#i read like half a book and it is a murky memory

[baldmultiverse]

Im beginning to think those animorphs books had too much influence on me

#i read like half a book and it is a murky memory #i think there was a tv show? #where like worms went in peoples ears #??? #they were evil ear worms #i think? #Idk it was a feaver dream

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Space Oddity

Fandom: DC Comics, Titans (Fab Five)

Summary: Garth grew up in a carnival freakshow, and he never thought about the world outside the glass walls of the Aquarium until a group of kids befriended him. Their love and interest in finding his people might be the key to escaping the silent horrors of his home life at the carnival.

Chapters: 5/?

Characters: Garth of Shayeris, Donna Troy, Wally West, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Original Character(s)

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tags: Carnival AU, Developing Friendships, Rescue, 60’s AU, 70’s AU, No Capes AU, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Lies, Escape, Childhood Memories, Team Bonding, Fish out of Water, Tiny Garth, Beaches, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Road Trip, First Person POV, POV Garth of Shayeris

Chapter Five: Emergence

The first time I climbed out of my tank past bedtime to read and play happened a few months afterward. That was the first time I realized how frightening Fisher was. I sat on the bench, wrapped in a towel, while I read silently. Walter brought me books to read most of the time, and I rarely had time to read between dinner and bedtime, so I wanted to stay up late to finish them. Mostly poem collections, but now they were short stories about the ocean. I dreamt about the ocean’s vastness constantly. It awakened a loneliness that seemed to swallow everything I once enjoyed. That night was no different. I sat awake reading one of Walter’s books, and as soon as I finished it, I was hit with a strong curiosity. I crept toward the exit door, and I shut my eyes. I imagined cool ocean air and a cliff’s edge. Or maybe a beach. I thought about letting my body drift away from shore and sink into the ocean’s murky depths. I imagined people like me who breathed water and talked to one another in languages only we knew. I imagined myself with a mother and father… Maybe even a brother.

Then reality struck me across the face in the form of Fisher’s closed fist. I cried out and held my hands over a busted lip. He’d never hit me that hard before. He’d never hit me in the face before. “What do you think you’re doing? You think there’s something out there for you?” Fisher asked as he grabbed me by the back of my collar and dragged me across the floor. It choked me and cut into my gills.

“Fisher! Please stop!” I cried as I kicked to try and regain my footing. Fisher gave my swim shirt a final yank, and I hit my head against the floor.

“You don’t have anyone! You don’t have parents! There’s no one out there like you or for you! I take care of you!” Fisher hollered as he beat me with his fists.

“Fisher! Fisher! Stop!” I cried. I screamed as loud as I could until Luis came in, half-dressed, his robe still untied.

“Hey! Hey, Fisher, you’re gonna kill him!” Luis hollered as he grabbed Fisher’s arm. Fisher reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out a gun. I’d only ever seen guns in books. “Fisher, what are you doing? He’s just a kid!”

Murray rushed in, and Fisher waved the gun back and forth. I curled up and covered my head. I had blood in my gills, mouth, and nose. I wept in the near-silent room as the others poured in and held their hands above their heads. Walter was the only one brave enough to help me. Walter filled the small kiddie pool with saltwater from the gallon bottles that Fisher kept around. The saltwater burned my wounds. I lost consciousness and woke up to Doc shining a light in my eyes. It hurt to breathe, even while submerged in the water. Everyone had gone away except for Fisher. “Who in the world would beat a twelve-year-old kid like this? Fisher, you’ve got to control your temper,” Doc muttered, “You could’ve killed him.”

I started crying softly as the pain flooded back to the surface. “He was trying to run away after all I’ve done for that spoiled brat. I had to teach him a lesson. This is where he belongs, and he needs to know that,” Fisher snapped.

“Fishy, can you hear us?” Doc asked. I started crying. I couldn’t move. My whole body hurt.

After that, Fisher started locking me in my tank at night. I wasn’t allowed to do shows until my face healed, and I ate my meals alone. My home became a prison. Fisher took away everything that would’ve made me want to leave my tank. It was nearly two weeks before I saw people other than Fisher again. He woke me up, fishing me out of the tank, and I screamed underwater as my heart raced, and something happened that I never experienced before. The water flowed out of the tank and knocked Fisher off the ladder. I swam to the water’s surface and tried apologizing, but Fisher was completely unconscious. I climbed down the ladder and shook Fisher. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I shook him. “Fisher, wake up… I promise if you wake up, I’ll be good. Honest! I’ll stay here. I’ll never leave the Aquarium. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He coughed up water, and I embraced him. “Fish—.”

“It was an accident. I didn’t know I could do that. I’ve never done anything like that before. I would’ve told you if I could. I-. You scared me,” I cried. Fisher sat up and nodded.

“Get ready for your show… There’s a big crowd waiting for you,” Fisher mumbled, “I’ll have Walter bring you breakfast.”

He pushed me off of him and left me alone in the Aquarium. I sat on the floor alone until Walter came to eat with me.

"Fish, how're you doing? And what happened to Fisher? He's soaking wet," Walter whispered. I ate in silence. "Fishy?"

"You've known me since I was little… Am I the only one?" I asked.

"I've had a lot of years to think about you… You had—. I still have your kelp shorts. I think—. You must have somebody out there in that ocean. Someone must've fed and clothed you. I'm not even the only Wolf Man I know. We might be rarities or oddities, but we are not the only ones of our kind. I sincerely believe that Fishy," Walter replied.

"I wasn't trying to run away… I only wanted to see what it looked like outside… And I can feel—. Something inside of me is different, Walter. Not just my thoughts… My powers don't work the same. I almost accidentally killed Fisher this morning," I confessed, "I dream about the ocean. I can't see the ocean, but I can feel it. I can hear it. It calls to me."

"What do you mean? How are your powers changing?" Walter asked.

"Fisher scared me, and I screamed, and I—. I felt the water like—. It felt like an extension of myself. It pushed him off his ladder," I replied. Walter’s face changed from concern to something indiscernible before he started laughing. “Walter?”

“Oh, I would’ve loved to see that,” Walter chuckled, “Fisher doesn’t deserve your sympathy. If something happened, we wouldn’t have let you get in trouble. We love you, Fishy… We do.”

After breakfast, I changed into my performing clothes, and the first batch of people poured in. Roy came by himself and stayed all day, waiting for things to quiet down so he could speak to me. He sat on the alcove bench, and he frowned at me. “What happened? Donna’s been worried sick about you,” Roy wrote.

“Sick,” I wrote.

“Garth. That’s your new name,” Roy wrote. I would’ve smiled, but everything seemed so grim. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” I wrote. A lie. Roy scowled and stormed off. I thought he’d never return. I swam in circles until I created a small cyclone in the water. I let it whoosh me around. I wanted to make a mess. I wanted to cry, but I held it all in until the end of the day. Walter was the only one allowed to feed me, so I sat at a table across from him, eating chicken and roasted carrots.

“The boy, he’s been asking about you,” Walter stated. I didn’t want to talk.

“Roy… I know. He called me Garth today,” I mumbled. The corners of my mouth involuntarily twitched upward.

“It fits you… Garth,” Walter grinned.

#fic #space oddity fic #titans (fab five) #Garth of Shayeris #Donna Troy #Wally West #Dick Grayson #Roy Harper #Original Character(s) #Carnival AU #Developing Friendships #Rescue #60’s AU #70’s AU #No Capes AU #Hurt/Comfort #Graphic Depictions of Violence #Lies #Escape #Childhood Memories #Team Bonding #Fish out of Water #Tiny Garth #Beaches #Angst with a Happy Ending #Found Family #Road Trip #First Person POV #POV Garth of Shayeris

[circular-bircular]

My apologies for dropping this in here but I’m hoping for some advice and I wasn’t really sure who to ask, but we generally find your advice at least somewhat helpful i think. I'm pretty sure there are a good few of us here but I have no idea how to coexist with more than one other part anymore. i think we used to work together and exist together well enough without stepping on each other's toes, but it's been a long time since then, and maybe I'm making the memories up or making them seem different in my head but I think we used to be more distinct and separate parts and so we could work things out a little better but we're not that distinct and more muddled and murky these days and I don't think anyone knows who they are or what's going on anymore, but half the time when others front, they get so frustrated at me (the host) for not letting them 'exist' (front and have a life outside of our own mind (they don’t get to have anything internally either as we don’t really have a headspace)) but i often don't even know they exist in order to let them do so. I don’t know what to do anymore because every attempt I make to work out who’s who seems to be proven false a second later. I was wondering if you had any ideas on improving any part of this situation? Again I apologise for just sending this in but you’re pretty good with advice I've found and other assistance (a specialist or therapist for instance) are currently out of my reach.

Hey there! Thanks for your patience.

I'm afraid I don't have a LOT of advice for you. My system is a bit different in that I have ALWAYS had an incredibly vivid innerworld and I have always had incredibly strong communication with all of my parts.

However, I'm going to recommend to you a book called Coping With Trauma Based Dissociation. I've not read all of it yet, but it seems to me the homework exercises in that book could be beneficial to you. Here's a link to a google drive PDF. You can make a copy of it for yourself! I plan to get a copy of the physical book if I can.

I found the chapters I read (7 and 8) to be incredibly fulfilling and really put my systemhood into context of being parts of a whole, and working together on healthy individualization.

As for trying to work on communication and easing those negative emotions, the best shot I can give you is meditation. Sitting with your thoughts and trying to hold meetings, while difficult for many, is important. If it helps, you could try to think of them as your own thoughts -- if they contradict what you feel like, consider if that could be another part's thoughts.

If anyone else has any advice for anon, plz share!

#diamonds are a boy’s best friend #asks #anon #did #otherwise specified dissociative disorder #osdd #dissociative identity disorder #dissociative system #other specified dissociative disorder #complex dissociative disorder #actually did #actually dissociative #cdd

[obsidiancreates]

Little detail in my fic Good Morning, Captain that I wanna point out because I like it:

Each character, Gunther, Celci, and Burt, have their own unique thing they compare the experience of half-remembering to.

Gunther thinks of it like trying to remember a dream, Celci thinks of it like trying to read a book while it's under murky water, and Burt thinks of it like a memory so old you can't tell if you're even remembering it right anymore.

It was very purposeful and I tried to line up the vibes as best I could X)

#markiplier #iswm #in space with markiplier

[husbandohunter]

Mermaids exist in stardew, yes? So imagine a mermaid farmer for Zhongli, Kaeya and Diluc it could be in Yandere setting or not. I just wanna know their reaction when they found out and how it’ll effect their relationship. Will it brew angst, love, or both

Part of your world [Genshin x Mermaid!Reader]{Stardew Impact series}

Synopsis: You came from the sea and he takes you through a journey of what it was like to live on land despite your differences.

Genre: Fluff

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli

"I threw in Childe because I had an idea for him xD It's fluff month so everything is going to be happy from now on >.>"

=============================

{Diluc}

It was a hot summer day when Diluc first found you lying unconscious ashore. You had just swam far and wide from the ocean world, the climate deemed unideal for your case. With no one else around, he took the initiative to help you out of your situation.

He shortly found out by the slight appearances of scales gracing your legs that you were neither a human or someone coming from the town nearby. As legendary as mermaids are, Diluc wanted nothing to do with you. His beginning plan was to find your relatives and send you out of his house (Additional work isn’t welcomed when he has so much already). However, you latched onto him pretty quickly since he was the one who saved you.

Here stands a human, a creature that you always wanted to interact with, in your perspective he may look a little stern but he must have plenty of knowledge to offer based on all the antiques he owns.

The only problem was that you two had no way to communicate. Different worlds meant different languages. Whenever Diluc told you that you couldn’t stay, all you did was tilt your head and whenever you tried expressing what you wanted to say, well, normally bubbles would come out of your mouth since they were an indication for your words.

He gave up on trying to kick you out and simply allowed you to take residence as long as you stayed out of his workaholic life. You would tend to his farm while he was absent on other matters and feeding animals in the barn (a lot to do but a win-win situation now that you were able to discover what it was like to live on land at the same time). Though you were also a handful, most of the time Diluc had to excuse himself from his desk when you thought the rake was some sort of hair brush and he forbade you from using the bulldozer. Quite honestly you caused him a lot of stress. He spent most of his hours teaching you and before he knew, it was already a habit of his.

The only words you knew were three words. If you wanted to eat you would say ‘fish’. If you were thirsty, you would say ‘water’. If it was anything else, you would say ‘Diluc.’

He allows you to take long baths since he knows how hydrated mermaids must stay at all times. Orders a pool to be built in his front yard (at least this way helps him save his costly electricity bills). Diluc also borrows books from the library museum for you to read, anything that you would find interesting, (mostly they were about alphabets and picture-based stories (it felt like he was raising a child).)

Easily gets worried when you step into town with him, he keeps a watchful eye in case you collapse and extra bottles when you need a drink. Most of the time, he had to keep an eye on you since you had the natural instinct to waltz into whatever interested you, such as dancing in annual festivities (which you dragged him along of course). It was how he grew attached to your presence because you truly knew how to appreciate the world around you when he himself was too busy to do so.

Two worlds merged and he was learning how to live in yours too, how you perceive things. Building sandcastles, collecting seashells, listening to the echoes resounding within them. Activities he thought were unnecessary suddenly gained the meaning he had lost long ago. Diluc grew too fast at maximum speed, trying to get as many things done as he could, until he was pulled back by the emotional waves of your kindness and compassion, onto the shore he failed to live on. How ironic reality can be.

{Childe}

Everyone knew how much Childe loved to fish. He sets out at sea every evening to capture a batch of flounders, hopefully stumbling upon a legendary one.

In a way, he did. Just not what he expected. What he pulled out of the waters seemed to be a human-sized fish sitting upon the other residues caught in between. ‘A mermaid…?’ he thought, still digesting the fact in front of him. (No wonder the net felt so heavy).

At the same time he wanted to take you with and sell you for a good price but knew how mad Tonia would get when she found out. So he lets you go free. The thing is, you swam behind his boat and followed him back to land. This was how your relationship with Childe started, to this day he continues to jest upon that memory.

Tonia took most of the responsibility to coach you about human life. One of them was table etiquette, before you ate with only your hands which caused a mess. Childe would laugh hysterically at it until Tonia reminded him, “This is also what happens when you use chopsticks, big brother.”

Teucer invites you to basically anything since you have so much patience. Childe shortly realizes that he was soon going to be replaced as the eldest caretaker and you couldn’t even talk at that time. So it was only fair that he included himself in the circle while interacting with your way of communicating: sign language (Surprisingly, he was naturally good at it. Though his movements are rather exaggerated and...ungraceful).

You were nice enough to accompany him to his fishing tasks and soon enough became your daily activities. Childe takes the lead as you follow him from the side, sometimes he lets go of the steering wheel and allows you to push the boat instead (he kept a note to himself that in your mermaid mode, your strength multiplied by a large number). Other times he felt a little risky and decided to jump in the ocean with you for a swimming session. It worried you immensely but your anxiety subsided when you saw how much fun he was having and for the rest of the time, you both explored what the ocean had to offer.

Childe used to be a fish-cook enthusiast. Not anymore (since that day you cried when glancing at the flounder dish he placed on the table). He had to stick to seaweed or any other plant-based meals with a little bit of meat but too much would cause your stomach to churn. Since his siblings complained at the sudden change, he had to make a separate meal plan for them. With a mermaid in the house was certainly high-maintenance indeed.

Cuddling with you in front of the cracking fire blazing under the chimney was one of the calmest moments indulged himself in. He often chooses the life where the waves crash constantly, anticipating a thrilling storm that comes ahead. But you were just a lull at the sea, the mediator he needed in times where his siblings needed a mother-figure. Sometimes he fears that you would leave him and return to where your true family lives but he was grateful that you chose him above all else. He was grateful that by chance, he captured you at sea. One thing he loved about life was the unpredictability the future brings, including the blessings. Even if you were a creature from far away, in your presence he felt like he was truly at home.

{Kaeya}

When the tides rose above his head, Kaeya was sure that he was done for. The surfboard he recently stood upon slips off beneath his feet and he falls into the ocean’s merciless waves. No oxygen, no time to catch his breath amidst the impact, his eyes were slowly closing and the last thing he saw was the sun’s light beyond the heavy surface, along with the murky visual of someone swimming in front of it.

Although he almost drowned, the idea of being saved by a pretty mermaid makes up for the fact (He has a natural tendency to flirt at anything eye-catching even if you were an outlandish being). You on the other hand was confused by his advances as you couldn’t understand a word he was saying, hence you swam away.

Those beginning days when you chose to explore the land, Kaeya remembers how much trouble you had with walking using your new legs. He had to hold both your hands while leading you forward, he found it rather cute when you tighten your grip the moment you felt that he was going to let go (he was only bluffing of course but you still hissed at him). Still, Kaeya ensures that you don’t fall to the ground, he catches you in time when you collapse while laughing, “You’re doing great sweetheart.”

In return you teach him how to read the ocean’s movements so that he won’t drown again. Kaeya spends more time around the beach since he knows that the water bodies are where you were most comfortable with. He tells you that you always smell like saltwater whenever he buries his face in your hair, perhaps that was how he grew attached to the ocean as well.

In summer seasons there were several days where you had to sleep in his bathtub because the air was so dry. As a mermaid, he had to tolerate many of your unique quirks, in this case he had to deal with showering in cold water since you took up all the electricity. Another case was your wine tolerance, no one could challenge you to a drinking contest when your body could sustain large amounts of liquids. Kaeya sometimes jokes if you could turn him into a merman like those in fairytale books so he can have the same experience. You take it as a joke while he was also being half-serious.

When you have to take a temporary trip home, Kaeya visits the dock every evening and waits for you to come back, trying to see any signs of your colourful tail. He glances at the ocean he grew to love, knowing where he stood is as far as he could go and anywhere beyond the boundary was out of his reach. So many people left him in his life and even though he knew you wouldn’t do the same, he still worries. Uncertain if you would abandon him too.

Your existence became the center of his life the moment you chose to walk upon land with him. Side by side, through small hurdles the seashore and hurdles as big as the wave that almost killed him the day he met you, Kaeya keeps them all as if they were the most precious treasure a pirate could find. It didn’t matter if you were different from everyone else because despite your tail, all he could see was you.

{Zhongli}

While Zhongli strolls along the sandy beach, he follows the alluring sound of your singing voice. You sat upon the rock while humming along what seems to be an old folk tune, similar to what Guizhong once sang. The man folds his arms and closes his eyes. Many years have passed since he last heard something like this, “Your voice, it’s very lovely.”

He was a geologist who worked by the museum, collecting different types of rocks and seashells that would wash up shore. You became very familiar with his daily routine that before he pays a visit to the beach again, a pile of interesting rocks would be waiting for him by the docks. It was a gift. And Zhongli would bring snacks like seaweed soup as an accommodation for your kindness.

Unlike Kaeya, when you couldn’t walk because your legs were too weak to be used, Zhongli helps you with every step along the way even if the trip was a slow one. He even offered to have you carried when he saw you were having too much trouble but you insisted on trying. The whole trip that usually took ten minutes was a three hour walk.

Even though he knew many things, your language was not one of them. However he was willing to learn. Both of you have study sessions regarding each other’s culture. For you it’s the way humans drink with cups because of Zhongli being a tea fanatic himself, he even showed you how to hold a tea cup properly. You taught him how to swim since he had been so occupied on land that swimming never crossed his mind. Thankfully he was naturally good at it due to his tall stature (albeit a little scared when diving into an environment unknown and different to him).

Zhongli loves the way you sing and he would ask every time he wanted to read a book. Either under the tree on a warm spring day or on the couch when it was storming outside. Although he intended to get some reading done, Zhongli can’t help but fall asleep. You didn’t want to wake him up (and you could carry him if you wanted to thanks to your mega-mermaid strength) so by morning, you’d find yourselves in the same spot and your lap feeling numb.

Earth and sea were separated for a reason so that the creatures may stay upon the place where they belong. That wasn’t enough to separate you from him though. Zhongli would travel to the sea to see you and you mustered the courage to walk upon the hard surface of land. The two were only parts of the world but together they are part of the world, connected to form a whole new life.

