#tumblr is a breath of strangely fresh air

[angelbornaltruist]

for real though John had a point. this place has it fair share of problems, but a lot of the people on here are just silly little guys who have niche interests and want to share them with each other. we've got our own little culture; a unique language, our own stories and folk tales, and (probably the most unique thing ive ever seen tbh) a group of people who seem to be more altruistically/positively minded as opposed to cynical or aggresive. even if we have different beliefs and ideals, the vast majority of tumblr users seem to legitimately believe the world to be good, or at least make it a good place.

Not what I expected coming from John Green

[somnoir]

Damian's future husband

Got inspired by this specific line in a Tumblr thread and my brain went to work

Phantom was a strange hero—a vigilante that often worked with Justice League Dark. Constantine was always so antsy around the man, while Phantom himself often muttered about taxes and blasted fragments whenever said trech coat man was in the vicinity.

The Bats were, of course, initially apprehensive of the death defying being that could rip a man skeleton out of their body, manipulate space itself to rip open portals to different dimensions, and vanish better than they did. They were wary, mildly hostile after realising that Phantom had now issue killing.

But then time passed and Phantom was proven to not be a serial killer but only used killing as a last resort. Though Batman wasn't too pleased, he was—begrudgingly—tolerant of that. Because, yes, Phantom was a nice guy, a very likeable person in general. He made sure that the environmental damage during battles were kept to a minimum, he chose civilians over the enemy whenever it came to hostage situations, he was tactile and kind, and he cared so much for the innocent that he was willing to lose his innocence to keep theirs.

Of course Batman was fond of the young man, especially when he found out that Jason of all people had some sort of crush on him. A very big and almost pathetic one that he and Alfred would watch while sipping tea.

Seriously, Jason was his son! Has he not learned anything from his Brucie persona? The poor thing was like a Victorian maiden and would be scandalised at the mere thought of showing an ankle.

It was embarrassing how he'd practically start blue screening the moment Phantom was in the vicinity. As a father, Bruce was gracious enough not to bully his poor son whenever it came to Phantom. His siblings, on the other hand, held no such qualms and mercilessly dug into Jason.

In all honesty, he pitied Jason after hearing that Phantom assumed that Jason just didn't like him.

He really had to talk to him.

"You fucking hypocrite."

And that was a failure because Bruce forgot that he was just as constipated as his son.

"I'm not taking advice from the man who couldn't even try to be softer in his secret crush!"

With that, Jason slammed the door and left.

Okay... Plan B?

But what the hell was plan B?

Right.

Dick Grayson.

Bruce: About your brother...

Bird child #1: OH MY GOD

Bird child #1: THANK FUCK YOU FINALLY MENTIONED IT

Bruce: it's become an issue

Bruce: Alfred has commented that it's pathetic now.

Bird child #1: Wait wait

Bird child #1: I'll add you to the group chat!

And this Bruce Wayne found himself in a GC named 'Phantom of the Watchtower'. Along with all the complaints expressed by both family and friends when it came to Jason's bullshit.

Ah well... At least he wasn't alone in the suffering.

(Jason did not need to know that there was a video of him grappling through Gotham, Phantom passing by and waving at him, and Jason proceeding to hit a wall mid flight.)

Dick knows that his little wing has had trouble in relationships for a long time. His resurrection changed him, changed how he perceived his relationships. Dick didn't have the heart to be mad about it.

Phantom's arrival was a breath of fresh air for them.

But he suspects that Jason's attraction began with the fact that Phantom had died young as well. Fourteen from what was said. He had died much younger than Jason and had came back a hero, willing to protect the innocent and do what was best for those around him. Sometimes Dick suspects that Jason not only wanted to be with Phantom, but also to be similar to him.

Now he's watching Jason fumble with his words again, immediately going quiet once he realized that nothing coherent was coming out of his mouth. The helmet most likely hid how red his face was.

"Are you alright?" Phantom asked, frowning up at Jason. "You don't feel too good. Is the corrupted ecto acting up again? Oh, I knew I should have sped up the process of removing it but then it'd be very painful if I did it at once. And Frostbite recommended that we went slowly so we could monitor the side effect... And, and—"

"I'm okay." Red Hood immediately assured, his hand practically flying to Phantom's cheek then he shoved it down before he could even touch Phantom. "It's been a long day."

"Is the Joker out again?" Phantom's frown deepened.

Another thing Dick has learned about the dead and the undead! The fact that their murderer was still active unsettled then greatly and affected their entire mentality and behaviour.

"No. No. He hasn't tried escaping."

Phantom hummed, "I see. So what's bothering you."

"It's nothing." Jason grunted, sounding a little too much like Bruce for Dick's liking.

Okay, nope, he wasn't going to let this continue if his baby brother was going to continue making Phantom assumed he didn't like him. Nightwing to the rescue!

"Phantom! Hi!" Nightwing quite literally dropped into the alley, running his fingers through his hair and smoothly directing Jason away from whatever catastrophic misunderstanding he was walking into.

"Hello Nightwing! It's nice to see you again? How's Kori? Oooh! I wanted to invite her to a space date again—" He rambled on and on, eyes practically starry. Wait, nevermind. His eyes really were starry.

(Meanwhile, Jason was cursing his older brother for taking the attention from but also very thankful that Phantom didn't have to witness his stupidity again.)

Tim had noticed that the Joker hasn't attempted to break out in a long... Long time.

It's not a bad thing, no. It was great, in all honesty. But of course, Tim was paranoid, almost batshir crazy (pun intended, in the words of his damn boyfriends). The surveillance feed on Arkham was updated a long time ago, watching it very closely until static overtook the screen.

"Replacement," Tim startled, blinking before he saw Jason peering at him with a questioning look. Practically interrogating him on the spot. "The hell is that?"

"I don't know." Tim clicked his tongue, "This hasn't happened after Babs and I updated those damn cameras. Fuck, give me a second..."

"Did the Joker get out?" Jason practically growled.

"No, no. I'm sure he didn't. He would have been causing trouble by now." Tim reassured, clicking his tongue again before the feed went back to normal. Joker's cell seemed perfectly fine, with the Joker fast asleep on his little cot. "See, just some static. Maybe Phantom passed by."

The mere mention of Phantom has Jason blue screening, instincts kicking in as his older brother shoved his helmet over his head again. Then the idiot gets on his bike and speeds out of the cave.

Coward.

Tim whipped his head around, quickly surveying the area.

The static wasn't random. Phantom always had to be in front of the camera to directly affect the feed. So thank fuck when he made friends with Phantom's teammate—Pharaoh—and figured out how to fix any distorted imagery.

He sees Phantom standing over the Joker's unconscious body, plunging his hand into the maniac's chest and pulled out a glowing green orb. A core, from what he remembered. Holy shit, was the Joker a ghost too?

But he saw how Phantom seemed to put restraints around it, literal chains before shoving it back inside.

Slowly, Phantom turned to the camera, his entire figure still distorted, but he could see that fanged grin that his brother seemed to swoon over.

(The Joker was still alive, very much, but no one could understand how he was stuck in an almost permanent coma. Tim wasn't going to give Jason even more reason to start giggling over Phantom, unless he wanted to ruin the entire Dead on Main operation.)

Damian did not quite understand the insanity that was multiple individuals (including those that were not of their brood) attempting to matchmake Todd with Phantom. He didn't understand what was so great about Phantom, in all honesty.

He was heroic, powerful, and quite intelligent. Many people held similar traits. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a deathly being that attracted Todd in the first place.

"Hello, Robin!" Phantom greeted one day, eyes shimmering like the stars in his cape. "Superboy said you had something to tell me?"

Damian shifted slightly, "Yes. Are you aware of the Lazarus Pits?"

"Ah... Yes, of course. My court and I have been trying to destroy all of them. The Lazarus is corrupted ectoplasm that has been mixed with filth of all kinds." Phantom hummed.

"Filth of all kinds... Disgusting." Damian frowned, nose scrunching up at the memory that he's bathed in those pits before. "But I digress. I would like to assist in the destruction of the pits. Father and the rest of the family has fretted over my grandfather's pits for many years and we have barely grazed the surface on what the Lazarus truly was."

"I see! I was planning on asking Batman to help out on that. But since you've already asked, would you like to come to the Realms? I'm sure you can interrogate some of the ghosts your grandfather has wronged." Phantom grinned, already offering Damian a hand. He was floating, while Damian stood in the roof and stared at the hand.

It reminded him of the kryptonians. But Phantom's hand was cold and he didn't yank Damian the same way Jon often did.

No, Phantom took Damian's hand and then proceeded to hook an arm around Damian's waist, pulling him of the roof and into the air. And then they were flying into a glowing green portal that reminded Damian of the pits.

The moment they were in the infinite realms, Damian felt the overwhelming pressure of the dead. He swallowed the bile that rose from his throat as Phantom set him down on solid ground. The entire place felt eerie and strange, of course it was. This was the afterlife.

"Right, I forgot." Phantom cursed, "You're not as liminal as my family. Give me a second, baby bat." He murmured, his hand glowing green before it's gently pushed into Damian's chest. A sudden wave of warmth overtook his entire body and Damian stared at the ghost.

"I'm giving you a bit of Ecto to reduce any discomfort here in the realms. It'll flush itself out in 24 hours so don't worry about becoming overly liminal." Phantom smiled softly, before he offered his hand to Damian again. "Let's go? I have to stop by my keep to check the records of Al Ghuls victims."

"Of course."

And instead of being carried like a cat, Phantom picked him up bridal style and flew past what seemed to be floating islands and towards a large red and purple castle.

Is this was Todd feels? Damian asked himself, oddly enjoying this experience.

The moment they landed—

"Your majesty!" A floating eyeball yelled, rushing towards them. "You've brought an outsider—"

"Away with you." Phantom snapped, a crown and cape of stars suddenly appearing on him. "This is Robin. Ra's Al Ghul's grandchild."

"The Demon's head..."

"Yes, now shoo." Phantom snapped, before leading Damian away from the eyeball. "I'm sorry for my Observants. They're a conservative bunch."

"You are a king?"

"Mhm... Though I don't like to advertise it. The last king was a tyrant and I defeated him a little while after my death. I never intended to be king, in all honesty. But here I am." He gestured to the crown of fire and ice and the cape of stars. His grin was strained and quite troubled but he didn't mind leading Damian towards a large room filled with bigger files.

"Now, would you like to search yourself or do you want me to have someone else do it?"

Damian grimaced at the sight. "I'd prefer for someone else to suffer."

And that's how Damian found himself touring the realms, with Phantom happily bringing Damian to the arena where a ghost named Skulker awaited them. The man was a hunter, respectful towards Phantom yet troublesome as he challenged him. Phantom looked utterly annoyed, before he turned to Damian with sparkling eyes.

"What about you, Robin?"

And then Damian was fighting everyone and everything in the realms at the behest and amusement of Phantom. The ghost king provided him with different weapons each time an enemy switched.

It's only when they returned to the land of the living that he's informed that any weapon he's used is now his.

And he has a cat with him! The ghost of a small yet ferocious kitten that had his under Phantom's cape whilst Damian and other ghosts fought to glorious battle. Phantom kindly offered her to him, naming her Astra with the star shaped pupils in her eyes.

Damian is quite sure he has fallen in love.

Damian returns to the manor, utterly awestruck and infatuated. Thankfully (unfortunately), Todd is in attendance when Phantom carries him out of the portal, still held in a bridal carry with Damian actively clinging to Phantom like he had hung the stars (maybe he did).

"Sorry if we worried you! Robin wanted to help with our Lazarus problems since it's also your problem too." Phantom quickly explains once he saw Batman's troubled expression. "Don't worry about your gifts. I'll figure out a way to make you a dimensional bag."

Damian stared, "May I visit the realms again? If you would be amendable to it."

"Of course! You're my favorite, so why wouldn't I?"

Hah! Hear that? Take that, Todd!

Phantom vanishes into his portal seconds later, leaving Damian with the most beautiful and intricated sword in his hands. Blinking quietly, he whirled around and pointed the sword at Jason, who instinctively went into a battle stance.

"You may be my brother, Todd, but if you have not married Phantom once I am of age, I shall fight for his hand in marriage himself."

(Jason knows very well that Damian isn't joking and proceeds to practically plan the most novel-esque confession to date. Jane Austen might just be proud.)

Masterpost

[ohdeerfully]

hiii! this is my first request on tumblr but i jus love alastor sm and there is NOT enough fics for me out there. so im asking u❤️

what abt alastor being jealous of someone else in the hotel? for example: angel dust, he puts on music and you two are dancing with eachother happily not noticing the red eyed demon with a tight grin. 🥰

Hii! Honestly after writing this I realized I didn't follow the prompt exactly, less jealousy and more Alastor being overprotective. Oh well! Hope you like it anyway :D!

Be Back Soon (i)

alastor x reader (fluff? alastor is just overprotective) part i TW: Cursing/Angel existing if you want tagged in the next part, lmk! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Your fingers dragged down the skin around your eyes as you let out a long sight, sitting at Husk’s bar with shoulders propped on the cold counter. What a day it had been, running around in the typical chaos of the hotel as Charlie tried to get some group bonding activities finished. It was getting late, and you just finally had a moment of peace.

“‘Ey, toots!” The chipper voice broke your peace and you couldn’t help it when another audible sigh escaped you. The culprit of the broken science paid no mind.

Turning your head, you narrowed your eyes and made eye contact with the lanky pink spider. You were a little salty at him in particular, being one of the main catalysts to the everyday insanity. He had an easy grin played upon his lips as he stared back down at you with his multicolored eyes, one pair of arms on his hips that jutted out a little too unnaturally in a mischievous pose. His golden tooth glinted under his light grin with a similar air of “hey I’m up to no good right now.”

“You look fuckin’ tired!” He barked a laugh, dramatically squeezing his eyes shut in a theatrical show of laughing in your face. It really wasn’t that funny, and you couldn’t stop the frown that touched your lips as you watched him. He took pride in being the way he was. Annoying.

“No thanks to you, Angel,” You clipped back. You turned your head to watch Husk, who was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He had become an expert in ignoring the spider demon’s presence, which was how he managed to stay sane with said demon’s constant flirting and sexual nature.

“Anyway,” He waves away your targeted words with a wave of his hands as his eyes roll up. “I was thinkin’ we get outta here for the night? Me and Cherri were gonna have a “girl’s night.”” You briefly thought about the humor in Angel admitting to being ‘one of the girls,’ but pushed the thought away to consider his invitation. “It wouldn’t hurt ta get some fresh air. This place is real stuffy sometimes, and a huge snooze fest,” he persuaded. He rested his face on one pair of hands, fingers laced under his chin, as he leaned against the bartop in anticipation for your answer.

You purse your lips in thought. It wouldn’t hurt, right? You didn’t go out clubbing a lot, and with Angel and Cherri with you surely nothing wrong would happen. They looked out for their friends, and you would (maybe regretfully) consider yourself Angel’s friend. You glanced at Husk for a moment, as if looking for advice, but his eyes remained close and his lips had an annoyed curl. Maybe you should get out of his hair.

“Okay, okay,” You grinned, a little sheepishly. While you couldn’t really consider ‘fresh air’ to be a feature of Hell, you agreed that you needed to just Get Out of this place. Running errands for Charlie got mundane, even with all the strange characters that cycled through the place. One tends to get used to the chaos.

Angel stretched his arms up in a cheer, which earned a one-eyed, aggravated look from Husk. He uttered something under his breath before grabbing a bottle and walking to the other corner.

“Alright, sweet lips,” Angel cooed at you. “Let's get you dressed! You got anything decent up in your closet?”

Your hand found its way to the back of your neck as you answered sheepishly, “Eh, not really… At least, not for a night out. I don’t really do much outside of the Hotel.” Angel frowned at the response, tapping his chin in thought.

“Lemme take a look,” With a swipe of his arm, your hand was suddenly being held as he dragged you up the steps toward the floor of your room.

Walking down at the same time, you briskly passed by Alastor, who had his eyes closed and a hum in his mouth. His blazing red eyes peered open as you and Angel rushed past him, a quizzical furrow in his brow seeing the connection between your hands. You shot him a shy grin and craned your head back to shout a quick ‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ before you disappeared around the bend of the stairs.

You didn’t miss the dark gleam in his eyes.

Angel, in an attempt to dramatically burst through your door, slammed full body into the entrance. “Ah- the hell?” He cried, roughly jiggling the handle.

“I keep it locked,” you snickered at him and the disheveled look in his usually preened hair. You saw him take his hands to brush it out as you fiddled with the lock, an annoyed mutter of words escaping his lips. The second the door clicked, Angel shoved past you and reattempted his dramatic burst through the entrance with a bit more luck this time around.

He went straight for your closer, rummaging through this and that. What a breach of privacy, this guy is, you thought with a strained smile as you stepped up next to him to try to guide him through your very Ordinary and Plain clothes.

You felt a prickling sensation on your skin, and you swear you heard a frequency of low static, but when you whipped your head around nothing stood there. Did that shadow just move?

Shaking your head, you looked at the piece Angel held proudly in his hands, one pair of arms gripping the top and the second pair pulling the bottom out to really get a full inspection.

It was incredibly simple, but still a bit more revealing than anything you were used to wearing. A deep red top, so cropped it may as well be a sporty bra, with a couple eye-catching accents of rhinestones. Connected with thin straps was a similarly tight pair of booty shorts. Your face flushed at the thought of wearing this. It was practically lingerie.

“Isn’t it a bit, uh, tacky?” You tried in an attempt to dissuade him from this getup. He acted offended, one hand going and pressing against his fluffed chest. You didn’t miss the way he took this as an opportunity and pressed up against himself to perk up his mass of chest fur.

“Babe, I wear shit like this all the time! You tellin’ me,” He started a rant, shaking the clothes in a fit of mock rage. “You tellin’ me I’m tacky? Hah! Me! Angel Dust!” He wiped away a fake tear in his laughter.

Your face flushed again looking at the getup. With a defeated mutter you swiped it from his hands and trekked painfully slowly to the restroom. You ignored Angel’s urgency for you to ‘hurry the hell up’ because it was almost time to get going.

You slowly stripped yourself of your day clothes, gingerly stepping through the tight shorts and tucking your arms through the straps of the top. You didn’t even remember buying this thing, it had been stuffed far in the back of your closet. You couldn’t help the feeling of dread thinking about the other embarrassing things Angel might have seen in there. Though, you doubt anything could phase that guy.

You had to admit, looking at your reflection, that it did accentuate your curves, even if you didn’t have much to begin with. The rhinestone accents glittered in the bathroom light, obviously designed in a way to bring attention to the chest. The straps that connect the two pieces fit snugly against your exposed torso. You were suddenly glad Hell never got that cold.

“Almost ready!” You snapped at Angel calling from the other side of the door. You quickly threw on some touches of makeup, trying your best to compliment the shades of your outfit and adding some glittery makeup around your eyes. You quickly dragged your fingers through your hair to style it comfortably.

You ripped open your door just as fists started banging on it. Angel stood there with two arms raised, stopped midair to keep himself from decking you in the head. You glared up at him, trying to maintain your earlier sourness to hide the fact that the outfit had grown on you.

“Hey, sexy lady!” Angel teasingly leaned himself against the doorframe with a smirk. “Let’s fuckin’ go! You took too damn long! Cherri hates waitin’.”

Grabbing your hand again, he ushered you out of the room. As you raced down the stairs, you tried to continuously preen your hair to keep it from flying out of shape as Angel practically drug you down each step.

He slowed at the bottom, releasing your hand, and stepping towards Husk’s bar to aggravate and flirt with the cat one last time before heading out. You tuned out his sexual innuendoes as you tried to glance over yourself one last time.

“My, what a dame you are!” Alastor’s recognizably radio-afflicted voice ripped your attention away from picking at a loose rhinestone. He stood over you, a slight bend in his waist and an unnatural crane in his neck. His smile was there, but tight and uneasily wide as he examined you through squinted eyes. He leaned his weight against his cane.

Swallowing your unease, you examined his expression. You knew Alastor didn’t care for such… promiscuous outfits. Especially on what he considered his. You knew his compliment was satirical, and you didn’t miss that glint of anger flash through his expression.

“Heyy, Al,” You drew out your words, unintentionally accentuating the awkward tone between the two of you. He paid no mind, keeping up that seemingly cheerful grin of his as he just… stared at you. His fingers tapped impatiently on the radio of his cane, each tap bringing a warp to the frequency that always surrounded him. “I’m going out with Angel tonight. Y’know… to get some air…”

“My dear,” His eyes closed in a laugh and he straightened himself out. “Why would you ever go out there for fresh air? Now, you know those demons would just eat you right up.” A dark sneer infected his smile, lips curling and exposing the line of his black gums.

“‘Ey c’mon, Smiles,” Angel stepped up next to you and lazily threw an arm over your shoulder. You saw that sneer only deepen as Alastor watched the spider get way too close to you. “Give ‘er a break! She’s always runnin’ around doin’ shit for this bum-ass hotel! It makes her… boring!” 

You didn’t know whether or not to appreciate Angel both defending and insulting you. You decided to just ignore his comments as you watched Alastor’s expression get darker and more sinister. You felt a cold sweat prickle at your neck as that static-y frequency of his became more prominent and aggressive as his eyes swept over the two of you, lingering on your exposed abdomen with a frustrated twitch in his brow.

