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voiceless-terror · 3 years

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I mean, I don’t believe in the predictive power of dreams, obviously, but still, it’s a deeply unsettling thing to find. I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. - Episode 11, Dreamer

Jon stares down at the paper in his hands.

He’s had many an unkind thought towards Gertrude, his predecessor, the woman responsible for this mess and the current bane of his existence. She’s been the topic of most of his grumbling as he sorts through piles of nonsense and decaying cardboard boxes. He’s got no love lost for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy she’s dead. Or, specifically, to have a statement apparently predicting it through the medium of some prophetic dream. Ridiculous. He wants to feel detached, unaffected, but he can’t help the sickly sense of dread that creeps up his spine and lingers in his throat.

It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.

Jon doesn’t know Antonio Blake and has no reason to believe him. But he’s known something’s wrong for a long time now.

He’s never admitted it aloud, never within his assistant’s hearing range, but he can feel it, as foolish as that sounds. This miasma of wrong, of being watched, of becoming...something else, that happens every time he records a statement. Despite the academic detachment he aspires to, he does attempt to empathize with each statement-giver and get into their mindset. But what he’s doing here...it’s different. He can visualize it so perfectly, the terror in their words sticking in his throat and setting his own heart pounding, as if he were the one experiencing it and not just regurgitating it to an ancient recorder. He’s always had an ‘overactive imagination,’ as his grandmother would say, but this is relentless in its manifestation. The fear is real, not imagined. Each statement draws him further and further away from the safety he used to cling to, where the only real cases were few and far between and the most sinister things lurking out there in the world were books and the monsters within them.

And as much as he wants to linger on the false accounts and take comfort in tearing them apart, his hands automatically seek the real ones, the right ones. It’s frightening, the ease with which he finds them nowadays. Perhaps he’s a better archivist than he thinks.

She died and you’ll be next, something whispers to him. He’s being dramatic, as he’s wont to do, but it feels true. Every statement that doesn’t record correctly, every follow-up he has to qualify with an ‘I would dismiss this, but-’ is starting to add up. His nights have become restless. He often lies awake regretting that he ever took this job, that he left the relative safety of research for a position he’s not sure how to fill, his only reassurance Elias’s occasional emails that he’s ‘moving in the right direction,’ whatever that means.

Jon assumed he’d be more removed from the dangerous aspects of the job that research entailed- following up, going to locations, field work. And it’s true, he has assistants to do that for him now. Dependable, for the most part. And while he should feel safe in his tiny office with nothing but dust and paper and cobwebs (good lord, the cobwebs) he feels more unsettled and exposed than ever. He once joked he’d die of old age before getting the archives in order. But now a stroke sounds much more pleasant than whatever happened to Gertrude. If it’s true.

Perhaps it’s a joke, he thinks. Planted by one of the others, designed specifically to unsettle him. Well, it worked.

It wouldn’t be surprising. He’s...not had the best start. The promotion was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected; he knew he’d been on Elias’s radar, though he wasn’t expecting it quite so soon. He’s young and unfortunately, it shows. The way he stutters through department meetings, talking about digitization while the others, all of whom have at least a decade on him, shoot pitying looks. He stays later and later, the desire to show some sort of progress even as he discovers more mess by the day. The permanent scowl that now graces his features becomes his armor as he walks the halls and feels himself becoming the uptight, unlikable curmudgeon everyone believes him to be. The one time I measure up to expectations, he can’t help thinking.

A joke. There’s a comfort in that. At least it’s familiar.

But it didn’t record to the laptop, his traitorous mind supplies. It's a bit sad he would prefer it to be a mundane attempt at bullying rather than a real expression of the supernatural, but he supposes it’s par for the course. There were many nights as a child he wished for the same thing, for that boy to go back to taking his lunch money and the occasional beating or two instead of…still, he dismisses it from his mind. You don’t know there’s a correlation. Follow up. Disprove it.

He’s interrupted from his musings by a knock on the door and the vague outline of Martin through the frosted glass. “Come in,” he calls, attempting to inject some irritation in his voice to cover up the shakiness. “Did you need something?”

“Ah, I finished my write up for the Herbert case, was wondering if you had anything else for me?”

His hand hovers over the statement on his desk. He opens his mouth but then closes it, thinking better.

“Can you send Tim in, actually?”

______

“Sorry boss, I couldn’t find anything on this Antonio Blake fellow- well, at least with the details he provided, which were next to none. Proper spooky, though.”

Of his assistants, he trusts Tim the most with this sort of thing.

On a surface level, it wouldn’t make sense to some. Tim can be loud and gregarious: the typical, charming extrovert. But he’s not unkind and he’s a hell of a researcher, especially when something grabs his interest. He digs into statements and doesn’t let go- not unlike Sasha, though he’s a bit better at empathizing and handling things...sensitively. Easily attuned to Jon’s moods, Tim’s always been willing to lend an ear whenever he gets too in his head about cases, helping him talk things through or on several memorable occasions, go down the rabbit hole with him. He’d taken the statement from his hands with an easy smile, though his face grew serious with the nervous look Jon shot him.

And if Tim couldn’t find anything, well. Maybe it was a prank after all.

He sort of wanted it to be true, frightening as the implications were. Because then it would mean this terrible, heavy feeling on his shoulders was real, and not just the byproduct of his own mediocrity. He doesn’t want to be scared, he doesn’t want to be in danger, but at least it would provide a real reason for panic, and not just his own inability to measure up. He doesn’t want to prove them all right, collapsing under the stress of a job poorly done and so easily crumbling at a stupid, made-up statement, targeted as it may be.

“A joke, then.” Jon says, rubbing a hand at his temples, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice. Tim makes a commiserating noise.

“You know how people are, the institute isn’t exactly popular. You remember last Halloween, when-”

“Yes, I don’t need a reminder.” Jon sighs. He’d rather not relive that day, stressful as it was. “But that wasn’t quite what I was thinking.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Jon continues, attempting to make his hands busy as he pointlessly shuffles papers.

“It’s rather pointed, isn’t it? I doubt someone off the street would create such a detailed account of the death of an...archivist as opposed to the usual ghostly drivel.”

A look of pity flickers in Tim’s eyes and Jon has to turn away. “I don’t really think anyone here would-”

“Really? You don’t?” Jon lets out a mirthless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face as he stares down at his desk. “I’m not blind. Or deaf.” The derisive snorts if he goes off on ‘needless tangents,’ how Rosie pretends to be busy whenever he approaches Elias’s office, the way his name badge still reads ‘researcher’ after months of asking for a new one. He’s basically become a pariah.

“Jon, did someone say something to you?” The words are carefully chosen and he’s leaning forward now, making as if to stand up and god forbid, do something comforting. It’s not that Jon doesn’t want the comfort; he craves it more than anything. But he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t trust himself not to break at the gentlest of touches. Being on the receiving end of Tim’s protective streak is nothing new, but he shouldn’t need his assistant looking out for him like he’s some sort of helpless infant.

He snorts derisively instead, covering up the insecurity and hurt with a sardonic, self-effacing smile. The kind he knows Tim hates. “They don’t need to. I’ve walked in on conversations, I’ve seen the way people go quiet, the looks they give me-”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. Jon wonders how he looks, if Tim’s going this soft. “Don’t listen to them, alright? You inherited a mess, we all did- but we’re doing our best, yeah? Study and record, like Elias said.” Jon doesn’t dodge the hand that finally lands on shoulder, and he’ll deny to anyone that he leaned into it.

“Study and record.” He repeats listlessly, slumping back down into his seat. He’s let himself get too worked up, acting like a child instead of a boss. He’s not sure when he started wearing his heart on his sleeve, but Tim’s always been good at reading him. Though he’d rather people think him an arrogant ass than the seething mess of insecurity he truly is.

“Atta boy.” The pat to his shoulder is purposefully light, devoid of Tim’s usually friendly force that sends him stumbling forward. “Now get out of here at a normal time, alright? We can grab lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us, if you like.”

Jon makes a noncommittal grunt, though the thought is nice. He entertains the idea for just a moment, remembering their occasional outings back in research. Tomorrow he’ll make his excuses. He hasn’t been much of a friend as of late, and he’s not sure he deserves the kindness of company.

“And if there’s anyone that needs a stern talking to from me, I-” Tim wags a finger and Jon rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang of warmth the words send through his chest.

“Don’t, please. It’s fine.” It isn’t. “But...thank you, Tim.”

“Course.” A wink and a sloppy salute to lighten the mood, and Jon feels the tension in his posture ease minutely as Tim shuts the door behind him.

He lets out a breath and reaches for the tape recorder. He’s wasted too much time already.

Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.

Good luck.

He fights a shiver as the man’s voice leaves him and the last vestiges of that twilight world fade back to his dimly-lit office. In his follow up, he tries to play it off as a joke. A bit of hazing for the new boss. And yet the uneasiness still creeps into his voice, and he ends another tape on a stilted, half-believed note.

If this is genuine…

Jon prays that it isn’t.

And like most of his prayers, it goes unheard and unanswered.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32165071

reblogs > likes

#tma #the magnus archives #my writing #jonathan sims #tim stoker #season one jon feels #with added tim #in which rye has feelings about jon 'dismissing' statements and thinking it could be a joke and TRUSTING TIM #what else is new #reblogs appreciated <3 #a light bit of #jontim

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bubble-tea-bunny · 3 years

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i could make you care

[saiki kusuo x reader]

author’s note: i tried to incorporate as many characters into this as possible to make it feel like an actual episode and i got overwhelmed so fast lol i haven’t written this many characters in a story in a long time. in any case hope i did them justice and that you enjoy :’)

word count: 3,029

Today’s morning is bright, and Saiki’s walk is quiet. Typically this would be no cause for concern. A quiet walk to school is few and far between, difficult to come by given the company he keeps. (He’d much prefer a calmer bunch, if he were granted the chance to choose, but that is neither here nor there.) Don’t misunderstand: he’d bask in this brief peace, guaranteed to be broken the moment he passes through the gates of PK Academy, if the reason for this uncharacteristic period of silence comes about because of the absence of one particular person—someone who, if one could hardly believe it, Saiki actually prefers to have around more often than not.

He walks past the street which leads to your home, his pace never slowing because he expects you’ll join him, as you do every morning. You’ll wait for him on the corner and smile widely like you haven’t seen him in weeks then skip towards him, falling in step easily. He’ll remain nonplussed as you hug his arm, give it a brief squeeze as you greet him—Good morning, Kusuo!—and then promptly let go because you understand he likes his space but you just can’t help but indulge a little bit.

However, none of the aforementioned events play out this Friday. You’re not on the street corner, not there to smile and fall in step with him. There’s no arm hugging or a bubbly greeting Saiki pretends he isn’t affected by. But the truth is that he is, the routine coming somewhat as a comfort, even at the price of sacrificing some of his beloved personal space. So when you’re nowhere to be found his brows furrow and he wonders where you are.

His steps slow until he comes to a complete stop. He wants to check up on you, sooner rather than later. There isn’t much time to delay if he wants to make it to school before the first bell, but this won’t take long. He crosses his eyes, activating his clairvoyance, and he centers in on you immediately. You’re still at home. You’re at home, and you’re sick.

A box of tissues rests on your nightstand and you’ve pulled your small trash can right next to it from where it usually stands by your door. You toss used tissues into it before nestling beneath your blankets, pulling it up to just below your chin and hugging it close in order to retain heat. Your breath evens out quickly and he can tell you’re asleep. Your body must be exhausted dealing with your cold, and he’s confident this is the way you will be the rest of the day—drifting in and out of sleep, dealing with the sniffles and congestion.

He blinks and loses sight of you and now he’s staring once more down the road. Readjusting his bag on his shoulder with a sigh, he resumes walking and thinks about his plans for the day. As it was the last day of the school week, he’d planned to go to Cafe Mami for coffee jelly to celebrate. But now that he’s learned you’re sick in bed, he’d have to make adjustments. Momentarily he debates if that’s really necessary. You probably wouldn’t want visitors in the state you’re in, and knowing you, you’d tell him to go to the cafe without you to enjoy himself anyway. The thought is tempting, truly, yet he can’t shake the urge to check on you.

It feels less like an obligation and more like a simple desire of his own to make sure you’re okay. Saiki shakes his head, more amused than frustrated. There’s no one else for whom he would so willingly do this, or much else, for, and he doesn’t think he’d ever tell you because you’ll tease him the way you are wont to do whenever his facade cracks and he’ll let you have your fun because when you ask if you’re really so different as to make him act this way, the answer is, well, yes. You are.

He imagines this scenario and the corner of his lips lifts in a small smile. Good grief. You could be quite the handful.

“Hey, Saiki!”

Nendo’s voice is entirely too loud for the morning and Saiki heaves another sigh, one that sounds as though it belongs at the end of the day and not the beginning. Nendo is joined close behind by Kaidou and Kuboyasu, and they easily fill the silence with discussions about going to get ramen after class and the latest movements of the Dark Reunion. Saiki really only picks up words here and there that allude to the topic of conversation but it doesn’t require his full attention. It’s the same song and dance every morning.

The commotion once he arrives at school is much the same. During lectures he is afforded the temporary reprieve from having his ears talked off, since the only one speaking is the teacher, but at breaks, the noise resumes, and though he always stays sitting at his desk, in hopes the others will get the hint that he’s uninterested in chatting, they inevitably crowd themselves around it, until he is right in the middle.

Hairo has outlined a new workout regimen and in his louder than normal volume of speaking he shares it. He’s going to start it today, and if anyone wants to join, they’re more than welcome. It doesn’t look like anyone wants to take the offer, which is expected. Hairo’s exercise routines were… a little extreme.

In any case, Hairo is nonplussed by the lack of enthusiasm from everyone else and remarks he can’t wait for the end of the school day.

“I think I’ve been losing muscle tone,” he laments, and he complements this statement with a casual flex of his arm, more so to point out the specific areas he thinks are getting soft rather than to show off, but even if he isn’t trying, his biceps are bulging and if his sleeves hadn’t been rolled up, they would have torn.

Saiki’s brow raises. Yeah… I don’t think that’s an issue for you, Hairo.

“I’ve just finished installing an indoor gym at my home, you know.”

Everyone turns to find Saiko has entered into the circle, a smug smirk on his face. When had he gotten here? Really it’s only Hairo who has any sort of reaction to this, eyes practically sparkling imagining the machines and equipment (or maybe that’s just the glare from the fluorescent classroom lights). All the same, Saiko relishes the attention, boasting of the privacy and space and how really, it’s so much easier to be productive if there’s no one else there but Saiki can only wonder if Saiko even works out at all. He doesn’t remember that being mentioned, and Saiki is nothing if not detail oriented.

Saiki doesn’t have long to ponder over this (not that it would’ve continued much longer because he doesn’t actually care about whether Saiko exercises or just set up a gym in his house to brag) before Nendo asks where you are.

Had he just noticed? You always join them on their walk in the morning. But Saiki can’t say he’s surprised it took this long. What he is surprised about is that Nendo had noticed in the first place.

“Oh that’s right,” Kuboyasu adds. “I thought she just went ahead of us today.”

Yumehara informs them of your whereabouts before Saiki does. “She texted me this morning she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed home.” Her phone dings with a new message and she glances at it, then looks back up. “But she says she’s a little more awake now!”

“It’s the Dark Reunion.” Kaidou’s sudden interjection draws everyone’s attention. He clenches his right fist, staring at the bandages wrapped around it. “They’re trying to get to me by going after my friends!”

Saiki remains expressionless but if he didn’t have such good control he would’ve rolled his eyes. Or maybe she just has a cold.

Upon Kaidou’s claim that a secret society is responsible for your illness, Saiki picks up Yumehara’s thoughts: I wish I was the one Kaidou was so worried about! Maybe if I got sick he’d worry about me too! Getting sick to grab Kaidou’s attention? That’s… going overboard, but Saiki can’t find it in him to be shocked, considering from whose mind this speculation has sprung.

“Poor [Name],” Teruhashi says, kind as always. She sets an index finger on her chin, gaze momentarily aimed upwards as she thinks. “I was about to suggest we all go to the cafe after school today and I wish she could join.”

This gives Saiki pause. Wait. The cafe?

“That sounds like a great idea!” Yumehara declares. Again Saiki hears her thoughts: If we go, I need to do my best sit next to Kaidou!

Whether a visit to Cafe Mami comes across as a good idea because it’s a fun way to celebrate the end of the school week or simply because Teruhashi suggested it, Saiki doesn’t know, but one by one the murmurs of assent resound through the group and he barely contains a relieved huff. He’d already changed his own plans from visiting the cafe to seeing you instead, and it’s a good thing too since it’s apparent his alone time would’ve been ruined. Now he has an excuse not to stick around.

