#no one knows what shadowy memories haunt them

[pinchofhoney]

Hi, could you write something for Coryo x reader were the reader is close if not equally as evil in the end. How would that relationship work? idk just a thought I had use it if you wish

crack in the mirror

coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

warning: i think none

summary: Many cling to the belief of their own goodness, until they meet someone who's just like them.

a/n: hii, thank you so much for your request!! i hope you'll enjoy what i've written for you!<33

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @watercolorskyy

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

How did it all begin?

With the 10th Hunger Games, where your academic excellence earned you the role of mentor to one of the tributes.

It was a time of innocence and youthful ambition, back when your paths met within the shadowy corridors of the Capitol's Academy. You and Coriolanus were close friends, unstained by the cruelty that life had in store for you and you pretty often looked back on those days, memories of laughter, shared dreams, and an unwavering friendship etched in your mind.

The two of you were bound by a shared ambition, shining among the brightest stars, each destined for greatness in the eyes of those who believed in you. The world was your playground, and you were determined to conquer it. Little did you know how that fateful year, with its trials and tribulations, would set the course of your life on a much darker path.

As the mentor to Treech from District 7, you hadn't yet embraced the darkness that would soon consume you. Back then, you were as eager as your colleagues, hoping to prove your worth, do your best, and guide your tribute to victory. It was pretty cruel twist of fate that Lucy Gray Baird, with her haunting charm and cunning nature, would change the course of everything.

In the heart of those unforgettable 10th Hunger Games, within the unforgiving arena, your dreams and aspirations slowly began to twist and corrode. Ambition transformed into ruthless manipulation, friendship into subtle deception, and innocence into a devouring thirst for power. The venomous snake mutt that took Treech's life before your very eyes became a symbol of the ruthless transformation that was gradually overtaking you.

That year marked the beginning of your involvement in the Games and the emergence of a darkness that would one day reflect the very core of President Snow himself. The metropolis watched, captivated by the spectacle of the tributes battling for their lives, while behind the scenes, a bitter change took root.

As you stood alongside the other students in the viewing room, preoccupied with the tributes, a chill ran down your spine. You didn't yet grasped the feeling, but something fundamental had shifted within you. You couldn't shake the realization that in the Capitol, victory meant survival, and survival allowed for anything. Lucy Gray's actions, no matter how brutal, were merely a reflection of the society to which you belonged.

Coriolanus tried to hold onto the purity of your friendship, to keep the darkness at bay, but you were the values he progressively ignored. Ambition has a way of distorting even the best intentions, and the path you had chosen was covered in shadows and secrecy.

As the Games progressed, the transformation hastened. The bonds you had formed with others became instruments of manipulation, and you enjoyed your newfound ability to bend their will to your desires.

The suffering of each tribute, each extinguished life, stoked the icy flames of ambition within you. You clutched to the logic that to climb up the Capitol's hierarchy, you had to be willing to destroy all who stood in the way. Your heart grew cold, your smile more deceitful, and your soul darkened, much like the future President of Panem that Coriolanus didn't yet realize he would become.

The Games ended with Treech taking the third place, a result you considered an absolute failure. It served as the catalyst for your final descent into the abyss. You had only tasted a little bit of success, and you hungered for more. The purity of your friendship with Coriolanus had been definitely tarnished, and the darkness that enveloped you continued.

The 10th Hunger Games and the Gamemakers marked not just the beginning of a change within you, but also foreshadowed the dark days to come.

You and Coriolanus would be leaders of a world where cruelty and manipulation held authority.

You had come a long way since those innocent days at the Academy, where laughter and shared dreams were the currency of friendship. As the Head Gamemaker, you wielded power over life and death, orchestrating the annual Hunger Games spectacle that captivated the Capitol.

Your importance in the Capitol was undeniable, but the bonds of friendship that once connected you to young Snow had weakened, stretched to their limits, and threatened to break. Since your graduation from the Academy, the warmth of your interactions had been replaced by a chilling formality. The echoes of your former closeness had grown faint, drowned out by the sounds of the ruthless Games you helped design.

Coriolanus, still crawling in his presidency, remained in your life as a hint of your teenage years and shared mentorship past. He was both intrigued and disturbed by the ideas you injected into the Games each year, but he never consciously acknowledged the rot that had taken root within him as well.

As the Head Gamemaker, you reveled in the dark art of power, where tributes became pawns and suffering was blend into the very fabric of the arena. Your ambitions had propelled you to the highest echelons of Capitol society, but the biggest cost had been the destruction of the humanity that once defined you.

Determined, you made your way to the meeting room, eager to introduce Coriolanus to your plan for the 23rd Hunger Games.

He was already there, wearing an expression that mixed curiosity with apprehension. You greeted him with a cool nod, fully aware of how your interactions had grown more formal over the years.

“Coryo,” you began, saying the familiar diminutive you'd used back at the Academy. The warmth of that old friendship may have cooled, but the nickname had grown in you, a habit you couldn't shake when you were alone with him. “I've prepared something truly phenomenal for this year's Games. Something that will cause goosebumps on the skin of every viewer, let alone the tributes in the arena,” you said, locking your gaze with your old friend with a mysterious smirk on your lips.

In response, Coriolanus leaned in with growing curiosity. “Please, continue,” he urged, which only caused a wider smile on your face.

You gestured toward a holographic projection on the wall, revealing a sinister, genetically created creature. Its elongated limbs, razor-sharp claws, and grotesque, misshapen features created a nightmarish creation.

“This,” you declared, “is the Umbra Noctis. It's a creature designed to terrify and torture the tributes in ways they could never have imagined. With its ability to blend into the shadows, it will stalk them relentlessly, striking fear into their hearts.”

Coriolanus observed the creature, a mixture of fascination and consternation in his eyes, narrowing the gap between you. “But how does it differ from the mutts we've used before?”

You leaned in, your voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “It carries a venom that induces hallucinations, distorting reality for its victims. The terror it inflicts will be as much psychological as it is physical.”

As you detailed your plan, the room seemed to grow colder, and the weight of your shared darkness pressed on Coriolanus. You described the various mutants and horrors destined for the arena, all designed to heighten the tributes' fear and despair.

“I want the 23rd Hunger Games to be remembered as the most nightmarish ever,” you declared. “A spectacle that reveals the true depths of human darkness, concealed behind the Capitol's glittering facade.”

As the weight of your words settled in the room, Coriolanus’ initial curiosity gave way to a growing skepticism. He couldn't help but question the depths of darkness you were willing to immerse.

“Isn't this,” Coriolanus began, his voice cautious, “perhaps too much, even for the Hunger Games? We want to entertain, to captivate the audience, not to... terrify to the point of despair.”

You turned to him, your gaze firm, and for a moment, the professional mask slipped, revealing the abyss beneath. “Coryo, don't you see? The Capitol's fascination with the Games is not just about entertainment. It's about the harsh reality that we, as a society, have become as ruthless and depraved as the Games themselves. We are a reflection of the horrors we create.”

Coriolanus eyed you, his features a blend of recognition and disquiet. Your words had hit the spot, reminding him that he, too, played a role in Panem's transformation as its president.