“Why, of course!” He suddenly cheered, brandishing his hands to his side in a slight bow. “But…” He stepped towards you, looming over you. You felt that nervous tickle again. His right hand raised and, with a quick motion, a fairly modest jacket materialized around your shoulders. “All better! Wouldn’t want greedy eyes seeing what’s mine!”

How bold, you thought. He was from the ‘30s, though, and very old fashioned. It made sense that immodest wear bothered him. Plus, you looked down at the jacket. It had a similar color scheme, and was light enough to not be too warm. At least it goes with my outfit. How sweet.

You felt a bit giddy at the permission Alastor had given you–not that you needed it. (You did). You’re a grown ass adult. (It doesn’t matter). You shot him a smile of thanks before dashing out the door, meeting Cherri who had been frequently laying on the car horn for you to Hurry the Fuck Up.

Before Angel Dust could follow, a tight grip on one of his wrists stopped him in his tracks. He hissed, yanking his arm but to no avail. Alastor’s grab was like iron, and his nails began to dig into Angel’s skin.

“Hey you fuck, let me go! I gotta get out there before Cherri starts blowin’ this shit up!”

Alastor pulled Angel in closer, a sneer-like grin crossing his expression. There was a maddening look in his glowing red eyes.

“If she comes home with even the smallest scrape,” He said in a low tone, the garble of his radio slightly distorting his voice. “I’m going to make you wish you never came to this Hazbin Hotel.”

Alastor’s grip didn’t yield as Angel tried again in a futile attempt to release himself. He had a nervous laugh in his voice as he tried to act unintimidated by the Radio Demon’s threat.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you creepy red fuck,” He gruffed back, “Me an’ Cherri will stick right by her. You don’t gotta worry about nothin’.” Alastor’s expression shifted in an instant, his cheerful grin reappearing. He stood up straight and smiled down at Angel. “Good man! Now, don’t be too long,” He shooed Angel out of the lobby, who was more than glad to get the fuck out of there. He heard a faint ‘I’ll be watching’ from behind as he slammed the car door shut, muttering curses under his breath.

He knew Alastor would send that damn shadow of his to keep a close eye, so why the fuck did Angel have to babysit you in the first place? Plus, you weren’t some weak, naive fool. Whatever. He knew Alastor would take any excuse to cause some entertaining mayhem.

He sighed as he looked at you, who had a nervous but excited grin as Cherri rambled and cursed about something.

Maybe he shouldn’t have invited you out. He knew he was in for a long, stressful night. Good thing there would be a bar.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 19

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

a/n: so frustrated with tumblr—this didn’t save anything the first time so ultimately I had to spend forty five minutes re-editing everything

warning: a lot of head nodding

word count: 7,723

-Part 18- -Part 20-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Tentatively, you raise your hand to knock on the door. 

And pause. 

Your fingers are trembling faintly, a cool shiver sweeping down the length of your spine, a cold sweat beginning to prickle up from beneath your skin. 

You knock, lightly. 

Shadows dip at the handle, bringing the door open.

Hazel eyes glance away from the partially opened window, a cool morning breeze circulating through the room while watery autumn sunlight warms the floorboards. There’s a smell of dew in the air, along with something vaguely smokey and fresh, and it nips at your throat. You tug your sleeves a little lower over your gloves—made to conceal your skin, not keep them warm. 

“Are you…are you free to talk?” You ask, stood hesitantly on the threshold. 

“Sure.” He nods. “Have a seat.” 

You give only a small delay, space enough for a breath to pass in between moments, one that would have gone unnoticed by human minds and eyes. Then you’re covering the distance between you, taking a seat in the armchair that’s been pushed to accommodate longer visits to his bed. You try to take your time in organising yourself in the seat, making sure your skirts are flat and unwrinkled; sat evenly on the chair; split between facing directly forward as the seat would have you, or angling yourself to face him; but it’s all belied with that sense of hurry you get around him that causes your fingers to fumble and shake, for your heart to start a butterfly-flutter in your chest, throat tightening from being in his presence. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, hands settling in your lap, pinching lightly at the fabric to give yourself something to hold on to. You struggle to look at him, keeping your gaze averted. 

“…how are you?” You ask. 

Sheets rustle and you can hear the quiet shift of the wooden beams before he answers. “Good.” 

Toes cross in your socks, teeth tugging at the interior of your lip. “How…” —you swallow past the shudder in your chest— “Will you be up again, soon?” You ask, shifting in the chair. Eyes glance to the bedside table, peering at it for the sake of looking somewhere. 

“A few more days,” he replies, sounding as if he’s uncommitted to the time frame given. A fresh breeze rolls in through the open window, curtains wafting with the wind, and you hold down a shiver, pulling yourself tighter to keep warm. Fresh air’s probably good, right? 

“How are you?” He asks. 

“Good. Good,” you reply, nodding your head gently. “Up and about.” 

Another breeze enters, and the curtains swish against the wallpaper, scraping faintly against the vaguely abrasive texture. A book rests on the table, the edges faded yellow and for a second it strikes you how strange it is that there might not be a spell to prevent ageing. Perhaps he prefers the worn edges, though. You can imagine how they’d rasp against your fingertips. Like thousands of tiny cuts. 

“Feyre mentioned you were sick a lot, when you first woke up,” you say into your lap. 

“A bit.”

“But it’s over now?” You ask.

“It’s over.”

“Good. Good.” You nod your head faintly. “That's— I’m glad.” 

A glass of water is beside his bed, along with a candle that’s dripped wax over its silver holder, carefully welded vines making up the handle, small flowers flourishing around the rim. Lilies.

A leather-bound notebook rests beside the novel, a pencil set straight atop it, the tip worn down and blunt. 

“I heard your conversation with Mor,” he says, and your eyes flit away from the table, peering at your lap. You nod. 

“From a few days ago?” He prompts, and you nod again. He sighs. “It was good that you took initiative. Maybe a bit too soon, but she’ll need some time to process what happened.” 

You nod, accepting each slice across your skin. He’s known her for much longer than he has you, and he’s loved her. The blessed moments when you forget those unreachable likes of his only make the moments you’re reminded more staggeringly painful. Of course he’ll be on her side. But would it be so difficult to…

Don’t I deserve a little affection? 

“Why did you…” you falter over save, disagreeing with its narrative. Lick your lips.

Just a small bit of care? 

“Why?” You ask, looking at him. Tone rising at the end.

…please…

The bandages are clean across his middle torso, obscuring fractions of the ink on his chest where they curl beneath the wrappings. You know exactly where the wound lies, despite not having had the time to really study it when it happened. Just knowing it sits opposite the tiny scratch over your heart, formed into a scar. So tiny nobody would spot it unless they knew to look. 

“Instinct, I suppose,” he answers after the quiet passes. 

“Instinct,” you repeat, a touch faintly. You don’t know what you’d been expecting, but that makes enough sense. Maybe you’d at least been wondering if it was something more emotional than that. At least an, I couldn’t let you die. But instinct will do. Blind, indifferent instinct.

“Have you spoken with Rhys?” He asks after a pause. 

“We spoke in the kitchen a couple of days ago. …he said I should speak with you…?” 

“Okay,” he nods, waiting patiently. You blink, unsure where to put your eyes. You don’t know what Rhys had wanted you to visit him for. No idea if it was to try and clear up the mess that’s tangled itself between you and the male on the bed; whether he just wanted you to take the first step in improving something, to clear the air, to get things on the mend? 

“Would it help if I asked you some questions?” He prompts tentatively. 

You flush, lips parting slightly as you peer down into your lap, fingers pinching your skirts to keep out their tremble. You’re not…speaking about what happened; the arrow; the deep darkness that’s been cloying at your mind for the past few months… Years… 

But if it’s going to be anyone, it’s going to be him. 

Your lip is pulled between your teeth, blunt enamel prodding at the full flesh of the interior of your mouth. The idea of speaking about it…why you aimed the arrow at yourself…a lot of it wraps around him in a way. So if you’re going to share that with anyone…  

Lungs shake when you inhale quietly, but you manage to sit a little straighter, steadying yourself. You have to learn to take the first step.

All you have to do is answer. And be honest.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He nods. “We can go slowly, to start off. I would appreciate answers, but if you aren’t ready, tell me so and we can move on.” 

Your heart thunders in your chest, but you agree, gloved fingers twining together in your lap, legs crossing themselves apprehensively. But slow, and easy breaths. Keeping calm, and steady. Answering as truthfully as you can bear.

“Okay,” he says, “what can you do with your magic now?” 

You nod a little to yourself, swallowing, “…I think, sometimes, I can…I mean, I think I can bring it out by myself sometimes now?” He nods encouragingly. “…it didn’t hurt the last time it came out. I hardly even noticed it, actually, compared with how it was before.” 

“And when was the last time it came out?” 

“Oh…” you falter, quieting. “Yesterday. With Mor.” 

“With Mor?” 

“We had a…an argument, I think,” you answer, wanting to shrink into the floor.

“What happened?” 

You fumble, there. “Can we…can you ask something else?” 

“Okay.” He nods. “I can ask Mor, if that would be easier?” Your lips part, glancing at him in surprise before your eyes flit away again. “I…we just bumped into each other after dinner, and she…she asked why I went to…” You trail off, shifting uneasily in your seat. 

“Did you tell her?” 

“We spoke about it…yes,” you hedge, peering into your lap. 

“That’s great,” he says, voice sounding softer than before, and you look at him hesitantly. “You should have mentioned that to start with. I can speak with her about it, when she comes round. If you come back tomorrow we can clear up anything left out. Will you be okay with that?” 

You nod, unable to do much else as you attempt to digest and process what’s happening. 

Please ask.

Hazel eyes glimmer faintly and his mouth softens, as if trying to show he’s proud with you for managing the conversation. “Was that fine for you?” He asks, watching you quietly while thousands of tiny eruptions occur beneath your skin. You manage a nod. 

He glances at the clock mounted on the dresser pushed against the far wall. “I think Feyre mentioned you’ve been seeing Madja around ten, haven’t you?” He asks, and again you manage a nod, not really thinking about the occurrences. 

Please don’t leave it here. 

“She’s been keeping an eye on me, yes. Making sure everything’s working right.” Your voice is distant to your ears, feeling as though you’re being pulled back into your skull, watching from somewhere further away. 

Ask me. Please.

“Ah. Have they been okay for you?” He asks, and you nod your head. “Fine.” 

He nods. “Then I won’t keep you any longer.” 

You stare at him through the surreal moment. 

Show me you care. Even a little bit. 

But he doesn’t, so you stand, watching distantly as your skirts swish over the floor, and you turn to leave, feet carrying you to the door, obeying the dismissal. Heart feeling as though it’s being squeezed. A heavy pressure crushing down on your chest. It’s only when you reach the threshold that you pause, something making it impossible to leave without…

You turn. 

“Is it a deliberate choice?” You ask, voice shaking, hands curling in your skirts. He looks at you patiently, waiting for you to elaborate. “Are you—… Are you choosing not to ask me why I want to die, or has the thought plainly not crossed your mind?” You try to hold his gaze, but your heart fumbles, and you look away before you can even count to two. A hot wetness drips down your cheek. 

“I hadn’t though you’d want to tell me,” he answers. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You ask before you can think. “You were the only one who was there. Who saw how it happened. Why wouldn’t you be perfect to speak to?” 

He pauses, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed over the vulnerable wording. “I don’t think you should make me the person you go to for that kind of solace,” he answers at last. “I don’t wish to give you reason to believe me the best choice for that.” 

“Who else?” You ask, staring at him. “Who else can I go to?” 

“Your sisters will always be there. I’m sure they want you to go to them. So don’t share with me that part of yourself. They’re the ones who have been there for you.” 

“How can I expect them to understand? They weren’t there.” 

“And you think that I’ll understand? That I do understand?” 

“Yes.” 

He shakes his head; is the first one to look away. “You can’t expect them to know what you feel if you haven’t even tried speaking with them about it. You’re cutting them off before you’ve even given them a chance.” Hurt aches across your chest—you want to speak with him. Want more than anything to have that shared moment between the both of you. 

You open your mouth, but he looks at you again, beating you to it. “Speak with them first,” he says firmly, his features set. “If you try honestly speaking with them, giving them the chance to look after you…and if that doesn’t work, if you feel they haven’t understood you as you need them to,” he continues, making it impossible for you to look away from him, caught up in the connection. “Then I will speak with you. You may tell me about whatever you like, what you’re reading; how your day was; anything that has taken or caught your interest, be it from the Night Court, the Autumn Court, or anywhere else in our realm. But give them a chance first.” 

Your jaw is trembling lightly, a delicate heat simmering in your flesh as a cool sweat slides down your spine, overwhelmed and quietly trying to keep up. 

Again you open your mouth, but again he speaks before you do. “And I know you’ll instinctively want to speak with Elain, but you always pick her first. Nesta has been through what you are going through, or at least something similar,” he says, watching you with an expression you can only call imploring. “Speak with her.” 

You’re too stunned to reply, left staring at him silently. 

It’s probably the most you’ve heard him say. The most the two of you have spoken so intently without the conversation taking a sharp plummet. 

You barely manage a nod of your head before you acquiesce, then you’re turning from him, carefully bringing the door to a close, heading for your room while the conversation circles through your mind. 

————

Slim, pale fingers latch through the delicate ceramic of the teacup’s handle, thin and elegant, easily broken with an application of force, requiring careful handling. It’s a temptation Feyre resists every time she picks one up, refusing the urge to press her fingers together and snap the thin bone-like curve. How many things had she accidentally shattered after first turning? How many spoons had she inadvertently bent? 

She supposes it doesn’t matter now, but the urge is still there, stronger than usual. 

The two females are sat in the parlour, a fine silver tray perched between them on a dark-wood table with ornate swirls carved into its edges and swirling up its legs. A few pastries sit untouched on a finely decorated plate, a carafe of cool cream at the edge, three flavours of jam contained to glass pots that fit nicely to the dip of one’s palm. The sugar pot remains undisturbed upon the tray, its short, golden shovel tucked deep within the sweetened grains, nestled beneath and awaiting use. 

“Were you aware of it?” Feyre asks, raising the teacup to her lips, basking in the wet heat that’s rising from the steamy liquid. Across from her, Mor is cupping her own drink, heated and steaming like Feyre’s, idly swirling the thin spoon to stir in the milk. 

“No,” Mor answers honestly, gazing down at the swirl of her tea, clasped between her hands. Red nails squeaking faintly across the porcelain. 

“You had no right to tell her any of that,” Feyre says quietly, watching her friend from over the rim of her cup, before glancing down, and taking a sip, testing out the heat. Too hot. She takes another sip, feeling the tingling singe of pain as the scalding liquid trickles down. 

“I know,” Mor agrees, also looking at her tea. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Didn’t you?” 

Blue-grey eyes are watching keenly, a sharp wildness glinting just at their edge, one that’s been surfacing more and more as of late. Everything seems to have such unfortunate timing. A damn filling up to its maximum capacity, before breaking. Mor meets her High Lady’s gaze steadily, unwavering. “I didn’t.” 

The connection remains unfaltering, each not wanting to look away, one for the sake of appearing mistrustful, and the other for the sake of appearing too forgiving. 

“What do you think it is?” Feyre asks at last, and the two mutually avert their eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Mor answers quietly. “It doesn’t feel good, though.” 

Feyre sends a sharp glare in Mor’s direction, but her red lips purse. “You felt it, too,” Mor points out. 

“Briefly.” 

“And it set you on edge, too.” 

“I also only came into contact with magic a few years ago. Don’t give me excuses.” 

“I’m telling you the truth,” Mor grits out, raising amber eyes from her pale mug. “I hardly noticed it  having an affect until you appeared.” 

“Because you were too caught up in all the emotions you wanted to unload onto my sister.”

“I’m not trying to make you pick sides,” Mor says carefully. 

“Good. Then don’t.” 

“You know it’s a tender wound,” she whispers, lowering her mug. “It shouldn’t have come out like it did, but it hurts.”

“You know what else hurts, Mor?” 

The rest of that sentence lies unspoken between them. 

Feyre knows she’s being unfair, that she clearly is picking a side. But she’s speaking as Mor’s friend, and also a sister. Not as High Lady. 

Mor once again raises her eyes to Feyre’s blue-grey set, putting every ounce of sincerity, and truth she can find within herself behind her amber eyes. “I wasn’t myself,” Mor whispers, fingers paling from their grip on the cup. “I don’t know what happens with her magic, but it’s influential, even on me.” 

“You want me to let this slide, then?” Feyre questions, her jaw set but there’s an obvious conflict in her eyes. Neither of them are enjoying this fallout. 

“No,” Mor concedes, looking away. “My actions are my own, and I agree I went too far. But you felt it, too. You know what I’m talking about, Feyre.” The two females share a look. “Madja’s going to be here to check up on her soon, isn’t she?” Mor asks, earnestly. 

“Every day, at ten o’clock.” 

“Ask her to give her own opinion. What it feels like,” Mor urges. “I know my anger, I know how I hurt, and I don’t lose myself like that.” 

Feyre’s lips are pursed, her brow pinched. Fatigue lines beneath her eyes, the stress of a newborn unavoidable, even with all the support being offered. It’s not easy for her. For anyone. 

Not easy to deal with everything else, either. Not to mention a sister who apparently wants to die, on top of all that.

There’s so much to think about…it’s inevitable a mistake will be made. 

“I’ll mention it to Madja.” Feyre relents, drinking deeply from her tea, savouring the hot liquid on her tongue. “Maybe she can offer some insight to what’s going on.” 

Insight. If only it were available for the mountain pile of other problems plaguing their lives. That might crumble into an avalanche, if they aren’t careful. 

————

“It’s good to see you again,” Madja greets, her round face smiling as she enters your chambers. “How have you been?” 

You manage a reciprocating smile, hands tucking together in your lap as you shift on the bed. “I’m good, for the most part anyway.” 

“For the most part?” She questions, taking a seat, and you toe off your slippers to settle properly against the pillows. “I…my magic flared up a little yesterday,” you admit, glancing at your toughened, flaky skin. “It didn’t hurt like it usually does; I hardly felt it. Though I was a little carried away…” 

Madja nods gently. “Yes, Feyre mentioned something about that.” You look up at the healer with raised brows. “…she did?” 

“She requested I look into it, if I could; it’s something I would like to discuss with you, before we start with the checkup,” she tells you clearly, that gentle look in her eyes that helps keep you at ease. 

Your tongue flicks over your lips, but you agree. 

“Your sister spoke of your magic feeling deathly,” Madja begins. “I’d like to see if there are any abnormalities that appear while it is in use—if you think you can manage that?” 

“You’d like me to… You want me to intentionally use it?” You question, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “I don’t know…I…” 

“If you’re worried about it getting out of control, or that you might injure me, I will remind you that I am a healer,” she says solemnly. “And if you are still concerned, I can tell you that your sister and I agreed it might be better if the High Lord were present, should anything get out of hand. He is available should you wish for that reassurance.” 

Something sinks in your chest—you’d forgotten Madja is their healer, that she is theirs more than  she is yours. She’s just doing her job. 

“I…I should be able to do it on my own,” you hedge, looking at your palms. Nobody else can see how ugly your skin is. Your sisters…Madja…technically Azriel too, though he hasn’t seen it now that it’s crawled up your arms…you don’t want to have that humiliation with anyone else than you must. “If that’s okay with you?” You check, looking at her. 

Madja smiles, nodding her head. “That is fine by me. Whenever you’re ready.” 

Teeth worry the interior of your lip, but you splay your hands out, palms tipped upward as you recall their tingle, gathering what you can remember and bringing it to the tips of your fingers. There’s no more than a slight itch beneath your skin. 

It comes easier to you that it has done before, and you can’t help the breath of ease that slips into your lungs. Before it had felt stunted, like it was trying to squeeze a full, fleshy body through a windowpane of jagged glass, slicing itself as it attempted to crawl out. But now… “There’s no pain…” 

You stare down at the faint green glow, the golden shine at the edge of your skin. You could simply push, and— The light brightens, filling your flesh and shining from your knuckles, hands encompassed in the strong light. 

Madja opens her hands, fingers splayed as she approaches you gently, before you feel a slight company. Something else joining you. You try to push toward it, in the direction of her magic so she can examine it better, like you do when offering your hands, shifting yourself so she can better access them. 

Madja nods, and you let the magic recede back into your body, curling itself up into a peaceful rest. “I’m going to check your torso now, please hold still.” Her hands open over your body, palm settling firmly over your rib cage, that tingling warmth sinking into your skin. Her brows narrow. “You’re going to feel a brief surge of heat…” she murmurs, eyes closed in concentration. 

Sure enough, there’s a small spike in temperature, and a slight sting in the aftermath but it fades swiftly enough. Her palms inch over a bit, slowly making their way across your stomach, fingertips still faintly hot with power as she continues with the checkup. You keep yourself as relaxed as possible but your heart is beating faster than usual at the discovery.

“Another quick surge,” she murmurs, and you nod despite her eyes being closed. You feel a small ball of tension popping along with a careful, targeted burst of heat. You ease a full breath into your lungs. 

Her brows furrow as she settles her palms over the base of your sternum. “Will you activate your magic again?” She requests, voice faint while she concentrates. You do as she says, unspooling it again, and the heat of her palms intensifies in response to your own. “Can you bring it into your body? Away from your hands?” She asks, and your brows furrow. You’ve never tried to manipulate its centre before…but you can try now. 