Once the final bell rings, they begin their walk into town towards the cafe. The sidewalk feels crowded with all of them on it, and they have to split into pairs to keep the opposite side of the sidewalk free for people going the other way. Among comments from everyone else about how hungry they are, Saiki makes known his intention to just pick up food before leaving. There’s somewhere he needs to be.

“You’re going to go make sure [Name] is doing okay!” Teruhashi exclaims. It’s a statement, not a question. “That’s sweet of you.”

Saiki shrugs. “Sweet” is not the first word he would associate with his actions. It just seems like common sense to check on you. You’d looked miserable this morning, but he takes your message to Yumehara earlier as a good sign that you’re improving, slowly and surely. Still, he’d be more comfortable seeing you himself. He hadn’t gotten any other chances today to use his clairvoyance, but at least it wouldn’t be long now until he’d be heading to your house.

Chisato is working today and she seats everyone. Saiki goes directly to the counter to place his order—coffee jelly for him and strawberry mochi for you—and he stands off to the side while waiting for the treats to be packed. The others are sitting on the far side of the cafe (in his peripherals he sees Yumehara has taken a seat right next to Kaidou) but he can hear them clear as day discussing what food they should order. Yes, he’s certainly glad he won’t be sticking around. Spending Friday in the midst of that noise is far from ideal.

Holding the bag of coffee jelly and mochi in one hand, Saiki uses the other to push open the door, the bell jingling gently, and someone, Nendo it sounds like, raises their voice to shout across the room: Seeya later, Saiki! Then the door closes behind him, and all he can hear is the footsteps of other pedestrians and the low whoosh of cars.

He exhales slowly. Peace at last. He proceeds in the direction of your home, and when he thinks to himself that any longer and his ears might’ve begun to bleed, he’s only half joking.

In the neighborhood it’s much quieter, the only person he passes being someone walking their dog, and only a couple of cars drive past. He knocks on the door and he assumes you’re in your room and so it will take some time for you to open it, but you’re there faster than he expects. You open it just wide enough to stand in the gap, and immediately he notices the fatigue in your eyes. When you realize it’s him, they light up, and the fatigue fails to take away from the brightness of your smile as you open the door wider.

“Kusuo!”

Inside, he sees you’ve moved downstairs to the living room. That’s why you’d answered the door so quickly. There’s a pile of blankets on the couch and a tissue box on the coffee table. The television is on and playing an animation. He doesn’t recognize it, but it must be one of the new ones you mentioned wanting to watch. However, you’re not interested in it now that he's here and you grab the remote to turn down the volume.

“I thought you were going to the cafe today,” you state, head tilting.

Saiki shakes his head. Change of plans. Instead I brought the cafe to us. He holds up the bag of food and doesn’t have to tell you what’s in it. You squeal in delight that he’s come bearing treats, but the sound is a little raspy and awkward due to your sore throat. It’s still easier on Saiki’s ears than the earlier commotion he’d been surrounded with and, if he’s honest, it’s cute.

You plop down on the couch and wait as he joins you. He unties the bag and opens the box, first taking out the packaged pink mochi and handing it to you. Then he grabs his coffee jelly and the plastic spoon it came with before settling back against the cushions.

You sit cross-legged facing him and bite into your soft and squishy treat, humming delightedly. “Thanks, Kusuo.”

Saiki chews a mouthful of coffee jelly and glances at you.

You grin and hold up the mochi. “For the snack and for coming to see me.”

He shrugs because it’s no big deal. Or, well, he tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. But you know him better than that, better than most others do, and don’t brush it off so quickly. You breathe out dramatically and set a hand on your chest.

“What must I have done for Kusuo Saiki to give up his quiet time for me?” Then you giggle, and it’s punctuated at the end by a sniffle.

He tells you there would’ve been no quiet time at the cafe since the others had also decided to go, and that you’re much better company. Even when I’m sneezy? you ask him, and he chuckles. Yes, even when you’re sneezy.

His remark about coming to see you because he’d prefer to be here and not at the cafe with the rest of your friends is merely part of the truth. The rest of it is that he did genuinely want to check on you to make sure you were okay. Though to give this a voice felt like too much for someone typically so reserved in his feelings, but you understand perfectly fine as you smile softly. You’re appreciative of his actions, and it would seem Teruhashi had been right about them, for you murmur that he reminds you of the mochi you’re eating: You’re so sweet!

Grabbing your mug from the coffee table, you frown when you see it’s empty. “I ran out of tea.”

Saiki sets the spoon and now empty container back in the box then holds his hand out. You blink, momentarily confused, but when it registers what he’s doing, you give him the mug. As he stands to make his way into the kitchen, you call after him.

“Thank you!”

Having been to your house a number of times already, he knows where everything is and starts brewing a fresh cup of tea. You’ve turned the volume up on the television again, but you have to rewind to return of the spot you were at before he’d arrived. Once he comes back with a filled mug, instead of allowing it to continue to play, you pause your show.

You’d snuggled beneath the blankets and have to finagle your arms out of the multiple layers to take the mug from him. You say thanks again and blow gently at the tendrils of steam floating from it. The ceramic is warm in the palms of your hands and you sigh contentedly.

“Sorry I’m a little high maintenance today,” you apologize suddenly. “I’d make the tea myself but I just have such little energy…”

Saiki wishes you wouldn’t apologize because there’s nothing to be sorry for. So he tells you as much. Don’t apologize. Besides, he’d offered to make that tea, and if you wanted soup, he’d offer to make that too. He does understand where you come from, however. You tend to be more independent, opting to do things yourself, and you also know his propensity for being alone and needing space. As such, you’re careful not to be overbearing, and the idea of Saiki doing even little tasks like brewing you tea bothers you.

It’s endearing, the level of care you take to make sure he’s comfortable too, but when he says you’re far from high maintenance, he means it. You immediately understand what he’s implying and laugh before scooting closer and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Okay, point made,” you concede. With a small smile, Saiki grabs the remote you’d tossed down on the couch and presses play.

He would struggle to call you high maintenance on any day considering who your friends are. They’re loud and all over the place, practically bouncing off the walls. Life could hardly be tranquil when around them and their antics. It’s the total opposite of Saiki, who values calm and silence. If they were high maintenance, he was low maintenance. That’s the way he prefers to be, existing in relative quiet and as close to mediocrity as he can muster. But he can't say he’s opposed to the occasional interruption to the otherwise mundane, especially where it concerns you. You’re not to be found on one side or the other, but right in the middle, and to Saiki, you are just right.

#saiki k x reader #saiki k imagine #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki kusuo imagine #saiki k #saiki kusuo #the disastrous life of saiki k.#bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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latenightdecaf · 3 years

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Entry 6 - of light gaze and worrisome face

part of let the pile of good things grow series - series masterlist

previous entry here

Yoongi x reader

Ft. nonidol!bts

Producer!yoongi, roommate!yoongi, soft!yoongi

slow burn romance, friendship, slice of life

series of drabbles/one shots

no warnings for now

A/N: starting to get the hang of this again, it’s been a while so i’m just going where my imagination takes me. So i’ll probably be posting another one for tomorrow before the motivation leaves me. Hope you all like it.

Word count: 1,953

Pacing back and forth in the living room as you’re having this conversation with your friend and also editor, Hye Jin. Talking you out into the possibility of taking in another project that would put an indefinite pause to your own book.

“I couldn’t possibly say no, she had this whole speech on how she wanted to make this book for her baby. To read to her when she’s old enough. Words from a loving mother for her newborn child, my goodness.” You stopped and sighed. “I know, but having to accept this means also putting your book on hold, you’ve been working on that for months now—is that really something you are willing to do?” Hye Jin reminded you on the other end. You stopped on your tracks, not saying a word and just looking blankly over the view from your living room. Thinking to yourself, ‘I can’t believe it’s summer already.’

Yoongi who have just woken up and is getting himself some water in the kitchen and were just looking intently at your back not particularly eavesdropping in your conversation, but just looking. You haven’t even realized he walked in.

“I know you, you’re just running away from this. You’ve been so scared of finally publishing something that is yours and yours only. So when a small window of opportunity presents itself you immediately took the ticket to leave.” Hye Jin, your editor who has became a good friend to you throughout these years, has always been good to you—she can so easily read you, too.

“You know for someone who’s actually trying to get pregnant for months now, you don’t seem to understand her feelings. Of course, I’m just here to help.” Weak argument on your end, you know she’s right when she said that you were running away. “You’re always there to help. But what about you? You know for someone who doesn’t want to have kids. I’m surprised you’re too adamant to do this.” Her statement made you laugh. “Have you changed your mind?” She added.

“I may not want kids, but I’m not heartless.”

And those were the last phrase Yoongi heard from you as we backed to his room.

Your conversation with Hye Jin went on for a couple more minutes only to end up with some sort of a compromise.

“You’ll need minimum 3-4 months, and probably maximum 6/7 months to wrap this all up? You need to get this done more quickly. That’s my only deal.” You sighed in defeat. “I’ll try.” Ending the call and waving the white flag. You too were also not sure of what you’re getting yourself into. Is it just you running away? Or is this the small part of you feeling guilty again.

Weeks later, Yoongi’s packing up for their fishing trip that his friend, Jin insisted they would come. He felt like he has no choice but it might be good reason to go our for a change.

“Hey, I thought you said you guys were going camping? Why do you have your equipments with you… you poor corporate slave.”

He laughed at your remark. You’re still looking at his stuff all puzzled and confused by how heavy it all looks. You leaned on the kitchen counter as you watch him put his stuff out from his room.

You asked again, “Dont you think it’s a little too much? Cant you leave some stuff? Do you even have clothes in there? How bout food? Not important? Music is life?” He laughed. You’re good at making him laugh.

He finds all of your worrisome-sarcastic remarks endearing. He looked at you and said, “Look, it’s like you—you not taking your ipad everywhere you go. Or that small sketchbook you have. You draw every chance you get, you draw in the middle of lunch or while waiting for someone. And if not your ipad, you draw even on table napkins and ask the waiter for more. It’s the same for me.”

You let out a smile at his comparison.

“Okay okay, point taken mister. Point. Taken. But my ipad wont break my back—just saying.” You teasingly replied.

“Maybe i can leave some.” Looking at his bags and talking to himself as he puts some of his stuff back in his room and minutes later he’s done preparing for their camping tomorrow.

“All done?” You asked as you look over to a now somehow reduced luggage. “I’ll help you put some of it in your car.”

You carried with him some of his bags as he is the type to have everything ready before leaving.

As you walked down the stairs, just carrying the lightest possible baggage you could ever find. “You sure you have enough food in here?” Lifting the bag and shaking to hear whats inside. “I mean i know you can certainly whip anything and turn it into a meal but this looks like there’s just ramen in here.”

He finds you cute when you worry.

“We’ll do grocery tomorrow on our way, no worries.” That statement puts you at ease. You reached the ground floor and towards his car. “That sounds good. I mean—just incase the fishing thing wont work out. You know, like last time? There might be a lot of fish in the sea and then suddenly there’s none for you—i mean that in the most literal sense. Not just in women, you know—just incase.” Teasing him again and bringing up the time he went home from a fishing trip. He was so tired, they didn’t caught a single fish. And the trip was cut short and they all immediately went home. He declared then to never go with Jin again but I guess, he love that Hyung of him a lot to be packing all these for yet another fishing trip.

There’s a good sense of companionship between the two of you. The way you can always make him smile without even trying. The way you always tease him lightly. He’s known you for a while, has seen you with your friends and he knows that you’re just the warmest person—to everyone, not just to him. But it looks like something has been bothering you lately, he even offered if you wanted to go with him on their fishing trip, assuring you that Jin and Hoseok are good people and nothing bad will happen. But you respectfully declined. Not just because you don’t eat fish but because you just need some time alone. Not that Yoongi has ever been a bother to you in any way too but just alone would be nice, you thought.

Yoongi will be gone for the whole weekend and possibly be returning on Sunday afternoon. You don’t have any particular plans just work and then some more work. As soon as you’re both back into the apartment you asked, “You’re leaving tonight? At midnight?”

“Yeah around that time, why?” Yoongi confirmed.

“Nothing.”

“Are you okay?” He asked, as you stopped in front of the refrigerator to get yourself some coffee.

“Yeah, why won’t I be?”

“You do know you say that a lot.” Yoongi grabbed himself a glass and grabbed the pitcher in your hand and you just smiled. “There’s not much meat left in the fridge, couple of things are missing too. You want me to go to grocery before I leave?” Leaning in the kitchen sink and drinking your coffee. You let out a deep sigh unknowingly. “No, I’ll go. Don’t worry.” You left your empty glass onto the sink. “I’m just saying, I can go if you’re not up for it.” You shake your head to reassure him, “I don’t mind, okay? I’m going to be fine.” You walked passed him as you went to your room.

Yoongi definitely knows that something’s been bothering you for days. He doesn’t want to pry, if you don’t want to talk about it. He just keeps looking at you, just in case you want to talk—these days your mind has always been elsewhere and there’s just so much work to be done.

You wanted to say goodbye before he left but you fell asleep in the middle of the evening and woke up half past one. You went outside to check and it looks like he already left. You got yourself some water from the kitchen and there’s a post-it left in the fridge that says, “Got you some groceries, call me if there’s anything.” You opened fridge and he even refilled your ice creams. You know you couldn’t have a more thoughtful cat. Even when he went away for almost a week for work and you were dying from a sky high fever, you never really called him for anything. But he constantly reminds you that you always can.

Yoongi volunteered to drive this time for some odd reason. It’ll be an almost 2 hour drive from Seoul to Daejeon, he actually doesn’t mind driving and quiets enjoy it more than he’d ever admit. Everything is set, their fishing trip as orchestrated by his hyung, Jin and Hoseok who had no choice but to be dragged unto this trip. They’ve been his friends for the longest time, being in the same company who also works in the industry. Hoseok, a renowned choreographer and Jin, one of the company directors in his agency. He never would’ve agreed to yet another fishing trip if only Jin didn’t promised to have everything paid for and ready to go. He held Hoseok hostage though and so he has no choice but to go as well. Sleeping at the passenger’s seat they both drifted away as Yoongi drives.

They have gone to multiple fishing trips over the years, some where even overseas during their vacation and something wrong always turn out like the time they have to cut the trip short because they have been sitting in the boat for hours and they haven’t caught a single thing. The owner of the boat found it odd too.

But to Yoongi’s surprise everything’s turning out smoothly, on their second day of camping they were able to caught a lot of salmon and have it for dinner. Stuck in his own thoughts while grilling some salmon, Jin shouted. “Yoongi-ah! You’re burning it.” Immediately going back to reality, and thankfully saving the precious fish from burning. “What are you thinking about so deeply?”

“No it’s nothing, Hyung.” He replied as he kept tending to his almost burnt fish.

Once grilling is done they all gathered to have their dinner with some drinks. Soju and beer is always present and with Hoseok around to play some games. In the middle of all the silliness that is Jin and Hoseok and taking the game way too seriously for their own good. Jin asked Yoongi, “Why are you always staring at your phone?” He immediately hide it and said, “No nothing, hyung.”

“What are you thinking of again?” Knowing how Yoongi is sometimes, Jin pried as Yoongi kept looking distracted the entire trip. “Nothing, Hyung. Really.”

“Okay, it’s your turn.” Giving him his Nintendo, he eventually added “If this is about Hyuna, just let me know if you don’t want to work with her again. Maybe we can do something about it.” Yoongi let out a chuckle and drank a shot of soju. “Hyung it’s nothing really, it’s not about her either. The work is fine, we actually finished it sooner than I thought. You must have heard it already.” Jin eventually took the game from Yoongi replied, “I did, you guys were really professional about all this.”

“Of course.” Yoongi proudly replied as he sneaked a peek into his phone again. Unconsciously waiting for some call.

moodboard sr: x x x

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts scenarios #yoongi x reader #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fics #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagine #bts roommate au #roommate!yoongi #producer!yoongi

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whisperingrockers · 4 years

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would u. i dunno. perhaps articulate some thots on toh infinity train au 😳 if u can

HM. i will do my best. but...i dont really know how to organize my thoughts. i guess i should probably just start with the characters and go from there, huh. also in this particular au these characters don’t actually take the place of tulip, lake, jesse, grace, etc- i think they’re all just there under different circumstances.

