyes. “Now go, before it’s too late”, the King ordered, Jay and his knights running out of the main hall and out of the castle, hoping to find you before it’s too late.

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Jay and his knights wandered into the woods, and the sight they walked into made them frown. There were dead bodies everywhere, blood coming out of their eyes, mouth and nose. Some bodies were torn into 2, some had their limbs missing, and guts were hanging out of their chests. Jake wanted to throw up, to which he did, puking his guts up. Jay walked forward, trying to see any sign that you were there, but he couldn’t find anything. Suddenly, a gust of wind came out of nowhere, making some of the knights almost fall over. Jay saw you in the distance, walking towards them. But you didn’t look like yourself. You were covered in blood. Blood splatters on your face, dress and on the sword you were holding. Wait, sword? Where the fuck did you get a sword from?

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Jay asked, walking towards you slowly. That’s when you spoke up. Except, it wasn’t your voice. “It’s too late. Y/N is gone”, your voice- which wasn’t your voice- sounded demonic. You lifted your arm, putting your hand out. Black mist appeared from behind you, and you pushed your hand out, making the knights behind Jay be thrown backwards, some of them being thrown into a tree, knocking them out. The sound of thunder roared in the distance, lightning lighting up the sky. Rain came pouring down from the sky, making it hard to see in front of you.

“Time to die”, you said, a smirk on your face.

You lifted your bloodied sword, ready to strike. Jay ran forward, holding his sword up. Both swords came into contact with a clang, the force causing vibrations to run through your bodies. You both fought, clashing swords. You sliced Jay’s arm, making him hiss as blood marked his arm. You fought for what felt like hours, losing track of time.

“I will rule the kingdom! It should have been me, not that stupid king. If he didn’t kill me, I would have ruled the kingdom and become Queen! Guess the King isn’t as innocent as everything thinks he is”, you said, smirking at Jay, making him stop in his tracks. “What do you mean?”, Jay asked, lowering his sword, letting his guard down.

“Ah, he didn’t tell you, did he? He had a wife years ago, who was going to become Queen but become the King was fucking jealous of that, he murdered her in the woods. She thought that they were having a nice day in the woods, going to have a picnic, but he grabbed his sword and struck her right then and there, her body falling to the ground. That was me, I was the wife”, you said, your voice becoming more and more demonic the angrier the spirit got. Suddenly, the King ran out of nowhere from behind Jay, standing in front of him.

“Guinevere, stop this please!” the King bellowed, hoping that she would stop. But unfortunately for him, that made her more angry. All of a sudden, the King gasped and fell to the ground until his body came to a stop. Blood trickled out of his eyes, nose and mouth. Shit.

“Guess I’ll be Queen after all”, you smirked at Jay, raising your sword, getting ready to strike. Out of nowhere, Jake’s body stepped in front of Jay’s, raising his arms. He grabbed the sword, yelling as the blade dug into the palms of his hands. “Stop it, you bitch”, Jake yelled, managing to grab the sword out of your hand. You screamed like a banshee, making Jay and Jake hold their ears, the sound too painful to listen to.

Jake looked at Jay, giving him a look that said ‘you know what you need to do’, to which Jay nodded. Jake threw the sword to Jay, and Jay ran up to you. He turned you around, putting the sword to your throat. You held onto Jay’s arms, digging your nails into them. “Y/N, if you’re still in there, I’m really sorry for what I’m about to do”, Jay said as he closed his eyes. You chuckled evilly, the spirit inside you preparing for what’s about to happen.

“You can do what you want to me, you’re not going to get Y/N back. She was already dead before I possessed her”, the spirit said, taunting Jay with her words. Jay let go of her and turned her around to look at him. He grabbed the sword with both hands as he yelled, striking the sword right into your chest, a scream leaving you. The spirit possessing you let out a screech, making Jay’s and Jake’s ears bleed. Black mist came out of your mouth, heading towards the sky before it disappeared completely, evaporating.

Your body dropped to the ground with a thud, the sword still in your chest. Jay wrapped his arms around you, tears staining his cheeks as he sobbed. Jake stood there, not knowing what to do or say. Jay stayed like that for what seemed like hours, just holding your lifeless body. Some of his tears dropped onto where the sword used to be, falling into the wound on your chest. All of a sudden, the wound in your chest started to disappear, the colour in your skin now becoming more full of life. You gasped as you opened your eyes, startling Jay.

“What happened? How did I get here?” you asked, looking around you, wondering why you were in the woods, and why Jay was holding you. He started crying again, of happiness this time as he hugged you, wrapping his arms around you. “You’re alive, I thought we lost you, oh my god”, Jay cried of happiness. You were confused but wrapped your arms around him, melting into the hug.

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You laid in Jay’s bed, looking up at him as he explained what happened to you, and you felt awful. You killed all those people? Including the King? You knew that it wasn’t actually you as you were possessed, but you still felt awful. You started crying as the guilt started eating you up, the whole kingdom is probably going to be scared of you or hate you for what’s happened. Jay was startled as you started crying your eyes out, not knowing what to do. You voiced your feelings, feeling like you were at fault for everything that has happened, even though that it wasn’t you and you shouldn’t feel like that, but you couldn’t help it.

“Hey, if anyone says anything to you about it or tries to make you feel like shit then, they will have me to deal with, ok?”, he said, smiling softly at you. You returned a smile, smiling up at him. You leaned closer to him, lifting your head up. You gave him a soft kiss on the lips, holding his cheek, rubbing your thumb along the skin. Jay smiled into the kiss, melting into you. You’re not sure what’s going to happen now but what you do know is that you're most definitely in love with Park Jongseong.

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chiriwritesstuff · 11 months

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The Impossible Man ✨ 2. A Case of You ✨

Modern-Day Detective! Din Djarin x Witchy! Reader (Soulmates! AU)

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Summary: For someone being born into a magical family, a curse placed on the women of your bloodline means you have mostly avoided witchcraft and its calling for the majority of your life. After a life-altering tragedy, you turn your back on your family and your gift and seek out a more normal, boring existence, devoid of magic, and mostly, of love. What happens when the ghosts of your past threaten your peaceful existence and you are forced to reconcile all that you have lost? Will you let the people you have abandoned in your past life back into your heart? Will the appearance of an impossible man you have unknowingly cursed yourself break the chains of love? Will you let him?

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Magical Realism, Mentions of (Attempted Suicide), Implied Violence, Domestic Violence, Improper Usage of Belladonna (use a measuring device!), Mentions of minor character death, (Some) Men are the absolute worst, Petty theft (by Din), Meddling Vi and Omera (the dream team), This is severely un-beta-ed (I will fix this! don't worry!), someone dies multiple times in one night and I am not sad about it ONE BIT.

A/N: Detective Din Djarin enters the chat.

Banner by @chiriwritesstuff ✨ Dividers by @saradika

Word Count: 8.7 K (WHOOPS)

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have begun our descent into Seattle, Washington. Please turn off all portable electronic devices and stow them until we have arrived at the gate. In preparation for our descent, be certain your seat is upright and your seatbelt is fastened. Thank you for flying with Delta Airlines, and we hope you have a good afternoon.

Ten years.

It's been ten years since that awful, god-forsaken, terrible night.

Ten years since you turned your back on it all. Your family - on Fennic, on Omera, on Vi. Ten years since you picked up the little urn of Ben’s remains at the crematory. Ten years since you packed up the entirety of your life in that little apartment in Queen Anne - your dream home - closing the door one last time, entombing all of the laughter, the late nights in bed holding each other, all of the love you made, never to be opened ever again. Ten years that you swore that you would never come back. Ten years since you flew yourself down to Montauk, Ben in that little urn, in tow - to where he was born and raised - scattering his remains at the edge of the ocean - like how he would have wanted. He loved Montauk - its beaches, its little seaside villages along the coast. You didn't want to bury him - here, in Washington, in Seattle, far away from home, rotting until his body dissolved into worms and merged with the Earth, ceasing to exist. He promised you, that you would go back once this was all over - he just didn’t say that it would be like this. That it would end, like this.

You ran. Your feet bare, running on the cool wet dew of the grass as you flee the only place you ever felt was home, your heart still raw and broken and cracked from the devastation and betrayal by the people you thought you loved the most. You found yourself at the edge of your aunt's property, along the vastness and depth of Puget Sound - screaming for the crashing of the waves to consume you whole. Take me, take me, take me instead, you begged to the universe, to god, to whoever could be possibly listening.

You didn't know what hurt more, the fact that you allowed yourself to bring an unsuspecting soul to be dammed by your selfishness, or the fact that it was your flesh and blood that led you down this path in the first place - forcing you to question every interaction, every poignant moment in your relationship - if it was real, and genuine, without the magical push or influence of a spell. You were okay before, before the possibility and eventuality of Ben - You resigned yourself to be alone, to be kind to whoever would bring the prospect of companionship by sacrificing your heart, your desires, your childish hopes and dreams. Being with Ben was to appease the little girl who believed in the notion of being loved, or allowing that little part of you - that tiny bit of delusion that lay dormant in you for the first twenty or so years of your existence - to doubt something so monumental as being cursed, with a possibility of love and a connection, a devotion - that was so deep, so meaningful that you dared to be happy, to be blissfully in love, knowing that in the back of your mind, where reason actually existed - that it had an expiration date. That it was always there, chained by fate, bound by magic, written in blood.

Who were you to think that you were the exemption?

It was a setup - the precinct, the press, the official report written by Detective Djarin, said.

You never did end up going to the station that night - to meet your husband's - Ben's- faceless partner who messaged him in the early morning with the promise of a lead, a promise of this hell to be finally over with. We got him, the text read. Yes, you got him, Detective Djarin - but at what cost? One soulless bastard for the life of another? Hell, you blamed him - Din Djarin - a rookie recruit from New Mexico - you blamed him the most, and you've never even met the guy.

Ben was always careful. He was never brash, or cavalier - he was meticulous - he planned everything to a T, didn't burst through the doors guns a-blazing, always upheld the statures of the law. He never put himself in a position on the grounds of a hunch, no - he had too much self-preservation, he had too much to lose. Perhaps it was in his carefulness that they partnered him up with Din in the first place. Ben was a good detective - but he had no backbone. No edge. Too soft in a job where you needed to be hard. Too compassionate, too fair. It was all that he was lacking - that his younger new partner embodied. Ben was in awe of him. Wanted to prove himself in the eyes of the rookie detective that he could be all of these things, that he could - and would - do the things necessary to get the bad guy, no matter the cost. To lead by example.

But where did that get him?

Shot in cold blood, left to die.

Sure, we didn’t forget about the curse. But if we were completely honest, if Detective Din Djarin didn’t light that fire up his ass in the first place, he would have stayed, with you, that morning.

No. You’re both complicit.

Din Djarin may have made him more bold, more brash, and maybe even a little more brave. But it was you, and your childish hopes, and dreams, and your need for this insignificant thing that you call love - it was you that signed off on his eventual demise the moment you let him in, the moment you selfishly brought him into your orbit.

Starshine.

Your eyes open, your head pressed onto your keyboard as your eyes adjust to the lack of light in your apartment. You glance at the bright white glare of your computer monitor, 12:14 a.m. at the corner of the screen. Groaning, you force yourself to sit upright at your desk chair, flexing your toes and stretching your back from all the stiffness you would feel after sleeping at your desk.

"Starshine," you hear in your mind, your sister's pained voice reverberating through your bones. Your eyes scan through the mess of your tabletop, looking for your phone among the chaos.

15 missed calls.

35 text messages

1 voicemail, 10m

Vi.

Fuck, when was the last time I checked my notifications?

You call her back.

We're sorry, but your call cannot be connected as dialed.

*Hi Starshine, I know it's been a while...*

*Are you there?*

*I miss you*

*There was a strange man that came in looking for you, he was kind of cute, in a weird, kinda intense way!*

*I met someone! His name is Geoff!*

*Are you busy? I need to hear your voice*

*Please talk to me, I miss you*

*I'm in trouble, Starshine, I'm so scared...*

Your eyes scan through the texts, the urgency and pain of your sister's plight being frantically sent out - in secret - you deduce, her feeling of duress flowing through you as if you were in there in real-time, ducking against the corner of the room, behind her bed, trembling in fear in complete darkness, the heavy pacing and the silhouette of a man's feet behind her bedroom door. You can feel the moisture of her tears, the white salty streaks staining her face.

"Fuck!" you whisper as you pace around your apartment, the skyscrapers of New York City illuminating your windows.

Oh god, what's happening, Vi?

The phone in your hands starts to vibrate, Vi's face illuminating on the screen.

"Vi? Where are you?" you whisper.

"Come home, Starshine... I'm scared. I need you.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Next stop, Westlake Station.

You rest against the window of the rail car, holding up your right hand as you delicately touch the healed-over scar. You think back on the last night you were in Seattle, knocking on Vi's door, your bags packed for Montauk.

"I feel like I'm not going to see you again, Starshine. You don't have to do this!" she says tearily.

You smile at your sister sadly, considering your next words, hopefully enough to placate her nerves. "Don't worry, Vi. We'll grow old together. It's going to be you and me living in a big house... these two old biddies with all these cats. I bet we even die on the same day."

"Come here," you pull Vi towards you, grabbing your Swiss army knife out of your pocket. You cut your palm diagonally, wincing.

"My Blood," you whisper, grabbing ahold of her hand as you do the same to her palm.

"Your Blood," you smile at her as you grasp your bloody hand with hers.

"Our Blood." you both say, embracing your sister for the last time, the tears falling on your face, smiling sadly at your sister as you press a kiss on her forehead.

"Be good, Vi Vi. I'll see you soon."

You gather your overnight bag and sling your backpack on as you stand to exit off of the link light railcar onto the platform. It's early evening on a balmy October day - Not quite cold enough for a scarf, but enough to warrant a coat - Ben's coat, the only item of clothing of his you allowed yourself to keep, its edges starting to show signs of wear. You shove your hands into its pockets, and fiddle for the Orca card to check out of the station.

With muscle memory you exit out of the station to head out into the bus stop for the #3, heading towards Queen Anne. You adjust your overnight bag strap on your shoulders, brushing a stray hair behind your ears as you take in the cold fall night, the familiarity of your youth washing over you in nostalgia. As charming as New York City is in the fall, there's something about the charm of the Pacific Northwest - the slow swaying of the trees, the falling leaves, the crisp, clean air. The hustle and bustle of NYC was nowhere to be found - no disgruntled yelling or heckling, no sea of yellow cabs honking in the distance.

Vi is already waiting as you walk up to the duplex from the bus stop, standing on the porch, leaning on the front door. She’s dressed in a silk nightgown and thin, long cardigan, the cherry tip of her cigarette in one hand, the other hugging her waist. She's different - the ten years of time and distance taking a toll on her once bright, delicate features. She's thinner now, more frail - you can see the hollowness of her cheeks, the sallow beneath her eyes.

"Geoff isn't home," she greets as she fidgets with the cigarette, biting the bottom of her lip as she nervously glances at you - skittish, apprehensive. "It's Freaky Fridays at the bar - he won't be home until at least midnight."

"Vi -"

She crushes you in an embrace as she sobs, completely falling apart in your arms. Her tears soak into your coat and she's wailing, wailing, wailing - a bevy of "I missed you so much" and "thank god" repeated, like a mantra.