Your eyes flutter shut, easing back incrementally into the bed, allowing the power to prickle up your arms, crawling between the bones, wrapping around your shoulders…the two of you recoil at the same time, though you flinch from the sting of pain that splits down your spine; lacerating across your chest; through your lungs, while Madja’s retreat is from shock. The corners of her mouth are slack. Her eyes dark. 

“I’m sorry,” you say frantically, trying to sit upright, “I didn’t mean— Are you okay? Did it get you?” 

Madja looks at your torso, then at her hands. Then she’s settling her palms back atop your ribs. “Will you repeat that?” 

You pause, looking at her as she gently guides you to lay back in the bed. “Madja…I’m not sure…are you okay?” 

“I’m very well,” she replies with a smile, voice as soft and smooth as it usually is. Carefully curated to put you at ease. “I saw something that I should examine in more detail, if that’s possible. Will you repeat it?” 

You look at her, lost. Concerned. Helpless. You swallow. “Okay…” 

Your lids slide shut, and you reach for the power again, feeling as Madja’s warmth begins seeping into your torso, filtering through your vessel as heat begins rising in a steeper intensity to your surface, as if being called to one place by her magic. Again, you own power sprawls itself across your palms, dragging itself higher, slinking between bone and muscle, threading itself through sinew and cartilage until it reaches your shoulders, and…

“Try and hold it steady,” Madja tells you, the heat from her hands amplifying at the peak, just as you power curls itself to strike down from your shoulders. 

Your throat shuts, eyes squeezed closed as you attempt to grapple with it, hands balled into fists as perspiration breaks on your brow. Trying to keep it from lashing at your internals, causing that familiar, piercing pain. 

“I want you to try pushing it back to your hands now,” she instructs, but you’re struggling enough as it is. Barely keeping it contained. You need to breathe. 

Madja releases her magic over your torso, and the weight of your power increases, your body straining beneath the tension when she removes that blanket that had been between you and this blazing magic. But then both her hands are firmly gripping your own, and you can feel as it filters through you, prying the pain away, dragging it back down into your forearms, then your palms, and eventually your fingertips, until it’s dissipated entirely. 

You inhale heavily, breathing ragged as you try to calm yourself. “What…what was that…?” 

Madja’s quiet, thumbs stroking carefully over your knuckles, keeping her magic to a faint pulse so she doesn’t upset your skin. “Will you breathe with me?” She asks. “Deep breath in…hold…one, two, three…slowly exhale…” She makes you repeat the process thrice before deeming your pulse to be relatively calmed. She offers you the glass of water that’s always sat by your bed, never draining, and you take a few sips to appease her, then a few more. A couple of small gulps, before handing it back to her. 

You lick your lips, finding them hot and crisp. 

She looks at you solemnly. “I would like to ask you a few questions about your magic, if you feel right enough to manage,” she tells you calmly. “I would like you to answer with as much clarity as you can. It’s imperative you’re truthful and don’t hide anything. Are you alright with that?” 

You stare at her, bewildered—where has this come from? Is it serious? Are you going to die? Is it going to be painful? Will you know when it happens? Or will you have no warning. Is it happening now? About to?

You inhale sharply, deeply, breaking out of those thoughts. Exhaling heavily, before managing to nod. 

“How long have you known you’ve had magic?” Madja starts with. 

“…I think maybe two months? I can’t remember exactly how long ago it was that I first realised what was happening…” 

“Perfect. And can you tell me what made you first realise you had magic?” 

“I think it was when…I had an altercation with someone, and felt upset and angry. My hands were glowing.” 

“Great. I believe you’ve mentioned a feeling that accompanies your magic?” 

“Yes. …It used to hurt a lot, but recently hasn’t? The past few times, at least. Not while it’s been in my hands, anyway.” 

“Lovely, you’re doing well,” she smiles. “You sister mentioned a deathly feeling to those around you, have you ever noticed that?” 

“No. No, not a deathly feeling. I had no idea it felt like that for other people.” 

“Okay, can you tell me how it feels for you?” 

“It’s…it used to be like burning? My fingers and hands would hurt a lot. They would sweat, and I would feel dizzy some nights…I used to get up to drown my hands in water, when it started.” 

Madja nods, her brows furrowed faintly as she listens carefully—believing you. Your heart tightens, and you avert your gaze. 

“And all of that has been happening over the past two months or so?” She inquires. 

“Well, no…I…” you pause, trying to grapple with your memory, get it into a coherent, linear form. “I’ve…I experienced the sweats, and nausea, and dizziness a lot when I first…after the…when we came to Prythian,” you answer. Madja nods her head encouragingly, and you wet your lips. “Sleeping was difficult, and it lasted for a few months before I could be normal again…I think we each had our own…moments, after the Cauldron.” 

“But you didn’t experience any feelings similar to what you now know is your magic?” She asks, offering you the full glass of water, that you sip from again. Hand it back. “No. Those have only been in the past couple of months.” 

Madja pauses in thought, her round face tightened as she thinks, though she doesn’t look unkind, or stern. She still looks like Madja. Then she looks up again, her warm brown eyes softened, an intent look on her face. “And how have you been feeling?” 

“Me? I...” You trail off, unsure how to answer. “I’ve…been reading a lot…?” 

She smiles, “that’s lovely, but I mean how have you been feeling internally?” 

Her lips twitch when your brows furrow in question, looking at her strangely. “You’ve been telling me about your physical senses, tell me about how you’ve been feeling these past few months. I can imagine it might be scary to go through this?” 

“Oh…I suppose…” 

“You sound unsure,” Madja speculates, “do you not feel fear is an accurate descriptor?” 

“I mean, I’ve been scared when it happens, naturally. It hurts, and I don’t know what causes it, or how long it will last, so I suppose in those moments it is scary.”

“But the rest of the time?” Madja prompts. “I understand you were staying up in the House of Wind, by yourself for the most part. Do you like being alone?” 

“I guess I do,” you hedge, “I don’t…there wasn’t really anywhere else to go. And I liked having my own space up there, so I think it worked well. Plus I could access the libraries, so I enjoyed that part a lot.” 

“You’re a big reader,” she smiles, nodding her head. “What do you like to read?” 

“Mostly whatever I can find, but I like the books that tell me more about the world. There’s a lot of information I never would have gotten access to as a human, like the different climates in each of the courts, some small accounts of what it’s like overseas, where the food we eat comes from too which I find particularly intriguing. The plants and flowers are engaging too—you can see correlations between the flora and fauna distinct to each court and the characteristics they each exhibit, which I find fascinating.” 

Madja’s smile broadens as she nods her head, eyes twinkling. “I remember first learning about their benefits, how different plants have certain properties too. Often plants endemic to the Dawn Court are the most potent, and it’s where we import a lot of the ingredients for medicine from.” 

“Yes! I remember reading about that! But that sometimes the riversides and shores struggle with overgrowth, and measures are made to make sure seeds don’t spread too far. I remember reading too about the animals there—that a lot of them seem more jovial, compared to their relations in other courts.” 

Madja’s smiling so wide you can see her teeth, one of her canines is slightly twisted inward, and the teeth on her lower jaw are a little crooked in places. You can’t see anything wrong with them—they’re just hers. 

“And who else do you tell all of this?” She asks, “I imagine you would have read a lot over the course of your time here so far, who do you share all of it with?” 

“I don’t…really,” you say, trailing off. “I don’t mind though. I love reading.” 

“Elain enjoys botany too, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes, but to the extent that she can have, I suppose. She has a garden that she keeps alive, and she bakes, too. They’re similar interests but they ultimately lead in different directions.” 

“So you don’t speak with anyone about what you enjoy?” Madja asks, and you blink, fumbling a little. 

“I…I choose not to, so it’s fine,” you assure. “I like reading. And I speak with Azriel about…” You wet your lips, voice fading. “I mean when I was up in the House of Wind…we spoke a lot more.” 

Madja’s watching you quietly, listening to what you have to say. It feels like she’s expecting you to continue, and you don’t want it to be quiet, for the conversation to halt its flow, so you think of something to say. “We spoke a lot more…back then…” 

“Has something changed?” She asks. 

You look down into your lap, feeling a little far off. Distant. Not entirely present. 

“I like his company…” you say vaguely, “but he’s busy, and hardworking. …and I don’t think he…” Your lips curl at the edges like dried leaves tend to beneath the sun, then they seal together. “I think he finds me a bother, at times.” 

Madja’s quiet, but you can’t bring yourself to continue. Silence falls. 

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been feeling that way?” She asks gently, allowing pause for you to recollect yourself, should you wish. “I think a few months,” you murmur. 

“And can you tell me why you think he finds you bothersome?” Madja asks. 

Your lips part by a fraction, a small gap opening between the centre of your upper and lower lip, then you’re closing them again. “I…I make bad choices, quite a lot,” you answer quietly. “And I…I don’t make it easy to be around.”

“I think your company is lovely,” Madja says softly, palm resettling over your hand, drawing your attention back outward. “What makes you think you’re difficult to be around?” 

You open your mouth to give your answer, but your throat tightens sharply, lips forcefully being dragged down in the corners, and you crumple back into the bed. “I am,” you insist, eyes growing hot, then squeezing shut when they blur. “I don’t know how…I don’t know how to be normal around him. I feel like every time we speak I make it so obvious…and he doesn’t like it…and I just…” 

You pull your hands away from hers to try and hide your face, to push the tears away as they fall heavily. “I wish I hadn’t tried to tell him what I…how I felt for him. I never should have…”

“Does how you’re feeling right now have any reason to do with why I was tasked with looking after you?” Madja asks, voice softened to a tender effect, and you could weep from how believable she sounds. 

“He finds me a nuisance,” you whisper, hot tears dripping down your lowered face, letting them roll down your cheeks to collect at the underside of your jaw, before falling heavily into the crisp linen of the sheets. “I’m always causing him trouble of some kind. All of them.”

Heat wells behind your eyes, wishing you could go back and reorganise events so things wouldn’t have ended up like this. So you wouldn’t have caused him so much trouble, and given him reason to further distrust you. At least before he trusted you enough to give reliable recollections of your sister. If only you could go back to then. 

You could at least have a use. 

Madja’s thumb gently swipes across your knuckles, magic softly seeping from her fingertips. “You’re not a nuisance,” she replies solemnly. “You are not causing them trouble.”

You stare at her with a down-tilted mouth, and tears overflow from your lashes, dripping down your cheeks as your brows bunch, heart aching in your chest as small sobs break through your lungs. “I am,” you cry, head hanging as you try to inhale, but your body takes control of itself when it’s sad, and it’s not giving you chance to breathe. Madja, I am.

“Is this how you’ve been feeling these past few months?” She murmurs, stroking your palm, a hand at your shoulder as you curl your knees up to your chest, pulling them from beneath the duvet. You nod. 

“I thought it might be something like this,” Madja sighs, making you look up questioningly, pushing at the tears so you can better see her. She takes both your hands in her own, and looks into your eyes. “There’s no quick fix to matters of the heart. The way you’re feeling right now, the way you’ve felt in the past, and the lows you’ll experience in the future—I can do very little right now to give ends to those. But what’s going on with your magic, within your body—that we can work on. We can start somewhere familiar, and take steps from there. How does that sound?” 

But despite her good words, you shake your head. “I can’t, Madja,” you whisper. “I don’t want to.” 

“Sometimes you have to,” she says, squeezing your hands. “Do you believe I have any reason to lie to you?” 

You shake your head. 

“Then have faith that I’m telling you the truth: you are not troubling them.”

You watch her, a pained look in your eyes. “I can’t believe that.” 

“Why not?”

“Because, Madja,” you cry. “It doesn’t matter what you say, or what anyone else says. I am convinced. I know it like you know a bone will break under pressure, or that adding sugar to a tea will sweeten it. How I feel is not temporary, or fleeting, it is ceaseless and pervasive; it’s not something you can simply disprove like that—please don’t try to.”

“But in the same way I know a bone will snap with too much force, I know you are not as bad as you think you are.”

“Please, Madja,” you whisper. “If you can’t help me, do me the courtesy of believing me.”

The healer is silent, gripping your hands with her own warm palms, squeezing them gently but firm.  “I do believe you,” she says with conviction. “I believe you because I have seen what you are going through, and I know how you’re feeling is as real as a broken bone, or sweetened tea. But the bone will heal, and the tea will cool—can we both agree on that?” 

You cast your head down, eyes falling to your lap. “I chose poor analogies.” 

Madja thumbs across your knuckles. You can hear the almost sad smile in her voice. “Then I’ll return tomorrow and you can tell me what you’ve come up with.”

———

Outside, the wind bites at your throat, stinging at your nostrils with each inhale, burning on the way out. 

You clasp the scarf tighter around your neck, shoving your hands under your arms as you make the walk down the streets, careful to watch for ice on the cobbles. Winter is a while off yet, but the nights are becoming frigid enough for you to keep an eye out, particularly as the sun hasn’t yet gotten to her point in the sky where she could thaw any frost out. 

Before midday you find blues and purples lurking in the shadows, greens and yellows splashing where the sun spills across the exterior of coloured houses, shop windows shining viciously where the light is hitting just at the right angle to temporarily blind and disorientate. Though an upside of Prythian is the magic that’s infused into the land, sustaining special plants that thrive in this environment: frost lilies that bloom in the coldest months, taking their water from the dew that freezes on their petals over night; moon drops that have a pale, hanging outer shell of short petals that shrivel up and die if faced with an overdose of pure sunlight; the pale pink sprawl of the lengthened, stretching leaves that creep up from the earth between houses and cobble, settling narrow, capillary-like veins spreading across whatever they can cling onto. 

The long walk is enjoyable, despite the intrusive and unpleasant cold. Enough to look at, study, and recognise, to preoccupy your mind from the chill nipping at your skin, even beneath the gloves. By the time you reach the house however, your body is freer flowing, less stiff and disjointed though your extremities remain a little on the numb side, fingertips tingling faintly, and you have to remember to keep wiggling your toes in your shoes. But you’re warm enough you’ll be happy to discard the scarf once you’re inside—if she’s inside. 

Looking where the shadows lie, you would think it’s an hour or so from midday, so Nesta should be in… As far as you know for certain, training is the only activity that might be an obstacle, but that should surely be done by now.

Their house is a relatively new build, but finished enough for them to have moved into soon after their mating ceremony. While remaining naturally a little barren from its short-lived existence, there’re obvious touches already emerging in the patterns and style they’ve opted for, selecting things that catch their eye, taking time to build a home rather than to rush it in a year. 

A window of stained glass sits in a half-circle atop the wooden door, the panels that make up the imagery mostly clear. Dimples ripple in the crystal clear frames, while the neat cuts of coloured glass are smooth and flat, showing off the sprawling petals of a tuft of milk flowers—you realise with vague surprise milk flowers are endemic to the Night Court, but perhaps more interestingly are mostly found in Illyria. Exclusively found, rather. They’re rare, and symbols of endurance, due to the unforgiving and brutal environment they live in, remaining a small beauty amongst the barren rock of mountain. Compared to the wealth of information available on other plants, there’s little recorded about milk flowers, likely due to their habitat up in the Illyrian Steppes. 

You wonder if it’s a subtle way to hold onto Cassian’s history, without brutalising their home with architecture particular to the Illyrians: exhibiting traits expressed as sturdy and practical—an antithesis of that aspiration caught in the elegance of the stained glass. 

Maybe that’s a bit of Nesta’s humour bleeding through. 

You land three knocks to their door, starting with a hard strike to the wood with your knuckles then a sharp decrease in force when pain bleeds through your carpals, the final knock hardly louder than a soft tap, all but giving out entirely. You cradle your hands beneath your arms, regretting the bout of recklessness. 

No noise comes from inside, so you’re startled when the door opens, sharp hazel eyes peering at you from within the relative darkness, watching for a second before the door opens wider and a broad smile breaks across his face. “Well aren’t you far from home,” Cassian chuckles, shoulder keeping the entrance open, “what are you doing all the way out here? On a mission?” 

You swallow, managing a smile, understanding he’s joking but too drained to be believably reciprocative. “Somewhat,” you reply, trying to sound humorous, “is Nesta in, too?” 

“I should have known you’d be here to visit her,” Cassian remarks, sighing into the frame before gesturing for you to come inside. “Come in, I’ll go pull her from her reading.” 

You give an appreciative nod before following in behind him, catching the door as it closes with an oomf, surprised by its heavy weight, knocking you back a step. You gingerly step inside, crouching down to untie the laces of your boots, freeing your socked feet as you push the shoes to the rack before again standing, peering about the entrance hall. The walls are pale, having not yet been painted with whatever colour or wallpaper they’ll eventually settle on. From around the corner you can make out the faint pad of footfalls, and Nesta appears a few seconds later, sharp eyes finding you instantly. She greets you. Asks you why you came. 

You fumble. How does one begin a conversation like this?

“I…haven’t visited in a while,” you end up telling her. “I thought I might come by—if you aren’t busy? It’s not urgent,” you quickly add.

“I’ve nothing planned,” she replies, glancing to where the light is falling on the floor. “It’s a little early for lunch, but I suppose we can begin.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” you assure, “I don’t think it’ll take long.”

“What will take long?” 

“Nothing,” you affix, blinking once. 

Nesta hums, then turns in the hallway. “Then we can go to the sitting room. It’s still lacking some furniture here and there, just so you know.”  

You nod, forgetting she can’t see you with your head turned, then follow after her as she makes her way down the hallway and to the right, entering through an empty doorway that leads to the living room. She takes a seat in a chair with a dipped pillow, guessing it was where she’d been before you interrupted. You take a seat adjacent. 

Ataraxia lays upon the table like a discarded shopping list, except much bigger, and much deadlier. 

“So,” Nesta muses, “what did you want to speak with me about?” 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[marydublinauthor]

Shot in the Dark Bonus Scene: tumblr exclusive - “First Kiss”

Spoilers for 2024 Shot in the Dark below

This takes places sometime shortly after the end of book 1. Sylvia’s POV. Very rough, but still fun and Anne and I think about this bonus scene all the time! Their first “REAL” kiss— we hope you enjoy!

TW: none, very fluffy!

@kendsleyauthor

••••

“You’re sure you’re okay?” I asked.

My heart was still racing from the spectral plane. We’d made it—it was safe and it was incredible. I still felt the ghost of Jon’s strong arms wrapped around me as I looked at him across the bed, wiping away the last of the blood trickling from his nose.

“Doesn’t even hurt,” he assured me, his tone even and pleasant—so I knew he was telling the truth. “I’ll bet it’s just a consequence of visiting as a human.”

He tossed the tissue aside and rolled to face me, his eyes bright in the lamplight. I chewed my lip—nerves and excitement and what the fuck am I doing with a hunter all clamoring inside me.

The straps of my bralette slipped down my shoulders as I sat up, legs folded on pillow. I moved closer to him, away from the spectral rune of dirt we’d formed on the bedding.

“I’ll admit, I’m getting so used to seeing you covered in blood, it might be strange to see you without it,” I said. I wrinkled my nose, smirking. “I’m worried I’m into that now. Would that be terrible?”

Jon snickered softly. “I’ve heard far worse.”

Stars, he was handsome. Something tender in his eyes shifted as he looked down at me, intensifying. My throat tightened as resolve took hold of his expression, and he reached for me. I wondered if Jon would ever know what it was like to have a hand the size of a wall racing toward you. Surely not. But he was more delicate day by day, and his touch was feather light as he cupped my side, brushing up my arm with him thumb. Catching my cheek, caressing the traitorous swirls on my face.

I had to look so fragile and pathetic to him here. It was hard not to glance back at the spectral rune—surely, he would want the same. He’d want to touch me properly. But his gaze, the growing tension in the air between us, made me bite my worries back.

What is he thinking?

Slowly, haltingly, Jon rolled toward me. He leaned down—my heart racing at the nearness because here, unlike the spectral plane, I could feel his heat and the smell of him and it drove me wild—close and closer until he was all I could see. My entire world.

I shut my eyes, gripping the side of his hand. Jon’s lips brushed against the side of my face, warm and featherlight pressure. He pulled away in my shocked silence to read my expression.

“Was that—“ he swallowed, frowning. “Too weird?”

I opened my mouth, but words failed me. All I could think was how small I had felt against him—and equally treasured. The taste of his skin was fresh on my tongue.

A sigh cut above—Jon dragged a hand over his face, color quickly flooding his sun-kissed skin. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

He trailed off, and I showed him mercy—smiling, lounging back with my head tipped back lazily. I gazed up at him like he was something to be devoured.

A heavy pause drew out between us as he watched me. Jon’s expression melted into surprise—recognizing the gesture for what it was: an open invitation. A curious, dark grin took hold. In the cracking silence of the motel room, with only our shared breathing breaking the emptiness, he leaned down with more certainty this time. He kissed my lips—or rather my face—so gently, I wanted to vanish into him.

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 15, In Which You Dance Twist With Mr. Goat (Pulp Fiction Style)

AO3

TAGS: self-harm, sharp objects, glass, politics

There was a time, not so long ago, when you were terrified of flying. 

The mere thought of that huge metal thing plummeting from the sky for no apparent reason (well, the human factor. It's always the human factor), a minute of sheer terror, descent, and then boom.

No survivors.

No bodies ever recovered.

You used to fear situations that so brazenly took control away from you. 

Well, you were wrong; there was something strangely comforting about letting go; about snuggling up in the plush comfort of an oversized leather seat, scrolling through messages on your phone to the roar of the twin engines. 

Raphael's hand was always on your knee, his tail wrapped tightly around your ankle, as if you could escape him on the private jet - or off it. A black diamond ring on your finger sparkled in the sunlight filtering through the oval windows. 