Luz

okay so we’ll start with Luz because. she’s the main character, y’know. very important. i think the catalyst that brings her to the train is her mother signing her up for Reality Check summer camp because as a creative it’s just! disheartening to have someone you love tell you that you’re not going to make it in this world if you don’t conform to what everyone else wants. so of course when a huge mysterious locomotive suddenly pulls up to the bus stop you KNOW luz gets on, no hesitation. after all, isn’t that something right out of a sci-fi adventure novel?

unlike tulip, luz is THRILLED to find herself on some unknowable train where each car is a new adventure just waiting to happen, where there are always new friends to make, new places to see, and tons of puzzles to solve? she’s made to feel like the protagonist right out one of her fave animes.

also, really important to note that her number is probably tied to how she relates to the other passengers on the train. i feel like there’s an overarching theme in the show about how luz is going through a lot of firsts when it comes to interpersonal relationships, especially friendships, so i wanted to keep that going in this au- i imagine her number goes up when she finds her friends tapes and convinces them to watch with her because this is obviously the easiest and most straightforward way to get to know them! (luz poppin that bad boy into a vcr player: this mama is ready for trauma!)

realized how wordy this is going to be LOL

Eda

hough so this is a human au also (i assume? infinity train world really do be existing in some limbo state of reality where your reflection can just up and ditch you). i see her as a jack of all trades, master of none type, with a lean towards perfumes and handmade soaps that she sells at fairs or farmers markets and also pickpocketing. i think she sees something that reminds her of the life she used to have/would have had before lilith [redacted because i do not know what she DID yet but on GOD we will have canon continuity] and that drives her to get on the next train headed anywhere.

her number is tied to how much she allows herself to open up; the more she uses her salesman cover to keep others at arms length, the higher her number goes, which is why it’s so important for her to team up with King and Luz; they help her open up and be more honest with herself.

King

king is actually a denizen of the train in this au; i love him too much to turn him into a real ass dog, so i wont. eda meets him in a car full of plush toys, which he refers to lovingly as his army of the damned. i almost want to hold off on writing up any more for him because i know there’s more to king’s character than meets the eye. still torn between eda trying to bring him off the train with her or having him realize that the whole TRAIN is HIS KINGDOM, and all its passengers loyal peons who need their mighty rulers HELP, for without him they would PERISH.

for now though eda sees him and is immediately like get over here (reaching emoji)

Willow

willow is a tough one for me because in all honesty having your longtime friend tell you out of the blue that they can’t be friends with you anymore would be enough to send me packing to the train, but with willow i think it’s less about amity and more about how the fallout between them affects her social and academic success. the frustration reaches a tipping point that has her running out of the classroom and finding the train.

and yes, willow is a very sensible, bright girl, but she was also SO ready to trick the principle and steal from the emperor for her friend so i don’t think getting on a mystery train is wholly out of the question for her, y’know?

There’s a lot about repression in the way willow deals with things generally, so her number is tied to passivity. the more she allows others to infringe on her personal boundaries to keep them placated, the higher her number goes. when she stands up for herself to others (sometimes even her friends!) the number goes up. willow x agency and clear limitations is my otp

Gus

gus was actually a SUPER easy one for me we know so much about him from the episodes he’s been in; he’s an overachiever, he’s passionate about what he loves, he’s a natural showman, and he is constantly pushing himself to be the best that he can be, all the time. the hustle doesn’t STOP for gus, and i...i...(tears up)

anyways, i think the thing that draws him to the train is getting suddenly ousted from the club he formed at school. he’s young, and having everyone you had assumed were your friends turn their back on you and throw you out of the space that you CREATED FOR THEM would be shocking to anyone, but it broke gus’ heart clean in two. after he’d picked his bag and himself up off the hallway floor, he’d left the building in a daze, not even realizing as he boarded the train door that had suddenly opened up in front of him until it was too late.

i’m actually going to go so far as to say that gus would likely be the one MOST interested in the truth of the train- he’d be asking the tough questions, like what is the purpose of the train? who made it and its technology? where does it exist that it can be both at his school and also speeding across a barren desert landscape at the same time? How does it create sentient lifeforms? the train helps him discover a new passion; journalism. he finds a journal that speaks to him as a friend and advisor in one of the trains, and he takes careful note of everything that happens to and around him. by the time he meets up with willow, he’s got so many ideas and theories that the other girl would have never thought to consider until that very moment.

idk what his number relates to because he’s perfect the way he is but if i had to take a shot in the dark it probably has something to do with finding somewhere he feels he can belong, as well as being able to mourn and let go of the people he’d considered his friends before he’d gotten on the train.

sorry this is so long i just have a lot of . gus feelings.

Amity ( + Edric + Emira )

lumping these whites together

okay so nobody wants to hear me talk about blight angst there are 800 posts about blight angst, so long story short the three siblings run away, get into an argument with each other, amity ditches them for the train while they’re asleep, and the twins panic and chase after her, determined to find her because in the end they’re all they’ve got.

‘next stop: amity blight’

i think it’d be a cool journey to see the three of them going from ‘we need to be together out of necessity’ to ‘we need to be together because we love each other, and that genuine support structure will pull us through when everything else fails.’ but in order for that to happen they all have to have their own journey, so at some point edric and emira finally get into a spat and that’s enough to get edric and emira stuck on opposite ends of a retracting bridge. send that mans to the BACK of the train.

emira: my greatest fear is being stuck with edric forever emira: (gets separated from edric) emira: haha wait please say psyche

amity’s number is definitely tied to her fear of failure, of not being enough for the people she holds closest to her- in this case her siblings, and then lilith, and then luz when they finally meet. when she acts without concern for what the people around her think and when she sticks up for what she knows is right, even when the majority is against her, her number goes down.

for ed and em im...i don’t want to think about their feelings because they’re supposed to be clowns but i am forced to consider that they may be jealous of their sisters independence. also separating them means they both have to take responsibility for all their own actions and choices, which is probably pretty new for the twins.

Lilith

im out of energy actually znzzzsnsz uh. estranged sister who sees something that reminds her of the relationship she used to have and she’s not actually as over it as she thought so the train....she..hghrg

#toh #the owl house

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ccsthemovie2 · 3 years

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(I think it's a word over 500, but:)

"Speaking of Tsukishiro, how's he doing?", Eriol asks. Frying pan to fire to volcano.

"He's good," Touya says quickly, before Sakura can say anything. Yukito is not even in the ballpark of "good". Yesterday he called Touya and begged him to bike over and said it was important and when Touya showed up he was asleep, and stayed fast asleep right through to the next morning. He keeps trying to make appointments with doctors, and then falling asleep before he can call, or, when Touya calls for him, before he can make it out the door. Privately, Touya isn't sure how much good a doctor can do for him, but anything has to be better than this, right?

"Really? I'm glad to hear it." Ugh, how much has Sakura told him. Not that she doesn't have a right to talk to her friends, but, come on, would it kill her to least keep it between her and Tomoyo and the funny looking cat.

He's good, that's an obvious lie. Ruby has said Yukito could barely stand upright at school. Every inch of Touya Kinomoto is packed full of magic. Sooner or later, Eriol figures, either Sakura will be powerful enough to sustain him, or Yue will have to get over himself and just eat already. Touya can't actually do anything with his magic, so it's not like Yue, even weak as he is, will have to face much of a struggle to take it. (Aside from competition with Ruby, of course. There's something to that, right, articles and studies about animals being healthier if they need a bit of careful planning to get their food? Yes, so this works out nicely.)

Or maybe- oh, that's probably it. Yue's on to him, isn't he? He's just being stubborn as usual, figuring sooner or later Clow will appear via Eriol and save him. He can imagine how surprised, overjoyed, grateful Yue would be, if Eriol showed up and saved his life. He can imagine Yue's head resting on his neck as clearly as if he had kept Yue well-fed with magic a thousand times in his lifetime. It would be nice, in the short run, but it wouldn't be right, no. Clow is dead, and Yue needs to learn to live with that. If he knows what's good for him, he will take responsibility for his own life, and if he doesn't...

Ahh, well, maybe it's Clow's old sentimentality, maybe Eriol is just warming up to Sakura's moon guardian all on his own, but he can't bring himself around to the idea of letting Yue just die. He'd save him, if it came down to it. But, he tells himself sternly, only as an absolute last resort. He's just worrying because he misses Yue and wants to get to know him better all at once in that past-and-future way- it's worth a visit, soon. Yes, a nice little visit, and Yue will never even have to know it happened. Just to check in.

(sorry the formatting got weird when i copypasted lol!)

hiiii thanks for the ask!!!

if we talk about this convo we need to back up and talk about how it got here. this should give you some idea of how badly this needs to be under a cut for length lol.

so it all starts with the bit about how someone falling and being caught is something that happens a lot in ccs. how with eriol, it's purposeful, and with fujitaka (and i misremembered it but since found out she fell *on* him and not *caught* by him, which lolol i hope he broke a bone, but also its fine the fic's already marked canon divergent, or maybe the story gets misremembered, whatever, in any case), it's an echo of clowriol's intentional artificial-trustbuild-dangersaves but without the magic or purpose to back it up (just like fujitaka himself!), but it's a situation he quickly makes favorable to him, because it may be a blank slate but it's made of the same material.

this whole convo was part of one of the very first chunks written, but everything was going to go in a very different direction at first. (there's a lot of Cut Content from this fic, some that i just didn't like, some that wasn't connectable with the rest of the fic after it took the shape it took but might pop up somewhere else one day idk). in this particular bit i cut the later half of the conversation because i really didn't like what i'd written, but then even though the direction of the story changed the conversation was still going so it had to bounce somewhere else, so it bounced to yukito. here we are answering your ask 2 paragraphs in!

yukito, iirc in the anime, did catch her from a fall, (in the manga, which made way more sense for why she had to change her clothes and rest so much, he saved her from drowning, again iirc because who can trust a memory) and at a point where eriol still has some investment in making yuekito/sakura (ewwwww) happen, he's going to try and draw on that symbolism to nudge her in that direction, right?

so all this said, SPEAKING of yuekito. how are they doing.

bad, obviously. touya's freaking out. i imagine that part of what's stopping yukito from seeing a doctor is yue, though- he knows it wont help, and i dont think yukito has, like, person insides that will stand up to medical tests, and yue would pick up on yukito like, not wanting to be outed to the doctor as a magic construct because he, like, doesnt actually have a real heart that pulses, just a repeating heartbeat sound. doesn't for real have blood etc to test, just records of blood type (for personality reasons).

and also touya's a very like keep-ur-problems-not-everybodys-business type so hes like imagining sakura venting her fears to this weirdo and getting pissed off. but that didnt actually happen, eriol knew all on his own lolol. touya you have to say something nice should happen to sakura to make up for wrongly suspecting her now

and this bit on eriol's end is all wrong information and inaccurate conclusions and i was really worried ppl would take it at face value but i hope nobody did. in ccs we get moments where eriol wants sakura to take power, or to learn that power can be taken- his final battle with her, for example, where the answer to his light and dark puzzle is to use kero and yue's power, except that's not something she would ever Want to do or would even Occur to her to try. the power is gifted to her by kero and yue (and syaoran!) because they love her.

same concept, here- the answer to the 'yue is dying' puzzle is to eat touya's power, and he can't imagine the real reason why he won't just do that, and when he thinks about it too long it goes right to his ego- yue looovvvvesss clow, and by extension me. he wants meeeeeee to save him. he wants to neck kissy MY magic soo sooooo bad. but yue isn't considering any of that at all. he's thinking about yukito and what touya means to yukito and why that would make yukito hesitate to reach out, and that no way in hell will he just ambush his other self's crush down a dark alley and take his magic, even to save both their lives. he's a lot more selfless than clow and eriol ever realize. maybe- this is just a half formed thought right now, i dont know if im like certain about it, but- maybe they feel his devotion to clow was a form of selfishness, that he Wanted Love as a thing he could hold and own, whereas pretty much everybody else who meets him goes like YOU SELFLESS MAN YOU CANT JUST DIE FOR PPL YOU CARE ABOUT YOU GOTTA TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF TOOOO

and there’s also that bit of teacherliness intrinsic to the three of them again: im doing this to teach him a lesson. im letting ruby do her thing without telling her what’s going on to help and encourage yue, etc.

anyway, that (in terms of fic weaving itself into canon) solidifies his decision to do uhmmmm a thing that creeps me out real bad in the anime (knocking yue out to have a moment with him, and oh, ding, there's another 'you fell but i caught you' moment!). eriol loves this manner of hanging out with people, you see it later in this fic, even:

It's important to say what's in your heart to the people you want to say it to, even if you have to make sure the other person never hears it. It's important for your own emotional freedom.

he loves to spend time with people exclusively on his terms, to the point where the other party never even knew he was there, because he knocked them out, or because he was just staring creepily at the outside of sakura's house while she did homework, etc etc etc.

tldr: it's all connected, aaaaaaaaa

#ask

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hey-its-cammy · 3 years

Text

Yours Truly, Y/N

Title: Yours Truly, Y/N

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 1446

Warnings: Feelings?

Summary: Just a poem you wrote to Dean one night that he finds.

A/N: Recently I have just came back to writing and in my time that I was away, I got lost in my own mind. I wanted to drown out the world with made up fantasies in my own head that I knew, sadly they would never come true. In that epiphany moment, I have come to terms with it and seeing what the world is for the first time clearly. It is filled with hate and prejudice beyond belief but, it carries so much beauty within the madness. If you just turn off the news and take a moment or two to yourself, by yourself. You can see what I truly mean. This writing has been something that grounds me to beauty and accepting the storm that lays ahead. I know that if you are a Dean person - like myself, you have thought about these things many times when you look into those green eyes. So this writing is to Dean, from you.

The three of you grunted when you all shuffled through the large metal door of the bunker. Good hunt gone bad was honestly all you could say about it. Dean especially took the majority of the beating. Sadly you were captured and tortured for a good bit but nothing too severe, guess you could say you were lucky.

“I call the first shower.” Dean winced when he sat his duffle bag down on the map table.

“Go for it.” You shared and he was on his way down the hall to the showers. Sam however, fled to his room to get some much needed shut eye. He had been staying up all night with doing the research that you all needed to gank this SOB. You were glad that none of you were severely injured but when Dean saw what the demon had done to you, he was quiet. You knew he was probably blaming himself for you getting snagged.

It made quite the uncomfortable two hour long drive to get here, that's for sure. He wouldn’t even look at you from the rearview mirror.

You carried your things to your room that you two shared and started to unpack, prepping clothes to be washed and putting things back in their rightful places while Dean was getting clean.

Shortly after you got situated Dean came in and you gave him a signature half smile, him not returning the gesture. You furrowed your brows and huffed. “Are you going to keep giving me the silent treatment or are we going to talk about this. I'll say it again D, it’s not your fault what happened. It’s mine, I wasn’t on guard when I should have been and I paid the price.”

He sighed and turned his back to you.

“Fine.” You slammed your notebook that you were holding on the bedside table and grabbed your clothes to shower, leaving the room without another word.

Your prized notebook that you kept, it was full of stories, journal entries, poems, drawings. Anything you thought of the time to fill a page. It was honestly the only thing keeping you sane at this point with hunting. You took it with you everywhere. It was a small leather bound pocket book but it held many of your precious moments and secrets.

The leather bound book was open though, on a freshly written page. Maybe a week old or two at most. It caught Dean’s eye when he saw it, it looked to be a letter. His eyes looked to the open door and back at the book. Surly you wouldn’t come back at least for a little while longer, Dean was curious. Before he knew what he was doing he sat down on your side of the bed, picked up the little book in his large hands and his eyes drifted over the words.

Kind eyes that burn with red hot rage can only be missed once the moment is gone. The passion behind the melancholy sweet heart that weighs heavy like the weight, on your shoulders. I am but humble as you keep me, never letting my true feelings for you fully show or that they might scare you away perhaps I will never know.

Originally when I met you I took kindly to your kindness, your presence alone envelopes me like a warm blanket over a cold stone. Of course that is only a metaphor to my cold heart, or so it would seem. Nothing but your soft smile that makes my heart gleam.

For seeing you truly happy, even for a moment. I can't help but to stop and stare, afraid you wont show it. Because being happy means there is a sadness, a sadness that knows no boundaries, no race, no color, it sees what it wants and leaves you to suffer.

You drink to not feel, not think but honestly even you can't escape from the thoughts that drag you down. We are one of the same, you and I. We know what it is like to lose everything you’ve had, feeling your sanity slip through your fingers again and again, once more for good measure.

You keep me humble, the fire inside of me burns brightly when you’re around. You take my pain and my heavy thoughts away. You take away all the hurt and suffrage I have ever felt like it is rightfully yours to gain. You might not know it but you have saved my life time and time again, I'm not talking about hunts because we both know we all make simple mistakes. I've saved your ass too if we are talking in that sense of case. I mean the thought of you has saved me, saved me when I was too far gone to ask for help. You reached out your calloused, gentle hand and raised me from the darkness that we have fought together. You saved me when I thought I couldn’t be saved, once, twice, three times and many more. When I pushed away your hand, you're a stubborn man and reached out once more.

