#its half past midnight and im still writing this. what is my life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deliriousgeek · 3 years

Text

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: A quiet evening meant for celebration is thrown into chaos. Y/n wills herself to play into the daunting role that comes with being Thomas Shelby’s wife, because it might be the only thing keeping her alive.

Masterlist

Tommy lowkey feels very oc so idk how to feel about that. im not good at writing suspense...its also very long. ha :,)

Warning: blood, guns, knives, fights, usual peaky blinder violence

If anyone knew Y/n Shelby, then they would know that she can’t stand seeing dead bodies. Although in her case, having that reaction would seem ironic, considering her husband was Thomas Shelby.

It was around 9pm when Y/n slipped her night robe off and lay back on her bed. Her night was just winding down and she was waiting for Thomas to get back. He said he would try to be home around midnight, and to not wait up. He and his brothers would be at the Garrison, celebrating Arthur’s return from prison and discussing what was to be done with the Jews and Italians next.

Y/n knew it would be a couple hours for Tommy to be home, so she settled onto their bed and grabbed a book off her night stand.

The room was bathed in a warm, orange and yellow light— the type of light candles can give. When she was home alone, Y/n liked to use candle light. It reminded her of a time before the war and before this gang business, when all she and Tommy had to worry about was getting enough candles to light up the dinner table.

Half an hour had passed and Y/n had gotten through a decent number of pages in her book. She felt her eyes drooping and decided it was time to call it a night. She stretched and cracked her neck before turning to place her book on the nightstand. Just as she was about to place the book down, she heard a creak downstairs.

She froze.

Tommy wasn’t supposed to be back until midnight and none of the Shelby family would come over this late without a call, that was their safety protocol.

She listened for more creaking.

After Tommy had bought their house he had insisted on replacing the creaky floor boards, but decided to keep a few. In certain spots, that could be easily avoided if one knew where to walk, the floor would still creak. It was a safety thing that Tommy and Y/n agreed would be good to have. If the floorboards downstairs still creaked after the first step, it wasn’t one of them.

Creak...creak...creak...

That wasn’t Tommy.

Y/n took in a deep breath as she put herself back into a sitting position on the bed. An intruder was in her house. At the moment, the Peaky Blinders had a lot of enemies. It could be anyone. Mostly, someone with a gun.

She listened as the person made their way upstairs. She could hear them passing Tommy’s office, and the guest bedroom. This person knew where their room was, and she could only deduce from their movement’s that they were coming for her.

Y/n was scared. She knew how to defend herself, but didn’t like doing it if she didn’t have to. Rolling her shoulders, she prepared herself for the inevitable. She’d have to fight tonight.

To be clear, Y/n Shelby wasn’t unable to fight. She was a pro at throwing knives, which she preferred to guns; much to Tommy’s dismay. She knew how to shoot a gun and could decently fare in hand to hand combat, but she was still scared. Her heart beat in her chest quickly and anxiety bubbled to the surface. A normal reaction to knowing someone broke into your house to hurt you, or worse. Y/n assumed it was the latter. However, instead of letting her fear show, she turned on her fake calmness. A trick she forced herself to learn as Thomas Shelby’s wife. The alarm that was spread across her face vanished, instead being replaced with an eerily calm facade.

There was no point in locking the door. The person knew how to get past those if he made it into their living room. She heard their steps stop at the front of her door, she raised her book to her face, pretending like she was reading.

Act calm. She told herself.

Then, the door burst open.

Back at the pub, the Shelby brothers were sitting around the table in the snug. Sharing laughs and taking on their third round of Whiskey.

“Alright boys,” Tommy began, placing his glass down and looking around the table. “We’ve had our fun, business begins now.” His content expression turned serious.

His other brothers, and cousin Michael, cleared their throats and straightened up.

“As you know, taking Arthur out of prison is a direct threat to the Sabini’s. It shows that even in London we have enough influence to get our own men out, if needed.”

The brothers nodded, and shared looks.

Tommy continued, “Getting Arthur out was our first move. Now it’s the Italian’s and the Jew’s turn but we don’t know when their next strike will be. So, from this moment on we have to be aware, alert, and ready for every—”

The door flew open.

Sir!” Out of breath, Isaiah stood with one hand on the door knob, looking at Tommy.

“Oi!” Arthur shouted. “You know better than to interrupt!”

Tommy nodded his head at Arthur, then turned to Isaiah. “What is it, lad.”

“Better be important,” John added.

“Sir, the Italians are here. My dad spotted them making their way down the lane. They got a group with guns and a car. We best hurry.” Isaiah said in a rushed voice.

With that all the Shelby men stood and placed their caps on, rushing out of the snug.

Upon noticing the urgency in which the brothers exited, the rest of the Peaky Blinders in the pub were at full alert, waiting for Tom’s next words. The crowd silenced as the brothers stood at the snug doors, facing the onlookers.

“If you aren’t a Peaky Blinder,” Tom eyed the crowd, “leave.”

Noise filled the bar again as chairs shuffled, cups were placed on tables, and the front doors opened and closed.

Tom didn’t speak again until there were only Peaky Blinders left. He pulled out his revolver and checked it, making sure there were bullets, before looking up again.

“Battle formation, men. The Italians are here.”

Then in a flurry of peaky hats and over coats, the rest of the men got into their positions. Some ran up the stairs to get the extra cases of shotguns and revolvers. Others pulled out their own handguns and checked them as well. The Shelby boys looked at each other, a silent way of saying ‘good luck’.

Once Tommy deemed every one armed, he nodded to Arthur, who shouted to move out.

The Shelbies were at the front, while everyone fell behind them in triangle formation. As they marched outside, they could see the group of Italians rounding the corner.

It was rather intimidating. An outline of men and guns on shoulders, a rather sizable group at that, illuminated by the truck headlights that followed behind. It was a sight to see.

Darby Sabini stood at the front, a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

As the groups marched towards each other and came to a stop, a man behind Thomas called out to the front. “At your command Sergeant Major.”

A hushed tone of agreement spread throughout the group.

Darby stepped forward. “Thought you could come on our turf and get away with it, aye?”

Tommy stepped forward as well, hands in his pockets. “It was meant as a friendly gesture, but I don’t think you have enough friends to know what that means.”

A small smirk made its way onto Tommy’s face as he stared Darby down.

Darby narrowed his eyes, irritated at that remark. “I’ll show you what friendly means. Now!”

A hail of gunfire began and the sound of shots being fired filled the lane. It was chaos. Bullets flew and body’s fell. Punches were thrown and blood was spread. More men jumped out of the covered truck and ran to beat down the men on the other side.

Tommy ducked and punched, kicked and shot. In the middle of punching a man in the gut he yelled, “Leave Darby for me!”

His men did just that.

Thomas fought his way to the center of the fight, where Darby had just knocked out a Peaky Blinder. Tommy aimed his gun and walked forward, aiming at Darby. The fighting on both sides ceased.

“I didn’t bring a battalion to your town.” Tommy spoke clearly, in a raised voice.

Darby aimed his gun as well. The two circled each other as men on both sides stopped to observe the interaction. They watched Tommy and Darby tread carefully, like two tentative predators waiting for their opposer to falter.

“You still showed up. That was enough.”

The two men were breathing heavily, a result from the brawls they just finished.

“What’s your purpose for being here, Sabini?” Thomas stopped pacing, his gun still firmly held up.

Darby stopped as well. An obnoxious laugh left his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Tommy didn’t move. He held a blank face, but his eyes still watched Darby with intensity.

Not waiting for a response Darby continued, “I’m reminding you that I can take away everything you have in an instant. I already put your brother in jail, which it seems wasn’t a good enough warning for you, since you stupidly had him released so quickly.”

Darby took a couple steps toward Thomas, gun raised.

“Killing me won’t do anything. I got people in place to still ruin you.” Thomas stated, his tone flat.

Darby lowered his gun, a sickly calm smile spread across his face. It was an unsettling sight that made Tommy begin to think something was off.

“Oh Tommy boy, I’m just the distraction,” Darby’s eyes noticeably darkened, “How’s your wife these days?”

Tommy’s eyes widened and his finger pulled the trigger.

Darby fell to the ground dead, a bullet was lodged in the center of his forehead.

Then like a wave, the fighting began again.

As soon as the gunshot rang, Tommy saw red. He shot, punched, kicked or swung at anyone in his way as he fought to get out of the crowd. He didn’t bother shouting an explanation to his brothers as he ran to his car.

Tommy shoved his keys into the ignition and started the car. Tommy slammed his foot on the gas as soon as the engine roared to life. The car’s lights illuminated the carnage left from the battle. The Peaky Blinders were the last ones standing, as Tommy expected, but paid no mind to. His thoughts too consumed with conjuring the hundreds of horrible possibilities he might see upon arriving home, all ending with a bloodied image of Y/n.

John and Arthur ran towards the car, causing Thomas to slam on the breaks.

“Where are you going?” John asked urgently.

“They’re going for Y/n.” Thomas hastily replied.

John and Arthur jumped on the side of the car just in time before Tommy could speed up again.

Michael and Finn watched as the older Shelby boys passed them.

“Great. So we’re left to clean up the mess.”

At the house, Y/n held her book to her face as the door burst open. She turned her head and was met with the sight of a man pointing a gun at her. His clothes were clean and he looked very young. Her eyes flitted from the gun to his shoes, then to his eyes, then back to the gun.

“On your feet.” He demanded.

“What?” Y/n feigned innocence, despite her struggle to keep calm.

The man, gun still held towards her, trudged over and ripped the book from her hands, throwing it onto the floor.

“I said on your feet!” He yelled in her face, backing away so he was a few feet from the bed.

She stared into his eyes, an impassive look on her face. Y/n looked back down at the gun.

With a purse of her lips and a shrug she stated, “I’d rather not.”

The man’s soldier esc demeanor nearly slipped at her blatant defiance of his orders. “It’s not an option lady! Get up.”

She chuckled. “Y’see, lad. I’ve been on my feet all day. Have you ever worn heels for over six hours? Rather painful you know.”

Her cocky attitude betrayed her quickly beating heart that was full of adrenaline.

In an effort to scare her, he menacingly stepped forward. “I ain’t afraid to hurt you lady, but the boss wants you alive. If you keep disobeying me, I'm allowed to use force.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh really, and who is your boss? I must thank him for not wanting me dead.”

She knew she was playing with her life, but if this boy was as inexperienced as he looked, she would get the information she needed to warn Tommy. Granted, if she got out of this situation.

“Sabini.” The man bluntly answered.

Y/n swallowed. This wasn’t good. If Sabini’s men were here and not in London, she needed to warn Thomas immediately. Her heart pumped faster than she thought possible and every nerve in her body was on the verge of trembling from fear.

“I see.” Y/n turned her head to the foot of the bed. “Well, like I said, I’d rather not get up. Matter of fact, I’d rather keep reading. So be a dear and hand me my book, would ya?” She was stalling.

“C’mon lady, stop being stubborn. You don't even got a weapon to be making these demands.” The man sneered.

Y/n slowly adjusted herself so that she scooted away from the pillows that propped her up. She straightened her legs on the bed, her left crossed over her right. Then she leaned back on her arms, purposely pushing up her chest to show off her unbinded chest. Hopefully, he’d be dumb enough to look at her distraction, and he was.

“Ah, well. It was worth a shot. I can tell that you're new to this whole— kidnapping thing. If you want to get better at it then you should learn this.” She paused before looking back at the man, “Always do research on your target.”

The young man’s brows furrowed, obviously confused.

“If you did your research, like a good little gangster,” She began as she slid her left leg up off her right, causing her silk nightgown to slowly expose her leg. The man’s eyes roamed her leg once she stopped moving, leaving her left leg in a bent position. She reached for the hem of the dress and raised it further up her left leg, stopping until it got to her mid thigh, “Then you would know, that I’m always armed.”

In a swift and well practiced motion, Y/n grabbed the sharp, throwing knife from her thigh holster, and threw. The knife landed in the man’s chest, in his heart. Looking down at the knife, the man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his back. Blood quickly formed a growing splotch of red on his shirt. Y/n quickly stood from the bed to remove the gun from the man’s hand, she then crouched over him.

She placed her hand on the knife handle, “It was a shame you didn’t do your research.” Then she pushed the knife forward, until she felt through the blade that it had really punctured his heart.

Y/n stood over the man’s body, gun in her hand, and watched the blood puddle grow. She backed away until her knees hit the bed and gave way. Letting out a shaky breath, she sat with the gun in her lap. In an attempt to avoid looking at the body laid in front of her, Y/n stared at the ceiling.

The adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of the situation dawned on her. She could have died, quite easily too. If her attacker had not been so inexperienced and if she wasn’t wanted brought back alive, she could have died. Then, she thought of her husband.

Tommy.

Had the man lying dead on her carpet opened the door and shot, Tommy would have had to come home to her dead body instead. The thought of Tommy finding her body, cold and bloody, scared her more than death. She couldn’t imagine the pain of him being alone. He would blame himself for her death. He would say he couldn’t protect her, and he would loathe himself for the rest of his life. Tears began to prick her eyes and her throat tightened. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go away and for her erratic heart beat to calm down.

She killed a man.