You continued, your voice now nearly a whisper, “The darkness, Coryo, is not just within the arena but within us. The Games merely show what has always been there. It's a reflection of who we've become, and it's time we faced that truth.”

For a brief moment, Coriolanus seemed to confront his own rottenness, an unsettling truth that had long been concealed in the shadows of his conscience and the room fell silent.

With measured steps, you circled around Coriolanus, stopping in front of him. You met his calm gaze, finding in it the shadow of chaos, reflecting his soul.

Your eyes wandered over his attire, and with a calculated, gentle touch, you adjusted the rose on his chest before gracing him with a faint smile.

“Look at you,” you began, taking a step back, creating a clear distance between you. “Remember when you used to fear Dr. Gaul? And now, what have you become?” your next question followed swiftly, with no pause for his response.

“You're the man who sends innocent kids to their deaths every year, a cruel reminder to the districts of who hold the power, who is in control. And I? I'm just one of the instruments in your hands.”

Your words hung in the air, and as Coriolanus opened his mouth to respond, you silenced him with an unspoken urgency. “You might tell yourself that you can sleep soundly, shifting the responsibility onto me and my team, washing your hands clean of the blood. But deep down, you know it's a lie, don't you?”

Coriolanus met your gaze, a blend of defiance and self-denial in his eyes. He had always been skilled at pushing the truth aside, shielding himself from the reality he had become.

“You're mistaken,” he finally said, his voice tensed. “I have a duty to maintain order, to ensure the Capitol's dominance. The Games are a means to an end, a necessary evil.”

Your expression remained unwavering as you countered, “But do you truly believe that, Coryo? Do you truly believe it's as simple as maintaining order? The depths of cruelty we've reached, the horrors we've unleashed, they go beyond mere necessity.”

He opened his mouth to respond, to argue his case further, but a hint of doubt flickered in his eyes, betraying the internal struggle within. The truth you had spoken, the darkness he had tried to repress, clawed at the edges of his conscience.

“That's what I thought,” you said with a note of satisfaction in your eyes, and resumed presenting your plan as if nothing had happened, not paying attention to Coriolanus' confusion. However, the shift in the room's atmosphere was palpable, and the unspoken tension lingered.

#do you hear that? it's the sound of snow falling #the hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games headcanon #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes headcanon #10th hunger games #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow scenario #coriolanus snow x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth fanfiction #hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games headcanon #ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #ballad of songbirds and snakes headcanon #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth #x reader #x y/n

[anythingbuthumanfest]

2023 Anything But Human Master list

That's about a wrap for the 2023 Anything But Human fest! Thank you to everyone who participated. It was a lot of fun, horror, and laughs. There are a few more people still writing so the list will be updated in the next week or so.

Updated Dec 2nd

Submission list page

AO3 page

Whether Land or Sea, You’re the one for me by dystopianRebel Ariel isn’t the only mermaid to get a happily ever after.

the righteous dead by Aspen_Gray Harry is resurrected, sewn together with thread and magic. He remembers nothing except that he loves his savior, a man named Voldemort.

I will follow you into the dark by evaleon70 for queasy Harry loves a good horror book, and this new one about a monster called Voldemort is now his favorite. Unknowingly, he calls out to the shadowy entity, and gains the monster's full attention and appetite.

caught in my web by queasy Well well well, look who The Other Tom has finally caught.

tom's foolery by queasy for sujing Harry is an absolute menace as a ghost. But Voldemort's guesses this is the price he has to pay for killing Harry Potter, and becoming the newest leader of the magical world.

to the grave by asterismal (asterisms) Four times the denizens of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry speculate about the Dark Tower's ghost. + One time the ghost speaks for himself.

Therefore, Repay Evil with Blessing by evaleon70 Father Tom loves his position as a Priest - it is so much easier to kill with his collar. Harry has been watching him, and the Angel is far from pleased with the blackening soul inside those vestments.

Got lost in it, feels impossible by Soulseeker (Laserswordtraining) Revived Harry’s horcrux, Tom is part-dementor with powers over emotions and memories. Especially Harry’s.

windswept by asterismal (asterisms) Eleven years old, in a shack on a rock in the sea, Harry Potter learns there’s an entire secret world of people just like him. People with magic. People who are strange. Perhaps even people who are trouble. Except, even here, no one is strange like him. (At least, not yet.) AKA: Three meetings between Lord Voldemort and the Boy-Who-Lived.

haunting you by queasy for purplemineralwater Harry James Evans-Potter is Godric Hollow’s well-known wizard for any and all things spirits and the beyond. He was given The Riddle Case last month, when one of their squib servants called him up in hysteria for help. What Harry first summoned was a sloppy job of some amateur necromancers or grave robbers, turned into something far more inexplicably horrific.

The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep (I have promises to keep) by evaleon70 Prompt fill for Anything But Human Fest: "Lost in the woods surrounding their secluded village, James and Lily are found by the monstrous forest god Voldemort, who leads them back to safety in exchange for their firstborn child. When Harry is born they don’t give him up, and figure they’re safe as long as they keep away from the woods, as its creatures are somehow unable to leave. But even if V is unable to physically reach them, his powers manage to drain their lives before Harry turns two. Being raised by the Dursleys, Harry grows up strangely fascinated with the forest, even if he knows he must never enter its domains (surprise: he ends up doing it)"

World Saving Distractions by SolidMisfortuneandThings Voldemort was always obsessed with Harry. Now they finally know why. Severus Snape was the first one to figure it out and uses it as a distraction so that he could hunt down the horcruxes and be labled as a hero. Harry Potter is only a sacrifice anyways. Who cares how it happens? Submission for Anything but Human fest Prompt: Voldemort is more snakelike than he realizes and its mating season

In body, in mind, in spirit by Ciacconne For the ABH fest. For the prompt: “Tom is a doll maker, and he creates Harry, his personal Pinocchio who thinks he is a real boy. What will he do when he finds out the truth? What was he made for? (for Tom's entertainment?).” Green eyes wooden fingers green eyes trembling fingers searching piece by piece a world now known

Chemical or Magic (I can't let you go) by SquibNation10 For my prompt: Aliens!! Voldemort's spaceship crashes on Planet Earth and of course, he has to find resources to rebuild his ship and later take over the stupid planet that dares mess with his plans! Unfortunately, he meets a homeless Singer-wannabe Harry Potter who messes up his plans. It features Regulus as the Star Elf, Luna as the Loveable Robot, Ambitious General Umbridge and a very Don't give a F Dr Snape. Inspired by a convo with someone I had when they asked me about fanfiction: "You spend all your time on remaking other stories because you have no idea what the real thing is- this is no art," "Maybe, but in my remakes, I never lose hope that I'll find art, and yeah okay it's never going to be an original... but it's mine."

treasures untold by asterismal (asterisms) This close, it’s impossible to mistake for human. Perfect symmetry. Black scales that sweep across its cheeks and forehead, framing too-big eyes, round and wide-set; chips of jade that threaten to swallow inky black pupils. He swims closer, unthinking, and the creature poises to attack, needle sharp fangs bared. Deadly. Dangerous.  In which Tom Riddle enters the Black Lake seeking a prize, and he finds one.