You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, always looking out for others and never yourself until things get bad. I can't explain the feeling I feel when I see you sad, it’s like I can't breathe because you are the breath in my lungs. You are the glue that holds me together. Your happiness makes me feel light as a feather. When I see that you are sad, I try everything in my care, taking care of you is something I enjoy even if you say it’s not fair.

You see yourself as someone you hate, despising your existence, like being bad is your fate. As I take your face in my hands, thumbing away the hot tears that you cry. I can't help but to cry with you, the pain like feeling that I might die. Seeing you sad hurts me beyond repair so it would seem but then you go and smile and I'm better once more.

You are not a monster, Dean Winchester. You are a man that is kind, loving and gentle. You can not make yourself up into something you simply are not to be. My love for you is unconditional, that is true. It is pure, and my heart belongs to you. I see now that you are more than what you show, the walls you have put up come crashing down to rubble, looking like dark snow. I love you, Dean Winchester. I always have, from the moment I saw you. I could say it over again, pleasure when you ask me to. When the pad of your thumb runs over my bottom lip, I utter those three words that make your heart skip. The hitch in your breath when I put my lips upon yours, sends a shiver down my spine, something I’ve learned to love, your touch feels so divine.

When I tell you I love you, I mean it wholeheartedly. When I tell you I love you, I mean it with every breath that I breathe. I can’t imagine anyone I would ever want to be with if it isn’t you. I can’t imagine being anywhere else if not in your strong arms that hold me so tight. Dean Winchester you are the light of my life, I am so glad that I met you. Falling in love with you everyday seems to only be a dream that I am afraid I might wake up soon. As I pour my heart out into these words that I write I have to end it soon but what can I say that hasn’t already been said? You mean more to me than you'll ever know, so keep your head held high king, I have more to show. Yours truly, Y/N

Wow. Was this really what you thought of him? A tear slipped down his cheek, and before he could wipe it away, your hand did it for him.

Dean looked up at you from where he sat, his eyes searching yours for anything that would make these words false but he found nothing. In a swift movement, Dean put the book to the side and pulled you down, capturing your lips with his in a sweet but needy kiss. Finally when you both pulled away, breathless, he laid his forehead against yours. “This true?” He asked softly, never above a whisper.

“Every word.” You smiled, tears threatening to fall from your eyes as well.

“I love you too.” Was all he said before he pulled you in for a kiss once more.

#dean winchester #deanxreader fluff #spn fluff #SPN #supernatural #dean x reader

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gingerest-ale · 3 years

Note

YOUR PUNK AU ART has me on the floor. Absolutely spectacular!!!!! If you want to elaborate on your artistic choices I for one would LOVE to hear it <3

THANK UUUU!!!!!!!! also again i want to give credit to thee lovely castielsweedgarden (tumblr won’t let me tag them) for the original concept, the original post is here and their tag for alt!natural posts is here all their content is SO DAMN GOOD please check it out

OK ARTISTIC CHOICES. So for some background I’m a costume designer so I actually spent a lot of time doing research for these outfits and also I pay way to much attention to detail so get ready for an infodump because im a nerd.

DEAN

ok so my headcanon for the jacket (and if u read the og post this will make more sense hgafkgsjk) is that Dean stole it from John the night he and Sam ran away and he starts to modify it and make it his own and put patches on it that would piss off John and thats why he keeps wearing it because he took this thing his dad loved and made it his own and that is the ultimate “fuck you” to John.

Dean keeps his hair in a really short crew cut because i really enjoy Dean teasing Sam about their hair being long

Sam and Dean dye their hair in motel bathrooms and Dean changes colour every other month meanwhile Sam just dyes their hair black because “i dont want to damage my hair with bleach Dean”

I had a lot of fun with the patches and most are pretty self explanatory BUT i want to draw attention to:

the handprint patch on Dean’s shoulder right above where the actual handprint is

the patch that says “i love my non binary child” is the first patch that goes on the jacket because Dean wants to support Sam and it is thee ultimate patch that would piss John off

The bee patch was a gift from Cas <3

Deans shirt is ripped from hunting but he likes the aesthetic of it

The chain around his neck is silver or iron or some other useful ghosthunting metal

also the tattoo on Dean’s hand is inspired by this one fic its so good please read it

Dean wears a bunch of jewelry and you can’t see it but he also has a bunch of tattoos

SAM

Sam wears platform boots and it makes them like 7 feet tall but its ok its what they deserve

I said this in the tags but ill say it again: Sam got the spiked choker because they were tired of getting strangled by monsters all the time and honestly i think a lot of canon!Sam’s problems could be solved if he just wore a spiked choker

Anytime Dean teases Sam about their fashion choices Sam always tells him thats its for practical reasons. The rosary? Its for making holy water in a pinch. The ripped fishnets? they’ll just get ripped anyways. The platform boots? its too intimidate monsters. The spiked choker? Its self defence Dean come on, it’s a purely tactical decision, no aesthetic reason at all.

Sam modified the sweater themself. Spent the long hours in the car embroidering an exorcism onto a cropped sweater (it didn’t use to be cropped, but a werewolf clawed into the bottom part of it and well. here we are) in pink thread and sewing some black lace onto the hem.

why yes, Sam’s skirt does have a blood splatter on it!! you would think this would get Sam some suspicious looks, but their aesthetic is so Like That that people assume its just painted on in an attempt to be edgy. People who assume this are wrong.

Sam likes wearing revealing clothing because it lets other people see how insanely strong and muscled they are and alt!Sam loves being absolutely intimidating to people.

Like. Imagine. This seven foot tall giant shows up, wearing all black and spikes and you can see their insanely muscular thighs under the fishnets and oh god why do they have so many scars you Do Not Want To Mess With Them.

to be clear I think alt!Sam is just as much a sweetheart as canon!Sam is but they dont try to make themself look smaller

CAS

The shirt Cas is wearing says “BOB the man, the myth, the legend” and it is very much based on a shirt my lovely gf has.

The reason cas is dressed Like That is because he woke Jimmy up in the middle of the night and the tshirt and sweatpants and the socks are Jimmy’s pyjamas and of course he had to grab his coat and put on his crocs shoes before leaving the house to get possessed by an angel, he’s a sensible man!!!

ok so i need to talk about the crocs because some people seem unhappy about them. Castiel does not care about human fashion standards. He does not care about how he is perceived by others. Crocs are sturdy, comfortable, practical shoes to him and thats all that matters, why are you laughing Dean? They’re waterproof!

I honestly don’t know why i drew Cas with hoop earrings it just felt right but my current headcanon is because he say Beyoncé wearing some or something.

ok trench coat doodles time!!!!! there are many of them and i wont go into all of them but here are a few noteworthy ones

the one on the top right is based off a lil doodle one of writers did for a fan I think??? I can’t remember someone please link the post ;;

dean just doodles lil bees and hearts all over the place because they make Cas happy

theres a badly drawn Leviathan on there. in case you were wondering what that is

so many games of tic tac toe were played on the trench coat. Sam always takes the circles. Sam always wins.

the big heart on the bottom right contains a doodle of the poodle Dean found hot on that one terrible episode. I’m not sorry.

I did draw an airplane with gun arms. it’s an inside joke i have with my gf. No i will not elaborate. I think that Dean drew that on there because he thought the idea was funny.

bottom left corner has cool sun wearing sunglasses because we are all kindergarteners

the SW and DW drawn on the coat are because they put their initials on the places they call home.

Thank u for your ask my apologies for writing ten million words about it please enjoy

#spn #altnatural #can u tell i have adhd

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fucker-anon · 3 years

Text

Bloody Painter Headcanons

am i gonna write about helen even tho no one cares? fUCK YEA @creepy-bi-day hope you enjoy. Im still not a writer sorry :/. also my personal hcs, its okay to disagree. Also dark themes again.

Bloody Painter

Backstory:

was born on Oct 1st, 1980, fully name Helen Otis

mother is white, father is Japanese

is an only child. Helen’s parents had a very difficult time in getting pregnant like yeeeaaars (10 ish) and they also really wanted a girl. Like in their head, they would be getting a girl. and when they did get pregnant the ultra scan did show a girl. so they were in shock when a boy popped out.

they no likely. Since helen’s mom was a teacher, they decided to raise the boy as a girl and simply homeschool them until they had to go to college, once there they could simply transition into a girl. This is how they thought trans people were so they thought they’ll do the same to get a girl (This was obliviously wrong)

so they tried to do that but mother couldn’t get the needed forms and paperwork to homeschool Helen so they had to go to school. so their parents decided the best thing to do was to make them as manly as possible in 6 months. so everything pink and girl (lots of which were comfort items like plushies, and art things) were thrown out in front of poor 6 year old Helen who didn’t understand what was happening. Helen couldn’t do art, couldn’t wear certain clothes, couldn’t say certain things. punishments weren’t physical but there was a lot of yelling.

around the 3 month before school started, their parents decided that maybe Helen should meet their grandparents (parents kept giving excuses why they couldn’t visit). everything was going swell until the grandparents on the father’s side asked why name their BOY a GIRL name. before the parents could say anything, helen said “cause im a girl?” ... yaaaa queerphobic grandparents and little helen didn’t get along. plus helen was white passing so asian grandparents blamed their mom.

parents cut contact with the grandparents, and yelled at helen a lot. (poor bby) this mental abuse continued over 3 months and caused helen to stop talking and start repressing a lot of his feeling which his parents encouraged cause “”bOYs donT hAve fEeLinGs””

in school, the parents told the teacher that there was a mix up when filling out his name and that they should call him Otis. Of course one teacher messed up and called him Helen, and then they got a lot of comments form their peers, but they learned not to say that they were a girl at this point.

helen was lightly bullied for his name, and when they tried to tell a teacher they were told to “man up :))”

and so more repressing feelings

it wasn’t until middle school where someone (a kid who they later learned was named tom), stole and planted a watch of another girl into helen’s bag. This meant helen’s bullying got a lot worse. Before it was a comment here or there, now it was physical and a lot often. this is also when he began to develop symptoms of anxiety and depression.

he slowly became friends with Tom, who was also bullied a lot. But one day Tom took Helen to the roof where Tom confessed into planting the watch. Helen was very upset, and the two started to argue when Tom slipped off the edge, Helen tried to hold on to Tom, but Tom let go of his hand. Tom dead.

there was an investigation done, and Helen wasn’t in trouble as some students and teachers said how they saw him hold onto Tom. The school was given a speech about how bullying was bad, and tried to get things back to normal. Helen’s bully did die down, tho lots of ppl tried to spread rumors about how he pushed Tom.

his parents were more upset over how this would look and not about Helen’s mental health. Helen never told them about the bulling.

When high school started, the bullies acted as if nothing happened. and on Halloween, Helen snapped and killed 5 of the main bullies. He was caught and sent to a mental hospital.

so you think that finally, Helen can get the help they need right :)). ahhah no....

so the hospital did diagnose Helen with depression and a mild case of anxiety, but basically put them on pills. the actually therapist had a very hard time getting Helen to open up. this is because the on their first session helen started with his gender identity, and the therapist told him “look you are biologically a boy, so you must be a boy :))” and when they said that sometimes he felt more comfortable when they were more fem, they was told that was wrong.

so helen shut up like a clam cause they did not feel safe with this guy

at least they learned how to somewhat manage their depression and anxiety :)

once helen turned 18 he was released, and Helen decided to be an artist and not kill. but he saw another one of his bullies and said fuck it.

slender saw and was like “i like this child. imma adopt them”

and Helen joined the mansion

Personality:

look Helen was mocked and betrayed by basically every person in their life, they don’t trust ppl

they are nice, but they don’t new people

if you’re nice they’ll be nice, if you’re mean they’ll be mean, simple

cold hearted, look if you are neutral to them and get run over by car they wont do anything. the world was shit to them, they’re shit back.

quiet. like Helen could be inches away and you still won’t hear them

buttttt if you get close (good luck) you see a passionate, kinda nerdy, very kinda touch starved, sarcastic person who just lived a shitty life.

Fun Facts:

k mans has a 6 inch dick, 7 when hard, but is thick, and stretches you out-

*cough* moving on-

bi sexual. Helen has a very hard time acknowledging romantic feelings but is down to date the girls, gays and theys. again good luck getting there but it may happen.

gender fluid Helen has come a long way and their gender identity has ranged from girl, boy, both, none and yes. They’ve settled on gender-neutral pronouns but doesn’t hate being called she/her or he/him usually. On a bad day, they can’t say the same.

Called them painter. The only ppl who can called them by their birth names are ppl who are close to them. On fem days, they like Helen. On masc days, they like Otis. Sometimes they don’t care, sometimes they just wanna be called painter. If you’re not sure and you actually care just ask, he’ll say what day it is. usually they dress accordingly, but still if you’re not sure ask, they’ll prefer it.

Speaking of clothes, the fit??? is on point???? like imagine dark academia with more blues, blacks and tans. Helen looks like the protagonist of a boarding school au.

they will wear skirt and dresses and corsets, and do they’re (slightly basic) hair and makeup.

some creeps (jeff) tried to make fun of helen for this. And when you look at Helen you dont think that they’re much of a fight. Helen’s lean and kinda thin (kid doesn’t eat a lot), but Helen did karate for year cause their dad wanted their “perfectly normal son” to do something manly and kinda close to their culture. Helen learned how to fight with a very good guard and how to be very fast but not so much strong. Wasn’t until he got out of the mental hospital did he learn about pressure points, specially those that dont need a lot pressure :) you see where this is going.

Basically Helen is that one movie character who touches a spot on someone's neck and they pass out. (this is the best i can describe it, they dont do this exactly but similar things)

also very talented at art and arty things. like annoyingly good. he’ll try wood craving and make amazing things after only learning about it an hour ago. Current draws online and does online commissions to pay for his coffee

actually likes hunting, not with gun but with like bows an arrows. they dont hunt often cause they like animals

has to finish whatever they’re working on. please force this baby into bed

has a coffee addiction

likes classical music and lofi.

dont talk about the whole painting with blood thing, they were 14, it was cringey, they know

hair is like chin length ish, its black with waves, so if they wanna be masc they can tie it up and when its fem, they can let it down and straighten it

forgets to eat, feed them

k this is long. As you can see I can also write a whole essay about Helen. I will write about Helen’s and Johnny friendship, along with the other creeps later. but im tired.

#creepypasta #helen otis #bloody painter

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factual-fantasy · 4 years

Text

Its a bit too late for that buddy.. She’s probably begun sobbing at this point..

I was into Undertale! For quite a while actually. If you scroll down far enough, you’ll find plenty of angsty skelebros content. Or you could just find the posts through my archive. :}

You know what? If you offered some magnets and some glowing stars to her, she would look cheered up and would want to take them..

But then you’d say its because she’s a hero that you’re giving them to her.

She would pause, and then retract her hand. “Thank you.. but.. I’m no hero..” She’d say. “..not anymore..”

mmm, yummy tears of anguish.

Anyway, no worries. She’ll get a hug from her hubby if he returns.. If he returns.

Aw man, the analysis you wrote is so cute! (*´∀`*)

I had fun drawing the little duckies, they look so cute on them! If only I had one for Red Van and everyone else..

And yeah, poor Escort XD His engine is very small and weak, so he’s really hauling aft to keep up with the others. Like, Suburban is, well, a Suburban. Ratchet is an Ambulance and Volvo has a turbo in his engine, all of them are way faster than his hollow little legs.

Volvo and Ratchet make a good duo don’t they? :} Their personalities are very similar and they have a lot in common. The biggest difference between them being their alt modes and their age. Volvo is pretty young compared to Ratchet. So while all of Volvos medical knowledge/training is mostly fresh in his mind, Ratchet has it engraved into his very being.

Since Ratchet is the eldest, knows this planet better than any of them, and has the most medical experience out of them all, he always takes the lead where ever they go.

And yeah! XD Suburban is HUGE ain’t he? Have you seen the height chart yet?

The black names are my Autobot OCs, the blue names are the real team prime members, and the red names are my Decepticons OCs.

But just LOOK at Suburban! He’s taller than Bulkhead! :O You can compare everyone to each other. How tiny Escort is compared to the other medics, how big, Big Blue really is, how small Red Van is compared to Suburban. How small Volvo is compared to Ratchet.

Man.. I cant imagine the discrimination their kind must face. A lot of us humans are rotten and shame each other for different skin tones. Just LOOK at the Transformers!! All completely different shapes, sizes and especially colors! Man, I don’t even want to think about it.