That’s the only thought she could process. Her emotions muddled her thinking. Never before had she used her knives to kill. She used guns, from far away. She used punches to knock people out. She used her knives to injure, but never before had she needed them to kill. She was slightly glad for the memory of Tommy coming back home from an errand, returning with the thin knife holster that he insisted she wear when he wasn’t home. She was also glad that she made it a rule for herself to never take it off unless Tommy was home with her.

Then, the silence of the house was broken again. She flinched. This time, the sound came from the front door slamming open and muffled shouts that she could only register as her name.

“Y/n! Y/n where are you?” The voice shouted.

She couldn’t pinpoint who it was, not in her boggled state of mind, but she knew it was safe. So she answered.

“In the bedroom.”

Her eyes were still shut and her head faced the ceiling when Tommy rushed in.

“Y/n.” His voice was slightly breathless as he took in the sight before him.

The room was covered in warm, candle light, giving a complete opposite tone to the tense atmosphere. His wife sat on the bed with a gun in her lap. A man, with his wife’s knife in his chest, laid dead on the ground and a puddle of blood surrounded his wound.

Y/n opened her eyes and looked at her husband. She could see the fear and worry that filled his eyes, his face in slight shock.

Thomas was relieved to see his wife unharmed, but he could see the tears that were threatening to fall. Her slumped shoulders were signs of exhaustion. The way her chest moved up and down with heavy breathes told him she was on the verge of holding herself together.

Arthur and John came bounding up the stairs next, and found their places on either side of Thomas.

Y/n’s voice came out void of emotion, but her teary eyes said it all. “One of Sabini’s men.” She stated before turning her eyes to the ceiling once more, trying to blink away tears. “Please get him out of my sight.” The growing puddle of blood made her want to throw up.

“You heard her,” Thomas said in a low tone, staring at his wife with concerned eyes. “Get rid of ‘em.” His voice was just above a whisper.

Arthur and John stepped forward, grabbing the man by his arms and lugged him out of the room. Only once the man had been removed did Thomas walk towards his wife. Only when he wrapped his arms around her did she let herself cry. She let herself sob and express how truly scared she was when the man burst into her room, and pointed a gun to her head.

Thomas held her close and kissed her head. He whispered in her ear that she was okay, and that she did what she needed to do. Holding her close, he told her he loved her, and promised to never let anything like that happen to her again.

Masterlist

well I tried

Edit: Bro this blew up in less than a day with 41 notes. Thank you♡

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sofijaeger · 3 years

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hey, it's my first time doing any request so i'm little embarrassed but i'm excited too!! i love your writing so much<33 i had this in my mind for a while

Eren's s/o kissing his palms/hands or the spots where he usually bites his hand when he's about to transform

it can be anything(like drabble/headcanons etc. i hope you get me😭) once again I LOVE YOUR WRITING SM!!

that is so frickin adorable STOP I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BRAIN🥺 you can always request things to me, i’m not sure how soon i’ll get onto them but i will try my best and i love hearing from you!

okay i’m actually really proud of this one haha! the drabble will take place during the reclaim of shiganshina arc if that’s alright, and psa i scared myself writing a certain line because i had no clue how i was going to proceed after implying a major death LMAO. i think you’ll know what line i’m taking about but don’t worry nothing happens lol.

warnings: angst... IM SORRY🥲

words: 1.1k

kissing vow ~ eren x reader

Dawn quickly rose over the well-known territory. The part of land that was whispered upon for years ever since its fall, and a place strangely familiar to all your ears and hearts even if you hadn’t traveled there yourself. After the trip into the midnight wilderness you had arrived for a mission far greater than any other, and it was clear there were no visible signs of doubt from anyone.

Except for of course, the young boy with more pressure on his chest than anyone, one you cared for very dearly who’d call almost every shot with his actions. He was frightened beyond compare, so as the last few squads stood atop Wall Maria, urgently waiting for any signal, Eren was practically pissing himself right then and there. He had returned, devised a plan with all the leading commanders in just a few days, and was now preparing to risk his life for his homeland and people. There was no moment of rest for him or any of you. Besides the constant worry of succeeding the mission this very well may be the last time any of you see each other again.

You shout out his last name, once, twice, as he was too far in his own head to hear your first call and jog to him, gripping your delicate fingers over his shoulders. In the years you’ve spent together as scouts those small releases of tension-touching had become a clear sign you wanted each other’s attention, and you both caught onto the gesture quite quickly. Eren softened his eyes in your presence to notion just how focused he was on you. His subconscious would always allow his gaze to wander to you and what you had to say, he felt calmer that way.

“I already see you getting all inside your head, I thought talking about this on the journey here would be enough for you?” you whisper, leaning your head a little closer in attempt to understand what possibly was rumbling through his mind now.

“What if we lose”

“What?”

“I can’t bear to see us all lose! If we waited a little longer, a few more days, maybe we could have advised a plan that wouldn’t risk half the corps’ lives!” He tangled his hand in his hair, gripping the shaggy strands already coming loose from the stress he overdrove himself into. Your hands soften against the thick cloth of his cape, frowning at the few tears pricking his eyelids.

“Er, you’re more than welcome to cry to me later, just not now.” you chuckle.

“How are you so sure there’ll be a later y/n.”

You mouth opens before you can process your words, watching his cheek crane over to rest on the back of your hand that still lay against his collar. Here was humanity’s savior more worried than everyone minutes before call, but that you were perfectly fine with. This side to him was all the more proof that he was human, no matter what people labeled his being as.

“How am I sure? Bold of you to question my predictions Jaeger.” you exaggerate, placing your hands on your hips in a sneer. “I’m certain i’ll come back alive, and why? Because your protecting me with ever passionate fiber in your body, just as you will everyone else. You’re fighting for our justice against these monsters, the ones with no mind or cause. You have a cause to fight Eren and you have a heart too, a damn big one if I do say so myself. It’s the reason we support you with in the entireties of our own.”

With that, you intertwine your fingers around his right thumb, softly calloused to the touch he notes time and time again, and place it in front of your mouth to kiss. His body tenses at the feeling, but his eyes widen when he realizes where exactly you’ve placed it, your trust in him, where you’ve unknowingly hinted your years of growing affection for the boy in the heap of a split second.

Over the bitten scars littered down his radial.

He looks at you in confirmation of what he thinks it meant, and smiles into those fierce doe eyes of yours. A genuine emotion he hasn’t felt in months through grieving and loss, but could so easily melt into again with you.

So yes, he held a dangerous power, but it was all his. Something his true self was a part of that no one should ever neglect, and he found all the support he needed within the soldier right before him.

“Knock em dead Ren, do your best for everyone who’s lived and who will continue to. None of us would be standing here without you, so your presence alone is precious to us...

...We all believe in you, I believe in you.”

You guide his palm to your cheek, nuzzling into its claminess. As he engraves the plush feeling of his fingertips to your skin, a green smoke signal is fired.

And even when Eren was positive not everyone could be saved, he was reminded the ones following the biggest goals in the end would persevere and care for each other just as you had for him. He was confident you’d all succeed that way.

Like Armin now does over Commander Erwin,

Or little Gabi rather than Sasha, no matter what unjust brainwashing she believes.

But him or you, who would risk their own life caring for whom they loved most?

That was one thing he never wanted to find out.

Now he slouches in a rotten, stoned cell, contemplating what could’ve changed if only he had tried a little harder, or had this all been fate from the start?

His hand resting in his lap catches his glance, peering down at the bite marks still evident across his thumb. Surely if the marks he made as a teen persisted your kiss would too.

He slowly brings his hand up, cautious of any guards mistaking the move for another transformation, and presses his lips against the same spot you had. He closes his eyes at the warmth, sensing it was still emitting from your own lingering touch years ago. Unfortunately there had been no more little kisses, subtle clues of affection from either of you ever since. He liked those hints he really did, but now he was sure you stood a few floors above him, devising a plan to put an end to his scheme rather than caring over his emotions.

Weren’t you the one who told him to keep going though?

Perhaps if he had told you his motives beforehand rather than keeping them inside. How he appreciated every act of tenderness you gave him, more than anything he’s experienced before, how all this time he’s fought on this battlefield people called the world, for you and everyone else. Maybe then you’d stay out of his way and let him succeed, but his actions had no time for feelings or explanations. The freedom he desperately searched for in the future held no care for the past.

Yet he could never lie to himself and think you didn’t love him still, even after all this time. And Eren couldn’t deny anything about his own feelings for you, it’s what kept him going.

#JUST BUSTED THIS SHIT OUT MAN FEELING PROUD #sofi drabs #eren x reader #sofi time #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #anime #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren aot #snk eren #eren x you #fanfic #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jaeger x you

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allisonlol · 3 years

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Hiii <3 how r u doing ??Hope you are fine!!Can i request some Nikolai angst pls?? :"))

a/n: i’m doing good bestie !! i hope u are too (◔◡◔) went with a scenario format for this one

warnings: some cursing, arguing, mentions of major character death. includes spoilers !!! pretty angsty but i DID make it end with some fluff bc why not

you sat alone in your apartment for the sixth night that week, curled up in an armchair with only the darkness to keep you company. the staggered sounds of your breathing was the only noise in the room; that and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. silent tears trickled down your face as you hugged your knees closer to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them. all you’d been able to do for the past six days was sit in this chair and cry; barely eating and having almost no energy to move.

it’d almost been seven days now, actually. you slowly raised your bloodshot eyes to look at the moonlit face of the clock across from you, watching as it ticked down the seconds until midnight. soon enough, the hands struck twelve and the chimes of the clock resonated throughout the room, making you wince.

it had now officially been an entire week since nikolai had died…since you’d WATCHED him die.

squeezing your eyes shut, you hugged yourself even tighter while the scene played back in your mind. you hadn’t been able to stop how he’d brutally been cut in half…the way the blood had sprayed across your face…and the scream that had been caught in your throat from the shock.

instead, all you’d been able to do was watch and hope it wasn’t real. that it was just another one of his stupid illusions that he’d always loved to tease you with. yet here you were a whole week later, still as utterly alone as you’d been the second you’d watched nikolai take his last breath and die.

you leaned your head back against the chair, taking a shaky breath. nikolai had meant the world to you, and it was still difficult to accept the reality of his death. he’d been the first person you’d ever truly loved - hell, he’d been your first EVERYTHING.

your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a rustle come from the room adjacent to the one you were in. the doorway was sheathed in darkness, making it impossible to see what was inside. figuring it was just the house settling, you leaned back again to resume wallowing in misery. that is, until you felt a pair of hands cover your eyes, and an all too familiar voice whisper into your ear…

“guess who~?”

prying the hands from your eyes, you fell off the chair in shock before scrambling towards the lamp nearest you to turn it on. now with a light source to illuminate the room, your mouth dropped open in surprise once you saw who was standing next to the chair you had formerly been sitting in.

it was none other than nikolai.

you watched in a stunned silence as he approached, leaning over you from your spot on the floor. nikolai gave you a smile, holding out a hand to help you up. “i’ve missed you, my love~” was all he said.

several seconds of absolute silence passed as you stared up at him in shock, a million thoughts running through your mind. you’d SEEN him die…how was this possible?? had it actually been one of his illusions this whole time? and if so…why hadn’t he shown up sooner instead of causing you to spiral into such a depressive episode?

a swirl of emotions coursed through you at once, and you slapped nikolai’s hand away a bit harshly. “how could you do this to me??” you asked angrily, your voice shaking. “i thought i’d watched you DIE, and then you…you just LEFT me for a week with no contact to prove otherwise-” your sentence trailed off as you fought back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes again.

surprised at your outburst, nikolai tilted his head to the side, wearing a more serious expression. “i had things to attend to afterwards, dear. consider it…flying under the radar. i was hoping you wouldn’t become like this.”

you were at a loss for words. “become like WHAT??” you said rather vehemently. “become emotional at the belief that my boyfriend had been violently killed?”

“i’m a bit offended that you think i would die so easily…” nikolai grinned. “however, a magician should never reveal his tricks so i’m glad i was able to fool you-”

“why aren’t you taking this seriously?!” you practically screamed, cutting him off. “i was so upset i could barely move! all i did was sit in that fucking chair and cry! hell, i even considered if my own life was worth living without you…”

nikolai’s eyes widened as you spoke, and for the first time you’d ever seen, he wore a genuinely shocked expression.

“please don’t leave me like that again.” you begged, your voice considerably much quieter now. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

your breathing hitched, and you rubbed the tears from your face with a shaky hand. nikolai was looking down at the floor, his eyes dark. there was silence for several seconds before he approached, kneeling down to join you on the floor.

giving you a sad smile, nikolai placed a hand on your face, brushing off a stray tear from your cheek. "i apologize for the pain i've caused you, my love..." he said softly. "i was wrong for that and didn't think things through. i would never leave you...you mean too much to me."

you became overwhelmed at the feeling of him being so close to you. was this real?

"oh god, i hope i'm not hallucinating..." you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

"nope, im as real as could be." nikolai laughed lowly, wrapping his arms around your waist and giving you a tight hug.

"im just so glad you're back," you felt fresh tears stream down your face, but these ones were from relief. you pulled back a bit, looking at nikolai apologetically. "sorry that i yelled at you too..."