Listen Intently (Your secrets are mine to keep) by SquibNation10 for quiet-of-snow The Rock is black and smooth, interspersed with emerald green jagged carvings, almost too beautiful to be a coincidence. Tom (later Voldemort) discovers this rock has an interesting magical signature. He finds out the rock is a sentient being and can communicate with him. The Rock wishes to be called Harry.

carve through the dark by asterismal (asterisms) The creature’s face splits in a grin, its sharp teeth gleaming. “You may call me Voldemort, Lord of the Forest Below.” “You’re Lord Voldemort?” The monster from Dumbledore’s stories (from all the stories, really), leaving him gifts? Helping him? Surely not. “Are you sure?” Voldemort laughs. “What a rude creature you are,” it says, delighted, winding ever closer. “Yes, little faun, I am sure.” “But Lord Voldemort has been hunting us for centuries.” Its head tilts. It smiles again, and its teeth gleam. “Indeed I have.” Harry’s heart flutters. “Oh.” “Scared?” Voldemort asks, behind him now. Harry feels its breath on his neck, and all the hairs there rise. He whirls, glares at the creature head-on. “Never!” AKA: Faun Harry Potter meets infamous snake-man Voldemort.

reign down by asterismal (asterisms) Harry Potter is being watched. Tom Riddle is in crisis. These things are 100% related

Tomarrymort drabbles & stuff by abraginsky__2 One shots. Tomarrymort One Shots.

and all that you've made of me by LyingInSpirals Anything But Human 2023 Prompt fill As a child, Harry was possessed by the demon Voldemort. Even after a successful exorcism, the demon refuses to leave him alone, although he can’t touch Harry anymore and only Harry can see him. As the years go by, Voldemort’s threats of finally getting him seem more and more real, with the demon’s figure turning ever so slowly more corporeal.

the righteous dead by Aspen_Gray Harry is resurrected, sewn together with thread and magic. He remembers nothing except that he loves his savior, a man named Voldemort.

#harrymort #harry potter #tomarry #tomarrymort #voldemort #anything but human #hp fandom #lord voldemort #tom riddle #tmrhp

[papaver-decervicatus]

July Showers, August Flowers

Angst, barely any comfort, AU Mouse?/Konig? mentions of child death, unplanned pregnancy, etc. More info below

So, a couple times I had mentioned how Mouse became sort of an OC to me, and for whatever reason, the angst was really hitting me last night so I whipped out this. Brief timeline/overview

Lucretia "Mouse" Jehnnings- US Marine Sniper Scout and Clandestine Insertions specialist gets partnered up with Julius "König" Doss, insertions specialist for the Austrian Special Forces in 2014. The two work well together, slow burn, they fall in love, you get the idea. In 2015, Mouse gets shot in the field and her comrade, the newly promoted Captain Price, tells Hans "Golem" Blaustein that Mouse died in combat (so she can assume an espionage role.) Hans relays this info to König, who abandons his plans of retirement and eventually works for KorTac under the assumption that Mouse is dead. König pulls a similar stunt and 'dies' legally to continue his work. Mouse is told that he is dead as well. They both live under the assumption that the other has died. In 2023, Mouse joins SpecGru under the insistence of Captain Price. She recognizes König in the field and this is the first meeting in years. They're like. Late 30s here, but they met at mid 20s.

Sorry for the long explanation! I promise it makes more sense in my head. Anyways, very self indulgent and has no bearing on C/M/D, but, functionally, Mouse and König are the same characters, just with identities explored.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shuts the door behind her with a characteristic quietness, and she doesn’t so much as turn to the entryway as she redoes the locks behind her. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mouse lies.

König knows it’s a lie. This is how Lucretia lies. With her eyes cast down, her lip bloody in her teeth, her elegant shoulders collapsing in on her small frame. All these years later she doesn’t look all that much different, perhaps it’s his own age talking but there’s something so effortlessly charming in her smile lines and crow's feet. The red light leaking down onto her in the dim room creates a shadowy contrast on her face. He can still count her freckles. She never got her nose corrected, it’s still slightly crooked. Her lip scar, the one he tasted when it was fresh, has healed itself into a satisfying silver sliver. 

But for every similarity to his Maus, this Mouse carries a difference. Her hair is a little thinner, it’s certainly longer than he ever knew it to be. She has a much larger scar that strikes through her right, but still unharmed, eye. She has more ear piercings and tattoos littered about what little skin he’s had the privilege to see. 

She’s dressed to the nines in her combat uniform, it’s unlike any he’d have known her in a near decade ago. It’s dark, it’s stylized, she’s littered it with little insignias of herself. A dagger symbol rests on her tac-vest guarding her heart. His own heart wonders what look her face would make if she were to see the dagger he got on his own sternum, a sullen memorial to a long-dead lover complete with edelweiss insignia and her favorite poppies.

This is Mouse. Not Maus. Not Lucretia. He tries to separate them in his mind. 

He fails, he just wants the woman in front of him in his arms again, no matter if she’s different than how he knew her. She’s still Mouse the Sniper, she’s still the muse of every late-night memory that haunts him, still what he fights for, still what he wants. 

“Price told me,” König warns. His body starts to shake. He doesn’t know what answer, if any, he wants. 

“Yeah well. He told me you were dead.” Her wonderful, honey-brown eyes pierce daggers into his. In this light, she looks like some chthonic succubus, ready to steal his soul and spit his discarded body out, bloody, but still alive. 

“Hans told me the same of you.” He says. What he means is I died when they told me as much. I haven’t been alive since I found out Lucretia Jehnnings died from a gunshot to the abdomen. Krueger had to peel me off the floor. I bought a ring for you. I was going to ask you to be Lucretia or Jenny Doss, it didn’t even matter if you took my last name as long as you were mine. I haven’t felt that way since you died, hell I haven’t been a person since you left, just this monster. I want to kill Hans and put his body at your feet. He lied to me, you’re alive but I’ll never forgive myself for our time apart.

She shudders and unwraps her make-shift gause face mask from her hands and re-wraps it in an idly attempt at comfort. He remembers when she used to do the same with her bandana. So much is different, but nothing’s really changed, now has it?

“How did he tell you I went?” She asks, eyes still trained on their target. He swallows the bile rising in his throat. She is breaking apart at the seams, but he will not let her think he is too fragile to hold her together. “Abdomen. Gunshot.” He clips out, short and breathless. A humorless laugh escapes her lips in return.

“Someone died from that all right,” she says, through tears and hiccuping laughter. She slips her sniper’s cowl off her shoulder, exposing her right forearm. She steps closer to him and, just like all those years ago, he lets her approach him, all too weary to scare such a lovely prey animal off.

She exposes the arm to him. Between the scarring, intentional and otherwise, pure black flowers curl in between themselves. Edelweiss, poppies, morning glories, forget-me-nots, and baby’s breath tangle around a name and date. Augusta. 

When he looks into her now overflowing eyes for permission, he slips his hood off when she nods yes. He expects confusion, ire, resentment, disgust, and a million other things to cross her face when she sees him again, the monster that he’s been without her.

Instead, she silently cries harder and shudders when he presses a few sad kisses to the tattoo. He breathes in her smell and soaks in her warmth as if to remind himself that she really is here and this isn’t just his deepest fantasy played out in the night again. She still smells like cinnamon and mint. She’s still warm to the touch.