#genshin impact #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #zhongli x reader #diluc #kaeya #childe #zhongli #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #genshin #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact childe #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #stardew valley #genshin impact headcanons #nya writes

[hornime]

saeko, an angel

you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

warnings: gay lol

w/c: 2k

a/n: i’m so in love with her. also this is sfw which goes to show how much i am in love with her.

you crack your eyes open, a bright white light blinding you and forcing you to close them again, the burn settling into your pupils. you wait a minute, letting the red behind your closed eyelids warm to a fiery orange, before trying again, squinting as you let your eyes slowly adjust to the morning sun. and then you see her, through the blurry haze of dawn.

an angel.

you silently blink early tears away, too afraid of moving or making a noise and scaring the divine being away. as bubbles of light start sharpening into crisp clarity, you realize where you are: a hotel bed, with clean white curtains and walls framing a heavenly scene. and you realize what you’re seeing: saeko. so yeah, close enough, you think. an angel.

you remain immobile: your hands are tucked under the pillow and quickly going numb at the uncomfortable position, and the kink in your neck is demanding more and more of your attention as your nerves realize that you’re awake, naturally refusing to give you a mere minute of painlessness. but the aches in your joints and throbbing behind your eyes become secondary as you become transfixed on her, her. her, silently sitting on the edge of the bed and playing with the linen beneath her with the tips of her fingers, only half of her face towards you. she hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet, a serene smile gracing her face as she remembers a joke, something between her and herself. saeko, an angel.

it’s funny, you think, how mom always told me that mornings were times of clarity, times when things make sense. you remember a story she’d tell you when you were little.

“there’s something about the time when half the world is sleeping and the other half wishes they were sleeping,” she used to say, “that makes things make sense. everyone’s too groggy to start thinking their thoughts for the day. so the universe has all of these thought bubbles in the air, floating around, waiting for someone to just pluck it out of the air.”

“like a ballon?” you’d ask.

“yes,” she’d chuckle. “like a balloon. and you can just pluck it out of the air! sometimes, when the universe needs you to realize something, all those thought balloons will come rushing towards you, and they’ll form a big,” she’d spread her arms for emphasis, “big, big cloud of thoughts. and suddenly, everything would make sense. and you’d get the courage to do something that you’ve been wanting to for a while.”

you used to laugh at that story, imagining someone with a giant thought bubble sneaking out of their ears, carrying them up, up into the air. what could someone even be thinking about, you’d wonder, that would make their bubble so big? you couldn’t fathom contemplating something so large and important that you’d worry it could whisk you away into the atmosphere.

but now, laying here in silence, mom’s words were resurfacing to the flesh of your chest, warming it with something that had been burning there for a while, burning with what the universe had been wanting you to realize for quite some time now. 

you were just scratching the surface of what that was threatened to make you weightless, the strings of balloons tugging restlessly at your arms and legs, wishing you’d just let them fly already. wishing you’d just let yourself fly.

you don’t even realize your eyes are closing until you glance back up again, at the angel perched next to you, wingless yet still able to show you the wonders of the sky. saeko, an angel.

you study her for who-knows-how-long, noting the sheer beauty before you, so delicate yet strong you worry it’ll break itself or break you from the weight of its magnificence. she doesn’t even know, you register, she doesn’t even know that each moment around her is a blessing.

and you know for a fact that each moment is a blessing, because angels are blessings, and she’s an angel. somewhere in the murky depths of moral ambiguity, between drops of bitter vodka from a teenage birthday party and stolen quarters from the mall fountain, there is a glow of truth and irrefutable certitude: that she is an angel. saeko, an angel. 

and you, blessed.

wisps of blonde hair curl from her forehead to her jaw, whispering words in gold that you can only partially translate into a hymn of some kind, its rhythm vibrating along the headboard of the bed and prodding at your ears. you wish to brush them behind her ears, so cliche, she’d say, just so you can see more of that heavenly face. god, you groan internally, why’d you make her so fucking perfect? how’s that fair to any of us mortals? how’s that fair to me?

you trail your eyes down the bridge of her nose, slanted perfectly. you’ve never really thought about what the perfect nose bridge would be, but you know without a doubt that she has it. of course she does. saeko’s perfect. saeko, an angel.

and before you can help yourself, you’re tracing the curve of her lips, plump and pink and oh-so-kissable. you’d drown in those lips if you tried: visions of how they stretch into cheeky grins and purse into pouts could flood your mind if you let them. and you don’t let them, at least not as often anymore, especially since her lips can be really distracting, and last time you thought about them you were driving, and saeko shrieked in laughter when you called her telling her the reason there’s a new dent on the side of the car. 

“we can’t both be bad drivers!” she’d giggled. “that’s feeding into the gay stereotype!”

“it’s not my fault,” you’d grumbled, “that i can only concentrate on one thing when i’m behind the wheel.”

“that ‘thing’ should be the road! not my lips!”

“yeah, i know! but ‘i kissed a girl’ was on the radio and then i thought about kissing a girl and that girl was you and then one thing led to another and...”

the corners of your lips turn up at the memory. although you had been pretty pissed about having to pay for a repair, saeko proceeded to try and fix the dent herself with a plunger since she has a vendetta against auto shops because “they’ll take advantage of pretty things like you” and “motorcycles aren’t that different from cars anyway, so its fine.” and she was sure to give you some quality time with the lips that you’d been so distracted by, so even the fact that your insurance company had upped your rates hadn’t bothered you too much.

the strings of your thought balloons dangle in the air, glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window. you wonder how saeko hasn’t seen them yet. she must really be lost in thought.

your gaze remains steady on her face, her glory, her beauty. i’m lucky, you decide. so so lucky. you can feel your limbs be lifted slowly into the air. the balloons are getting restless.

you’re almost taken aback when you feel something wet roll down your cheek. are you... crying? seriously? you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to get a hold of your emotions. when’s even the last time i felt this in lo—

“hey.” saeko’s soft voice makes you crack open your eyelids as she runs a hand along your hair. “are you okay? you’re crying.”

you smoosh your face further into the pillow. “i don’t know,” you mumble through the comforter.

she repositions herself on the bed so that she’s sitting criss-cross towards you, leaning forward to bring her face closer to yours. “are you on your period?”

“no,” you respond immediately. you nuzzle further into the sheets, but poke your head out again. “wait, i’m not sure. what day is it?”

“the 21st.”

“oh,” you roll over onto your back, stretching your arms out hoping that she’ll hug you. “then maybe.”

saeko obliges to your silent request, crawling her way over and straddling the blanket over your legs before resting the top half of her body on yours. “i knew it,” she whispers into your neck.

you don’t dare look her in the eyes. you know that mortals will disintegrate if they look directly at an angel. you read that in a percy jackson book or something.

but the thought balloons are yanking at your arms, forcing your fingers to run down her spine and through her hair. i must be insane, you think. i’m insane to think that i’ll ever be enough for her. 

she’s an angel, you remind yourself to no avail. wingless, but can still fly. and you are nothing but a human, rooted to the ground by gravity and inevitable death. you’d be a fool to think that you’d ever be enough; after all, what bird would choose to stay on the ground when it can explore a limitless sky?

but you are a fool. you know that now, even if you were in denial before. you’ll let your delicate and fragile thought bubbles carry you into the air and bask in the temporary feelings of freedom before they pop and you crash and burn through the atmosphere. you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

you most certainly are a fool, because you let your thought bubbles wrap their strings around you like a harness, pull themselves taut, and prepare yourself to jump out into the morning heavens, putting your trust into the wind to carry you alongside her. your toes are dangling across the edge, the open beyond becoming more and more appealing than the safety of the hotel room. you know that there is no do-over once you take the leap, once you try to fly. you’ll either get to fly beside her or you’ll fall to the ground and face an untimely end. but fuck if you aren’t daring, yearning, stupid enough to jump. 

you swallow. there really is no going back from this.

“saeko?” you let the words carry through the stagnant air of the room, filled with the lemony scent of an air freshener and saeko’s shampoo.

“hm?”

“i—” the wind whips widely at your back and at your balloons, sending them into all directions as they maintain their hold on you. it’s compelling you to fall, to throw caution into it and hold tightly to your faith and let go of your tether. you must be crazy because you’ve already made up your mind. this decision shouldn’t be that easy, but you are scarily sure. 

the earth’s roots are retreating back into the grass and your body is free for the first time. you can’t tell if the air will catch you, but it doesn’t matter anymore. you’ll be the first human to fly, even if it kills you. it probably will.

“i love you.” your feet leave ground and find nothing below them. the helium in your balloons is straining against your weight. your breath hitches—maybe this is how your life ends. maybe this is how the illusion that you’d created for yourself, a love between a human and an angel, disappears: shattered like bones on concrete.

you open your eyes. you hadn’t even realized you closed them. they meet a sky of warm brown, glinting with the promise of flight. the brightness of her smile makes the light of the sun pale in comparison, the same sun she’s gotten closer to than you ever will. her nose is dotted with freckles, mirroring the constellations that you’re sure she’s flown through countless times. you can practically see her wings, her halo. your confession, one you thought would land heavily in the space between you, feels like its expanding into something light. something... weightless.

the air seems to grow solid beneath you. it’s like you’ve realized you can fly. you’re starting to think you can.

“i love you, too.” 

she loves you. saeko loves you. 

saeko, an angel.

#hq #haikyuu #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq smut #haikyuu smut #saeko tanaka #saeko x reader #saeko x y/n #saeko smut #saeko fluff #hq saeko #[ 🎞 ] — anihaven

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.5

Another few good weeks passed before they heard from their so-called goddess, gone who knows where. Not that anyone would ever question her absences, even the lords knew better than to stick their noses in her business.

When Nicole found herself once again following Emma through blue-lit underground corridors, there was an odd determination in her strides. She wanted to figure out what the hell was going on with her and Miranda, if nothing else, was a scientist who above all loved solving an equation. And what else could her situation be described as if not an intricate equation with a bit fat X as her missing factor.

She was right in thinking that Miranda would find her issue of interest, as when she finally brought it up the woman furrowed her brows and turned to face her, a clipboard grabbed from a nearby table.

“And there was nobody else?”

“No. Just me, Cassandra, the pharmacist and some guy that came for his medicine,” Nicole answered with a barely contained huff.

“What for?” Miranda tapped her pen against the paper in anticipation, a clear sign that she may be onto something and was only putting together some puzzle pieces that nobody but her could see.

Nicole had to dig through her memories for a moment. “An infection. At least that’s what the pharmacist mentioned.”

Miranda hummed and scribbled something else. There was no point in trying to decipher what exactly, the woman had the handwriting of two drunk doctors put together. How very fitting for her.

Without another word, she was on her feet, unbuttoned lab coat flowing after her the same way her black robes did when in goddess mode. “Follow me. I want to test something.”

And what else was she supposed to do really?

Quick steps took them down the hallways, black stone walls surrounding them and taking on an odd shine under the unnatural neon lights above. At least Nicole didn’t have to jog for once, Miranda not being that much taller than her.

The journey was short and they reached their destination quickly, which seemed to be a door not unlike the one belonging to the lab they had just vacated, except this one had the number 24 engraved on a small plaque on it. Miranda pushed it open to reveal a small hospital looking room, four beds divided by grey curtains but only one seemed to be occupied, a sleeping woman hooked to a heart monitor whose rhythmic beeping caused some memories to resurface in Nicole's mind.

Those memories however were quickly pushed down by a sudden burst of nausea at the decaying smell that seemed to forcefully crawl its way down her throat. Nicole all but slapped a hand to her face and turned around in a pathetic attempt to block out the overwhelming sensation. Some blood also started to trickle down her face and past trembling fingers, although thankfully not an ungodly amount like before.

By some mercy of well… herself, Miranda didn't stop her when she decided to do a wobbly turn and hastily exit the room. She followed Nicole out and observed as she slumped against a wall, pulling a tissue from a pocket to wipe at her face.

"What… the fuck," Nicole breathed out.

"Was that the same as before?" Miranda's eyes were full of a weird kind of glee that could only belong to a mad scientist. Not that that would be an inaccurate description for the woman.

Nicole only nodded, trying to get her face on a more presentable level before speaking again. "Is she-..."

Miranda scoffed. "Are you deaf? I can assure you the woman is quite alive," she responded with an eye roll.

The soft beeping monitoring the heartbeat could be heard faintly from behind the closed door, so her words had to hold some truth to them. Though her intentions were still shrouded in mystery.

"Then why the hell does she smell like that?"

"She doesn't," came the nonchalant reply and it had Nicole almost seething.

Is your ego stuffed up your nose, is what she wished she could snap and say, but she knew better.

If Miranda noticed the daggers in her eyes, she paid them no mind. Instead she noted something down on the paper precariously attached to the clipboard she got a hold of before exiting the lab they had been in previously. When she finished, she simply motioned for Nicole to follow and continued further down the hallway, without a second glance.

She only stopped once to exchange a few words with an unfamiliar assistant on the whereabouts of certain patients. Patiens. Why would Miranda keep any sort of patients down there?

Before she had time to dwell on it, Miranda pushed another door open, this time leading to another corridor dimly lit by strategically placed torches. Apparently nobody bothered to get electricity to this particular part of the underground maze of tunnels, the warm light so pleasant on the eyes as opposed to the harsh neons of the previous area. The tunnel was also long, way too long for it to be an often used path, especially given how awfully humid the air was becoming. Nicole tried to take a mental note of where they were heading, squinting her eyes in an effort to imagine what was above them, but with how convoluted the tunnels down there were, it was fruitless.

After maybe fifteen minutes of walking, awkward silence -at least awkward on her part, Miranda didn't seem to care- only broken by the echo of steps and the soft sounds of crackling fire from the torches, the tunnel ended in what looked to be a far too modern stairwell. Nicole had to pause for a second, looking at the unnerving contrast where dark ancient stone gave way suddenly to gray concrete and steel, going up in sharp angles and blocking the view to whatever laid above. The overall architecture did look vaguely familiar though, but Miranda didn't seem to have the patience for sightseeing as she quickly started walking up the stairs.

At the top of the staircase stood a steel door that was quickly unlocked to finally reveal a place that Nicole recognized. She blinked rapidly in surprise, all but freezing in the doorway at the sight of the hospital corridor she had walked down on so many times before, complete with a handful of nurses discussing in a corner. She shook her head and slowly followed the woman, not wanting to remain behind. It didn't take long before they came across the one person Miranda was apparently searching for.

"M- Mother Miranda," Salvatore's voice came in an oddly high pitch, at least for him, when he almost crashed with her in his hurry to get somewhere.

"Moreau," Miranda greeted with a nod and unreadable expression. "I need the documents on each of your patients and where they're staying." Straight to business apparently.

He simply nodded and moved his attention to one of the nurses standing nearby, instructing him to finish whatever task he was supposed to before their arrival. The man moved rigidly, painfully aware of Miranda's presence. Then, Moreau led them to his office, starting to pull out a consistent number of files from a large bookcase.

His office was, unsurprisingly, a mess aside from the one place he held the documents keeping track of all his current patients, complete with a few books and office supplies haphazardly placed on the desk. A few spare white coats were hanging just by the door, together with a long and worn leather jacket that he often times wore when outside the building. A familiar string of bones was also peeking from one of its pockets, nowadays worn as a necklace since, after the effects of his mutation were lessened, he found the crown quite unsightly.

"Are you coming by anytime soon," his voice came from behind, snapping her out of her exploration. "We could use a hand sometimes."

Nicole turned to give him a polite smile. "I may, but I have some things to get out of the way for now."

A glance in Miranda's direction revealed the woman hunched over the documents on the desk, writing down a list with the aid of whatever she was reading. They could do some small talk for the time being.

"How have you been," Nicole asked, turning to him again.

She and Salvatore were on quite friendly terms ever since she started occasionally helping out in the hospital that he was in charge of. Not that they had much time to ever hang out, but the few times they did, it's always been a pleasant interaction among colleagues.

"Some days are better than others," he responded with half a shrug.

Judging by the deep purplish circles under his eyes, today wasn't particularly stellar. He was slightly hunched, whether it was out of habit from a time when sitting straight was quite impossible or from tiredness, she couldn't tell.

"Any news from the castle?" He asked with a chuckle. He was rarely welcomed in Alcina's home so the curiosity wasn't unwarranted.

Nicole shrugged. "Same old same old. Bleeding out prisoners, stopping Daniela from breaking vases and all that boring pseudo nobility stuff."

He let out a quiet laugh. "Nobility? Should I start calling you my lady?"

Nicole snorthed, giving his shoulder a small shove that didn't make him move in the slightest.

Their joking banter was interrupted by Miranda all but shoving her way in between them and out the door, calling for her to follow. With a small wave, Nicole was quickly after her, falling in step just slightly behind the other woman. Though it was a small building after all, so it didn't take long to reach the first door on Miranda's list.

"I want you to tell me exactly what you feel," she flatly told Nicole while pushing the door open.

She frowned, eyes slightly narrowed in confusion and glued to Miranda's back as she stepped inside the small room after the woman.

Any incredulous question died on her tongue when she seemed to be yanked back in time, to the yearly family trips her father insisted they all go on. It was to a relative, or family friend, Nicole couldn't quite recall, who owned an old cabin near a lake. Problem was, the lake was always murky and full of algae, the water gaining an unpleasant scent under the August sun. She and Alex never tried swimming.

"Well?" Mirada raised an eyebrow, impatient.

Nicole scrunched up her nose, both wanting and desperately trying not to take a deeper breath. "Pond water? The kind of water that's stagnant and muddy in summer, full of dead fish and weeds."

She tried not to fidget, her mind running a thousand miles an hour. The so-called goddess seeming completely uninterested in shedding light on what the hell they were doing was not of much help either. A frustrated sigh threatened to escape when another person spoke up.

"Doctor?" A meek voice came from the only bed in the room, from a young woman who seemed asleep when they had walked in. She looked between the two of them confused and with squinted eyes.

Miranda simply raised a hand, not even sparing the girl a glance. "Pay us no mind, we're only here to check on something. We'll be on our way in a moment."

Nicole couldn't help the confused look she threw the girl's way. Was she not recognizing the woman this whole town worshipped? An amused snort almost escaped her but she knew better. Besides, who could really blame her? Mirada was wearing an oversized lab coat, blonde hair held back in a ponytail and there was no trace of the makeup that usually accompanied her ceremonial robes and mask.

Not that Nicole had time to appreciate the odd humanity of Miranda's outfit, as the woman turned on her heels and exited the room as soon as she was done writing. She was starting to grow annoyed with the uncooperative and know-it-all attitude, but decided against voicing any opinions and settled for following along to the next door.

It kept on being a rinse and repeat of the first room, only variables being the patients inside and her answers. Sometimes the change wasn't too obvious, maybe just a more metallic undertone or a new faint smell latching onto her senses, like the sickly sweet aroma of honey. A handful of times though she had to all but slap a hand over her face to not be overwhelmed by the enveloping stench. One room in particular made her almost stumbled backwards and out the door, when a strong metallic smell contrasting the accompanying one of decomposition hit her like a slap in the face. The man inside, who was evidently not doing particularly well, didn't seem appreciative of the apparently crazy woman coming in and rudely interrupting his rest.

Nicole didn't look forward to lingering around by that point, but there was one more room to check.

They pushed open the door, and the familiar stinging scent of decay immediately overtook her senses, seeming to latch on to the very inside of her throat. A small rivulet of blood also started dripping down her face, and Nicole quickly pulled out a paper tissue from her pants pocket to press against her nostrils. It was both to stop the bleeding and to shield her senses from the smell.

Once outside, Nicole was trying to catch her breath while Miranda was simply writing something down. Another set of steps approached them, who turned out to be Moreau coming to check on their findings. Upon being given the clipboard to read -he could actually decipher her chicken scratch, really?- he let out a curious hum.

"I need to go over John Abbott's file and compare them," Miranda started, clicking her pen and putting it back into her pocket. "I'll send an assistant after it later." Then she looked her way and waved a hand dismissively. "You're free to go, I'll send Emma after you when you're needed."

Nicole blinked, dumbfounded, her voice coming out harsher than she probably should've allowed it to be. "That's all? What did you find?"

The exasperated edge in her voice did not go unnoticed nor was it appreciated. Miranda rolled her eyes slightly and gave her an answer. "You can distinguish illnesses by smell. We'll do a more comprehensive test and list, but for now we have enough to say that's how the Mold manifested with you," Miranda explained, half turned away and ready to leave.