"shhh, its alright. i understand." nikolai smiled, rubbing circles on your back to calm you. "something like this will never happen again..."

a/n: i feel like i suck at writing angst but oh well 😭

song i listened to while writing: cake by melanie martinez

#bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bungo stray dogs x reader #nikolai x you #nikolai headcanons #nikolai gogol #nikolai x reader #nikolai bsd

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s4ijoh · 3 years

Text

meet me halfway (across the globe). suna rintarou

SUNA RINTAROU X GN! READER

GENRE: slice of life; facetime call; fluff

WORD COUNT: 1.4k+

WARNINGS: established relationship; mentions of stress

in which suna is somewhere far away…

[10:22] rin: “you up?”

[10:23] rin: “big game tomorrow morning.”

[10:23] rin: “cant’ sleep. need to see u.”

the phone buzzing on the bedside table startles you out of your morning somnolence. the empty spot in bed next to you feels a weird type of unfamiliar. you drowsily stretch your arms out, reaching for the ringing device while dragging out a loud yawn.

you are taken aback by surprise once you take a look at the numbers displayed on your phones lock screen: 10:25am. its already past midnight in his timezone. he shouldn’t be up this late.

swiping through your phone's screen, you waste no time in dialling his number once you come across the green facetime icon and luckily, it is only a brief moment until he is picking up and oh boy are you met with a sight to behold. if it werent for your concern, you could’ve just stayed there, marvelling in awe at your boyfriend, sitting shirtless against the headboard in all his glory. his pale skin is gleaming a beautiful shade of orange under the dim light of the table lamp thus reminiscing a statue made of gold; his tousled, black feathery hair sticking in all different directions yet with just a few loose strands cascading down the sides of his temple and framing his face in such way that made him look effortlessly handsome.

he looked as beautiful as ever. however, despite the apparent picture perfect scenario, you would be a fool not to notice the clear signs of restlessness showcased on his features nonetheless.

“sorry, did i wake you?” suna apologizes tenderly with a doting frown on his face once he notices your lids still heavy with vestiges of somnolence just barely peeking from the bottom of the screen. your phone is propped up on your chest, the lower half of your face hidden away from him as you refuse to get up from your comfortable position laying under the warm blankets.

“dont worry about it, baby.” you hurriedly push his apologies aside whilst rubbing the sleep off your eyes to try and not make him feel too bad about it “you know you can call me anytime. im always waiting for you on the other end whenever you need me”

he offers you a subtle smile, although its odd — its weak, not sincere. it is not the usual signature smirk with a teasing remark on the side you earn whenever you say something cheesy. it is also hard to miss the darkening spots growing under his tired eyes, his usual sparkly green orbs now nearing dull, heavy with underlying frustration. it made it all crystal clear.

rintarou is not an outwardly emotional person and definitely not one to voice his concerns. his pleas for help were often left unspoken and it takes a sharp eye to see through his unwavering surface. for the most part, the blank expression he's seen wearing most of the time did a pretty good job at shielding his feelings yet his eyes often betrayed him.

he had taken off a couple days ago to somewhere foreign for an important match. you know how sometimes, before a decisive match takes place, he lets pressure get to that pretty head of his and relies on you to keep him grounded and soothe his racing mind. for the longest time, he had been capable of keeping his emotions at bay and deal with his troubles on his own but ever since you came around, rintarou found himself growing selfish and craving your comfort, finding solace in your reassuring words and warm embrace.

you miss the old days when your lover was just at an arm's length and all it took was for him to say the word for you to drop everything and come running to his house, to hold him in your arms and make it all feel better. you remember people in highschool claiming suna was bound to fade into the background given his lazy tendencies and lack of enthusiasm. (what a waste of potential, they would say) suna would shrug. he never payed any mind to it — you praised him on his unshakable nature. it should be a major ego boost for rintarou to know that, not that many years later and against the spiteful tongues of some of your classmates, he made a name for himself as a first division professional volleyball player, thus proving them wrong.

however, he still has quite a few demons to tame inside his head. one of which was self-doubt.

you let your eyes roam his tired features for a moment. “you need to get out of your head, rin”

suna knew you could read him like an open book. you made him feel vulnerable under your scrutinizing gaze. he felt exposed. to have you stare directly into his naked soul was intimidating, more so than to have you stare at his nude body, like you have done dozens of times before. but just like you did with his body, you had taken your time to get to know every corner of his soul. you knew him like the palm of your hand — both mind and body.

“i know.” he tears his gaze away from yours, looking down while running a hand through his disheveled hair and down to scratch his neck in frustration. “tell me how have your days been?”

the silence of his hotel room was eating him whole and he needed you to distract him. most of the time, suna was fond of the silence. after a rough day he found comfort in laying down in his bed and basking in the quiet. he found peace in it. sometimes it was in the quietness of his own little world that he found the solution to his problems. but upon your arrival to that mysterious world of his, your voice soon became his favorite sound. he craved you to fill in the silence that he once treasured.

and so he listens. suna listens as you talk throughout the night (who would’ve guessed you had just woken up), rambling on about your days as other trivial things — namely how you could never get used to starting the day without his morning cuddles. he found it endearing how you seemed to speak enough for the two of you. he was a man of few words so he was lucky to have found someone to fill in the silence for him. and so he listens until his eyes start progressively feeling heavy, your voice lulling him to sleep.

“hey, baby” he calls in a barely audible raspy voice. suna lays down on his side under the cold unwelcoming bed sheets, holding his phone next to his face on the pillow “put your pretty face on the phone”

a soft smile crawls its way up to your flushed face at his sugar coated words, his voice although drowsy sounding sweeter than saccharin. you were so lost in the lovely image of him that you failed to notice that your face was barely on the frame, just your eyes peeking shyly from the bottom of the screen.

you shuffle in bed, turning on your side to mirror his position. its almost as if you’re not a hundred miles apart and he's lying right next to you, if you squint hard enough.

“there you are” he mumbles weakly under his breath, a loving smile on his pillowy rosy lips that you miss dearly.

his eyes appear weary through the screen yet he never fails to look at you with the utmost love. dumbfounded, you wordlessly stare at each other as you fall into a comfortable silence that is however, filled with a hundred unspoken words.

his love is quiet, hesitant at times but never shallow. he felt deeply and feared he wasn't the best to put it into words so sometimes, his love, it hides beyond lingering stares and shy touches. it remained unuttered most of the time but words are futile when he has shown his devotion to you countless times before.

“hey rin. you think you can go to sleep, now?” you notice him fighting the urge to let his eyes close shut, battling to stay awake for a little longer to try and memorize your face for later so he can dream of you tonight.

he simply nods with his eyes shut, too sleepy to pronounce a single word.

“call me tomorrow after the game, alright?” he nods yet again, noticeably starting to drift away at last but not before muttering a quiet i love you before the last hint of consciousness leaves his body, eliciting a tender smile from you.

“i love you, rin. ill meet you in your dreams tonight.”

[a/n]: so! writing this fic made me realize that im undeniably in love with suna and he now owns a 51% share of my heart. (oikawa. ill never forget you. its not you its me (suna) maybe its time i move on. 🤒 jk jk ill have both pls and ty 🥰)

anyways ye i guess im back from my mini hiatus (as a full suna whore) :))

this is honestly a word dump, initially this was supposed to be like... what.. 500 words long? i just thought of the prompt “put your pretty face on the phone” and the rest is just me pouring my love for him into words ah-ha. (you probably noticed how it is unnecessarily cheesy 🙄)

just for the record!! i havent finished season 4 just yet 🐸 lmao. i took inspiration off of nooras (@/inarzki) characterization of suna because she was the one who made me fall in love with him in the first place.

#suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna fluff #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou fluff #haikyuu x reader

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boys-from-santacarla · 3 years

Note

can I request a David X Michael smut? if you're not comfortable then I totally understand :)

Notes: Ok, so first off: thank you so much for your request🤍. Second: this is my very first time writing a one shot about these boys, so I came up with this because I'm sure David's kink is to watch Michael hunt, so I tried my best. I don't know if this is what you were expecting, but I really really hope you like it 🤞🏻❤️. I accept feedback, writing advices, constructive criticism 😂, and more comments you want to let me know! I'm sorry you had to wait so much, btw, but I'm new on editing long posts on Tumblr.

Word Count: 1461

Warnings: NSFW, cursing, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, blowjob, handjobs, and basically just gay vampires.

Fast Learner (David x Michael)

They were on their way back to the cave. It had been four months since his turning, so by now the things coming with being a vampire were already accepted by Michael. But the midnight killings were still hard to get used to.

"You were good tonight, Michael." David commented interrupting his moral dilemma and sliding his arm over his shoulders. He tried to smile kindly and accepted the embrace.

"He says that 'cause he wants to get in your pants!" Paul joked from behind.

Everyone laughed and David gave him the finger, only increasing the laughs from the others.

"But he's right, Mike." Dwayne's deep voice added "You were better this time." Michael only nodded.

They quickly walked down the stairs and everyone went separate ways to get ready to catch some rest. Mike had some plans to get clean and prepare to get back home, but before he could totally get away from David's grasp, the blonde applied more force to keep him in place.

"Where you think you're going?" He asked amused.

"The sun's getting out and I still need to go home." He reminded him in an obvious tone. It was hard to maintain his normal life and keep up with his nocturnal schedule.

David's eyebrows raised up "Don't you think you'll need to look more... Normal?" He said grinning referring to his blood-soaked clothes. "Mom Emerson never told you to get clean after going out to play?" He laughed a little.

Mike decided to play clown too "So that's the only reason I'll need to delay my fly back? Get decent to go out?" He snapped back and bit his lip watching the other's mouth. David's eyes sparkled in delight. Straight to the point was his thing. So It didn't took more than three seconds to place Michael between his cold body and the wall with his hungry lips ravishing him.

He kept his fists on Michael's shirt, grinding his hips against the other boy to give his cock some needed friction.

"You really did good out there tonight. Making those pricks scream..." He whispered, lightly brushing the other's lips with his words. He stucked his tongue out and marked a wet path from jaw to cheekbone, then made a trail to the lobe and bit it. "Gave me a memorable show". He would never admit it out loud, but seeing Michael participate so vividly in their huntings always turned him on.

"I think I've learned from the best." Whispered the brunette while sliding his hands from David's waist to his ass. Then he took possession of the exposed neck with his teeth and tried to place a mark. David moaned and took hold of Michael's clothed cock to control his body and switch places. Now with him in between the wall and Mike, their kissing got rapidly messy, with both nibbling and sucking any exposed area. And Michael swore if he wasn't his new self, he would now be hot all over.

"But still you make a mess of yourself" David separated his mouth from the collarboone in mid attack and yanked the blood stained shirt. Michael knew he was right; it was normal to get back from their hunting with some blood on them, but not this much. So he put some inches of separation between them to lift his shirt and tossed it aside.

"Better this way?" He asked smirking.

"Yeah." David breathed taking in sight the defined pecs and strong abdomen. Wasting no more time he took hold of Michael's right hand and pulled it to his bulge. "Your technique at sucking still needs improvement tho."

"And you're volunteering to let me practice?" Mike replied almost in awe.

"Always"

Michael have him one last hot kiss, roughly biting his mate's lower lip at the end, and began his way down. His cold hands roamed David's belly underneath his shirt, sensually caressing his abdomen. The only thing the newly turned vampire hated about giving David head was the struggle with so many layers of clothes.

"Why don't you ever take this fucking coat off anyway? You're too cold?" Michael grumbled half joking, never taking his hands off.

"You're testing your luck, you know that?" If he was someone else, he would definitely be far gone by now, David thought.

But at least he was doing a great job.

Settling on his knees, he got to his target. He pressed his face to the already fat bulge and wetly kissed the thick layer of fabric. Then he slowly unzipped it and took it out of its confines, earning a low moan and two hands starting to stroke his soft curls.

Before going any further he looked up and saw David's head leaned on the wall with his eyes half closed. He grinned in contentment, feeling a mix of amusement, excitement and happiness realizing the power he had over this creature in vulnerable moments like this.

He took in one hand the cock before him and David inahled a sharp breath when it was softly squeezed at the base. This was followed by a leisure lick from the bottom to the top. As if savouring it for the first time, Michael gave it a couple of more tastes to then take the crown in his mouth, smacking his lips when he pull it out.

"Fuck, Michael" David breathed.

"That can come later" Mike answered and resumed his work putting the crown in his mouth again, this time giving it shelter a few more seconds before taking it deeper in his mouth. To cover the part left behind he moved his hand to massage it in rhythm with his mouth, and with the other hand he fondle his balls to gently roll and weigh them.

David kept moaning in appreciation, putting some pressure on Mike's skull and tugging at some strands to keep control of the pace, bobbing the head at his pleasure.

Without any more control in himself, David cradled the head with his palms pressing both cheeks and began to frantically fuck Michael's mouth.

"Shit. I love you can handle this" he praised while moving his thump to open more the wet cavity. His panting went wild as well as his movements, causing Michael to give up and just relax his throat to take as much as David gave him.

"Michael you keep it like that and I'm coming soon." David said and then stopped his fucking. He whined and pulled out dripping cock. "Get up" he ordered. Michael obligued and tried to gain some balance putting his hands on David's waist.

"You got big hands, babe." David mentioned "Why don't you work them on us." He commanded unbuckling Michael's jeans while Mike himself spitted on his palm to add slickness. When Michael's dick sprung free, he brought their hardnesses together. The touch made them both gasp, but in search for more Mike took both cocks more firmly in his right hand and changed his angle a bit to fit them correctly in the grasp.

Both moaned feeling their swelled dicks move together, and David said, controlling his tone to not sound pleading "Move."