“Would you have told me if you knew I was alive?” Anger rises in his stomach, at Price, at Hans, at the US and Austrian governments for perpetrating such a lie, but not at her, never at her. He pushes it down, resolved to know that he will make all the conspirators pay in due time. Right now, he focuses on the bittersweet joy of having his own life back in arm’s reach.

“No, I-” she shivers and digs her nails into her arm so fiercely he worries she will draw blood. “I couldn’t face you.” She backs away from him and he lets her retreat. It pains him to lose contact but he knows chasing her will only compound the hurt. 

Still, his mind reels in confusion. What reason could she possibly give to have him be upset? He wants to twine her in his arms somewhere far away, to never let her go, to shield her from every future injustice dished out by a world that has already battered her so badly.

“Why?”

“Because I failed, Julius!” She shouts, body shaking and voice trembling. “First I failed as a soldier, I put myself into some stupid fucking situation and got shot. Then I failed as a woman because I didn’t even recognize- who wouldn’t fucking know? How could any woman miss that?” Her loud voice dips into quiet pain and she sinks to her knees in front of him. “And lastly, I failed you.” He follows her onto the floor and sits in front of her, listening to her line of reasoning, no matter how badly he wants to shout at her about how wrong she is. “Lucre-” “No, Julius, I did. I failed you, I thought, this is awful, but I thought-” She takes in a shuddering breath and her words find a steadier cadence. “I thought to myself, ‘at least Julius is dead. At least I don’t have to tell him how badly I fucked up. At least it’s all my fault, at least they’re alr-” she chokes and takes a moment to collect herself. “At least, you could hold her when I couldn’t. At least you could take care of her when I clearly couldn’t and didn’t deserve to.”

He cannot hold himself back anymore and he lunges at her to grab her in his arms. She knocks over and he pins both her hands above her head and steadies her gaze to his with his other hand guiding her chin.  “Don’t ever say that again!” He shouts, some new angry passion thrashing at his ribs to be let out into the world. “You did not fail, I am the only failure here. If I had known, I never would have let you suffer alone!” He hisses. She closes her eyes and more tears squeeze onto her cheeks. “But you didn’t know-” “And neither did you!” His chest heaves and his heavy heart hits the floor and shatters when she opens her eyes back to his. Now it’s his turn to fall apart, he lets her wrists go and he lays down on his side, maneuvering her body to lay with him the same way. 

She still fits perfectly in his arms after all this time.

He cradles the back of her head into the juncture of his heart and jaw. One of her hands finds his cheek and strokes it. “I am sorry,” he prays into the cold room. She nuzzles closer to him and whispers it back.

Once her trembling stutters to a stop, she unwinds herself ever-so-slightly from his grip and traces his sightline to the exposed tattoo.

“I’m sorry, I had no clue what you would have wanted. It was August 1st and I thought, well Julius Caesar, Caesar Augustus, and…” She trails off and her gaze falls to somewhere on the floor. He strokes her cheek as he turns her eyes back to his.

“Augusta Doss is a perfect name.” He whispers, arms embracing her closer to him yet again.

“She was perfect,” Mouse sobs into his chest, shaking like a boat battered by a summer storm.

He never liked Price and was always at least a little weary of Hans. At this moment, König can think of only one thing he wants more than to rip them apart with his bare hands for what their lies have kept him from and done to his love, and it's to keep holding her until she stops crying.

“Just like her mother,” König responds, holding her steady like a rock holds steady in the sea.

#char: julius doss #mouse/konig #char: lucretia jehnnings #anyways #yeah this is so fucking sad I am already sorry for writing it :)

[leonhardt-simp]

I’ve Got You.

[Werewolf AU] | drabble/mini scenario

Pieck x f! reader

summary: pieck understands that it will take you awhile before everything goes back to normal.

author’s note: HELLO! WE BACK AT IT AGAIN! Thank you for requesting this! I’m basically treating it like a sequel to the sequel of my previous pieck fanfic 💀

Reblogs welcomed ! | Requests : Open !

It took you a long few weeks before the hospital let you go, they didn’t want to risk anything that could potentially go missed. Especially, cause the attack on you was something that happened very rarely in the town.

Nothing would ever stick though since everyone who got attacked either died or survived and moved on with their lives.

But, you couldn’t.

The smallest chore made you anxious, your eyes darted towards shadows at night since the attack. You wondered if this was how normality would be like from now on.

Pieck could see you though, since you got back you distanced yourself from the rest of her pack. She could understand but she felt a sense of hurt.

She was one of those monsters, the monsters that had you turned away from her whenever you both slept together now.

As much as it did hurt her to see you this way, this didn’t stop her from doing things for you.

Anything you needed, she was there to give it to you.

If you asked her to take you away from the town, she would. You held everything of her, she wanted nothing but comfort for you.

You were conscious of it whenever she would help you redress your bandages, or whenever she would help you out of bed.

The one thing you notice, she didn’t transform in front of you. Those sleepy wolf naps, now replaced with human Pieck naps.

Even asleep in human form, she seemed so peaceful. You would sometimes have to stare at her, the nerves of anything bothering you seemingly disappearing. It was peaceful.

News got around fast about your wellbeing, despite being home for only a few days.

“They would like to see you…” Pieck cautiously brought up, your breath getting caught in your throat at the idea.

“You don’t have to though, I know you’re still cautious about them..” Pieck would gently caress your hand in hers. Her eyes slowly shifted up to meet yours, expressing nothing but understanding.

The image of that shadowy wolf would haunt your mind from time to time, the pain of your injuries not helping with the scary thoughts.

“I-… I don’t know-… I just-” The thought overwhelmed you.

With a kiss to your knuckles, you seemed to ease up, just a bit. “It’s okay if you’re not ready yet, my love.” She reassured while you both sat side-by-side on the couch.

You could see her slight disappointment but she would never put you in an uncomfortable situation. “But-” You interjected, wanting to give her something but you were met with a head shake and that all too polite smile.

“I don’t want to you to be uncomfortable. Especially since I know how rowdy they can get.” She giggled with a hand over her mouth slightly, her other hand on yours gently gripping it in reassurance.

She wasn’t wrong, you remembered many nights ago how excited they always got whenever Piecky brought you around to those cabins. Sasha almost knocked into Ymir, then Ymir into Hange, then Hange knocked Annie’s food onto the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at the memory cause Annie just stood looking down at the food with a disappointed look.

Pieck perked up at your laugh, her head tilting in confusion.

“What’s funny?” She asked

You both sat closer together, your head moving in close to lean against her shoulder. “If we meet them again…” You closed your eyes tightly to get rid of the image of that scary wolf from that night. “Will you be with me?…”

There was silence before you felt her shift to turn towards you, holding your face in your hands. When you opened your eyes you saw nothing but a sad eyed Pieck. Eyes that held determination, regret…but mostly love.

“I will never EVER let something like that happen to you again, Y/N. I’ll always be with you.” She swore with such a soft tone.

“You will never have to go through that again… I’m..” Her mask was beginning to fall slightly when she closed her eyes, her eyebrows contorting slightly with sadness.