Across from you sat Camilla, while Jens occupied the far corner seat. Yurgir was conspicuously absent; you didn't pry into his reasons, just assumed his size exceeded the weight limit of any aircraft.

A headline in the Daily Mirror caught your eye: "Who is Anya Berger? What do we know about the mysterious girl who won the heart of a billionaire in ten days?"

What do they know, you wondered and clicked.

"Walk me through the panels again," Raul asked. "And the key people to talk to."

"Morning is boring," Korilla replied. "Mental health crisis, supply chain disruptions, sustainability regulations. You start in the afternoon, sir: your first is the AI discussions with the UN Secretary General's Special Envoy for Technology."

"I won't say a word about this soulless drivel," Raphael said, skimming through the agenda.

Camilla choked on her coffee while Jens flinched at her sudden movement, his hand swiftly resting on the gun now.

"Mr D'Avergni, Avernus' portfolio is 15% invested in AI technologies," she said as soon as she collected herself. "What do you mean 'soulless nonsense'? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I will not say a word about these abominable technologies. I have been made privy to information that they are cannibalising art and I will not stand for it". 

"Where did you hear this nonsense?" whispered Camilla. "Tumblr? Anya? Is that your doing?"

"I'm totally against AI," you interjected, without looking up from your phone, engrossed in the news article about your grunge heroin chic and manic-girl attitude.

They recommended black nail polish, drawing dark circles under your eyes and perfecting the look of total derangement to repeat your success. There were also some advanced blowjob techniques at the bottom of the article. 

"What is this panel 'Securing an Insecure World'?" asked Raphael. "I quite fancy the name."

"Sir, it has nothing to do with you. This is the macroeconomic panel on the dying middle class, youth problems, inequality, blah blah blah. Fear-mongering."

"Fear-mongering?" said Raphael. "I seem to have found my stage."

Camilla closed her eyes and put on her best smile. The flight attendant glided by in her pressed uniform and replaced your coffee; you were momentarily struck by the amount of cleavage she was showing as your eyes glanced upwards. 

To see very familiar eyes and a smile. Haarlep put a finger to her lips and gave you a little wink. You smiled back.

"Sir," Camilla said gently. "It doesn't work that way. You can't just speak whenever and about whatever you want in a global forum. It's all scripted, all pre-written."

"Astute observation," said Raphael. "Scripted conversations, scripted problems, scripted solutions, no room for improvisation. Davosneeds a breath of fresh air. Of honesty. Of a genuine hope for change".

Camilla said, "Of course, sir," and forced a smile. 

Back to the article: did they really get your ex-boyfriend to give an interview about you? Did he have anything good to say, that bastard who regularly forgot to flush the toilet?

Yes, he had plenty to say, mostly about you being not right in the head. You put him on your hit list and stroked Raphael's tail, which in turn stroked your ankle. They even got your mum on the phone, who thankfully had nothing much to say except that you were a good Catholic girl.

You saw some frantic movement out of the corner of your eye.

Camilla was waving you over to the plane's galley. You tried to get up, but were stopped by a tail wrapped around your ankle like a boa constrictor. "May I go to the toilet?" you asked, and Raphael uncoiled his tail, three times, with a slight reproach in his eyes. Jens did his best to keep a straight face, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Camilla pulled you deeper into the galley. She smelled of fresh coffee and burnout. 

"Anya, listen, I am very sorry that it has to come to this, but just between us girls..." she said, her fingers fidgeting with her diamond necklace. "Did Raul remember to take his medication today? I don't like his mood”. She shifted on her feet. "God, I miss the days when you could smoke in these things”.

"I'm not his doctor," you shrugged.

"Well, maybe it would be worth reminding him," Camilla drawled. "I'd rather not see viral videos of him committing political suicide in Davos. And I'm sure you'd agree."

You weren't so sure.

"I'm not going to poke the devil, and I suggest you don't either," you said, leaning against the galley counter.

Camilla sighed and gave you a very sympathetic smile.

"Anya, may I give you some friendly advice? Raul may seem like a half-god to you, but I've seen him curled up in a ball sobbing about how Daddy never loved him when he was high as a kite on coke. He's... as human as the rest of us. For better and worse”.

Just then, the plane shook violently, sending you both clutching the walls for support. The pilot quickly apologized over the intercom.

"Don't patronise me, Korilla," you said. "Do you think I'm just some pathetic, love-struck girl Raul likes to abuse?"

Camilla paused for a moment before suppressing a grin. "I'm going to invoke my right against self-incrimination. So tell me, my dear: who are you really?"

"Much more than meets the eye." You straightened up, standing slightly taller than her (which was not difficult). "I'm the one who gave him all this power in the first place."

"Wow," Kamilla snorted out in surprise. "Wow. Okay. Cool. Never mind."

"You need proof?" you said quietly. 

"Not really," she said.

"I wish you would get down on your knees and kiss my hand."

"What?" Kamilla burst out laughing. "Maybe you should share your medicine with Raul. Ask Dr Bambauer for a family discount. He will be at Davos, by the way, speaking on the mental health crisis".

"I wish for you to kiss my hand," you insisted. "Come on, do it, I have a point to prove."

You really need to learn how to calibrate these things. This one worked, though; she complied, sinking to her knees before you, a wild look in her eyes. Then she planted a surprisingly gentle kiss on your palm, leaving a crimson mark. 

"What the hell?" she whispered as she looked up at you. Raphael was engrossed in his paperwork, oblivious to the scene, so was Jens.

"See, Korilla," you started again after letting the moment hang awkwardly in the air for longer than necessary, "don't worry about Raphael talking nonsense. You'd be surprised how many people eat it up."

"Who the fuck is Raphael?"

"Your new boss," you said. "Well, old boss actually. Ahh... you won't really notice much of a difference; I hardly do myself sometimes," you lowered your voice to a minimum. "But don't tell them that, they'll get angry. You can get up now, this is getting a bit weird."

She tried to say something, her lips barely moving. You think it was 'how'. She was asking ‘how’.

"You see," you said. "The devil thinks I am very, very  special”.

Having said that, you came back to your seat. Raphael's tail immediately darted to your ankle and wrapped around it. You leaned back in your chair and watched Haarlep flirting with the pilot out of the corner of your eye.

It would be really stupid to crash because Haarlep wanted to have a quickie in the cockpit. The plane began its descent to Samedan St Moritz airport. The rugged Swiss Alps came into view out the window, snow-capped peaks glistening in the afternoon sun. 

***

When you book a presidential suite you no longer have to check in, you can just walk straight past the reception. The hotel was a mountain resort so exclusive that the website was just an artistic photo with no way to reserve a room. 

Raphael was eerily calm as he watched the staff unpack your belongings. His calm demeanour lasted until some poor sap nearly wrinkled his suit while trying to hang it in the en-suite cloakroom. A deafening growl sent the trembling fellow scuttling from the room.

The rest were given very generous tips.

Soon after, you found Raphael rehearsing his speech in a mirror, repeating the same phrases three times in a row, "when youth was told their souls were worthless, easily replicated by machines". Each time he spoke, there was a subtle change in tone, as if he was trying to capture some emotion - you were not quite sure what he was getting at - was he trying to imitate genuine concern? 

If so, he could work on his delivery.

He gave it another shot, the tension in his back muscles evident through his shirt.

"Excellent choice of attire, gattina," he gave you a look you approached. "Might I suggest an improvement? Not these trousers. The black pencil skirt with the white vertical stripes, the Saint Laurent one from the spring collection."

"It looks absurd on me," you looked away. "I don't have the body for it."

"You have the body for anything," he said. "Don't debate me on this. Slip into the skirt, return here and see how right I am”.

That damned skirt was a nightmare: so constricting that any wrong move felt like a tear waiting to happen; clearly designed by someone who either had never laid eyes on an actual woman or harbored a deep-seated resentment towards anyone the wrong size and proportion, which would be everyone. 

Yet somehow, you managed to wriggle yourself into it and made your way back to him.

"Now that's what I want to see," Raul smiled. "A beautiful woman and all mine."

"It's two sizes smaller than what I wear".

"Come closer, you silly creature, and grasp how breathtaking you are."

He tugged you towards the full-length mirror and swept your hair to one side so that you could take in your entire reflection.

Only it wasn’t yours.

When you played Sims and tweaked the controls to create the ideal you, you ended up with someone like this. Every trait similar to what you had, only better. A lot better. Smoother skin, better hair, smaller waist, perkier tits.

"They will see you through my eyes," Raphael said as his hands slid under your blouse and cupped your breasts. "These mortals will seethe with jealousy, envying me for having you and you for having me."

The woman in the mirror looked like someone Raphael would choose to be his consort. The skirt looked perfect, as it was tailor made just for you. 

"That’s not me," you said, mesmerized by the eerie reflection.

"Nonsense. You didn't know who you truly were until you met me," he whispered in your ear. "If it's not you I'm putting my arms around, why would you feel them?"

You felt his palms squeeze your breasts and roll your nipples between his fingers. His lips brush your neck. His growing bulge against your backside.

"Now would you be so kind?.." he asked. 

You could swear the woman in the mirror was bending over before you did, eagerly offering herself, sliding her panties down to her knees and placing her palms on either side of the mirror for leverage. His hands kneaded your buttocks, spreading you apart as his erection pressed against your entrance.

Foreplay wasn't on his agenda, you realized with a shiver. True enough, he penetrated you with a single thrust. First sharp pain, then the very familiar pleasure, liquid and pitch black and all-consuming.

"Look," he said. "Look at yourself. Look at me. Marvel at what you see."

The woman in the mirror moaned in response, pleasure etched on her face as the devil behind her ravaged. Her features twisted and blurred in ever-changing motion, skin wobbling like waves of water; she was shifting between all the women you ever dreamed of being - one moment Tav, then Christine, then Sarah Williams.

"It's not real," you moaned. 

His eyes remained fixed on the mirror the whole time he fucked you. You arched backwards into him, grinding against him with each thrust, skin slapping against skin.

"There is no reality," he whispered back. "Other than what you see in that mirror”.

His thrusts came harder now, jolting you against the cold glass. The woman in the mirror seemed to have gone insane from how well she was being fucked, her face twisted in a barely human grimace of bliss.

"Climax," he commanded with a snap of his fingers.

You saw the woman in the mirror go limp in his arms, a look of absent bliss on her face, and then remember that the woman was you. A jagged sound ripped from you. Your body responded to the command like a dog thrown a biscuit; your cunt tightened around his cock once.

Twice. 

The woman in the mirror morphed again; now it’s someone you’d seen a thousand times, the weird pale girl nobody ever gave a second look. 

You. 

Thrice.

The mirror you were propped against shattered - spectacularly so, its razor-sharp fragments raining down like confetti.

"Hang on," you managed to gurgle out in sheer terror as you tumbled, losing your balance. "Raphael, hold on..."

He didn't. Instead, he let gravity take over and you fell face-first into the broken mirror below, his weight following right after. Your scream of pleasure morphed into a wail of agony as countless tiny shards opened up on your skin; mutilating, cutting, obliterating. 

oh god it hurts 

Raphael groaned as he drove you deeper and deeper into the jagged fragments, your writhing and screaming doing nothing to deter him. The shards under your skin thrust in and out with each thrust, piercing right through you, through your face.

oh god it hurts; pulsated the single thought. The pain was nothing like you had felt before; it was the clearest sensation your clouded mind had ever processed.

A growing pool of blood spread like spilled wine on the white marble tiles beneath you. You closed your eyes tightly, but that didn't make the blood disappear. You blinked them open again... then closed them... 

Blood was still there. Raphael thrust once, so hard there wasn’t a single shard left that didn’t hurt you. 

Twice.

Three times, and he came inside you, spitting curses in Italian between ragged breaths. 

The pain suddenly vanished as if snapped away by his fingers; but its ghostly memory kept your tears flowing.

"I swear to God, kitten" Raul murmured as he rolled off you, "the way you're screaming would make anyone think I'm murdering you."

You opened your eyes and stared at the perfectly white tiles.

No blood.

No shards. No cuts. No pain.

Nothing. You looked up in the mirror: the Gorgeous Version of You looked back. You looked down on yourself. 

Exactly how you always wanted to be. 

You laughed in blissful abandon. Then, you rolled onto your back, catching sight of Raul's gobsmacked expression which made you laugh even harder.

read the rest on ao3

[royalsunshinehotel]

Hello again! Sorry I didnt see that you answered my message tumblr didnt notify me for some reason 🤦‍♀️. And boy do i have ideas for ya boy, our heart and soul, David. (If u still write for him that is).

Picture this: you and david are newlyweds and on a honeymoon. Im picturing something like the channel islands like Jersey, where theres still a nice city aspect but you can get pretty solitary if u want. You run around, do some shopping maybe, goof off together. You both have a cottage that overlooks the water. You both walk by the edge of the water for a bit, completely lovesick and he just chats about how lucky he is that you said yes to him. He keeps telling you how lovely look and you keep teasing him too. Eventually the banter gets very heated and he drags you back to your room in the cottage and ✨️christens✨️ it with you.

This is just an idea btw, not a request or anything so think on this , and have a lovely day!

A Lucky Cloud (David Copperfield x wife!reader, 18+)

Giddy was the perfect word for it.

It had been exactly two days since you had met David at the church and become his wife. You find it's quite convenient because early that morning, you were able to kiss the top of David's nose to wake him, and instead of leaving, the two of you would take breakfast together. Your husband is quite a handsome man, it simply has to be said.

You watched him, as you always do, take a sip of his tea, large hands, long elegant fingers holding the cup. Those were the same hands you'd felt everywhere the evening before. He had the nerve to bat his long lashes at you, "What are you thinking, dearest?"

"You're all mine." You stated simple facts, David smiled and put his cup down.

"I am, we signed the papers." Til death do us part, though David said longer.

"And I'm yours." You grinned for no real reason, and David moved his chair back, leaving his lap open. It would have been a shame to leave that seat empty, so you pounced.

"You are. Gone soft on me, have you?" He sighed as you sat down in his lap, as if he had been holding his breath. 

"I have. How sad." David takes your chin with his thumb, and brings your mouth to his, kissing your pout. He tasted sweet, from the sugar cubes piled in his tea. He enjoyed your mouth for a moment, hands roaming over clothes, but he pulled away…

"As much as I would like to take you back to bed, I think we should take a walk today, just to say we did." You blinked at him.

"Outside?" You cocked your head. Why would he want to do a thing like that?

"Outside. Maybe just along the water." Oh, David did enjoy large bodies of water, you wouldn't deny him that.

"But not too far." You stated, looking him in his big eyes. 

I’d like to be back in bed within the hour, you thought. 

"Not too far." He confirmed, kissing your cheek. Your husband helps you up off his lap, coughing lightly, ignoring the state of his trousers. 

It's just another moment, that the two of you finished your breakfast, and got changed. You wouldn’t bother to tell David why you’re not putting on your various layers. You’ll just be wearing your overcoat and hoping for the best. 

You squeaked as David kissed the back of your neck, while helping you put on your coat. It was something simple, but you still felt weak in the knees. How strange it was! You weren't a woman who squeaked before you met David, and it still managed to surprise you.

He opened the door for you, and you tried not to wince as the cool air hit your skin. This would be a lovely interlude to what had been an alarming amount of time spent on marital relations. You would enjoy the break, or you wouldn’t let David see that you would much rather be inside, underneath him. 

Overall, you’d say your honeymoon was going quite well. You never saw yourself as someone who could get married, but then David barreled into your life and showed you how wrong you were. 

The autumn sun hit your skin and you sighed lighty, letting the cool fresh air take hold. He was right, as much as you’d hate to admit it. It was a lovely idea. 

You snuggled into your husband's arm, fingers toying with the cuff of his wool overcoat. Jersey was a fantastic choice for the two of you, plenty of good food in town, but plenty of nature too. You knew David grew up with natural life close by, maybe you could give your children the same luxury!

The two of you leisurely made your way down to the stony beach, you released his arm, and let him go to the edge of the water like you know he loves to do. 

“You were right husband, just this one time.” He scoffed at you, giving you a big toothy grin, sticking his hand into the lake. 

You sat on a large log and watched your husband enjoy himself. You breathe deeply, letting the air refresh you, cleanse. David came to sit by you. 

“Do you think our children will come here one day?” You asked, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Our children?” He asked, voice tinged with incredulousness. 

“Tell me you’ve thought of them.” Before the wedding, it was practically all he could talk about!! 

“I have!” Since the wedding, he hasn't. He’d been a little lost in you. But he was thinking of them now.

David put your hand in his own, linking your fingers. 

“David.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to meet our children sooner?” 

“...Yes.”

Getting home was both a sprint and a blur. 

As a former chorus girl, you had to be athletic. David, your beloved, was typically not. However, today the power of desire would make him keep pace, behind you like a loyal dog.

A chilly fall breeze blew the two of you through the front door, David slammed it immediately after, as you pinned him against it, about to tear through his coat and shirt to get to him. 

He beamed as you put your mouth everywhere you could reach, frantically, like the two of you were reuniting after a war. He moaned into your mouth, your grip on his coat lapels unforgiving. 

“You’d debase me in the hallway, dearest?” he asked, coming up for air, only for a moment. You scowled at him, pretending to pout. 

Slowly, you backed away from him, and he batted his big eyes at you, “You should run then,” he cocked his head, “Or I’ll start without you.” 

His eyes flash as you strip off your coat, and sprint to the main bedroom, you whirl around and try to slam the door, only for your dearest husband to dramatically throw himself into the door frame. Oh bless him…

He gaped at you, and you laughed at him, “Minx!” he declared, “You’d lock out your husband?” 

“When he’s misbehaved, yes!” How dare he be unwilling to take you in the hallway! It never stopped the two of you before!

“I’d argue it was you who misbehaved!” He tried, as if you hadn’t been suffering on your day out. 

“Then come over here and punish me for it.” 

David stared at you a moment, as if he was trying to make a memory. You huff at this, kicking off your shoes, and flopping back in bed. He wouldn’t punish you, he puts the idea down immediately, as well as falling to his knees. 

“May I serve you?” 

“Since you asked so nicely…” He crawled to you, and you pulled him up next to you on the bed. How ridiculous it was, to have missed someone you had spent the whole day with. 

“I’d like your mouth, husband.” You purred, brushing your nose against his. 

“So take it, wife.” He replied softly, waiting for your next cue. 

You think a moment, about the first time you mounted your David’s face, and how relentless he’d been for you. Only stopping when you said. What a good man you had. All yours, just like he said. 

Your heart skipped as David gave you the goofiest of smiles, before pulling your shared pillows into place. He’s much too tall to fuck around without pillows.

“You’re a very good husband, dearest,” you beamed at him. You had read it was important to share such thoughts. 

“I can be better!” You scoffed, undoing the buttons of David’s shirt to reveal a lovely amount of his chest. The bedroom in the house where you were staying was tightly insulated, the autumn sun streaming through the windows, making the two of you perfectly warm. 

David’s face should have felt more familiar with how much time you spent enjoying it. It was almost unfair how he was designed, looking up at you from two comfortable pillows, expectantly, mouth open. 

You thanked yourself for having the foresight to strip off your heavier clothes, as you migrate in bed, to do what David had so nicely prepared for. 

Your firm grip on his hair, his long eyelashes fluttering, a pleasant, sharp nose. How every lady he set eyes on didn’t fall, was beyond you. 

Properly seated, and your husband’s neck supported, you slowly grinded against his beautiful face. Your husband didn’t stand for this, taking a harsh grip on your ass, and pushing you down further. 

Rolling forward, you took hold of the bed frame, and took one of David’s wandering hands in your own, placing it on your belly, the other supporting your lower back. 

You adored his tongue. You practically married him for it. 

You continued to rock slowly against his face, harder and harder as your skin gets hotter and hotter. David made it so hard for you to contain yourself! You had been so calm and concealed when you met him, and now you were practically about to break his nose! 

A hand wandered up to feel your breast, and he groaned against you when he found it. 

You came loudly, boldly, onto David’s tongue, and you swore you could feel him smile against your pussy. He used his tongue to fuck you the whole way through, wobbling, clinging to the bedframe as tight as you could. 

He was the only one who could do this to you, the only one who stripped you down to your most vulnerable, and lavish you with care and sensitivity regardless of what mess he might see. 

His face was still wet with your release as you leaned back, your knees angry with you for staying still for so long. A lovely floaty feeling settled on the top of your head, like a very lucky, wispy cloud. 

David caught his breath, observing you closely. You crashed, pressing your face into his neck, his grip steady, unrelenting.. 

“Need you,” You mumbled into his hair, and you heard the vibrations of a chuckle in his chest. You really were a minx, and you knew it too.  

He helps you pull your underskirts up to your waist, his forehead pressed to your own as you feel a blunt pressure against your wetness. He’s warm, familiar by now, and it’s absolutely perfect. 

The two of you weren’t rushed by any means. David firmly rolls you back on top of him, your mouth sucking and biting at his neck at your leisure, as if he was some kind  of rare treat.

He thought, for a moment, about the first time he had you, like this, completely calm and unguarded. He vaguely registered you changing your pace as the relief the two of you were chasing got closer and closer. You’d said something so ridiculous he could almost laugh now, “You’re so good to me David, I’m afraid I don’t deserve you.” 

“What utter nonsense.” He said in the bedroom. You didn’t notice his words, completely preoccupied chasing release, faster and faster as you kept his pulse under your teeth. Your breathy little gasps and familiar squelching sounded like music, and your husband thinks to write this down. For personal use, obviously. 