And Michael began the strokes. At first he struggled to keep both cocks in his hand, so he adjusted his fingers to handle them better and began to catch velocity.

Michael started to feel dizzy with pleasure. With the adrenaline from the hunting still flowing through his veins, the sexual act felt even more powerful. So he put his head on David shoulders and moaned louder. "Damnit." He squeezed harder on their cocks.

"Yes. Yes. Just like that, babe." David panted in his ear. He then took hold of his neck with one hand and licked the other to lubricate it before moving it down to help make a better hold on themselves. They both began trusting in matched tempo, seeking their mutual release. They keep thrusting as brutally as they could.

Moments past before Michael whined, signaling his closeness "Oh, god. God, Im gonna come! I'm gonna-" he groaned and lost control of himself, spurting his load, getting both their hands and bellies sticky. The excitement making his body loose made his fangs come out, biting David's shoulder while spasming.

With Michael's hand reflexing involuntarily, and David's hand milking the last of him with hard strokes, David came too, sighing satisfied with relief. After a few recovering moments he noticed Michael's hand had fallen, breaking the contact on the now resting organs, but still felt the fangs cutting through his rough skin. Albeit not hurt, he protested the injury trying to catch his lover's attention clearing his throat. When Michael didn't respond, he tried again taking a deep breath and speaking "I still need to teach you to control those." He then smiled

Michael chuckled.

#the lost boys oneshot #the lost boys imagine #the lost boys michael x david #michael emerson #michael the lost boys #david the lost boys #gays being vamps #my writings

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faegirly · 3 years

Text

im writing this at like half past midnight but today ive been thinking alot and ive come to this realisation, perhaps again, that i really am and probably always have been aromantic and asexual.

im quite touch averse, the thought of myself having s*x makes me so sick and romance just seems vapid, unnecessary and empty to me. of course i know when people are attractive but when i think about whether i would actually want to date, have a romantic partner and do more... i realise i dont at all. i can appreciate and adore someone's appearance and personality, i like the idea of being close to someone in a maybe qpr kindof situation, but i want nothing romantic or s*xual ever to happen. im just not inclined that way. i dont need nor want it at all.

ive gone back anf forth about this because i felt like and kept thinking "well i must feel something" so i went through so many sexuality label (mostly sapphic ones because women yk) under the sun but nothing really fit for long. they made sense but the depth of my draw to people in the way the label implied was either nonexistent or not strong enough to count. and then there was the thought of what if it changes again... but i dont think it will.

i feel such rich and intense love for people i care about, people i enjoy talking to and being with, but no matter how long that lasts, i never feel romantic draws to said person, even though i may mistake my feelings for that. im happy for those who do feel romantic attraction and wish that everyone who wants to finds someone who loves them truly and rightly. i love too, but i dont fall in love. and thats ok. i feel at peace now in coming to terms with this part of me. true peace. and its nice to feel that among everything else.

so, once again, ive come to the conclusion that i am aromantic and asexual. and im learning to accept and be happy with that, as well as other parts of my life. it'll be a journey but im willing to take it.

(i may make this private at some point.... idk... we'll see) (and yes im still very sapphic)

#aromantic #asexual #aroace #aro #ace #sapphic #midnight ramblings #dont mind me

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antigoddex-a · 2 years

Note

omg im honoured if you do make a tag for me- but you don't have to!! i hope that you're doing well (and i will write a whole blurb on how much i love que and am excited for god exits to come out whenever it does!) but firstly- i noticed the change in ur description and i will recommend you bark like a god by sloppy jane just for the vibes alone! it reminds me of some instances of que (especially rdldrs que i love your threads together)

Hiya, Musical Anon!!! 🥺🥺🥺 It's so DELIGHTFUL to have you in my inbox on this special day!!! I am doing more than wonderful, especially seeing you!!! :D I hope you're doing well on the other hand!!! <3 And please, if you are planning to visit me at least occasionally, then you had basically made a home in my blog and my heart, so welcome to one of your new homes, friend!!!!! 🎶 🖤🎶 🖤🎶 🖤

Stoooppppppppp you are gonna make me CRY already on this fine Friday morning, please, I adore you so damn much!!! <3 I am MORE than EXCITED to read your wonderful blurb whenever you get to write it, omfg... orz And!!!!!! THAT SONG SUGGESTION, ESPECIALLY THIS PART: [ Do you believe in Frankenstein? / Dressed up, half-dead, and feelin' fine / He looks so sick, I wanna take him for a walk ] fshbJBFSNFKSNFSFNJSJFNKS GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

THIS IS REALLY THE VIBE I AM GOING FOR WITH [ REDACTED ] AT THE MOMENT... 😭😭😭 Something, something, when there is a timeline / concept that the Embodiment of Life / God ( as in the general creator deity from my own lores, not from Christianity, I need everyone to keep note of this whenever I mention Life / God on this blog ) had possibly made you first as not even a human, but something strangely more that has you shaking and twitching and making random sounds and all you want to do is nibble as you're staving for something you don't know what, but God only watches you with morbid curiosity before shoving you to the side to continue Their work and you keep approaching to Them only to be shoved aside still always because you're just not worth it to Their eyes, and soon enough, still not knowing what you're staving for, you will grow teeth and find yourself wanting to bite the hands that left you rejected and forlorn and ANGRY—

BUT YEEESSSS!!!!! I definitely agree with you that this song definitely fits with the more darker and spiteful variants of ? / Que!!! AND AAAAA STJERNEBARN!!! This song is indeed very Stjernebarncore!!!... Stjernebarn is so fucking jsdgbsjdgnsn xe is SOMETHING to write with, for sure, alright... But I am extremely happy to know you enjoy reading my threads with @rdldr!!! Grian is such a wonderful and delightful person to interact and write with ( so talented and cool!!! I’m always amazed at itz passion and dedication, like... ), and I absolutely love that itz lovely Tord bring out the much more more darker and powerful side of ? that I very rarely get to explore, so it is a huge honor to have Grian and itz Tord be part of my life and ?'s!!! <3

This song is so fucking good, though, I am soo orz !!!!!!!!! The ? / Que in MY head is telling me its gender right now is barking constantly at past midnight, biting everything and everyone in its way, and wanting to rip God's heart right out of Their chest with its teeth alone, so I just... Okay!!! Time to revamp ( sort of... ) my blog aesthetic to carry that gender energy lmfao but thank you so much as always for stopping by with a banger and wonderful energy!!! It is always beyond a delight to have you in my inbox, and I hope you are having a fantastic Friday!!! ? and I love you so much!!! <3 <3 <3

#[ for real Musical Anon you are the biggest OG on this hellsite sbhfJSFNKSFSKFNJH sending you all of the love and lights always <33333 ]#[ and ? will be eating a birthday cake piece for you!!! :333 ]#✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩ 4N5W3R .•ˎˊ˗˖°࿐#✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩ 0U7 0F CH4R4C73R .•ˎˊ˗˖°࿐#✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩ MU51C .•ˎˊ˗˖°࿐#anonymous #anonymous 🎶 🖤

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.��

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

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lord-explosion-baku · 5 years

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Vampire!Aizawa x reader

Warnings: stalking, mentions of death, blood

A/N: this one I got a little crafty with. It’s shorter and not really my writing style so I’m sorry if it disappoints but idk I wanted to write it... like... this. Idk bro. Here’s some words. I’m a bat.

How long had it been…?

Centuries…?

Shouta had walked this earth, dry and destitute; his ongoing perpetual pursuit finding him without a profit. He’d long since lost the luxury of hope—this life without his darling who had been tragically torn out of his grasp and violently slaughtered in front of him. He’d never let himself forget the sight of her taking her last breath as her sweet crimson nectar spilled onto the arid earth—how the aching burn at the back of his throat then was nothing compared to abhorrent heartbreak he’d dealt with for the years to come.

But there she was… right in front of him. After years of torment, watching history unfold without a spark of pleasure or a reason to carry on, she’d passed him in the street without so much of a second glance his way. A ghost of his past, but one that carried blood and flesh and that same familiar decedent scent. As sweet as she was, he smelled liquor on her breath, and she was alone. How foolish of her. Had she not learned yet that this world was full of people who would take advantage of her, who would darken her light?

Shouta would never call what he was doing stalking, though it was apparent that was what he was doing. He was a creature of the night, after all. No, he would call what he was doing, guarding—protecting his sweet from the other devils that may cross her path. It was his sworn duty. Shouta had already lost her once, he wasn’t going to lose her again.

Shouta watched her night after night, socializing with people he didn’t care for. She would talk every now and again, but she never really said anything. She was quiet and speculative, much like how his love had been when he knew her. One of the many reasons why he’d fallen for her in the beginning was because of how she’d watch him. Shouta was used to being invisible to the world, a dark phantom that would stalk, kill, and feed without so much of a squeak of an interruption, but the young woman who had stumbled upon him—if he could call it that—feeding on a drunken aristocrat who had vile intentions toward her, saw him. She saw him.

As Shouta followed her down the street once more, he wondered if she’d lost her sight for him. It had been months since he found her again, months since he’d began walking the streets as her shadow, and still she paid him no mind.

There was a beautiful sadness to her as her hair swished with each step she took leading up to her doorway. She paused when she opened the door, hesitating for just a moment before entering her domain. And that was when he heard her voice, like a broken bell giving its last chime.

“What do you want?” Her whispered question danced around Shouta’s mind and clung into the tight spaces waiting to be filled up with more of her words.

Aizawa inhaled, the cool night hair charging up his lungs before he breathed out a simple and packed, “you.”

Over the years Shouta Aizawa had taken many lives, but hers was never his to take. He refused to do it in the past and that was what lead her to her demise. Even so, he could not pluck such precious petals from her frail stem of a life even now, though she was as defenseless as a rose. It had to be her choice. But the fear of losing her once again was ever prominent.

Each night, Aizawa would stay by her domain, reaching out to her through dreams, caressing her, speaking to her, beckoning her to him. It had been years, but their midnight bond was stronger than ever—his reach vast and vivid. At night her pleasure became his. He’d watch her writhe and turn in bed, the rising and falling of her chest tantalizing...teasing him. He would only be tormented more when she would reach out for the reality of his touch that he could not return. Not yet. She had to love him.

While he sat against her living space, a click awakened her midnight stalker from his impassioned trance. She’d gotten out of bed and she was so quiet about leaving her house that Shouta was profoundly caught off guard when he saw her staring down at him. She was magnificent—illuminated by the moonlight, pulling the corners of her mouth into a small grin.

“Are you okay?” Was what she asked and it caught Shouta by surprise. Had she noticed how his cheeks hollowed, how the dark circles under his eyes grew dark? He’d been too busy protecting her to go hunting. It’d been weeks since he last fed.

He should lie to her—say that he was fine and tell her to go back inside to where it was safe, but she was his weakness. The longer her presence taunted him, the harsher the ravenous burning in his throat became.

“I’m thirsty,” slipped out of his impoverished mouth.

She offered him her wrist. He refused. “I fear that if I touch you,” Shouta whispered, hoarse with want and need, “you will disappear like mist under my fingertips.”

She knelt down beside him, bringing both of her hands to his cheeks, and seized his gaze in hers. Her eyes told him a story. She had a scient in those beautiful, glistening orbs. How ludicrous of her; if she had half a mind, she would stay away from him at a time like this.

“I know you,” she said, brushing her thumb across Shouta’s cheeks. “And I am here.”

Shouta bared his teeth at her to remind her of what he really was, had she truly knew him. Her eyes widened for a moment until she shook her head, leaned in, and gingerly pressed her soft lips to his. Shouta’s eyes rolled back as he breathed in her savory perfume, his skin warming up as his hunger became him.

“Drink,” She coaxed, pulling her hair to the side to expose her persuading neck.

“I’ll kill you,” Shouta hissed back through elongated teeth.

She laughed then, the sweet sound stirring an orchestra deep inside Shouta’s belly. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

She pushed her neck against his mouth while Shouta grasped harshly onto her shirt, the last bit of restraint he tried to hold crumbling as he listened to the musical patters of the organ locked inside of her rib cage. Shouta slid his tongue across her neck and she shuddered at the contact. She grasped at the back of his head and he growled against her skin.

“You are a fool,” Shouta hissed, his fangs aching to claim her.

“Drink,” She beckoned, sighing when the bristles of Shouta’s beard tickled her skin. Shouta could feel her heart, her yearning, her recognition, and her love. He could not hold back any longer, not after such a tender invitation. After all, what kind of lover would he truly be if he did not give his angel absolutely everything she desired?

His teeth sank into her, and soon, his mouth filled with divine bliss as her scarlet nectar pooled into him. He didn’t even have to suck, his tongue merely coaxed her essence out which she gifted with fervent grace. Still, he couldn’t help but get greedy, pulling her closer into him, holding her so there was no space that occupied between the two.

Satisfied, Shouta pulled her away, mouth hanging open to the sky as he thanked the stars for his appeasement. He cradled her against his chest, adoring the sleepy look in her eyes as they washed over him. Aizawa bit into his wrist and offered it up and against her lips. She took him affectionately. Her warm lips wrapped around his wound and her tongue lapped lazily at his scarlet. Kitten licks, Shouta thought with adoration, right before she became entranced and began greedily sucking. Shouta tensed as he felt a sort of pull towards her. A magnetism. At once, he knew she was taking too much, too fast, all the while he wanted to give her more...more...more...