You shimmy out of the embrace and grab both of her arms to inspect her - raising your hand to graze the purple bruise that had bloomed on her cheek. She flinches, her mouth flinching in pain as you gently palm over her face. She smiles sadly back at you, her hand covering your own on her face, closing her eyes as you wipe away her tears. You press your forehead onto hers, breathing her in.

"He's been really crazy, you know? today he says he wants a jelly donut, and he says to the kid, 'Jelly donut, with cream' and the kid looks confused! and I said 'Geoff, Jelly is not a cream' - and the kid, he laughed and I laughed, and he punched me! he punched me real hard! Bastard!"

"Does he know where the aunts live?"

"No, but they're at the solstice celebration-"

"Pack a bag, Vi, we're leaving."

You stand guard by the door as Vi hurriedly shoves things in her bag, running throughout her side of the duplex as she seemingly grabs things at random. "Have you been in it yet?" she asks as she shoves a box of granola into her weekender - "I haven't... no one's been in it, not since... and Geoff thinks we should rent it out, you know, make some money out of it, but, I told him we couldn't - it's not mine, it's yours -" she speaks a mile a minute - not unlike how you remember all those years ago - as she shoves what seems like 20 pairs of underwear, zipping up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

You hurriedly push her out of the door, fumbling with the keys as you lock it, guiding her down the steps - Damn these shoes! she exclaims - making your way down the street, towards the bus stop.

"Oh!" Vi suddenly stops in her tracks. "Blood on the moon!" she whispers, pointing to the sky.

"I know" you reply.

She’s clutching her chest, pulling at the nightgown as she pats down her threadbare coat, pulling out the cheap polyester pocket lining, stopping in place as she looks back up the street. "Where's my tiger's eye? it brings me luck, I left it, I need to get it back!" she breaks out of your hold and breaks out into a sprint towards the house, pulling her shoes off, running up the pavement, not once caring if her feet are bare.

"It's probably in the bag, Vi, come on!" you run after her, up the porch stairs. "Vi -" you say as you stumble back into the apartment, stopping in your tracks as you are suddenly gazing at a man - Geoff, you presume - struggling with Vi, pointing - is that a gun? - at you. Geoff - his commanding presence heightened by his striking, dark features. His tousled hair, as black as midnight, framed a face chiseled with sharp, defined angles, giving him an air of both ruggedness and refinement. Deep-set, intense eyes, the color of smoldering coals, held a hint of mystery, their gaze both penetrating and enigmatic. He smiles.

"Ah. Starshine! The prodigal sister finally makes an appearance!" he belts out as he motions the barrel of the gun towards the couch. "Okay, Okay," you say meekly as you slowly make your way to it, your hands in the air as you refuse to break eye contact, your sister shaking uncontrollably in his grasp.

He wedges the gun in the waist of his pants - between fabric and skin. He's still clutching onto Vi - grabbing the bottle of tequila that's on the coffee table. He sloppily thrusts it towards you in a - would you like some? - demeanor as you turn your head away from him. He sits on the chair across from you, perching Vi on top of his lap, licking her neck as she squirms. “Shhh. Let the adults talk, okay?” he whispers as he brings a finger to her lips.

"Hey, Starshine, you know all about books, right? Have you ever read any books by Louis L'Amour?" You shake your head, refusing to meet his eyes as he shakes his head in disappointment.

"Okay, well - Louis L'Amour is a foreigner and he loved all things cowboy. Just like me, Geoffy-boy. So Louis would write stories about rustlers. Rustlers who were really bad guys."

You glance at Vi's direction. She twitches - slightly, if you had blinked, you would have missed it, motioning to her bag next to you on the couch. "The belladonna is in my bag" you hear Vi's voice clearly in your mind. You nod, looking at Geoff as he babbles on, lighting a cigarette and perching it on the corner of his lips. You slowly edge your pinky towards Vi's purse.

He flicks the lighter back on as he starts to wave it over his ring - a bulbous silver skull - "They would try to steal the cattle. But before they could sell them they would try to take away the brand of the owner with an acid, or by - He suddenly rubs the ring furiously on the chair cushion - "...scrubbing. Unfortunately, they could never get rid of it. So they would be caught and get hanged."

"What are you doing?" you nervously ask as he brings the flame of the lighter back onto the skull of his ring, waving it back and forth, heating it as he takes another drag of his cigarette. He grabs the meat of Vi's thighs. "Come on! You can't hide the brand. It's just you and me." he tells her as he attempts to brand her with the skull, Vi thrashing in his grasp as you take advantage of the distraction, clutching onto the glass vial of the belladonna. "Let her go!" you cry out, jumping onto your feet into a semblance of a fighting stance, not caring one bit about the ridiculousness of it.

He laughs at you as he raises his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, Starshine, live a little! Have a drink with me!" he motions towards the tequila bottle on the table.

"Shut up! Louis L'Amour by the way - is not a foreigner! He's from North Dakota, you asshole!" you mouthed angrily while you snatch the bottle, taking a sip while Vi suddenly grabs his face, crushing her mouth towards his. You quickly pour the entire vial of the belladonna down the tequila bottle, shaking it as you hand it back to Geoff. He takes a long drink, winking as he places it on the table. He looks at you with a tinge of satisfaction.

Two hours later, Vi is beside herself as Geoff is taking a - rather long - piss.

"It should have worked by now," she nervously paces the living room, biting her nails. "I don't think you gave him enough."

"I gave him plenty!"

Just as you are about to throw the bottle of Belladonna at Vi in frustration, Geoff slithers back into the room, a sinister look on his face. He smirks at you as he approaches Vi.

"You know, girls. I'm feeling very into sisters right now."

He suddenly grabs Vi by the throat, throwing her on the ground as he straddles her. "I LOVE YOU, VI! WHY DON'T YOU WANT TO BE MY WIFE?!" You immediately launch on him, pounding your fists on his back "Get the fuck off of her!"

"Starshine! Starshine stop! he's out!" Vi says as she pushes him off.

"OH MY GOD!" She shouts, scrambling onto her feet as she looks at him dead on the floor, his vacant eyes staring back at her, his skin sickly pale. "How much did you give him?" she looks at you frantically.

"I don't know, Vi, he was threatening to kill us, it's not like I had a measuring cup!" you retort as you kneel next to him, slapping his face, willing him to wake up. You grab onto his shoulders, shaking him with as much force as you can muster. "Wake up, asshole!" you angrily mutter as you slap his face again.

"What are we going to do?" Vi cries out in a panic. "We can't go to the police, they're never going to believe us!"

"It was in self-defense!" you shoot her a questioning look. "Wait. What do you mean that they wouldn't believe us?"

"Well, I doubt the whole slowly-poisoning-your-lover defense would win over the Seattle PD" she snarks as she rolls her eyes, pinching her nose as she paces around the room. You eye her waringly.

"What are you thinking, Vi?"

"When Ben died, you asked the aunts to bring him back," she states, matter-of-factly.

"They wouldn't," you answer bitterly, kicking Geoff as you collapse onto the chair beside him. "Get to the point, Vi."

"They wouldn't, not couldn't" she replies simply.

You shake your head. "No, the aunts were right. He would have come back dark and unnatural."

"Geoff's already dark and unnatural! I don't care what he comes back as, just as long as he comes back!"

"No, Vi, that is not an option. That isn't even a choice!" You head into the kitchen, filling up a glass of water and drinking it, shaking your head in disbelief. This is not happening, you think.

"We don't have a choice, Starshine! This is our ONLY choice!" Vi throws up her hands in frustration. "Do you want to go to jail, or do you want to help me fix this? Because I'm sure Ben is rolling in his grave right now!"

"He was cremated, Vi."

"You owe me big time" you mutter to Vi as you help her carry Geoff out of the back seat of his car, having been forced to drive from Queen Anne to Tacoma to access Bainbridge Island from Narrows Bridge.

"Watch his balls!" Vi exclaims, leading you into the kitchen as they half drag, half carry Geoff's stiffening body to the dining room table. "Okay Geoff, I will get you out of this but after that, we are over!" she declares, slapping his face.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" she retorts, running past you as she grabs the Spellbook from the other room, placing it near Geoff's head. You push her aside, flipping through the weathered pages. "Are you sure you want to do this? He's still fresh, we could still convince the police that it was in self-defense!"

Vi gives you a satisfied smirk as she nods. "Absolutely."

You take a deep breath. "Okay. Lips pursed, emit wind over tongue in motion, teeth on edge." you purse your lips, executing the needed motion with practiced precision as Vi tries to mimic you. "Good enough, good enough." You cut open his shirt, "Touch bounded smudge of blue sage with braided wheat straw."

"Okay, repeat after me. 'Black as night, erase death from our sight. White as light, Mighty Hectate make it right." you nod to Vi. "Black as night, erase death from our sight. White as light, Mighty Hectate make it right." You hand Vi a needle, positioning yours to one of Geoff's eyes. "insert needles through the eyes of the corpse."

Vi looks at you with disgust. "Through his eye? Maybe we should wait for the aunts" You roll your eyes. "It's not like he's going to stay fresh forever! Stop being a baby and let's finish this!"

You chant the incantation repeatedly, angling the needle at Geoff's eyes as they suddenly focus on you. You drop the needle in bewilderment, your hand covering your mouth as Vi gasps in shock.

"Geoff?" she asks timidly, circling the table. He suddenly shoots up from where he lay, his hand reaching out to Vi's throat as he shrieks.

"WHY WON'T YOU BE MY WIFE?" he wails unnaturally as he strangles her, pinning her to the wall as she claws at him. You grab the first heavy thing you can find around you - a cast iron skillet? and BAM! swing at Geoff, the impact so strong he drops like a sad sack of potatoes.

You're breathing heavily as you drop the skillet, glancing over to Vi as she clutches her heaving chest.

"Please god, if you get us out of this, I'll be good! I'll settle down and be normal for once! No more one-night stands!" Vi pleads to the sky as she helps you dig a shallow grave near the rose bushes.

It's the middle of the night, and in typical Bainbridge Island fashion, the heavens decide to throw a torrential downpour into the mix. After killing Geoff - for the second time that night - the both of you decide to cut your losses and bury him in the aunt's backyard, all semblance of reason out the window. What's one less asshole walking on this earth? If you think about it, in the grand scheme of things, you actually did humanity a favor. Bye bye Geoff, don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.

"Normal? Really Vi? I had normal! For ten years, I had my quiet boring non-magical life! and it was fucking amazing!" you sharply retort as you carve out the earth, the heavy downpour soaking you to the bone. "I worked really hard for that normal, thank you very much!"

One Geoff-sized shallow grave dug later, you both unceremoniously dump his twice-deceased body into it, spitting in it for good measure.

"I hate to be the one to say this," you say to Vi as you start to shovel "but you need better taste in men."

She rolls her eyes at you, her wet hair sticking to her face as she pushes it back behind her ears.

"Yeah, no kidding." she laughs, rolling her eyes.

"Not a word to the Aunts," you stomp on the grave to flatten it out. "Not one."

You wake up to Vi puttering around the room the next morning. You groan as your eyes register the sudden influx of light streaming out of the windows through the blinds, you yank a pillow and cover your head with it, groaning. "It's too early, Vi."

"I need to open the store today," Vi is puttering around your old bedroom, walking into the closet as she shuffles through clothes. "We have to 'maintain normalcy', right?" she pulls out a dress, inspecting it, while looking at you hesitantly. "... do you want to come with me? I bet you miss it, the aunts kept it the same..." she continues as she slips on the dress. She smiles. "Come on. I can work the cafe and you can work the register... it'll be like old times. The store misses you too. Misses its rightful owner, you know. Mom left it to you, not to me." she pointedly adds, pleading her case.

You sigh as you sit on the edge of the bed. "... I don't know, Vi. The last time I was here..." You take a deep breath, a flash of Ben's smile cycling through your mind. "It's been too long, and I don't know if I can... exist here, you know?"

“…but you love the store,” Vi says as she holds up another dress, a blue long sundress with moons and suns printed on it - tossing it in your direction. “… and Ben knew you loved it too. I think that if there was anything you could do for him, especially in death, it would be to be happy, you know? Maria’s was your dream, and it still can be only if you just let yourself try.” She smiles as she picks up her tote bag, slinging it onto her shoulder as she kisses the top of your head. “Just one day, please? For me? For old time's sake?”

Vi gives you her best puppy-eyed look and pouts her lips.

You groan and cover yourself with the covers. "Fine. One day, and then I'm flying my ass back to New York!"

She smirks, covertly looking at your burrowed form. "That's all I ask."

Maria's Curiosities and Books is still the same.

The bookstore slash cafe, opened 30 years ago by your mother, remains pleasantly intact in the heart of Capitol Hill. You remember running through the racks and stacks of secondhand books, mostly about all things magical and occult, piled haphazardly throughout the store. You used to spend hours tucked away in the corner of it, the old leather loveseat tucked away amongst the sea of books and knickknacks and the random bits and bobs. You remember running your fingers through the cracks of the worn leather of the couch cushions, the wafting of the freshly ground coffee beans permeating throughout the nooks and crannies of the store, your mother's beautiful smile looking back at you from behind the register as you would tuck yourself in, deeper into the love seat, making yourself right at home.

Vi hands you your shop keys, giving you a small nod as she guides you to the entrance, the door already decorated for Halloween.

"The aunts did it before they left," Vi says, grabbing her phone out of her tote bag - I want to commemorate Starshine's big return, ten years in the making! - her camera app at the ready as you push the store key into the lock.

You slowly turn the key in the lock, gingerly swinging the door open as you flick on the lights like you have hundreds of times before. You gasp at the familiarity of it all - as you realize that Vi was right - they haven't changed a thing, not one thing at all.

Everything is still how you left it, ten years later.

You make your way to the register, the vintage incorruptible cash register you found - like happenstance! - at the Goodwill, one day - still on the weathered countertops but with the addition of an iPad beside it, bringing this store up with the times - Vi's idea, surely.

Vi holds out your mother's hat - a pointed velvet blue hat with silver stars running along throughout - the Storybook lady's hat - out to you. "I figure since Omera isn't here... if you would do the honors today." You slowly place the hat atop your head as Vi grins. "Right back where it belongs," she says with a satisfied look.

You blink away the tears. "Thank you, Vi, for watching over the store for so long," you pull her into a hug, the feeling of being home finally coursing through your veins, the gentle warmth spreading through the coldness of your bones. "... I mean it."

"You promised me, you know," she says through her tears. "...that you would come back."

You remember when you finally took rightful ownership of the store after you graduated from the University of Washington, waking up at the buttcrack of dawn, shuffling behind the register with bright-eyed wonder as you would look at the picture frame - the one with the photo of your mother, Fennic, and Omera clutching each other, smiling brightly as your mother held up the keys in triumph.

This was her dream.

... and then it became yours.

“Daddy, can we go see the storybook wady this weekend?”

Din looks at his five-year-old son as he sits on the dining room table, pushing around the cereal in his bowl. His hair is in disarray from sleep, still in his Star Wars pajamas as he watches cartoons from his iPad.