And she did turn to leave as soon as she was finished. With a nod towards Salvatore, she made her way back down the hospital corridor and presumably towards the passageway that led back to her lab.

Nicole wasn't particularly keen on going down there again if she could help it, so she instead stuck by Salvatore's side as they walked back to his office.

That day wasn't the first time Nicole had entered that room, so the fact that it also served as some kind of archive did not go past her. The office itself was decently sized, and even had a storage room attached to it with the sole purpose of keeping old files that may be important but Miranda didn't need at hand. Although, in all honesty, Salvatore wasn't particularly skilled in keeping everything organized. That's what my secretary is for, he would say, ignoring the fact that Miranda would gut anyone who touched those documents if they weren't part of the small group of people she deemed worthy. Therefore, the files were a mess, the only saving grace being that he at least had the foresight of organizing them by decade.

With a sigh, he started looking through the binders all but stuffed on one of the many shelves. Nicole sat down at his desk, occupying herself with a crayon that she started twisting around her fingers absent mindedly. There was some semblance of relief in finally figuring out what had so cruelly changed in her body, and what an ironic twist of fate said change was. To have spent years pouring over books learning about the illnesses that now were recognizable by something as simple as an acidic smell of blood. On the other hand though, the knowledge that Miranda had a tendency to find some kind of use for all her experiments left a sensation of dread slowly making its way into the deepest crannies of her chest, where a certain parasite had burrowed and made a nest for itself.

"Mind if I call the castle, I don't really feel like walking all the way back," she asked, eyes settling on the phone pushed to the side by a couple books and scattered pens.

"Sure," he responded without moving from where he was pulling out papers, only to shove them back inside their folders when they weren't the correct ones.

Her hands hovered over the keys for a moment. She wasn't about to call Alcina's personal phone to ask for a ride, heavens no. The phone in Carolina's study, where the Constable would spend her time when not in the stables, would be the best choice if only she could remember the number from memory. Nicole decided that the one in the main hall was the best next thing, where one of the guards at the entrance would probably hear the ringing and answer.

She dialed the number and listened to the typical ringing sound once, twice, until she thought nobody was actually around, but at last, a voice came from the other end.

"Alo?"

Nicole took a moment to recognize the voice as Dalia's, the head chambermaid.

"Hey, it's Nicole," she started toying with the pencil again. "I'm at the hospital, can you send Carolina with a horse to pick me up?" She sensed the slight hesitation on the other woman's side and thought to clarify. "I'm not injured, just with Moreau."

She heard a slight exhale from the other end of the line and had to entertain the thought of whether the woman was relieved due to genuine concern for her wellbeing, or she was well aware of how irritable her wife could be. Her being injured definitely made its way on the list of things that would bring out the anger and cruelty carefully crafted over almost a century.

Before hanging up the phone, she sighed and thought better of her request. "Actually, tell Cassandra to come."

She could almost feel the slight grimace from Dalia at being asked to go talk to the most sadist of the sisters, and with a request no less. Oh well, there's to hoping that Cassandra wouldn't be too peeved at said request coming from her wife.

She hung up after hearing an of course, my lady.

With a way to get back home without having to do the trek on foot assured, she leaned back in the chair, watching Salvatore continue on his search. He was standing with his hands on his hips, eyebrows pulled into a frown that slightly wrinkled the already rough skin of his forehead. He looked almost as if he resorted to glaring at the piles of papers, hoping that enough intimidation would scare the right file into jumping into his hands.

It almost made Nicole snort, were it not for the curiosity that both acted as a distraction and pleaded to get some more answers. "So, who's this… Jack Abbott?"

"John Abbott," he corrected without tearing his eyes from the shelf in front of him. He grimaced then. "He was one of Mother Miranda's earlier experiments, and had a very similar mutation to yours."

At that Nicole's eyebrows shot up past the low line of her fringe, interest successfully piqued. She turned in her seat to fully face him, one arm thrown over the back of the chair. When he didn't continue talking, instead pulling out one of the last binders on the shelf labeled 1930's, she impatiently prodded for more information. "And?"

Moreau pulled a face, probably wondering if he was even supposed to talk about it. It didn't take long for him to let out a defeated sigh, the demand to play dumb were Miranda to ever ask about this going unspoken, but more than understood. "Same thing as you really. He could tell what illness someone had by a specific smell, down to the nasty nose bleeds whenever it got too much," he started, noticing a few drops of blood that had dried on her upper lip.

He turned back to pulling out the very last binder dedicated to that decade and relaxed his posture ever so slightly when he saw JOHN ABBOTT written in big letters and black ink on one file. Another frown tugged his cracked lips downward, the information written in such a clinical way only mudding the memory of the frail man he had briefly met so many decades ago. "His body took well to the Cadou until… well ,until it didn't. I don't know what went wrong, but his body just rejected it at one point and he died being slowly consumed by the infection."

At that Nicole's face fell, dread now overtaking her usual curiosity. He must've noticed, for his next words came the slightest bit rushed and with a strained kind of reassurance that wasn't convincing to either of them.

"It may very well not be connected."

Nicole almost scoffed, not at him but at the situation at hand. The hand holding the pencil was tense and, had she not been as weak as she was, the wood would've probably cracked by then. "Did you know him?"

With a slight shake of his head, he answered, not a negation but more a gesture of pity. "Barely. I was brought here only after he started," he narrowed his eyes at a wall somewhere behind Nicole trying to find the right word. He didn't. "...deteriorating."

That was about as much as her brain wanted to know at the moment, letting a heavy silence fill the space for endlessly too long. She was caught in her own thoughts that started to twist and turn into countless what ifs. Thoughts that crashed to a halt when a nurse knocked on the half open door to announce her presence.

"Lady Cassandra is waiting outside," she told Nicole, expression pulled in a poker face that could only belong to someone who had to deal with her wife and tried to seem unbothered. Tried and failed.

Nicole sprung to her feet, circling the desk and about to make her exit when he called out. "Take care of yourself," Moreau told her, looking up from the papers he was reading.

Her lips turned slightly upwards into a smile. "You too." And then she left, rapid pace taking her through off-white hallways and slight smells that she was now painfully aware of.

Stepping outside was a breath of fresh air in more ways than one, the orange hue of the setting sun welcoming her after the hours passed under the harsh lab lights. How ironic was her hatred for the damned neon lights, when not too long ago she would've gladly spent her life under their bluish glow.

Even better than the warm sun on her skin, was the sight of Cassandra, dressed in her usual riding attire and absent mindedly scratching the furry muzzle of one of the castle's Clydesdale horses. A big beast of a horse, black and white with its feathery legs that, Nicole realized with an eye roll, she wouldn't dream of getting on without help.

Her pace quickened until she found herself embraced by a pair of strong arms, the stable smell mixed with Cassandra's cologne filling her senses with something finally pleasant. She didn't let go until she felt a gentle kiss placed on top of her auburn hair.

"Darling," Cassandra greeted her once she pulled back, gloved hand coming to rest on a pale cheek. "How are you?"

Nicole sighed and pushed into the touch, the kind of tiredness that could only be felt after a day spent bending over backwards to every one of Miranda's whims settling into her bones. "Ready to go back home."

Cassandra simply nodded once and moved her hands on her hips, getting a good enough grip before picking Nicole up to where her foot could reach the stirrup so she could pull herself up. Her wife decided that climbing in the saddle was below her at the moment, choosing instead to turn into a swarm, only to retake her human form a mere second later, on the horse's back, her front comfortably against Nicole's back. With a few taps of her boot against the stirrup still occupied by Nicole's foot in a silent demand to let her guide the horse, she took a hold of the reins and they finally started moving down the stone paved road.

There was no complaint on Nicole's part, taking it as a good opportunity to sit back and enjoy the ride, pressed to her wife's chest.

A few eternally long minutes were spent absentmindedly scratching the horse's muscular neck, where short black fur met the mane held in a beautifully done french braid, that only their Constable could pull so seamlessly. A few long minutes spent mulling over what she had found out, thoughts twisting cruelly with every worst case scenario her mind could conjure. Had she made a mistake? Was the infection a mistake to begin with? How cruel could fate be sometimes. Back in New York she had come to terms with a meaningless life, the only truly important thing she had amounted to at that point being choosing a career path to spite her father. But now, after finding a place to call home where she ached to stay to the point of seeking eternity for it, the very thing that could allow her to remain there forever could also take her life away, miserably so.

"What's wrong?"

Cassandra's voice snapped her back to reality, so much so that she even shook her head a couple times to chase away the lingering thoughts. She gave an inquisitive hum in an attempt to play dumb. The attempt was met with an incredulous eye roll.

"You're quiet," she simply responded.

"I'd think spending decades with Daniela would make you appreciate quiet people," Nicole jokingly threw back.

"Not you," came the reply, one hand leaving the reins and coming to rest on her thigh. "I love hearing you talk, even when you're blabbering about proper medical technique."

At that Nicole let out a light gasp, turning around with mild offence written in her eyes. She couldn't find anything to retaliate with for once, setting instead for giving her wife a slight shove with her elbow, that only elicited a laugh.

She shook her head and let out a sigh. "We did figure out what's with the damned nosebleeds." At a curious hum and Cassandra's chin coming to rest on top of her head, she went on. "Apparently I can distinguish illnesses by smell. Now that would've been useful during med school," she finished with a bitter laugh.

Her wife responded with a snort. "If I were Daniela, I'd say you're joking to hide how you really feel." She shrugged. "However I'm not her, and I'm assuming you'll simply tell me without the need of an impromptu psychoanalysis," she said almost smugly, the hand that was until then lazily placed on her leg finding its place around her waist.

The times when Nicole wished to curse her wife's apparently impeccable observation skills were rare, but this was one such occasion.

She almost let out a groan, pushing further back into Cassandra's form. "There was this other man, John Abbott, with the same mutation. Except his body rejected the Cadou and he died slowly and painfully," she explained, her voice quieting halfway through, but almost flinched when the arm around her went stiff with an almost vice-like grip. The realization of how long Cassandra has really been in the Village for slowly crept its way from Nicole's memory, having been filed away and almost forgotten in a metaphorical drawer of obvious things that however were rarely brought up. "Did you know him-"

"You won't end up like that sorry bastard."

The conviction behind that one simple sentence almost had Nicole letting out another short bitter laugh. Not out of bemusement of course. Irony perhaps, at how determined her wife was to double down on cheating death, not only for herself but her too. Even when death could be brought by the very thing keeping them alive.

"Not much we could do about that," she said in a small voice, one hand toying with the black fabric of Cassandra's sleeve.

"Don't think for one moment that I'm joking," she started, an edge of a warning behind her tone. Her hand came to rest more gently on the bottom of Nicole's sternum, where the skin had healed in a dark scar that seemed to send jagged cracks all the way to her stomach. "I'll pull the wretched little thing out of your chest myself if I have to."

At that Nicole actually let out a laugh. "Way to go with something morbidly romantic."

Cassandra chuckled close to her ear, bending down slightly to leave a peck where her neck and shoulder met. "You're not going to die. I won't allow it."

A silent possessiveness accompanied her words. An implication that she now belonged there, in her arms, and frivolous things such as death had no place to come between them. She should flinch at such implications, were it not for the fact that it was mutual and Cassandra knew better than to recklessly throw herself on death's path, knowing well that soon her wife would follow in her steps.

The soft kiss was returned when Nicole bent back again, until the angle between their bodies allowed for their lips to meet tenderly, in a way that anyone would believe was so utterly uncharacteristic to the both of them, ruthless in their own ways but soft like velvet running on smooth skin with each other.

They rode in comfortable silence up until the gates to the stable, where they dismounted and handed the reins to one of the servants waiting there. The sun had set by then, purple and dark blues reigning the skies as they entered the castle through one of the secondary doors.

She parted ways with her wife, saying that she would soon join the rest of their family as she headed up the stairs. A change of clothes was due. That and a request to their seamstress.

Oh her way back down, she stopped by the open door to the woman’s studio, busy with readjusting some garments for one of the ladies. A curt knock on the wooden frame of the entrance got her attention and had her pulling a face upon realizing that she had probably lost count of whatever she was mentally keeping track of. Nonetheless, she offered a polite smile when greeting Nicole.

“My lady, what can I do for you?”

“I need a facemask,” Nicole started.

The woman’s eyebrows pulled in a confused frown. “I thought a new batch of surgical masks just arrived the other day.”

Nicole raised a hand when she went to check on the shipments list. “I meant something I can wear for longer and outside the lab, surgical masks have a tendency to clash with an elegant gown, you know,” she explained with a chuckle. “Preferably that can filter out any smells?”

“Oh. Of course, I’ll just need to take your measures to make sure it’s fitted for you.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” she proposed and, after the seamstress gave her an hour, she continued on her way down the hallway to where the rest of the Dimitrescus were gathered.

Being home brought some peace of mind, thoughts of dying and being forcefully ripped away from her life momentarily placated in favor of enjoying a few hours by the fireplace with her family. Leaning against Cassandra as she draped an arm around her shoulders and listening to Daniela and Bela have a hilariously heated debate over the latest book they've read felt downright blissful in its mundane aspect.

Although no matter what, the little parasite that now called the inside of her chest its home, was quietly gnawing at her worried mind.

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #mother miranda #salvatore moreau #to bargain for immortality #fanfic #big reveal is big

[stevesharrlngtons]

hi i don't know if anyone still cares about true blood but i'm rewatching season 4 and i would like your unfiltered opinion on sookie/eric pls

…. Honey you got a big storm coming

This will be a LONG post and likely need a read more so brace yourself. LETS GET UNFILTERED

First and foremost, I do ship Sooric. In the early books and in the entire television shows run they have OUT OF THIS WORLD chemistry. I loved the will they/won’t they, the angst, the sexual tension, and the yearning we got out of them.

Now, unfortunately, in both the show and book series, Sookie does not deserve Eric or his love and devotion. As much as I tried to fight this fact while watching the show, it is just true. Time and time again, Eric proves to her that he is trust worthy, that he adores her, listens to her, makes an effort to change for her, PROTECTS HER WITH HIS LIFE, and she is just too stubborn to let herself love him. Why? Bc he was an asshole to her??? Bc her abuser doesn’t like him??? It’s a hard pill to swallow while watching the show, bc it is so clear that Eric is the better man between him and Bill, but Sookie just can’t accept that. She can’t see past his past (even though Bill’s is just as murky) and writes off all of his change as deception or willfully chooses not to acknowledge it (We do see her stay continually warm toward him for s4-7 though, but still)

Obviously s4 is the best Sooric content we get (aside from the books which I will try not to mention much in this post, for all your Eric/Sooric book needs see @skarsgard-daydreams) which is pretty disappointing bc if you boiled down the season to just their scenes, it would last maybe a half hour? Forty five minutes? Maybe? And this was the big lead up we got after four seasons of Sooric being one of the most talked about and favored relationships in the series and pop culture at the time. It is very disappointing that the only real Sooric “relationship” moments we get in the entire series are when Eric had his memories erased and he wasn’t his true, authentic self. We do get Sookie admitting that she loves Eric in s4 which was great progress, and that she thinks she always had loved him (after how many gestures from Eric at this point tho? 🤔) but one constipated look from Bill and suddenly she can’t choose between them.

It is hard to watch the ending of s4 bc it is clear thay Sookie loves Eric, but she will never let herself be in love with him. Something that Eric struggles with for the remainder of the seasons (even though he respects her choice unlike someone else we know)

Those are my quick sooric/s4 thoughts

BUT

Bc I am currently binging Jenny Nicholson videos, let’s break down the rest of my thoughts about Sooric shall we? Let’s have three bullet points: Why I think Sookie rejected Eric in s4; What I would have done if I had written the show; and Why the writers broke them up/never gave them a chance.

Why did Sookie reject Eric in season 4?

The show tells us in s1 that because of her powers, Sookie has never had a boyfriend and is a virgin. She lives in a very small town and while she is desired, she hasn’t really found anyone to desire in return.

So, when Bill shows up and he is a vampire, (a concept she is fascinated with) good looking and charming, she falls for him without a safety net. I think even if Bill hadn’t given her his blood and therefore manipulated and sullied their entire relationship, she still would have been obsessed with him and would have wanted to pursue something with him. Just because he was something entirely different for her.

Sookie is sheltered, lacks any relationship/sexual experience, is a romantic, as well as largely isolated. Bill is the man of her dreams in many ways because he is new, he is exciting and worldly, but he is a man from the past who still believes in chivalry and courting and who her Gran likes and blah blah blah you know what I mean. Bc of the circumstances of which she meets Bill and how their relationship plays out (the ups and downs, love bombing, the grand gestures of love, him being her first everything, most importantly her first love, etc) she can’t let go of him, not only because of his blood in her system, but because of the weight and importance she put on their relationship in the first place. Her life was leading up to the point of meeting someone she could connect with like Bill, so her mind fixated on him hard.

After their break up, Sookie doesn’t think she can trust any other man (or vampire) ever again bc the one she had put so high on a pedestal had mortally wronged her. This is a fatal flaw for Sookie, she will not accept change or new information. Everyone is as they were when she met them. Such as Bill = good Eric = bad (even when both of their actions speak otherwise).

Sookie’s stubbornness shoots her in the foot time and time again, not just in her relationship with Eric, but with lots of the other characters. But to focus solely on Eric, her preconceived notion that Eric is the foil to Bill’s heroic lead never changes even when she knows that Bill is not the great man she thought he was, and when Eric proves that he is not the monster she thought him to be.

In the end of s4, after Eric has his memories back and Bill is saved (or whatever who actually cares about Bill?) She tells Eric that Bill is the reason why they can’t be together. She loves Eric. They have just gone on a passionate and specular love affair that she very much enjoyed. Then why can’t she just choose Eric and get over Bill? To me, it feels like even her subconscious is too stubborn and refuses to let go of the weight Bill once held in her life — tied with her inability to see Bill as anything other than the “good” one. She does say that her love for him is something “chemical” (and unhealthy but that’s just me) bc he gave her her first taste of vampire blood, which does make sense. But it’s still stupid and I hate it ok??? Just another example of Bill ruining her life

In the end of the season, when they are both in bathrobes and finished feeding off Sookie to recover, Bill tells Sookie to be with Eric, but she still rejects Eric (but Bill too so, hey! Silver lining) Which was heartbreaking to watch, especially because of Alex’s performance.

I do think that in her own way, it was the right thing to do. She recognized that a part of her still loved Bill and couldn’t love Eric with her entire heart. Along with her explained hang ups on Bill’s importance in her life and her stubborn mostly irrational fear of her original interpretations of Eric being right and getting hurt again. I do think she truly loved him, but just never enough (but at least had the heart to not leadhim on like book!Sookie but I digress)

Eric always deserved better than someone who was so wishy washy about their feelings for him. Which I know is a weird thing to say when I do ship Sooric but things don’t always have to make sense lol

What I would have done if I had written the show

Sookie not being with either of the people in the show’s love triangle (yknow, pretty much the whole premise? The whole selling point??) is boring. If you don’t like that sentiment, I know you will at least agree that not having Sookie even interact with the two other people in the show’s proposed love triangle — who are both still very much around and alive — is boring AND stupid. So if I were a writer on the show, what would I have done? Well, I would have had Sookie choose Eric in the end of s4 (duh) but keep most everything else exactly the same. I don’t want to say I would give the show an entire overhaul bc there is a lot I like about the later seasons (and a lot I don’t but ok) so I would just want to focus on the once main focus of the show, romance; and the main focus of this ask, Sooric.

In the end of s4 Sookie chooses Eric. She is able to let go of her past with Bill and wants to learn to grow with Eric. And while she knows a part of her will always love Bill and care for him, she knows that what she has with Eric is real and wants to be with him. They embrace, it is very emotional, tears on both ends and they declare their love once again.

I don’t remember when Eric and Bill are kidnapped, if it was the end of s4 or the beginning of s5, (keep in mind I haven’t watched this show all the way through in almost a year) but that still happens. Bill and Eric are kidnapped by the authority and blah blah blah again. BUT! In my rewrite, now Sookie is distraught and heartbroken and PISSED and will do anything to find Eric. The rest of the season is spent not only trying to deal with vampire Tara, but trying to get Pam on her side to go find Eric. Lots of crying and love lorn yearning ensues. Maybe a few flashbacks from missing scenes from other seasons.