“Pace yourself, my love,” Shouta said. “You do not want to drown in me as I have drowned in you…”

She moaned as she drank, stirring Shouta so his breath hitched in his throat while he watched the color drain from her cheeks.

“Yesss,” Shouta groaned, “drink, my love.” He felt a sort ecstasy at this shared intimacy. His head fell back as he let out hungry chuckle, his lover sucking harder, encouraged. “So eager.”

When he believed she drank enough, he pulled his wrist away and watched her eyes grow wide, an almost childlike pout appearing on her bloodied lips—a look he longed to see for years on end. Soon, her eyes grew heavy, flickering with dying light, and closed.

He held her close, listening to the gorgeous struggle of her stubborn heart before it slowed and completely disappeared. Shouta whispered to her about how he was going to love her for an eternity—how her heart was his, and his was hers. They stayed together like that for hours, until finally, her eyes fluttered open, gifting him with her newborn ruby gaze full of devotion and a thrill for a new life.

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING (NOT SPICY): @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter @unboundbnha @rizamendoza808, @rubycubix @smbody-stole-mycar-radio @zellllyyyy @sarcastictextstuck @kpanime @captain-sin-allmight-queen @psionicsnow @wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn @im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai @eggpienutbuttercroissant @usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello @rubyred-imagines

#bnha x reader #bnha #bnha imagine #bnha reader insert #reader insert #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #aizawa x reader #vampire!aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa #bnha au #au #vampire au

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fictional-ghost · 3 years

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zoomester studyblr challenge days 1-10

Day 1- Introduce yourself! What’s some basic info you’d like to share about yourself? Also! What are you studying? (If you’re in college, what’s your major? which semester are you in?)

hey! i'm Casper, 21, from the UK. i'm a poet and a writer and this blog is half studyblr, half writeblr. i'm studying English Lit and Creative Writing at the Open University but considering switching the English Lit to Philosophy.

Day 2- If you’ve chosen a major, why did you decide on it? If you’re in any other grade , what field/major interests you the most?

we don't have majors in the UK but i chose the degree mainly because of the creative writing modules, mainly because i want a degree but i adore creative writing and know that the jobs im likely to end up in wont rely on a degree. i'm considering switching to philosophy because i've studied english lit so much over my life and philosophy has always been frustratingly inaccessible to me past my obsession with jean-paul sartre

Day 3- Have you done a challenge before? If so, how was it? If not, what are you expecting to get out of this experience?

not really! i used to on my witchblr but it's been a long time. i really just want to connect with other people - pandemic timez are isolating as hell.

Day 4- For my researching fellows, what are you researching on? If you’re not currently researching, what is the topic within your field that you’re most passionate about?

not currently researching and no idea what topic i'm most passionate about in terms of creative writing. in english lit i just really like looking at genre trends compared to real life big situations, and in philosophy im mad for existentialism.

Day 5- Tag 3 studyblrs that you like seeing on your dashboard.

@rivkahstudies @bulletnotestudies @contre-qui

Day 6- Quickly! tag urself!

five am. ice cold water. watching the sunrise. healthy smoothies. skincare. reads often. friends with everyone.

ten am. iced coffees. always in a hurry. golden hour aesthetic. remembers the little details. loves old movies.

midday. mom jeans. picnic dates. thrift-shopping. pinterest. low-key insecure. obssessed with photography.

three pm. the color yellow. walks everywhere barefoot. oversized t-shirts. can make anyone laugh. a bit crazy.

five pm. warm smiles. classy. aesthetic instagram feed. anklets. soft music. yoga. face masks.

eight pm. netflix. cuddles warm sheets. indoors life. loves singing but can’t. sweats. never sleeps.

midnight. driving at night. flirty. neon lights. wears a lot of red. neon lights. big sunglasses. karaoke.

three am. tired eyes. small sketchbooks. pressed flowers. stargazing from the window.

i think i'm mainly 3pm but also 3am. i like 3s

Day 7- Some of your music faves right now (let’s say up to 5)

im barely listening to music atm because im trying to get comfortable with silence but i'm going to put The Grey (VIXI) by Bury Tomorrow here, as well as their songs 301 and Choke. also Alesund // Sun Kil Moon

Day 8- International Women’s Day! What’s your take on feminism?

i wont be discussing my views bc this isn't a discourse blog but. intersectional feminism is where it's at, white feminism is bullshit, terfs/swerfs/radfems can fuck off and stfu, men's issues need to be included in feminism because a) some men are trans and were socialised as female therefore still experienced sex-based oppression from an early age, b) if feminism means all genders being treated with equity in mind and gender based discrimination disappearing, then that means ALL genders (of course, men are still the most privileged gender and it's mainly them that perpetuate the issues feminism tries to address but we can't just be like 'hurr hurr women's rights' and not look at this from a rational and critical perspective). its a complex subject and gender privilege needs dismantling at the same time as other oppressive structures like class and racial hierarchies do, because they all feed off of one another.

Day 9- Write something that you’d like to tell yourself.

your bad days are just bad days. there will be good ones ahead.

Day 10- Tag someone whose aesthetic you love seeing on your feed.

ahh idk i have adhd memory

#zoomester studyblr challenge #studyblr #casper speaks #writeblr

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cinderellyq420 · 3 years

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1/11/21-Portal Day✨

Its an hour past midnight, so technically its the 12th now, but I just wanted to come write a little reflection of the day.

They say today is about Manifestation. Well, I manifest that I will have nothing, but positive people in my life this year. Too often toxic people have slipped their way into my life some how. When they said keep your inner circle small, well i cut that shit even smaller. I have definitely figured out that if they will screw you over once, they will do it again, no hesitation. This is usually where I say, I hate everybody. Yes, i physically will out loud say, I hate everybody. It just comes out unintentionally, when im thinking of bad situations with people, several times a day usually.

Moving on to the reflection of the day. Well I woke up from horrid nightmares.Which reminds me, DO NOT put lapis lazuli under your pillow anymore dude! In the nightmares, both of our mothers had passed. It broke me to see my boyfriend cry & so heartbroken. What hurt the most for me was that, I could see my mom in my nightnmare, I could touch her & talk to her. I woke up & i couldnt do that. Shes still alive, but its just become so physically painful to be around her, Especially when she continues to hurt me. I made my boyfriend check on his mom & she’s good!

On to the afternoon. Its day 11 of our cleanse & it only gets more strict from here. We basically fast through out the day. We are allowed unlimited cucumbers & water of course, & 3 flex foods, & 3 power shakes. Which is basically fruits & vegetables & dehydrated nutrients your body needs but probably isnt getting on your typical daily diet. I found out we have actuall y been doing the accelerated diet, which is pretty cool I guess. To know I can do this/get through this. Today I had one & a half cucumbers, strawberries, avocado, & kale chips. This was my first time making kale chips & they tasted just like potato chips to me. I just nee to salt them less next time. I know thats not a lot at all, trust me im pretty hungry. We also take these supplements throughout the day & its going to flush out the parasites from our bodies. We forgot to do our 10 day check up yesterday, so we did it today. I have lost about 7 pounds & hes lost about 12 or more. Our goal isnt to lose weight though, its about health. The weight loss is most definitely a bonus for sure. I think it will help me feel more confident in my body. Ive lost 25 pounds in around 4 months. We went grocery shopping for the week. I can not wait for these 10 days to be over. 1 down, 9 more to go!

As for tonight. I put on meditation music for around 5-6 hours. I started off with a cleansing shower. I used a lavender chamomile tea bag with 3 crystals, rose quartz, clear quartz, & amethyst. Then I lit a spiritual & sage incense & some candles I made myself, turned on my Himalayan salt lamp. I wrote in my journals. I made affirmations cards & hung them on the wall & pulled a tarot cared that says, i have anxiety about money. I mean its not wrong, I have always felt that way. Im ending the night watching Trolls. & babe is going to bed with me!

Good night 🖤

#manifestation #1112021

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lesbianmonsterlover · 5 years

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Female Werewolf x Female Reader (part 1)(SFW)

Hey, so, basically this was in my head and I had it get it out. When I made it to page six with no end in sight, but at a good stopping point for now, I wanted to get out a post. So I guess this is going to be a two-parter!

---

Your walk home from work always consisted of a trek through a dark alley between the back of two restaurants. Most people were scared of the thought of walking down such a street at that hour of the night, but you knew that the presence of security cameras behind the two establishments meant that no one was dumb enough to stake out there in hopes of catching someone unawares. You so rarely encountered anyone or anything else in that stretch of your walk - save for the occasional worker coming out the backdoor of their place of work with the trash - that when you began seeing the same battered looking dog regarding you warily night after night you started bringing it treats.

The first time you stopped it was because you were carrying home some leftovers from a work lunch, your team had gone to a steakhouse and you couldn’t finish your strip steak, so you took it home to maybe have for dinner or over a salad for lunch tomorrow. The thought went through your mind, though, as you approached the alley to maybe offer the meat to the sweet, sad looking pup. Well, pup was probably the wrong term, but aren’t all dogs puppies really? The creature was huge, you’d have guessed nearly waist height while standing on all fours, and a pure midnight black with one startlingly clear crystal blue eye. They’d always eye you warily as you walked through the alley, although they never once raised a hackle or a growl your way even when you’d coo hello on your way past.

Before you can stop yourself you pull the little cardboard takeout box of steak out of your bag and pop open the lid, revealing half of a steak sliced into strips laid out along with some of those roasted potatoes. You double checked to make sure nothing had any garlic (bad for a pupper’s stomach) and after being sure this was all safe for the big dog you walked into the alley intent on offering it to them.

The huge canine was curled up in a ball where they usually were, deep in the shadows of a little alcove set into the building where their fire hookup was. “Hey gorgeous.” You croon down at the dog, but instead of continuing your walk, for the first time ever you squat lightly in front of the big creature and give it a tentative, closed mouth smile. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach at lunch I guess, and I think you’d enjoy this more than I would tonight.” You set the cardboard takeout box down, open, on the ground and shuffle it towards the dog, who meanwhile had perked up and began regarding you with a sort of aloof wariness. You just sit there, looking happily and quietly at the dog as it sniffed first at the cardboard box and then at its contents before picking up a piece of steak and snapping it into their mouth with a satisfied rumble. Content that the dog is happy and eating you stand and coo out a goodbye to the beautiful creature who doesn’t even look twice at you as you walk back home. You’re maybe a little sad that you won’t have your leftovers tonight, but you happily pop in some of your frozen lasagna and can’t find it in you anywhere to regret feeding that dog.

You had more than enough padding in your income, considering you’re single and don’t really do a whole lot other than work and hang out at home watching Netflix and partaking in your hobbies, that you didn’t think twice about starting to bring a little something for the dog every day. Maybe you’d earn its trust, and you could bring them home! And be friends! You’d wanted a dog for a while, a furry cuddler who would want to hang out half on your lap while you pet its fluffy ears, but also a dog who would help make sure you get out of the house a few times a day and actually walk, do something. The next day you stop in to the diner around the corner from your office to get a side of bacon, presenting it to the confused but happy dog with another smile. You sit a little longer, talking lightly about your day and how excited you were to see them that evening. “You know, seeing you is starting to be the best part of my day. So I thought maybe I’d bring you some treats to let you know I appreciate it.” You give another sweet, closed lip smile to the dog before standing and continuing on home. You really, really want to pet the dog. Their ears looked so soft! But you didn’t want to invade their personal space, especially as a stray. You didn’t want to get your hand bitten off, of course, but you also wanted to make sure that the dog continued to trust you.

You brought something every day after work, five days a week. The dog still didn’t let you touch them, but you started to notice them perking up before you came into the alley, and their tail had even started to thump a little against the ground when they sighted you. You were three months into this arrangement when you were fired. You knew why, you had denied the advances of a superior and they began making your life a living hell at work, writing you up over every infraction. You were consulting with a lawyer but that didn’t stop it from scaring you. You had to get your resume in order now and start a job search, could you use this place as a reference? Probably not, well shit. You’re empty handed today, and this time instead of squatting you kneel down heavily on the pavement in front of the dog. You give them a sad smile. “Sorry sweetheart, I’m empty handed today. I know, I’m disappointing you, I’m sorry. I got fired today, so money’s gonna be a little tight, and I don’t think I’m going to have an excuse to walk through this neighborhood anymore.”

You’re crying now, fat tears running down your cheeks, and before you can lift a hand to wipe them away the dog licks one off of your cheek and whines at you. “I’m gonna miss you sweetheart, I wish you’d come with me.” With a shaking hand you hesitantly stroke up the dog’s neck and over the top of their head. They let out a chuff that sounds like a resigned sigh before licking over your cheek again and pressing their cold nose into your neck. It makes you giggle and scratch behind their ears. When you eventually stand after calming down the dog also stands up. It’s missing one foreleg, something you never noticed, although it doesn’t seem to impede their movement in the least. You were right to think they were huge too, their back reaching up to the bottom of your rib cage. You aren’t sure what to expect, you’re hoping they’ll follow you home you guess, but instead of doing that they just stand there watching you as you walk away. You pause at the end of the alley and glance back, waiting a beat to see if they’ll join you. When they don’t you deflate a little but continue your walk back to your little one story house.