Her eyes slightly glossy but she held herself together, her face leaning in to press a gentle peck against your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feel of her lips,

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you…. But I will now.” Pieck was determined to keep her oath to you. She leaned her forehead against yours, her hands moving to hold your hands.

“I promise.” Your eyes widened at her tone change.

These wounds of yours were a reminder of what could have been but Pieck kept you leveled to know she wasn’t that monster.

No one from her side was.. But there was always a shadow following you… however… Seeing Pieck desperately make it known that she was always by your side, you felt safer.

Soon enough,

one day,

there in the bathroom as your partner rewrapped your wounds, her hands delicately cleaning the area, you decided you wanted to take that step once more.

“I wanna see them again.” You spoke, her hands stilling in surprise.

Pieck was excited to have you come back, but with everything she made sure you weren’t pushing yourself. “You know I can wait, right?” She reminded you.

You shook your head, turning your body to face her as you sat on the toilet lid, her hands retracting from you as you both stared deeply into each other’s eyes. “I know… but… you’ll be there with me.” You expressed, seeing her expression shift and her eyes softening as she nodded.

Her soft lips giggled and she reached over for the bandages. “I’ll let them know then to be calm about it.” She was happy herself. You could probably see her imaginary tail beginning to wag. You knew she missed being out in the nature, you did too.

The funny memories, the laughs, the experiences you both shared.

You were safe with Pieck. She was your safe space.

If you had her near, that shadowy monster would disappear and be replaced with a loving woman ready for you with open arms.

#pieck finger x reader #pieck x reader #pieck is a soft lover #pieck aot #aot scenarios #aot fic #aot x reader #aot imagines #this isn’t proofread but it’s okay !

[invisible-storyteller]

I'm haunted by you

(Also on AO3)

Awareness returned to her in a burst of sensations like she had just been snapped out of a daydream. Her hands fell away from the steering wheel, and although there was no doubt where she was, she still looked outside the window with the faintest puzzlement on her face.

She was here again.

The abandoned house.

This was the third time this week.

"Three times?" Stiles asked later, when Lydia marched into his room uninvited.

"Yep," Lydia affirmed tersely, "You told me to come here if there's a pattern and now," She released a heavy sigh as she opened her arms with a reluctant flourish, "There's a pattern."

Stiles proceeded to clap his hands way too excitedly for Lydia's liking and pull his transparent board he used for investigation into the middle of the room, hands perched on each of his hips. "Okay, do your banshee senses tell you anything about the possible 'why' you are drawn to that house?"

"If they did, I wouldn't be here right now," Lydia hissed through clenched teeth, to which Stiles made a face in a gesture of 'fair point'.

"Did you smell anything bad?"

"It's not a dead body," Lydia reiterated what she had explained two days ago.

"And you were actually there? Not a dream?"

"I think the previous ones weren't dreams either. It feels more like..." She pressed her lips together in thought, "Like something wants me to forget I was even there."

"Like the wild hunt?" Stiles asked, immediately starting to make notes on his board.

"You think it's someone who was taken?"

"Probably," Stiles replied, but he was eyeing his board calculatingly, "Wait, if you were actually there, that means you know where the house is, right?"

Lydia showed her phone's screen to him, the spot already marked on the map. It was immediately clear Stiles recognized the address. "That's Melissa's old house."

Thus their investigation led straight to the Stilinski living room where Melissa gave a suspicious look upon hearing their theory.

"You think someone lived in my old house, and we all forgot about them?"

"Precisely," Stiles put his hands together, pointing both of his index fingers at her.

"No one has lived there in years. Not since I moved out."

"You didn't sell the house after the wedding?" Lydia asked in surprise, and even Melissa seemed unsure of her past actions.

"No. For some reason, I couldn't. Not even with all the bad memories," Melissa admitted, obviously referring to her alcoholic ex-husband, "I thought I would pass it over to my son."

Once they were in the jeep, both Lydia and Stiles concluded that something was off. Stiles - Melissa's stepson and only son - would go to join the FBI as an intern after graduation, and so it wouldn't be reasonable to keep the house for his sake, especially since Stiles had completely forgotten the property even existed. While Melissa didn't have the keys anymore, Stiles reassured her that it would be no problem, which was a pretty straightforward way of telling her that they were planning to break into her old home. It wasn't a difficult feat either, and the evening brought Stiles, Malia and Lydia onto the uninhabited grounds of the McCall property (for some reason, Melissa never bothered to change her last name).

"What are we looking for?" Malia asked, looking around the shadowy foyer with her enhanced vision, and appearing like she was expecting to fight some huge serpent in a secret chamber.

Lydia headed towards the living room, letting her instincts guide her.

"What is it, Lyds?" Stiles asked from behind her, dragging his flashlight over the clean furniture and the stainless walls. Everything looked oddly proper, with no sign of neglect.

"I just... I feel something," Lydia said, trying to convey the elusive feelings that came with her powers, "Something bad happened here."

Stiles stepped closer, and in his face, Lydia could see that he understood somehow.

"I don't feel it," Malia stated, visibly upset that she was the only one out of the loop.

"I think... I think I knew the person. The one who was taken from here," Stiles announced, suddenly turning on his heel and returning to the stairway at the entrance.

"Do you feel something?" Lydia asked, following as close behind as she could.

"It's weird, but," Stiles exhaled, placing his hand cautiously on the railing, "I feel like I know this place."

"Have you been here before?"

"No," Stiles shook his head and they all ascended the stairs.

Malia went forward to check the rooms, while Stiles looked into every detail of the structure to perhaps discover a hidden passage. Lydia, meanwhile, kept close to the hallway walls, her fingers dancing across the surface and abruptly stopping at a particularly faded stretch of paint.

"Do you guys smell that?" She whispered, albeit not taking her eyes off the wall.

"Smell what?" Malia asked as she reappeared from a room.

"Fresh paint."

Stiles halted, too, and shared a look with Malia. "Fresh?"

Lydia watched the wall in a trance-like state, her nails pressing into the paint with shaky hands.

Lydia? Are you okay?

Her fingertips traced an invisible circle, feeling the ghost of a hand over hers, easing the tremble.

You'll get me the time and I'll do something about it.

"How did we become friends?"

Stiles - never much phased by sudden shifts in topic - answered readily. "Well, I had a massive crush on you for years, and then, I don't know, you just noticed me one day."

"Why?" Lydia whirled to face him, urging Stiles to see the holes in their net of recollections, "What changed?"

"I don't know. I made the lacrosse team?"

"You weren't even first line."

"I must have. You did come to one of my games."

"But we were already friends by then," Lydia argued, starting to pace the rugged floorboards, "You took me to prom."

"Yeah, and Peter bit you."

"Why didn't I go with Jackson?"

"Cause he's an ass?"

Lydia rolled her eyes, leaning her back against the wall as she racked her brain for the missing piece of the puzzle. It felt like it was within reach, and she couldn't help but drum her fingers out of sheer frustration for not seeing what was probably right in front of her.

"I kissed someone, someone on the team," Lydia recalled, despite the hazy images of that day.

"Yeah," Stiles murmured, and Lydia's head shot up eagerly.

"You know about that."