The two of you held each other tightly through the come down, your head firmly resting on David’s chest, and he drew thin lines all over your skin with his fingertips. 

“I think I want to keep my hands on you forever,” He hummed into your hair. You laughed a little, leaning to press a kiss to his throat. His eyes fluttered shut at that, as they always did. 

“You can, you know,” you replied warmly, smiling as he did what he said, running large hands over you. 

“Hmmm…legs,” he traced his hands down feeling you there, as you casually brought your fingers through his dark, curly mane. 

“Hair.” You announced. He brushed his nose against your own.

“What are we doing?” 

“Saying what we love.” You hummed as if it was the most simple thing in the world. 

“Everything.” David sighed into your mouth, “Everything. Us.”

consulting credits to my dearest @youlooklike-clarabow

[pudgybun]

I took a break from tumblr and coming back I was shocked by how lovely you (still) are. Like a breath of fresh air. You've always been one of my favorite fat content creators 💖

:D Ur such a sweetie! Thank u ((: It's so cool and strange getting to share such an intimate thing as my sexuality with others on here. I luv it ♡

[c0smoshit]

Hun, I just saw your post about my request being posted earlier! Don't worry about it! Take all the time you need and I want you to enjoy it as much as you can! I know you'll do amazing, and it'll be worth the wait! I am so sorry Tymblr has been a bitch

Blue eyes ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕝𝕠𝕥 ≫ Cloud's been having some horrific dreams lately

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ angst!, fluff too, traumas, nightmares, slight harrasment from a drunk guy, visions, voices, not proofread!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ Sorry for the inactivity and tumblr being a bitch :(( But anyways, enjoy this mess 🫶😭

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 4.462

« Red »

The colour his mind pictured when he started hearing things, seeing them. His head spinned and hurt, closing his eyes tightly while strange voices filled his mind.

He didn't know where they came from or why they did it, but he was so tired of them.

At first it didn't happen really often, it all started when he stepped on that polluted city. It caused him such a weird and sad feeling, Midgar, the city that was supposed to be such an advance in technology, bringing fresh and huge mako reactors to create those little colorful pearls everyone seemed to want.

But it was all bullshit, they were destroying the planet, milking every mako drop out of it. It got to a point were people couldn't even see the daylight from the slums, greeted by hours and hours of darkness and emptiness.

His mind often circled around how lifeless the faces of the people were, matched with the depressing sight of the metallic buildings and playgrounds. The only natural light that beamed through the endless sandy paths were the children, bringing honest giggles and big jovial grins to the world.

How would it feel to be a kid again?

Nostalgia rested deep inside him, he mourned those years, when it all felt right and real.

Long walks along the little village with his mother, longer ones in the mountains by the back of his house.

Breathe clean air, sleeping with the sound of the air hitting the slope of the mountains with persistence.

His mother caressing his hair as he told her not to ruffle it up

"Learning" how to be a SOLDIER by himself.

He reminisces about his loneliness too, he constantly looked foward to what Tifa's friends were up to.

Although he didn't really fit with anyone on Nibelheim besides Tifa, he was happy and he had dreams. Dreams that were soon sliced by a huge Masamune.

No matter how hard his subconciousness, driven by the silhouette of SOLDIERS and Sephiroth, tried to tell him that those kids were inferior to him, they seemed to be so joyful and honestly happy.

And he just... was there.

Those were the happiest years he had ever looked back on, and now they just remained as memories.

But time appeared to exacerbate those imminent dark nights.

People would frequently put him as a companionless guy, one of many who enjoyed the silent strides of their own feet. And he was, he loved being alone, not with his mind.

He had become accustomed to being alone, he always had been a solitary person and that's all he knew.

His mind roved around his past, his memories, and he often found himself trying to decipher if they were real or just some images that this new voice had placed deeply inside his psyche.

Maybe that was the reason he actually likes spending time with the group, not really the fact that he got to be with them but the comfort of the voices being subdued by them. Even if it just lasted some hours.

Midgar had a dark aura around it that he only seemed to discern. And it got worse and worse, scarlet painted memories of the ones he couldn't protect.

He was tired, tired of it all.

Tired of fighting only to be compensated with grief and regret.

Tired of taking care of everyone, as cruel as it sounded.

Tired of seeing him everywhere, even on the safety of your arms.

The man, if he even deserved that name, who took his life away savagely, his dreams and his trust for him. The day he remembers the most, yet so vaguely, a chaos of blurred ( burnt ) out images inside his messed up brain.

The years had taken away decades of sanity that should still remain inside him.

And hundreds of hours of sleep too.

His body sometimes walked itself out of his makeshift appartment Tifa had lent him, governed by the need of "fresh" air. Nonetheless they were just mere excuses for the fear he felt, knowing that he had to sleep that night with his own thoughts.

He saw you once, streets painted with the caliginosity of the moon, you looked calm as you feet dragged you through the solid metal walls.

He pondered about going and talk to you, but he opted to just watch you fade away into the dead of night. Kind of creepy, he thought, but he didn't want to disturb your peace.

But the metal clank of his comically large sword, resting heavily on his back almost exposed him. Two confused glowing orbs looked around, trying to decipher what they just heard. However they eventually calmed themselves down and continued their enigmatic pace.

He let out a sigh of relief he wasn't aware was holding, lowering the rapid gloved hand that tried to stop the movement of his sword from the handle.

Before he decided that he should leave you alone, something sparkled inside him, something was wrong.

He resumed his steps and before he even had a chance to think, some strange man approached you. Maybe you had a boyfriend he didn't know about?

That option was quickly discarded as your face scrunched up in disgust for a brief moment before you smiled at the man, telling him something. Something he didn't seem really excited about as he slurred some words out of his mouth while closing the distance between the both of you.

His forbearance soon emptied itself, he couldn't bear seeing you like this for another minute. He was aware you knew how to manage yourself in fights and this wouldn't be the first time your shin ended on some guy's crotch.

But everytime something like this occurs, you try to be as polite as you posibly can, not wanting the situation to escalate to a higher problem. Muttering some

"I'm fine thank you"

Your hands crossed in front of your chest, tugging tightly your own shirt as you tried to walk away. But the weird guy got even closer to you, smiling as if he was proud of winning a medal, trying to cage you into the wall.

"Aww cmon, I just wanna have some fun tonight"

His disgusting drunken reek filled your poor nostrils, god why couldn't he just walk away or something?

"You don't want to have some fun?"

You were forced to stop dead on your tracks as his hand launched itself, hitting the wall besides you, ending up at your eye level.

"Hey-"

Your eyes widened in horror as he came closer to your face, whispering something into your ear that your mind couldn't process, as the only thing that popped up instead was the image of your fist fitting so good into his cheekbone.

The hand that grabbed your waist was your last straw, but before you could land a decent blow into the man's face something stopped you. Well, rather someone.

Some signature light blonde locks followed by a stoic and quite angry expression appeared behind the guy, his thin lips parted, words fell out of them full of irritation.

"Mind your own bussiness, freak"

A scoff was heard but it was soon replaced by a leather sound, the yank of someone's jacket followed by the loud sound of a body hitting the ground.

The man quickly got himself up, dusting off his clothes and when he was ready to make some comments about the appearance of the one who had taken him down, he decided to shut his mouth as his eyes travelled to the weapon he was wearing.

That and his intimidating appearance, the moon casting it's light into his back so his face was dark enough not to reveal his features, but not his piercing mako eyes.

Eyes that stared down at him with the most disgusting look he had ever seen on anyone's face before.

And in spite of the fact that Cloud wasn't that intimidating like Barret could be, his actions made his whole facade darker. He wasn't a tall and beefy guy, but he was strong.

Just by one movement of his sword he could slice a motorbike in half, his dexterity with blades was what made him feared.

And yet he was also good in close battles, clear agility as he moved through both the battlefield and the hits that were thrown at him. That and his quick thinking and last minute dodges he offered too.

The man had already vanished into the rumbling engines that worked overnight, fused with the quiet chatter of the souls who worked late. You sighed out in harmony with his grip softening on the handle of his sword once again.

You had so many questions that needed to be answered right now, the louder one asking how come he was here tonight?

The night ended with him taking you back home, telling you that you should be more careful, gaining a frow of your brows and you saying something about how you could protect yourself.

And he knew that, he had seen you fight with him, taking down enemies that he was too slow to see. But he still wanted to take a look after you, make sure nobody harmed you in any ways.

He wanted to be there the way you were there for him.

« Blue »

The way his visions were tinted like, navy blue mixed with some undertones of green.

They were the worst part of all this madness he was enduring.

They caused him headaches and the feeling of disorientation, and he absolutely despised being lost. He didn't even know who he was or why he was here, his mind was the worst puzzle he had to ever go through.

However, that wasn't the darkest thing about it.

The visions felt so real, vivid images flashing through his mind like a high speed train, travelling through all his senses and flooding them.

He could see everything and no matter how hard he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, his own brain forced them open.

He could hear the cries and wailings for mercy, sometimes for help, his help.

He could touch, but everything was so far away yet so close to him.

He could taste the bitter-sweet savour of guilt.

The rancid smell of sadness.

The only sound that brought comfort to him, as it being a signal that he was still alive, ceased it's rythmic pumping. A looming mist spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body, fueling his nerves.

He could sense that they either were years appart from his timeline or mere minutes away.

But the conclusions all ended up in the same alleyway, they were going to happen.

Something deep inside whispered into his pierced ear that he couldn't do anything about them, that they weren't just some visions inside his head.

And they frightened him, watching from an imaginary seat how his friends died, how the planet was destroyed, his face.

As a result from this, his head became a cage that no matter how hard he tried to break the iron bars with his naked hands, he was too weak to do so. He just wanted liberty.

That cage multiplied at least ten times the feeling of claustrophobia the aura of the city gave him.

"No!"

A heartrending cry ringed painfully through his ears, loud enough to make them feel as if they were about to bleed.

His eyes were closed but he didn't want them open either way, the ground felt cold even with his boots on.

"Please don't"

The agonizing voice didn't die down like he was waiting for, instead it increased it's volume, almost as if it wanted for him to look up and see what was going on.

And eventually, he did.

His eyes searched for the voice ( for you ), eyes falling on the hand that was clutching for dear life a metal structure.

He recognized the place right away, the lukewarm temperature envolving the gears and his body, the mustiness that filled up his nose. He was inside a reactor.

Faint lights gloomed upon his clothes as his feet dragged him through the grilles, his back felt empty. He didn't have the soothing weight of his weapon, feeling vulnerable to whoever wanted to fight him.

"Please, Cloud"

That did it for him, it was unmistakably you.

Your sweet and sometimes monotone tone was gone, blatantly swapped with a much more startled and uneasy one. Your hands were the only thing visible for him to see right now, the image of your body suspended in the air already present inside his brain.

He didn't know why but a memory of your hand touching his flooded his mind, he liked the softness of them, he wished he didn't had gloves on.

The more intense your cries became, the more he wanted to scream back at you, tell you that he was there, that you were going to be fine.

But nothing came out of his mouth

He kneeled down in front of you, finally able to see your face. But he didn't like the way you were sweating, how your eyes widened in horror as you looked back at him. He wanted to see your features soften, to hear your laugh, your voice telling him not to overwork himself.

The abyss consumed him, what seemed like miles and miles of hollowness and darkness bellow you.

Your left hand slipped off the edge with a yelp, you were slowly sinking down and he wasn't going to let you do so. His hand grabbed the one that was still gripping the platform, clutching it tightly.

He wouldn't let you slip off that easily.

Your quivering voice was the only sound that could deafen the roar of the engines around the both of you. Although you were visibly sweating, your hand felt cold under the thin layer of his black gloves.

An invisible rock attached to your feet by a thick rope made you feel heavier than before, gradually dragging you lower and lower from his grasp.

He couldn't even let out grunts or sighs out of his mouth, he wanted to tell you to hold on, just a bit more and you were going to be safe with him once again.

He tried to lift you up, but you didn't budge. His body tensed up and he was becoming more and more impatient.

By the time your hand finally gave up on him, he was laying face down on the ground, his feet stopping him from falling down with you.

"I'm sorry"

A tear slipped from your tired eyes, your body dissapearing into the void with the saddest smile he had ever seen on your face. He didn't want to ever see that expression again, he wanted you to smile brightly, not fade out lights with it.

And why were you apologizing? He should be the one to do so, he was unable to save you. You should be here with him now, enveloping your loving arms around him while you thanked him.

He felt his heart being crushed down, he wouldn't be able to feel you pat his shoulder in a reassuring way whenever he had to fight someone again, your hands dusting off his clothes after a long mission.

He wanted to cry, to scream, to kill someone.

But his mouth was sealed shut, his hands trembled but no tears seemed to stain his cheeks. His heart pumped harshly inside his chest and as if someone were tugging his hair, his head hurt.

And when he closed his eyes, they were opened again.

But he wasn't met with cramped, massive iron walls around him, he was met with his unfurnished blank wall.

Thank god, he thought.

His sheet was between his legs and the floor, a cotton waterfall on the side rail of the bed. His shirt was ridden up above his belly button, the moon was still up in the sky staring at him with a motionless facade. And he could've sworn it was mocking him.

He had sat up abruptly, letting out a screech he wanted to let out for a while now, reverberating from his chest and into the small room. He tried to calm his breathing, his hands clutched the matress bellow him.

His hair was messier than it usually was, he stared at the closed window and into the incessant lightless sky.

For the first time in his life he was pleased to see those streets again.

That took place about week ago and of course he didn't tell anyone. He didn't want to pile more stress and worry on the shoulders of the group.

On the outside, his demeanour didn't change a bit. Well, not for the ones who didn't know him.

His subtle tiredness and grumpiness was cristal clear for you to notice. His patience died down sooner than before and his irascibility when he was fighting someone was what exposed him.

And if his answers were dry and short they basically were nonexistent now.

But he had a thick skull and no matter how many times you asked him—

"Is everything alright?"

His head turned around to see you, a confused frown rested on his face. Had he done anything weird?

—he didn't seem to answer you.

He then shook his head and his hand, silently telling you that he was fine. But you stopped yourself before asking him a second time, you didn't want to be a nuisance either way.

You were walking next to him a few meters away from the group in front of you. They walked back to Seventh heaven, but you purposedly abandoned your talk to walk with Cloud instead.

And he didn't seem bothered by it, he appreciated the way you cared about him, but he couldn't tell you what was happening, not now.

He didn't dare to look at you, he knew if he did so, flashes of his prior dreams would engulf his mind.

Sooner or later he did, throbbing guilt crossed painfully his mind when he did so. He saw blue in your eyes.

An ocean emerged in front of his eyes, submerging your face and then your clothes, coalesced with a big meadow of beatiful grown grass that enveloped your features.

He could've found this view incredibly magestic if it wasn't for the fact that he knew what was about to happen.

He didn't- He couldn't take it anymore.

His skull appeared to be thicker inside his skin, crushing down his brain. His hands swiftly made contact with his forehead, eyes closed shut and avoiding to see anything.

Whispers and sometimes yells echoed through the dim alleyway, his knees bucking as he supported himself on the wall.

His eyes achingly opened up again, his hands grasped something that was too soft to be a stone wall, he saw your face.

"Please don't- Please don't go"

"to the reactor..."

Your soft voice with some hints of sleepiness reached his eardrums, was he dreaming?

A question he found himself asking a lot lately, not knowing how to discern between reality and a vision or a dream.

He hesitated to open his eyes once again, his headache had dissapeared but his eyelids felt heavier than before.

When was before?

He saw your face, but you weren't staring at him back. Subsequently your hands stroked his hair tenderly, a touch he would love to die for.

You were humming softly, his mother did that a lot when she was cleaning him up and tucking him before sleep.

He wanted to admire your beauty for just a little while, the moon stared at him once again, but this time he was the one who laughed at it.

Your soft skin, your hair released from the confines of your hair tie, your lips, your eyelashes that batted so cutely whenever you saw an animal, your nose.

You were from another dimension.

And he melted right away after you noticed that he was awake, your smile being the first thing that came into his vision. The loss of warmth on his blonde locks made him a bit mad.

That was when he noticed where he was laying on, your legs. Blood rushed to his cheeks, creating a slight blush on his pale skin. But he shrugged his thoughts fast enough for you not to notice his weakness.

He wished that whenever he had a nightmare or a crude vision your thighs would be there to craddle his head.

He didn't know why he was here but he didn't want to hear the answer too, he was more than happy to be there either way.

He knew he could speak right now, but he didn't have anything to say. Your hand falling down into his cheek followed with a kind look on your lips was what kept him silent.

And the words that fell from them were the only reason he was still fighting Shinra, fighting with you, for you, to hear them again and again.

He didn't demand poetic phrases for him to melt on spot, just by hearing the most simple reassuring worss fall from your lips was more than enough for him.

"I'm here for you "

He spent the rest of the night curled up like a ball on top of your legs, hearing your honeyed words deliciously filling his ears repeatedly.

He wouldn't tell you why he had passed out on top of you, why had he pushed you to the wall in front of the group as he anxiously warned you.

And he ceirtantly wouldn't tell you about how his dream of you walking alone in an alleyway was the reason his body walked itself out of his appartment.

The softness of your skin wasn't there anymore it was replaced by your cozy pillow, but it wasn't enough for him.

Dawn's first light entered through your closed window, hitting his face. He had slept without any worries for the first time in weeks, drowned in your touch.

He wanted to thank you, he only had spent a night with you and you had managed to clear his mind from any racing thoughts. His head craved for your touch, his arms and his hands too.

He looked down and he saw his usual clothes, but now they smelled like you.

But you weren't there, he looked around and he took advatange of the quiet dawn to see your room. It was the same size as his own one, but it was definitely prettier than his.

Clean sheets deliciously wrapped around his body that fell down onto his legs when he sat up on the bed, your bed. Cute posters and images about some cats, family and friends laying around on your desk or hanging on the wall.

He rubbed his somnolent eyes before getting off the bed with a swift move, laying on his feet. He noticed that they were lighter than before and when he looked down, he wasn't wearing his boots anymore. You had taken the time to take them off before getting him inside your bed, a small smile formed on his lips at the thought.

His head pekeed through your door as he opened it as quietly as he could, it was still pretty early so he didn't want to wake you up if you were still around.

Without the huge piece of metal behind his back he was pretty quiet, so he used that on his advantage.

His feet guided him until he reached what seemed to be like your living room, it was the same like your bedroom. It was a copy of his own one but much cozier.

But he didn't have time to look around like he did with your room, you were a much more pleasant sight to see. He walked silently until he was right next to your sleeping form.

The first thing that crossed his mind was how gorgerous you were like this, comfy and relaxed under the spell of sleepiness. Your rythmic slow-paced breaths, they reminded him of the sea.

However, he immediately felt bad for stealing your bed, he noticed the way you were curled up on the small couch, your back was probably going to kill you when you woke up.

So without any second thought, his left hand wrapped itself bellow your knees while his right one simultaneously enveloped your back. He gently lifted you up in his arms, your head lolling to the side until it met his shoulder, your temple resting next to his chest.

He wasn't going to lie to himself, he sometimes daydreamed about carrying you like this, how would it feel. Your sweet "thank you"'s echoed inside his head when he lifted your harmed form after a cruel battle, your arms hugging his neck.

A few minutes passed and he thanked his hard training for being able to hold you like this for a long while.

Your body shivered, right, you didn't seem to have a spare blanket other than the one in your bed. So he pressed his body closer to yours, trying to warm you up.

He knows he's already called you pretty and gorgerous over ten times now, but god, he needed to remark it. And right now you looked as cute as those cats you seemed to love, unconciously hiding your face on his chest with a long sigh.

He marched back into your room and he noticed that his buster sword was resting on the right wall of the living room, next to his boots.

The more he noticed those little details, the more he wanted to hold you close to him.

But when he finally reached your room after an agonizing ( purposely ) slow pace, it was time for you to properly rest.

So he placed you on top of your mattress, heart fluttering when he saw your little stretch on the bed. He enveloped your body with your blanket, mimicking your pleasured smile when he did so.

If only time could stop right now

He closed the curtains so the light didn't disturb your well deserved sleep like it did to him and then he sat down next to your bed.

Thankful for having a cure for his illnesses.

[stnkiconverse]

you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.9 - Unwanted Visitor.

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genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: look at this chapter and tell me u dk the ship?🧍

WC: 2.9k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse, cannibalism and strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Yes this has to do with Creepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

You arrive in Tuscaloosa with high hopes, eager for a fresh start in a new city. But as you step into your new apartment, a strange feeling washes over you. At first, it’s just a faint unease—a subtle sense that something isn’t quite right. The air feels heavier than it should, pressing down on you with an almost physical weight. The light filtering through the windows seems muted, casting everything in dull, washed-out shades.

You try to shake off the feeling, chalking it up to the stress of the move. But as you begin to unpack, the unease only grows. Little things start to stand out—your keys, which you’re certain you left on the kitchen counter, are now on the living room table. The door to your bedroom, which you clearly remember closing, is now slightly ajar. You hear faint, almost imperceptible noises—whispers that seem to come from the walls, footsteps that echo in rooms you know should be empty.

You tell yourself it’s just nerves. Moving to a new place is always stressful, right? But as the day drags on, the feeling of dread intensifies. The apartment, which should feel like a sanctuary, feels more like a trap. The walls seem to close in around you, and you find it harder and harder to breathe.