“If you can be good with Aunt Peli today, maybe we can go see the storybook lady tomorrow, adika,” he replies, mussing his son's hair as he sits across from him, blowing on his coffee. He gives his son a knowing look. "... that means no jumping into her pond grabbing frogs, okay? you almost gave her a heart attack the last time, baby."

Grogu smiles at that, his front tooth missing as he happily scoops out his cereal.

Din doesn’t know why he started to frequent Maria’s Curiosities and Books all those years ago. He knew of its owner - hell, you were all his partner would talk about, if he wasn't talking about work. He knew that you had inherited it from your mother, taking it over from your aunts the moment you graduated from college. He also knew that that's where the both of you had met - you and Ben, that is, a chance meeting that seemed so serendipitous, it must have been written in the stars. A perfect "meet cute", Ben would say dreamily, a fond smile creeping on his lips as he recalled that day to him. You managed to bewitch him, body and soul, he claims, from the moment you wiped the spilled coffee you accidentally poured on him, your firey eyes locking on to his as you profusely apologized for your clumsiness. Ben knew that he was a goner.

Naturally, Din was curious - no, he was intrigued - by the bewitching woman who managed to render his normally stoic partner into complete devotion. The notion of love, and happiness, and all the bells and whistles that came with it - was such a foreign concept to him. It was a distraction, a distraction he would never think he would ever allow himself - no, he was so against the thought of bringing someone - someone innocent, someone trusting, and devoted - into the fold of the chaotic nature of his life, knowing that any moment, any day, any second would be his last. It came with the territory, this profession. He knew what he signed up for the moment he stepped into the police academy that first day. The academy warns you about that shit, that your days are counted the moment you accept that badge. He was ready for it, hell, it's all he's ever wanted - the badge, the honor, the brotherhood. He lived and breathed the creed of justice - ever since his parents were taken from him - all those years ago, back in his home in New Mexico, in front of his eight-year-old eyes, in cold blood.

... and then it happened.

It was an anonymous tip, sent to his work phone in the middle of the night.

Bleary-eyed, he swiped to the unread message, sent 1:13 am, one sentence. An address, "Gideon spotted" accompanied by it. He shot out of bed immediately, eyes wide, his bare chest heaving, his grey sweatpants slung low on his hips suddenly hot and restricting.

He would be lying if he said that Gideon wasn't the reason that he pushed for the transfer to Seattle PD in the first place - hell, he's been on his trail since he got his promotion to detective a year ago back in New Mexico. He had hunted him - his parent's killer - his mortal enemy number one - with the determination of a bounty hunter for as long as he can remember. No one would make the connection - He was thrust into the foster care system back then, assigned to a spitfire of a woman - Peli - who gave him his name - Din Djarin - the moment she decided that she wanted to adopt him. He's been lying in wait, in anticipation - for a long time. This was his life's mission, the promise that he made to himself all those years ago, that it would be his hands that dealt the final blow. It would be his hands that Gideon's blood would stain, and he would enjoy every fucking moment of it.

He considered the gift that had been handed to him at that moment. Pacing through his bedroom, he weighed out his options. This was his case, his one loose end that he had to tie up. He had the skill, the strength, and the willpower to see it though. He didn't necessarily have to bring anyone else into the fold of it - he didn't have to involve his unsuspecting partner - Ben - with his penchant for following the rules and meticulous planning, who didn't just burst through the door, guns a-blazing - his partner who had everything to lose. Din didn't have that, didn't understand the feeling of having people being left behind on his behalf. Ben understood the need for justice, he just wasn't aware of the emotional weight this person - this scum of the fucking earth - had on him. He wouldn't understand the obsession that he had with Gideon. Ben had questioned it - once, why finding Gideon was so important to him. He's a bad man, who has done many bad things to innocent people - he’d replied cryptically. Why wouldn't we pull out all of our resources to see this though?

Against his better judgment, after hours of deliberation pacing through his apartment in the cold early morning, he makes his choice.

Meet me here, he types, attaching the address to Gideon's last known location. We got him.

This is a bad idea, he thinks to himself as he stands outside the bookstore.

He sighs, groaning in frustration as he makes his way inside Maria's Curiosity and Books a few weeks later after that pivotal day, the tinkle of the bell announcing his presence to its occupants.

He had tried to get into contact with you, sending hundreds of text messages, voicemails, and after-work visits to your apartment that you shared with Ben - all of his feeble attempts - all unanswered.

He had hoped, that even though he was the harbinger of bad news, you would show up at the station that night. He understood why you didn't - instead being met with a steely woman - your Aunt - Fennic, was it? - who came on your behalf. She identified the body with an uncompromising gaze, nodding once as she immediately walked away, a fragment of emotion breaking through her impassive face as she pushed past him, out the door, as soon as she had walked in. He felt the levity of the pain that this woman carried, the sorrow she tried so hard to contain - that he couldn't even fathom the weight of the pain that you must have been experiencing, if not hearing your broken sobs through the phone wasn't enough. If heartbreak had a sound, he reckons, it would be the sheer devastation that he heard from your cries that night, becoming the soundtrack to his regret and nightmares - to follow him for years to come... and it was all his fault. All of it.

He approaches the woman behind the counter, her smile bright as she reads a letter - do people still write those? - a cup of coffee on the counter, stirring it with a spoon. At least he thought she was because he swears he sees the spoon stirring on its own - am I hallucinating? He thinks to himself. Spoons don’t do that.

As if the woman senses his presence, she quickly grabs the spoon, stirring it once more before placing it on the saucer beneath the coffee cup. She places the letter she was reading next to it, cracking a smile.

“How can I help you today, sir?”

He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t mean to be forward, but are you the owner?” The woman suddenly looks surprised, covering the letter with her hand.

“Uh… I’m not. That would be my sister, and… she doesn’t live here anymore. Not for the last few weeks, at least” she says sadly. “May I ask why you’re looking for her?”

“An old friend told me about her and this store. I’m a… big fan of secondhand books and I heard that this is the best place for it” he lies.

“Well, it certainly is” She smiles as she holds out her hand. “I’m Violet, Vi for short. It’s funny that you bring Starshine up, she just sent me a letter, all the way from Montauk!” She motions to the letter.

Montauk? New York? Is that where you ran off to? "I didn't realize that people still corresponded that way." He motions to the letter.

"Ah, well, Starshine is a writer and a bit of a romantic." she retorts, "I don't mind it one bit, at least she reaches out, right?"

“Vi!” A woman’s voice yells from behind the cafe area, “Can I bother you a bit?”

She flashes you a contrite smile. “Sorry about that, duty calls. I’ll be just a minute.” She says apologetically as she hurriedly makes her way to the other side of the counter. She appears a moment later, a take-out cup of coffee in her hands. "Omera was testing out a new recipe that Starshine was conceptualizing a bit before she left. She figured that a new face should test our wares out" she says, handing him the cup. "I hope you like cinnamon chai, it's Starshine's favorite."

“Thank you” he gingerly takes the cup, taking a sip. “Wow, it’s good. Really good. Starshine thought this up?” Vi nods, her eyes quirking as if she notices something peculiar.

He takes another sip. Her eyes follow the motion of his hand, eyeing it waringly.

“Huh.” She says. “Is that…” she motions to his hand, “a bullseye tattoo?”

He looks down at his right hand, at the junction of space between his thumb and his pointer finger, frowning. “Oh, yeah. I used to doodle this on my hand at school randomly, I thought I would immortalize it, I guess,” he replies sheepishly.

"How interesting," Vi responds cryptically. "How very interesting."

"Perhaps you felt compelled to draw it," another voice cuts in, an older woman with ethereal features approaches Vi from behind the counter. She nods to the cup. “I’m Omera. Enjoying the chai?”

“Oh, yes. I love cinnamon. Reminds me of the churros my mother used to make back home.”

Vi chuckles. “It’s funny, Ben - her husband - was allergic to it, so Starshine could only drink them here.” Din coughs at that.

"Would you like to see her?" The older woman asks. "Starshine?" She hands him a framed photo of you, at your college graduation. “That’s her Aunt Fennic, my sister” she points to the poised-looking woman beside you. The woman from the precinct. "... and Vi and I. It’s my favorite photo of all of us." She says fondly.

“She’s beautiful,” Din finds himself saying aloud before he can stop himself. Cut the shit, Djarin, her husband just died - in your arms - for fucks sake. He internally grimaces at the thought, especially in the company of your family.

He clears his throat. “So Montauk. New York. That’s where she’s been? seems far from home, don't you think?”

Vi looks at him suspiciously. "What are you, a cop?" she says jokingly, folding up your letter and placing it neatly atop a pile of books. He notices now that there are many photos of you - with Vi, with your parents, with the Aunts, with... Ben. There's a wedding photo, your face in the crook of his neck, as Ben beams into the camera. There's another one, of you kissing Ben - the sudden stab of jealousy notwithstanding - an errant thought in the back of his mind screaming mine, mine, mine - on his cheek. All of these photos, a chronolized timeline of your life, framed in mismatched picture frames, lining the countertops of the bookstore - your bookstore. He swallows, fiddling with the collar of his button-down.

Vi motions to the wedding photo. “Her husband - he grew up in New York. He was a detective. He... died in the line of duty. A setup, gone wrong. They managed to get the guy, but Ben was caught in the crossfire. After what had happened - she... went up there to settle his affairs."

Din tries hard to portray his ignorance. “… yeah, I read about it, in the paper. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Vi nods, wrapping her arms around her small frame as she looks at Omera. "She took it pretty hard. She - she doesn't let many people in, and Ben..." she stops as she considers how to approach her thoughts. "... it devastated her. She wasn't the same after that."

He nods solemnly. Blinks furiously to mask away the tears. "So, she uprooted herself there? What about the bookstore?"

Omera gives him a sympathetic look. "We'll carry on until she's ready to come home. That's all we can hope for, right?" She appraises you as if deciding something. "What's your name?"

Din considers this. "Uh, Mando. Call me Mando," he says as he holds his hand out to Omera. She shakes it, her eyes with a hint of questioning, like she can't quite believe him.

"Hey! Vi! Omera! Can I get some help here?! Sometime within this century?!" a voice calls out from the back, alerting the two women to look towards the back of the store. Vi gives him one last look as they leave him be. "Excuse us, Fennic is on the warpath this morning. It was nice to meet you, Mando."

As they retreated towards the rear of the store, his gaze fell upon your abandoned letter resting on the countertop. With a quickening pulse, he scanned the area, ensuring that no prying eyes were upon him. Stealthily, he slipped the letter into the recesses of his coat, hastening his exit from the store.

It's not until he's in the safety of his car that he unearths the folded piece of paper in the confines of his coat pocket, the paper radiating warmth as he finds himself compelled to smell it, the paper sweet and spicy and musky all at the same time. Cinnamon. He imagines that it smells exactly like how you would smell, imagines the way your hand held the pen as you wrote exactly what your heart was feeling. He pushes the nagging guilt of intruding on your privacy - He just... needs... something, anything to placate his interest. To see what Ben saw, to understand his partner's last words that he said to him, begging, in desperation, in resignation. "Promise me you'll take care of her, please, promise me. Tell her that I love her and that I'm sorry... that we couldn't go back." Ben gurgles, his body convulsing in pain as Din pressed down on the gunshot wound, frantically calling for backup. "Tell her yourself," he tells his partner for the last time. "Just hold on, you're going to tell her yourself."

He was cold, dead in his arms by the time emergency services reached them at the pier.

"I promise." He whispers, staring out into the void.

He turns his car on, the reverberating hum of his car coursing through his body. Joni Mitchell's 'A Case of You' starts to play as he gently holds the letter - your letter - in his hands.

Just before our love got lost you said

"I am as constant as a northern star"

And I said, "Constantly in the darkness

Where's that at?

If you want me I'll be in the bar"

He takes a deep breath.

He gently unfolds the letter and begins to read.

Dearest Violet -

Sometimes I feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight, there's a circle around it. Sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole, of not wanting to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing... I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I had my happiness. I don't want to believe it but, there is no man, Vi. Only that moon.

I miss you,

Starshine

He doesn't register the tears that are flowing out of him until the first teardrop falls onto the paper, the wet ink streaking down the page upon impact.

Din and Grogu make their way down 10th Avenue, his adopted son humming happily along as they make their way to Maria's Curiosities and Books - as promised for Grogu's good behavior - Oh, he was just an angel! not one frog didn't even go to the pond! - Peli exclaims - the Storybook Lady's - Omera, he found out - wooden sign out near the entrance.

It feels different, today. There's something in the air, there's a pep to his step as he walks down the street, Grogu in hand.

It started when he woke up in the morning. He normally groans at the weight and reality of a new day, the looming reminder of his age and his knees and his back screaming out to him in silent agony. Din normally likes to relish in the calm of the coldness of fall, the little bit of peace before Grogu makes his presence known by jumping onto his bed, willing for his father to wake up already - we have to go see the Storybook Wady! - his lisp not quite pronouncing the words as he stifles a laugh.

Din takes his time to get ready in the morning today as if compelled by an unknown force - a feeling in his bones - that shaving his usual unruly scruff is going to be so, so, worth it. He silently whistles along to Joni Mitchell's 'A Case of You' softly playing throughout through the Bluetooth of his speakers - his favorite song. He's still whistling along as he walks into his closet, freshly shaven and showered, his long wet curls slicked back into submission, as he takes an extra minute to actually be aware of what he's going to wear today.

I feel like such a schoolboy, caring like this, he chuckles as he throws on a deep grey cable-knit sweater, settling on a pair of dark jeans that don't have any holes in the knees.

I remember that time you told me

You said, "Love is touching souls"

Surely you touched mine

'Cause part of you pours out of me

In these lines from time to time...

He's still humming along to the song as he drives down 10th Avenue, Grogu beaming with untamable energy, bouncing in his car seat in anticipation of the day. Does he feel it too? the magic that's in the air this morning? he thinks to himself as he gently tells his son to settle down.

It must be happenstance, he thinks, as he manages to find a parking stall along the normally busy street - already packed with locals and tourists alike - in a stall where he doesn't have to pay for metered parking or grimace at the prospect of having to carry his son - his too-big baby boy - for blocks to Maria's.

For once, everything seems to be going right. It must be my lucky day, he smiles to himself as he ushers Grogu to the entrance of the store.

He's still whistling to Joni Mitchell as he opens the door - Grogu already letting go of his father's grasp - shrieking as he makes his way inside, running towards the other children sitting in the middle of the room, near the paper mache castle near the back, the storybook lady hat resting on its stool.

"Hey, Vi -" he begins, his voice getting caught in his throat all of a sudden because there you were, behind the counter, dressed in a blue sundress and an oatmeal oversized chunky cardigan, your eyes bright and your lips - god, your lips - forming into a smile, smiling at him. It's as if time and space and the universe ceased to exist...

"Starshine." He breathes, his feet frozen in place.

Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine

You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling

Still I'd be on my feet

I would still be on my feet

I met a woman

She had a mouth like yours

She knew your life

She knew your devils and your deeds

And she said, "Go to him, stay with him if you can

But be prepared to bleed"

Oh, but you are in my blood

You're my holy wine

You're so bitter

Bitter and so sweet

Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling

Still I'd be on my feet

I would still be on my feet

Taglist: @strawberri-blonde

#din djarin #din djarin x you #modern din djarin #din djarin/reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #the impossible man #din djarin x oc #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x original female character #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

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sarcasticsra · 1 year

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Excuse me a moment while I YELL INTO THE FUCKING VOID.