"Of course," Stiles said, his eyebrows in a permanent frown now, "I was angry. I mean, my best friend just kissed the girl I was in love with, who wouldn't feel betrayed?"

"Best friend?" Lydia echoed, to which Stiles's eyes widened in realization.

"Hey, what are you drumming?"

Malia's question interrupted the pair's euphoric breakthrough, her head tilting indicatively towards Lydia's hand which had been subconsciously beating out a rhythm against the wall.

"It sounds like Morse code," Stiles commented, and now that Lydia was actively listening, she could hear the sounds of hooves hitting the ground to the exact beat of her taps.

"S-C-O-T-T" Lydia read out the letters one by one, her eyes once again boring into the house's paintwork as the sound of neighs grew louder.

She turned to her friends with a matching look of confusion, her heart clenching unexptectedly along the name her lips formed with a soul-deep ache.

"Who the hell is Scott?"

(You can check out my AO3 collection for @teenwolfrarepairevents' Halloween event for more pairings coming later on!)

#scydia #original: scydia fanfic #teen wolf rarepair #twrarepair #twrphalloween #twrphalloween2023

[stardustandtwilight]

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

Christmas 2005

Emmett was forbidden from blasting Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” at midnight like he did every year but it was in vain; Sydney woke up hungry at that time anyway. Esme scooped her up from her crib with a wry smile. "Should've known you'd be up, baby girl." She'd been waking up like clockwork at this time. "Shhhh, don't cry, it's Christmas."

Sydney's cries quieted but she still made little disgruntled noises.

Emmett stuck his head out of his and Rosalie's room as Esme carried her down to the kitchen. "That’s not my fault. I was being quiet!”

Esme waved him off. "I know."

"Just saying for the record!"

In the kitchen, Carlisle was already getting a bottle ready. Formula this time. They were still experimenting with switching between blood and formula. Sydney seemed comfortable with both. Carlisle hoped that meant she could drink mostly formula instead of having to drink so much donated blood. He smiled at Esme and Sydney while checking that the formula wasn't too hot. If there was one strong preference Sydney displayed, it was that she preferred warm blood and formula over cold.

"You know, Santa won't come if you don't sleep, baby girl," he said in mock sternness to Sydney.

"Tell Daddy you can't help that you're hungry," Esme said. Then to Carlisle she added, "Are we doing the Santa thing?"

Carlisle shrugged, sheepish. "I don't know, it just seemed like one of those things modern parents say."

Upstairs, Emmett laughed loudly. Rosalie shushed him, but she was laughing too. Edward huffed in the way he did when he was holding back laughter. Thankfully, Alice and Jasper were out on a date for the night, but they were sure to hear about it when they got back.

“They’re never going to let me live that down, are they?” Carlisle asked.

“Not a chance,” Esme said with a grin.

Sydney decided to cry again, evidently impatient with not being fed. Esme bounced her and said, “Okay, sweetheart, we hear you.”

They settled on the couch and Esme gave Sydney her bottle. The newborn drank with a single-minded focus, a tiny pucker between her blue eyes. It brought back shadowy, bittersweet memories of her son and how he made the same face when he nursed. What a gift to be able to care for a baby again.

If only that gift didn’t come with its own new grief.

Among the numerous gifts for Sydney under the tree (Alice couldn’t stop herself from going overboard with the baby clothes, especially shoes because “they’re too cute!”) were gifts for Sarah. Esme hadn’t been able to stand looking at them gathering dust in her office so she wrapped them all in a grief-stricken focus while she did the presents for the rest of the family. Nobody said anything about her putting them under the tree but now that it was Christmas she wondered why she bothered. Sarah would never take pictures on the new camera Esme had gotten her or play Super Mario Brothers 3 again on the NES that Emmett found on eBay or –

“Hey.” Carlisle touched Esme’s face, bringing her out of that train of thought. “What’s wrong?”

Esme sighed. “Sarah.”

It was all she had to say. Carlisle’s eyes were filled with understanding and with his own grief and guilt. Esme knew he did all he could to save her, but he was haunted by the reassurances he gave her that she would live, that she would be there to see Sydney grow. He had been sorely tempted to go back on the promise to not change Sarah, but he couldn’t live with himself if he broke that promise too.

Sydney distracted them for a moment by spitting out the bottle’s nipple with a grunt and Esme handed her over to Carlisle to burp.

“I don’t know what to do with her gifts. I’m kind of embarrassed that I wrapped them,” Esme admitted. 

Carlisle shook his head. “I don’t think you should be embarrassed.” 

“Sarah isn’t here to open them,” Esme said bitterly. She felt her throat close up and her eyes prick with phantom tears and she closed them. Her earlier words to Sydney came back to her - don’t cry, it’s Christmas.

“I know.” Carlisle’s voice was low and tired. For a moment, there was only the sound of him lightly patting Sydney’s back. “You got her a camera, right?” 

“Yes. Why?” 

“Well, you could always open it yourself. Use that camera to take pictures of Sydney growing up like she would have.” 

Esme considered it. The camera certainly wouldn’t go to waste that way and while the thought still brought on the ache over Sarah not being here to do it herself, it was better than letting the gift sit and collect dust again. “That’s a good idea.” 

Carlisle smiled crookedly. “I’ve been known to have them.” Esme only just refrained from rolling her eyes. 

Being done burping Sydney, Carlisle brought her back to the crook of his arm and kissed her forehead. Esme leaned in to kiss her head and inhaled her sweet scent. It didn’t make her throat burn like a normal human’s would and she savored it. Sydney’s tiny hand closed around Carlisle’s finger and her eyes fluttered closed, instantly asleep. Carlisle sighed, a rueful smile on his face.

“What is it?” Esme asked.

“I wish I could sleep like that.”

“Aww, does the old man need a nap?” Esme teased.

“It’s been three hundred sixty-five years since I last slept. Of course I do.” He nudged her with his foot. “Don’t you?”

“No.” Esme nudged him back. “It’s only been a hundred and ten years for me. I’m not tired.”

“I guess I’m the only one that needs a nap. Besides this little one. I wonder how long before we’ll hear her protesting that she’s not tired.” 

“Sooner than we think.” The changes in Sydney since her birth a month ago would be small to human eyes, but to vampire eyes they were significant. They were all so used to looking in each other’s unchanging faces. Esme already anticipated Sydney growing up too fast, a common parental complaint. 

“I suppose we should put her back to bed,” Carlisle said, sounding a bit regretful. 

Esme smiled and snuggled into his side. “No, I think we’re all comfortable right here.” 

In the morning, as the Cullens gathered to open their gifts, Esme opened her present for Sarah and the very first picture she took was of Emmett piling all the discarded bows onto a sleeping Sydney. 

#twilight #my fanfic #esme cullen #carlisle cullen #oc: sydney cullen #sorry alice no matter how cute those baby shoes are syd's always going to kick them off

[lerolie]

Nights and Queens | Hu Tao x Reader

Summary : you are a ghost with no memories. hu tao helps you remember.

Warnings : angst, depictions of violence and death.

A/n : 6.2k words. second person. reader is referred to as a woman with she/her pronouns. my first post on this blog!!!