All the while, Eric is basically going through the same thing. Scratch the vague Nora incest plot line and just give us lots of Eric bragging about his bad ass fairy girlfriend so much that Bill and Nora are gagging. Lots of anger and love lorn yearning ensues.

In the end when Sookie, Pam, Tara and Jason find the authority, we just get a much more emotional and make out filled Sooric reunion. The elevator scene after they escape Bilith? Lots of Alex’s big ass hands cupping Anna’s face as they have a tender and exhausted moment.

Maybe in s6 they go on a good vacation over the break and in s7 we get lots of good angst with hep-V Eric and then more emotional reunions between the two. Hell, I will thrown in Pam learning to begrudgingly love Sookie over the seasons like she did in the books, bc I’m writing this now and I want that too!

In the series finale, I don’t think we need any confirmation about whether or not Sookie would be turned into a vampire. She made it clear with Bill she wasn’t keen on it, maybe she has changed her mind, maybe she hasn’t. Maybe we get a good few episode conflict between Sooric about her turning to spice things up. Who knows! But it would be good, ok.

I think we could sprinkle in some marriage and adoption/sperm donor conversations between the two throughout the series (played straight, for angst or for laughs) and in the end still have Sookie with her husband and pregnant belly, just have Eric be the one by her side.

Would it really change the outcome of the series plot wise all that much? NOPE. And yet? So much better, more fulfilling, interesting and actually makes sense in my opinion.

Lastly, why did the writers break up Sooric/never give them a chance?

If you don’t know, the first four seasons of True Blood follow the book series pretty accurately. Obviously there were changes and things kept out/put in, but the over arching plots and story are the same. After s4, I am unclear on why, but they did not continue to follow the book series as they had. Dead as a Doornail (the book that s5 would have been based on) came out in 2001 and the fifth season came out in 2012, so it wasn’t a GOT situation. The book series is convoluted and mostly stupid. Ch*rliene Harris fucks up her own stories and characters so royally that it makes no sense as to why she would sabotage herself so bad and so embarrassingly (but again for the books, go to Marie). In the fifth book, that would have coincided with the fifth season, Eric and Sookie are together. They are together for bulk of the series which is like 13 or 14 books. So, was this the reason the writers veered away from the books? Because they didn’t want Sookie and Eric together for the rest of the TV show’s run? It’s one of the things I can think of (I just did a quick Google search and couldn’t find anything on why they diverted from the books but if you know PLS comment) that they thought a stable couple after the drama of the love triangle would be too boring or safe.

This would make some sense if they had absolutely no knowledge of the books other than someone telling them that Sookie chooses Eric. Because the fucking drama between those two in the books is of epic proportions. They could have had them fight, break up, get back together, be apart with miscommunication, have big romantic gestures, fight scenes with lots of screaming for each other, the list goes on. But no. We get another three seasons of our three protagonists almost never all in the same room, never interacting or even liking each other. We get lots of meandering nonsense of side characters and plots that fizzle out. It made little to no sense to me why they would keep making the lore of TB more confusing and complex when they really didn’t need to. As much as I HATE Harris, she gave them more than enough vampire source material to make a series only about vampire bullshit. There was so much interesting stuff they never touched! No need for werepanthers or Sam’s brother.

I think the writers sorta got on their HBO high horse and thought they could make plot lines that were as strong as the source material (which was sorta just meh to begin with) and failed pretty miserably. They gave us some GREAT Pam and Eric moments (I like television Paric better than book Paric so thx I guess) but not much else. I do think they wanted to shock (?) fans and throw a wrench in things for fans who had read the entire book series. I am all for innovative thinking but like…… when it’s done well.

I know fan service is highly contested in fandom/non fandom spaces, but like….. in a show about vampire romance, you can have three seasons of no main character vampire romance. It’s a let down, and while I would have wanted it to be Sooric, it at least would have made more sense if Bill/Sookie played with getting back together or something in the later seasons (which I need you to know I am happy didn’t happen bc I HATE Bill and Sookie with him, but you get where I’m coming from)

So yeah sorry, I actually have no idea why they didn’t have Sooric end up together, so this wasn’t really an answer 😅

OK!!!!!!!!!!!!

there you go, some very unfiltered and very scattered Sooric thoughts. I hope you liked it! And don’t regret asking me this 😂 I wasn’t expecting it to be this long so uh sorry lol. But anyways!!! If you read this far PLEASE comment your own Sooric thoughts in the comments. I love to hear other people’s thoughts and theories ♥️

Smooch smooch kiss kiss I love you anon and all my TB babies!! 🧛‍♂️

#forgive any errors! both spelling and plot wise lol #answered #Sooric

[sparklingpax]

Remnants

-title bad lmao what else is new 

-there are definitely grammar mistakes and typos, it’s late and this was potentially the most spontaneous thing I have ever written, sorry ;w; 

-Not even sure how to describe this, I just hope you like it :’D 

-in case it wasn’t clear, this is set in the aligned continuity, in tfp.

-I swear I remember someone saying Soundwave used to be a gladiator so this was kind of also born of that but if I’m wrong than you may laugh at me and I apologize,,

-borderline angst but then again No because literally nothing happens 

///

Air whistled past a lone figure at the tip of the Nemesis.

Above him was the seemingly endless expanse of earth’s night sky, but beyond that, Soundwave knew, there lay space. The galaxy. The universe…

Most of it all sat—dead and alone, void of life and sound….but waiting.

Waiting for someone to come and inhabit it.

Soundwave heard the hum of the ship—or rather, felt it to the core of his body.

With every wave of energy that passed through the ship, his body shook, and his audio receptors took in the sound which reverberated in his skull. 

Yet it was that shaking that propelled the ship forward. 

To all those occupied with their activities, safe inside the walls of the aircraft, the noise was imperceptible.

 But Soundwave was not busy, and he did not care too much to block it out.  

Such a sound was a necessity, after all.

And the Decepticon intelligence officer was no stranger to necessity.

 So, Soundwave stood still like the universe hanging above him, little passing through his processor.

He thought about his mind. Soundwave was fully aware he could not truly remember most of his past.

In the name of loyalty and necessity, he’d wiped his own mind clean to store data, information…at the cost of his own thoughts and feelings.

But there was no resentment, no sadness, no frustration…there was nothing.

He had no reason to feel any of that, because he’d never be able to forget his past. 

 Because it was all stored coldly and distant from his own processor, all stored in an unfeeling, unbiased manner, ready to be told back to him at a moment’s notice.

 It lay for all to see on public records and files, like a book in a library. His life and goals remained as dead words on a screen that he had only read once or twice; an intelligence officer must have a good memory, right?

 Soundwave took a calm step forward, seeing more clearly over the edge of the ship. Blankly, he watched the wisps of clouds float by, not remotely interested in how they tore apart as the Nemesis passed through them.

All that remained--though against his will--were the days in the gladiatorial ring. Carnal instinct to kill and live another day, to hear the resounding roars of bloodthirsty crowds.

That crowd filled with those that loved death but did not desire it. 

Soundwave remembered well their faces. Young and old, mechs of all ages but only a few statuses populated the seating. They felt not fear or adrenaline, but excitement at a spectacle-to-be.

Soundwave remembered his own anger, his own resentment, his own sadness. The things he felt to the people.

 The purple mech took another unwavering step, nearly at the edge of the metal, and still feeling nothing. Only thinking.

Only processing.

 These were cold memories. 

Soundwave couldn’t feel them anymore. He just knew that they were there.

He remembered the face of a young mech that sat in the front row one day. He’d  been dodging the many arms of a snake-like beast and had fallen against the edge of the arena, dangerously close to the crowd. For anyone else, it would have raised excitement.

 But Soundwave was Soundwave, a gladiator near nameless.

The crowd wanted his fight to end.

They wanted to see Megatronus.

 At that point, Soundwave considered remaining there as the monster regained itself. 

He wondered how it would feel to have its poisonous teeth rip into his armor until it reached his spark. 

He remembered his desire to know what nothing felt like--the irreversible sensation of ceasing to be. 

He remembered a feeling of despair so deep he almost removed his protective visor—the one thing that gave him some distinction for the horde of other nameless gladiators that lived in this city.

 That visor was a device that made it seem as if he had no face.

How funny it would be to have no face, Soundwave had often thought.

 But then, there was the little mech. 

He held in his small hands a half-eaten cube, the remnants of the first half smeared over the corner of his mouth. His eyes sparkled with wonder as they met with Soundwave’s.

They shared no moment of significance, and the mech said or did nothing of importance. A split second later, Soundwave slid to the side just before an arm of the monster could impale him.

 The earth below Soundwave was a dark, murky ocean.

 Oddly enough, he could not put the young mech out of his mind. Nor did he feel any inclination to question it. And yet it remained in his processor…as did the memories.

The cold, blank, memories.

The ones that felt like he’d lived another person’s life, and then remembered it was his own.

 A life he had no wish to go back to, because he was fine with things now. Not happy, not annoyed with, simply….

 “Soundwave, we are ready to begin the meeting.”

 Ah, then again, to think like this was just a waste of time.

There were tasks to be completed.

 Soundwave turned on his heel and marched back to the door of the ship.

 He knew the universe would wait, and for centuries and till the end of time, he knew it would sit and wait. What else could it do?

 But Megatronus will not.

///

#tfp #transformers prime #soundwave #transformers prime soundwave #so it's my headcanon that he calls Megatron Megatronus because he knew him back in the gladiator days and he can only see him as that #and also because Megatron is fine with it because he and soundwave have a mutual trust and respect for each other so yea #idk #transformers prime fanfiction #tfp soundwave #tfp fanfiction #fanfiction #drabble #writing drabble #reflecting #random #kuniwrites #megatron #megatronus #maccadam

[the-slasher-files]

ok so hear me out. taking jason’s hands and slowly, gently kissing his fingertips, knuckles, wrists etc and just being Soft. he deserves Softness, y’know? and tbh i want to know what michael would do if you tried this with him

YES yes yes!! Fucking love soft Jason and hand kinks so this is perfect! Sorry it’s a bit longer than I wanted up I think it is worth it all... Enjoy :) Also what is with the severe lack of Jason hand pics???

MASTERLIST

JASON AND MICHAEL REACT TO S/O KISSING THEIR HANDS

JASON VOORHEES

The sun peaked through the evergreens and aspen trees making wonderous shadows on the cabin floors with a golden glow. Little bluebirds chirped and sung their songs as the crows cawed loudly calling for their master to give them corpses to feed on. Soft breathing filled the room, and you stirred awake, slowly opening your eyes to morning light, and the trees swaying in the breeze brushing against the old glass of the cabin windows.

Carefully rolling over to your side you saw your gentle giant tangled in the sheets beside you, he was so peaceful, so grounded. He reminded you of a fallen log in the forest, quiet, still, large and almost sinking into the bed like the muddy soil. It was a rare sight seeing him asleep before or after you. Jason was laying on his back shirtless, head on the pillow and mouth slightly agape breathing gently, his one hand lay on his chest as the other is almost clutching the sheets beside him.

You smiled taking in his soft presence, reaching for his large hand, brushing your fingertips along the back of his hand and down long thick fingers. Feeling every scar and rough patch of skin, tracing shapes into them. Jason’s eyes fluttered open at the soft touch, no matter how long he was with you a gentle touch still made him a little jumpy. Turning his head your eyes locked together, pulling a small smirk out of him, every morning waking up with you was his heaven.

Jason brought his free hand to embrace your jaw, so large it almost completely covering half of your face. Moving it slowly down your features as you kissed his wrist and palm, he melted under your love and kindness to him. Taking his thick wrist in both of your small hands you pulled his hand back, just examining it, every scar telling a different story, and every finger different from the last. Some were completely smooth with scars showing no trace of fingerprints, some were calloused with a jagged nail sticking out, others you could feel the bone threatening to break the skin.

Resting your palm on his, the tips of your fingers only reached to his second knuckle and you watched in fascination as he folded over his fingers on yours. Pulling his hand to your soft lips you kissed every scar, every finger and traced the wound in his palm. Jason just watched as you worshipped him and wished that he could tell you just how much he loved you.

To him his hands were disgusting, a symbol of everything bad he had ever done, whatever he touched seemed to die by them, and then there was the excruciating painful memory of seeing his hands scratch and claw through the water to the light before he died. But to you they were everything that made him Jason; Skillful, delicate, trusting, reliable. He could create anything with those hands and he could take away just as easily with them. A delicious combination of brutality and altruism.     

MICHAEL MYERS

Rain fell slowly in the dark night, only being seen by streetlamps and on house windows. There was no moon, no stars just the caliginous dark engulfing the town of Haddonfield. A golden glow illuminated the living room from the standing lamp to your right curving over the couch where you sat, reading your book, quietly. The clock on the wall seemingly becoming louder with each tick as you just tried to concentrate on the words of the yellowed pages, you were looking at them but it just looked like a foreign language. Somewhere you knew screams were howled through the night and blood was pouring from some pour souls throat, and yet somehow you missed him, craved his hands on you.  

Growing tired you contemplated going to bed without him, as you did a hundred times before. Sometimes Michael never came home until sunrise, but the bed just never felt right without him letting his large figure encompass your small body. Instead you decided you run yourself a hot bath waiting for your mans return, leaving the doors unlocked and the lights on for him, even though he could see perfectly in the dark.

Easing yourself into the steamy water now sloshing around you, warming your body and hitting the parts you didn’t even know were cold. Moaning as you settled in, tension fleeing your frame and sinking further and further into the water, head resting against the cool tile and eyes closed.

It wasn’t long until the door creaked open slowly, there he was. Observing you as rain and blood dripped on the tiles from his night out. His dark eyes met with yours as you softly smiled at him, but fear started to well up inside you, after kills you were just his next piece of prey.  

Silently he approached you, hovering over you with a head tilt, surveying your naked body and the steam that left it. Droplets of scarlet fell into the hot water around you, and with one swift motion he pulled his pale mask off throwing it on the counter; His brown hair fell loosely around his chiselled features, allowing you to see his scars and two different colored eyes.

Kneeling down to your level unzipping half of his coveralls freeing his muscular arms and torso, groaning as he did it, either from soreness or the steamy air around him. Michael smoothed his rough cold hands against your chest and arms, smearing the blood he had chased for, it bloomed around you in the water and made it murky.

His hands became a kink for you from the beginning of your cruel relationship, they were so large compared to yours, one of them could almost wrap completely around your throat, the cool veins and tendons in them were animalistic in nature making you want everything they could do. Michael’s hands alone had devasted the town and he held that with pride; not only could they maim and torture, but they were so skillful like a perfected craft, delicate in their movements betraying the forceful grip. They have made you feel pleasure like no other along with pure pain.

Slowly you took one of his large hands from the water and gently grazed it along your lips, feeling every scar and vein, bringing the kisses onward against his knuckles and tasting the copper and devastation. Michael was tense and not once left his cold gaze from your warm one, it felt good to have someone slowly worship him but he rather just take you roughly and his way. The other hand shot up to be placed around your throat tightening and forcing you to be still, while the other pulled away and tucked itself between your thighs. His eyes saying you want to try that again?    

#jason voorhees #micheal myers #my writing #asks #requests #halloween #friday the 13th #horror #horror imagine #jason vorhees x reader #jason vorhees imagine #hands #michael myers x reader #michael myers imagine #slasher #slashers #slasher x reader

[spencesglasses]

sweet creature (spencer reid x f! reader) pt 5

a/n: to anyone still reading after 2 months of silence... here’s a new chapter. as always, ignore any errors and feedback is always appreciated. enjoy <3

part one | part four

The sun brought its wrath on Y/N’s skin as she lies on the red and white quilt blanket beneath her. She extends her hand to the edge, twisting the grass in between her fingers. Letting her hand linger to the patch of Zinnia flowers. She sits up on her forearms and crosses a leg over the other. Reds, pinks, and yellows bloom in the field, and Y/N stared in awe. A noise from her right causes her to jolt up from her spot, clenching her fists tightly. The wind coos in her ear, leaving the hair at the nape of her neck stand. She slowly brought her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knee, and tries to calm her breath. It’s fine, she’ll be here any minute now, Y/N thought. She released her hold on her legs and let out an exasperated sigh, shifting to the lonely picnic basket that sat at the base of the blanket. She flipped the basket open and let her hand search until she felt the smooth cover of a book. Y/N smiled to herself, bringing it into her lap. She opens the book to find a stray note taped to the back of the cover. Meet me in a field of wildflowers where the sun falls in love with the earth and the moon falls in love with the stars, it read. Her fingers gently trace over the letters as she admired the note, trailing down to the signed “E”.

Y/N closed the book, tossing it to her side, and she felt the corners of her mouth rise when she saw the familiar strands of raven hair. “Hey, you.” Y/N said, holding out her hand for the girl to hold. “You finally made it.”

-

“Hey,” a voice takes her away from the memory. “Are you okay?”

Y/N looked up from the book that was splayed across her lap to meet the owner of the voice and locked eyes with Spencer from across the round table. She nodded softly, the tip of her finger ghosts over the letters of the cover. What was so special about this book? She turned over the cover just as she did years ago, to find the same mysterious note. Her eyes linger on the inscribed “E”, and she huffs in frustration. “Why can’t I remember you?” she mumbled.

“What was that?” JJ asked from beside her.

Y/N closed the book, setting it next to the case file in front of her. She moved her attention to JJ and shook her head. “Nothing.”

JJ and Spencer met eyes, then both looked at the book quizzically. JJ shrugged her shoulders when Spencer tilted his head in wonder. He glanced at Y/N, who was attentively listening to Garcia as she promptly showcased yet another case to solve.

“Last night, this girl, Gina Bryant, flagged down a police car in St. Louis,” Garcia said. “She was wearing nothing but a dirty nightgown, and she was barefoot. And she told them she was kidnapped when she was 8.”

“That girl’s gotta be 19 or 20 years old.” Morgan said.

“18,” Garcia corrected. “And they confirmed her identity. She was a foster kid who disappeared 10 years ago.”

Y/N shuffled through the photos the file contained. “She’s been in captivity this whole time?” she asked, looking up to Garcia, who was nodding her head.

“Long-term hostage. That’s rare. We got another Ariel Castro here?” said Rossi.

“Funny you say that. Not funny ha ha. Funny weird. She told the police that she was held captive with this girl,” she explained. “Sheila Woods, 15 years old, who disappeared from Nashville 7 years ago. Also, she said there was another girl, too, but all she knows about her is that her name is Violet and she was older.”

Y/N brought her eyes to the board of the missing girls from Garcia and bit the inside of her cheek. “You’ve checked the missing children’s database, correct?”

“Affirmative. There’s no Violet anywhere.”

“Did Gina say anything about her captor?” Spencer questioned.

“Just that his name was Tom, and he was an older white dude.”

JJ spoke up. “And where were they being held?”

“This house,” Garcia brought up a photo of the home to the screen. “Gina took the cops there. They brought Sheila to the hospital, very ill with something yet to be determined. Violet nowhere to be found.”

“It’s probably safe to assume that she’s with the unsub.” Hotch said.

Y/N nodded in agreement. “Who owns the house?”

“Oh! That’s where it gets even weirder. This woman, Clara Riggins,” she displayed a photo of the woman. “She’s MIA, but her checking account is active. She pays her bills on time, and if my math is correct, she’s 108 years old.”

“I might be going out on a limb here, but I’m gonna bet she had nothing to do with the kidnapping.”

“The real question is, where’s the unsub and this other girl Violet?” Morgan says.

“That’s what we’re going to find out. Lewis is on a research assignment. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch finalized . He gathered his file and promptly made his way out of the room, leaving the team to follow his lead.

Y/N stood from her seat, gathering her own file and the book that sat by its side. Her feet swiftly brought her to her desk in the bullpen and she opened one of the many draws in search of her go bag. Double checking if she had everything prepared for the trip, she carefully tucked her book between a few belongings, but noticed something peculiar peeking out of it. Y/N furrowed her brows. Never did she notice this. She had found the book a few days ago while searching through her closet for an extra jacket for Garcia. Instead, she found a box labeled with an unfamiliar date. In it, she found the book. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Y/N didn’t think much about it until she’s noticed the the note. The signed note. Why couldn’t she remember anything? And why can’t she remember who “E” is?