Vyvanse is having shortage issues now. Had to call my pharmacy because I hadn’t gotten a notification on that one and wanted to see if there was an issue. Evidently yes, the issue is that it is out of stock and they don’t know when they’ll get it again.

I hate everything about how we handle ADHD meds in this stupid fucking country. Because now I have to either hope they have it in soon or call around to the other five pharmacies in town to see if they have it, and if they do, then I have to call my doctor to get an entirely new prescription sent, and THEN I have to call my original pharmacy back to have them cancel the old prescription in their system so the new pharmacy can fill it.

Why? Because it’s a schedule 2 drug and that means they can’t just transfer the fucking prescription.

Why? Because the War on Drugs has rotted our collective societal consciousness.

Why? Because there’s not a single fucking moral panic this godforsaken country won’t embrace with open arms, I swear to god.

So naturally that means we had to put the fucking drug cops in charge of medication quotas. And as we all know: ACAB.

“There’s so many new prescriptions!!! Zomg!!! Who knows if they’re legitimate because they were prescribed via telehealth!!!”

Oh wow so this disorder that makes it extremely hard to sustain and regulate attention and thus makes it difficult to do routine things like setting up doctor’s appointments (oftentimes multiple appointments) and then remembering them and getting to them on time… that somehow got diagnosed way more when we took away some of those obstacles? Madness! Witchcraft! Sorcery!

Before I was diagnosed/medicated there were literally days where I couldn’t even get out of bed. I would be laying there, staring at the ceiling, yelling at myself in my head to get up, get up, get up, you need to go to work, get. up. goddammit… to no avail.

Vyvanse has literally given me my fucking brain back. I can look at a task and think, “hmm, I should do that,” and then I just fucking do it. Do you know how many weeks’ worth of laundry I used to have just laying around in baskets because forcing myself to put it away was literally impossible? Do you know how fucking painful it is to look at a task that you have failed to complete, over and over, a simple task, a stupid task, you should just be able to do this, why can’t you just fucking do this…

I think people who have never experienced this can’t truly understand how horrific it feels to have to fight your brain on every. single. thing. Every single task is a calculation: can I do that now, if I don’t do that now will I be able to do that later, wait I already have to do task X and once I do that there’s no way I’ll have the mental energy to force myself to do task Y too. It’s like trying to get your work done on a computer with 80% of its resources being bogged down by bloatware. Can you get some things done? Sure, probably a few. But it’s going to take you three times as long and if you’re not careful the whole system will freeze and you’ll get absolutely nothing accomplished, and oh yeah, it’ll be wildly fucking frustrating the entire goddamn time.

It just absolutely infuriates me that we’re so fucking scared of the potential for “drug abuse” that we fuck over everyone, as if drug abuse is somehow the biggest moral failing in the world. Maybe if we addressed some of the things that lead to it, there would be less of it! Maybe just criminalizing everything is stupid, counterproductive, does not help in any measurable way, and oftentimes just makes everything worse!

And not for nothing, but if not for the truly incredible insurance I am lucky to have through work, getting diagnosed would have cost me $1200. My husband and I are doing well enough that we probably could’ve managed that in a couple installments, but for a large percentage of people, that prices them right out. And I live in a very low cost of living area. I can’t imagine what it costs elsewhere. How many of those “abusing” these meds just actually fucking need them but can’t afford to get them prescribed? Because even after the initial diagnosis, my first scrip cost $230 thanks to a deductible, and then $40/month after that. $40 isn’t awful, but there are plenty of people who do not have an extra $40 per month. (And my copay is on the lower end. I’ve seen people with insurance saying they’ve had to pay $200+ every month.) And then you have to have regular meds check ups, every 2 months or so. So add another $200 for each of those without insurance.

I’m extremely fortunate that the place I work not only offers great insurance but also pays 75% of the premium so that it’s actually affordable, and all of my outpatient mental health visits are covered at 100%. But I shouldn’t fucking have to be glad I won the employer lottery. I shouldn’t have to worry that I won’t be able to get the medicine that makes me functional just because we continue to exist in a society still fucked up by Calvinism to this day.

None of us should have to an endure a fucking asinine, callous, broken system that, whenever any of the myriad problems with it are brought up, has the audacity to go, “oh, don’t blame us, blame those other people who are also suffering!”

Fuck all the way off. We made all of this shit up. None of it is immutable. We just don’t give a fuck that people are hurting, and it shows.

#rant #adhd #adhd struggles #medication #medication shortage #this shit is why the villain is always capitalism

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crmsnmth · 2 months

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Inside of It

She used to tell me how useless I was that I was worth nothing and she was the only one who cares Making sure to separate from my family and friends She whispers in my ear as we lie i bed And it feels like she's driving ice-picks deepre with each word

She laps my face whenever I disagree Screaming matches that I know I cannot win But I keep trying to at lease make a point But she makes sure I've got nothing I'm dying at her hands, and she's yelling about the TV

Hospital visits, and I feel like a frequent flier Broken bones and wounds that just won't stop bleeding Cracked teeth and bruised kidneys Was your world tour beating sufficient? Was my tattered flesh up to your standards Would my twisted psyche be enough for you?

She used to control every aspect of my life And I was far too broken to noticed she wasn't a fix I let her open palm redden my cheeks Leaving her love nots she through away My art never went up on fridge But her art was created in the image of god A dagger and a bell TV witchcraft and a selfish taste

She once told me I should try again to die As I comforted her crocodile tears Sympathy becomes her prey and she's a ruthless hunter She cuts my head off to hang above the mantel She paints misery in gold Stealing lines from other's music And her mouth only opens to static

I never saw it while I was on the inside trapped in silken webs Her mouth is that of brown recluse fangs Watch the bite slowly rot She didn't need to bring me to six feet under I could've done this all on my own Drunk again off stale red wine on the bathroon floor As she throws places and knives and coffee mugs and silverware Which means tomorrow I'll have to buy more

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fierywitchy · 20 days

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I.... haven't been on here in a while lmao. I haven't really done much witchcraft for the past few months, I had exams and faced a massive load of ableism and stress and then plunged into a depressive spiral and spent most of July rotting in bed and .... yeah. The next month is looking to be yet again super stressful and busy, I really want to get back into my practice but I don't know how that will go.... at the very least I have a bunch of posts saved in drafts (reblogs) that I need to sort through and tag and maybe that will help me get back into things?? but then again i am going away to uni (half my witchy stuff is packed away atm) and the huge change is freaking me out and.... well i just don't know how the next couple months are gonna go. um but yeah i haven't deactivated or left tumblr i just lost all motivation bc i am disabled in many ways 👍

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placeabo · 2 years

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Dead and dormant, lying in the DIRT like the remains of wronged pet, as it turned out was not the worst way to slumber. At the very least, Peter had been laid to unrest in privacy. Would the presence of a neighboring body made his crispy unrest any better? The Hale could not say, though it was a certainty that he had shared a bed, a floor, many surfaces with those who had stirred his arousal, and Isaac Lahey was not one who made it to the list.

Slumbering was ALL which transpired.. he assumed, hoped, as memory proved to lack its pristine quality. A haze hung over head, and when he swiped his wrinkled brow with his hand, the sticky quality of coagulating blood notified him things were not quite how they appeared nor felt. It was not a foreign sensation, horridly enough. The sting of wolf’s bane bubbled in the back of his throat, but the weariness of mind and memory was like the aftermath of dealing with abdominal witchcraft.

Peter snarled quietly, turning over and away from the sight of the slumbering puppy, and bringing half of the bed sheets with him as they stuck to him. The aroma of blood came to him in waves the longer he contained consciousness. At first, it was simply blood and the smell of Isaac, then followed the rot of stale organs and bowels. Tapetum lucidum of eyes glowed as sight focused on one thing to the next inside the decrepit room. Dated wallpaper, arterial spray, disturbed furniture, and bodily remains. What had they gotten themselves into? Peter rolled over to his prior position, curled his lip, and blew warm hair at the other wolf’s face.

❝ You’ve done it now.. ❞

▸ 𝑯𝑶𝑾𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵 . . . . . 🔴 — 13 generated ; peter and isaac sleeping together in their victims’ bloody sheets. 𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈 @heclaws . . . 〈 blood lust meme 〉

#. definitely had to think on my toes .#〈 . . . ▸ feed the wolf ──── peter ]#〈 . . . ▸ hear a voice from a shadow that is beckoning me ──── answered ]#〈 . . . ▸ era ──── born free / post show ]#heclaws #teen wolf rp

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thorn-harvester-ven · 2 years

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Once, there lived a princess with beautiful golden hair who married her beloved prince. As the years passed, her husband was throned king, and they had two beautiful twin sons. The kingdom and their people were extremely content and happy as the queen and king blessed the lands and the two princes began to grow older.

One day, the king had gone for a lone ride throughout the wood just beyond the castle, and having spooked his horse from a rustle in the bushes, he fell to the ground and was blinded from thorns that gashed his eyes.

Days went by where the king was missing, and his sons rode off with their men to find their father, coming upon the blind man. They took him back to his castle, where healers did their best to bring his eyesight back, but with no luck, the king was announced blind.

Upon her king, the queen wept for his eyes and his love, and as her tears fell and she kissed him upon his forehead, the sight of the king flooded back, as he blinked up to see the tearful face of his beloved queen.

But instead of being overjoyed with the cure, the king announced witchcraft, and banished his queen to a high tower with only a window, many feet high as an opening to the outside world.

As the women rotted in her tower, she was lost within her rage and remorse, demanded revenge on her husband, learning the use of her powers. As the years passed, she became her gift and turned power, all while her golden hair grew until it fell from the tower and onto the ground below.

With her chance to escape, she crept into the castle that had once been her home, finding the king asleep is bed with a new wife beside him. She struck them both dead, finding herself upon the room of her sons.

One of her sons laid peacefully in his bed, with a young wife beside him, and the woman who had been casted away couldn’t help but weep at the sight of her sons now grown men, having missed it all.

She wept until she found herself filled with rage, of how dare they let her be casted away, after all she did. After she healed their father and they named her a witch. She would show them what a witch she could be.

As she raised the same dagger she struck the king with, upon her sons heart, she learn a small noise from behind her, whipping around to see a small bassinet, with a young child sleeping inside.

And when her son and his wife woke, they found their baby girl gone, whisked away in the night.

All while in the tower she had once been cased too, a women with the long golden hair, rocked a child to sleep. Picking up her dagger, she sliced it short, in a tower surrounded by thorns.

#hayl rambles #my writing #short story

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inkwardspots · 2 years

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all she know is how to survive (but, tell me, how do you die?)

summary: Harry Potter, The Girl-Who-Lived-Twice (or is it thrice?) and Dark Lord Defeater, is a bit fucked in the head. Dealing with PTSD and being classed 'mentally unstable', trying to convince Andromeda to let her have a life with Teddy and now having to parent the baby of her arch nemesis is not how she imagined she would be spending her twenties (or her thirties, actually).

Watch as she deals with parenthood, PTSD, a career as a Hogwarts Professor and with being thrust back in time face-to- face with her daughter's Dark Lord father and her slightly-less-unhinged but equally terrifying just-married mother.

CHAPTER 7: all lost things return home, in the end (and i am one of them)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Harry Potter has many adventures, and though some she may never want, they will always lead her home.

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

[START BRIEF]

BRIEF NO.: #457

DATE: 29 October, 1999

LOCATION: Wool’s Orphanage, London; Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland; Headmistresses Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Grimmauld Place, London;

OCCASION: Escape. Escape. Escape.

OBJECTIVE(S): Run. Run, run, run, runrunrunrun –

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Run like the wind, so that no one will catch you floating – dying. END ADDITIONAL NOTES.

[END BRIEF]

…

It is a crazy, absolutely ridiculous adventure that Harry embarks on.

She’d wandered through London the first two days, relishing in the anonymity and the knowledge that Ron and Hermione wouldn’t miss her. Harry Potter didn’t exist for those two days, just a woman who dressed in a sensible combination of jumper and trousers with a brown coat, brown boots and flaming red hair and scarf.

Harry wonders now if those two days had been a mistake, but she can’t force herself to see it that way; she’d been able to taste a beautiful scone with some lovely tea and played muggle chess with a wizened old man who had beat her three times in a row and yet only cheered her on and offered suggestion to improve her game. Perhaps wandering muggle London at night wasn’t the smartest, but she’s been able to stop a mugging and had even shared beer over a game of footy in a sequestered corner bar.

She can’t call those moments a mistake, not at all.

But this?

She was definitely certain that this was a mistake, but who was Harry if not someone who made a mistake and stood back up?

And so, here she stands, the old building in fallen disrepair. There’s a To Let sign stuck in the ground and she’s pretty sure that a pigeon has died just near the door, probably mauled to death by a cat or fox.

The floor is littered with cigarette butts and shards of glass, and she’s pretty sure there’s been some squatters living here recently, but Harry doesn’t really care about that. She opens the door, ignoring the Do Not Enter! sign and pulls her scarf tighter around neck, minding the scattered marbles and the rotting wooden staircase, reaching the second floor and precariously stepping on the floor, careful of the sturdiness and stability of the floor.

She passes bedroom after bedroom, minds the discoloured stains on the floor and the black mould climbing the walls like monkeys and recoils in disgust at what she is pretty sure is a puddle of piss.

She turns a corner - an absolutely ordinary and inane corner - and finds what she is looking for, hesitating before opening the door, the etched name on the door clear of who this room belonged (belongs –) to.

Yes, Harry decides as she scrutinises the bare room, this was certainly a mistake, coming to Wool’s Orphanage.

Still, an adventure is an adventure, and Harry has never turned one away. She steps inside, cautious, and notes the dusty bed to the left. There is little on it, an abominably dusty duvet and a flattened, torn pillow. She approaches it and sits, dust settling on her coat as heavy rain settles on plants - overbearing and unneeded and in plentiful amounts.

The mattress is squeaky and weak, and not particularly comfy at that; just next to the head of bed is a wooden desk, untouched with dust settled like snow, and to the bottom is a large wooden wardrobe.

The one Dumbledore burned.

Curious, Harry inches forward, gingerly opening the door, half-expecting a curse to spring upon her.

There is no such curse.

There is not much at all, actually, only an empty clothesline and at the bottom…well, at the bottom is a shoebox.

She bends down and opens it, finding nothing but dust bunnies and a half-filled spool of emerald green thread.

Did Tom Riddle steal it, perhaps?

Or perhaps the Dark Lord had a secret hobby in embroidery?

The idea alone makes Harry laugh as she pockets the spool of thread, placing the delicate box back in its tiny nook. There is not much else in that wardrobe, unless, of course, you include the etched TMR, which Harry certainly doesn’t.

Still, she traces the elongation of the ‘T’ and the pristineness of the ‘M’ and the elegant loop of the ‘R’ .

She doesn’t know what quite to think of it, knowing that he marked this barren wardrobe as his, so she boxes it away in her mind, not to be touched again except in thoughts of morbid despair.