By the time night falls, you’re exhausted, both physically and mentally. You go through the motions of your evening routine, hoping that a good night’s sleep will make everything feel normal again. But as you lie down in bed, the unease returns, sharper than before.

The darkness in your room feels oppressive, almost alive. Every shadow seems to stretch and twist, forming shapes that your mind insists aren’t there. You close your eyes, desperate for sleep to take you away from the growing terror. But every time you drift off, you’re jolted awake by vivid, terrifying images—twisted faces leering at you from the darkness, long, shadowy fingers reaching out to touch you, voices whispering your name with malicious glee.

Your heart races, and your breathing becomes ragged. You try to convince yourself that it’s all in your head, that you’re just overtired. But the hallucinations keep coming, each one more terrifying than the last. The shadows on the walls seem to pulse with life, and the whispers grow louder, more insistent. Your skin feels clammy, your body shaking uncontrollably as fear takes hold.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore. You stumble out of bed, your legs trembling as you make your way to the bathroom. Your stomach churns violently, and you barely make it to the toilet before you vomit, your body purging the fear that’s gripped you so tightly. You clutch the edge of the sink, your knuckles white as you try to steady yourself.

But just as you think you’re regaining control, a new terror strikes—a grating, static noise that fills the apartment. It starts softly, a faint buzz in the back of your mind, but it quickly escalates into a deafening roar. The sound is overwhelming, drowning out all other thoughts, making it impossible to focus. You press your hands to your ears, but it does nothing to muffle the noise. It feels like your head is going to split open.

Panic sets in, primal and consuming. Every instinct in your body screams at you to get out, to run. You stagger towards the front door, your vision swimming with the intensity of the noise. You don’t know where you’re going, only that you have to get away. You fling the door open, but as soon as you step outside, the static crescendos, and your vision goes black. Your legs give out beneath you, and you collapse to the ground, unconscious before you even hit the floor.

When you finally come to, you’re not in your apartment. The first thing you notice is the cold—an intense, bone-chilling cold that seeps into your skin and settles in your bones. You blink, trying to clear the fog from your mind, and slowly realize that you’re lying on a hard, stone floor. The air around you is damp and heavy, thick with the smell of mold and decay.

You push yourself up on shaky arms, your heart pounding as you take in your surroundings. The room is small and claustrophobic, the walls made of rough, uneven stone. There’s a single, narrow window set high in one wall, but it’s covered with thick, unbreakable glass, allowing only a faint, eerie light to filter in. Outside the window, you can just make out the dark silhouettes of trees, their branches swaying in the wind.

A shiver runs down your spine as you realize that you have no idea where you are or how you got here. You try the door, but it’s locked tight, the cold metal handle unyielding in your grip. You pound on the door, desperate for someone—anyone—to hear you, but the sound is swallowed by the thick walls. The room is silent, save for a low, ominous hum that vibrates through the air, making your skin crawl.

As the minutes tick by, the silence becomes oppressive. The shadows in the corners of the room seem to shift and move, playing tricks on your eyes. You start to feel like you’re being watched, a sense of an unseen presence lurking just out of sight. Your breath quickens, your fear mounting as the room seems to close in on you.

You try to stay calm, to think rationally, but the oppressive atmosphere makes it impossible. The walls seem to pulse with a life of their own, the shadows growing darker and more menacing with each passing moment. The hum in the air grows louder, almost drowning out your frantic heartbeat.

And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, the door creaks open.

The sound is loud in the silence, making you jump. You stare at the door, which is now ajar, a sliver of darkness visible beyond it. A cold breeze drifts into the room, carrying with it the faint smell of decay. You can’t see what’s on the other side, but the sense of dread that washes over you is overwhelming.

You take a tentative step towards the door, your heart hammering in your chest. The static noise you heard before returns, growing louder with each step you take. The shadows in the room seem to stretch towards you, as if trying to pull you back. You feel an overwhelming presence in the room, something ancient and malevolent, but you can’t see it.

Just as you reach the door, the static noise crescendos, and your vision starts to blur. Your head spins, and you feel yourself losing consciousness again. The last thing you see before everything goes black is a tall, dark silhouette in the doorway, looming over you with an aura of pure malevolence.

When you wake up again, you’re back in your apartment. The relief that washes over you is immediate, but it’s quickly tempered by the lingering fear that it was all real. You lie still for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dim light, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

As your vision clears, you scan the room, hoping to find some sign that it was all just a nightmare. But then you see him.

He’s standing in the corner of your room, partially shrouded in darkness, but there’s no mistaking the figure—the man from the flower shop. The one with that grotesque smile carved into his face. His presence is undeniable, and your heart skips a beat as terror floods your senses.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. He’s watching you, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement as he takes in your fear. His twisted smile slowly morphs into a smug smirk, as if he’s enjoying every second of your terror. Your heart races, your chest tightens, and you feel like you might pass out again.

But you don’t. You can’t. You force yourself to breathe, to stay conscious, even as every instinct screams at you to run, to hide. You pull your legs up, hugging them tightly against your chest, as if that could somehow protect you from the man standing in your room.

He doesn’t move, just watches you, his eyes following your every breath, every twitch. The tension in the air is thick, suffocating. Your mind races, trying to figure out how he could be here, how he could have gotten into your apartment. But there are no answers, only fear.

Suddenly, without breaking eye contact, he drops the knife he’s holding. The blade clatters to the floor with a sharp, metallic sound that echoes through the room, making you flinch. He takes a step forward, then another, and before you can react, he’s sitting on the edge of your bed.

The mattress dips under his weight, and you instinctively pull your legs closer to your chest, your body tensing. Your glare sharpens, but tears begin to blur your vision. Despite everything, you refuse to look away, your fear laced with defiance.

You finally force yourself to speak, your voice shaky and barely audible. “W-what do you want from me…?”

His smirk widens, his teeth glinting in the dim light. “She speaks!” he exclaims, his tone mocking, filled with dark humor. He leans in slightly, as if expecting more.

You stare at him, your heart pounding, every muscle in your body tense. “Get out,” you manage to say, your voice gaining a fraction of strength. “Get out of my apartment.”

But instead of retreating, the man’s smile only grows wider. His eyes glitter with a mix of amusement and something darker, something that sends a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. “Get out?” he repeats, as if the very idea is absurd. “But why would I do that when things are just starting to get interesting?”

He leans back slightly, making himself more comfortable on your bed, his posture relaxed, as if he’s exactly where he belongs. “You see,” he continues, his voice dripping with a sick sort of enjoyment, “I didn’t come here to hurt you—not yet, anyway. I just wanted to get to know you a little better. You intrigued me at the flower shop.”

Your mind races as you try to understand his words. He doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave, and the longer he stays, the more the fear in your chest turns into something else—something cold and calculating. You feel a strange, simmering anger bubbling up beneath the surface of your terror. How dare he invade your space, your sanctuary, and act as though he owns it?

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to let him see the fear that’s still gnawing at your insides. “What do you want from me?” you demand, this time with more force behind your words. Your voice is still shaky, but there’s a hard edge to it now, a glimmer of the fight that hasn’t been completely smothered by fear.

The man—Jeff, you recall his name from the whispers you’ve heard—chuckles softly, the sound low and unsettling. “I like that fire in your eyes,” he says, as if he’s impressed. “Most people would be begging for their lives by now, but not you. You’re different. You’ve got spirit.”

His words hang in the air, and you realize with a jolt that he’s testing you, pushing your limits to see how far you’ll go. The realization makes your blood run cold, but it also strengthens your resolve. If he’s expecting you to break, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

“You don’t scare me,” you lie, your voice stronger than before. It’s a bluff, but it’s all you have right now. “So if you think you can just come in here and—”

“Shh,” Jeff interrupts, holding a finger to his lips as if he’s sharing a secret. “Let’s not spoil the fun with empty threats, sweetheart. You and I both know you’re terrified.” He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin, making you recoil in disgust. “But that’s what makes this so exciting, don’t you think? The fear, the uncertainty… it’s like a game. And I do love games.”

You glare at him, your mind racing as you try to think of a way out of this. You need to get him out of your apartment, but how? He’s clearly stronger, more experienced in whatever sick game he’s playing. And yet, despite the fear gripping your heart, you refuse to give in. Not here, not in your own home.

As if sensing your thoughts, Jeff tilts his head to the side, studying you with those sharp, calculating eyes. “You know,” he muses, “you’re more fun than I expected. Most people would have already cracked by now. But you… you’ve got something dark in you, don’t you? I can see it.”

His words send a chill down your spine, but you refuse to show any weakness. “I’m not afraid of you,” you repeat, though your voice wavers slightly.

He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates through the room. “Sure you’re not,” he says, clearly amused by your defiance. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to kill you. Not tonight, anyway.”

Before you can respond, Jeff stands up slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He retrieves the knife from the floor, twirling it casually in his hand. For a moment, you think he might actually leave—but instead, he strolls out of your bedroom and into the living room.

You hear the faint creak of the couch as he settles onto it, making himself at home. The audacity of it leaves you momentarily speechless. He’s not leaving—he’s making himself comfortable in your apartment as if he belongs there.

A surge of anger rises within you, momentarily eclipsing the fear. You can’t let him just take over your space like this. But what can you do? The man has a knife, and you’re alone with him in a locked apartment.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside you. You can’t let him win. You won’t. Gathering every ounce of courage, you push yourself off the bed and stand up, your legs shaking slightly but holding firm.

With deliberate steps, you walk to the door of your bedroom and pause, peering into the living room. There he is, lounging on your couch, his arms draped casually over the backrest as if he owns the place. His eyes meet yours, and that damnable smirk reappears on his face.

“Come on out, sweetheart,” he calls, his tone mocking but with an edge of something else—something darker. “No need to hide in there. I’m not going anywhere.”

You grit your teeth, anger flaring in your chest. You refuse to be intimidated any longer. You step out of your bedroom and into the living room, trying to project confidence even as your heart races.

“This is my apartment,” you say firmly, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I want you out. Now.”

Jeff’s smirk widens, clearly entertained by your defiance. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he says, his voice low and almost approving. “But I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, at least for tonight.”

You swallow hard, your hands curling into fists at your sides. The reality of the situation hits you—he’s not leaving, and you have no idea what he plans to do. But as terrifying as that thought is, you know you can’t back down. Not now.

“You don’t scare me,” you repeat, more for your own benefit than his. It’s a lie, but it’s all you have to hold onto.

Jeff tilts his head, regarding you with that unsettling gaze. “We’ll see about that,” he says quietly. “But let’s make one thing clear—you’re not in control here. I am. And I can do whatever I want.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, suffocating and absolute. You feel a cold shiver run down your spine, but you force yourself to stand your ground.

“I’ll be watching you tonight,” Jeff adds, almost as an afterthought. “So don’t try anything stupid, okay? I’d hate to have to hurt you.”

The casual way he says it sends a fresh wave of fear through you, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. You won’t let him see how much he’s getting to you.

For a long moment, the two of you just stare at each other, the tension in the room thick and almost unbearable. And then, without another word, Jeff turns his attention back to the knife in his hand, inspecting it idly as if the conversation is already over.

You stand there, frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. The fear is still there, gnawing at the edges of your mind, but so is the anger. You can’t let him win. But how are you supposed to fight someone like him?

After what feels like an eternity, you finally force yourself to move. You turn away from the living room, your footsteps heavy as you walk back to your bedroom. You leave the door slightly ajar, not wanting to turn your back on him completely.

As you sit on the edge of your bed, your mind races with a thousand different thoughts, each one more frantic than the last. You’re trapped in your own apartment with a man who could kill you at any moment, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

But as the night drags on, something else begins to stir within you—a resolve you didn’t know you had. You’re not going to let him break you. Not here, not in your own home. You’ll find a way out of this, one way or another.

For now, all you can do is wait. Wait and hope that you survive the night.

I didn’t expect the result of the poll to be Jeff, I was leaning more towards Toby or maybe even EJ😭😭

TAGLIST - OPEN (comment to be added)

🏷️: @mimmickmouse @stranger-of-the-internet @akashic06072007 @hey-an-original-url

[ketherite]

Hello! First post on hit site Tumblr!! I offer you an extremely rushed Cypher x Reader! I'm so sorry if he's a bit OOC here. Do note that I originally made this with an OC in mind! Comments will be greatly appreciated. Enjoy :)

(C/N) - Code Name

(Y/N) - Your Name

(C/N) looked at the man right across from them, a mug of tea in hand. His eyes, never peeling away from them— at least that’s what they thought. They couldn’t read much from Cypher’s face because of his pesky little mask covering every identifiable inch of him. The blue lenses only provided them small insight with how frequent his shutters— or eyelids blink. Despite that, they still feel his eyes on them, as if they have his undivided attention.

“So, Cypher, what did you call me here for?” (C/N) asks as they look down into their mug, gently swirling it around to gather the loose leaves in the middle while awaiting his answer.

“What? Is it not normal to want to have a cup of tea with a friend?” He teased as he giggled, holding up his white mug of tea to them. He then lifted his mask up ever-so-slightly to take a sip of his still-hot tea, making (C/N) turn away for the sake of courtesy.

“You gotta warn me before you do that. I don’t wanna accidentally see your face, Amir.” Their voice had a hint of annoyance in it. Cypher was a man of mystery— the man kept his entire identity; from appearance to past a secret for Christ sake! Despite that, it seemed like he had no issue with (C/N) seeing a bit of his face, but he hasn’t told them that yet, which prompts silly situations like this.

“I know, dear. But it’s alright, I know you aren’t telling anyone about what you saw.” He pulled his mask down to hide his smirk. “You and I aren’t so different. We practically think the same! Minus the hidden identity, of course.”

(C/N) sighs at his antics and rolls their eyes. “I suppose we are.”

A moment of silence falls between the two. It doesn’t feel awkward, but it feels like something’s hung up in the air. Like a question that needs an answer.

“(Y/N), there is something I need to tell you.” The once goofy air suddenly turned serious. It wasn’t everyday people called (C/N) by their real name instead of their code name. Whenever their real name is used, they know the topic is gonna be something rather important. They tilted their head to the side, as if questioning the sudden shift in tone.

Silence once again, but this time Cypher’s nervously fidgeting with his mug, looking down into its contents. A sigh escapes him as he looks back up to meet their gaze. Oh their gaze; so piercing. It was as if they were staring into the deepest depths of his soul, digging through the dark matter that lies within to see even a glimpse of his thoughts.

“I thought about it for a while. My past, Nora— everything really. It’s all been so dark, so dreary ever since it all crumbled for me. But you— when you joined, it felt like a breath of fresh air. Everyday, I look forward to seeing you. Our little hangouts have been the highlight of my days recently. Whenever you’re around, I feel like a sailor lost in the raging sea finally seeing the light from the lighthouse. A beacon of hope, if you will—” He cuts himself off with a cough, slightly tilting his hat to hide his embarrassment.

“I may be too old for this word, but I think I might have a crush on you.” He visibly cringes at the word. “Truth be told, I haven’t felt this way since I first met Nora. It’s strange to feel that flutter in my chest once again. Just thought I had to get my feelings out there. Didn’t want them brewing in me for too long.”

Cypher now refused to look at them, opting to look to the side and focus on any piece of furniture or clutter instead of them. (C/N), on the other hand, only gave him a sigh before standing up. ‘Maybe it was a bad idea…’ He thought, thinking they were just gonna leave him with no response— a rejection.

He was so lost in thought he didn’t notice that (C/N) was now standing at his side, opposite from where he was looking. One could imagine the surprise he felt when they grabbed his chin to face them, raised his mask just right above his nose, and kissed him.

They kissed him.

…

They kissed him.

It lasted only a second, but to him it felt like eternity. A kiss he so desperately wanted for so long, finally given to him. They only tasted faintly of cardamom and honey, but it tasted like sweet, sweet nectar to him; sweet, addictive, and intoxicating.

They pulled his mask back down and scoffed. “Despite being a genius, you’re a stupid man, Amir. I already knew from the get-go. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“So, was that a yes?” He said as he looked up at them. If he wasn’t wearing the mask, (C/N) swore he’d have some puppy-eyed look on his face right now.

They crossed their arms over their chest and stuck their tongue out at him, a rare display of immaturity from them. It was cute. “I don’t know, was it?”

Cypher chuckled at their sarcasm. He then stood up and pulled up his mask halfway to give them a kiss, one they gladly returned.

“Eww, gross! can you guys get a room? I’m about to cook lunch here and you guys are literally making out.” A voice from behind the two interrupted them. It was Jett, and it seemed like she had brought Phoenix and Neon with her. Cypher immediately broke the kiss to quickly pull his mask over followed by (C/N) hiding their blushing face from the group.

Knowing the group, they’ll probably never hear the end of it. They’ll most likely spread it around the Protocol, but for the first time, it didn’t even matter to Cypher. He’s just happy they feel the same, happy that he finally has what he’s wanted for so long.

[ohnoanalien]

Glitch

STOP MAKING ME RETURN TO TUMBLR TO WRITE THINGS

Anyway @lunar-wandering has some great ideas and I'm absolutely spoiled by the LMK/JTTW community. I love his posts about Macaque and losing control of his powers when he gets emotional, so I tried to combine "Macaque loses control when he gets flustered" and "it's very cute when Macaque is treated like a king". This is post beach stuff-- I hope you enjoy, and good luck with college! Call this a congrats gift!

"Ummm...not that I'm ungrateful that you made this, it's just--"

"The eggs are plant-based! I know you're vegan now, idiot. Your little one-sided biography's been hanging around since the 16th century." 

It’s strange, Macaque thought, how the light worked. He could alter every spotlight, walk under the brightest beam of sunlight, and yet no glow compared to the great centerpiece that casually sat across the kitchen table. He would constantly blind the three realms with his confidence and booming voice.

And oh, how he pampered and spoiled his own shadow nowadays. 

He was always in the spotlight, over-protective over every little bump in the road. Grooming tattered fur after he returned from training with his successor. Reminding his old rival to eat and drink after dragging himself across the three realms, nearly skin and bones under his captor’s bidding.

All services fit for a king. The least he could do is return the favor. Sometimes.

"You tweaked breakfast for me? That's...thanks, I guess." Wukong looked down at his plate with a kind smile.

"Don't mention it." Macaque grumbled between bites. The shadow demon pressed a paw to his speeding heart, checking the reflection of the window to see if it wasn't fluttering as badly as his six ears.

His very visible, unglamored ears. 

Before the Monkey King could look up, he bundled his scarf over his head.

"Everything okay, bud?" He leaned in closer, curiously searching his partner.

"Uhhhh." Macaque said eloquently, leaning as far back in his chair as he could go. “I’m just…a little cold’s all.”

Bad move. The Monkey King’s brow furrowed, absent-mindedly scratching an icy streak in his fur. He could practically hear the great sage’s mind turn, counting the number of blankets they had in their little temple. “How cold?”

Shit. Shit shit shit! If he left now to fix his stupid ears he'd just look suspicious either way. He scrambled for his own fork, ready to down his meal in three bites and make a run for it. 

Taking it as a big, neon ‘do not touch sign’, Wukong sighed heavily. “Just…let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

The other only grunted, waving a paw of approval.

"To be honest, I didn't think we could pick up where we left off." The Monkey King hummed thoughtfully, gaze and mind drifting elsewhere.

"Mhm." Macaque reached for his mug-- freezing in place as a patch of thick white fur crawled up his arm. He quickly stuffed his paws in his lap, sewing on a slapdash glamor. All while the great sage continued his heartfelt speech, not noticing the struggle a foot or so away.

"--ut I think we're really getting better at it. At us, I mean. So what I'm trying to say is, maybe we should talk about…” He looked up, blinking in surprise at the way Macaque dropped his fork, elbows shoved in his lap, teeth clenched through a nervous grin.

“Hey, Mihou? Are you a hundred-and-ten-percent sure you’re okay? You seem, I dunno, distracted?" A peach-furred tail slapped the floorboards.

"Just got a lot on my mind! I'm listening. Promise." Macaque lilted.

"Sure, I gotcha. But if something's wrong--"

"Nothing's wrong!" He waved freshly glamored paws. Nonetheless, the king’s brow weighed with worry, eyes trailing to his old friend’s torso and back again. Apologies would just have to come later. "Just...ignore me. Keep going."

"Fine, fine. Whatever you say. So where was I– Oh, yeah!"

A sigh of relief passed the shadow demon’s lips. And while Wukong chatted away into his teacup, the breath of fresh air was short-lived as Macaque's eyes turned a deep purple.

"--dual mentorship might be a good idea too?"

"Y'don't say." The shadow demon stared very intently at his eggs, head bowed. His snow-furred tail lashed frantically, slipping itself down his pant leg before it could knock something over.

"--t's a big step, but I trust you enough now to--"

Wukong looked up, and Macaque scrambled to hide his face behind his own cup– choking on his tea when longer, sharper fangs clinked against ceramic.

"Mac?" Sun Wukong's head snapped up just as he straightened himself, grin threatening to tear his muzzle apart at the ends behind a paw. "You’re not getting sick, are you?"

"Listening!" His partner wheezed out. He tried not to panic as the glamor that coated his hands nearly popped like snowy balloons. "I'm-- kaff kaff-- I'm listening."

"...Uhhhh sooo...in short..." the Monkey King drawled, ever-so-slowly turning back to his breakfast.

A close call. Macaque bit back a gasp as the table suddenly met his chest, shrinking just a smidge taller than the average macaque– edge prodding his stomach on the way down. A new coughing fit blossomed, barriers completely broken. The second Wukong looked up, his old rival had vanished altogether.