She groaned, slipping the item that was nestled between the pages into her fingers. And to her surprise, it was a photo. A photo of her and… the photo was torn in half. Someone else was in the photo, but who? Perhaps it was this “E” person. Though her memory was hazy, she could recall very little of the note and the book itself. She remembered this girl. That must be E, she thought. But who exactly is she, and why can’t I remember her face?

Y/N’s thoughts were cut short when she felt a hand grasp at her waist. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly spins on her heel to face the person behind her.

“Woah, there!” JJ exclaimed, placing her other hand to Y/N’s waist to steady her. “You alright?”

Y/N visibly relaxed, letting out an exhale. “All good,” She placed her hand atop JJ’s and offered her a small smile. “Just surprised me, that's all.”

JJ quirked up a brow, and her eyes trailed over Y/N’s features. “I’ve been calling out to you… you didn’t hear me?”

Y/N inwardly frowned. “Guess not,”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” JJ brought her hand up to Y/N’s face, cupping her jaw.

Y/N covered JJ’s hand with hers once again. This is what made her feel more at home when joining the team. Before she had joined, she had known about the team. Spencer would mention them every now and then when he would stop by to visit her at the shop. He would tell her various stories about the cases they’ve solved, about the people they’ve, along with stories about each member of the team. And she admired them. They were like a little family and at first, Y/N was scared to intrude. She pat JJ’s hand, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fine, Jayge,” she took JJ’s hands in her own. “Now, we have people to save, don’t we?”

Y/N released her hold on her hand, grabbing hold of her bag. She looked over the bullpen and noticed Spencer awkwardly standing over his desk with his go bag halfway off his shoulder, and a smile formed. She took a step forward, turning to JJ, and offered her arm for her to take. “Join me.” Y/N said.

JJ linked her arm with hers, letting Y/N lead the way to Spencer’s desk, and his head perked up when he saw her. “Y/N…”

“Hey, you,” she held out her arm just as she did to JJ. “You ready to go?”

To Y/N’s surprise, Spencer grasped her hand in his instead. She glanced over to JJ, and she looked as shocked as she was as her eyes went back and forth between the pair and their locked hands. Y/N’s heart sped up a bit when she felt Spencer squeeze at her hand. She had grown used to the feeling of his hand in hers. Every once in a while, they would grab hold of each other's hands if something in a case hit too close to home. It was a comfort for them, though it was something that went unspoken. But each time, she would feel her heart speed up ever so slightly. She shook her head and gave Spencer’s hand a light squeeze back.

-

Morgan, Rossi, and Y/N walked in silence as they surveyed the basement of the home. Y/N’s eyes wander over the room, noticing various arts and crafts that littered the murky walls and blankets and stuffed animals that sat on the abandoned mattresses. She took a step closer to one mattresses when she saw a deep red peeking out from underneath a blanket. Nudging Rossi with her shoulder, she gestured down to the atrocity. He lifted the blanket with his gloved hand, uncovering a large patch of dried blood. The two glanced up at each other and shook their heads, continuing on after Morgan.

They parted ways to investigate different areas of the house, and Y/N found herself in a bedroom. It was tidy, the bed perfectly made, and not a speck of dust in sight. She opened the draws of the dresser, noting the clothes that were neatly folded. Y/N heard footsteps enter the room, and she looked over her shoulder to see Morgan opening the doors of the closet. Just as she had expected. The closet was just as neat and orderly as the rest of the room.

“Look what I found in the kitchen,” Rossi’s voice broke the silence as stepped into the room. He sat the box he held on the bed and Morgan stood beside him.

“Bondage and torture porn.” he reported.

“Also found another tool box in there, that makes three.”

“Well, you saw that guy's woodwork. He’s obviously good with his hands.”

“He must be a carpenter. Maybe a handyman of some sort, but,” Y/N said, keeping her eyes fixed on the closet. “Look at this.”

She beckoned the two to peer inside the closet. “He must have OCD. The closet, the clothes, even the bed… perfectly organized.”

“He wants total control over every aspect of his life.” Rossi stated.

“Makes sense for a sadist.”

“He’s not gonna like it on the run,” Morgan said. “He’s gonna feel powerless.’

Rossi spoke. “And that’s why he took Violet with him. Sheila Woods was probably too sick to travel.”

“You know, Violet was the oldest and helped with the abductions. She was probably his first victim.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe his daughter?”

“Well, either way, she was important to him.”

“You know. I also wonder, what happened to Clara Riggins?” Rossi asked, rounding the bed.

Morgan answered. “The bedroom down the hall is untouched. Looks like it’s been that way for a while.”

Y/N walked around the bed, to the door frame, and peeked her head to briefly view the rest of the house. “He looked after the house. It’s well cared for. Maybe that’s how he found this place,” she turned on her heel to face the two men. “Elderly woman, no family. She must’ve hired someone to fix things now and then. She thought he was a nice guy, does good work, and they build a relationship,”

“You think he took advantage of Clara Riggins?”

“That’s what it seems like. Though he doesn’t profile as a killer, I think he made a spot in her life and waited until she died.”

“And he made sure that she came to depend on him for survival. Just like his victims.”

-

The three of them hurried to the location the unsub’s vehicle was spotted. Y/N sat in the back seat of the van, fastening the FBI vest over her torso. Morgan and Rossi occupied the driver’s and the passenger’s seat. Police cars trailed behind them as they came to a stop and they hurriedly made their way out of the car. Y/N pulled her gun from her holster that sat at her hip and stealthy surveyed the blue van as Morgan ventured to the driver’s side. “Michael Clark Thompson, FBI!” Morgan’s voice booms when he approaches the man. “Show me your hands! Show me your hands! Now very slowly use your right hand to open the driver’s side door. Slowly.”

Y/N and Rossi stayed outside the back of the van with their guns pointed forward. A small voice of a woman was heard, and Y/N gestured for the surrounding officers to be prepared to open the car doors. “Get out the van nice and slow. Keep your hands where I can see them.” Morgan ordered.

She heard Morgan groan in frustration, along with a figure whizzing past him. “Ah, you gotta be kidding me. This guy!” he quickly took off after him and with that, Y/N signaled the police officers to open the back of the van.

She stepped quickly, looking over the inside of the van, and locked eyes with a girl. With her knees to her chest, she scurried backward in fright, heaving with each breath. Y/N returned her gun to her holster and extended her arm towards her. “It’s okay, It’s alright,” she cooed. “We got you.”

-

“Nothing to hide, my ass. He’s full of it.” Rossi scoffed as Hotch informed the team about Thompson’s defence claims. The team occupied the sitting space of the hospital the girls were admitted to, along with Thompson, who was kept contained in a spare room. According to Hotch, Thompson “saved” the girls from their parents and claimed that he had nothing to hide when it came to Clara Higgins. The entire ordeal made Y/N’s blood boil. The man was a pig, and he deserved to rot for his crimes.

“The preliminary M.E. report does suggest that Clara Riggins died of natural causes.” Spencer said.

“I think he’s telling the truth about that. He didn’t kill her.”

Y/N moved from her spot next to JJ and settled on the empty seat next to Spencer. She snuck a glance his way, noticing the wrinkle in between his brows from them being furrowed. She thought it was cute, not that she would ever tell him that, of course. Y/N scrunched her nose and nudged him, signaling for him to pass her to M.E. reports.

“I’m sorry, guys. I can’t stop thinking about Violet,” says JJ. “She could not wait to get out of here. Like, it was urgent. It’s all she could talk about.”

“Well, she’d been held captive most of her life. All this has to be a tremendous shock.” Rossi said.

“No question about that, but that wasn’t it. It’s like she had somewhere specific in mind and she needed Thompson to go with her.”

“Well, he’s conditioned her to depend on him for everything.” Hotch said curtly.

“Exactly. You condition someone by doing something over and over again. Now, we know he repeatedly abused them. I don’t think she was itching to get out of here to go do that.”

Y/N flipped over the documents absentmindedly and tossed her leg over the other. “Perhaps he did something to reward her somehow,” she starts. “What if she has a child? Where else would she want to go so badly…”

JJ gave her a nod of agreement. “Sheila Woods did have a miscarriage. Maybe Violet brought one to term.”

“We did profile that he might be trying to fill some kind of void since he didn’t have a family.” said Spencer.

“Yeah, but Gina Bryant never mentioned any baby.” Rossi pointed out.”

“Violet could have had the baby before Gina was abducted. Gina wouldn’t even know about it.”

“Well, if we’re right about any of this, that means there’s another kid somewhere out there.”

-

Y/N walked behind Rossi and Hotch as they led Thompson to the room Violet occupied. Passing through the halls of the building, seeing the parents of these girls, made her heart break for them. For Violet’s parents, most of all. They’ve spent so many years mourning the loss, just for this sick man to step in and claim their girl as his own. Y/N clenched her jaw tightly, picking up her steps to meet their destination.

“Daddy,” Violet says with a smile.

“Hi, Vi.” Thompson replied.

The interaction made Y/N’s stomach churn, and she let out a deep exhale. “Have a seat,” she spat.

“No, I want to be close to her.”

“Not part of the deal,”

The man turned to her with a deep frown on his face. “Then give us some privacy.”

“No,” she deadpanned. “Sit.”

Hotch pulled out a chair behind Thompson and he reluctantly claimed his spot. Violet’s eyes darted between the agents and the man, gasping when she noticed his arm sling. “You’re hurt…”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing.”

Violet fiddled with her fingers, trying to settle her breaths. “I’m really sorry?”

“About what?” he asked.

“My sisters,” she answered, afraid to meet his eyes. “I had to tell them. Please don’t be mad. I had to…”

“Now, listen, it’s alright, Vi. Okay? It really is okay.” he said sincerely.

“Did you get the groceries yet?” she asked him.

The question made the agent’s ears perk up.

“No, honey,” Thompson says. “I’ve been here the whole time just like you.”

“But can we go now?” she urged.

“I have some bad news,” he lamented. “We- We can’t go there ever again.”

“What? We have to go today! It’s by the disappearing place, we can be fast.”

“You’re right, Violet, but I can’t. These police,” he said, nodding towards the agents. “They don’t think we should be together. They’re going to break apart our family, just like I told you they would. I just wanted to come and say goodbye before they took me away.”

“No! Wait. When will you be back?!”

“Not for a very long time. I would give you a hug goodbye, but they won’t let me.”

“No! I- Please…” she pleaded, inching closer to the edge of the bed. “Please, can I just hug him?”

Y/N shared a look with Hotch, and he gave her a curt nod. She arched a brow at him, brining her attention back to the pair. “Okay.” she said.

She grimaced and looked away as the two embraced. Y/N felt bad for this girl. All the awful things she had to endure… at the hands of someone who claimed to care for her? This poor girl was so stuck in their ways.

“Oh, Violet, I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m gonna miss you.”

He placed a kiss to her cheek as he pulled away, his hand cupping her face in affection. “My beautiful Violet.”

Y/N’s attention shifted back to them when she heard Violet’s footsteps. She was backing away from him… she must have remembered something. Rossi gestured for JJ to bring in the girl’s parents from outside of the room.

“What is- What is this? Who are these people?!” Thompson demanded when he saw the couple.

“These are her parents,” Y/N said sternly.

“And that gentleman right there is her real daddy.” Rossi continued.

“Huh? She knows who her real daddy is. Daddy is the only one who loves you. Isn’t that right, Violet?”

The girl sat there in a silent war with herself. Her eyes flicker between the couple and Thompson for a moment, her face scrunching up in displeasure. “No… my name… is... Amelia.”

“Amelia…” she repeated. “Amelia. Amelia!” The man’s face paled, and he stiffened in posture before she charged at him. Her fists hit his chest in a fit of rage, and the man was trapped between Amelia and the wall. The agents made haste. Hotch and Rossi were on either side of Thompson, and JJ and Y/N wrapped their arms around Amelia’s waist in efforts to pull her back.

“Get off of me!” he shouted.

But regardless of the agent's restraints, Amelia was feverish in her movements. Y/N couldn’t blame her. He was going to get exactly what he deserved. “My name is Amelia!”

Her and JJ were able to pry her off of him and Hotch and Rossi escorted him out of the room. “There is no deal! You hear me?! There’s no deal!”

Y/N wrapped her arm around Amelia’s shoulders and rubbed languid circles as she tried to steady her breath. “You’re okay… you’re okay,” she soothed.

-

The case came to a close, and the four girls were saved. All was well, with the exception of the situation with Thompson. He was brought to his demise when the mother of Sheila Woods shot him. Y/N thought he deserved it. If she were to be honest, she probably would have done the same if she were in her shoes.

Now, Y/n found herself snuggled on the couch of the jet with the same book from earlier that day in her lap. Though the case took her mind off the note, the lack of familiarity was making her frustrated. Not to mention the memory… her mind was hazy, but she couldn’t let it go. Why was this so important to her?

A new weight at the end of the couch made the cushions dip, and Y/N caught Spencer lazily fumbling with a small blanket. The dark circles under his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by her. She watched as he hopelessly tried to make himself comfortable in the small proximity.

“Spencer…” she finally called out to him.

He turns his gaze to her and hums in response. Y/N turned her body to dangle her legs over the couch, placing the pillow on top of her thighs. She tapped the pillow on her lap as an invitation. “Sleep, Spence,”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes flickering between the pillow and her eyes. “It’s fine,” she says. “Consider it as an apology for making you sleep on the floor.”

Spencer smiles and shuffles to his side, resting his head on the soft pillow. “Of course,”

Y/N mirrored his smile, holding in a snicker. The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut. “You still owe me another movie night,” he whispered, not bothering to open his eyes. “You know… as an apology.”

She looked down to her lap and saw the corners of his lips curl upwards. “Why, of course,” Y/N poked his cheek. “But now, you need to rest.”

He nodded, nuzzling further into the pillow. The sound of Spencer’s soft snores reached her ears, and Y/N closed her own eyes. She draped her arm over his form and let her head lull back, allowing herself to be engulfed by sleep.

-

a/n: honestly i never intended to ship y/n and jj, but look at me. shipping y/n and jj.

taglist: @measure-in-pain @ceeellewrites @eevee0722

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader

[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 93

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 21 (Part 3)

Zheng Yan returns to the rear court stables at the palace on horseback. By the time he dismounts, it’s dark and murky outside, already close to the twilight hour, and a drizzle has begun to fall. Cai Yan is having dinner, with Lang Junxia sitting nearby.

“So?” Cai Yan asks.

“I spoke with Wu Du.” Zheng Yan sits down as well behind another table in the room. He picks up a cup filled with cold tea and takes a sip. “From what I can surmise, he probably doesn’t want to join the Eastern Palace. I already brought Benxiao back to him.”

Cai Yan doesn’t say anything, just keeps silently chewing his food.

“There’s a young man living in Wu Du’s house.” Zheng Yan adds, “Name’s Wang Shan — must have been the special envoy Chancellor Mu sent to Tongguan. If Your Highness intends to show Wu Du favour and give him this opportunity, you’ll need to devote some energy to this young man.”

Cai Yan hums an affirmative. Outside, a guard announces, “Your Highness, he’s here.”

“Tell him to please come in,” Cai Yan says.

Hearing Cai Yan use the word “please”, Lang Junxia turns his attention to the door with a slight frown. There’s a man standing there; emaciated bag-of-bones thin, around thirty-something, with malevolent eyes and rough skin. Dressed in a clean robe made out of peasant-cloth, his face covered with dark bruises, he comes into the room on silent feet, so briskly that he brings up a breeze in his wake.

“Greetings, Your Highness,” the man says, and with a flap of his sleeves he gets down on his knees to kowtow at Cai Yan.

“You didn’t tell me that he’s been pardoned too,” Lang Junxia says in a cold voice.

Contrarily, Zheng Yan already knew, so when he sees Feng he merely smiles without a word.

“And now you know, Wuluohou Mu,” Zheng Yan says to Lang Junxia. “His Highness is such a caring person. He was so worried you’d get angry and that’s bad for your health, you know.”

Lang Junxia ignores Zheng Yan’s taunt, and turns his gaze on Cai Yan. Cai Yan feels extremely awkward, and he coughs. “Feng, rise. That seat is for you.”

Cai Yan points at a seat to his right, placed at the end. Feng then salutes both Lang Junxia and Zheng Yan, “I’m the guilty official, Feng. Greetings, my lords.”

“All are guilty to a degree,” Cai Yan says, “Otherwise there’d be no need for virtuous sages. Since you’ve joined the Eastern Palace, work hard. Make each day count.”

Feng gives him a slight smile. Cai Yan bestows him a cup of wine, and Feng takes little sips from it. Outside the hall, a west wind starts to blow. A susurrus chorus of falling leaves whip by, filling the courtyard with what looks like blood.

An autumn breeze sends the leaves rustling, and the Silver River is glittering above. A dazzling array of lanterns has been lit all through the chancellor’s estate, shining on the banquet tables in the pavilion. Performers have been hired to put on a shadow puppet show, with music on the qin overlaid with lines of lyrics; graceful, nimble shadows play on a screen to tell the story of a wolf man in Jiangzhou during the Yu dynasty.2 Male crabs weighing half a catty each and female crabs just barely under that are served at the table, waiting in steamer baskets.

Mu Qing is watching the puppet show with quite a lot of interest, while Duan Ling is taking apart crabs for Mu Qing and they occasionally exchange a word or two. Wu Du on the other hand is picking out crab roe and meat with his chopsticks, setting it aside for Duan Ling, so that he wouldn’t go without eating as he’s busy waiting on Mu Qing.

“Is that for me?” Duan Ling says with a smile.

Wu Du gestures, go ahead and eat it, and Duan Ling takes it for his own.

“Sorry I’m late!” Mu Kuangda says with a smile. “With the matter of the capital’s relocation just settled, a lot of things are still up in the air and it’s taken up quite a bit of time.”

Everyone rises from their seats at once. Chang Liujun and Chang Pin, his martial and literati left and right hand, trails into the room behind him. It’s a clear show of respect for Wu Du.

“No harm done,” Wu Du says, “we were just watching a show. The wait wasn’t at all dreary.”

Everyone greets Mu Kuangda individually before Mu Kuangda says to Chang Pin, “Fei Hongde has pulled yet another vanishing act. If I only knew I’d have made Wang Shan wrap himself around his leg and brought him back here even if he had to drag him.”3

Everyone in the room starts to laugh. Mu Kuangda tells them, “Eat. Don’t worry about me. This banquet has always been an excuse to give everyone a nice hot meal in the name of welcoming you two back.”

Duan Ling smiles, “I presumed you would be too busy, Chancellor Mu, so of course I didn’t dare come yammering at you as soon as I got back.”

Mu Kuangda nods, and praises him, “You two did an excellent job. It is a great weight off my mind, and nothing should go awry in Tongguan for at least ten years. I brought it up in front of His Majesty today, and His Majesty quite appreciates your skills, Wu Du.”

Wu Du merely hms coolly before he says, “It’s all thanks to you, Grand Chancellor.”

The people present in the hall seem to have sensed the change within Wu Du as well, and they glance his way without saying a word. Chang Pin is the only one who smiles and says, “I often thought about travelling at Master Fei’s side when I was young, but since our separation ten years ago I haven’t heard from him. It’s truly fate at work that our young friend Wang Shan managed to meet up with him.”

Duan Ling says, “Master Fei is in excellent health.”

All previous communication Duan Ling had with Mu Kuangda was by written missive, and now, narrating the detailed account of what they experienced from the moment they reached Tongguan until the final battle, it sounds truly thrilling. But the credit for most of the strategising had been placed squarely on Wu Du in order to stop Mu Kuangda and Chang Pin from getting suspicious. Mu Kuangda is so absorbed he keeps nodding from time to time, while Chang Pin grabs a crab and starts eating, his gaze not on Duan Ling but on the puppet show.

Once Duan Ling finishes explaining the rough outline of what took place on their trip, Wu Du casually adds a few more details about the defences in Tongguan, as well as the opposing side’s strength and so on.

At the end Mu Kuangda says, “Wu Du, it seems you do have quite the talent in strategy, formation, leading an assault, and guerrilla warfare.”

“Probably learned it from General Zhao, right?” Chang Liujun, who has been standing to one side, says, “I suppose we should call that a swan song now.”