Next is the desk, there is no chair to be seen. Harry traces the grooves of the wood, each crack and crevice and chipped corner and wonders how many nights Tom Riddle spent doing his schoolwork on it, writing furiously away with a quill much like her own. She wonders how much time he spent poring over tomes on Ancient Artefacts and Dark Magic and normal things like Potions.

‘Course, he was probably a prodigy at all of them.

Dick.

Harry sniffs as she looks at the desk, wondering how many heinous crimes he planned to commit with the Chamber and how many times he would’ve ruminated over the fact that he was only able to kill Myrtle and nobody else.

Harry looks at this desk and wonders if Tom Riddle - bright, manipulative, astonishing - Tom Riddle knew that one day a prophecy would be his downfall.

(Harry wonders if she knew that one day it would be her downfall.)

She slides the desk drawer open, and is disappointed with its contents. There’s a broken quill nib, brown and deadened after all this time, and a few scraps of frail parchment. She collects those scraps and searches them.

She finds nothing,

What did I expect? Harry thinks bitterly, clenching the silk-thin paper in her hand. Some great revelation about Tom Riddle? Something to show he wasn’t completely a monster?

The paper burns in her hand, turning to ashes as she turns on her heel, only destruction left in her wake.

She walks only a step or two when the wood falls beneath her feet, trapping her foot in the floor.

She winces and grunts in frustration, pulling her boot harshly and destroying the floor board some more. She hates it, the way wood splinters spread across his room and some stay stuck in her boot, and yet, is that…?

She crouches down, small, nail-bitten fingers seeking to retrieve whatever shiny thing is in the floorboards.

There!

Nimble fingers clench whatever it is; it’s smooth and made of metal. She retrieves it and finds a small metal pot; it’s only about the size of her hand, with a small twisting lid. She twists to the left, and inside…well, Harry can’t help but laugh incredulously, a gentle warmth spreading through her despite the fact that these belong to Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle, who murdered her parents.

Tom Riddle, who was responsible for her being left an orphan.

Tom Riddle, who hunted her all her life and whom she killed to finally seek peace not only for herself, but all British Wizarding kind.

Tom Riddle, Harry remembers, tracing the only slightly textured swirl of the shiny pebbles in hand, who is really Voldemort.

Harry doesn’t linger long, now, leaving the floorboard broken and simply placing the metal cylinder inside her pocket, where the spool of thread also lays.

She tucks her hands in, feels the container and spool in one pocket and the other…oh.

She retrieves it and finds Remus and Tonks’ letters.

She had completely forgotten.

(What a horrible person she is, no?)

Eyes stinging, she places it back in her pocket and walks down the winding stairs, extra careful with her experience of foot-through-wood.

She passes the moulding walls and the decaying furniture and the To Let sign and the rotting pigeon carcass, and decides to finish her adventure with a cup of tea.

Yes, Professor McGonagall did promise her a cup of tea, didn’t she?

---

The trudge from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts is quite relaxing, actually.

Filled with butterbeer courtesy of the lovely Madame Rosmerta, Harry feels the warmth from the drink spread from her ears to her fingers to her toes. The leaves crunch underfoot, puddles littering the pathway from the light drizzle of earlier rain, and Harry is sure there is not that much further now to traverse.

She wonders what Hermione and Ron are doing.

…She wonders what Delphini is doing.

Still, no time for that, because at the gate –

“Hagrid!”

“Harry!” The half-giant bellows in turn, embracing Harry in a one-armed rib-crushing grip.

When he lets go, Harry can’t help but grin at him, not even minding the dead ferrets slung over his shoulder.

“‘Ow’ve yeh been, Harry?” Hagrid sniffles surreptitiously, voice suspiciously wet as he busies himself with some of the dead ferrets dropped on the floor.

“Alright, Hagrid.” Such a lie. “What about you?” Harry says, shaking her head fondly as she heaves one of the ferrets on her shoulder.

He nods in thanks as they trudge the rest of the way towards the gate, and as Hagrid paces forward, the dead ferrets loll over his shoulder.

Curiously, she is reminded of Malfoy.

The thought does not make her grin.

Shaking those morbid thoughts away, she runs forward; even after a growth spurt of a measly three inches in sixth year, Hagrid still towers above her, strong and stable and sturdy, and Harry wouldn’t have it any either way.

“Alrigh’, Harry.” Hagrid says brightly, the dark shadows of war overpowered by the present moment. “McGonagall’s havin’ me nest a whole nest o’ Hippogriffs! ‘appiest day of my life whe’ she told me.” At Harry’s panicked look, no doubt remembering third year and Buckbeak’s near-death, Hagrid is quick to reassure her. “No worries, Harry. All in safe ‘ands, ‘ere. Hippogriffs are on’ly mean’ for NEWT-level students, so don’ worry abou’ a thing. McGonagall’s bee’ very, very, clear with that.” He says with a huff, no doubt having some sore feelings over McGonagall's treatment of the Hippogriffs.

Harry smiles, happy to see her friend in such good spirits. “Are the ferrets for the nest, then?” Hagrid laughs, a great booming that resounds against the very trees. “Nah,” He says, waving his hand in denial. “Buckbeak - er, that is, Witherwings - is pregnant. Bee’ needin’ more ferrets than usual - sure that she’s gonna be sproutin’ twins a’ this rate!”

Harry’s first question should be: Buckbeak’s a girl?!

But instead it’s:

“Buckbeak’s pregnant?”

“Aye, Harry.” Hagrid says sagely, just as they reach the gate and he fumbles with the keys, dropping his sack of dead ferrets on the floor. “She’ll be a beau’iful mother, I tell yeh. Never looked as proud as now!”

“I bet she’s never been more vicious, either, Hagrid.”

“Well,” Hagrid mumbles, following the trail down to his hut, “Tha’s true too. Gave Filch a might’ nasty bite the other day. Bu’” Hagrid continues at Harry’s knowing glance, “Tha’s his fault! Every 'one knows how a nesting mother is, partic’larly a Hippogriff!”

Harry shrugs her shoulders, as if to say If you say so. but at this point, Hagrid is too deep in his conclusion that Buckbeak is harmless to be convinced otherwise.

“Wanna ‘elp me feed ‘er?” Hagrid says, seeming ever-so-delighted at the prospect.

Harry only has a minor bout of guilt when she says no.

“Sorry, Hagrid.” She says, dropping the dead ferrets by his feet. “Here to see McGonagall. Invited me over for tea, but didn’t send a date,” She says, already walking with feet backwards, “So I’m dropping by!” She yells, grinning and oblivious to Hagrid's shout of warning.

She makes her way up to the castle, revelling in the familiar turrets and towers and the darling wildflowers lining the stone steps. She’s so close to the doors of the Great Hall; she can hear the low chatter of students preparing for dinner. Only a push of the doors and she could see it - the Staff Table, with its high-decked chairs; the four house tables, all over a ten metres long and filled to the brim with food; the floating ghosts with their eccentric appearances and entertaining drivel.

But she can imagine the dead bodies in there, too. The collapsed windows, the destroyed house tables and crying relatives - she can remember, ever-so-clearly, Fred’s dead form and the Weasley family surrounding him. She can remember the scattered ceiling and the carefully meticulous Madam Pomfrey nursing every injury and her army of red-cheeked volunteers.

Hogwarts is a double-edged sword, Harry remembers, and it has the potential to either make or break her.

Can she face it? The new teachers, the new fresh-faced students. Can she face them and not accuse them of taking places belonging to those dead?

Could she do it?

She swallows and knows she could not.

She wishes she could enter the Great Hall and come out happier, but she knows she would not.

The grief would surface again - ten times more potent than ever before - and cripple her like no dragon or Dark Lord ever could.

And so, she swerves, taking the familiar winding staircases up to the Headmistresses Office; past the portraits and through the left passage and towards the Astronomy Tower but taking a left instead of a right. Never has she felt more enchanted with Hogwarts than now. Never more resplendent in knowing that Hogwarts will always welcome her home.

The portraits will whisper and gossip about Harry Potter, yes, but it is worth the hassle if she gets to touch these walls again. If she gets to walk these hallways and take these passages, lost in the nostalgia of her youth: sneaking treats from the kitchens and preparing the DA and practising pranks on Ron and Hermione both, planning with the Weasley twins as is her legacy.

It’s so easy to get lost in those memories of easier times, that she almost doesn’t notice reaching McGonagall’s office.

But she does, thankfully. The gargoyle stares, blank-eyed and impassive, not caring a drop for the young witch at its door.

Harry is tempted to blast it but knows that McGonagall would have her hide.

“I’m here to see Headmistress McGonagall.” She says instead, nodding towards the gargoyle. He stays still and impassive, seeming as if he is glaring at Harry.

“Name?”

A flicker of surprise passes through her face.

It has never asked her name before.

“Harriet Lily Potter.”

The gargoyle stares impassively again, as if judging her worth or whether she is truly who she says she is; Harry is almost tempted to reveal her scar to the stone-faced guardian when he turns, revealing the hidden staircase.

Perplexed, Harry climbs, step after step; the path is familiar, and she feels at home once again. Happiness is alight inside of her, because she is home, at last, within this castle, though it may not last long. Her feet thud against the stone floor, and the Headmistresses’ door appears closer and closer.

She feels apprehensive, suddenly; what if she is not welcome after all? She did pop by with no notice, but…the days away from Hogwarts have kept her longing for her first home. Godric’s Hollow was where her first year of life was spent, but Hogwarts?

Hogwarts has always stayed for her; has always stood strong and proud and cowered under no attackers might. Hogwarts, with her enchanted hallways and rotating staircases and wonderful, beautiful, feats of magic, was her first home.

Hogwarts, with her turrets and towers and trick steps, was the first place where Harry felt she truly belonged.

Gathering courage, she twists the door knob and is met with the oddest sight.

Professor McGonagall and…and Narcissa Malfoy.

Narcissa Malfoy, who lied to Voldemort for her son and saved Harry in the process.

Narcissa Malfoy, who hid Delphini in order to (most probably) protect her from those who would seek to harm her.

Narcissa Malfoy, who - judging by McGonagall’s harassed and tempestuous state - is trying to find the whereabouts of her niece right now.

Narcissa Malfoy, who is zeroing in on Harry and is walking closer and closer, a woman on a mission; and as she approaches, Harry notices things she hasn’t before. While before the war she looked untroubled by her son and husband by her side, she now holds a weight on her shoulders, a firmness in her jaw and a responsibility in the steps she takes.

Harry smiles tentatively as Narcissa’s strong façade drops, worry clouding her eyes and fear grasping her soul. “Do you have her?” She asks, desperate and worried. She had no time for proprietary, not with her hair in a disarray and her hands quivering like a snitch’s wings before it takes flight. She has never looked further away from the refined Malfoy image, even during the throes of war Harry saw the strength inside her, but now…now with her dead sister’s baby at risk, she is desperate and fearful and scared.

Simply so scared.

Harry knows she should not; it is a foolish and foolhardy decision to tell Narcissa Malfoy. But when young Delphini has so few people who care for her, and when one stands within her reach, aching for the knowledge of their niece…

Perhaps she should stay mum, let the Ministry and Kingsley sort this out. They said they could not entrust Delphini with the Malfoys because of their history, yet had they not aided the Ministry in the end, even if for the sake of their family, and had they not complied willingly in whatever pursuits needed to secure peace?

Had the Ministry and Kingsley not dumped this mess upon her, when there is a woman so willing to care for her niece - love her, even - in ways Harry cannot?

Harry cannot deprive this woman of only the knowledge that her only niece is safe.

She swallows.

“Yes.” She simply says. Narcissa’s eyes crinkle and she sighs, her whole body shuddering at the action. Harry is afraid she will collapse, seeing how unusually pale Narcissa is and how she seems only a nerve’s end away from all sanity leaving her.

Narcissa wets her pink lips, trying so hard to face this woman in the face. “I…We - Draco and I - meant to hide her, Miss Potter. She was never meant to be found. But she was!” Narcissa laughs, as if it is all some society joke. Harry does not know whether to feel sorry for the poor woman coping the only way she knows how or to feel enraged on Delphini’s behalf.

“She was found,” Narcissa says, subdued. She grasps Harry’s hands, desperate, and pleads; “I understand what my sister did and the Dark Lord did to you and your friends, Miss Potter. But I…” She swallows. “Please,” She is so close to begging, this Narcissa Malfoy. “Please, don’t take it out on my niece. She’s only small and I…I would hope that she can grow into someone different from my sister and the Dark Lord. Please,” She repeats, delicate eyebrows furrowed and customary Black eyes brimming with emotion;

With fear.

“Have mercy.”

Mercy?

(Please…Not Harry, please, not Harry! Have mercy, have mercy…!)

Harry is tempted - so tempted - to scream at this woman who begs at her feet. This woman whose sister destroyed the lives of many and whose husband’s master hunted her all her life; who reduced her world to ruins and got the easy way out: through death.

She’s so tempted to scream and shout and cry at this woman who traded wrath - no, death - at the hands of Voldemort in order to know the safety of her son. She wants to carve out her worried eyes and wrench herself from her trembling, quivering, grip and ask if she ever regrets it: regrets trusting and following a madman, regrets hiding her sister’s daughter.

Whether she regrets saving Harry?

Harry doesn’t dare to ask, afraid of the answer, but this is what she can give: she can assuage Narcissa Malfoy’s fears.

“She’ll be safe.” Harry says, muted as she retrieves her hands, tucking them into her pockets where those memories lie. “I’ll keep her safe.” Harry promises, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I won’t fault her because of her parents.” Harry says, jaw clenching slightly. “Because of who they are and what they’ve done. I’ll judge her on her own merits, Mrs. Malfoy.”

And what she says is true - she won’t judge that small child, with her curling brown hair and her eyes as different from night and day and her hissed whispers, about what her parents have done in the name of their cause.

She won’t.

(She mustn’t.)

“But,” She says slowly, “You must understand, I’m not equipped to be a guardian. A parent, even less!” A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of her, quick and short and forgotten.

She doesn’t even know if she’ll go back to that child and Ron and Hermione anytime soon.

Narcissa Malfoy clenches her jaw; perhaps she notes Harry’s faults, her deficiencies?

Perhaps, instead, she wishes for a different timeline where Delphini could have continued to grow into a young woman, hidden.

Narcissa swallows, wringing her hands. “If that is the case…Perhaps, you would be willing to drop by at Malfoy Manor - or elsewhere!” She soothes hurriedly at Harry’s alarmed look, “Or elsewhere. I can advise you on whatever matters regarding her welfare, and well…It is Delphini’s birthday, this Sunday. Her second, in fact.”

Sunday?

Oh.

October 31.

(What a sick sense of humour Fate has.)

She laughs, the sound wet. “It is her second, and we already missed the first, because of the court trials and…” She takes a calm, composed air. “And I do not wish to miss her second, Miss Potter.”

Harry is so unused to this; being in charge of who this young child meets? Caring for her and maintaining her safety?

How can she, Harry Potter, navigate this battlefield correctly?

“I need time.” Harry says quietly, itching to speak to McGonagall who hangs in the corner of her office, eyes shrewd and patient.

Harry’s mouth opens in surprise at Mrs. Malfoy’s nod. “Please,” She insists, “Take it, and…please, keep her safe, Miss Potter.” Her eyes are wide and, for only a split second, Harry is reminded of Andromeda.