Anyway, yeah the comic was supposed to be really sad and focused on Red Van, but I’m glad someone pointed out the other aspects of the comic. :}

That is my guilty addiction lol. And you’re welcome!

He would be devastated for that poor man. He would be crushed on a whole another level that some poor innocent human experienced the same pain that he did.

After you told him it was just a story, he would relax a little. But boy did you get his spark rate up. He would be thankful that its just a tale.. but he’d just.. look so depressed for the rest of the day.

You just reminded him of the pain he experienced and is still experiencing.

Fuuhuhuhuhuu ψ(｀∇´)ψ I’m glad!! >:}

No but really, Suburban will be sure to give her all the hugs and kisses if he returns.

Yeah.. the traditional drawings just.. didn’t get as much love as digital ones. I wanted to be noticed more so.. I kind’a just switched over time.

Evil Stanley? Impossible! D:

But for real, sorry, in case you haven’t noticed.. I haven’t drawn Gravity Falls in a looong time and don’t really take requests from series’ I’m not into at the moment..

*winded* T H A N K S

YOU’RE WELCOME!! THATS WHY I RECOMMENDED IT!!! @parsnipit DID SUCH A GOOD JOB WRITING THAT!!

THANK YOUUU!!! I REALLY TRY MY BEST!! AND I’M SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY ART STYLE!! I TRY SO HARD!! 😭😭😭

In case you missed some or others want to read them, I managed to find some of my headcannon posts.

A sickly sweet headcannon about how Ratchet got his alt form as an ambulance.

A Ratchet headcannon that talks about how he starves himself for the betterment of his team.

Here’s a headcannon type thing about the kids sticking magnets to the Autobots.

Here’s a mini story type thing that is an extension of the magnet headcannon.

Here’s my OCs reacting to those glow in the dark star thingies if it counts.

I believe there may be more.. but those are the ones I got for now, sorry, XD..

I.., what??? I don’t know.. wait, hold on.. I found a post by an account that I wont share the name of, but it reads this:

ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT BONECRUSHER???

THIS GUY??? H-How was I supposed to know that?? D:>??

I haven’t watched the Bayverse movies in ages, and don’t remember any of the Decepticons except for Megatron himself!

Okay okay okay, wait. Back to the very first ask.

You said you wanted to send someone from Antarctica to give Suburban and Escort a hug right? But he’s a Decepticon though. Obviously he’s just going to try to kill them.. and Escort unfortunately wouldn’t be much of a challenge.. But Suburban? He’d probably decapitate him for a second time of he tried to “hug” them??

#my response #transformers #my transformer ocs

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itshesdimples · 4 years

Text

-Hello to anyone reading. This is my first time writing something and putting it out for the world to see. That being said, I would love any constructive criticism you have to give me. Thank you for any support you may give me, I cant thank you enough xoxo ~H -

I remember the day as if it were yesterday; the day you crossed the unimaginable line.

I thought we had everything, I thought I was your everything.

2 MONTHS AGO

"Hey sunshine, just calling to let you know I wont be able to make it home this time. I'm sorry, the label has me doing something that I'm not sure is a good idea but they say it will help me in the long run." He sighs at the end, I imagine him palming his forehead.

"Look, I need you to listen to me when I tell you that you are everything to me, you make me want to become the best version of myself. During the months we have been together I have seen the best and worst side of you and I'm not running, promise. I want you to be mine forever, do you hear me? Just remember that." Harry expelled.

You were a little worried, seeing as you two had been together for a little over nine months and it was extremely rewarding. The time apart has always been different to the other relationships she had been in the past but with Harry it seemed like more than she had ever received from the previous men.

As a surgical intern you work countless hours and never really get more than a few hours to yourself, so when you met Harry you really never saw it going anywhere. You were just too happy for your own good, openly expressing your life to perfect strangers and expecting them all to be accepting of who you are.

* 9 MONTHS AGO*

The hospital you worked at allotted 80 hours a work week and as hopeful as you may be feeling, there is a little voice in the back of your head telling you not to go bar hopping. "Just one drink and then water." you emphasize to your good friend Mike, the bartender.

"Vodka soda coming right up, Dr. Demanding." He chuckles. You turn around in the chair and stare at all the fellow drunks, looking for your intern comrades who should be here by now.

Although you dont find your friends, you spot a very handsome, familiar face coming toward you. Admiring the face across from you, you decide to take the first step following by the downing of your vodka soda. " You dont seem to be familiar with the very famous bar here in town so you must not be from around here," you tease, holding out your hand to shake. "I'm [Y/N]. Not to sound weird but have we met before?" You get a very bold feeling of deja vu but laugh it off. "I'm sorry, my friends are supposed to be here by now and I'm socially handicapped, sometimes I dont know when to stop talking." Now you're just rambling at the breathtaking man in front of you and feeling red in the cheeks.

"Its alright love, I sometimes feel socially handicapped around exquisite women such as yourself. Actually, that sounded like you're one of hundreds but I-- what I meant to say was that, you seem a little lonely. Can I buy you a drink?" He rambles, tugging at his jacket.

"I am only allowed one drink, I know it sounds weird but I'm on a ticking time bomb, you see this?" You pull out your pager, "any moment this thing will go off and I have to skip back to work like a dreamy little school girl but inside I am dying of starvation, need a beer and twenty hours sleep." You just keep spitting up word vomit and your face is permanently pink but you just cant stop because what if it gets quiet? Now that's when it gets awkward.

"I don't think we have ever met because I'd remember you" Harry confirms, looking you up and down your shapely body. "What do you do for a living that has you on such a tight leash?" Taking a sip of his beer, he stands up and walks next to the chair you're sitting in.

"Surgical intern, Dr. [Y/L/N] at your service, sir." You cant help but crack a little bit of the tension you have building up in your stomach while talking to him but that doesn't stop you from staring him in the eyes and trying your best to flirt.

The aura around him is too intoxicating, too much to handle without trying to add a little humor in the mix. "I like it when you call me sir, Dr. [Y/L/N] but how long have you been a doctor? I'd love to get to know you before you have to leave me." He articulates, trying to captivate her attention.

"I love my job but it has been a long winded road, it feels like years but I've only been a real doctor for a little over two months. It takes a lot out of me but that is why I'm glad I have two great friends who I can lean on. We keep each other afloat and they're also my roommates. I don't know where I would be without them." All of that poured out of my mouth before I had the chance to cork it but I couldn't help telling him something about myself that was at least surface level.

He just seems like an eerie case of the best illusion I've ever seen. I cant help but shake the feeling that I've known him all my life, like telling him the ins-and-outs of my life wouldn't be detrimental to my health.

"Now tell me something about yourself. For starters maybe your name? I've never seen you here before and I'm here all the time so I'm pretty good at knowing who is an out of towner, and I don't know how much time I have left." You're trying to get to know him and that is so unlike you. Having had boyfriends in the past, you were never the one asking the questions or wanting to get to know them more than a few dates and drinks. The longest relationship you have ever had was two months and you two went to high school together.

"Hi I'm Harry, and I don't know how much longer I get to sit next to you so please can I have your number, sunshine? I would love to take you for dinner sometime soon." Harry is going out on a whim asking for your phone number but keeps going, "From what I have gathered you are a very busy woman and I admire that, love it even. I know this sounds crazy but I feel like I know you already and I have never felt that with another person so please give me a chance, I will work around your schedule. I dont care what it--" he is stopped when your pager goes off as an emergent patient being admitted, all hands on deck you assume.

"Sunshine, huh? I like it." You wink at him and ask Mike for a pen so you can scrawl your number on a napkin and thank Harry for a very pleasant chat. It was good to know that he felt for you, as you did him after just meeting the man, and his nickname for you was adorable.

For the next two weekends you spent getting to know Harry on a personal note. He told you he loved writing music, performing and was already an amazing talent. Harry showed you his latest music and you wondered how you hadn't connected the dots sooner. You knew he was a very private person, as he told you on your first date.

(FLASHBACK)

"I'd love to get to know your friends, and see what kind of person you are. I can't wait to know you but I just want you to know that I can't have a lot of people knowing what is going on in my personal life." He sighs, you two sat down at dinner and he couldn't help but spit out what he wanted to tell you when you first met. "I don't want to sound pretentious or come off as someone who cares about his appearance to others but I have to tell you that I make music for a living and have quite the lot of fans. Screaming fans to be exact, " he chortles, asking the waiter for a bottle of wine to start off, "but I can't help but love them all. They made my career but I have to remain a private person. I adore my fans but they are very protective and I don't want our relationship to struggle because of a few of them saying unkind things." He grabs your hand and looks you in the eyes, trying to make you understand the reason for privacy.

"I've never met anyone like you Harry and I meet a lot of people on the regular. You have this way about you that draws me in and I want to get to know you. If that means that I cannot post my gushing about you on social media, so be it. I really like you and would like to know who you are." You declare, hoping he understands that he as a person means more than everyone understanding her lifestyle choices.

(END OF FLASHBACK)

Tonight was the night you knew you wanted to understand him on an even more personal level. You knew that the way you felt for him wasn't a normal crush, wasn't even a normal type of love. You knew he had the power to hurt you if he wished to do so but that was so far in the back of your mind. He meant so much to you already that it didn't matter you two were keeping your relationship a secret from most of the world, apart from a select few. It was the best date of them all, Harry cooked you and your best friends dinner so when you got off work, dinner was on the table. He was always so thoughtful of your needs and you thought it was the time to prioritize his.

"Take me to bed Harry." You whimper, "I want you."

*7 MONTHS LATER*

Things were hectic in your life but that was the way they always were but now it seemed like days stretched past 24 hours and turned into a marathon sprint that never ended.

The day Harry unmistakably broke you was the day that sleep had everything on you. Going for days on end was something you were accustomed to but after he cut you deeper than you could ever be, sleep seemed to be your only friend.

You thought you knew him better than anyone. He was your Harry, your everything, even your person maybe?

But when his decision to take his career to the next step interfered in your relationship, your life; that was the day to call it quits no matter the devastation. He may have been your soulmate but maybe, just maybe it wasn't right. The timing, the place of it all was just too much. Your life just didn't have room for much else, especially someone who was willing to hurt you unimaginably and not walk away in order to lessen the blow.

*2 WEEKS BEFORE THE INEVITABLE *

That was two hours ago and within those two hours you knew it was best to stay off your phone. You keep telling yourself to not look for anything leading you to clues about his voice mail. It wasn't like him to express his feelings over the phone, he was an in person 'declare-my-love-for-you' type of man so when you listened to it you thought it was best to stay off your phone.

Trailing off to the shower in pursuit of getting to work, you hear your phone's inescapable shrill from your bedroom and decide to opt away from contact to that thing.

As soon as you leave for work is when your heart stops, skips a few beats and then plummets into your stomach.

"Harry Styles in a relationship with Camille Rowe? That is the best thing I have heard all week. The star tells us that they met months ago and kept it a secret in order to get to know each other. We cant wait for updates on their relationship. Now on to the juic--" That's all you can hear for the rest of the day, ringing in your mind like it is an announcement on the P.A. at work for all to hear.

You knew that was the end of everything. Devastation didn't even hit the mark, it was like everything in the world was on fast forward and you were still trying to get through the commercials. Nothing made sense any more, the glass was no longer half full. It was completely drained and then smashed on the ground into a million little pieces. That was how her whole body felt, like it was just shattered on the ground, irreparable.

The damage was done and there was nothing holding you back from wailing like a siren in front of all of the patients waiting for surgery, but your best friends always had your back. Making sure you eat during lunch and taking you to the bar at the end of your shift so you can drink the bottle dry.

Just shy of a half hour sitting at the bar was when you were cut-off by Harry running into the bar rambling about how he thought they were spinning the tabloids another way.

"I thought they were going to report that we just met and were already dating, I would have never let them ruin what we had by saying I knew her while you and I were together. I told them exactly what to say! I don't even know her, we just met." He jumbles his sentences trying to get hold of his clear message.

You stand up from your seated position and start motioning for him to join you outside. Once out there, you decide what is best moving forward.

"While we were together?" You scoff, trying to be as civil as can be under your obvious exhaustion, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

"At least you said something truthful in the last two minutes you decided to interrupt my break. Yes, you and I are no longer together. Honestly we should have never started something, our careers couldn't be more opposite and honestly I cannot afford to ruin my career over someone who wants to build his on lies. So thank you for what we had but from now on I would like to move forward, away from you." You keep talking in order to get your point across, hoping that when all is said and done there will be closure on both ends.

You know that Harry does care for you but in these last twenty four hours you've learned is that maybe you can't have it all. Maybe happily-ever-afters are only for the imagination.

Maybe life throws things at you so you can overcome them but there are times like these when she wonders what the message is supposed to be?

Is there a message?

That you can have one person in your life that should be your forever but just cant fit in there?

"I know we never said it but I do love you, I think I always will but we can't make it fit. The time we spent together was great and I hope there is a lesson in there somewhere. I can only believe that closure is what we need now." She grabs on to his shoulder and goes in for a hug to end the conversation but he pulls back,"How could you think that we need closure? What we need is each other. I need you, in my life with me forever. You are always going to be the only one for me, I just know it." He grabs on to her and holds for dear life, hoping that he can convey her to stick it out for them both.

"I know what I'm feeling is selfish because I never want to hurt you but my career is part of my life and I can't run away from who I am but I want you in my life, always. I will never stop loving you." Harry pulls away and looks in her eyes with tears in his," I cannot fathom a life without my sunshine. Maybe the timing is wrong but cant we make it right?"

[Y/N] pulls away, trying to compose herself and make the most rational decision. She needs to think about her life and what she needs, not anyone else. "Harry Styles, while being with you was the best rollercoaster ride of my life, and if I could stay on forever I would do so; I have to get off. I need to pull away for the sake of my head and heart. Being with you makes me happy but when it interferes with my work, which is saving lives, I have to be on one hundred percent all the time. You have clouded my thoughts and judgement, and while being a star is part of who you are, being a doctor is me so I cannot give up who I am. Sometimes maybe love isn't enough?" By this point you can't hold back the sobs you have held in since you knew the inevitable truth and holding them back would be foolish, so you let them come.

Harry tries to grab onto you with the little strength he has left from crying and lack of sleep. "I cannot let you get away. You are my everything! I canno--" he tries to catch his breath in between the racks of his heart," please, please do not leave me [Y/N]. We can make this work. I love you and that is enough, it is enough for me. Please." Harry whispers the last part, crouching in front of you and trying to hold you to him.

"It isn't enough for the both of us Harry, and you know it." You're trying to hold back until you can be alone. All you want is to crawl in bed and become dead to the world because that's how you feel right about now. " I will always love you and maybe one day that love will be enough but right now I just don't see how that is possible Harry. I can't rationalize what is happening in our relationship and tell you that we will make it through it. The best thing to do is cut our ties before we start to resent each other." You take one last breath, looking at your friends inside the bar. You signal to them that you're leaving, and say the one thing that you know will hurt the most.

"I can't try anymore to be with you so this is my goodbye. I wish you the best Harry, I really do." In the middle of all this you had a death grip on his hands but now is the time to walk away from one of the best things to happen to you. As gut wrenching as it is, the best thing for the both of them was to move on. Worry about the time in their career when it is at the peak so as hurtful as it is, she knows that she is doing what's best.

You pull away from his grasp, looking down at him kneeling on the ground and kiss his forehead. "I love you." You whisper through tears.

All you can hear behind you is wails of sirens, drunk people cheering on the football game inside but the one thing that is the loudest is Harry's cries. As soon as you walk away you break down into a blubbering mess. Your friends catch up after you, while looking at the mess you and Harry made behind. You can hear Harry's cries of desperation and the only thing your heart is telling you to do is 'go back, go back to him' but you know it's not logical.

If it is meant to be you will make it work at a better time. Things will come together and make sense one day but not when her mind is a fuzzy mess. Maybe weeks, months or years later she will understand what it means to have love be enough. It has to mean something right?

Good byes may hurt but sometimes they are unsurpassable. Sometimes they come barreling into your life totally unexpected and ruin something you thought could be forever.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry #harry imagine #harry styles imagine #imagine #one shot #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles wattpad #harry styles watermelon sugar

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nightmaretyrantvantas · 4 years

Text

Ok guys its finally finished!!

Introducing the last two main families in my anxciet au!