The very moment you awoke you could feel how everything was... not as it should be.

Your body, for one, seemed to be completely weightless. Your eyes opened with trepidation, wincing at the sight of the harsh Liyue sun in the early morning. You lifted your arm, reaching translucent fingertips up to stare at the way light filtered through the trees above; right through your translucent skin.

The realization didn't hurt. It wasn't painful to understand you were dead.

Especially since you could remember nothing of when you were alive.

The afterlife is not as grim as many make it out to be. Sure, it could be boring at times, but that was only if you sought out solitude.

Your fellow ghostly brethren often flitted about the forests of Wuwang Hill, and you found yourself becoming quite acquainted with them. Listening to their stories, playing with the children who had passed, running around with the animals who could somehow sense your otherworldly presence.

Even with these activities though, you still often found yourself sitting down in the grass alone, contemplating your memories. You retained basic facts about Liyue, such as the name of the area you were in as well as information about your home city—Liyue Harbor. However, even with these memories, thoughts of your own personal self were lost to you.

It's strange, not knowing anything about yourself. You began mentally noting your many questions, such as: what kind of food did you like? Who were your friends and family when you were alive? What caused you to stay behind at Wuwang Hill as a ghost?

And most importantly of all, the question that haunted you the most: what was your name?

Your first sight her was at night, when many of the ghosts were resting under the comfort of the full moon's glow. They had poked and prodded for you to join them, to relax with them, but you didn't find the same comfort in the moon's light that they did. You don't know why you feel this way, but darkness was stifling. Uncomfortable.

This was just… another thing that sets you apart from them.

The path framed by trees on which you walked was silent, almost scarily so, even if you had nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were now one of the famed ghostly apparitions of Wuwang Hill.

If anything, this woman you were watching should be terrified of the woods. Had she no fear of spirits and monsters?

You eyed her cautiously from behind the bark of an old tree. You thought a shield would be unnecessary, because something about this woman causes you to feel a sort of... unease. Is that what this feeling was?

Your eyes trail over her attire, the darkness of her outfit blending in perfectly with the shadowy night of Wuwang Hill. She was prone on the ground, head snapping from side to side, as if she were looking for something. Her hands scraped across the dirt path with fervor, and you were sure that such a determined woman would find what she was looking for.

But it seems you were wrong.

You had stood there for fifteen long, arduous minutes as you watched the woman comb through the dirt path; before sighing and releasing the tree which had kept you hidden. It hurt you to watch her pitifully struggle like this, so perhaps you could help her. She was obviously searching for something, and your attention snapped to her array of rings and jewelry. Maybe she had lost one on the path?

You inched closer and closer, however as you approached the strange feeling tightening in your phantom memory of a stomach only got more intense. Perhaps it would have been better for you to turn away and forget about her, but something inside of you beckoned you forward.

"Aiya, I've finally found you!" The woman exclaims suddenly, shocking you into complete stillness. Your eyes widen as her unusual looking ones lock with your own—a shining smile breaking out across her face. She's staring right at you, and she was not running away or screaming in terror, both normal responses to locking eyes with a ghost. You can only stare at her dumbly.

She continues on, getting up from the dirt ridden ground and wiping the dirt from her knees. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Seriously, how hard could it be for me to come across a spirit," The woman pouts. "Maybe I'm losing my charm, ugh!"

"...Excuse me?" You say, attempting to get her attention back on you. It's successful, but after seeing the strange look on her face you sort of regret it. Your look to where she had been on the dirt floor. Was she searching for you there? "Uhm, were you really looking for me?"

"Of course!"

"Right... so I was wondering if you could tell me why?"

She saunters right on over, and her face is suddenly so close to your own. You recoil noticeably. "Mn, I think it would make it a liiiiittle more interesting if I didn't tell you for now. Anywho, why aren't you with the others?"

"I just wanted a breath of fresh air," You say, frown heavy. You didn't have the energy to put effort into the lie, and the woman takes notice; smirking. Is she... teasing you?

"Ah, but that's a joke right? Dead people don't breathe!"

You don't even expect the laugh that makes its way out of your mouth.

And it's loud. Like, clutching at your stomach while wheezing for air loud. The 'joke' itself wasn't even that funny, and yet you were wiping a stray tear from your eye. You hadn't been joked with in a long while.

The woman is no longer smiling, only staring at you with an inscrutable look in her strange eyes. Your laugh finally trails off, and you meet her gaze once again, a radiant smile curving at your lips.

"Thanks for that," You're starting to feel bashful over this sudden display of humor, so it feels almost required to reign it back in. "I needed a good laugh."

The woman looks positively starstruck, and the silence from before penetrates the space between you both. It's painfully tense—even awkward. Just as you're about to ask her what's wrong, her mouth opens to speak once more.

"No wonder the other ghosts told me to check in on you, you're a freak," She says in an awed voice, which was fairly contrasting considering the rude words she spoke. You tilt your head in confusion. "I mean, who laughs at the reminder of being dead?"

"Me, I guess." You say in mock thoughtfulness. "And I find it quite ironic you are here calling me a freak. You seem quite weird yourself.”

She chokes out a laugh, muffling it with her hand. Now she's giggling at you? The action causes you to cross your arms defensively.

Another beat of silence follows, and you find yourself backing up to lean against the tree you had been hiding behind earlier. That uneasy feeling in your stomach has long trickled away by now, being replaced with something you... don't understand. This woman is strange, that's for sure, but she is not unwelcome.

"What's your name? If you're gonna continue to bother me, I should at least know that much." You decide to ask, tired of the ensuing silence. If you were going to attempt a normal conversation with this woman, introductions were the way to start.

The woman's spunk returns, and she looks unreasonably excited when she declares; "I am the 77th director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, the ever-spiritual and amazing Hu Tao. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

"Funeral Parlor..." You say with a voice absent of the astonishment Hu Tao obviously expected. "Ah, so that's why you're interested in me. I'm a spirit who can't remember her own self, and you've been searching for me in order to study this phenomenon."

"You catch on quick," Hu Tao giggles, joining you in leaning against the large tree. She's right beside you. You wonder if... you were alive... if you would be able to feel her long hair tickle your arm. "It's not often there's a ghost who can't remember something as simple as a name, even children are usually able to retain such information."

"I don't like the way you phrase that... it makes me sound like I'm stupid or something."

"Well maybe you are! Who knows, considering you don't remember anything! Hey, hey, can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?”

"...I'm going to leave now," You say with a clipped tone, and Hu Tao whines like a kid who just got their favorite toy snatched from them.

"No no! I'm sorry Ghostie, I didn't mean it!" Hu Tao cries as she trails after your retreating form, and you slowly find yourself scowling.

"Don't call me that," You frown, but you do stop and turn to face her, only to see a triumphant look planted across her features. A stray piece of light hits her smile. Daybreak is approaching, and you relish the thought. The light of day may serve to make you crave the feeling of the warm sun on your face; but you would take that over the emptiness you felt at night.

Hu Tao's smile shifts then, from a teasing smirk to an expression filled with softness. This feels like a rare moment, so you allow yourself to remember the curve of her lips.