Of Sirius.

“Many would kill,” Narcissa continues, pleads, “If they knew of her existence. Please, keep her safe, to the best of your ability.”

She is scared - so scared - of what this woman expects - pleads - of her.

“I will.”

Narcissa nods, smiling tentatively and scared, moves to smooth down her carelessly fashionable robes, leaving the room with not even a goodbye for the Headmistress she harassed or the woman she begged with, only a promise of safety between a mother and a child pretending to be grown.

The door slams shut and Harry is broken from her reverie, making her way to a harried McGonagall already stirring some tea.

“Sugar, Miss Potter?” She says in a way of greeting, dropping half a spoon in her own cup, mixing the liquid as it continues whirling like a hurricane before finishing with a smart tap-tap on the rim of her teacup.

“Teaspoon and a half, please, Professor.”

Harry collapses in the opposite seat, reminiscing of time spent here with Dumbledore. Evenings crammed over the pensieve and her absolute fury - heartbreak - over the death of Sirius, destroying everything within her grip as magic coursed through her veins and spritzed at her fingers. She remembers the explosive anger seeping out of her, turning to cold fury and unrelenting aloofness for those last few days of fifth year.

She had never wanted to relive those moments again, but now, she lives with something worse.

When she looks back, nostalgia filling her gaze, travelling through her like calming water, she can still feel that taste of bitterness, that anger, when she thinks of Professor Dumbledore all he hid from her.

But there is also joy and fondness, and perhaps, there may be hope, too.

But there is also grief - overwhelming, unimaginable grief.

Professor McGonagall sets the teacup and saucer in front of her, the ceramic hitting the wooden desk softly, waves of tea so close to spilling over the gold-rimmed cup.

The aged woman appraises her with a worried eye, taking a hearty sip of her tea as Harry does the same, reaching over into her first drawer to retrieve something.

She places it on the desk.

“Have a biscuit, Potter.”

Harry smiles silly, delicately taking one of the shortbreads and dipping it in her tea, the softened biscuit dissolving in her mouth as she washes it down with some more of the sweetened concoction.

“Thank you,” She says at last, meeting McGonagall's worried eyes, “Professor.”

“I received a letter,” McGonagall says without fanfare, selecting her own shortbread, “From Miss Granger and Mr Weasley. They say that you ran away from home.”

There is no judgement in her voice, but it does not make Harry feel any better.

“They’re worried about you, Miss Potter.” McGonagall says gently, placing her half-bitten biscuit on her saucer. “They wanted to know of your whereabouts. I had received the letter yesterday, and sent a reply only this morning, but if I had known…”

“Don’t tell them.” Harry says abruptly, slapping her teacup on her saucer. “Please, Professor. I’ll return when I have to.”

McGonagall looks at her so sadly, so much like Sirius and his ghost.

Harry can’t bear it.

McGonagall sighs and takes a large sip of her tea.

“The wee one misses you, Miss Potter. They wrote that she has not stopped crying for you for the past two days, only silencing when exhaustion and hunger overtake her.”

It is such a juxtaposition, to hear her speak of Delphini so fondly and to only appraise Harry with coldness for abandoning them.

Her.

“What I did was unforgivable.”

“What you did,” McGonagall says slowly, measuring each word precisely, “Was brought on by a mind of panic and fear and grief, Miss Potter. So much grief.”

Harry does not question how she knows, only knowing that she is wrong, and yet, so right.

Harry shifts uncomfortably in her seat, picking up her tea and letting the warmth soothe her, clenching the delicate pottery in her hands.

“That’s neither here nor there.” She says instead, taking a sip of her tea. She looks above McGonagall and finds no portraits of former Heads of School littering the winding ceiling.

“Where’ve the portraits gone?”

McGonagall pinches her lips.

“The Minister sent them away. For maintenance.”

“...Maintenance?” Harry says incredulously. “But they’ve never been taken before, have they?”

“No.” McGonagall sighs, looking as uneasy as Harry feels. “The magic used to create them is ancient; there was no reasonable excuse to take them, but the Minister insisted.”

Harry feels as if a black hole is opening up beneath her, swallowing where she stands and all that surrounds her.

What is Kingsley playing at?

Harry bites her lip, setting the cup gently down, her shortbread finished.

“Why was Narcissa Malfoy here, Professor?”

McGonagall sends a knowing look her way.

“Did she not discuss it with you?”

“Yes, but…"

“But exactly that.” McGonagall reiterates, folding her arms. “She demanded to know of the whereabouts of her niece, Miss Potter. I did not wield, seeing as it is classified information, but as her guardian…well, it is up to you with whom the wee one is allowed to meet.”

Harry’s stomach rolls in discomfort.

Her mouth is suddenly dry and she feels an overwhelming urge to stick Delphini by her side and make sure she is not harmed in any way.

Was it a foolish, ill-conceived mistake to reveal her whereabouts to Narcissa Malfoy?

Oh, why do these things have to be so complicated?

Why do these things have to happen to her?

“I should go, Headmistress.” Harry says at once, standing.

McGonagall stands too, rounding her desk to walk Harry out.

“Will you go back to them?”

“I…” Harry hesitates, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

“I’ll make sure they know I’m safe.” I’ll make sure they’re safe. “I don’t know if I’ll stay.”

McGonagall reaches over to grasp her elbow.

The heat of her hand permeates even Harry’s coat, and though her heartbeat quickens, it does not burst out of her chest.

“I worry for you, Miss Potter.” McGonagall says with a frown, so close to indulging in the use of her former student’s given name.

“Take care of yourself.” Professor McGonagall says, letting go of Harry’s elbow and opening the door.

(Her door. Not Albus’s.)

“And you, Professor.” Harry returns with a weak smile.

Professor McGonagall watches her leave and wonders how much longer she’ll pretend to be stronger than she truly is.

---

Harry is near the gate when she decides to take a detour to the Forbidden Forest.

She takes a step, only one, and expects an acromantula to pounce.

Luckily for her, it doesn’t.

She follows the trail she took to her death, noting the overgrown ferns and the dead leaves underfoot. She takes a turn left and almost wishes to meet those ghosts of the Resurrection Stone once more, but she doesn’t.

She walks for what seems infinity and yet is really only ten, twenty, minutes.

She takes a breath, fingers shivering in her pocket, and steps forward.

The clearing is just the same, she muses.

The same battered floor with its hoard of broken branches and twigs.

The same overhanging leaves that allow little light and only darkness to remain.

She can even remember it, the moment she died.

The horde of Death Eater’s there to witness their Lord’s miracle. The panting breath of Bellatrix Lestrange as she cackled, calling out to the smaller, younger, braver woman that was Harry.

She remembers Voldemort's serpentine face and Nagini at his feet, bored with the spectacle and only wanting to eat.

It had made Harry want to laugh, at that moment, to think that she was about to be killed and yet this snake only complained of hunger.

She can remember his serpentine hiss of “The Girl-Who-Lived…come to die.” before he burst into a manic grin, power luminous within his soul and fury at her refusing to bow to death.

She remembers the green light and how it welcomed her.

She remembers waking up in that train station, Dumbledore patient and herself questioning and simply confused.

She remembers that small bundle of the human that was his soul, and she wretches at the thought of him - any part of him - within her body, her mind.

Her soul.

She remembers dying and living and crying.

She remembers a dull victory at the sight of his body on the floor.

His body, dead and never to rise again.

His body, buried in this clearing.

His body, that can haunt her no longer, and yet, his mind and his soul and his daughter haunts her still.

His body, dead, but her memories of him alive and ready to tear her to shreds.

Ready to reduce her to fathomless dust.

She stands in this clearing and wants to go home, she realises.

She stands in this clearing, where his body resides six feet under foot, and she wants to go home.

Home to Ron and Hermione and Kreacher and to –

To Delphini.

Home to Delphi.

Small, tiny, precious Delphi who McGonagall said was crying for her.

Harry Potter stands in this clearing and turns on her heel, leaving the body of a dead man behind, and makes her way past Hagrid’s hut and out the gates and down to Hogsmeade, disapparating just as someone spots her familiar red locks and killing curse green eyes.

Harry Potter disapparates away and stands in front of Grimmauld, clenching one of Tom Riddle’s rocks within her pocket that had loosened out of that metal cylinder.

Harry Potter closes her eyes, releases a heavy breath and opens the door.

Harry Potter steps inside and is first met with furious, tear-filled glares and shocked, happy faces and eager hands.

Harry steps inside and is secondly met with warm embraces and tight arms and furious mutterings of “What were you thinking?!” and “Don’t ever leave again!”

Harry goes home, embraced within the arms of her furious, worried family and that is when deadly green eyes clash with curious green-and-brown ones.

Harry goes home and Delphi is shoved into her arms, the small one clenching Harry’s flaming hair within her tiny, pudgy hands and proclaiming “Red.” fiercely as if riding into battle, as if she is sure “Red” will never leave her side again and she will guarantee with all her tiny might.

Harry goes home and is met with a furious Hermione and a shocked but happy Ron and a snarling, worried Kreacher and a determined Delphi who refuses to let go of her hair and she realises that she is content.

She realises that, perhaps, all is not as bad as it seems and maybe she can get better after all, with all of them by her side.

Delphi looks up, hair clenched in her hands, a young monster of a child that Harry could learn to care for, and warbles, “Red.” mouth quivering like a flickering snitch and her eyes wide as Harry sighs, holding the small child tighter. “Yes, little one.” She hisses, stroking a rampant curl behind her pixie ear once more, unbelievable tenderness filling the action.

“Red.”

#inkwardspots fic #inkwardspots #i hope you enjoyed!!#all she knows is how to survive (but tell me how do you die?)#female harry potter #hp fic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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stolen-pen-name23 · 3 years

Note

If you feel like it, maybe "You have to help(/save) him! Please!" referring to Anakin, for either Ahsoka about her Master or Obi-Wan about his Padawan?

Thank you for the prompt! I went with Obi-Wan and Anakin as his padawan! // from these prompts // prompts now closed

---

Obi-Wan can sense Anakin weakening with every hour that passes.

The boy is limp in his arms and Obi-Wan is constantly pushing against their young bond to make sure that it still exists — that Anakin still lives.

“You have to stay with me, Padawan,” Obi-Wan says, his voice betraying his own fears. “Come on, keep your eyes open.”

“Can’t,” Anakin murmurs.

“Yes, you can,” Obi-Wan insists. “Just open your eyes. Look at me.”

“Hurts. Don’t feel good.”

“I know, but you have to hang in there. We’re almost out of here,” Obi-Wan says, hoping he is right.

Evidently, Anakin can sense that it is only that — a hope.

“You don’t know that,” Anakin says. “You don’t even know where we are.”

The boy has him there. He can only guess which direction to go, relying heavily on the Force and hoping that his intuition is correct.

Being lost in the jungle is not the ideal situation. Being lost in the jungle with a young Padawan is an even less ideal situation. Being lost in the jungle with a young and very sick Padawan with no supplies? Well, that is just bad luck.

Very bad luck.

Their ship crashed days ago. Obi-Wan got away unscathed, but Anakin received a nasty gash on his arm — a nasty gash that is now infected. Anakin’s feverish skin burns so hot, Obi-Wan can feel it through his tunics.

Obi-Wan had been able to salvage some water and a little bit of food from the wreckage. The food ran out two days ago and the water ran out this morning. Every stream and babbling brook he passes tempts him, but he resists the urge to drink. Obi-Wan did not have any iodine to treat the water, and even though his mouth feels like it is stuffed with cotton, he knows making himself sick with unclean water will only serve to make the situation worse.

He growls in frustration. Without bacta, without water, without antibiotics, Anakin will not make it to tomorrow. Without water, Obi-Wan will not make it much longer than that.

Obi-Wan keeps moving forward and prays it is the right direction.

His prayers are answered. Or at least, he hopes they are. The forest thins slightly and his eyes land on a rudimentary palisade. Behind it, he can see the sloping arches of roofs.

Obi-Wan finds himself once again praying to the Force. This time, he prays the people living behind those walls are friendly. He conceals his lightsaber in his robe and follows the palisade until he comes across a gate with a metal latch. Tossing Anakin over his shoulder, his shaking fingers work the gate’s handle until it swings open.

The jungle has been cleared to make way for homes and buildings. They are not as advanced as anything that would be found on Coruscant, but they are not as underdeveloped as the rotting palisades or the surrounding jungle environment would have led Obi-Wan to believe.

It is evening, and presumably, a quiet one as no one appears on the gravel streets. Obi-Wan once again relies on his intuition to select a small house. He stumbles over to it and bangs on the door.

No answer.

His fist connects with the hardwood. The last shreds of Obi-Wan’s hope exist behind that door, and the thought of carrying on in search of help somewhere else after coming so far is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. He extends his hand to knock a third time when the door swings open.

“Hello?” a middle-aged man asks, confusion and caution guarding his expression. Obi-Wan can hardly blame him, but desperation has replaced decorum for the time being.

“You have to help him,” Obi-Wan pleads with the stranger. “Please. He’s sick, he’s injured and…”

Obi-Wan sways — thirst, hunger, and exhaustion seemingly catching up with him now that he has found some help.

“We have a healer in town,” the man says without questioning the mud-covered man standing at his doorstep. “Come, it seems you both need it.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says gratefully. He shifts Anakin off of his shoulder and back into his arms.

“I can take him,” the man offers.

Something protective rears its head inside of Obi-Wan. “No, I’ve got him,” he says suspiciously.

The man raises his hands in surrender. “Let me know if you change your mind. You’re not looking too good is all.”

“I’m fine. It’s him who needs help.”

“I’d say you both do. Can I ask what happened?”

“Our ship crashed and we got lost. He’s hurt and I can feel him slipping away and it’s my…”

Obi-Wan can’t finish the thought. His voice is thick with emotion from the stress of the whole debacle and the fear that Anakin very well might not make it even when they do get to the healer.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Sounds like you’ve been through quite a lot. Let’s just find that healer alright?”

Obi-Wan nodded, grateful for the kindness of strangers.

The man leads Obi-Wan to a small, but sturdy-looking building. They rush in and find the healer that was promised.

“Please help him,” Obi-Wan practically begs. “He needs help.”

“Come, young one, bring him here,” the healer responds, gesturing to a bed. “Lay him down. I’ll take a look at him.”

Obi-Wan sets Anakin down and takes a stumbling step backward. The man grips his shoulders and steadies him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, but his voice sounds like it’s underwater.

“Help him… you have to…” Obi-Wan’s knees buckle and he can vaguely feel large hands grab hold of him before he hits the floor.

His legs drag useless and limp underneath him as he is pulled across the room and laid down on a soft surface.

“Anakin…” he murmurs one last time before falling into unconsciousness.

***

When Obi-Wan wakes, he bolts up where he sits. His chest heaves up and down rapidly. To his side, Anakin lays pale and still as death.

“Anakin?” he asks, panic curling into his voice, his lungs, his very soul. “Anakin please.”

“He’s alive,” the healer from before says as she enters the room.

Obi-Wan’s fears are only partially alleviated. “Will he stay that way?”