Please meet the princes

The Prince family

( from left to right)

Rebecca Prince

The boys’s Mother, goes by the names Mother, Ma, and Bec-bec

Her and Diana have been married for 7 years at this point, and been together for about 10(they met and started dating on and off since high school until they got back together permanently during college)

Punk mom punk mom punk mom punk mom punk mom-

She raised roman on her own for his first year before remus was born, in which she started dating Diana again more seriously

She majored in nursing and later in sociology in college before dropping out to take care of her boys and raise them right

Shes currently going back to school for the sociology degree inbetween her current job

She works as nurse and receptionist at a doctors office in town

Shes in her mid forties current time( where roman is 22, remus is 21, and kingley is 14)

Shes a pretty tough love kinda parent, and doesnt mind rough housing with her boys when they get too out of line and rowdy( they all enjoy the playfullness of it)

But compared to Diana she is not the scary when angry parent, and she can actually be pretty lenient with the boys depending on the situation

She also tends to be the one who gives into their requests and in kingley’s case, puppy eyes, though she puts on a tough front when she does

Rebecca is such a softie for her family I just i cant she loves them so much

She makes dad jokes just to annoy and embarrass her sons, but only makes either classic dad jokes or purposely really bad ones

100% supportive of her older boys’s relationships, and loves to tease Roman about Patton all the time

She also enjoys building things, and helped build the play structure and treehouse that are in the backyard.

Shes probably the reason Remus has no filter, as she has little filter herself

Her hair is naturally honey brown but she dyed it recently to make a statement to a shitty coworker so currently her hair is purple blue and pink

Shes usually pretty reserved around anyone thats not her family, so its a bit of a shock when people see her playful and rowdy compared to her reserved, professional front

Remus prince

The middle child at 21 but hey he can (legally) drink!

Wild feral trash man no matter what, but now hes got a switchblade and two brothers hed fucking kill for( though he wont admit it about roman)

Hes dating Logan and shows a slightly softer side to him only, and hes ride or die with his boyfriend

He tried college but it didnt suit him, so he ended up dropping out and instead getting two part time jobs: one as a vet assistant and one as a bartender, both located near his current apartment

Hes been best friends with Ethen for as long as he can remember, they grew up together and he considers Ethen a brother practically, and remus would probably be in a bad place without him and Remus recognizes this

He has a love for theater and acting that he shares with his older brother Roman and was in pretty much every school performance growing up, and even majored in theater for a bit when he was in college

He also writes alot of original short horror stories

Hes an adrenaline junkie and loves doing reckless things for the fun of it( usually dragging Ethen or Logan along with him)

He doesnt have a youtube channel of his own but he pops up frequently enough on Ethen’s channel when joining him for explorations that Ethen’s subscribers know him well, and love seeing him in videos

Hes only got two filter and their names are Logan and Ethen

He wants to get a snakes as pets just as much as Ethen but Their apartment has strict rules

That did not however stop him from bringing home a in rehabilitation small fresh water turtle home from work one day, and its the only exception to the no pets rule because Remus fought tooth and nail over the fact it was part of his JOB DAMMIT HES KEPPING THE TURTLE IT NEEDS CONSTANT CARE--

ahem. anyway the turtles name is Sir snappy and he adores her

He LOVES teasing both his brothers, even if it means getting teased back he can usually take what he dishes out

usually.

He also has a drivers license but does not currently have a car as he is trying to save up to buy a motorcycle

Kingley “King” Prince

The youngest of the family!! The also the shortest!!

He goes by the nickname “ King” and has for a couple years now

Hes fourteen and hes very upbeat and cheerful!

Hes also one of Andy’s best friends( He isnt crushing on andy dont listen to remus) and theyve been friends since second grade

Did I mention that they have sleepovers as often as they can? Because they try to. Usually King, andy, and Liam are nearly glued to the hips unless they cant be

Hes got a wild imagination and lots of ideas that he loves to share and try to put out as songs, stories, drawings, etc

He has severe ADHD and takes medication to help him narrow his focus more, as well as to keep his energy levels more consistent so he wouldnt be hugely energetic in the morning and dull and falling asleep by noon. But the medication doesnt effect his creativity sometimes it even helps boost it because he can focus better on his ideas instead of getting too many ideas at once to focus on and work on

His hair has blonde highlights in the winter and looks nearly fully blonde in the summer

Hes got his mama’s caramel brown eyes and tanner skin, as apposed to his ma’s more peachy skin and green eyes

This boy loves to wrestle and roughhouse, hes got alot of energy that needs to be ran out by bedtime and what better way then wrestling his older brothers for the tv remote when they visit? Or playing games at the park or in the backyard until the sun goes down

He also loves to sing and draw, he can usually be caught humming and you can find doodles all over his homework and school assignments

He also got braces when he was 12 and he loves them and always gets new colors for them as often as he can convinces his parents to agree to

Roman Prince

The eldest brother at 22!

He works at the local theater as a theater tech and assistant director and also performs in a good chunk of the plays put on as well

He loves his job, especially when they put on musicals

He has a college degree in directing and one in music composing

Hes known his boyfriend patton since they were kids since their families are really close,

He also writes his own short plays and stories that are sometimes performed at his work!!

Oh and this boy our boy roman can cook, hes learned all his cooking from his parents and absolutely loves cooking and learning new recipes and experimenting with old recipes! He also brings extra food into work to share with his coworkers and the actors in case someone doesnt have food with them or the money to buy something( as some of the workers there are broke college students or high schools trying to get experience) He and Patton share this hobby and sometimes have playful cooking competitions in their kitchen!!

Hes got a huge dvd collection that fills tree shelves of a bookshelf in their apartment

He also holds some acting lessons to younger workers at the theater in the case someone is struggling with a role or performace

Roman is also a very smooth motherfucker in the romace department when he wants to be. Hes romantic and pays alot of to little details and goes all out for date nights, whether theyre at home dates or going out dates he tries to make it as perfect to you as possible

Also he speaks spanish and likes to sing to Patton in spanish to swoon him on a bad day

Diana Prince

The boys’s other mother! Goes by Mama, Mum, and baba

Shes in her late thirties early fourties

did I mention theyve been married for years? I did? Good good

Diana is a blunt sweetheart with a bubbly, snappy personallity and a fiery temper

Shes really good with kids and has a degree in child psychology and works as a guidance counselor at the local high school

She also helps out at their neighborhood’s church with events and sometimes helps with services as an organ player

She plays piano and has been since she was young, she can also play the guitar

She absolutely adores her family but watch out if they break a rule or get themselves into trouble she is the stern one and does not let them get out of trouble. Puppy eyes are wasted on her you do the crime you do the time and the extra chores no arguing.

That is not to say that she wont listen and hear her boys out though, its just normally after hearing them out theyre still in the wrong( pray for remus is he ever got arrested for anything cough cough the homecoming incident cough cough)

Shes been friends with Emile since high school and sees his boys almost like her own, and cares for them as such.

She speaks spanish and told Roman and the others from a young age, but Roman is the only one who kept with it strongly, Remus only uses it when he angry and King is still learning

Shes an amazing cook, on par or even better than Emile( a statement that has been yet to be confirmed)

She is also a confirmed lover of making big meals

She loves being outdoors and playing with her kids

She also enjoys doing embroidery as a relaxing hobby

And lastly introducing...

The Daniel family!!

(from left to right)

Olivia Daniels

Logan and Liam’s mom! Shes a psychology professor at the local college!

Shes been going by the name Olivia for about 16 almost 17 years now and shes never been happier!

Olivia is technically their step mother, as she joined the family after Logan and Liam were born, but very early in their lives( Logan was 10 and Liam was three)

shes in her mid thirties

Her and richard have been married for 12 years and are still going strong!!

olivia is more of a gentle soul kinda person, shes peppy and softer spoken and has a very soothing and trusting presence to her. Shes easy to make laugh and loves making people smile

She also enjoys bringing treats to her classes for her overworking students

Shes not much of a cook but she does try dammit

Looks super sweet but shes a force to be reckoned with if you fuck with her children let me tell you

She wouldve made an excellent therapist had she gone into that field, shes good at listening and offering solutions

She also paints in her spare time!! And sells her paintings at local art shows!!

Shes got the worst sweet tooth ever Richard has to hide sweets in the house

She also works at the same college Logan attends, same with his father

Shes the only blonde in the family with green eyes

Logan Daniels

Out sassy skeptic! He’s 20 years old and currently attending college with a biology major and a astrology minor!

Hes pretty reserved at first glance, being the calm and common sense to both his best friend Virgil and his boyfriend Remus

But hes such a dork when you get to know him. He could go on for hours and hours about his interests(something Remus loves listening to)

He lives in a single person dorm on campus and works in the student union as well as does tutoring sessions for high schools for extra credits

Hes been dating Remus for a good four almost five years , and they met in freshman year of high school

His dorm room is covered in various posters for astrology and bands he enjoys, as well as a few old theater posters from Remus’s old performances

He was goddamn punk during high school, and Virgil loves to bring this up to embarrass him

He likes to always wear business casual unless hes staying in, and even then sometimes he keeps to his fashion habits a little too hard

Hes a decent cook, but he doesnt refuse the offer of someone else cooking for him either( or even going out to eat now and then)

Hes a very large and firm skeptic and greatly enjoys debating with virgil different aspects of his beliefs and paranormal experiences, and functions as the one between them to reason away happenings with logic as a way to ease Virgils nerves.

But he IS willing to see his best friends side of things if he is provided solid proof.

He also makes plenty of appearances on Virgil’s channel for a variety of reasons, and his fanbase really likes him

Hes also a very protective older brother, and is not afraid to verbal destroy anyone who hurts his little brother(much to Liams angsty horror)

He does have a car that he put Remus on his insurance for, so if his boyfriend ever DID need to drive it he would without complications

Logan also does join the boys on explorations, though this is a more rare occurance as he’d rather help them edit the videos and put them out in a timely manner

Hes pretty good at managing his student budget, but he has those moments of splurging randomly for things( as we all do sometimes)

Hes got a really REALLY nice laugh that not too many people outside his inner circle have heard

His eyes are a dark blue just like his dads, and he keeps his dark brown hair messy but practical

Liam Daniels

Logan’s baby brother! Our boy is 13 years old!!

Hes andy’s other best friend, and the final link to their little trio

Hes the more stoic of the three, as he is entering his rebellious angsty teen years a couple years early.

He loves space and the ocean, and wants to be a marine biologist someday.

Hes not the best at being social, thats why hes got King as their talker and hes the snarky fighter

This boi is alot fiestier than he looks but only his friends and family know that, and he will throw down if you even just look at his loved ones the wrong way( despite his height)

He doesnt always get social cues either which makes him come off kinda rude in situations but I promise he doesnt mean it

Someone got his mothers sweet tooth but cant have too much sugar because it messes with his body too much

like when he crashes from a sugar high he crashes hard and its BAD

Hes the shortest of his friends, just barely half an inch shorter than Andy

He always looks half tired and like he needs coffee but he cant have coffee so...

he loves to read and his room is filled with so many books!!

He also has a stuffed animal collection but shush about that its a secret

Hes also a spicy food lover( at least to a point, nothing too extreme)

He likes baggier clothes because theyre more comfortable, and he prefers comfort of fashion

His eyes are a brighter blue and he keeps his hair alot neater than his brother’s

Hes also very snappy, with a comeback for almost everything

Richard Daniels

The dad!! He works as a chemistry professor at the college and a part time physics teacher at the local high school( switching days)

Hes very tall at 6′2(compared to the rest of his family)

He looks really strict but hes surprisingly laid back about alot of things( though rules and discipline are NOT one of those things)

He is in his early fourties

He took care of the boys on his own for logans first ten years and Liams three before he met Olivia

Hes got the scolding parent look and The Tone mastered and sometimes even uses both on his students to get them to behave, with wildly successful results

Hes very logical and skeptical of things “unrealistic”

Was a stressed out stick in the mud before he met his wife, as he was a new single father trying to secure tennure in a teacher job

Hes the cook in the house, and is really good at it.

hes a more silent understood supporter of his children, as he is much more reserved than his wife

But he as the biggest soft spot for her

He always tries to raise his boys with a strong balanced set of values and manners

He also can play lacrosse, and was considered the best player back in school

He doesnt have a good relationship with his family aside from his mother, so the boys have only met their grandma on that side, as he doesnt want any toxic mindsets or ideals influencing his children( especially Liam)

compared to Olivia he isnt soft spoken at all but he would rather dissolve issues with communication and clarification, not anger or violence( yeah LIAM)

He also enjoys watching documentaries and doing casual photography from time to time

And its finally done!! All for families are complete and posted!!

Im really proud of these!! Especially the prince family photo! It took me days to figure out the poses...

All art referenced is credited to @aimasup @underdog-arts and @fangirltothefullest !!

Anyway i hope you guys enjoy! And hopefully soon ill be posting some writings for this au too! And posting more drawings! Enjoy!!

Taglist

@phantommoonpeople

@sweetsweetemo

@leesacrakon

@amazable01

@starbucks-remy

@jemthebookworm

@max-is-tired

@seriously-a-dragon

@sar-kasstic

@soupspam

@strawberryjellystuff

@aimasup

@unsocialchapeau

@underdog-arts

@fangirltothefullest

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thehoneyedhufflepuff · 5 years

Note

oooo how about 5 for the kiss promts??

thanks anon! I really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope y'all like it.

prompt: Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

BAZ

My father gave me the Jag before I returned to Watford for second term.

He said he was going to give it to me anyway, as a graduation present, and that I might as well start using it. (Personally I think he just likes the idea of me having a getaway car, on the off-chance everything goes to complete shit again.) (Unlikely, with the Mage dead.) I’ve not told him how often I use it to travel down to London. To see my boyfriend. To see Simon. (I think he might suspect, anyway, but he’s not said anything.)

I’ve come down from Watford as often as I can this term; I can’t help myself. It used to be bad enough, being apart from Simon during holidays. Now that I have him, truly have him, it’s been near torture just being without him for a few weeks on end. A few days, even.

I try to give myself some credit. Try not to think of myself as weak.

I’m not weak. I’m just sick in love. And Simon needs me, besides. (Which I can barely bloody believe, sometimes.)

He has Bunce, of course, and her family. And he has me, too, in a way; we talk on the phone every night, now that the Mage’s ridiculous mobile ban’s been lifted at Watford. (I’ve been using an old mobile of mine, since the bloody numpties destroyed my other one. I’ve a mind to buy myself something nice and new for graduation.) (I don’t need something nice or new to talk to Simon. Just something that’ll let me hear his voice. Something that’ll let him hear mine. Something he can send me ridiculous YouTube videos on, not to mention all the criminally good-looking selfies he’s been wont to send these last months.) (If I didn’t know better, I’d take it as a personal attack. Here I was thinking I spent a lot of time wanking feelings away at age fifteen, sixteen. I’ve been putting my younger self to shame, but that’s alright. I’m not trying to free myself from him anymore.) (It’s better, this way. Much better.)

Come to think of it, maybe it is a personal attack. Just a more entertaining (and arousing) form of antagonism. (I do my best to give as good as I get, in any case.)

Bunce’s Hounslow neighborhood is familiar to me by now. The pull in my gut as I turn onto her street is familiar, too. It almost feels like the first time I met Simon, when the Crucible drew us together. (Fuck, I’m in deep, comparing this to the bloody Crucible. Aleister fucking Crowley.) (I was doomed from the start, really, all thanks to a fucking magickal bowl.) (I do thank it, honestly. Sometimes I wonder what school would’ve been like, if Simon and I weren’t roommates. The possibility alone terrifies me, and also I��m certain the last seven years would’ve been woefully predictable and a lot less entertaining.) (Less painful, too, I suppose, though I got what I wanted in the end. It was worth it, for that.)

I pull up to the Bunces’ house, kill the Jag’s engine. The swell that rises in my chest is pleasant and petrifying all at once, because maybe, just maybe, this is the time Simon tells me it’s all been a mistake. That’s he’s done with me.

No, I think, and I remember all the late-night phone calls, Simon asking me to talk to him until he falls asleep, all those pregnant pauses at the ends of our conversations, and me saying I love you, I love you, I love you in my head and wondering if he’s thinking the same into the silence. The way he breaks that silence with anum or a huffed laugh. The way he tells me everything, when he wants to talk—like how Bunce’s little sister thinks he’s a Pokemon, or how he’s looking into courses for uni next term, finally, or how he’s made a batch of scones for me to try on my next visit (the scones never make it that long, but that’s alright). The way he tells me nothing, when he’s a million miles away, but still insists I stay on the phone.

I undo my seatbelt. Open the door.

I'm barely out of the car when I hear him. "Baz!" he shouts, and it doesn't matter how often we talk on the phone (or don’t talk at all), because nothing can compare to the sound of him now. He's right here. And he's grinning at me, which is absolutely lovely to see. It's not often I see him smile, not since Christmas, but it's been more lately, somehow, like he's coming back. Coming back to me.

He jogs down from the front door, across the drive, and before I know it he's plowed into me, his arms flung around my neck, his invisible tail coiling down my thigh. (There's one perk of being a vampire, I suppose; at least I'm strong enough not to be bowled over.)