It’s in a neighborhood that isn’t great, but you’re quiet and keep to yourself and keep your head down. People leave you alone, you don’t get in anyone’s business, and everyone’s happy. You have a little yard surrounded by a short brick fence with an old wrought iron gate. The gate had been in terrible condition when you bought the house, but a little elbow grease and some fresh paint had it looking good as new. The whole house was a little dingy looking, but homey and put together. The tiny front yard was full to bursting with flowers and plants, other than a little concrete path from the road to the front door. The inside is cozy, thrifted furniture and handmade decorations. You may not be rich, but you live quite happily within your means with enough leftover for some of your wants.

You take the weekend to wallow. You drink wine and eat ice cream and cry, binge watching shows and lying on the couch. When you wake up on Monday though you feel a little better if slightly hungover, and you spend the day going over your resume and figuring out how to go about your job search. When evening comes you’re interrupted by a sound out your back door that’s unfamiliar to you. It’s almost like a knock, but not quite, and it’s followed by a thud and whine.

The being standing at your backdoor, under the flickering warm light above the entryway, is huge. Towering over you is a pitch black void of light standing on two powerful hind legs, holding a man in a ski mask up by his throat while he hangs limply from its clawed grip. The creature is missing an arm and one of its eyes, and after a beat you recognize that whatever this thing is...it’s also the dog from behind the restaurant. You faint.

When you wake up you’re back on your couch, and as you blink up at the ceiling you recall your weird dream from earlier where the dog from the restaurant alley was standing outside your house. But it wasn’t the dog, it was a werewolf. Or it looked like a werewolf. You chuckle to yourself before turning onto your side and promptly startling off the couch at the sight in front of you.

The creature from what you were sure is a dream is sitting back on its haunches like a large dog, staring at you from its one intelligent blue eye. It’s impossibly big, even sitting you think their head would reach the middle of your chest. “Holy shit!” You pop up from behind your coffee table to see the big creature cowering slightly and looking at you with their ears pinned back.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The rough voice of the creature hits your ears and you’re startled back into silent contemplation. Okay, so, it can talk. “Figured since you took care’a me, I’d keep watch over ya. Found some guy sniffin’ ‘round your place so I took care of ‘im.”

“Thank you.” Your reply is a little quiet, and you’re staring slack-jawed at a creature that really, truly isn’t supposed to exist. They huff out something that sounds like a laugh, although there’s a sort of self deprecating edge to it that you don’t like.

“Yeah, this’s why I didn’t take ‘ya up on yer offer.” They grimace, frowning as best as they can with their muzzle and sinking into themselves to make themselves smaller. Immediately you try to perk up and break out of whatever your trance is.

“No, no! Please, don’t leave, I’m just surprised. I didn’t think...I mean, I thought you were just a big...dog? Obviously you’re not! But I mean, you can’t blame me for being surprised can you? Up until a few minutes ago werewolves were a fictional concept for me.” They look a little sheepish at that, but settle down onto the rug in your living room and look at you curiously.

“Keep fergettin’ humans ain’t connected with the super-nat’ral world no more really.” They pin you with that icy blue gaze. “You can feel our connection though, can’tcha?” Your heart is racing, thrumming in your throat as you listen to the implication in that voice. It’s true you’d felt drawn to that dog, but your heart always broke for poor strays out in the world. You didn’t think it was any different to the feeling you’d get for any dog you saw regularly enough to get to know. But sitting in front of you in this form there’s something about the pull that’s a little bit deeper, more intense. “Can hear yer heart racing, pretty ‘lil rabbit. Y’know, yer the reason I’m in this town in’the first place.” You give a confused look and they chuckle raspily. “S’the connection, ‘lil rabbit, we know to look for it when we start to feel it. Was jes’ passin’ through to get back ta my pack, but I couldn’t leave without my mate.”

“M-Mate?” You can only ask that question in a small, soft voice as they chuckle at you again, languidly flowing up and stalking around the coffee table to tower over you from where you’re still sitting on the floor. Their cold nose on your pulse point makes you shriek, but you bare your neck up rather submissively instead of pull away.

“I was serprised too ‘lil rabbit, human mates’re rare shit. ‘Specially for animals like me.” They inhale deeply at your neck before licking up the column of your throat to your jaw. “‘M a lucky woman, my ‘lil mate is cute as shit, ‘n you smell so fucking good.” Your answering whimper prompts another low growl from her chest, and her jaw locks around your throat just enough to leave the imprint of her teeth on your neck. When she sits back on her haunches and towers over you again her eye is sparking heat as she gazes at you. “Was tryin’ ta figger out how ‘ta meetcha all natural like, but then ya stopped comin’ round ‘n tonight happened an’ I had’ta protect ya, rabbit, and when ya saw me and ya fainted I panicked.”

Your laugh is loud and powerful, and you startle the werewolf into silence as she word vomits out at you. Before she can look too upset though you lean forward and hug her, resting your head on her chest. Her hand are is more like a human hand than a paw, although each finger is still tipped with harsh claws that make you shiver as they rake through your hair to scratch your scalp pleasantly. You nuzzle your face into the fluffy fur of her chest, pleased to feel the give of small breasts beneath the dark fuzz. Your content sigh has her let out a low rumble, laving her tongue across your ear in an affectionate swipe.

“Well, I think you did just fine. Protected me from a burglar and everything. Thank you for that, by the way.” You smile up at her, cupping her jaw with one hand as you tug her down to your level in order to place a chase human kiss on her snout. She lets out a content little whine that makes you giggle, and settles her big head in your lap so you can card your fingers through her fur around her ears and down the back of her skull. “What’s my mate’s name?”

Her tail thumps wildly against the floor for a moment as she stares up from your lap with her eye wide and sparkling. “Kara, ‘lil rabbit. An’ don’t go ‘round callin’ me yer mate if you aren’t gonna accept the claim, sweets.” Her growl has a low, seductive timbre to it in the end, and you swallow thickly before nodding. “Already in dangerous territory rabbit, betcha didn’t know all’a those times ya fed me was you courtin’ me.” Her smile is appropriately wolfish. “Now how ‘bout your name?” You stumble over introducing yourself, and the way Kara purrs your name back to you makes your insides flip pleasantly.

“If I...I mean, if I were to accept the claim, what would that mean? Remember, I’m a human, I’m kinda ignorant about all of this.” You continue petting over her skull as she settles back into your lap, humming thoughtfully, her one arm moving to encircle you slightly, toying with the hem of your shirt where it lays against the floor at your hip.

“Means yer mine, forever. Kinda like marriage, but no divorce, not like yer gonna wanna leave me anyway rabbit.” She gives you a one-eyed wink that still manages to make you blush. “Means I take care’a ya, keep ya fed, housed, protected, warm, satisfied.” The way she gazes up at you with promise at the last word makes you swallow thickly, trying not to shift your hips at the implication. “Bring ya into my pack, you’d be parta the family. I gotta ‘lil cabin out in the woods, most’ve us do since they mostly spend time in a human form, but it’s a place’a my own. Feels awful lonely without my mate.”

The two of you talk through the night, and fall asleep together in a pile on your living room floor. Her story breaks your heart. She wasn’t born into the pack she’s currently a part of. Her original family couldn’t believe that their daughter had inherited their dominant gene while their son preferred to be much more passive. But her parents took advantage of her need to be accepted and love, and forced her to spend so much time shifted that she gradually forgot how to shift back. Her human form had been lost to her since she was a child, and while her new packmates were working on it - that’s actually the reason she’d been passing through your city in the first place, to visit a physician who was sympathetic to werewolves, and who thought they might be able to help her reclaim her human form and therefore some semblance of normalcy and a place in broader society.

You’re surprisingly comfortable when you wake for someone who slept on the ground, but when you come to full consciousness you to find yourself draped fully over the big fuzzy woman you realize why. You didn’t really sleep on the ground, you slept on a big fluffy cushion in effect. You want to accept the claim. It’s not like you had anything tying you here any longer. Your family wasn’t here, your job was gone, you can lighten up your load, break the lease, and just...go with this. This is the adventure you used to spend nights wishing for, really. Less “knight-in-shining-armor” and more “fuzzy-mercenary-who-would-kill-for-you” but still, someone who said they were destined for you, swept you off your feet and made you feel special, beautiful, perfect just as you are.

“Thinkin’ hard there, rabbit.” You squeak a little and jump as you’re broken out of your thoughts by the rough sleepy voice of Kara. She chuckles at your reaction and then laughs when you pout up at her in return. “Oh no, not that look rabbit, ‘s too cute.” She nuzzles into the crown of your head, still chuckling. Rubbing her scent all over you and yours on her in return.

“Well, if you have to ask, I was thinking about the fact that I want to accept your claim.” That stills the woman beneath you, and you let you a little shriek when she abruptly sits up, taking you with her until you’re sitting astride her lap as she gazes down at you, your face caged in her big hand.

“What did’ja say?” Her voice is hushed and almost reverent, her thumb stroking over your cheek with an impressive amount of gentleness. You smile up at her and place your hand over hers on your cheek, your eyes sparkling happily.

“I said I want to accept your claim, Kara. I feel it too, and the thought of staying in this shitty city without you here with me causes me physical pain. Wherever you go, I want to go with you.” She growls pressing her muzzle to your lips and pushing her tongue into your mouth in one swift motion. She hums at your taste, angling your head to her liking so she can take her time mapping out all of the spots that make you writhe against her. When she pulls away, panting heavily, you can see her one pupil is blown with arousal.

“Not here, rabbit, when I claim ya it’s gonna be in my house on my bed so we can make it all ours.”

#female werewolf #Female reader #fem werewolf #fem reader #my writing #exophilia #wlw #lesbian love #lesbian fiction #lesbian exophilia #lesbian romance #soulmate shit #i'm weak for that trash #i'm a hopeless romantic

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heanv · 5 years

Text

Disco Eyes | Mark Lee

genre: romance

warnings: none

word count:1k

requested by: @brightlees

song: Disco Eyes by Manila Grey

You knew you shouldn’t do this, you knew it was wrong.But it was like an addiction, he was like an addiction.Mark Lee , the boy who came into your life and turned it upside down and made you come out of your comfort zone .

/won't you leave and vanish with me/

Mark dragged you out of the hole you used to hide in and now he is turning you into another new person.

/You ain't gotta lie/

Although every single soul warned you about him you never obeyed because you knew that what people talked about him was actually true but you also knew him better than anyone else. You were Mark’s secret place, something sacred, he had never had before. Sure, he has had lots of girls around him through the years but no one was like you.

/ I won't mind,that you lookin' to gain status from me/

You meant the world to Mark . Only months ago he had nobody.Actually if he wanted to he could have anybody he wished but this was not what he was looking for.He was looking for something real and then he found you.

/Oh, I see diamonds in your eyes/

It all started so innocently - so unfamiliar for Mark. One day at school he realized he had forgotten his pen and when he turned to choose the person that he would borrow pen from, his eyes stopped on you. He found you pretty attractive ,listening carefully to teacher and taking notes down – something he rarely did.

/Oh no not lookin' for love at the disco/

‘’ psst” he whispered and you looked at him confused. Was Mark Lee really talking to you?

‘’um yeah?”

‘’can I borrow a pen from you, forgot mine’’ and you of course gave him. Another thing is that he never returned it. That was his plan.One week later he told you that if you want your pen back you had to meet him after school and so you did.

‘’ I will give you the pen if you give me something in return” he smirked at you.

‘’ and what do you want…Mark?’’

“ a kiss’’

‘’w-what?”

‘’ just a kiss, come on nothing much ,y/n.’’ but it wasn’t just a kiss for him, this is everything he thought about the past week.

You were hesitating, what if this was a prank? Or maybe Mark really wanted to kiss you?

Finally you leaned in and in Mark’s eyes lit up. In the moment your lips were supposed to meet you quickly grabbed your pen form Mark’s hand , kissed his cheek and ran away. You left Mark confused and curious. Why didn’t you kissed him? No one has ever said ‘’’no’’ to a kiss from him. You woke something into him that day and he promised himself to understand what is it.

/who are you outside the dance floor?/

Since that you literally made Mark your stalker. Every single class you both had together he sent you smiles and winks then as the time passed he started sitting next to you.

‘’Hi ,y/n , is this seat taken” he knew you didn’t had a seatmate and still asked.

‘’yes it is, my bag sits here” you said,placing your bag on the empty seat. Mark ‘s shook face was priceless but right after that he smirked. He leaned to your bag and started whispering.

“ Hey, Y/n’s bag , can I please take your seat today, I really want to sit next to your beautiful owner”

/want to see that aura and that spirit/

You shared your first kiss soon after that.Three or four weeks later people started to notice that suddenly you and Mark were close and hung out a lot. It was almost midnight when you received a message.

‘’go to your window’’

‘’what???”

‘’go to your window,now’’

Mark was under your window, looking at you with a smile.He was dressed in a black leather jacket and black jeans, he looked so handsome in this moment.

‘’come here I wanna take you somewhere.’’ Well , you didn’t need a second invitation.You dressed up quickly and walked out of the house quietly enough not to wake up your parents.

‘’Mark, what are you doing here, its so late”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you so I came to see you’’ you suddenly felt very hot and you could swear your face was red like a domato.

This night Mark took you to something like a little forest where you could see the view of the town . You and Mark alone under the moon and the stars .It felt so surreal . As if this was a dream and you were about to wake up.

You both were sitting on a rock, observing the view in a comfortable silence.

‘’you know y/n , you look even more beautiful on a moonlight” you couldn’t bear this anymore, it was all too much.You felt yourself blushing once again.