Mu Qing reads the words between Chan Liujun’s lines and huffs out a laugh. “Pfft!”

Duan Ling glances over at Wu Du, but Wu Du no longer places any importance on Chang Liujun’s provocations. He simply replies with a humble nod, and says, “It’s better than following a master for years on end without learning anything at all. I concede.”

It is Duan Ling, this time, who nearly spits out his food laughing. Wu Du hands another crab carapace full of meat and roe to Duan Ling, and says to Mu Kuangda, “I was just thinking that since the exams are coming up soon, if we didn’t hurry back it’d get in the way of Shan’er’s studies, and rushed back as soon as possible.”

“You’re a family man now,” Mu Kuangda says to Wu Du. “Seems the crown prince really does recognise your worth, though. When you get home you should really consider it.”

And so Wu Du stops talking.

“Speaking of which,” Chang Pin says, sounding rather amused, “The estate is about to write up invitations in preparation for the special exams taking place in the beginning of spring next year. We at the estate are exempt from having to take the provincial qualifying exams, and naturally with our young friend Wang Shan’s essay writing, he shouldn’t have to wait another three years — there’s no harm in him taking the metropolitan examinations directly. But we’ll need Master Wu to give us details as to the circumstances of his birth so we can write the name card in order to get him officially named under a teacher.”

Alarm jolts through Duan Ling’s heart, as he hasn’t expected Chang Pin to pull something like this. Duan Ling can feel that Chang Pin does have a mind to figure him out, but whether or not he suspects something odd in his identity — well that he can’t tell for sure.

But Wu Du has already thought of a way to counter this. He says to Duan Ling, “What’s your dad’s name again? I used to just call him Dage, Dage day in and day out, and now I can’t actually remember what his real name was.”

“Wang Sheng,” Duan Ling replies.

“Wang Sheng.” Wu Du heaves a sigh, and pauses briefly to sort out his thoughts. “Wang Shan lost his mother at a young age, and his dad was an apothecary who saw patients on occasion as a doctor. We met in Xunbei, and he often helped me track down rare ingredients. Wang Shan travelled all over the continent so he knew more than most other children his age anyway; his dad mentioned entrusting him to me more than once so he wouldn’t have to spend his life on the road. But back then I was living under another’s roof, I could barely take care of myself, so I didn’t have the energy to worry about those two.”

Duan Ling recalls his father. Even though Wu Du has fabricated the circumstances of his birth, bits of it here and there match up to his memories, and he can’t help remembering the past; all of a sudden he’s filled with emotions.

“A man who practiced medicine, who did good work and accumulated good karma to shade his descendents.” Chang Pin says, “Your dad must have been a good man.”

Duan Ling gives him a nod, and Wu Du starts to smile. He pats Duan Ling’s on the shoulder, and takes his hand, wrapping his own around it, fingers caressing his. A tenderness flows forth in Duan Ling’s heart, for he knows Wu Du isn’t putting on an act; he really is trying to encourage him.

“Kid’s always been charming.” Wu Du turns to the party and says, “People of all trades — soldiers, smiths, Cuju players, spirit mediums, tailors, opera singers — would choose to pass on some of their skills to him out of gratitude to his dad. As for how much he’s learned, that I don’t rightly know. There is greatness in his fate according to the fortune teller, and I’ve been told he’s not fit for marriage4 according to his father, and he said Wang Shan should just stay with me.5 As for his future, he left it up to me.”

“Then let’s hear it from you,” Mu Kuangda says, and he turns to Chang Pin. “Put him down as from a line of physicians, the Wangs, ancestral hometown of Xunbei. Physician is a proper vocation. We can leave out the rest.”

Chang Pin says smilingly, “Your new line of work can’t bring back the dead so it’s hardly the same, but instead of treating the ill you can treat the state — that’s not such a bad thing.”

Now those words have truly elevated Duan Ling too much, and he hurriedly expresses his gratitude towards Chang Pin and Mu Kuangda. Mu Kuangda casually pours a cup of wine at his table and brings it to Wu Du. “Have some mulled wine. It’ll help settle the coldness that comes with eating crab.6 You’re wounded, I know, so just stay in the estate and recuperate for the next little while. Once you figure out what you want I’ll give you more work.”

Wu Du knows that the crown prince has also raised his desire to recruit him in front of Mu Kuangda, and if it’s advantageous to the Mus, Mu Kuangda will of course want him to join the Eastern Palace. This way, no matter what happens, as long as he’s willing to inform the Mus, it would be akin to the Mus having a spy in the palace, and they’ll constantly have a grasp of what the crown prince is planning. And on top of that this spy would be Wu Du — master of poisons.

But what Duan Ling has in mind is another thing entirely. The crown prince has already tried to recruit Wu Du once, and if he believed in Wu Du’s loyalty, then leaving him in the chancellor’s estate as a henchman of Mu Kuangda’s would be far more beneficial — so why has he changed his mind now?

“I can’t drink anymore.” Wu Du waves the wine off. “This wine is really strong.”

Wu Du hands the leftover half cup of wine to Duan Ling, and Duan Ling drinks it. Mu Kuangda and Chang Pin will need to have a meeting later on in the evening, so Duan Ling and Wu Du cut the night short and head back to their house to sleep.

As they walk through the corridor that leads out of the Chancellor’s estate, Wu Du suddenly says, “Look.”

A river of silver cuts across the horizon, just visible above the alleyway between two roofs. They stop, both remembering the night of the Seventh of Seventh.

“Somehow I’ve forgotten to celebrate your birthday with you,” Wu Du says to Duan Ling. “I was fighting that day and forgot all about it.”

“My birthday is in the twelfth month,” Duan Ling whispers, “so let’s celebrate then.”

Duan Ling and Wu Du return to their rooms. They’ve both had quite a bit of wine, and Wu Du falls heavily onto the bed, staring at Duan Ling through drunken eyes.

Duan Ling can’t be bothered to wash up and change, and simply lies down next to Wu Du.

“Do you want to join the Eastern Palace?” Duan Ling asks.

There’s a brief silence before Wu Du answers, “Maybe I’ll be able to find some evidence regarding Wuluohou Mu and the crown prince.”

“I’d rather you stay at my side, and I don’t want us to part either.”

“Then I won’t go.” Raising a hand, Wu Du gives Duan Ling a light pat on the shoulder. He turns onto his side. They lie facing each other on the bed on their sides, looking into the other’s eyes.

“There’s still time. Chancellor Mu will ask you again after the metropolitan exams.”

Wu Du’s brows lightly furrow. “How’d you know that?”

“He needs to make sure you remain loyal to him, thus he’ll keep me in the estate and use me to control you.”

It becomes clear to Wu Du all at once. Now that he thinks about it, that’s highly probable. Mu Kuangda can tell the bond between them has strengthened, and all he has to do is guide Duan Ling, assist him, and take him in as a student. And in exchange Wu Du would become a retainer in the Eastern Palace, becoming an unseen agent Mu Kuangda keeps near the crown prince.

“But I haven’t been able to figure it all out yet.” Duan Ling is still a bit drunk. He puts his hand on Wu Du’s face. “Why is the crown prince in such a hurry to recruit you? His attitude isn’t the same as the way it was before.”

But Wu Du is no longer listening. There’s a redness in his cheeks from drinking, and his eyes are full of Duan Ling. There seems to be water in Duan Ling’s eyes, as bright as a pond reflecting a starry sky.

“Duan Ling.”

“Hm?” Duan Ling suddenly feels that if he has someone like Wu Du at his side forever, that’s a rather nice way to live. Just as Wu Du said in front of Mu Kuangda, he can’t get married — and the truth is, Duan Ling doesn’t want to get married either, otherwise his many secrets will bring them nothing but danger.

“In the future you’ll be the emperor. Don’t take what I said in front of Chancellor Mu today seriously. Someday, you’ll marry a beautiful Crown Princess-consort, and she’ll become your empress. You’ll have sons, grandsons …”

“I won’t marry.”

“You’ll have to remember me.” Wu Du says, slurring with drink, “remember that, tonight, you and I are lying on a bed in the chancellor’s estate …”

Duan Ling repeats, “I won’t.”

He’s already very sleepy. In his drowsiness a vague idea surfaces — he thinks of how the crown prince probably believes Mu Kuangda is about to poison him, and realises that he’s not safe, serves him right that he has to live with his heart constantly on edge like that; he thinks of how, just as his father had told him, a lot of people are going to stumble over each other to give him everything, but he still strongly believes that if someone wants to give him everything, of course he should give everything of himself to that someone in return …

In Wu Du’s embrace, he falls asleep.

Slowly, Wu Du closes his eyes, and with the faint scent of osmanthus mulled wine between his lips, he lowers his head and presses a light kiss to the bridge of Duan Ling’s nose.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

For more about the wolf man, read Yingnu. All I’ll tell you here is that it’s a tragedy involving treachery, poison, and betrayal. (Inappropriate, in other words.) ↩︎

This is your reminder that titles in the mouse-overs can be found on the reference page. ↩︎

It is generally believed that someone who’s meant for greatness tends to be a hex on those related to them, both by blood and by marriage. ↩︎

This 100% sounded like stay with him for life as in married. ↩︎

“Coldness” is just a TCM concept, and eating crab brings “coldness” which is why it’s usually served with ginger tea. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

[moonlightreal]

This is the “author’s note” I found on the amazon pages for the pretty hardcover Night World books.  My memory is that it was just there, the book-blurb at the top by the cover picture, was this. 

Like a bonehead I just copied the text without grabbing a screencap or noting the date.  The amazon page now has the publication date is December 2016 so this bit of optimism was just before Ms. Smith vanished.  Of course we don’t know when it was written or whose idea it was.  Was Strange Fate really finished or was someone just feeling hopeful? 

NIGHT WORLD Dear Readers, It’s hard to tell you how much the re-release of the Night World books means to me. It has allowed me to come full circle, to complete a cycle that began with Secret Vampire. It has allowed me to finish Strange Fate, which grew into an epic that included roles for almost every Night World character. And Strange Fate allowed me to show the origins of the Night World, the apocalypse that threatens to destroy it, and even a possible future in which the evil side of the Night World prevails. I am often asked how I conceived the idea for the Night World series. It began when I wanted to write stand-alone novels that would combine horror and romance. But I wanted more: I wanted to do a series in which this Night World—a vast, secret world that exists within the everyday world—would slowly reveal itself to readers. That’s why the first book is called Secret Vampire: the inhabitants of the Night World, composed of vampires, shapeshifters, witches, and other supernatural creatures I wanted to invent, are hidden from humans. A vampire is necessarily a secret vampire … because of the laws. I also wanted to write about a new kind of forbidden love. That’s not easy—most good forbidden love topics were old by Shakespeare’s time. But with this series, I could create the possibility of forbidden love simply by saying that the laws of the Night World prohibit a Night Person from falling in love with a human. But I still needed one more ingredient. I needed the rise of the soulmate principle to actively force Night People to fall in love with humans, no matter how hard they fought against it. Voilà! Then it was just a matter of making up interesting characters and setting them loose in my head to see what they would do. I often begin like that: sitting in a quiet room and searching for a sparkle in my mind that could become my new heroine. Sometimes it’s easy and a whole character shimmers before me. Sometimes I only get the faintest firefly glimmer of a new girl, and I have to hold my breath and see if that glimmer will materialize into a three-dimensional person. Heroes and anti-heroes are easier. It’s just a matter of picking one that will be a true soulmate for my heroine. I have a whole collection of these characters in my mind, all trying to crash the party. And they’re usually bad boys. The settings and in-depth plot development are another layer of work. But often the characters just run off and do what they want, and I have trouble keeping up with their antics on my keyboard. One thing I always do is look carefully at my characters and plot from all angles to make sure I’m not plagiarizing a book or series that I may have read before. That’s just normal procedure for ethical authors: we make sure our stories aren’t too much like another story we might have read. Of course, there are many ideas that have been around since the Babylonian myths, and many characters that are archetypal. But, really, it’s almost impossible to take many things from the body of another author’s work—say, someone else’s character(s) or plot or story device—without actually intending to do so. I can’t imagine wanting to do that. I wish I could say every author felt the same. Poppy North is a character I examined very carefully. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t too much like Bonnie McCullough, another petite character of mine from The Vampire Diaries. I didn’t even want to plagiarize myself ! But Poppy convinced me that she was a tough little squirt who by high school had already planned out her future, which is very unlike Bonnie. Poppy was going to marry her mysterious friend James—she just hadn’t informed him yet. Also, unlike Bonnie, she had a fatal flaw in her small body. In Secret Vampire, I knew I was dealing with a serious issue: terminal cancer in a high school girl. So I did a lot of research before deciding on a type of cancer that would be truly inoperable and give Poppy only a month or two to live. I went to several hospitals to talk to nurses in oncology wards. I always brought toys for the hospitalized children, but the whole subject was so heartbreaking I was almost afraid to tackle it. Once I did, though, I found that Poppy was even stronger than I had imagined. In the book, she makes the only choice she can to go on living, and she never looks back. Poppy is one of my favorite girls, and she ushers in Ash Redfern, who quickly became one of my favorite bad boys. Ash has a murky past of womanizing and … well, more womanizing. Ash returns in Daughters of Darkness because he has been ordered by the leader of all vampires, Hunter Redfern, to bring his three runaway sisters back to their cloistered vampire island. But when Ash locates his sisters, he runs straight into the human stargazer Mary-Lynnette, and the sparks begin flying—literally. Mary-Lynnette is a character I made up when I was a kid, and I’m always surprised by how many people like her and Ash together. Mary-Lynnette spends most of the time expressing her feelings for Ash by kicking him in the shins, but their dialogues are some of my favorite passages in the whole series. Ash, in turn, escorts Quinn into the series. And Quinn (who does have a first name, though he rarely uses it) is one really scary guy. A vampire since 1639 A.D., Quinn is sharp, cold, humorless, and heartless. Unlike Ash, who is mainly guilty of an incredibly long series of one-night stands, Quinn enters the series as a human slave trader. That is, he provides vampires with young girls, and he doesn’t ask questions about what happens to the girls afterward. This led to a problem: How on earth was I going to redeem this villain enough to make him someone’s soulmate in The Chosen? I really sweated over that. My first task was to make Quinn more sympathetic. The best way to do it seemed to be by telling a bit of Quinn’s own tragic story: how he falls in love with sweet Dove Redfern, and how her vampire father decides to make Quinn his heir. Dove’s father is Hunter Redfern, one of the most important vampire leaders in Night World history. This is the same Hunter Redfern who, nearly half a millennium later, sends Ash to drag his sisters back home. The same Hunter Redfern who sends his daughter, Lily, after Jez in Huntress. The same Hunter Redfern who tries to turn Delos into a merciless killer in Black Dawn. But, as a boy, Quinn doesn’t know anything about the Night World, and he is deeply in love with gentle Dove. When Hunter makes him a vampire by force and then when Quinn can’t save Dove from being killed, Quinn’s heart freezes over. For four hundred years it accumulates ice—until he meets Rashel. That’s another favorite scene of mine: when Rashel, a dedicated vampire hunter since (guess who?) Hunter Redfern killed her mother, encounters Quinn. A group of Rashel’s fellow vampire slayers have captured Quinn and plan to torture him, and Rashel is left alone to guard him. Quinn, feeling old and tired despite his youthful appearance and great power, gives himself up for dead—and is a little glad to do so. Rashel, however, can’t stomach the idea of torture. When Rashel talks to this most-hated vampire and hears his story, she deliberately sets him free. And that astonishes him. But it’s the soulmate principle working its magic. I loved making two such strong-willed enemies succumb to the silver cord that connects them. I especially loved hearing Quinn warning Rashel not to let him go—and then protecting her when her comrades arrive back in time to see that she’s let him loose. I really loved writing about Quinn and Rashel’s soulmate sequences. As Rashel enters Quinn’s mind, she sees “thorny scary parts” but also “rainbow places that were aching to grow” and “other parts that seemed to quiver with light, desperate to be awakened.” She begins to think that people ask so little of themselves. If the mind of a slave trader can look like this, an ordinary person must have the power to become a saint. It is with this revelation (and much penance on Quinn’s part) that Quinn is redeemed. That’s the thread that binds all the novels together: redemption. The possibility of a second chance. Everyone has choices to make, but even the most evil of vampires can choose to atone and be redeemed. It may not necessarily stave off punishment in this world or the next, but redemption is possible. I’ve been asked who my favorite characters are, and the answer always changes because it depends on the book I’m writing. Right now my favorites are three characters from Strange Fate. As for my favorite couples in the published books? Morgead and Jez—I suppose. Who would find themselves at greater odds than a vampire gang leader and his onetime superior, a vampire who finds out she is half human? I learned some cool martial arts moves as a bonus for writing about them. Then there is Keller, one of my all-time favorite heroines, and Iliana, the beautiful Witch Child, and Galen, ruler of the shapeshifters: the love triangle in Witchlight. Keller starts out seeming brusque and businesslike, but the love of Galen and of the unselfish Iliana help to heal her inner wounds. And I can’t forget Thierry and Hannah, and Circle Daybreak. I created Circle Daybreak because the Night World witches had only two clans: Circle Twilight and Circle Midnight. Those, like Thea in Spellbinder, who belong to Circle Twilight are not-so-wicked witches (that is, they don’t want to exterminate all humans like the darkest witches, those who belong to Circle Midnight), but they are still wicked enough. So what was to be done with all these new soulmates, when Night World law said that they must be put to death? Someone had to make a place for them where they would be safe, and I decided it was Thierry, one of the oldest vampires, and Hannah, his Old Soul soulmate, who has lived hundreds of lifetimes without ever reaching the age of seventeen. They are the ones who revive Circle Daybreak, where humans and Night People can forget about past tragedies and concentrate on a brighter future together. Although Thierry is an old vampire, he isn’t the oldest vampire. There is one older, the one who Changed him. She provides another thread that binds the series: the pitiless Maya. Maya is the first vampire, the witch who finds the secret of eternal life—and chooses to use it for evil. But there will be plenty more about her, including a look at the young Maya, her sister Hellewise, and their mother, Hecate Witch-Queen, in the upcoming Strange Fate. And so now I’ve come full circle, back to Strange Fate. But I can’t finish until I add the other joy that the re-release of Night World has brought me. It’s brought me into contact with you by e-mail. Night World fans write so many intelligent, articulate, courteous, exciting e-mails! I love to get messages from “old” fans, who say my works “got them through high school.” Thank you for them! And messages from new fans, who say they have just read all my reissued books—and are impatient for more. Thank you! And the messages that simply demand: “When is Strange Fate coming out?” Thank you, too! With a full heart, all I can say is thank you, thank you, and thank you again! I never thought I would have a chance to write an open letter to all Night World fans, and I can only wish that you knew how grateful I am … for this second chance. Sincerely, (LJ Smith signature image) P.S. I love to get e-mail, letters, and messages. Visit me at ljanesmith.net!

#nightworld #ljsmith strangefate #strange fate #LJ Smith

[ninbayphua-moyan]

Moonlit Sparrow Through Parted Clouds

Thunderous grey clouds hung heavy in the sky as I made my way towards the lecture hall. My body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion and each leaden step I took felt heavier than the last. I stopped, wanting to turn back, but time and time again, my body refused to obey as my legs carried me towards my destination.

          Half an hour later, I found myself standing outside the empty lecture hall despite the countless hesitations along the way. Sighing, I sank to the floor and closed my eyes, too tired to remain upright. That’s what university does to you. It sucks out your soul, your passion, and your youth, leaving nothing behind but an empty husk of a human being.

           A familiar voice calling my name pricked my hazy, sleep deprived brain and I cracked open my heavy eyelids. My facial muscles moved like clockwork, automatically forming a smile to greet my friend.

           “You look like a corpse!” Chu Ying exclaimed worriedly at the sight of the heavy dark circles beneath my vacant eyes.

           “Haven’t been getting much sleep this week…” I replied with a nonchalant shrug as I quickly scrunched up my eyes until they turned into little crescents of laughter, “assignments due soon.”

           Seemingly convinced by my explanation, she gave me a look of sympathetic encouragement and left. The second no one was looking, I let the smile fall. Amazing what a simple smile could conceal. You could probably murder someone, smile, plead innocent and everyone would believe you. Sighing softly under my breath, I grabbed my bag and joined the gathering crowd of students as they trickled into the dimly lit lecture theatre.