He does manage to knock the wind out of me, however.

"Crowley, Snow," I say, but there's no venom in it. He just huffs into my neck as I pull him closer, let myself feel the sweet, burning heat of him against me.

And then he's pulling back, almost too soon, grinning up at me crookedly, almost drunkenly. Grinning at me. Forme. The sun has kissed him golden since the last time I was here. He’s very nearly glowing, and if he wasn’t intoxicating before, well.

I've memorized his face by now—of course I have—but that doesn't keep me from trying to count the freckles scattered across his nose. Because I'm close enough,finally. Close enough to touch him. Close enough to hold him. Close enough to know that'd I'd be here for hours if I truly tried to count every mark on his tawny skin.

Snow doesn't let me get very far with the counting, anyway. No, he has better plans, apparently, because he's pushing me back against my car and pressing his lips to mine.

We've kissed, since Christmas, but not like this. It's been pecks, mostly. Deeper, sometimes, soft and slow and sweet. But it's not been this, so heavy and heady and passionate. It's not felt like Simon's chasing the taste of me, not since that last night in my room in Hampshire. I'd started thinking that I'd imagined it, and then I'd swallow my shame, because Simon's been put through something trying and terrible. We all have, really, but him most of all. I don't forget that. There's no way I could.

I think, faintly, that we're doing this in public, right in the street, where anyone could see. I don't think I've ever cared about anything less, and Simon doesn't seem the least bit bothered, either.

So I let him in. Let him kiss and lick and suck at my lips. I let him take what he likes, and when he tilts his chin against me, I open for him. I think that his tongue has no right to feel this good against mine, but also it has every right. I'd let Simon Snow take me apart right here, if he wanted, right here in the middle of this quiet Hounslow street because Crowley, I want him. I think I've never wanted anything as much as I want him right now.

I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer, flush with me, as close as I can bring him, and he gasps against my mouth before tangling one of his hands in my hair. I think for a moment—no, I know—that he wants me, too. Simon isn’t the best with saying things in words, but the way he’s pressing close, so close, and the way he’s cradling my head in the broadness of his hand, the way his other hand catches at the dip of my waist and squeezes, the way his tongue is sliding wet and hot and sweet against mine…

He’s the only person I’ve ever kissed, but I know this isn’t how you kiss someone you don’t love.

Simon Snow loves me, too, I think. It’s the only option, really, no matter how absurd it may sound. I should tell him, soon, tell him how much he means to me. Tell him that I love him, that I’ve loved him for a long time. That every time I think I can’t love him more, I prove myself wrong.

I’ll tell him, soon. But not today. Not right now. Because his mouth is killing everything I’m trying to think. (He has a way of doing that, and I don’t mind. I could never mind, not when it means I get to have Simon Snow’s lips on mine.)

All I can hear is the sound of our mouths moving together, our breaths against each other's cheeks, the quiet sighs Simon's drawing from me, and the ones I'm drawing from him—

"Oi!"

And the sound of our lips breaking apart as Simon pulls away. A rush of surprised air.

When I open my eyes, he's flushed. I'm not sure how much of that's from kissing me, and how much is due to the fact that Bunce is stood at her front door, arms crossed as she gives the two of us her best exasperated look. (She’s perfected it, I’ll give her that.)

"Hello, Bunce," I say with a raised brow and a smirk. I keep my hold on Simon's hips, give them a squeeze.

"Hello, Basil," she says. "You done groping him in the street now, or should I leave you to it?"

I glance at Simon. His cheeks are burning hotter, and he's pulled his swollen bottom lip between his teeth.

"What about it, Snow?" I say, softly. "Fancy a drive?"

His lips quirk back up into a grin, and I know what he's thinking. I'm thinking it, too, that I'd like to drive us out somewhere quiet, somewhere secluded, somewhere out of the city. Somewhere I can put the Jag in park, and push my seat back. Somewhere Simon can crawl into my lap and snog me until my mouth is sore.

"We'll be back, Bunce," I tell her. She's not so far away that I can't see her quirk an eyebrow at me. "We're going for a drive."

💛💙

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz smooch #carry on fanfiction #my fanfiction #prompts #kissy facing #ficlet #diclet?#diclet #honeyedhufflepuff mini fic #just now realizing i forgot to use that tag on half of my ficlets lol

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sincerelybluevase · 4 years

Text

Careful, Madam (Chapter Two)

A/N: The sequel to ‘Careful, Madam’. Is this self-indulgent angsty smut? Yes it is. Did I have a blast writing it? Yes indeed! Thanks to @alice1nwond3rland, @need-not and @thegirlisuedtobe for supporting me during the writing of this, and to everyone who left comments <3

Maxim did not look at me during the fancy dress party, not even once. I stood next to him for the entire evening, smiling at our guests until my jaws quivered. All the while I looked at my husband from the tail of my eye. No one would have known that something was wrong, for he held his head high, flung quips to the occasional guest, laughed. Only I saw the faint lines around his mouth and eyes, thin like gossamer, and the peculiar way he smiled, more like a twisting of the lips, a baring of the teeth, than a genuine expression of mirth.

And it was all my fault.

I felt small and desperate, sick with shame. If only he would glance at me, or find my hand and clutch it into his, then I’d know things could become all right between us again. If only I had the courage to link my arm with his and draw him away from the party into that little room that could be accessed from the hallway, where the shears and mackintoshes were kept. It would be cool there, and private, and I could tell him that my choice of costume had been wretched and vile, but not intentionally so. I could cry there, and through my tears beg his forgiveness. He might take me in his arms then, and the feel of the long, hard lines that made up his body would blot out the feel of that other one, who had bruised and pleasured me before humiliating me, who had left me sore…

But I dared not move, and Maxim never reached for me. He kept swallowing, as if something had gotten stuck in his throat and he wished to dislodge it. It harped on my nerves, that soft, sucking motion inside his throat, and for one fierce, dreadful moment, I thought how much I would like to crush the bulge of his Adam’s apple with my fist. I imagined the cartilage bending against my knuckles, the soft, wet sounds that would accompany it. The rage I felt and the satisfaction at the image of my hand compressing his throat frightened me more than my growing fear that our marriage was a failure.

I had to walk away then. I locked myself into a bathroom and threw up. The bitter bile splashing into the toilet bowl brought no relief. I went to the sink to wash my hands. I ran the tap till the water was cold and drank from it to rinse my mouth, but the taste of sick lingered. I wiped my mouth on a bit of toilet paper, then peered into the mirror. Mrs Danvers had done an impeccable job with my makeup.

Don’t think of her.

I sat down on the lip of the tub, my hands like melting ice, all wet and cold. I had a nagging little pain in the pit of my stomach that throbbed in time with my heartbeat. It was good to sit there in the soft overhead light and nurse that pain, to try and feel it to the exclusion of all else. But as I sat shivering on the hard rim of the bathtub, I could not stop feeling the soreness between my legs, or the ghost of long, lean fingers tracing patterns at the nape of my neck. I could not stop thinking, either, could not help spinning one scenario after another, until they formed a bleak tapestry in my mind big enough to smother me with.

I went back to the sink and washed my hands. The soap had a hair on it. I should tell Mrs Danvers about that. How she’d hate for Manderley standards to slip, I thought, and then I remembered what she had done, and the pain made me flinch.

I wiped my hands on my skirt. Then, I went back to the party.

…

By the time the final guests had left, I was so bone-weary I might have curled up on the carpet and slept like a dog. Instead, I dragged myself to my room and crawled into bed without bothering to change my frock for pyjamas.

Sleep would not come. Dawn had broken, but the room stayed dark. Mrs Danvers must have closed the curtains then, folding one end over the other, allowing not a single ray of light to penetrate.

I wished Maxim would come up. I had to talk to him. I lay on my side, staring at his bed. Had Mrs Danvers and I stained the sheets? Perhaps, if Maxim were to come up and crawl into bed, he would catch my scent, a whiff of something so primal it could not help but move him. That is, if Mrs Danvers had not stripped the bed and put on fresh sheets, bunching up the ones we had dirtied between her beautiful hands. No; normally the maids took care of soiled linen and bedding. They were the ones who did the laundry, scrubbing cotton and wool until they were raw-handed and red-knuckled. Unless, of course, the laundry was Rebecca’s. In that case Mrs Danvers did it. She washed her mistress’ blouses, her nightgowns, her slips. She washed her underthings, letting them soak in a bucket of water in her room before taking a bar of soap to them. She mended them, too, when they had holes in them, or stitching that had become undone, or tears from eager hands. Her father had been a tailor. That explained how she could thread her needle with such confidence, wetting the thread with her tongue, all pink and warm…

“Please,” I whispered in the dark, “please, may I stop thinking now?” But the thoughts and memories kept coming, blurring into each other until I thought I’d go mad.

Maxim’s face, tight with anger, his eyes blazing.

Mrs Danvers’ fingers hopping between the dips of my vertebrae.

A figure with a shock of dark hair around her lovely face, smiling triumphant from the shadows of the minstrel’s gallery.

I flung the sheets away from me and got to my feet. I was no Catholic, but even I knew how one ought to rid themselves of a demon that tormented them, even one as insubstantial as the monster that rode me, made up of half-truths and conjectures. You had to exorcise it.

…

I seemed to reach Rebecca’s room in no time at all. One minute I was in my dressing room, and the next I had opened the door to hers. It was dark here, too, the curtains drawn and folded by an expert hand. I fumbled for the light switch and could not find it. I remembered then that there was a lamp near the bed, and I stumbled there, my hands stretched out in front of me as if this was a game of blind man’s buff. The room smelled musty, as rooms that are not used are wont to do, yet I could not help shake the feeling that I was not alone. There was this subtle disturbance of the atmosphere, impossible to describe but sensed nonetheless. I feared that any moment someone might clasp my outstretched hand, or thump me between the shoulder blades to make me stumble. Perspiration trickled down my back.

I bumped into something hard and cried out, thrusting my arms in front of me. My hands sank down into something soft. I was half-crazed by fear then, and it took me a moment to realise I had bumped into the bed and was touching the quilted cover and the mattress underneath. I felt my way from there to the nightstand and found the lamp. I was trembling so much I did not manage to switch it on straight away. When it came on, I had to shield my eyes with my arm. After a little while, when my eyes had gotten used to the light and I was not breathing so hard anymore, I felt strong enough to walk to the dresser with its brushes, its bottles of scent and powder. I sat myself down. My reflection looked back at me. This other self was pale and wan, with uncombed hair that was sweat-darkened at the roots. I sat and looked, the lamp burning softly behind me, the blood beating in my throat.

I had heard of people entrancing themselves by looking into mirrors or, alternatively, a bowl or salver with water. I had never believed it to be possible, but after a while I began to feel quite queer. The nagging pain, that lingering nausea that I had nursed throughout the night, began to fade, and it seemed to me that I was not properly aligned with my body anymore; I was still tethered to it, but floating a little behind. My reflection began to morph and flicker, until it was no longer my own face but that of another, someone tall and lovely, with dark hair.

“You must leave,” I told her.

“Oh, but you have only just conjured me up.”

I licked my lips. They were dry and flaking. “I want you to leave me in peace. I want you to stop haunting me, to stop haunting Maxim.”

She smiled. Soft little shivers shook me. I knew now why men went off their heads around her, why Mrs Danvers would keep these rooms pristine to entomb her memory, why Maxim could not speak of her. “He does not wish me to go. He loves me.”

I gripped my seat hard and bent closer to her. “You do not understand. He’s the only one I have, and I’ll do anything to be the wife he wishes me to be.”

“But what wife would do the things you’ve done with Danny?” she whispered. “Those filthy, sordid things? What wife would want a woman between her thighs, or inside her? What wife would enjoy that?”

I felt very faint then, very weak. “No,” I said, “No!”

“You’ve let your housekeeper fuck you three months into your marriage. Do you truly think people whose marriages are a success would do such a thing?”

I tugged at a flake of skin with my teeth, tearing it away. There was pain, but not at all sharp, not as it should have been. I tasted copper. “I love Maxim,” I choked.

“If you truly loved him, you would leave. You would give him back to me, so that we can be together. You know that’s what he wants.”

I could not deny this. A sob clawed its way up my throat. The sound was oddly muted. Perhaps, I thought, I have ceased to exist. Perhaps Rebecca has conquered me at last, subsumed me, and I am the shadow and the ghost and she the woman of flesh and blood. That is why Maxim has not come to me, and why no one is looking for me; they’ve forgotten me already. Who would remember a person as insignificant, as drab and colourless as me?

She smiled at me. “You know what you have to do,” she said, and her voice was soft now, near fawning.

“Yes,” I said.

“It will be quite painless.”

“Yes.”

“It’ll be quick, not at all like the lingering death of those who drown. There’ll be the snap of your neck, and then it will all be over.”

I stood and smoothed my skirt. “You’ll look after him, won’t you? And he’ll be happy again, won’t he?”

Again that smile, like that of an angel. “Of course.”

“And… and Mrs Danvers? You’ll look after her, too?”

“Like she has looked after me.”

“That’s all right, then.” I went to the window and opened it, struggling with the sash; my hands had gone numb. A sea mist had come rolling in during the night, hiding the sun. The morning light was yellow, filthy, very muted. I licked my lips and tasted bitter salt. I peered down and found I could not see the ground. All I had to do was clamber out of the window and let myself drop, but my arms were weak and I found I could not lift myself. I leaned hard against the window seat, feeling it dig into my belly, just below the ribs. I need only lean forward, and if I bent far enough, the earth would pull me down. It would rush to meet me, and there’d be no pain. I need only…

A hand closed around my arm and yanked me back. The force of it spun me round. My hands scrabbled against black cloth smooth as water, impossible to take a proper hold of. Mrs Danvers grabbed my wrists. Her hands were cold.

It is hard to describe the shock of her touch. To be grabbed by someone when we think ourselves alone is enough to make one’s heart thump painfully; when we are entranced, any touch is almost a violation. Her grip tightened, grinding the bones in my wrist together, and I was corporeal again, no longer the shadow and the ghost I had feared myself to be.

“No!” I screamed, “No, no, no, let me go!”

“I can’t, Madam.”

“Let me go!”

“Hush, Madam, don’t shout so, or the servants will hear,” she murmured. I looked into her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen. She had a little scab on her jawline from where I had nicked her skin with my teeth the night before.

“What do you care?” I hissed. “What do you care if they hear? You hate me! And I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

Her hands quivered, and she began to cry. It was horrible; I felt her body shake, saw the sobs tear through her, yet no tears would come. “Do you think I don’t know I went too far? That it was a low trick to play, vulgar and common? But you tried to take my mistress’ place,” she moaned.

“I never did!” The pain in my belly was sharp now, like a knife scraping my insides. “I changed nothing at Manderley. I let everything go on as it had when she was still alive. I can’t ever take her place.” Those traitorous tears burned behind my eyelids. I tried to blink them away, but they would not be denied. “I can’t compare to her, to Rebecca. I know this. Everyone does; Maxim, you, Frith, they all know I’m nothing like her.” I felt so weak then I could hardly stand. I had to lean against the windowsill. Mrs Danvers must have thought I was trying to break away from her, for she increased her grip. Her hands were warming now.

“You mustn’t shout so,” she repeated.

“You played a vile trick on me, Mrs Danvers,” I went on. “You wished to hurt me, and you have.”

Mrs Danvers shook her head. She had not done up her hair properly; a little lock curled against her temple. “I wanted to hurt him, not you.”

I wished to rub my eyes, but she would not let me. “Has Mr de Winter not suffered enough?”

She began to laugh, and that was worse than her crying. The sound was raw and hollow. It made the hairs on my nape prick up. “He tried to replace her not even a year after she’d gone. He married you, an absolute child. You’re passive and immature, desperate for affection, completely dependent on him, and no one sees it.”

“But they do! I know they talk about me. They compare me to Rebecca, and they find me wanting. They all…”

“Oh, they talk about you all right. They think you seduced him and he married you because he’s a gentleman. They don’t see that he chose himself an impressionable little child-bride to obey and sate him.”

“Stop, Mrs Danvers, please stop!” I cried. “It’s not like that at all.”

“Oh, but it is. He married you, a pretty little girl, because he wants someone to play with, someone to fawn over him, someone…”

“God, Mrs Danvers,” I sobbed, the tears coming hot and fast, my face tight with it, “do you not see that he’s all I have in the whole wide world? That there’s no one else to call my own, no one who loves me? You can’t know what that feels like.”