“The infection was aggressive, but I have him on strong antibiotics. He is stable and will be fine as long as you keep him on the antibiotics, keep the wound clean and keep him hydrated.”

Obi-Wan lets out a deep breath.

“Now as for you,” the healer says accusingly. “Your blood sugar was very low. You were very dehydrated as well.”

“We were lost. We ran out of supplies,” Obi-Wan offers as defense.

“Really? The boy was not nearly as dehydrated as you were.”

Obi-Wan swallows thickly. “He needed the water more than me. He was sick. I needed him to stay alive.”

“If you died of thirst before him, neither of you would have made it.”

Obi-Wan looks down in shame. “He needs to live,” Obi-Wan says, offering the reasoning for a second time. He cannot call it an excuse because he means every word of it.

“Very well. Just be more careful with yourself next time? He needs you too, you know?.”

Obi-Wan feels a lump form in his throat. “I will.”

There is a pause and Obi-Wan starts to sense a trepidation coming from the woman.

“I know what you are,” the healer says, glancing over at a side table where Obi-Wan’s lightsaber lay. She must have found it while he was unconscious.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan questions, unsure if the people of this planet are for or against the Jedi. Obi-Wan really hopes this isn’t one of those planets that believes the Jedi practice witchcraft and ought to be burned at the stake.

“The people around here don’t really care for your kind.”

So much for that.

Obi-Wan’s chest tightens at the confirmation of his suspicions.

“We sent off one of our own to the Order years ago,” the woman explains. “She died on a mission. It was a long time ago, but this is a small community. It’s hard to forget.”

Obi-Wan wonders if it was a Jedi he knew, or if it was a Jedi who died before he was even born.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says. It is all he has to offer at the moment.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your identity quiet.”

Relief pours into his veins. “Can I ask why?”

She gestures to Anakin. “I would hate whatever family he has left to find out he died on a mission. It’s a tragic thing.” the healer says. “Besides, it is my job to heal, no matter what you are.”

“You’re honorable.”

“I’m just a healer,” she said, brushing him off. “I have already gone to the liberty of contacting your Order. They will come for you and your apprentice tomorrow. Just don’t try to leave here before they come to pick you up. I can’t protect you once you leave these halls.”

The tightness in Obi-Wan’s chest loosens somewhat.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, “for your kindness and for your discretion.”

“Of course. Just don’t make a habit of crash landing on my planet.”

“I’ll do my best,” Obi-Wan says with a weak smile.

The healer leaves and Obi-Wan is left alone with Anakin. He stares at the child lying still in the bed beside him and has to watch for the slight rise and fall of his chest to reassure himself that the boy is, in fact, alive.

Obi-Wan swings his legs over the side of the bed and drags his IV along with him so that he can stand beside Anakin. His legs still feel shaky and his body weakened, but he refuses to leave Anakin’s side.

Eventually, he finds a chair to drag over and sit in. He grabs Anakin’s hand and rubs his knuckles with his thumb. Anakin’s hand is still small and soft with youth. It does not yet have calluses formed from years of wielding a lightsaber as Obi-Wan’s do.

He’s still innocent.

Obi-Wan tries not to think about how close he was to losing Anakin. He doesn’t think he could have taken it — not so soon after his Master and well… it would have been an awfully cruel thing to lose two members of his lineage in the span of a few months.

A soft groan escapes the child’s lips and Obi-Wan perks up.

“Anakin?”

Anakin scrunches his face up in discomfort.

“Wait here, I’ll find the healer and then—” The little hand squeezes Obi-Wan’s tighter, stopping him in his tracks.

“Master…” Anakin murmurs. He squints and blinks a few times. Anakin’s eyes focus on him and Obi-Wan could swear he saw them light up just the slightest bit.

“Master?” Anakin asks. “Where are we? What happened? Why am I…”

“Shhh,” Obi-Wan says, slowing Anakin down before he can get himself worked up. “You’re safe now. We found our way out of the jungle. We’re going to go home soon.”

Anakin nods, but remains silent

“Talk to me, Anakin. Does it hurt? Are you in pain?”

“No… I mean… a little. Don’t feel that good.”

Guilt pools in Obi-Wan’s stomach and he takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Anakin. For all of this.”

“Why? You got us out,” Anakin says. “You saved us.”

Obi-Wan looks away. “I also crashed the ship. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have… you wouldn’t have…”

His eyes sting and he blinks rapidly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Anakin says, and he is so sure of himself Obi-Wan almost feels some of the guilt melt away. “You got us out didn’t you? And I’m going to be okay. Really.”

“You’re okay,” Obi-Wan says softly, reaffirming it to himself.

“What about you?” Anakin asks.

“What about me?”

Owlish eyes blink up at him. “Are you going to be okay?”

Obi-Wan squeezes Anakin’s hand.

“Yes, Padawan. I’m going to be okay.”

#prompts now closed #thanks for the prompt!#my writing #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH31

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 31: Star Death Reality Show (XIV)

He did it!

He actually did it!

After running out of this corridor and reaching a safe corner, Qi Leren's flying heart finally fell back to his chest. He collapsed on the ground from how much he had been drained of all his strength, left only with the strength to pant.

Qi Leren had loaded the save file three times in a row just now, that is, he had done it for the first time since the Witchcraft Sacrifice task. He clearly remembered that the last time he had loaded it like this, he couldn’t stand at all afterwards. Today, however, he had loaded the file three times in a row in this extremely challenging high intensity, but he had still been able to burst out of that corridor of death with explosive force… This was not only a breakthrough in physical fitness.

Qi Leren looked at his hand with a hint of thoughtfulness.

Was it because Maria had given him the blessing of the holy light? Since then, although Chen Baiqi let him know every day that his limit was far higher than he imagined, his training days were limited and he couldn't have advanced by leaps and bounds to this extent, even entering the state of "breaking the shell" as described by Chen Baiqi.

In the last few seconds after the file had been loaded when he had run out of the corridor, he definitely broke through the limits of the human body. This was true for speed, agility, willpower, and judgment. Even now that he was out of danger, this breakthrough after exceeding the limit still benefited him greatly.

Qi Leren looked deep into the corridor, and under the faint light he could clearly see the details that he should not have been able to see—peeling walls, broken corners, scattered folders... He hadn't had such good night vision before.

The weakness of his body brought a strong sense of insecurity. Without the peeping eye of the camera, Qi Leren took out a strength potion and drank it steadily, waiting quietly for his body to adjust. His physique was much better now than before. Even if he was trained hellishly one day, he could always continue to exercise without the soreness of exhausted muscles the next day, which made Chen Baiqi very pleased. She had praised him for being much better than she had been, having the ghost-like appearance of a dead dog every day—Qi Leren felt that she was also pretty harsh towards herself.

After his physical strength was restored, Qi Leren stood up and continued to move forward, taking every step carefully.

The scope of this underground facility was huge, so it wasn’t clear whether it was an air defense facility or an underground research institute. However, from what he could see, it was not a particularly high-tech type of place, but rather it had the Soviet architectural style of the Cold War period. The most incredible thing was that this underground facility had electricity! When Qi Leren walked in front of a closed door and pressed the switch, the iron door would still open. It seems that after entering it, there is no detection system like the laser corridor.

What the hell was this place? Qi Leren, filled with doubts, carefully continued to move forward. This underground space was so large that there were even elevators leading levels deeper underground. Because he couldn't read the alien words, Qi Leren could only guess a little from the symbols. There were danger warning signs everywhere. He feared that this wasn’t an air defense facility, but more likely an underground military base built to prevent nuclear war.

However, when this door was opened, the pictures that appeared in front of him made Qi Leren forget his many speculations and affirmed his original expectation.

This was an underground research institute!

This room was as big as two basketball courts and thick pipes ran along all of the walls, ceilings, and floors, so it was impossible to tell where the light source came from. And in the middle of the room, countless column-shaped growth chambers were like rows of pillars, spreading before his eyes to the end of the room. Each growth chamber was connected with a pipe. In the time when they were used, this pipe provided them with oxygen and nutrient solutions. However, after the underground fortress was abandoned, the nutrient solutions became turbid liquid, and the things in the growth chambers had already died.

It was a scene that could only be seen in science fiction movies. Qi Leren was thinking about this as he approached a growth chamber. There was a mass of something in the dirty liquid. Considering that it had been abandoned for many years, there was no doubt that the creature inside was dead, but it had not rotted away.

What was in the growth chamber? Qi Leren took out his flashlight and wanted to take a look at the contents, but just at the moment when he took out the flashlight from his item bar, he heard a click.

Maybe he wouldn't have realized what it was before, but now, even if he heard it in his dreams, he would jump out of bed and fight back—it was the sound of a handgun’s safety being taken off!

Qi Leren flashed behind the growth chamber without thinking and squatted down. He took out the gun that Chen Baiqi gave him and held it in his hand. However, after a short thought, he decided not to launch an attack rashly, but asked aloud: "He Yi?"

"...Qi Leren?" He Yi's voice, which was horribly hoarse, came from behind another growth chamber.

Sure enough, it was He Yi!

Qi Leren put his hand holding the gun behind his back and slowly came out from behind the growth chamber, but did not dare to stray too far from his bunker: "What happened to you and Mark? Afterwards, I sneaked into Annie's house and found the attic in her house. I also found the pipe embedded in the wall leading to the basement. Is that how you came down here?"

He Yi, who was hiding behind the growth chamber, was silent for a while before he came out slowly.

He doesn't seem to be in a good state; his lips are chapped, and there were red burst vessels in his eyes. Instead of relaxing his vigilance, he continued to point his gun at Qi Leren and snapped: "Take your right hand out."

Qi Leren slowly stretched out his right hand from behind his back, but what was in his hand—the gun—had been quietly replaced by his knife. He wasn’t sure whether the invisible camera beside He Yi had been shut off, so he couldn't take out the gun that would be difficult to explain the source of, and he didn't need to use it—dealing with a weak opponent who didn’t know how to hold a gun properly, he didn't need his own gun at all.

With a ting, Qi Leren threw the knife to the ground. He raised his hand and showed a sincere expression: "What happened? You don’t look very good..."

"Don't talk, come over to me and follow my instructions." He Yi gave him a cold look, and his eyes were full of doubt.

"Okay, I'll do it. Don't be nervous. I mean no harm." Qi Leren walked slowly to stand before He Yi and took the initiative to show him the back of his head.

He felt the tension at this time; what had made him so shocked and frightened? After seeing this underground research institute, Qi Leren could vaguely guess: He Yi already knew about the octopus, and he knew that the octopus had parasitized this group of contestants. But at this moment, he couldn't be sure whether Qi Leren, who had suddenly appeared before his eyes, had been parasitized.

But he obviously didn't intend to kill him, otherwise he could have already done so. Did he have some means to detect whether he was infected or not?

He Yi's gun pointed at Qi Leren's head and he continued hoarsely: "Walk forward, go through this door, take the left corridor..."

The two people walked in tandem through the corridors in this maze-like underground research institute. He Yi, who had come here a few days earlier, was more familiar with the route than Qi Leren. He guided Qi Leren all the way to the third floor underground, and then stopped in front of a thick iron door.

"Press the switch to open the door."

Qi Leren did it, the door opened, and the room inside came into view. This was a room like a medical bay with some items that looked like medical instruments.

Qi Leren, who suddenly realized what sort of equipment it was, glanced at He Yi. He stood in front of a monitor and commanded Qi Leren to stand at the wall opposite him.

He Yi, this guy, wanted to confirm whether he had been parasitized, as Qi Leren has suspected.

A blue curtain of light swept over Qi Leren, and He Yi kept staring at the monitor, finally relieved.

But even after seeing this, the calm and even slightly superior temperament of old still did not return to him. He still looked very anxious, even though he tried to restrain himself: "Thank God, you’re not parasitized. Sorry, I shouldn't have pointed a gun at you before. I can explain the ins and outs to you. We’re in danger right now!

"It hatched, it actually... hatched! That monster that almost destroyed all intelligent life in the whole universe is now hidden among us. It’s already bred and is still breeding! According to their habits, it should be that the 'Genocide Day' where they break out and eliminate us all will be the fifth day!"

Today, it was already the fourth day.

-----

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rextasywrites · 3 years

Text

Little Darling 3 - a Lady Dimitrescu x Mia Winters fanfiction

"Mia trashed around in her sleep, not able to find a minute of rest. ‘No...no...Rosy...Ethan…’, her whimpers were heard all over the floor, making Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters look up from their studies. The daughters shared looks while Lady Dimitrescu let out a sigh, standing up. “Let me handle this. I know how she is feeling.”, as she walked to the room Mia was staying in. Cold sweat covered the woman’s forehead, her face pulled into a grimace. ‘Oh Mia, how similar we are’, Lady Dimitrescu thought as she walked over to the woman caught in a nightmare called life."

two chapters in one day? this fic has taken over all my creative ideas atm! :D <3 <3 <3 hope you enjoy it! !!!Flashbacks are written in cursive!!!

Warnings: tw for the turning of Lady Dimitrescu and the abuse and torture she had to face before!

Part 1 Part 2

“No! No! Get away from me!”, Alcina cried out as the men stepped closer to her. Armed to the teeth and not in the mood to take prisoners. Dorina clung to her mother’s leg, not understanding what was going on. As Alcina had her back against the wall, she knew she was losing.

“Get here, witch. Go without a fight and we might let you live. But only might!”, a round of disgusting laughter spilled from the lips of the knights. In no time, they had Alcina and her children tied up, on horseback transported to the castle of the king. Once they arrived, everything went black for Alcina the moment a heavy piece of iron hit the back of her head.

The next thing she knew was darkness and pain. Alcina’s head throbbed as she looked left and right - she was the only one in a dark cell, sitting in some kind of unknown fluid that was staining her dress, leaving her shivering and feeling filthy. But at least these knights let her keep her clothes, which was an improvement to the last time she had been taken for ‘witchcraft crimes’. The only reason why she managed to walk free was because she helped the king with a serious illness. ‘Leave this kingdom and never come back’, they said to her. And that’s what she did. Barefoot and pregnant, she ran for her life and never looked back. But the past would always come to haunt her.

A small light was flickering in the hallway leading to the cell, once the candle reached a certain height, it managed to illuminate the cell a tiny bit. Mold was growing in a corner of the cell, making Alcina cough at the mere sight. Staying in here for too long would make her sick for life. How long has she already been in here?

The door to the cell was thrown open, some knights marching in. They wordlessly ripped the restraints off Alcina’s body, pushing her with them. Fighting back would get her killed, so she remained silent. Just let them do, and maybe they realize the mistakes they are making. But Alcina realized her mistakes the moment she laid eyes on the dead bodies of her children.

Mia trashed around in her sleep, not able to find a minute of rest. ‘No...no...Rosy...Ethan…’, her whimpers were heard all over the floor, making Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters look up from their studies. The daughters shared looks while Lady Dimitrescu let out a sigh, standing up. “Let me handle this. I know how she is feeling.”, as she walked to the room Mia was staying in. Cold sweat covered the woman’s forehead, her face pulled into a grimace. ‘Oh Mia, how similar we are’, Lady Dimitrescu thought as she walked over to the woman caught in a nightmare called life.