           My laptop sat quietly on the desk, an empty word document laid open on its illuminated screen as the lecturer’s monotonous voiced droned on and on in the background. I should have been taking down notes but my mind was too preoccupied with my issues with the Undergraduate Office to focus on what the lecturer was saying.

           A rhythmic vibration drew my attention towards the phone sitting on my lap. Glancing at the pop-up notification, a wave of anxiety and hope surged through my body as I registered who the sender was – the Undergraduate‘s Office. Quickly, I pulled up the email and immediately felt my heart sinking after reading the first line.

          All seminar groups are full and we cannot move students.

          Lies.

          Another notification, this time, from my personal tutor.

          It’s only week 3, relax.

          Disappointment. Betrayal. Frustration. Anger. I clenched my trembling hands into fists as the tsunami of emotions threatened to explode and spill out of my shaking body. Half of me wanted to storm over to the Undergraduate’s office and let loose the unbridled rage coursing through my veins at the unfair treatment. The other half of me wanted to lash out at my tutor’s condescending advice. My body trembled at the barely, ever so barely contained anger.

          Sixteen thousand pounds. That would be eighty-four thousand two hundred and seventy-nine ringgit each year in school fees. Fees which didn’t even include the amount I needed to spend in order to buy the books required for the modules. Sixteen thousand pounds per year just to get an education, an education that I wasn’t even getting at this point and her advice for me was to relax? How could I when my parents worked their entire youth away, saving every cent just so they could send me, all the way to Britain to get a proper education! Did they even know what the stakes of sending me abroad to study was?!

          My father’s average yearly income is twenty-four thousand ringgits, barely twenty-eight percent of my yearly school fees. Was it that unreasonable to want to be in a class that will allow me to learn and improve after paying for that much money out of my parents’ own pocket?! Why would anyone in their right mind come half way across the globe, paying that ridiculous amount of money, and being so far away from family and home for years, just to fool around? If that had been my intention, I wouldn’t even have bothered going to university in the first place, let alone coming all the way to Cardiff!

          University will be fun they said. You’ll meet open-minded people passionate about learning they said. Hah! That’s the biggest misconception if there ever was one. First of all, the university doesn’t care about whether you actually learn anything so long as you're paying the fees. The majority of lecturers or seminar leaders will only do the most minimal amount of work required and by that, I mean three hundred words of prose only per weekly assignment. What kind of creative work could anyone produce under three hundred words? In prose! Some don’t even bother with critical commentary which is just as essential as the creative pieces. Not only does the lack of practice in writing critical commentaries and limited word count for the creative pieces inhibit students from developing any work of significance, it also underprepares students for the three-thousand-word portfolio due at the end of the semester.

          Secondly, British universities are also especially discriminatory towards outsiders or people of colour, often treating minorities and international students with hostility or disregard. I’ve experienced this discrimination first hand upon requesting a seminar change. Despite having emailed the Undergraduate Office at the same time with the exact same reasons, I was denied the change whilst my British classmate was immediately allowed to swap seminars. The office even went so far as to lie about the class being full even though I was told by the professor leading that very seminar that it wasn’t. So much for the integrity of the institution.

          At the end of the day, international students are nothing but cash cows to British universities.[1] Not only do they have to pay double of what British students pay in terms of fees, they also have to deal with the discriminations that come alongside being an outsider. I understood that in this day and age, education was a business, and that the university itself was, essentially, a business, but doesn’t actual passion for learning still count for something? Or was I wrong in believing in that as well? Oh, so naïve, so very naïve!

          Old memories started to surface amongst the turmoil of emotions. My father and his worn-out clothes, refusing each time to buy new ones for himself just to save a little more money. My mother mending them as best she could whilst we slept, never once complaining. Images of my father’s prematurely greying hair and bloodshot eyes as he worked his health away to provide for his children’s future. My mother’s back bent low, labouring away at some project or another in order to make ends meet. Yet, they never once showed us how tired or how tough things were. There was always enough food on the table and they always had a smile on their faces around us. Sometimes, I noticed that they would eat a lot less than usual but whenever I asked, they merely joked and said they were trying to lose weight. They could have enjoyed their youth, their honeymoon, but they decided to save it all, sacrificing their health and comfort just to ensure mine by sending me here.

          I remember the times where they would secretly check their wallets whenever I begged them to buy me a book. Oh, how those very books painted and fuelled my illusions of Britain’s perfection. If only I had known the reality of it all before applying to study here. But it’s too late for regrets now.

          A sharp stinging pricked the back of my eyes, tears threatening to fall as my body shook with suppressed, uncontrollable rage. Maybe if I was a little braver…maybe if I fought a little harder…maybe if I confronted them a bit more…maybe…maybe…maybe…

          Then as quickly as they appeared, the tsunami of emotions faded away, leaving behind an empty husk. My clenched fists loosen and fell limply at my sides as a quiet, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Nothing was going to change. No matter how hard I fought, the end results will remain the same so what’s the point of even trying in the first place?

          As the cold hard reality of the situation finally presented itself, I slumped against the chair, my empty laptop screen staring blankly back at me. Resignation dragged me deeper and deeper into the murky depths of my mind. I was drowning. No one knew and no one cared. But that’s fine. The ending remains the same regardless. Always the same…

          The sound of rustling papers and loud chatter momentarily draws me out of the murky waters. Realising that the lecture had ended, I gathered my things and shuffled towards the exit, my mind returning once more to the depths of the void. Outside, the rain was pouring. I plodded down the streets drenched to the bone as my legs moved mechanically towards my flat. A stifling numbness engulfed my mind as I trudged on in silence, the howling wind battering my shivering, rain-soaked body from all sides. Rounding the corner, I pulled out a key-card and entered the cramped grey flat. Out of sheer habit, I grabbed the letters from my letterbox and stuffed them into my coat pocket before heading upstairs.

           Entering the dingy room, I dropped my backpack on the bed and sank to the floor. Hugging my knees to my chest, I stared vacantly at the bleak wall. My phone rang insistently in my pocket but I didn’t answer, too tired to move. The crushing weight on my lungs forced out whatever little oxygen I managed to draw, making each breath a struggle. The clamouring voices in my mind grew louder and louder, growing in intensity yet forcefully contained, like built-up pressure without release on the brink of implosion.

You’re useless

          I’m…not…

You can’t even stand up for yourself or fight for what you believe is right

          Yes I can! And I’m trying! I’ve –

You’re a disappointment to your parents and your family

          I’m not! I swear! I –

You’ll never amount up to anything

          That’s not true! I –

You’re pathetic

          No –

Nothing but a Failure

          Stop saying –

Human garbage

          Please! Just –

Waste of space

           “SHUT UP!”

           Silence. Nothing but the sound of my ragged breathing in the darkness.

The world would be better off without you

          I don’t know how long I had stayed there on the floor but by the time I came around, my dripping wet clothes were nearly dry. The chaotic calamity within had finally died down and I was filled with an eerie calmness. A deafening silence blanketed the air, pierced only by the hypnotic rumbling of trains across tracks. Ah yes…the railway…my ticket to solving everything…just two blocks away…and it’ll all be over…permanently…

          Forcing my lethargic limbs to move, I wobbled onto my feet and stumbled towards the door. A tiny parcel fell out of my pocket and the handwriting on it made me paused. It was my mother’s. Even under the dimness of the moonlight trickling in, there was no mistaking that immaculately cursive hand.

          Letting go of the door handle, I kneeled down to pick up the neatly wrapped package. Then, slowly, as if afraid it would fall apart at the slightest touch, I began unwrapping the parcel. Upon opening the box, tears welled at the corner of my eyes. Six little cylindrical bundles of haw flakes were carefully packed within, each attached to a tightly rolled up strip of paper. Gently untying the scrolls from the sweets, I began reading them one at a time.

          Jie![2] I got you your favourite sweets! Wanted to buy you more of them but Ma said there wasn’t enough space in the box. Don’t worry, I’ll send you a big box of them once I’ve saved up enough money.

– Di[3]

          My heart ached as I thought about how much it must have costed for them to ship the parcel all the way from Penang to Britain. And with the little amount of pocket money…it must have taken Di-Di months of saving to be able to afford buying that one bundle of sweets…

          Jie, just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you have to hold everything in on your own y’know? It’s okay to rely on others a bit more from time to time. Enjoy the sweets you idiot, you’re crazy about those haw flakes. No idea why you like them either, they aren’t even that nice.

– Mei[4]

          Tears pricked the back of my eyes as my sister’s grumpy voice echoed in my ears. I could even see the disbelieving eye roll at my odd preferences in sweets after the last sentence. How I’ve missed our senseless squabbles and late-night chats….

          A-Yun, being an international student in the UK isn’t always the easiest thing, especially when you’re a minority there. You’ve already taken the necessary steps and have done all you can in that situation. Remember, it’s the end result and not the process that defines a victory. Remember what Sun Tzu mentioned in The Art of War? ‘The most important rule to victory is to know when to pick your fights and how to fight it’. Not all battles need to be fought to win the war. Never forget our family values and never lose sight of your goal. Don’t worry about finances, let me handle that. Just focus on your studies and aim for that first-class honours. The best revenge is to succeed despite their efforts to stop you. Continue to work hard and don’t give up. Know that regardless of the outcome, your Ma and I are proud of you and that we love you very, very much.

– Ba[5]

           A sob catches at the back of my throat as tears flowed freely down my cheeks. Acute pangs of longing weighed heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

          A-Yun[6] ah, if it ever becomes too much to bear at Cardiff, come home. Ma will make you your favourite dishes. I know you want to do well but don’t overwork yourself. Remember to get enough rest and try to change your bad habit of skipping meals. Two boiled eggs alone don’t count as a proper meal either!

– Ma[7]           

          A sheepish giggle escaped my lips despite the tears, Ma’s exasperated voice ringing in my ears. I could almost picture the look of indignation on her face as she judges my terrible meal choices before proceeding to fill my bowl with steamy boiled dumplings.

          Ah…Ma’s famous boiled dumplings…the saltiness of minced pork marinated with soy sauce and sesame oil…the refreshing sweetness of spring onions and carrots contrasting the pork’s saltiness…flecks of finely chopped hei-mu-er adding a chewy texture to the tender meat whilst thin sheets of delicately wrapped dough encapsulated it all…the slight bitterness of the herbal broth complementing the savoury dumplings…[8] My stomach growled in protest as I smiled fondly at the memory.

          Wiping away the remaining tears, I unrolled the last strip of paper. Elegant brushstrokes painted familiar characters in horizontal lines. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I recalled sitting on A-Gong’s [9] lap in the garden as kid, watching him practice calligraphy. I remembered how he used to read his poems aloud as I gaze at his hands guiding the bamboo brush across the ivory sheet, entranced by its flowing movements. Each word written was like a piece of art, each stroke of ink painting a meaning of its own.

Tranquil night’s darkness, the moon shines bright, From the mud the lotus rises, its petals pure despite. Vermillion red blossom like wildly raging flames; Elegant, virtuous, delicate, yet exquisitely untamed. The wise once said that adversity yields flair, An upright heart, oblique shadows don’t scare. Dripping water with time wears the stubborn stone, Sturdy wood too can be cut with rope saws alone! [10]

          A strange tranquility wrapped itself around me as I read the poem, A-Gong’s calm and mellow voice resonating in my ears. It was almost as if he was standing right before me with the usual toothless smile and twinkling eyes on his wizen face. Tenderly cradling the small box of sweets, a faint smile graced my lips. Their vermillion red and gold wrappings shone with a certain warmth under the soft light of the moon. Gently unwrapping one of the thumb-size bundles with shaking hands, I popped a disk-like piece into my mouth.         

          Immediately, a wave of warmth spread throughout my cold and hollowed body, almost as if it was infused with the life-giving heat of home. The familiar tart sweetness of the hawthorn berries cleared the heavy fog that clouded my mind and for the first time in a long while, I felt energy slowly seeping back into my worn-out soul, reigniting the snuffed-out fire within. Strange how something so small, barely the size of my thumb, could bring so much comfort and hope. That night, the moon shone a little brighter than usual, and the normally barren sky seemed to be exploding with billions of twinkling stars.

NOTES

[1] Alina Schartner & Yoonjoo Cho, ‘“Empty signifiers” and “dreamy ideals”: perceptions of the “international university” among higher education students and staff at a British university’, Higher Education, 74 (2017), 455-472

[2] ‘Jie’ means older sister in Chinese

[3] 'Di’ means younger brother in Chinese

[4] 'Mei’ means younger sister in Chinese

[5] ‘Ba’ means father in Chinese

[6] ‘Yun’ is written as ‘云’ meaning ‘cloud’

[7] 'Ma’ means mother in Chinese

[8] Hei-mu-er is the Mandarin term for black cloud ear fungus, a type of mushroom often used in Chinese cuisines.

[9] ‘A-Gong’ means grandfather in Chinese (specifically, the Hainanese pronounciation)

[10] This is a self written and self translated poem I wrote. The original Chinese version can be found here.

[11] ‘Moonlit Sparrow Through Parted Clouds’ is a play on 守得云开见月明 meaning the moon will shine brightly again when the clouds part, and 麻雀虽小五脏俱全 meaning though a sparrow is small, it has all the vital organs.

Author's Notes:

So this is one of my earlier prose pieces from uni (all the way back from first year lol). I don’t usually post prose? Not prose of this length at least. Anyways, I thought I’d take the leap and try posting them online now since I decided to start doing that for my poetry pieces? The rest of my prose pieces throughout uni somehow ended up becoming interlinked with several recurring characters though there are some inconsistencies since they were initially intended as stand-alone pieces rather than a series of somewhat loosely linked short stories. I’ll be posting them in story timeline sequence (or at least as closely to a sequence as I can since I didn’t exactly plan out the timeline of these pieces either) rather than in the sequence it was written in so there might be a slight fluctuation in writing style cuz they do kinda change over the years? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading Part 1~ 

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 

Since exams are over and graded and I've officially graduated, I can finally post my work online without having to worry about Turnitin picking it up as plagiarism because apparently you aren't allowed to plagiarise yourself according to university which is absolutely ridiculous but I'm not the one making the rules here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, please don't reupload my works without permission.

#ninbayphua 墨彦 #prose #short story #I'm new to sharing stories or prose I've written online so please be kind #constructive critisms are always welcomed #please don't repost without permission

[aliwritesfic]

Our Black Hearts (F!Reader x Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels)

Summary: Jack Daniels had long given up on avenging his murdered wife, instead choosing to travel west through the ruins of the United States to a small town called Deepwell. It's a fresh start, where nobody knows him. The thought of vengeance was almost out of mind until he found out about the towns book club and the gossip trade that happened there. So he joins, and figures it can't hurt to keep an ear out for news of the man who killed his wife.

Overall warnings: Death, violence, a lot of swearing, drinking, trauma, PTSD, angst

Warnings for this part: Drinking, mention of dead loved ones, smut, P in V sex, oral (F & M receiving), somewhat rough sex

Wordcount: 2.4k

Tags: Post-apocalypse AU, casual lovers, revenge

Part 2 (coming soonish)

The book club was a group of the only twelve people in the town who could read more than the few basic words that were usually taught. It wasn’t like an old-world book club, were people would gather to discuss the books they read – it was more of a book exchange, but the members preferred the word club. Of course, there were discussions, but they were seldom about books. They met once a week, usually on a Wednesday but sometimes on Fridays, and mostly talked about news they had heard from passing traders, letters given by couriers from family. This was how Jack got most of his information.

Jack Daniels was the newest member of this club. He was the newest resident of the Deepwell township, having come through one scorching hot Tuesday afternoon on the back of a trader’s caravan. He had taken one look at the dingy little town with its long-abandoned homes and decided that this was as far as he was willing to travel. Of course, he had to speak with the self-appointed Mayor, Lucy Jonas-Green, so she could assess his “suitability”. The interview had been a short one, consisting of only four questions, the grizzled old woman glaring at him through narrowed grey eyes.

“You good at shootin’?” Question one.

“Best I know.” It wasn’t a brag if it was true, Jack reasoned.

“Got any skills?” Question two.

“I’m good at buildin’ shit, I can stay awake for two days if I need to, I can read and write some stuff . . . I’m pretty good with a whip.”

“Why here?” Question three.

“Got sick of travelling.”

“What’s your name?” Question four.

“Jack.”

Lucy Jonas-Green had deliberated for exactly one minute, during which time Jack grew increasingly uncomfortable under her gaze. He felt like she could see directly into his soul, like she was deciding exactly how shit-stained it was. The only indication of her approval was a slight nod of the head. At that, a young boy, probably no older than thirteen, rushed over to greet him. The kid was chatty, but harmless.

It was through this kid that Jack first found out about the book club. He hadn’t been interested at first – just because he could read didn’t mean he liked to read. But at the mention of it being the towns main source of news from across the Fallen States, the chance of hearing something about the group that attacked Black Ridge was too good to pass up.

So now, he sat with the book club, a yellowed, mouldy copy of 1984 in his hands, ears pricked for any mention of a merc group led by a man with one eye and eleven fingers. A few months before he had finally settled in Deepwell, he had given up on his search and his quest for revenge. There had been no mention of him anywhere along the eastern townships, so Jack had headed west, deciding to leave the cruel memories of his wife behind. Now, he figured it couldn’t hurt to just listen.

But for weeks now, nothing. Whatever hope had rekindled itself in his chest was dying away, making room for cruel acceptance. Another meeting concluded, and Jack tucked the book carefully in his jacket. As much as he didn’t enjoy reading, he had a healthy respect for the leader of the book club and the threat of slitting his throat should something happen to the books she shared with the group.

The sun was low in the sky as he stepped outside, casting long shadows on the cracked pavement. People were beginning to move as the sunset, the harshest of its rays now dulled by the horizon. Electric streetlights slowly flickered on; the entire town was powered by recommissioned solar panels that someone much smarter than Jack had rigged up a decade ago. Jack considered his options for the night: either he could go back to the house he shared with a small family and scrounge up a meal of whatever was left in his room before a trader came through town tomorrow night, or he could go to the only bar in town, order several of whatever alcohol was in stock and a bowl of the ‘stew of the day’ which was usually just a root vegetable and some unidentified meat. Jack chose the bar.

The bar was the largest building in Deepwell, three stories tall and enough beds to sleep the entire population of the town twice over. The place smelt of stale booze and dust, a smell that seemed to be common over the entirety of the Fallen States. A jukebox in the corner played old world tunes on a loop.

“Evenin’, Jack.” The owner of the bar, Marcus, nodded his head in Jack’s direction. Jack nodded back and took off his hat – an old-world style that someone had once called ‘cowboy’. “Just the usual?”

“Yep, and keep the drinks coming,” Jack sat down at a small table close to the exit, his body always slightly angled to run at a moment’s notice, an old habit that he couldn’t seem to shake. A bowl of steaming stew was set down in front of him, along with a glass of murky amber liquid.

That’s when he noticed he was being watched. A woman sat in the corner, staring at him over a half empty glass of whiskey. Jack raised a brow and realised his recognised her. She was in the book club, too, but he didn’t remember her name. Everyone seemed to call her Chase. Jack was surprised she didn’t break her gaze when his eyes met hers, and against his better judgement, he put his hat back on, picked up his bowl and glass and walked over to her.

“This seat taken?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he set his food down on the table and sat.

~

Something about Jack Daniels intrigued you. Maybe it was the hat, or the facial hair he somehow managed to keep contained to a thick, neat moustache. Or maybe it was just the most annoyingly handsome person to ever come through Deepwell. Now he sat across from you, sipping on bathtub whiskey.

“Chase isn’t it?” he said after downing his glass.

“That’s what they call me,” you said. “What do they call you?”

Jack smirked. “Depends who you ask. Some like Dirty Bastard, others Motherfucker. For a while I was known as Whiskey. But you can call me whatever you like.” He finished with a wink.

“Jack it is,” you said with a roll of your eyes, but you would be lying to yourself if you weren’t a little charmed. “So, what brings you to book club, Jack?”

“Why, my love of old-world literature, of course.”

You leant back in your seat and tilted your head. He was lying, that much was obvious. But why? What was the point of lying? You looked into his eyes, a deep brown, and wondered if he was worth the trouble. He might be worth it for the night, you thought.