‘’Thank you,Mark’’

‘’don’t have to thank me, im just stating facts’’ he chuckled.

You didn’t realize how close you both were.You looked him in the eyes and you could already feel his breath.And then it happened. Mark kissed you. It was such a sweet,almost innocent kiss with so much untold feelings,waiting to be revealed .

‘’I don’t what you did to me, y/n’’ he said,breathing heavily.’’ But I love it.’’

/ you know that the times right,see the fire in your brown eyes/

Since that night and that kiss you two knew you belonged to each other, you were each other’s half. You both knew your weaknesses and your strong sides. Mark became a better student and a little more responsible and you weren’t so shy and so scared anymore. This was all you both were looking for – a person full of love that could be your soulmate and your home.

That was your love story.Soon after school you both went to the same college and after college he proposed to you and soon you had your own family.By the way Mark still keeps your pen , he says that it brings him luck and he was right.You were his best luck.

/ no you ain't gotta lie,just play me play me baby I won't mind/

* hii guys, sorry this was the only requested i did today but i was at work and im super tired, tomorrow i promise i will try to write more , ily 💕

mastelist

#nct soft hours #lee jeno #mark lee #nct dream #nct soft edits #jaehyun #nct #na jaemin #lee donghyuck #nct 127 #mark lee smut #mark lee soft #mark lee scenarios #mark lee soft hours #mark lee imagine #lee mark #nct smut #nct imagine #nct scenario

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

Hero Complex

lmao hi IM BACK i wrote a fic pfffff it’s kind Shit cuz i started writing at midnight and now its 2:40 am so excuse the BAD WRITING dajfdslkfjalsdkfs

warnings: fire, mentions of death (kinda graphic ish, sad), crying

ship: ralbert

word count: 2762

Earlier

“Just- don’t try to be a hero, dumbass.”

Albert’s fingers freeze on the top button of his uniform, eyes darting up to study Race’s face. He bites back a sigh, something weighing down on his chest as the fear in his boyfriend’s eyes grows.

“That’s the whole point of my job,” He says softly, “But I’ll be careful.”

Race nods, wordlessly handing him his helmet. Albert takes it, drawing in a deep breath to steady his hands. Queso lifts his head from his paws, looking at the two of them questioningly before padding across the room and nudging Albert’s knee. He lets out the breath he’d been holding and bends over the slightest bit to scratch behind Queso’s ears. No matter how many calls his squadron responded to, his nerves still managed to run high.

“That’s all I ask,” Race responds, gently tilting Albert’s jaw and kissing him intently. Albert presses back, heart kicking double time as adrenaline starts to overcome him. He pulls back, the need to move overtaking him.

“I gotta go,” He says, shifting the helmet onto his head, “I’ll be home later…”

The unspoken, ‘hopefully’, rings loudly in the air. Albert really hates this part of the job.

Race nods, dropping his hand from Albert’s face and squeezing his bicep briefly, “Go. Be safe. I love you.”

Albert smiles, but it feels strained, “I love you, too.”

Now

“Dasilva, get that room on the right! Some kid’s in there!”

Albert swears under his breath, shooting a quick nod to Finch as he hurries past him, carrying an infant in one arm and shielding a young looking mother with the other. He grimaces, adjusting the mask on his face as the building gives the second unsettling creak in as many minutes.

In the three years that he’s worked for the FDNY, he’d never seen a building fire this destructive. Details were still being investigated, but from what had been gathered, an apparent fireball had formed on the 14th floor, engulfing the top four floors of the building and spreading quickly to the lower levels. The casualty count was already tragically high, but between the first responders and following squadrons showing up to the scene, the fatality rate was going down.

That didn’t make it any less gut-wrenching.

Albert crosses to the apartment Finch had pointed him to and easily knocked the handle off the door. He knocked once, calling a loud warning into the room before shouldering the door, which gave way easily thanks to the heat.

In the corner of the room, a young boy sat cowering against the wall, arms wrapped protectively around an even younger girl. Panicked breaths were coming vehemently from the pair and as Albert gets nearer to them, he can see the tear tracks that cut through the soot. He crouches down, trying to seem nonthreatening.

“Are your parents here?” He asks, raising his voice over the roaring flames.

The little boy lets out a sob, pointing a trembling hand to the room adjacent to them. Albert glances to the side, nausea rolling in his stomach as he takes in the flames licking under the closed door. Whoever is in there, sure isn’t getting out.

“Okay,” Albert takes a deep breath, turning back to the siblings, “I need you both to take your shirts and pull them over your mouths and noses, okay?”

He waits for them to do so, then scoops them both up easily, ensuring that they have secure grips on his shoulders, before moving swiftly out of the room. The building lets out another threatening creak and Albert falters, trying to map out the safest route in his head. He settles on running to the stairs on the southside of the building, opposite of where the fireball had started.

Five excruciating minutes later, Albert is able to exit the building, immediately seeking out some paramedics and dumping the kids in their care. He turns back around, taking a deep breath before running back towards the building.

“People still up there?” Spot, another commissioner, calls.

“I don’t know!” Albert calls back, “But we can’t risk leaving anyone!”

“This building’s ‘boutta go down, man!” Spot shouts, jogging up to him.

“I don’t care,” Albert says, firmly, tightening the strap on his helmet, “If I can even get one more person out, that’s one more life saved.”

“Alright,” Spot concedes, “But I’m coming with you.”

Albert nods, steeling himself.

“Don’t try to be a hero…”

Race’s words echo in his head and he bites his lip, casting a hurried glance in the direction of their apartment complex, across the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Sorry, Racer,” He murmurs, hesitating for a short moment before running back into the building.

A recently opened beer bottle sits forgotten on the table as Race paces anxiously in front of the TV, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. He’s not entirely sure why he’s smoking. The thing that usually eases his worries only worsening the sick feeling in his stomach as smoke rolls over his tongue, parallel to the cloud of smoke he’s watching climb higher and higher from the building until it billows off-screen.

This routine is familiar, but it never gets easier. Letting Albert go will never fucking get easier. It feels like he’s dumping him into the jaws of death, fire biting at his ankles every time he leaves through their apartment door.

But he does let him go, allowing himself to grow sick with worry as he immediately searches for whatever information he can find, usually settling on the local news and popping open a beer or lighting a cigarette. Maybe both. More often than not, they remain unfinished.

He lets out a frustrated hum, stubbing his half-smoked cigarette out in the ashtray they keep on the coffee table. He forces himself to sit down and drags a sweaty hand down his face. Albert had been gone for a good two hours by now, but the fire doesn’t look like it’s getting any closer to being put out. If any, it looks worse.

Every time a firefighter passes by the camera, Race’s stomach does a violent flip. He can’t really tell who’s who underneath their face shields and helmets, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to differentiate them.

Once, the news caught a clip of a firefighter being wheeled into the back of an ambulance looking very much not alive and Race had been violently sick for an hour before Albert came home and assured him that it was not him and he was okay.

That had been a bad fucking night.

Suddenly, the face of the reporter on screen morphs into one of sheer terror and the camera shifts sideways to show the building, crumbling in on itself. There’s a moment where no one seems to react and Race scrambles to unmute the channel. Screams ring through the speaker as the reporter and the cameraman run for shelter.

Race feels his eyes go wide, but he can’t look away. Somewhere to his left, Queso lets out a whimper, but he can’t find it in himself to look. A second later, he feels Queso hop up next to him on the couch cushions and settle his weight against his side.

A million frantic thoughts crowd Race’s mind, eventually settling on the horrible debate of whether Albert is in the building or not. Part of him wants to believe that he got away in time, but logic tells him that the idiot was probably in the building until the last second, searching for straggling survivors. Fucking dumb shit. Always has to be a fucking hero.

Sometimes he really hates Albert’s lack of self-preservation over others.

Scratch that.

He always hates it.

He runs his hand through his hair, pulling it almost painfully as his chest tightens. Taking a deep breath, he presses his knuckles to his eyes, trying to stave off the oncoming panic attack. He has to stay calm. If Albert is alive and got out of there unharmed, he’s going to need Race to be a rock for him tonight.

Race takes another deep breath, letting it out slower this time as the vice that previously gripped his lungs loosens a bit. He can do this. He just needs to be patient.

He watches the news for another few minutes, picking at his cuticles distractedly as shots of firefighters and paramedics work to reign in the newly charged chaos. Then, he clicks off the TV, heaves himself off the couch and begins to prepare for Albert’s (hopeful) return back home.

He puts some more food and water in Queso’s bowls, then crosses to the bathroom to take a quick shower. The water is too hot and he drops the bar of soap three times before he can steady his hands enough to use it.

He dresses himself mechanically, then digs through their dresser for Albert’s favorite pair of briefs, sweatpants, and a hoodie, setting them neatly on the end of the bed. As an afterthought, he grabs a fresh towel and washcloth from the closet and sets them on the toilet in the bathroom.

It’s doubtful that Albert will want to eat much of anything if- no, when he gets home, but Race busies himself in throwing together a quick pasta primavera nonetheless. If anything, the cooking helps to settle his own nerves a bit.

Another hour passes and Race has managed to finish cooking, eat a little, and clean up the kitchen, all the while forcing down the ever-growing wave of dread.

He’s starting to run out of distracting things to do, so he picks up the book he’s been reading and settles on the couch, eyes scanning the pages, but not comprehending a thing.

45 minutes later, the front door unlocks and opens.

Race is off the couch before it can swing back closed.

Albert doesn’t look at Race as he hangs his helmet on it’s hook, but Race can already tell that it’s going to be a rough night. Despite the gear protecting every inch of Albert’s body, his face and hair are covered in a thick layer of ash. He’s still dressed in his turnout pants, but his uniform top has seemingly been abandoned at some point on his return home. The sharp tense of his shoulder has rendered his movements stiff and Race watches in carefully masked concern as he tugs off his boots.

Once they’re dutifully lined by the door, Albert straightens up, looking at Race for the first time, a dull, haunted look in his eyes.

For a moment, Race is scared that he’s going to breakdown then and there, but Albert only clears his throat and croaks, “I need to shower.”

Queso is lingering by the kitchen entrance, but he seems to sense that his company would not be very well received right now. Race nods at Albert, bending down to pluck one of Queso’s toys from the ground and tossing it in the direction of the kitchen. He hears the slow patter of Queso’s paws on the tile and sees him pad out of the room in his peripheral.

“Let’s get you out of those pants before you do anything else,” Race says in a measured voice, working to sound easy, but firm.

It’s a testament to how fucked up Albert must be feeling that he doesn’t make a dirty joke at that.

Albert barely moves as Race unbuttons his turnout pants and eases them down his hips. His gaze is unwavering as he stares blankly across the room. Race can hear his slightly erratic breathing and it seems as if the adrenaline has yet to wear off.

“Lift up for a sec, love,” Race says, tapping at Albert’s socked feet and waiting for him to lift his legs one by one, allowing for Race to fully remove his pants.

“You can go shower now,” Race says, standing back up, “do you need me to come with you?”

Albert shakes his head, “No, I’m-I’m good.”

“You sure?”

Albert nods, “Yeah, just- yeah, I’m good.

“Okay,” Race smiles a little, trying to look encouraging, “Shout if you need me, though.”

Albert nods again and makes a stiff beeline for the bathroom. A few minutes later, Race hears the shower turn on. He crosses to their bedroom to find that Albert took the clothes he’d set out in with him.

He smiles a little more genuinely as he crawls into bed. Rolling onto his side, he busies himself with his phone while he waits for Albert to finish up, turning up the brightness to keep himself awake. Albert was bound to take a while in the shower tonight. He always does after missions.

A half hour later, he hears the bathroom door open and close and a moment later, the bed behind him dips as Albert joins him under the covers. Race clicks off his phone and sets it on his bedside table, shifting onto his back as Albert settles into his arms.

“Want me to keep the lights on or off?” He asks quietly, pressing a little kiss into Albert’s now clean hair. It’s still a little wet and smells strongly like the coconut shampoo he likes to use.

Albert nestles closer, pressing his nose to Race’s neck, “Off, please.”

Race extracts his arm momentarily to flip off the lamp switch, then draws Albert in protectively. The silence between them stretches on for what could be hours, but Race knows Albert is still awake.

This is also part of the routine. If Albert wants to talk, he will, but if he’d rather just lie quietly and process, Race wasn’t going to push him.

But he’d stay up with him either way. There’s no way in hell he’d leave him to handle this alone in any capacity.

Eventually, the silence is broken by a soft whimper, then a short sniffle and Race feels Albert tuck his face further into his collarbone. He feels his heart break in his chest, but he wills himself to remain steady as he tightens his hold on Albert.

A moment later, Albert begins to cry in earnest and Race presses a firm kiss to the crown of his head, shushing him.

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs as Albert fists his hand in his nightshirt, holding on like a lifeline, “I’m here and I’ve got you.”

“There-there was a little girl on a fire escape,” Albert hiccups, “and she was screaming for her mom and I was about to go back in to get her, Race, I was about to go get her! But the building…” he trails off, an awful keening noise sounding from his throat.

Race blinks back his own tears, rubbing a hand up and down Albert’s back, “You did what you could, baby.”

Albert shakes his head, “But it-it wasn’t enough.” His words are stilted- broken- and his breathing is harsh and heaving.