“But I do, I…”

“I’ll take whatever love he deigns to give me, no matter how small. And it is hard, Mrs Danvers, to know that he does not love me like he loved her, that he finds me wanting whenever he thinks of me because I am second-rate and inferior and insignificant. I have so much love to give, if only people would let me. I’ve only my husband to give it to. I must love, Mrs Danvers, or else be destroyed. I must love. Let me love, let me love…”

I was raving. I knew that I was, but I could not help it. I was clutching Mrs Danvers, feeling her heat, smelling that sweet little scent of hers, and I kept begging her with that stunted little phrase, over and over again. “Let me love you, let me love you, please, let me love you…”

She put her mouth on mine. I could taste bitter tea on her tongue. Her lips were warm and wet. A shock tore through me, and I began to tremble. She tore her mouth away from mine, hugged me close to her, a hand on the back of my head. My nose was pressed against her throat. I began to kiss her there, soft, hungry kisses, reddening her skin.

“Let me love you,” I babbled.

“I will, Madam. Now hush.”

I was feeling very weak. I leaned against her. She held me close with one arm. “Careful for your hands, Madam; I’m going to close the window now,” she said, and with her free hand brought down the sash.

I was still clinging to her. I tried to open the buttons of her collar, but she drew my hands away. She guided me to the bed then and lay me down. The stale scent of azaleas rose to meet us, and with a stab of panic I thought how wrong it was for me to touch these sheets. “The mirror,” I said, clasping Mrs Danvers’ hands, “you must cover up the mirror or she’ll see, and she mustn’t.”

She kissed my forehead, her fingers lingering there for a moment as she checked my temperature. Then, she took the quilt off the bed, went to the mirror, and carefully covered it up. When she came back to me, I was so desperate for the feel of her that I drew her down with me, kissing her lean hands, her veined wrists, her cheeks and chin and nose. I pulled at the pins in her hair and down it came, thick as rope and warm. She looked younger with her hair down, more human, and I found I could imagine her as a girl after all. I twisted on top of her and we were joined again, cleaving together at the hip. She rucked up my skirt and then her own. There was a flash of red, and I saw she was wearing a scarlet slip under her black dress. She wound her legs around my waist. She wore boots that buttoned up over the ankle, their heels digging into my flesh. I saw her in my mind’s eye, sitting on the edge of her simple bed at the end of the day, working away at her boots with a button hook.

I kept kissing her. My lips felt raw, flayed, and still I could not get enough. I knew what would soothe them. The thought made me tremble.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I want to kiss you between your legs,” I confessed.

She trembled then, too. She closed her eyes, passed a hand over her face. When she opened her eyes, she pushed me off of her, and for one terrible moment I thought she’d deny me after all, and the idea of it was so terrible I had to press my hands against my belly to stop the pain there. But no, she was pulling up her skirts to the waist now, revealing her stockinged legs and then the red underwear she wore. It was trimmed with lace, very lovely. Her stockings were real silk. I had never given much thought to Mrs Danvers’ stockings, but had I been pressed, I would have said she wore scratchy, woollen affairs that were wont to give one varicose veins eventually. I would never have guessed she had an appetite for the luxurious, but then I never would have imagined us twining like lovers, either.

The skin between stocking and knickers was white. She had a puckered purple scar on the right thigh, a line the length of my finger. She drew her underwear down. The hair that grew on her mound was dark and strangely soft, very unlike the coarse, bristling hair that grew between my legs. She had trimmed it carefully. I thought of her taking her nail scissors and a hand mirror into the bathroom every other week, folded between her towel so that no one need see. She’d spread out a newspaper on the cold tiles and sit down, the mirror propped up against the wall so she could see herself. I imagined her twisting the hair around her fingers to measure it before she snipped it off. Afterwards, she’d brush the hair into a little heap with her palms, and fold the newspaper around it. She’d turn it into a little package, indistinguishable from the twists of paper the maids used to light the fires, and toss it into the hearth.

She spread her legs for me then, and her skin seemed to split, like a seam unravelling, revealing the pink, damp flesh inside. I smelled her then, that fierce, feminine scent of a woman’s desire, so very different from a man’s. It made my belly clench.

“Mrs Danvers?” I whispered.

“Yes, Madam?”

“You’ll be patient with me, won’t you?”

She worked herself up on her elbows and placed her hand against my cheek. Her palm was warm and slightly calloused. “Of course, Madam.”

I did what she had done to me the night before. I lay down on my belly, put her legs over my shoulder, and kissed her soft flesh.

She hissed.

Startled, I drew back.

“Careful, Madam,” she bade me, stroking my hair, “you must be gentle with me.”

I dared hardly touch her then, until she pressed my mouth against her more firmly. I kissed and licked and sucked as she demanded, changing my rhythm when she asked. All the while her hand was on my head, her fingers stroking my scalp in little stutters. My tongue found this hard little nub of flesh, and my little licks against it made her moan. At one point she began to flow, and the taste of her was rich and sharp, like brine, like vinegar and copper. She’s an oyster, I thought, and I’ve found the pearl inside.

Her thighs trembled against my face. When she came, I felt the twitch of muscle inside her, felt her climax shake through her. Her hips moved against me, smearing my mouth and chin. When she stilled, I crawled up against her. She tucked me under her arm. I put a hand on her chest. Her heart was beating very fast, and she was out of breath.

“Did I do well?” I asked.

She took a lock of hair that lay plastered against my cheek between her fingers and tucked it behind my ear. “Very well indeed, Madam.”

I was calmer now, and very tired. I think I might have fallen asleep, but Mrs Danvers wouldn’t let me. “I’ll run a bath for you,” she said as she wiped my face with her handkerchief. Her cheeks were flushed.

She did not take me into Rebecca’s bathroom, but into one that belonged to a guestroom. It had a claw-footed tub and a spout in the shape of a lion’s head. A pink sheet of glass had been fitted over the lightbulb, bathing the room in a soft, sweet light. Everything was spotlessly clean. I wondered how many hours of work were put into Manderley’s empty rooms, how many pairs of hands scrubbed and dusted and brushed things Maxim and I never used.

Mrs Danvers turned on the taps, placing her sensitive fingers under the stream of water to check its temperature. There was a jar of bath salts in the medicine cabinet. She plunged her dry hand in and sprinkled the grains into the tub. Soon, the water was frothing, smelling like lavender and roses.

I began to undress. My stockings were filthy, and I had torn the heel of one. Mrs Danvers came to me and helped me, her damp fingers quickly opening hooks and buttons. Despite all we had done with each other, I still felt embarrassed for her to see me in any state of undress, and stood hugging myself so she need not see my breasts. They were strangely sensitive. She placed a flat hand on my belly.

“You should try not to lose any more weight, Madam,” she said.

Perhaps she was right. My skirts tended to be too loose around the hips nowadays. My monthlies had become irregular, too.

The bath was scalding hot. I had to lower myself into the water inch by inch. It was good to sit there quietly, hugging my legs to my chest and resting my cheek on my chin, letting the water lap at me. Mrs Danvers had found a porcelain jug somewhere. She dipped it into the bath and poured the water over my neck, my shoulders, my head, shielding my eyes with her free hand. She poured a dram of shampoo in her hand and worked it into my hair. She worked quickly, deftly.

“You used to do this with Rebecca,” I said.

She paused, then filled the jug with water. “Yes, Madam, I did. Close your eyes.” She wiped some foam from my brow, then began to rinse the shampoo out of my hair.

“And what we did before? Did you do that with Rebecca, too?”

She was quiet for a long time, her hands squeezing water and shampoo from my hair. The longer the question between us remained unanswered, the bigger it seemed to grow, like a canker untreated. It pressed down on my stomach and made it hard to breathe. When she finally answered, her voice was soft and slow, not quite the dead thing it often was but not fully alive, either. “Occasionally, when she tired of her men, she’d come to me.”

“Her men?”

“She did not love Mr de Winter exclusively, not my lady, and why should she? Men used to throw themselves at her feet and worship her. It was tiresome, really, to see them sniffing at her heels like dogs. ‘As if I’m a bitch in heat, Danny,’ she used to tell me. She liked to play with them, laugh at them, but sometimes they tired her. She scorned them all, then, and she’d come to me. She had this… this device, made of India rubber, so that we could love one another as a man and a woman, so you see, we were never quite free of men after all.”

I was very tired. I leaned my temple against her arm. She had rolled up her sleeves. Her forearms were as pale as the skin on her thighs. She had a scar on the inside of her elbow, a thin, purple line.

She smoothed my hair against my scalp. “I must fetch you a clean frock, Madam, but I am loath to leave you on your own. Will you manage? I’ll only be a little while.”

“I shall be all right. Please don’t fret about me.”

She gave my arm a little squeeze, and then she was gone.

I sank back in the water, the lip of the tub digging in the tender spot where skull meets vertebrae, chewing over the things Mrs Danvers had just told me.

Rebecca had not been faithful to Maxim.

She had had other men, and she had been intimate with Mrs Danvers, too. Perhaps I was not such a beastly woman after all, then.

When Mrs Danvers came back, she brought me clean clothes as well as a little tray. It had a plate of biscuits on it, an apple, and a glass of milk. I took the glass. It felt peculiar between my pruned-up fingers. The milk smelled strongly. I took a small sip, expecting the ordinary chalky taste of milk, but it was sour, nauseating.

“You do not want it?”

“It’s gone off.”

She sniffed it, then drank. “It tastes fine to me, Madam, but if you do not want it, you don’t need to drink it down.” She gave me a biscuit, then began paring the apple with the knife. She looked up and gave me a little smile. “You must eat.”

To please her I took a bite of biscuit. I chewed on it slowly, swallowed it. My stomach roared to life. I had another biscuit, and a third, then ate the apple. Mrs Danvers washed her hands and wetted a flannel under the tap. She put her foot on the toilet bowl, hoisted up her skirts, and began to scrub between her legs. She had another line on the back of her thigh. It was an angry purple, and quite deep. Had she had an accident at some point that had left her scarred? There could be accidents that left large parts of the body intact but gouged lines in others, like falling through a window and slicing oneself on the glass, or perhaps being thrown by a horse on jagged rocks.

“It was a riding crop,” she said.

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

She followed the scar on the back of her leg with her finger. “A riding crop did this.” She went back to cleaning herself up.

I’ll never know if I would have asked her why someone had whipped her, had we only been given more time. Before I could decide to ask, the air was rent asunder with a bang that made the tepid water in the tub ripple and shiver, and then another one.

“What was that?” I asked, the biscuit in my hand squeezed into small shards.

Mrs Danvers put her foot down and smoothed her skirts over her legs. “Rockets. A ship in distress. It’s the fog. She must’ve run aground.”

#rebecca #rebecca fanfic #smutty smutty smutty #danvich

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sailynthesayaad · 4 years

Text

The Beginning Pt. 2

Part one.

“Ah dun care! Ah dun care!” Sail beat her fists in against her sisters chest, tears streaming down her cheeks, tail slapping down in against the floor of their small room. Despite the past four years passing by, Sail was still a full head shorter than her sibling. In the short time the two had been in the small city they had spent most of their time cheating and scamming other people, it was the best way to survive. Turns out the reason the city was so happy to take on two unlucky orphans was simply because a disease had infected in their stalk of food as it traveled from another small fishing village. The other village did not survive at all from the plague and was now a ghost town. The city was better managed but it still left many pairs without mates, other children without parents and Matriarchs without children to watch over or pairs to be with. The current Matriarch they were with had lost everything, became a drunk and a generally sunken, abusive male. The goal and hope was for him to have a turn around in being given the chance to look after young ones again, that unfortunately did not become the case. So it was up to Sail and Mast to get money and supplies for the house and take care of things. Mast also needed to trade for her voyage, which was proving difficult with the amount of time she had to spend taking the brunt of things from their current care taker, looking after Sail who despite her current state had become rather rebellious in her growing teenage years and seemed to enjoy stirring up quite the trouble which of course came back onto Mast. Mast sighed heavily, grabbing at her siblings wrists rather roughly and pulling them up over her head to keep her from striking further. “Sail! Enough! Ya kno’ ah got ta do dis. Our people grow weake’ an’ weake’ ‘ere an’ we dunno ‘ow other our kin are on da other A’lurs. We haf ta keep our traditions strong and our people.” A soft smile touched Masts lips as she let go of her, “So dun be sayin’ ya dun care abou’ me, when ah kno’ ya do. Ya gonna hurt someone’s feelin’s sayin’ that some day. Ya know no one gonna know ya as well as ah do, don’ let ‘em misunderstand.” Sail slowly began to calm down, sniffling back tears and snot, moving hands to rub at her eyes. “Ah dun wanna be alone. Ah dun like it.” “Then you don’t haft to be.” Came a new voice from the window of their bedroom, startling the pair of them, which caused the owner to chuckle. “Ah sorry sorry, didn’t mean ta jumps yas. Pretty nice speech there ya know eh? Ya two clearly close, and why people gotta splits such a bond eh? No no, don’t be sitting right by me.” They couldn’t tell if the person in their window was male or female, as they leaned into it, resting chin on wrapped arms as they spoke and looked over the pair with keen eyes. There was an open strange wonder to their eyes that Sail was rather curious about, as if this person had seen wonders beyond their comprehension. Sail stepped in forward, “So then..ya kno’ ‘ow ah can stay with Mast?!” Another chuckle came from the elder as they went ahead to pull themselves through the window to stand with the pair, Mast quickly going for her spear to hold it stead fast to the invaders throat. They put up their hands but didn’t seem to even flinch over it, their attention seeming focused on Sail. “Oh yeah, don’t ya going worry over that. Look i’ll be straight with yas, not ta brag, but i’m from another world-” Mast cut them off by pushing the spear in a bit more sharply, actually cutting into their skin, “That’s impossible! Dun lie!” A sudden gasp came from her, spear lowering slightly as eyes widen from the pair. The strangers blood wasn’t blue like their own, it was green. Slowly they moved to cover the wound, rubbing their hand over it and withdrew. The cut was gone, only a smear of the blood remained.”Well that’s one way of showing it a bit. But iffen ya need more proof why not come on with me?” Moving on they go out of the window they came through, with little hesitation Sail makes to follow before Mast grabs her by the arm, “No! We dun kno’ anythin’ about ‘em.” Hissing to her. Sail pulls away, “Iffen they can make it true dat i dun lose ya then ah dun care. Besides, iffen ya go what else am ah gonna do? Ah don’ got nothin’ ta lose in dis it seems ta me.” Shrugging a shoulder as she moves ahead to go out the window. Mast sighs, her sister had a point in any regard, least she couldn’t argue against it. Moving in along, she too would move out the window to follow the stranger. They would walk on in silence heading down towards a more abandoned rough part of the city, even in Sails and Masts dealings they avoided this part of the city. The entered into an abandoned storehouse, used for the colder months to store food. Within, standing in the middle, was a large metal seeming craft. A type of home or cocoon maybe? The siblings stared at in confusion, tilting their heads as they stared at it with uncertainty. This made the stranger chuckle. “Ya two truly are close.” When the pair looked in towards the stranger once more, they looked completely different. Rather then webbed toes they had hooves, their tail went from thick and scaly to thin and wired like with barbs running down it near the spine of back and curled tip end. On their back was a pair of webbed wings with dual claws in the midst top of the wings as they spread out. A pair of horns sprouted from their forehead curling up and back, spiraled into pointed steeps. One arm swept back with extended wings and the other curled forward in front of themselves, bowing forward. “Let me introduce myself, I am Sh’taria. I am a Sayaad of the Legion. We are a collective from across the universe seeking others to follow in our path, to bring about a peace like none ever known. But pretty words wont do here, why don’t i just show you?” In those yellow eyes a sparkle appeared that spoke out to Sail, the promise of a sight unknown, of expanses to be yet explored. It excited her. Heart beating in her chest as she stared wide eyed in wonder with something to knew and strange. Taking a steady step forward, toes drawing in together before they could touch back on the ground as her sister stopped her. “We don’ kno’ wha this...thing is. It’s no’ safe.” Mast spoke softly, seeming to glare over to the claimed being, Sayaad. “Iffen she wanted us dead, then we’d been dead already.” Sail spoke aloud looking over to her sister. With a small pause the elder sibling would sigh once more and withdraw her arm, moving to follow in along to see to just what this creature wanted. Sh’taria opened the hatch to her ship, lowering the door to reveal stairs and moved on ahead insider to start it up. At first the noises seemed to have dismayed the curious Chalurin younglings, but their curiosity grew and got the better of them, even Mast couldn’t help but desire to know exactly what was going on or just what this -thing- was. Once they had entered the ship, they never imagined how much their life had just changed with a door simply closing behind them. How much they would change, how much they would see and do and most of all how much regret Sail would soon live with.

#emily fiegenschuh #not my art #my writing #my oc #ic story #sayaad #world of warcraft inspired #beginngs

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