"Mac?" The sage called, standing up to scan the shadier corners of the room.

"Just-- koff-- just dropped something!" Macaque answered from under the table, still trying to get. His illusions. Under control.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Call it bad luck or a bad omen, he desperately pulled at strings of magic, growing three feet too tall before shrinking again. He hit his head on the wooden surface with a loud bang, dishes clinking from the force.

He could practically hear the unimpressed expression on his partner’s face as he lowered himself. "Oh come on, don't be like that! We both know you're never going to talk unless I...I..." 

He didn't need much light to see the X-shaped chunk of a scar that carved through a single, dead eye. Frozen in time, Wukong was unable to stop the shadow weaver from melting into the ground.

On one hand, portaling was the fastest and easiest way to escape any situation. A battle, a theft, a social conversation-- any setting could be an exit when sunlight hit the room just right. On the other hand, Macaque was not informed that his glamors weren't the only defective power in his arsenal. The shadow demon aimed for his old, abandoned dojo. Instead, the demon yelped as he caught on a flurry of branches, falling from the shadowy canopy of a familiar peach tree. Morning sunshine peeked from the rustling leaves. Peppered by flora and pale sand, he felt a stone paw wipe away at his eyes. And when the fog cleared, he was met with another pair that hovered above him, blinking back gold vision.

“Soooo…” The Monkey King drawled, “any reason you’re glitching worse than MK after a bad Monkey Cop binge?”

Macaque didn’t bother to grace him with an answer. Instead he pushed himself upright, face twisting at the fur coat he just groomed.

"Ugh, I look like a wreck." He grumbled.

"Don't sell yourself short." Sadness turned to hope, cupping Macaque's cheeks with his palms. "I, for one, think you look very handsome."

Mihou rolled his eyes, ready to pull away, when Wukong twirled him back into his arms.

"I'm serious." He bent down to kiss the nape of his partner's neck, "I love your beautiful ears. Your silver fur."

"Yeah, sure." Macaque snickered, "Come spring, all the fair maidens in your kingdom would swoon for a guy with fur that looks like dry bones."

"Well I certainly did."

Four simple words sent a shiver up Macaque's spine. The last glamor crumbled to nothing, and he hurried to bury his face in his partner's chest. For a moment, the pair stood completely silent.

Finally, Macaque took a shaky breath, mumbling into leather and silk.

"Pardon?" His king raised an eyebrow, "Something you want to share with the class?"

Six ears pinned back. Teasing turned soft and gentle, and Wukong began to rock the both of them into a soothing rhythm. "Don't sweat it. Take all the time you need, okay?"

A groan traveled down Macaque’s knotted stomach, "I said I...ugh..."

"You...?"

"I just. Agh, this sucks!" Just for a brief moment, Liu’er Mihou raised his head, namesakes revealing brilliant hues that flashed to his emotions.

A realization pierced The Monkey King through the heart, and he swore that he felt feverish. His flush nearly matched the shadow that latched to his waist. "...Oh."

Macaque stared openly.

"...What?" Wukong asked.

"That's it?"

"For gods' sake-- what do you mean that's it?"

Swearing to every level of Diyu, Macaque squirmed out of his arms and towards the waves. "You read me like a goddamn book--"

"'Oh'! It's one word! What do you want, a poem?!"

"--I spent all night learning to make that disgusting, watery abomination of an egg recipe--"

"Hey! Don't diss the diet! It's pretty good when you stick with it for a couple centuries!"

"--And I'm stuck with this stupid mess of a body--" A gnarled root caught Macaque's leg, and he fought to untangle himself with all the strength of an adult-sized monkey. "and it's all-- ugh!-- thanks to you and your stupid eyes– Oof!" He fell to the floor in a heap, sending a cloud of sand flying.

Wukong blinked. "What was that?"

Macaque’s blush dusted the tips of his ears as he ripped the root from his ankle, mussed fur fluffing up with rage. "I said I love your eyes!"

He threw up his hands, exasperated. "I love your stupid, goofy grin! I love it when you laugh so hard you light up a room! I love it when you wear those– those ugly Hawaiian shirts! I love it when you leave them unbuttoned! I love how much you've changed! Sometimes I even love how much you've changed me! And I want you to say literally anything else because now you know I'm in love with you!"

Heaving gasps slowed to a stop. The shadow demon swore that Wukong had reverted back to stone. Slowly, carefully, he unclenched himself. He took one step. Then another. Bending down, Macaque could see Wukong's eyes sharpen, studying every crack and tear in his partner's face.

Macaque swallowed. "Whatever. It's not important. Forget I said any--"

His thoughts-- and breath-- were stolen from him with a pull of the collar. Warm lips connected, the sage’s feather light and gentle.

Nope, not a chance. Macaque didn't pour his heart out just to get a few drops. He wrapped his arms around his king's neck, deepening the kiss-- and sending them tumbling to the floor. For a brief moment, the pair stared at each other, wide eyed and stunned. Macaque's shadowy body hovered over the Monkey King. Splayed against foam that lapped at their side, dazed and panting for air.

Macaque snorted.

Wukong giggled.

Their laughing fit traveled through the ocean breeze.

"Well well well!" Macaque's head rested on his palms, spread flat against his chest. His tail swayed in the air, grown fangs flashing. "I didn't take you for the shy type."

"Ugh, no fair! You cheated." The sage pouted, "I can't help it if all your glamors are dropped. Next time you kiss a goddess, you tell me how it goes!"

It only took three-and-a-half seconds for the walking, talking deity to realize his mistake. Annoyance faded into embarrassment, eyes widening and fur fluffing. “Oh no.”

"Let’s see." His partner smirked, twirling a patch of golden fur around his claw. "How did it feel to kiss a goddess?"

He hummed a contemplative note, as if he were tasting the words in his mouth before speaking. "Eight out of ten."

Wukong bolted up so fast he nearly knocked Macaque off his perch, "Round two."

Macaque bit back a chuckle, "Peaches."

"I should have broken that scale, Mac! I'm a twelve at LEAST."

[endofradio]

TRUE ECOLOGY — CHAPTER 1: HOLIDAY IN BAVARIA

PROLOGUE |

WARNINGS: n/a

NOTES: see what i did there with the chapter title? (teehee holiday in cambodia by dead kennedys reference) anyways the next chapters will be much more interesting i promise 💀

also as far as faceclaims go, stephen’s is hamish linklater, louise’s is elizabeth debicki, and sabina’s is talia ryder yippee! for visuals i might insert some gifs here and there since tumblr is Perfect for that.

SUMMARY: recent college graduate salem travels with her stepmother louise and father stephen from new hampshire to the bavarian alps in germany, their destination being a luxurious place by the name of resort alpschatten. upon entering the lobby, salem notices something strange — one of the guests starts vomiting. she also encounters the enigmatic owner of the resort, herr könig.

WORD COUNT: 2,187

TAGLIST: @lokidoki9 @trelaney @kolcheksluver @samcrpnters @13th-floor-in-moonstone @starryrevelations @fran-tau @spookyspecterino @blackwolfstabs @actually-adambarrett @creelmalfoylaufeyson69 (shoot me a message if you’d like to be added to my taglist!)

reblogs and comments are heavily appreciated! don’t be shy!

“How much longer is this car ride gonna be?”

Salem let out a sigh as she stared out the window of the car, watching as lines of trees passed by. That was all that she could see right now — trees. Trees, and mountains. At this point, it felt like they had been driving for days. They had taken a plane from New Hampshire to Germany, which had been 8 hours long. Then, there was the 4-hour car ride from Frankfurt to Bavaria. Those 4 hours were almost over, and it felt like it had taken six days just to get here.

Salem was exhausted.

Her stepmother, seated in the front passenger’s seat, turned around to reassure Salem with a smile. "We're almost there, I promise," she said, checking her watch. “Just… a half-hour more of driving, and then we should be there, alright?”

Even though Louise was like a "mother" to her, Salem was annoyed by something about her. Whenever she spoke, it seemed insincere, and her smile appeared overly polite. Salem longed for her real mother, but as far as she knew, she was deceased. Within a few weeks of her mother's disappearance, her father met a younger woman who was blonde, pretty, rich, and tall.

“Thanks, Mom.”

God, just calling her ��mom” made Salem’s skin crawl. The word just didn’t feel right on her tongue.

The vacation destination was Resort Alpschatten, where Salem's father had been working for the past couple of years as an assistant to the owner, Herr König. He thought it would be nice for Louise to bring Salem along to visit for a while, considering she hadn't seen her father in so long.

In all honesty, Salem hadn't missed him. Their relationship had never been perfect, but since his marriage to Louise, things had become more strained between the two.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Louise commented, turning around to look at Salem.

The car ride had certainly been awkward. Salem's father had picked up her and Louise from Frankfurt to drive them to Bavaria, and the whole time, Salem barely spoke a word to either of them. She had spent the majority of the car ride listening to music with her earbuds in and reading.

“I just… don’t have much to say. That’s all.” She quietly responded.

Louise slowly nodded. “That’s understandable, I mean… you’re probably tired.”

The Bavarian Alps were a stark contrast to Salem's hometown of Derry, New Hampshire. Derry was a fairly small and unremarkable town. Traveling all the way to Germany had been quite a shock but in a good way. The Alps were breathtaking, and Bavaria in general was stunning. It felt like a breath of fresh air, especially with it being spring.

The only problem was that Salem wasn't very fluent in German. In preparation for the trip, she had spent the past couple of months learning as much as she could. She understood some basic phrases, at least. Good enough, right?

Eventually, Salem noticed a large building up in the distance, assuming it to be Resort Alpschatten. If that was truly what it was, then Jesus Christ, it was beautiful. It was huge.

“Well, this is it!” Salem’s father confirmed with a smile. He turned around to look at Salem, his eager smile not fading. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s… big. Really nice place. Makes sense why you like it so much.”

I’d hate to get lost in there.

From how her father described it, Resort Alpschatten was an incredibly luxurious resort that provided all of the guests with five-star-worthy hospitality. The rooms and suites were impressive, the spa treatments were highly comfortable, and, surprisingly, the resort could even provide advanced medical treatments due to its previous history as a medical center. A resort with a hospital right on its grounds honestly seemed like a pretty smart idea. The whole place honestly sounded like heaven on earth.

A sudden German-accented voice then spoke up, unexpectedly startling everyone in the car.

“Ah, Stephen, my friend! I take it this is your family you’ve told me about, yes?”

Sure enough, a short-haired man was standing in front of the window, a polite smile on his face as he gently pushed down his round-framed sunglasses. Salem’s first impression of him was that he looked rather well-maintained, his outfit choice of a dark green jacket and a brown turtleneck proving a sense of fashionability. Honestly, the man looked like he could be a model.

“Herr König! Yes, you’d be correct. This is my wife, Louise, and my daughter, Salem.”

Louise, of course, gave König a polite wave and a smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Herr König. My husband has said plenty of great things about you.”

Stephen had said that König was a nice man, and so far, he seemed friendly enough. However, Salem still felt shy. Even at 24 years old, she still took the saying "Don't talk to strangers" to heart. She had always been the quiet one.

So, Salem just gave König a small and awkward wave. Something about his stare just made her feel more nervous. His eyes were quite a piercing shade of blue.

“Salem, aren’t you going to say hello?” Stephen asked with slight disapproval in his tone. “Come on, be polite. This is my boss.”

König didn’t seem to mind. “Ah, no worries.” He chuckled. “A person cannot be forced to talk. Perhaps she’ll feel much more comfortable when she’s… adjusted.”

Each word König spoke dripped with politeness; he sounded just as sophisticated as he appeared.

“You all must be very tired from such a long journey.” He then said, his smile never fading even slightly. “Come. I’ll lead you three inside. I’ll ensure your luggage is brought to your rooms.”

“So, you’re the quiet one, hm?”

Salem was unprepared to hear König speak to her, so when he did, she flinched just a little.

“Yeah, uh… I guess.” She answered, shrugging.

“Do you not like… talking to people?”

The way König spoke made it seem like he was interrogating Salem, which made her feel slightly nervous. It was as if he was trying to analyze her.

At his question, she simply just shrugged again. “I suppose it depends.”

“Depends?” König repeated, intrigued. “How so?”

“Well…” Salem turned to make sure Louise and Stephen weren’t paying attention before she spoke again. “I don’t like talking to certain people. Ask my parents. They’d know what I’m talking about.”

STORY CONTINUES BELOW THE GIF.

Of course, she was indirectly talking about them. König didn’t exactly seem to pick up on that. Maybe it was a good thing.

“Ah, so you’re picky, huh?” He asked, letting out a small chuckle of amusement.

“I guess.”

König opened the front door of the resort, stepping to the side to allow everyone through. Salem’s eyes immediately widened when she looked around the lobby. It looked so comfortable. Cozy furniture, potted plants, artwork on the walls… there was a bit of a vintage design to it, she thought. It reminded her of a hotel lobby from perhaps the 70s.

“Sabina’s the receptionist,” König explained. “She’ll give you your rooms.”

Louise and Stephen approached the reception desk first, leaving Salem in König’s presence again.

“Well, what do you think?” König asked. There was a sense of pride that he reflected as he surveyed the area. “Beautiful, isn’t it? The Alps provide the perfect scenery for a place such as this.”

Salem slowly nodded in agreement as she gawked at her surroundings. “Yeah… you’re right. It’s very pretty.”

“Has your father told you this all used to be a medical center?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Hm. Well, it’s true.” König smiled. “I took over around… twelve years ago or so, and started rebuilding it into the extravagant resort you’re now standing in.”

Just as König finished speaking, Louise and Stephen had obtained their room key. He glanced at the pair for a moment before his gaze fell on Salem again, watching as she quietly approached Sabina.

Sabina appeared to be the only receptionist working there and looked quite young, too. Younger than Salem, even. She felt some sense of almost pity for her.

Before she could even pause to think over her words, the first thing that came out of Salem’s mouth was, “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” Sabina answered. Her voice was nonchalant and monotone, her German accent subtle. “Why do you ask?”

Salem immediately felt embarrassed. “Isn’t that overwhelming, working in a place like this by yourself at your age?”

Sabina shrugged. “You get used to it.”

She brushed a lock of her long brown hair out of her face, blowing a bubble of pink bubblegum before it popped. “Well?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you here for a room?”

Before Salem could speak, there was suddenly the sound of retching. She quickly turned around, noticing a woman hunched over and vomiting while her very much concerned husband attempted to comfort her.

Sabina looked uncomfortable, slight concern flashing across her expression for a moment before it quickly faded. “Don’t… worry about that. It happens here sometimes. Think there’s been some kind of… sickness going around.”

Salem slowly nodded, awkwardly clearing her throat before she looked back at Sabina. She noticed that concerned look appear again, now with a hint of nervousness. She was staring in König’s direction as if she was wanting reassurance from him. He stepped closer to the reception desk, the polite smile that had previously been on his face returning rather quickly.

“Ah, yes. Not to worry. Illnesses come and go. Nothing out of the ordinary, I promise.”

Sabina appeared relieved at König’s response, looking back at Salem with a nonchalant expression once again. “So, what’s your name?”

“Salem Moriarty.”

Sabina took out a pen. “Well, we’ve got some, uh… private bungalows, rooms, suites… interested in any of those?”

“I’ll go with a suite.”

While Sabina was busy helping Salem, the same woman who had been vomiting earlier started retching again.

“Hey, hey… let’s get you out of here. You’re going to be okay.”

Salem noticed that Sabina was beginning to look nervous again, but she attempted to push it down.

“Ich werde nie Kinder bekommen. (I’m never having any children.)” Sabina muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Salem quietly asked.

Sabina quickly snapped her head back up. “Oh, nothing. You don’t speak German, do you?”

“Just enough to get me by, I guess.”

“Ah.”

Eventually, after a few more minutes, Sabina gave Salem the key to her suite.

“Suite 144. Enjoy your stay here.” She spoke, now smiling kindly. “If you like going outside, Herr König takes the guests out on a nature walk every Wednesday. If you need some time to decompress, we also offer high-quality spa treatments. I really recommend them.”

Salem took her room key and offered Sabina an awkward smile. Her sudden switch-up in demeanor was honestly somewhat strange. Every so often, she’d glance back up at König, who was still standing in the lobby.

“Stimmt etwas nicht, Sabina? (Is something the matter, Sabina?)” König quietly asked, stepping closer to the reception desk. The smile he had worn had faded, replaced by a significantly more serious expression.

Sabina watched as Salem turned around to leave, clearly wanting to let them talk in peace. She looked back up at König, sighing.

“Ich möchte nicht mehr nachts arbeiten. (I don’t want to work at night anymore.)”

König raised an eyebrow at Sabina’s words, not speaking.

“Es gefällt mir nicht. (I don’t like it.)” Sabina continued.

Sabina could tell by the look in König’s eyes that he wasn’t pleased with her words in the slightest. It took him a while until he would finally speak, and that was something about him that scared Sabina — when he wouldn’t instantly respond. He was an intimidating figure.

“Das kann ich nicht zulassen. (I can’t let you.)” König eventually answered, his tone cold. “Sie sind der Einzige, der hier arbeitet. (You’re the only one who works here.)”

“Warum ist das wichtig? (Why does that matter?)” Sabina asked, narrowing her eyes. “Nach zehn Uhr ist es leer. Niemand Neues kommt herein. (It’s empty after ten o’clock. Nobody new comes in.)”

König didn’t bother listening to Sabina’s complaints. “Müssen Sie immer mit mir streiten? (Do you always have to argue with me?)” He asked. “Tu einfach was ich sage. (Just do what I say.)”

Sabina gave the older man a reluctant look at first before sighing.

“Sie haben Glück, dass Sie überhaupt hier arbeiten. (You’re lucky to be working here at all.)” König continued. “Deine Eltern haben dir nie eine Chance gegeben, aber ich schon. (Your parents never gave you a chance, but I did.)”

“Fine.” Sabina finally muttered.

When she saw König turn to leave, she felt a sense of relief. In all honesty, she couldn’t help but worry for each new guest who chose to come here. There was something awfully sketchy about it, and she knew it. What exactly it was, Sabina was unsure, but she just couldn’t trust this place. She was especially worried about Salem.

She didn’t belong here.

[storytowrite]

Love Untold (OT8 x F! Reader)

Chapter 1

Paring: Seungmin x reader Genre: fluff Warnings: mention of blood Word Count: 2,421 Note: That's the first chapter of a series Love Untold. The story is written by my friend and it's her first appear on tumblr... so please enjoy and feel welocme to comment :) Masterlist | Love Untold Masterlist

Due to the work of your parents, you are forcet to constantly move. However, this time moving houses let to interesting and unusual events. You met 8 handsome boys at school and somehow you managed to move in with them. How will your fate go?

.......................................................................................................................

The day you've been trying to avoid at all costs has arrived. First day at a new school. This was the 3rd school in a year that you had to transfer to. Your parents worked as serious and respectable businessmen and constantly changed their place of residence. This was also the case here, although, apparently it was supposed to be different this time. You were supposed to finish school in this city, follow in your parents' footsteps and run the family business. Of course you didn't believe them, they kept saying the same thing before every move.

You got out of bed, went to the bathroom, took a warm shower to look as decent as possible and not like a swamp monster. You brushed your teeth, put on some makeup, and put your hair in a loose braid. You then walked over to the large wardrobe in your room and picked out a comfortable cream sweater and white pants. You didn't want to draw too much attention to yourself. After all, the fewer people who know you, the easier it will be to say goodbye to them when you have to move again. You took a deep breath and went downstairs to the breakfast your maid had prepared for you.

As usual, there was no one in the kitchen except for the bustling servants who were busy with their duties. The room was filled with the beautiful smells of sweet pancakes and freshly brewed coffee.

“Good morning, Sebastian. How was your evening?” you asked happily, sitting down at the table.

“Very good as usual Miss Y/n. Are you stressed about the next first day of school?” he asked, placing plates filled with still steaming pancakes in front of you

“How well do you know me Sebastian. Hopefully this time I won't have to worry about not knowing anyone. I'm going to hide in the darkness of the school and not draw too much attention with myself. " You smiled at the man and started eating a delicious breakfast.

In this house, the only person you could count on was Sebastian. The butler who has been with your family since you can remember and always supported you in difficult times. You really only had him because your parents weren't home all the time.

You didn't want to think too much about your worries, so you quickly ate your meal and headed to your car, which was already waiting for you in front of the house. The trip to school didn't take you long, after 30 minutes of driving in silence, you arrived at your destination.

The school looked very modern unlike the ones you went to before. Earlier schools looked like some kind of castles where snobbish and money-hungry idiots studied. In this case it was different. The building was very modern, the walls were covered with white marble and each of them had large windows that let the daylight in. The students, too, seemed different. Nobody was wearing uniforms here. Finally, it wasn't a gathering of mindless clones that followed all the orders of the higher-ups.

As you got out of the car, you felt fresh air gently tickling your nostrils. You had a strange feeling about this school, but you didn't want to get carried away, after all, you were supposed to be unobtrusive. You put on your backpack and went to the building where your first class was taking place. Inside, the school seemed to be an ordinary one, except that it was more modern. Most things were mechanical, fingerprint lockers, escalators, drones flying with backpacks. Completely different than in the previous historic institutions where you studied. You couldn't hide the slight smile that formed on your lips. You've finally escaped the awful routine your parents put you in.