Race maneuvers them so they’re lying side to side, facing each other. He cradles Albert’s head with one hand and rests the palm of his other hand on his cheek, brushing away his tears with the pad of his thumb.

“It wasn’t your fault,” He whispers firmly, “There’s nothing else you could have done. You can’t save everyone.”

Albert closes his eyes, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood as he tries to take slower breaths.

“I wish I could,” Albert says after a lingering pause, “It’s fucked up.”

“It is,” Race says, “But you helped a lot of people get out of there today, you did a lot, Albert.”

Albert doesn’t answer, just tucks himself closer to Race, breathing in his warmth.

“Rest, baby,” Race mutters, knowing that neither of them are really going to sleep that night, “I’ve got you, you can relax now.”

Albert lets out a shaky sigh and Race feels his heart grow heavier still. The concern, grief, and anger at the world for plaguing Albert with the fucked up trauma that accompanies his job are indiscernible from one another. He wishes more than anything that he could take away his pain, but he also knows that’s as naive as wishing he’d quit.

The most he can do is be there for him, even if there’s nothing he could say to truly make it better.

But he can be there and maybe that’ll be enough.

“I love you,” He breathes, lacing their hands together, “I’m here.”

Albert squeezes his hand, “I know,” he pauses, “I love you, too.”

And for a second, things are a little okay.

yeah, so im still alive!

anyway

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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#newsies #newsies fic #albert dasilva #racetrack higgins #ralbert #sad bois #chaotic bois #sorRy its sad #like maybe ill write something happy soon but this is just sad #sdkfjalsdkfj #yeahhh #yell at me for not posting #you're allowed to #i give you permission

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drmedicsgamesurgery · 4 years

Text

Danganronpa Togami Volume 3 Part 5 (Summary)

You thought chapter 2 was over? Think again!

Thanks to @enoshima-pyon @shockersalvage @jinjojess @hopeymchope for helping out!

██████████████████████████████████████████████████████████ I ██ Why… am I still alive, █████, I am alive. I’m not in pain, either. I gently touched my face with my hands that were shaking with fear, and there was an odd feeling around my right eye. The same hard and sharp thing... had pierced me deeply. I used all my imagination to come to a conclusion. What happened was obvious. I made up my mind to try to pull it out, the rustling sound echoed inside my head, and Borges fell out of my eye socket with the bullet that was stabbed in it. It was a strange sight. In a sense, I felt that Borges was more intimate with me than even Byakuya-sama, just like my eternal twin brother. And it has been skewered like grilled octopus, and now it seems to be shivering in front of my eyes. Im sorry, poor little thing.

Borges was broken.

Borges is broken but Shinobu knows it’s not the time to be sad. They were attacked by a sniper and Hiroyuki is already dead. If she is still alive, it means the sniper can’t see her while she is in the corner of the room. She gets down on the ground, using her remaining eye to asses the situation. In the center of the room she can see Hiroyuki, or at least, who she thought was Hiroyuki’s face lying in the chicken he was eating, making it look like his head was a chicken. If it weren’t for the blood leaking out of him, she would have thought it was an elaborate set up. In front of him was the window which covered nearly the entire wall, with the glass shattered near the center. The sniper shot through the window and there is a mountain on the other side of it.

I didn’t know if the sniper was hiding somewhere in the mountains, and I didn’t know what kind of person he was. I couldn’t use the optical ranging function nor the infrared function nor the radio function nor the search function now. I couldn’t grasp more information. Although my left eye was still intact, it felt like my eyes were blindfolded. I really relied on Borges a lot. I couldn’t remember how I saw things before I put Borges in my body. I didn’t know anything. The only thing I knew is that I had to escape from that room. Therefore, I intend to open the door to the hallway, but the problematic thing is that if I want to do this, I must pass by Hiroyuki, and I must expose my whole body to the range of the sniper. This makes me unable to do so. I don’t know if I should work up the courage and try my luck, because the sniper is likely to be monitoring the situation in the room through a scope... But is that really the case? Maybe the sniper thought that I had been killed. After all, I was shot, and I should have already died on the spot. Maybe the sniper thinks I am dead, and now packing bags and getting ready to go home... Is that really the case? Since the opponent's goal is me, then the other party should know that my right eye is a fake eye, then I should also be aware that I am lucky enough to have that eye save my life... Is this really true? On one side is a sniper, and on the other is that my eyesight is now poor. I don't know, I don't know anything. Nothing is 100% certain.

I was hiding in the shadows and looked around the room again. The most conspicuous thing in the living room is the table and Hiroyuki’s body. Although you can see the luxurious sofas and paintings, they can't play any blocking role in the face of sniper rifles. The enemy is stationed in the mountains, and may be looking for my position through the big window. If this is the case, then the door leading to the corridor is within the range of the other party, so i can’t go that route. Although I really hope that there is another way to escape, most of the other windows are also within range, and even if I venture to open the window, it wouldn’t help, because we are on the top floor of the building.

I had two choices:

> Get out of the room

> Don’t get out of the room

She doesn’t think she’ll make it if she tries to get out of the room. She doesn’t have the strength of the SHSL Martial Artist nor the ability of the SHSL Affluent Progeny. She is just a secretary. So she decides to lay down and close her remaining eye. Soon she falls asleep.

“Are you awake?”

Shinobu wakes up at the sound of that voice. Was it Byakuya-sama?

It came from out of the window. Just like with the World Domination Proclamation, the voice came from the city’s broadcast system.

"It's me, 'Super High School Level Heir', Byakuya Togami. Are you sleeping well? Well, let me explain to you dullards. The deadline for the 'World Domination Proclamation’ ends today at 6 pm. There are five hours left. The world will soon be owned by me. You will be affiliated with me. Of course, this is equivalent to supreme happiness, but presumably you will still resist to the last second, trying to kill me and trying to uncover the secret of the 'pitiful cattle'.

"However, that is useless. Everything is useless. You also know that you are weak and pathetic. Just like you can't beat a chariot with a paper cutter, you can't beat me. This is a principle. A truth. No one can let Togami yield, no one can make me fail. You are like the gum sticking to the soles of my new shoes, seconds after I put them on... At most, it affects my mood.”

"Five hours from now, the world will be reborn. The unprecedented new world will be kicked off in my rule. This kind of happiness, this kind of luck, you will feel it in your bones. You can't stop it.”

"However, this is too unfair. Yes, this war is unfair from the beginning. In the face of an opponent like me, you have no chance at all. This overwhelming battle gap even makes someone like I have some sympathy for you. This once again proves that miracles like the Winter War [1], the Battle of Kollaa [2], and the Siege of Oshi [3] will not happen easily. I am-almost-saddened by this. Therefore, I have decided to be extra gracious to you.”

“I am in one place now.”

"A place that is commensurate with me. If someone were to visit that place before the deadline of the ‘World Domination Proclamation’, you will be glad to know I might be willing to talk and listen to you.You should be able to understand. Okay? See you later.”

Shinobu feels like she’s heating up. Is it anger or is she just regaining vitality? She doesn’t care about giving a name to that feeling. She found her way back to feeling like herself again, part of her own story and that is enough for her. She is just a simple secretary, a recording device, not a noble son or a god. And that is enough for her. However since she doesn’t have Borges she doesn’t have as much faith in her japanese language skills but:

I am the Super High School Level Secretary, so then I should go to my writing topic as soon as possible.

> Get out of the room

Don't go out of the room? It’s giving me a headache to think about that stupidity. I never thought about choosing the latter. I never want to sleep in this place, because Byakuya-sama is waiting for me alone. Byakuya-sama only wants me to go alone and look for him.

At the end of the speech, he did not say the collective "you" but the singular "you". He said, "You should be able to understand." That is to say, he only calls me alone, Byakuya-sama, he believes that I will go to him, if this is the case, then I must go to him, because I am his sister. I have to act, I must act, even if I have to gamble on life, I will not hesitate to gamble on everything. That's right…

“I’ll stake the Togami name on it!”

I stood up quietly and began to do stretching exercises, one, two, three, and my knees creaked whenever I bent them. I am not sure if this is the sound bones are meant to make but since Borge is broken, I can't get more knowledge on that. Now I can only rely on my own naked eyes and intuition, so if I don't force myself to fight, I will have no way to break through this situation. Isn't this just what I want? If you don't speculate or calculate, then you won’t be able to plan your move. I quickly moved to the side of the big window. The opposite of this large window is the door I longed for, about ten meters away. I beg you, I beg you, just a few seconds, give me time to let my body reach the place safely.

"Oh-"

I grabbed the thick cloth and ran forward in one breath. Fortunately, the cloth was not stuck, and it swung forward smoothly, covering the large window.

A curtain! Yes!

Shinobu’s plan went something like this: Cover half of the big window with the curtain so that both parties have only half of their vision. Then use the curtain’s barrier to run to the door, and then have them shoot so she can figure out their approximate position. She goes for it and a bullet brushes past her hair, barely missing. She rushes to the door and another bullet hits her side, however it doesn’t kill her Wondering to herself how she is still alive, she dashes out of the room in pain. She doesn’t want to go through the lobby, so she smashes through a window on the first floor and jumps out.

The window sill was unexpectedly high, and my butt landed firmly on the ground

I looked up and saw the sun. The heat outside, the blue sky and the wind that caressed the cheeks made me feel that I was still alive. I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. A book fell from my arms to the ground.

"Journey Under The Midnight Sun" had in it, a big hole, and spread out with the wind.

The book had saved her from any major injury.

The record of the existence Byakuya Togami, the text created by me as its medium, which has always been with me, rises like a group of butterflies flying in the air, and then flies away in the distance; Biography, my self identity, is flying away in the wind. I watched this scene, and I felt almost unbelievably happy. “Goodbye, my book!” An old writer who won the Nobel Prize once shouted, and he continued to write novels after that. Nothing much, just write again, as long as I am still alive.

"Thank you."

I did not say goodbye, but said such a sentence.

Borges, Journey Under The Midnight Sun, thank you. Thank you for helping me all this time, but... you were my compass and my purpose, and now that I lost you, what should I do next?

I suddenly realized that I held something in my hand, like a newborn baby. I remembered that when Hiroyuki was attacked, his hand had held mine. Much like Taro Urashima opening the jewelled box [4], I slowly opened my hand and saw that there was a piece of paper with only one letter written on it:

Translation Notes:

[1] The Winter War was a war between the Soviet Union (USSR) and Finland. It began with a Soviet invasion of Finland on 30 November 1939, three months after the outbreak of World War II, and ended three and a half months later with the Moscow Peace Treaty on 13 March 1940. The League of Nations deemed the attack illegal and expelled the Soviet Union from the organisation.

[2] The Battle of Kollaa was fought from December 7, 1939, to March 13, 1940, in Ladoga's Karelia, Finland, as a part of the Soviet-Finnish Winter War. Kollaa is often considered to have been one of the most difficult places to defend during the Winter War. It has been estimated that the Red Army fired almost 40,000 artillery rounds at the defence line during a single day, whereas the Finnish artillery could fire only 1,000 rounds per day at the very most. However the Finnish managed to come out victorious.

[3] The Siege Of Oshi (1590) was one of many battles in Toyotomi Hideyoshi's campaigns against the Hōjō clan during Japan's Sengoku period. Oshi Castle was a stronghold of the Narita clan in north-central Musashi Province. The Narita were originally vassals of the Ogigayatsu Uesugi clan and under the leadership of Narita Akiyasu completed Oshi Castle around 1479. The castle was built on a small elevation near the Tone River and used surrounding marshes and swamplands as part of its outer defenses. It was regarded as one of the seven most important strongholds of the Kantō region. During the Siege of Odawara in 1590, the daimyō Toyotomi Hideyoshi dispatched one of his senior retainers, Ishida Mitsunari, on an expedition to reduce the outlying castles still loyal to the Odawara Hōjō clan throughout the Musashi Province. Three days after capturing Tatebayashi Castle, Ishida's forces of 23,000 troops arrived at Oshi. On arrival they discovered that the Narita clan leader, Narita Ujinaga, was at Odawara with the bulk of his forces. He had left his home castle defended by only 619 samurai and 2000 local conscripts led by his daughter Kaihime and younger brother Narita Ujichika. After the castle refused to surrender, the castle held off numerous attacks from Ishida's forces. This included a copy-cat effort to flood the defenders using the same method that Hideyoshi used at his famous Siege of Takamatsu. Despite Ishida's impressive construction of 28 kilometers of dikes and torrential rains, the castle still held for over a month. Eventually the defenders only surrendered after hearing word that their lord had been defeated at Odawara.

[4] Urashima Taro is the protagonist of a Japanese fairy tale, who in a typical modern version is a fisherman rewarded for rescuing a turtle, and carried on its back to the Dragon Palace beneath the sea. There he is entertained by the princess Otohime as a reward. He spends what he believes to be several days with the princess, but when he returns to his home village, he discovers he has been gone for at least 100 years. When he opens the forbidden jewelled box, given to him by Otohime on his departure, he turns into an old man.

To Be Continued.

https://drmedicsgamesurgery.tumblr.com/GameSurgeryDRTranslations

#Danganronpa #Danganronpa:Togami #danganronpa togami #DRT3 Summary #Danganronpa: Togami #Part 5 #Time for mindfuckery #prepare yourself for next chapter #also i reccomend reading first #Kirigiri Sou #SO do that if you haven't #trust me you aregonna wanna do that

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