“Let’s pretend for a moment that I believe that,” you said, and Jack looked mildly surprised. “What’s taken you so long to come up and introduce yourself? You’ve been in town what now? Three months?”

“Two and a half,” Jack corrected, “and what gives you the impression I don’t care for literature?”

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours,” you countered. Was this flirting? You hadn’t done it in so long, and the most practice you had was when you were working in the town garden, daydreaming about the heroes of the romance novels you kept in a safe in the corner of your room.

“Well, well, well,” Jack leant forward on his elbows, his gaze unreadable underneath his ridiculous hat. “I don’t have a reason for you, doll, but if it makes you feel better, I haven’t introduced myself to most people here.”

You settled for this explanation, knowing that Jack had been somewhat of a recluse around town since he had arrived. You decide to answer his question. “I know you don’t give a shit about books. It’s obvious you care more about the goss. Your ears practically twitch. What are you listening for?”

Jack deliberated for a moment; you could see on his face that he really was conflicted about telling you. He finished his mystery stew and finally speaks. “I’m looking for a man, have been for a few years now. He killed my wife, and I wanna kill him.”

“A simple revenge,” you said. “What makes you think you think news will turn up in Deepwell?”

“I didn’t,” Jack said, “I’d given up when I first came here. Figured it was best for my soul to do so – but then I heard about this club, and I guess it can’t hurt to keep an ear out for rumblin’s of a man with eleven fingers and one eye.”

“Eleven fingers?” Your stomach dropped, but you kept your face neutral.

“And one eye,” Jack nodded.

“Did you find out his name?” You asked. Maker don’t let it be Elijah. Don’t let him be alive. Jack shook his head.

“Naw, but eleven fingers and one eye, how many people could be runnin’ ‘round the Fallen States like that?” Jack shrugged, something akin to grief flittered briefly across his face, and you realised he was right. Having only one eye wasn’t unusual, a lot of people were missing some body part or another, but eleven fingers . . . you couldn’t deny the coincidence.

“Anyway,” Jack smirked at you, “you haven’t asked the most important question of all.”

You raised a brow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“Are we takin’ this back to yours or mine, doll?”

~ Jack’s body is hard against yours, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips. His shirt is off, discarded on the floor of your small bedroom. He kisses hungrily down your neck, his tongue darting along your collarbone. A moan escapes your lips as he slides his calloused hands along the bare skin of your stomach, roughly tugging at the frayed waistband of your jeans. His fingers find your wetness, easily finding your sensitive clit with his thumb. You groaned, head lolling forward into his sweaty neck.

“You like that?” he whispered into your ear; goosebumps raced along your body. His thumb made careful, slow circles along your clit. “Tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” you whined, bucking your hips in pleasure. A low groan escaped Jack’s throat at your words, spurring him on. He forces your pants off completely and discards them in the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He drops to his knees and pulls you closer, lips trailing delicately along your inner thighs. Then without warning, his tongue is lapping up the wetness of your clit, two fingers pumping your tight hole.

“Jack,” you whimper, the need for more sending you crazy. His dark eyes met yours over the top of your stomach, his tongue still working your clit. You’re hungry for him, the look of pure lust in his eyes spurring you to places you had never thought about. You sit up and place a hand on his shoulder, shuddering as another wave of pleasure rippled through your body. The look in your eyes must’ve told him what you want to do, because he stood and stepped back, allowing you room to get on your knees in front of him.

He undid his belt buckle with fingers still slick from your pussy and pulled his pants down. His cock sprang forward, making your mouth water with how fucking big it was. The head glistened with a bead of pre-cum. You leant forward and licked it off, before taking as much of his length in your mouth as you could. He groaned, his fingers tangling through your hair.

“Fuck, deeper,” his voice was husky with desire, and you happily obliged, taking him so you could feel him almost at the back of your throat. His fingers in your hair tightened, a pleasant pain on your skull. He groaned and pulled your head back, staring into your eyes. “I need you.”

You tugged him towards the mattress, pushing him on his back. You climb atop, feeling strangely dominant. His cock slid against the wetness of your hole, head entering before you pulled your hips away, a teasing smile on your lips. You go on like this, letting him enter a little further in you each time, enjoying the tortured look on his face, enjoying it even more when his eyes snapped open as you let him in completely. He moaned loudly, holding onto your hips tightly.

“Doll,” his word was muffled by his mouth on your tit, teeth latching onto your nipple. You rocked back and forth, clenching around his cock as an orgasm threatened to rip you from your body. Jack seemed to realise this, and flipped you both so you were on your back and he was standing, still inside you. He pulled you so your ass was off the mattress, your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Maker, you’re so fucking sexy,” he fucked you hard and rough, his dark gaze never leaving yours. His thumb was on your clit again, teasing you as an orgasm ripped through you. You moaned his name, your pussy clenching tightly around him. He grinned devilishly down at you, leaning forward to kiss you as he continued to thrust. He tasted of you, driving his tongue into your mouth. You met this eagerly, whimpering against his lips as yet another orgasm moved you.

“I can’t hold on,” Jack groaned, and before you could say a thing, he pulled out of you, hot cum spurting onto your stomach. He slumped next to you, obviously spent.

“Holy shit,” you muttered, scanning the room for something to wipe the cum up with.

“Holy shit is right, doll,” Jack said. Sweat beaded along his brow and he cracked open an eye to watch you wipe up with a shirt that was so full of holes it was unwearable. Silver moonlight filtered through the dirty window, casting shadows across his beautiful face. You laid down next to him, feeling a small shiver run through you as he curved his warm naked body against yours.

You would tell him, you decided. You would tell him you knew who he was looking for, and that you might know where to find him. But in the morning, so as not to mar the beautiful just fucked haze that enveloped your mind.

Tagging @sharkbait77 because she's lovely and I'm nervous about this one.

#jack daniels x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels #kingsmen golden circle #i havent written sexy stuff in so long was it as weird as it felt

[may-day-voice]

Haunting Sour Notes

Denki Kaminari's Timeline | 172732014

please do not repost, but you have permission to reblog :)

• Watch/ Listen on YouTube: https://youtu.be/iGM2u8mraCY

• Read on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1059472971-denki-kaminari-pro-hero-au-172732014-haunting-sour

"Why won't you tell me?" questioned Kaminari, following you around his apartment while you paced with heavy steps. "You've been showing signs lately."

"Signs?" you retorted with a derogatory smirk. "Me being scared of storms is a sign?"

"No, I mean, Mon Ange-"

"Kaminari," you interrupted, your tone stern. "I messed up yesterday. Tell that to the Head Agent."

He watched as you slumped onto one of his armchairs in the large space, looking away from him while you stared out from one of the large windows overlooking part of Endor Docks. The morning was calm while you slept, but as soon as you woke, he found you distant almost immediately. You refused to say a word, not a peep, as if you were still mute.

And then, this argument, empty of reason.

"I'm going to report all that I know from last night," explained Kaminari, soft and calm. "And I know you didn't mess up, but you have to tell me these things about you. Things that I still have no clue about."

"It's better you didn't know," you replied, still with your eyes away from his.

"Why? I can't help you if you keep blocking me out."

"Then take me back to the Commission. Put me under arrest. What good am I if I'm not helping your case?"

"You're a good person, I know you are!" yelled Kaminari in retaliation, his frustration growing.

"How do you know?"

"You took that blow for me back when we first met. Not any villain would do that. You may have your reasons, but that shows me that you are willing to put yourself on the line when it counts. And here I am, trying to understand you outside of the fame and the secrecy, and you-" Kaminari stopped himself, holding his tongue while he stared at your upsetment, seeing the glint of tears that forced their way in the corner of your angry eyes. He could see you holding back before he was about to spill, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"You told me back at that golf range-"

"Putt-putt."

"- that you wanted to make amends. Why won't you let me help you do that?"

You looked into Kaminari's eyes, filled with confusion and anger while the frustration in his voice was evident. Of course, anyone who would be treated this way would have every right to feel these waves of emotions, but this was your life. A life shouldered with the haunting memories of your actions, and of the people you surrounded yourself with. At the time, you thought nothing of it, but now, these memories were not even worthy for someone like Kaminari to hear.

"They're not yours to shoulder," you answered. "And I'm more afraid of you getting involved further in the matter."

"What do you mean? I'm already involved," explained Kaminari. "I know enough to understand that you're trying to stop the Front, and that this General is someone to be feared."

"But you don't know the implications of knowing her. I don't want you to get hurt."

"So, it's a she?" he asked, only earning an exasperated sigh from you.

"I've said too much," you mumbled under your breath, turning your eye away from him once more. You held back the tears that you felt pricked your eyes, spotting the murkiness cloud your vision a little. You rubbed your eyes in an attempt to rid them, but they only continued to spill.

Kaminari hesitated with his next few thoughts, eyeing your expression and the cross look on your face.

"Speaking of which, aside from all of this, there was something else that bothered me," he started, keeping an eye on your reaction. "Last night, you wouldn't say a word. Or, you couldn't. Can you tell me what that was about?"

You bit your lip, hoping the sharp pain would hold off the tears that spilled from your eyes. Every word he spoke felt like a knife in your chest. You recalled last night, almost vividly, innocently writing those words in paper. The fear returned, like it did long ago. You turned your eye away from Kaminari knowing that the overwhelming sadness rippled under your skin.

"Are you sick?" He asked.

"Non" you whispered.

"But last night-"

"Forget last night. I was a kid, I didn't know any better."

"That's not true."

"Will you stop?" You turned to face him, your eyes cross and your anger now swelling inside, replacing the pain and guilt. "Stop the questions."

Kaminari stared into your eyes, fueled by hurt and anger as if he had done an injustice. Confused by your sudden outburst, he slowly approached you, his hand out to reach yours until you violently pulled it away.

"Just go," you ordered. "Leave me under house arrest and go do your job." You turned your back on him, your eyes now staring out towards the docks, watching boats in the distance.

Kaminari said nothing. You heard nothing before the sound of footsteps made their way towards the sliding front door, shutting in the empty apartment. You held onto your arms, trying to comfort yourself before you sank into one of his chairs, head on your lap, silently weeping.

Kaminari made his way to his car, seating himself in the driver's seat before he turned the ignition. He was silent, still processing your reaction and how distressed you were with him. He sighed heavily in exasperation, recalling his treatment of the situation beforehand when he slammed his palms into his driving wheel.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath.

RING

"Hello?"

"Hey Kaminari, catch you at a bad time?" Asked Sero on the other line.

Kaminari eyed his front door, still his mind on you. "No, was about to head to the Public Hero Commission building."

"I need to talk with you about a few things first. Meet me in the city's park in half an hour?"

Kaminari thought about his request for a moment. He hadn't heard anything from Sero since the mission last night, recalling his sudden leave of absence. Perhaps something had happened during all the mania. Maybe another clue in this mess of a situation.

"I can be there in twenty if you can," advised Kaminari.

"No rush man, but yeah, gotta talk."

Kaminari pulled his car out before taking it off from the docks, heading straight into Musatafu. If he wasn't going to get to the bottom of this one way, he hoped he could find success through other means instead, even if that meant not involving you in the process.

Besides, there was a lot he and Sero needed to talk about, he thought.

——

Hours had passed since the argument and you had filled your time reading books for who knew how many rounds you had given them the light of day. However, none of them took your thoughts away from Kaminari's concern. Yes, you lashed out violently at any mention of your past - a thing you had tried to bury many times before, and thought had succeeded. Yet the events of last night, of your fears, your illness, your childish reactions to everything Kaminari was able, it felt hurtful.

The guilt returned knowing of your spiteful tone. And yet you heard nothing from Kaminari. He only left you alone. The thought of this morning replayed in your mind like a broken record, as cliche as it felt. It only made that knife sink deeper in your chest, one made by your own doing.

You knew Kaminari was right, that you had to tell him one day why you did what you did, with the secrets, the charade, and your insistent need to run away. The pain of knowing how many souls you had harmed along the way seared in your mind, like a branding that had scarred the very nature of your life. You were a thing, a tool to be weaponized, even so that whatever goals and purposes you thought were true, were now a stain.

This bodyguard business wouldn't last forever. The Commission would have their way eventually, leaving you with nothing left. Leaving the warmth and comfort of Kaminari's hospitality, patience, and determination, despite his almost goofy and dorky disposition.

Sunlight had now passed over the docks, casting a small shadow along Kaminari's apartment. The skylight itself created a spotlight of the sun's rays in the centre of his lounge. Everyday you've stayed here, you would often stand in the centre of the skylight, pretending it to be centre stage, twirling in its radiance. However, it burned your eyes today, still sore from the tears that sprung after Kaminari had left.

A moment of clarity cleared your mind, as painful as it felt, before coming to the conclusion you needed for yourself and for the sake of Kaminari; a man who had offered you a home despite it being under the Commission's jurisdiction; a man who had only accepted you for who you were, regardless of the actions you had taken in your dreadful past.

A man who comforted you, who tried every means to understand you.

"Sorry, roi de la fee," you whispered to yourself, swimming in your head from all of the painful thoughts-

SMASH

Glass shattered onto your skin while your arms shielded you from the shards that sprayed from the windows. It happened all so sudden, immediately taking to your feet to flee from the now destroyed windowpane. Outside on the docks, a group of men stomped into the apartment, rushing towards you with open hands.

"Grab them!" Yelled one before you felt their hands clutch onto your clothes and skin, grabbing hold of you while they slowly dragged you outside, fighting against your resistance.

"Let go of me!" You yelled, slapping one in the face, while kicking furiously in the air.

"Quickly before someone spots us!"

Amongst the chaos, you pulled against their strength, your flailing limbs swinging violently in the air hoping they would hit anyone nearby. Mid-swing in your violent resistance, you elbowed your assailant in the gut, enough that winded him to release you from his hold. You didn't think, you just ran, scrambling back into the apartment while being chased by the men behind you. You huffed and panicked, pushing any large object in their way to slow them down, whether it were chairs, lamps, or anything of the sort. You only had eyes for the front sliding doors, crashing into it before you pulled against its weight to slide it open.

The spill of the sunlight caught your eye first, blinding your already sore eyes from your tears until a silhouette painted against it, blocking your exit. The height caught you off guard until you recognized the man's long top hat and soon his mask once your eyes adjusted to the light.

"Long time no see, Sirene," he cooed playfully before a glint of something caught your eye in his fingers. You heard the smirk in his voice, turning around to flee from him. But as if time had slowed, you felt your body pull into a void, sucked into the familiar glass marble before you crashed into its glass surface.

"Let me go!" You yelled, your voice bouncing off from the walls, slamming your fists against the thick panes. "Laisse-moi sortir!"

The large shadows skewed by the glass shifted every so often while you felt the inertia of Compress' movements holding onto the marble you now resided in.

"So Dabi's little pet was right after all," he commented, his voice loud yet muffled by the glass. "I should congratulate them on their deduction skills. It's not often we find defectors."

You still slammed your fist fervently against the glass, hoping that you could break through, though you knew it was futile to try.

"Ne me ramène pas!"

Your cries were ignored when it suddenly went dark. Surrounded by the black, the sound of shifting and crunching glass echoed loudly before the rumble of a car's ignition reverberated through the glass space.

You felt truly lost.

How did they find you? What went wrong? In the dark all of these questions found their way to your head, recalling the few times you had carefully managed to keep yourself under wraps. Hiding in plain sight, behind a moniker and a pre-generated face. Making use of the fame to counter every move the Paranormal Liberation Front would possibly be able to exploit. Yet in turn, you exploited others in order to right your wrongs.

And then, there was Kaminari. The few times he had been warm and welcoming. The times he had shown his vulnerability, and his strength. The times he had trusted in you by sharing a part of his life with his friends, all Pro-Heroes to a degree. Everything about Kaminari was like a home, now only realizing this in the dark.

You felt your tears return, trapped wherever Compress had held you captive. The car ride was a one way trip, back to your past, back to the Front, back to the cold table where the General would examine you again, and again, and again.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Please forgive me, Kaminari."

——

Kaminari stood by his warehouse apartment, staring blankly at the shattered glass and rummaged furniture inside. Police tape surrounded the building while crime scene investigators carefully traversed through the mess, numbering evidence after evidence of the now labeled crime scene.

His meeting with Sero was more a cross-reference of notes on a few topics of discussion - Sero's current predicament with the thief as well as his encounter with Seek, at least before either of them would report it to their agencies and the Commission. However, Kaminari's eyes loosely scanned the floor, eyeing the fallen armchair, the glass and the open front door on the other side across the way, but you were nowhere to be found.

"I'm sorry dude," slowly spoke Sero, eyeing Kaminari sadly and unsure what else to say.

"No, don't say that," he retorted with a shaky voice. "This is my responsibility. I should've put the anklet back on. I didn't think." He stared into the apartment, spotting the device still sitting on the corner of his kitchen counter inside. His body trembled with anger and regret, holding back tears of his own while he recollected the argument this morning.

"Chargebolt, thank you for your cooperation in this matter," spoke a fellow agent, her voice calming. "I'm sorry about-"

"No, what have you found?" Interrupted Kaminari, his eyes straining from spilling tears.

"We've retrieved your surveillance footage for what it was able to capture and came across this during the invasion." The agent held a pad, its screen revealing the front end of Kaminari's apartment while the event played. He watched you run through the floor towards the front door, disappearing out of frame until moments after a familiar silhouette appeared, his top hat clearly recognizable.

"Wait a minute! That's Mr. Compress," he exclaimed, grabbing the pad from the agent, glaring at the screen.

"When did you ever have a surveillance system installed?" Questioned Sero beside him.

"We arranged it when we hired him for his services," answered the agent. "It was... precautionary."

"Right."

"How did the Front find out about this?" Questioned Kaminari, his voice shocked.

"We're trying to determine that now," immediately replied the agent, taking the pad back from Kaminari. "But it would be worth noting that we also spotted this onscreen as well." Taken back by the agent's words, she rewound the digital footage on screen, playing through the end of Kaminari's argument up until the moment the anklet began blinking a light. "Someone switched on the anklet's tracker."

A silence was shared between Kaminari and the agent, however Sero looked between the two, confused on what revelation occurred amidst the conversation. "What's so strange about that?" He asked. "Kaminari would've wanted to know where they were."

"I didn't turn it on," explained Kaminari. "Because that mechanism doesn't work unless the anklet was already attached to the person in question. Why would I turn a tracker on if it wasn't on their ankle?"

A multitude of thoughts ran through his head, his eyes darting while he mulled over possible reasons before-

"Who else knows?" he asked, his eyes stern while he stared at the agent.

"Um... only the three of us," she replied, a little taken back by his forwardness.

"Good, keep it that way. This may be an internal affair. I want you only to report to me about this and no one else, got it?"

"But sir, I can't-"

"Please, just trust me," reasoned Kaminari. "If Red Riot and Persona trust your judgement, then I do too." He held his golden gaze on the agent before she nodded, taking the pad and leaving to continue the investigation. His thoughts mingled about, hoping it wasn't the worst case scenario that he imagined in his head. By instinct, he reached for his phone, searching on speed-dial to immediately bring it to his ear.

"Wait, who're you calling?" Asked Sero, slightly anxious of Kaminari's sudden burst of energy.

"Shinsou, we need to speak with his partner about this. They've been following that guy's trail this whole time, right?" explained Kaminari, still waiting.

"Yeah, but how is that going to help?"

To be frank, Kaminari didn't know how to answer that question, but his anger needed to be redirected somehow. He felt the guilt weigh heavily on his shoulders, imagining all of the scenarios that could have played out if only he had made these seemingly available decisions. But time was now against him.

"What is it, Kaminari?" spoke an exhausted tone on the other line.

"Shinsou, we need to meet up. Sero and I have some information that may be important to your case," explained Kaminari over the phone call, his eyes on Sero only to notice his reaction, slightly fervent to quiet Kaminari's request.

"Really? Which one? I've got my hands full with the Tartarus case, and Kitten..." Shinsou's voice trailed at the thought, leaving the phone silent in Kaminari's ear. "Is it about that guy?"

"Yeah, it's about that guy last night," confirmed Kaminari, his eyes still on Sero who had now resigned to Kaminari's actions. "But something else has come up. I'm sure you're going to have a field day with this."

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