Not wanting to draw too much attention, you took out your phone and clicked on the link you got from school this morning. As it turned out, it was navigation that showed exactly where to go to get to the selected room. It was a dream come true for you because you didn't have to bother and ask others how to get to your destination. Not wanting to waste any time, you went to your first class.

You walked into a beautiful and spacious room with several people already seated. You lowered your head so as not to make eye contact with anyone and went to the first empty desk you saw at the end of the room. But before you could sit down, someone grabbed your arm. You immediately turned around, startled by the unexpected situation.

“Good morning. Miss Y/n if I'm not mistaken.” said the tall man standing in front of you.

“Yeah… Yes”  you stuttered, you knew that all the people in the room now focused all their attention on you, and you wanted to sink into the ground.

“I’m Professor Choi and I am the teacher of this class. Nice to meet you, Miss.” the man beamed. His wide smile painted on his face gave you some confidence, and you even tried to return it. “As if the Lady could come with me. In our school, we have a habit of introducing new people in front of the whole class so that it is easier for them to make new friends.” This information instantly wiped your smile.

You didn't argue because you knew it was pointless. The teacher will do what he wants anyway, and you'll attract even more attention if you make a scene here. You stood like a pillar of salt at the blackboard, waiting for the bell to ring and everyone to enter the classroom. Fortunately, the bell rang a moment later and everyone had already entered the room.

“Good morning, class. As you may have noticed, we have a new student. I hope you will take her under your wing. Please tell us something about yourself.” The professor announced, pointing at you.

Hearing the teacher's request, you lifted your head up. Everyone was looking at you. Some with interest, others with disgust, and still others as if they fell in love with you at first sight. You took two deep breaths and exhaled.

“Hi, I'm Y/n and I probably won't be here long anyway, so you don't have to pay any attention to me.” You finished and there was an awkward silence. You watched the others closely to quickly gauge who to stay away from.

“Is that all Miss Y/n?”  Asked the surprised professor.

"Yes," you replied shortly, turning to face the man.

“All right, then take a seat near the window.” Mr. Choi pointed with his hand.

You didn't need to be told twice. You quickly went to your seat and looked out the window. The view of the pretty park that was part of the college made you think. You imagined how nice it would be to lie down in that soft green grass and dream.

Before you knew it, the bell rang, snapping you out of your reverie. You had absolutely no idea what was going on. You packed your books and headed out.

“Miss Y/n” The professor's voice stopped you.

“Yes, Mr. Choi?" You replied, turning to face him.

“Due to the fact that you came to us in the middle of the school year, you have some material to catch up with. Here is a list of things you must do. Best as soon as possible. You will find everything you need in the library.” He said handing you a piece of paper with projects to do.

“Okay Professor, I'll try to complete the material as soon as possible.” You put a fake smile on your face and took the paper from the man's hands. 

You absolutely did not want to do all these projects, but you had no choice. After class, you went to the library. After crossing the threshold, you immediately felt the strong smell of new and old books, interspersed with the smell of spruce wood. You took a deep breath, savoring every second, and stepped deeper into the room. This place exceeded all your expectations. 

The library was spacious with great shelves reaching to the ceiling. There were thousands of books on each shelf. The spines of the books were arranged in colorful murals, decorating every wall. You looked at the card that the professor gave you and immediately went to find the books you needed for your projects.

You did not expect how difficult and tiring it would be to find so many books you need. Minute by minute the pile of books on the ground was getting bigger and bigger and you were getting more and more tired from running around the whole library. Fortunately, you have the last books left on the list. You looked at where they were and went to the indicated shelf. You looked around for the titles you needed.

“Shit." You cursed louder than you intended, looking awkwardly around to make sure no one heard you. Thankfully, no one was around.

You looked back at the source of your nervousness. The book you needed was out of your reach. After all, you haven't been generously gifted with height. You stood on your tiptoes, trying to catch the spine of the book with your fingers, but in vain, you weren't even close. You looked around for a stool to help you reach the top shelf, but there was nothing nearby.

You sighed loudly and looked around again to make sure no one was around. Your last resort was to climb the bookcase. You slowly rested your leg on the first ledge, carefully examining that the wooden plank wouldn't break under you. Once you felt a firm footing, you climbed up a bit higher, so that you could reach your fingers for the book. You grabbed it back and started to pull it out when one of your legs slipped. You tried to save yourself from falling by grabbing onto the board with the books on it, but it was no use. You started to fall and the books lying on the bookshelf flew straight at you. Despite the small height, you prepared yourself to fall and be hit by books. You closed your eyes and waited for the painful experience, but nothing has happened.

You slowly opened your eyes and froze. In front of your eyes was a figure with beautiful black hair, and there were a lot of books around. After a while, you felt him wrap his arm around your waist. After a moment, the stranger slowly raised his head. You felt like you were in a movie. A bright but handsome face appeared before your eyes. Your gaze focused on the beautiful dark brown dog eyes staring at you. You couldn't take your eyes off the otherworldly figure.

You had absolutely no idea what was happening to you, but your heart started beating faster. Your gaze involuntarily went to the boy's mouth. You immediately felt a dryness in your throat, you swallowed hard. A lot of thoughts were running through your head, really strange thoughts. You wanted to touch his lips to see if they were as soft as they looked. You were about to reach out to touch his face when the boy spoke up.

“Are you OK?” He asked in a hypnotic voice, still holding you by the waist.

“I…I…I…I'm fine.” You stuttered, trying to find the right words in your head.

“That's good. No one would want anything to happen to a beautiful girl like you." He smiled at you.

His smile was adorable. You thought you were about to melt. You were getting more and more into him. Only then did you notice a trickle of raspberry-red blood running down his forehead.

“Oh my God! You are bleeding. Are you OK? I need to take you to the doctor. Where's my backpack?” You started to panic, even jumping out of the boy's grip and in amok you started to search for your things.

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Don't worry, I'm fine. It's just a light scratch." He tried to reassure you, still keeping the smile on his face.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you to him. Your faces were a hand's length apart. Only then did you manage to control your anxiety. Other emotions took over you. Is it possible that you fell in love at first sight? Your heart was pounding like crazy and your breathing was hard to control. But there was something eerie about his eyes that made you gather your thoughts and calmly grab your backpack.

You took out a small pink toiletry bag in which you kept the necessities, including plasters, because you were a bit clumsy.

“Can I?” You asked uncertainly, showing the plaster you were holding in your hand.

The boy just nodded and leaned towards you. Gently, as if you were afraid of hurting him, you brushed his hair back and applied a band-aid to the small wound. Then you started blowing on it like your grandma always did when you hurt yourself.

You didn't know how it worked at all, but it always made you feel better and your wounds healed faster. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the boy staring at you. You felt your face turning red. Embarrassed, you pulled away quickly and smoothed a stray strand of hair that was falling over your face.

“Thank you”, said the stranger.

“I should be thanking you for saving me. Tell me, what is your name? I would like to know the name of my savior.” You asked, and it took you a moment to realize how cheesy that sounded.

“Seungmin,” Answered the boy, getting up from the floor.

“Nice to meet you, I'm Y/n." You replied with a smile.

You wanted this moment to never end, but your dreams were shattered when you heard the bell ring.

“Hope to see you again y/n.” He said and smiled with his puppy eyes and disappeared behind the bookshelves.

You sat like an idiot, staring at the place where the boy had been standing a moment ago. You really didn't know what got into you. Falling in love with a guy you just met, you must be seriously messed up.

“Seungmin,” You repeated his name and started cleaning up the books that were on the ground around you.

Even then, you knew that staying out of the way would be harder than you thought.

-> Part 2

Taglist

@nobody3210

[ripplestitchskein]

I'm new to stolitz and HB and your takes/ your essay was a breath of fresh air. Maybe it's because I'm new here in the HB fandom, but I've seen more people talking shit about Stolas/"Stolas fans" than actual "toxic" Stolas fans? And don't get me started on those horrible ass takes calling Stolas a sexual assaulter/abuser or comparing Stolitz to Angel and Valentino, likening Stolas to Valentino.

It bothers the heck out of me but at the end of the day, with more exposure to that noise I can navigate how to tune it out and they can stay bitter and talk shit about everything they watch while we wait for "Full Moon"

Welcome Nonnie! Thank you so much! I’ve really missed doing things like this. It’s been awhile since I interacted this heavily with a fandom as nothing has really caught my brain this intensely for a long time so it’s nice to discover likeminded people in it. I’m new too! We can be new together.

It’s funny, I didn’t even know about HB until after I watched Hazbin, I had seen literally zero things about it, and while I had heard of Hazbin over the years and had seen Alastor I didn’t know what it was, I thought it was one of those popular dating sims, or like a new tumblr sexy man thing I hadn’t heard about which is hilarious to me now. A bunch of my IRL friends were talking about Hazbin a lot though and I love musical theater and have been on a personal art journey for a while (it started as getting better at art for video games, I’m a software engineer, but turned into me making a comic somehow because I’m a lifelong writer too) and the art style intrigued me so I decided to check it out. I loved it a lot, but like a normal amount. When I came on here people were talking about Helluva Boss so I’m like “ooh, more content” so we watched that and my brain saw Stolas and Stolitz and started the sirens. Like literally a “Oh no I love him” moment in LooLoo Land.

There are just characters and ships that hit just right. Imagine my surprise when I went into fandom spaces and there were people with these crazy interpretations of them and of Stolas I couldn’t reconcile with what I’d just watched. Like at all. Well I was surprised, but I’ve been around a fandom or two so I wasn’t that surprised but in this instance it was especially strange to me. It didn’t jive AT ALL with the show I just watched. Honestly, that intrigued me as much as the ship did.

Especially the Stolas takes. I’m like “This guy? This complete dork who is trying to mirror what his crush wants so bad he might as well be made of silvered glass?” “Evil Sexual assaulter? The guy in the royal romper who sings to his daughter and gets excited over legal contracts and makes silly little owl noises? This is the guy who has some evil sexual coercion plot over the dude who threatened to fuck his employees 11 minutes into the show and can’t go ten minutes without saying cum?” It was REALLY confusing let me tell you. Like you have this really fucked up reality where murder is A-Okay and characters that say vile shit to each other as a matter of course and people are all up in arms about a transactional sexual relationship? It just seemed like one of the least problematic things some of these characters do lol and I felt like I was in a room where something important happened and I missed it.

I’m pretty good about taking in different views, because of my ND I try really hard to understand where people are coming from and kind of assume I missed something everyone else knew from being in the fandom for so long, that being new I didn’t know, but the more I looked into it the more it seemed tied to an interpretation of the character that wasn’t in what I had watched. I watched the VivziePop channel playlist which does not have the Pilot. When I found out about the original Pilot some quotes made a *little* more sense especially with the huge gaps in content releases, but I’m still fucking baffled a lot of the time tbh. Sometimes I feel like these people are watching an entirely different show based on that Pilot and our social media have crossed universes.

I’m used to this though, the last major characters to take over my brain were MXTX characters, Bakugou from MHA and Killian Jones before that so I am pretty used to people having character interpretations who can’t get past first impressions, and ignore like literally years of development. (More about the last two, the MXTX fandom is one of the best I’ve been in, everyone seems to be really happy with the canon content there all around, I can’t think of any hate I’ve ever seen about any character tbh, even the actual villains. Fan fiction game is on point too, so many good writers in that fandom).

I’m also used to people ascribing love of a fictional character to a real life moral failing. My view has always been that I enjoy more complex characters and stories that aren’t always squeaky clean because it’s fiction and it’s fucking boring if everyone in it are these perfect unflawed cardboard cutouts who always act the right way, never hurt other people, and never make mistakes or fuck up or miscommunicate. People approaching relationships from differing points of view, struggling with darkness and trauma, and reconciling their issues especially together or to BE together is the fucking BEST thing about fiction.

Fandoms are fucking bizarre is what I’ve ultimately landed on. And they don’t understand what toxic means. Or problematic. Like just plain do not understand those words.

We’ll be fine Nonnie! Let’s just keep flailing over things we love, crying over the angst train that is surely coming full speed at our faces (and will probably have to deal with for years because of the release schedule), and enjoy theorizing, speculating, analyzing and creating content with other like minded people! Come vent in my inbox anytime and I’ll keep writing War and Peace length essays about 15 minute long episodes.

Seriously though, the man wears a ROYAL THEMED ROMPER how could ANYONE hate him? I love him so much.

I will say the one downside of this fandom is I know more about avian genitalia and reproduction than I ever needed to.

[alwayslovingharry]

So Long, London

A/N: IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING, BUT!

HELLO, I'M BACK! I know it's been a long time since I've written (although I'm active on Tumblr from time to time), but I'm back. I've had a lot of ideas in my head for the last few months, fuelled by…well, ever since Taylor Swift's last album came out I've had a lot of Haylor theories and since then I've been a bit obsessed with the What If's and theories that some of Taylor's current songs are for Harry.

So out of all those What If's comes this Haylor One Shot which, from what I have in my head, could have more parts. I need your opinions on this and on the idea of publishing more of these two stories (I have several I've started to write).

PAIRING: Harry Styles x Taylor Swift

WORD COUNT: 2K

WARNING: Not an english native speaker.

SUMMARY: Two old lovers reunite during challenging time

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End of August 2016

The summer sun shone brightly over the London park, casting dappled shadows through the lush green canopy. I adjusted my sunglasses as I strolled along the winding path, savoring the warmth and tranquility. This park had become my sanctuary, a peaceful retreat from the chaos that had enveloped my life in recent months.

The social media fallout of these last months had left me reeling. Once celebrated as America's sweetheart, I now found myself at the center of a relentless storm of criticism. My recent breakup with Calvin and the brief, highly-publicized affair with Tom after the Met Gala had only added fuel to the fire. But most of the media do not take into account the fact that my little whirlwind romance with Tom had ended almost as quickly as it had begun, leaving me feeling more alone than ever.

I took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill my lungs. The park was nearly empty, the serenity broken only by the occasional chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves underfoot. As I turned into another path, a familiar figure caught my eye in the distance. My heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be... could it?

I squinted against the sunlight, my mind racing as I tried to confirm what my eyes were seeing. Sure enough, it was him. His unmistakable silhouette, casual in a T-shirt and jeans, strolling towards me. But something clearly was different. The last time I saw him in person, he had a mane full of brunette curls. Now, from a distance I could see his hair was short, even shorter than when I met him years ago, framing his face in a way that was both new and strangely familiar. His presence here, in this park, seemed almost surreal, meeting your old flame in a London park.

“Taylor?” he called out, his voice tinged with disbelief as he recognized me.

“Harry!” I responded, my eyes lighting up.

We closed the distance between us, stopping a few feet apart. For a moment, we simply stood there, taking in the sight of each other. The years seemed to melt away, and I was transported back to simpler times.

“It’s been a while,” Harry said, his voice warm and friendly.

“Yeah, it has,” I replied, smiling. “What brings you here?”

“Just needed some peace and quiet,” he shrugged. “How about you?”

“Same,” I admitted. “It’s been a tough year.”

Harry nodded, his expression softening with understanding. “I heard. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Thanks,” I said softly. “It’s getting better, though. Slowly.”

We began to walk together, falling into an easy rhythm. The conversation flowed naturally, our shared history creating a comfortable familiarity. The sun filtered through the trees, casting playful patterns on the ground as we walked. The scent of blooming flowers mixed with the earthy aroma of the park, creating a soothing atmosphere.

“Do you want to talk about all…that?” Harry asked gently after I explained that I was living in London indefinitely for the time being, in a kind of self-imposed exile forced by the drama of the last few months. "I don't want to force you to tell me anything, but if you need to... I'm here."

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose it might help. It's just... everything happened so fast. One minute, I was at the top of my career winning all these awards and accolades for my work and the next, it was over and all the snakes fell on me. And I was alone, I’ve never felt so lonely. The whole thing with Kanye destroyed everything I have worked for since I was a child and everyone supported him in my demonization, no one stood up for me.”

Harry's eyes widened slightly. “I saw that. It must have been awful.”

“It was,” I admitted. “It felt like the whole world turned against me overnight. My social media was flooded with snake emojis, people calling me a liar, and saying even worse things. It was like I was trapped in a storyline full of lies that I never asked to be part of, ever since 2009.”

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I can’t imagine how tough that must have been. I’ve had my share of public scrutiny, but it sounds like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“It’s been rough,” I admitted. “But I’m trying to focus on the positive, I have decided to put some distance from the eye of the hurricane to lick my wounds and try not to end up going crazy. My music has been a lifeline, as always. It’s the one thing that’s kept me grounded through all this. But now, I’m not even sure if I can release new music again without my reputation being ruined all over.”

Harry turned to me, his expression serious. “You’re stronger than you realize, Taylor. What you’ve been through... it’s not easy, but you’ve handled it with grace. Your music has always been your strength. People love your music.”

“Thanks, Harry. That means a lot coming from you,” I said, my eyes softening. “You’ve always been good at lifting people up. But it's hard to think about putting myself out there again. What if it just brings more negativity?”

Harry smiled, his eyes full of warmth. “I get that. But think about all the people your music has touched, all the lives you've changed with your songs. You've always been true to yourself, and that's what matters.”

We found a bench and sat down, the golden afternoon sun casting a gentle glow around us. We sat in companionable silence for a few moments, watching the leaves sway in the gentle breeze. I felt a warmth spread through my chest, a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time. The park seemed to cocoon us in its embrace, offering a momentary escape from the world outside.

“What about you?” I asked, breaking the silence. “How’s life been treating you?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster. I just finished filming 'Dunkirk' with Christopher Nolan, which was incredible but intense.”

"That sounds amazing, I never imagined you as a Nolan guy."

"Yeah, it's amazing that the long-haired guy from One Direction ended up in a Nolan movie," he replied with a sad smile.

"Well, I think it suits you, whatever the public or the press thinks. You always had a lot of hidden sides in you... I just thought you'd be more of a Spielberg guy."

"You think you're so funny, Miss Swift," he replied mockingly. “I’m also starting to write songs for my first solo album.”

"Oh, that's great, that's what I know best. How was it?"

“It’s exciting, but sometimes I miss the old days with the band. Things were simpler then.”

"Sometimes change is difficult."

"I just… miss not having four other guys around to make decisions... everything I decide is going to be on me if something goes wrong and... I feel like I have a responsibility now to reach a standard, to reach expectations, if I go through with this."

“I can relate to that,” I said. “Sometimes I miss the early days of my career, before everything got so complicated.”

Harry nodded, his eyes distant for a moment. “Yeah, fame can be a double-edged sword. But I guess we just have to focus on the things that matter.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “That’s why I’ve been pouring my heart into my music. It’s been therapeutic, in a way.”

“I’m glad you have that,” Harry said, his voice sincere. “It’s important to have something that keeps you grounded.”

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the park providing a soothing backdrop to our thoughts.

“Do you ever miss it?” Harry asked, his voice quiet as we continued our stroll.

“Miss what?” I replied, glancing over at him.

“Having someone to share all of this with,” he said, his gaze distant. “A partner you can tell all your uncertainties and fears to.”

I paused, considering his question. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “But it’s difficult to find someone who understands everything about my life – the fame, the reputation. It’s a lot for anyone to take on.”

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Our way of life is something that is hard to understand for anyone who has been away from this kind of life. You want to believe in that connection, but it’s scary to open yourself up to that vulnerability again.”

“Exactly,” I said, feeling a weight lift off my chest as he put my feelings into words.

We walked in silence for a few moments, lost in our own thoughts. The park was bathed in golden light, the air filled with the sounds of nature around us.

“But,” Harry said softly, breaking the silence, “I think love is always worth taking the risk. Maybe finding someone to share your love with is worth fighting for, despite the pain of them not understanding what this life is about.”

I looked at him, a glimmer of hope stirring in my chest. “Maybe you’re right.”

We walked in silence for a few moments, lost in our own thoughts. The park was bathed in golden light, the air filled with the sounds of nature around us.

“But, I don’t know if I can risk it again,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s so hard to find someone who understands this life, the constant scrutiny, the expectations. It’s exhausting. And when that person also lives under scrutiny and understands what it's like, it's even worse, because it's not only my reputation that's at stake, but also theirs.”

Harry nodded slowly. “As I see it, in a relationship where there are two previous big reputations, when you are together, it becomes one. You have to forget about the past and focus on a shared reputation, of course without forgetting that you both have separate projects, but keeping in mind that there is another person on whom, at least your public image depends. Then, maybe it’s not about finding someone who gets it all. Maybe it’s about finding someone who’s willing to try, who’s willing to be there for you despite not having all the answers.”

I considered his words, a thoughtful silence enveloping us. The park seemed to cocoon us

 in its embrace, offering a momentary escape from the world outside.

“But what if it just leads to more heartache?” I asked, my voice tinged with vulnerability.

Harry looked at me, his gaze steady. “Life is full of risks, Taylor. But sometimes, the greatest rewards come from the biggest risks. You deserve to find someone who makes you happy, who supports you through the highs and lows.”

I sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “I want to believe that. I really do.”

Harry gave me a small, encouraging smile. “You will. It just takes time.”

We continued our walk, the sun beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the park. As we walked, I felt a sense of peace settle over me, a sense of hope for the future.

“Thank you, Harry,” I said softly. “For being here, for listening. It means a lot.”

“Anytime,” he replied. “You’re not alone in this. Remember that. If you need to talk or anything else, I'm just a phone call away.”

As we walked, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of optimism for the future. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope waiting just around the corner.

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Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it, please leave any comments or leave a like it if you enjoyed it.

See you soon :)