The knife was probably rusty but still good enough to cut into prisoners’ body. Alcina screamed in pain as her wrist was cut open, the blood pouring on the floor under the table she was restrained against. A man dressed like a plague doctor came up to her, pressing an unidentified ‘plant’ against the open wound. The wound sealed upon its touch, taking in the ‘plant’ under scraps of blood and regrowing skin. It felt like Alcina could feel the plant growing under her skin, sprawling through her bloodstream, burning like the fire she had used to keep herself warm just mere hours ago. Was it the mold she had seen in her cell?

And suddenly, the restraints felt like warm butter against her body, and with a quick movement, Alcina ripped them off her body. The changes were instantly present. Her muscle mass doubled in mere seconds, and any attack from the knights in the room felt like someone was brushing against her. Alcina threw the men against the walls of the mysterious room, breaking their necks with a few simple strikes. Once all the knights in the room were dead, Alcina broke free, noticing how her height was slowly increasing. Centimeter by centimeter, she felt larger and stronger than anyone or anything she had ever seen before. The feeling of power was something she could get used to.

After running amok in the castle, killing everyone and everything that came into her sight, Alcina threw all the dead bodies into the cellar to rot. Her babies got a funeral in the backyard of the castle, and word spread fast. A monster was living in the castle of Dimitrescu, ready to kill anyone that came close enough for it to smell the human. Was it a vampire? The locals tended to stay away from the castle, not in the mood to be murdered by a monster. And Alcina, now called Lady Dimitrescu in memory of the king she had slaughtered with her bare hands, only killed when she was very thirsty.

Mia gasped and sat up on her bed, shock and fear written across her face. Lady Dimitrescu was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with so much pity. She remembered the pain she had to go through hundreds of years ago as if it was yesterday. “Mia.”, Lady Dimitrescu whispered as she stepped closer to the woman in the bed, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Tears welled up in Mia’s eyes as she thought of her dream. Ethan. Rosy. Slaughtered by the same man who slaughtered her like some pig in a den. “I-”, Mia choked out, but Lady Dimitrescu just placed a hand on her shoulder, showing her as much comfort as she could.

“You don’t have to say anything. I have been through the same pain before. It’s okay. Just let it out, Mia.”, and with those words, every dam in Mia’s body broke. Sobbing against the chest of a fucking vampire, Mia let out all the feelings she had kept hidden and locked away inside of her.

“It’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair! I just want a damn family and not deal with bio weapons!”, she cried as Lady Dimitrescu tightened her hug a little bit, staining her dress with tears and snot. “Ethan nearly died because of me before! Rosy might die because of me! What an useless bitch I am! I cannot even keep my family safe!”

Her cries of hate and sorrow filled the halls of the castle as she begged to every God out there for mercy and to let this nightmare end. But Lady Dimitrescu knew, any God had abandoned humans a long time ago. With soft ‘let it out’s, she was able to calm down Mia sooner or later, until the woman was exhausted from all the screaming and crying she had done.

“Here”, the door was suddenly opened with Cassandra standing in it. She was carrying a glass of cold water, handing it to Mia as she dried her face off the tears and snot in a handkerchief. “You must be thirsty after so much crying.”, instead of waiting for an answer, Cassandra left the room in a hurry, leaving Lady Dimitrescu and Mia alone again. Mia gladly drank some of the water, the incoming headache from crying already around the corner.

“You should try to rest now, Mia.”, Lady Dimitrescu said while she stroked over Mia’s back, giving her at least some comfort in these horrible times.

“Can you stay here? I am so scared.”, Mia asked the vampire lady to her surprise. But who was she to deny such a sweet request?

“Of course, Mia Winters.”, she chuckled. With a quick movement, she took off her heels and moved with Mia under the blanket, an arm around the woman. Lady Dimitrescu was cold all over, but this helped Mia with her incoming headache as she slowly relaxed into sleep. “Good night.”, Lady Dimitrescu said before she placed a kiss on Mia’s forehead, and for a moment, Mia could pretend she wasn’t in a castle in Romania with her family in danger.

#lady dimitrescu #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #mia winters

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hwxnghyynjin · 2 years

Text

You Should See Me In A Crown (Teaser)

Pairing: park jongseong x reader Genre: royalty!au, horror, smut, angst Warnings: character death, mentions of vomiting, mentions of blood, mentions of witchcraft, more tba Words: 404 (teaser), actual word count tba Taglist: @jaylaxies @jaysbiceps @forjongseong @moasworld @heeseongism

Now, 8 years later at the age of 20, everything else has gone to shit.

#park jongseong #enhypen fic #jay #enhypen

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Text

Creatures in the dark Part 2

Pairing: witch!Steve x Reader

Warning: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, allusion to non-con.

Words: 2454.

Summary: A monster dressed in human flesh was waiting for you in the woods.

Part 1

____________

That night neither your grandfather nor you returned to your beds. Despite being afraid of revealing your secret, you told him everything: about the Plague and your encounter with the dead and the boy with a lantern who you thought came to save you. Your grandfather, and old, but tough man, had cried upon hearing your story, and you cried too. You didn't remember him dropping a single tear when his wife or grandson had died, but now his face was all wet.

Once the first ray of sun reached your house through the crack in a wooden shutter, the old man rushed to the witch living in a hut at the end of the village while you stayed home, putting more ash to the door. You didn't know whether the monster lurking in the woods could walk in the daylight, but you didn't want to risk it. Maybe he wasn't as powerful as the Plague if her mark prevented him from casting a spell on you, yet he was obviously strong enough to tear a human being apart.

You had no idea how much time you spent there all alone, praying in the corner, but your grandfather returned with both the witch and one of the elders, all of them with grim expression on their dirty faces.

"Not good, not good." The old woman whose grey hair were covered with a bleak blue scarf told you, spinning around you and shaking her head. "Not good at all."

"What's not good, granny Iva?" You asked, calling her the same way you did when you were a little girl. "What do you see?"

"The blessing of the Rotten One does no harm to you, dearest child, but she gave it to you for a reason. The boy you saw was no boy at all. His scent is all over you." Her quiet raspy voice sounded like a thunder to you.

"We'll wash it off!" Your grandfather exclaimed in despair. "I'll bring water and wood to the bathhouse-"

"Silly man, no water can help you wash it off her." The elder said in return, stepping closer and looking at your forehead suspiciously. "What's already done can't be reversed now. Besides, if the Plague herself had told you it's your fate to meet the monster in the woods, we mortals can do little about it."

"But he'll take me away. He will drag me out of the house and eat me alive!"

"No, my dear. That horned monster doesn't eat human flesh. He came to claim you." The old witch whispered, taking the red like blood beads out of her pocket. "To wed you, whether you come willingly or not."

Horrified with the revelation, you felt hot tears falling down your cheeks, and your grandfather quickly embraced you, dropping a kiss to your forehead. Looking at the two angrily, he shouted, "I'll better die than give her to that creature."

"Whether you want it or not, there's not much we can help her with." The witch bit her dry, chapped lips. "My magic has never been as strong as his even when I was young and powerful. But I keep wondering why Plague had given you a blessing, yet asked you not to run from the monster. Why? What is the meaning behind her words? What strength did she grant you with her mark?"

"H-he said I wouldn't rot now." You muttered, leaning closer to the old man. "Nothing else. What other strength could it give me?"

The woman motioned to the elder, and he returned to the door, opening it a little. Before your grandfather had snapped at him furiously, the witch pointed at something on the floor. As you looked there, you saw nothing suspicious and furrowed your brows. What was there so special? As you turned your head to the woman to ask her, your grandfather suddenly gasped.

"Look! Your shadow!"

Carefully observing it again, you realized yours was much longer than shadows of others, though you were all standing close, and it couldn't possibly be the play of light. You gulped down and bit your tongue painfully. What was that all about? What was this power, if there was any at all?

You slowly moved your arm, and the shadow moved its own, following your command as it always did. Except for its length, there was nothing particularly strange.

"Ask it to move by itself."

"What do you mean? How do I ask for it?"

"Just make a wish, it's simple."

Your grandfather was pretty much terrified with witch's words, and for a moment you thought you had never seen him like that in your entire life. The elder, however, didn't look suprised even the slightest bit, and the old woman was almost eager to see what would happened next.

Chewing your lips to bits, you closed your eyes, scared and confused. The next moment you heard one more gasp, knowing that your shadow did exactly what you demanded it to - detach itself from you and move to the wall behind the witch. Dear God, she was right. The blessing gave you something you shouldn't have.

"I don't understand anything at all!" You exclaimed loudly, tearing yourself away from your grandfather and moving back, covering your face with your palms. "Why didn't she tell me about it? And why give me power if I can't escape the monster, anyway?"

"If you can't run... it doesn't mean you can't fight." The wise woman muttered under her breath, but all of you heard her, and you chocked on air. Fight? Fight this deadly creature wandering in the woods?

You asked the shadow to move to the other wall, and it did it again. Dear God, maybe the witch was right.

"Teach her!" You heard your grandfather's desperate voice and saw him gripping the witch's wrinkly arm. "Take whatever I have, but-"

The elder rolled his eyes at this outburst, shaking his head with irritation. "Are you out of your mind, old fool? We will do anything we can. I have not become the elder to watch young girls being snatched away by monsters."

"And now shut up, you two. We don't have much time before the boy comes back. Bring me the bread, the blackberry, and a few candles, now."

____________

It had been two long days before the witch sensed your monster was coming back. You barely slept, spending all your time listening and doing what granny Iva had told you, watching the miracles you could now do all by yourself. She was right, the Plague did grant you power, and though you barely knew what to do with it, even the possibility to fight the creature brought you so much joy.

The woman called him the witch boy. You found it odd: was he the son of some other witch living in the forest? Laughing at you, the elder pointed out the clear difference: granny Iva was a woman who learnt witchcraft, but the boy was the one who was born with magic coursing through his veins, able to see the ghosts and cast spells most humans couldn't. He was only half mortal, and he was probably born to an evil spirit and a human woman. Judging by the huge antlers growing from his head, he was most likely the son of Yeev, the evil deer living in the Northern forests. People used to make human sacrifices to him, bringing him women he apparently mated with. Granny Iva had never heard of him having any children, but maybe one of those poor sacrificial brides was able to bear Yeev a son.

You wouldn't be able to defeate the boy right away, you realized. Although the Plague had granted you power, it would take time to learn how to use it, and the monster would hardly wait for it. You would have to go with him and figure out how to defeat him all by yourself. However, your magic would be enough to keep him from harming you, and it was already something.

That night granny Iva had given your grandfather a sleeping potion secretly. He didn't know that you would still have to leave with the monster, and you couldn't bare watching the old man struggle against it. It was better to put him to sleep.

When the monster opened the door, you had already been prepared to leave and turned to face him, suddely seeing not the skinny boy, but a huge bearded man who barely fit into the door frame. The ash near the door burnt out the very same moment he stepped inside, blue sparks flying the air.

"Were you waiting for me?" He smiled, walking into the house, his body muscular and strong as if he were a blacksmith.

You gawked at him, unsure whether he was the monster you were waiting for. Where was that little boy with a lantern, unhealthy pale and terribly thin?

"Don't look so surprised, little one. I took this form because I thought you'd like it better." Crossing the room, he barely looked at the elderly man, snoring lightly in the corner, and moved closer to you as you backed away from him involuntarily. "Don't be so cold, love. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You pressed your lips into a thin line, looking displeased and clenching your fists. That monster dared to play with you.

"This isn't funny, boy. Why would I care what form you take?" You said, figthing the urge to grab a handful of blackberries your pockets were full with and force them down the creature's throat. "Just get it over with."

Looking at your grim face, he offered you to take his hand, watching you intently with those dark blue eyes of his, and you reached out to him, biting your lips. You had definitely built up some courage from the night you met him, you thought, as he drew you closer, touching your hair. Running his fingers through it, the boy - the man - smiled at you again and drew a little symbol on your forehead, watching you becoming more nervous. Tensed, you furrowed your brows.

"Let's go." You urged him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the door. "I don't want my grandfather to wake up and see you taking me away."

The man hummed with content and went after you, closing the door once both of you were outside. Feeling the chill in the air, you rubbed your shoulder and looked back at the man with irritation. He was still smiling at you, and you didn't like it.

Turning away from him, you had placed a few blackberries into your mouth, trying not to smash it with your teeth, and then immediately closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping your hands around his shoulders and pressing your mouth to his. The man had opened his lips as if he welcomed you. You felt uneasy when he took all the berries willingly. Apparently, he knew of granny Iva's witchcraft.

"You can give me more." He whispered, his short beard brushing against your gentle skin. "It will be more fun this way."

You growled in frustration at his insolence, grasping a handful of blackberries and showing them into his mouth. Taking them all obediently, the man forced your hand to his lips as he licked the dark juicy drops from your skin, slipping his tongue between your fingers. Your face was growing hot with every passing second, but his grip was too strong to push the monster away.

All of a sudden, the antlers on his head appeared again, surrounded by a halo of cold blue light. The magic was starting to show his true colors.

His mouth was dirty with a few berries that got smashed when you pressed your palm against his lips, and you felt an odd urge to lick the little dark spots in the corners of his mouth clean. Damn, he was using his own magic, too.

"Let's go." You grumbled and started to walk in the direction of the woods, not wanting to awake the villagers. The man laughed behind your back and took your hand, speading up.

The silence between you as you moved was unbearable, but you didn't utter a single word until you finally reached the forest, the mist spreading slowly in between the trees. Glancing at the man, you saw he was still in that new form and chew your own tongue. When he was small, it was so much easier to imagine how you would outpower him.

"Could you please turn into the boy again?" You demanded as he came closer - you tried to hide your fear beneath the irritation.

The man chuckled, "Are you saying you'll be more obedient if I stay like this?"

Reaching out to the pocket of your dress, you smashed a few berries in your palm, colouring your skin with the sweet juice, and drew a sign on your arm before the monster reacted. You felt the wind growing stronger as you smiled at him wickedly. If the Plague herself had given you her blessing, you wouldn't become a mere prey of the creature wandering in the woods. You were not a sacrificial lamb.

The man jumped at you the next moment, and you two rolled on the ground, fighting for dominance. Cursing and growling, you bited and kicked and pushed, feeling the creature's cold hands caressing your body through the clothes. No, you wouldn't let him take you like that. Not now, not ever. Gathering all your strength and covering your palm in smashed berry pulp, you grabbed one of the antlers, and the man moaned under you, his huge form slowly changing until you saw a skinny boy lying beneath you. Amazed, he stared at you and stroked your hips lovingly with his arms growing warmer, licking his lips.

"You are so pretty." The boy muttered, looking at you through his trembling lashes. "Kiss me. Please."

Although you wanted to get up, instead you leaned closer, dropping a kiss to his soft discoloured lips and brushing your nose against his. Inhaling his earthy smell, you moved away quickly, glaring at him. Damn it, his magic was still bending you to his will.

"Don't you understand I won't stop?" You grunted, squeezing his antler stronger and making the boy wince and moan again, sitting on top of him. "I will learn, and I will fight you. I'm not gonna be your obedient little girl, listening to your every whim."

"Fight me." The boy whispered, and you felt something hard rising beneath you, brushing against your thigh. "Charm me; curse me. Do whatever you want to me, love. Just stay close."

______________

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