"I'll stop calling you Ghostie, but only when we find your name. Is it a deal?" And when she holds out her ring-adorned hand as an offer for a handshake, you hardly hesitate before awkwardly resting your hand atop her own. You can't touch her; surely she realizes that.

And it seems she has, because she only smiles at you, and for the first time since you woke up—you feel comforted. Comforted by this strange woman and her baseless claims of help. But somehow...

Somehow you find it in yourself to trust her.

Hu Tao is nothing if not determined, you think sarcastically. Even if it's in all the wrong ways.

“Were you Lin Caihong, renowned cheesemaker and painter of cheeses?” Hu Tao asks, nose buried in a book containing a comprehensive list of Liyue’s notable citizens.

It has been almost two weeks since you've met the 77th director of the Wangsheng funeral parlor, and it's definitely been the strangest time of your (known) existence. Even so, you don't exactly think you... dislike it, per say.

“No, it doesn't ring any bells,” You reply with a dull voice. This entire plan of hers was ridiculous.

Hu Tao may be sitting on a log, but you are laying back against the dirty forest floor. It's not like it matters, considering the dirt will not stick to your ghostly apparition. Your eyes trail over the forest canopy as you admire the view. Looking at trees was already much more interesting than whatever Hu Tao's up to.

“Hm… how about Zheng Yìhán, daughter of a pirate lord who pillaged the cities of Liyue some five hundred years ago?”

“I don't think I'm over five hundred,” You poke at your clothes, which have only been in style for the past twenty odd years.

Hu Tao silences for a moment, eyes combing over the names, before a lightbulb goes off over her head. “Oh, oh! This one could totally be you! Were you Lady Fen, profound ‘suggestive adult’ themed book author—”

“No.” You said with an air of finality, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. This is getting out of hand…

“Argh! And I was so sure you had to be famous!” Hu Tao groans, shutting the book with a deafening slam and running her frazzled hands over her cheeks.

“I don't understand why.”

“Eh, you're right, my little Ghostie is way too boring to be famous,” Hu Tao says in a teasing voice, leaning down to stare straight into your eyes. You frown. She's blocking the view. “Getting this book is just easier than acquiring the Liyue census records and reading all the names out loud to you until one clicks!"

“That makes sense, you seem much too lazy to go through the effort of doing that, anyways.” You shoot back, rolling to your side so she could no longer terrorize you with her close contact.

Hu Tao giggles maniacally, “I'm not lazy at all! You shouldn't lie about me like that. For shame!”

“You're literally avoiding your duties as the director to come here and bother me,” You mumble, a strange modicum of tiredness assaulting you even if you couldn't actually feel tired. Perhaps it's just the... comfortable atmosphere. You wonder when Hu Tao talking your ear off and laying down on the forest ground became a ‘comfortable atmosphere’ to you.

“This is a part of my job, helping spirits transcend to the afterlife! You're just a very difficult case, so it's taking me a lot of time!” Hu Tao claims dramatically, rolling onto the ground to be beside you, sticking to your ghostly form like glue. “You should be thankful, Ghostie, that I'm here to help you.”

“Yes… I am really grateful for your company,” It had meant to sound like a sarcastic jab, but your voice went unexpectedly soft when tasked with saying the words. You can pinpoint the exact moment when Hu Tao’s breathing stops, presumably in shock at your abrupt statement. Thankfully, her breathing does start up again. You had counted the time it had taken for her to breathe again.

Fourty-three seconds.

The both of you lay there for a long time. When you had started this little escapade with Hu Tao and her book, the sun had been high in the sky. It still is, however the inevitability of darkness is not too far away.

Hu Tao suddenly sits up wordlessly, and that's when you decide to ask:

“Did I say something wrong?”

Hu Tao stiffens at your words, and you can't make out her expression due to her back being towards you. The forest seems to still around the both of you, the only sounds coming from the flow of a nearby river and the gentle blow of springtime wind. The feeling of being unused to these types of interactions does not escape you. You have no idea how to react, and it's maddening.

She takes off her hat with gentle hands, resting it against her lap. You watch as she thumbs at the material. If you had to guess, you would say it's a sign of nervousness.

“No, you didn't,” Hu Tao finally says, voice oddly calm. It's the softest you've ever heard it in the time you have known one another. “…you're just the only person who has ever said something like that to me.”

And then she lays back down beside you, face contorted into a smile. Her eyes close, and you watch as the stray sunlight filtering through the trees above highlight her face. She has awful hat hair and light, hardly noticeable freckles dotting her cheeks.

You can't stop staring.

She falls asleep like that, and you only wake her up when the sun is setting low in the sky, bathing the forest clearing in an orange glow. You don't want her to leave, but she has to. She can't stay here. She needs food and rest, both of which something you can't provide.

In the time before she visits again, you find yourself wondering about Hu Tao. Why has no one, not one single person, ever said they appreciated her company before?

The only explanation you could come up with was this: Hu Tao has never met a living person with even half a brain.

Your head peeks above the leaves, eyes narrowing as you try to discern where that heathen is. You can hear her traipsing around, probably not a care in the world. Hah, well, you’ll show her.

She was stupidly good at this game… but this time? This time you were going to win.

"Helloooo~? Come out, come out wherever you are!" Hu Tao sings as she walks along the path, arms swaying and smile sharp. She seems confident in herself, but that won't last for long.

A little gaggle of ghost children giggle beside you, and you shush them with a seriousness not befitting a hide and seek game. This hiding place was the best one possible, and you know it. With such a large concentration of you in one place, that leaves Hu Tao confused and unguarded.

She’ll be confused as to why she can’t find anyone, before realizing that you all must have hidden together. At that point, the time would be halfway up. Then what? Well, then she would start looking around the trees, but that’s not where you are, no no no. You see, there was a large bush by the edge of the clearing which perfectly concealed the forms of both you and the children, and—

"Lookie here, a bunch of little ghosts in a bush," Hu Tao laughs, ripping away the branches and making faces at the children. They only laugh, but your own face morphs into a sulk. Your plan.

"You must have cheated."

Hu Tao looks devilish. "Nope, you just picked an awful spot."

One of the little girls jumps up and down beside Hu Tao, ethereal eyes somehow sparkling, her mouth open in awe. "You're amazing, Director Hu Tao! I wanna find you now, let me be the seeker, pretty please?"

"Eheehee—" Hu Tao kneels down, hands perched on her knees. She hands the girl a pocket watch—the one which determines the length of the game. "Of course, but only if you're fair with the counting, 'kay?"

You try to ignore the swelling in your heart at the sight, but that's literally impossible to do when it's just so... cute! It's reluctantly heartwarming, seeing how well Hu Tao gets along with the children. Of course someone as outwardly childish as her would get along with kids, even considering their… circumstances.

The ghost child nods, face oddly serious for a kid preparing for a hide and seek game, and turns around to smush her hidden face against a tree. Her translucent hands cover her closed eyes (a habit from when her hands weren't translucent, you're guessing), and she begins the chanting of numbers.

"To one hundred!" Hu Tao claims, with a pointed look at the girl, before leaning over to whisper in your ear. "And you? You're hiding with me this time. Maybe then you’ll actually win a round."

You shake your head with a smile, allowing yourself to be led. “I'm so sick of taking this game seriously.”

Hu Tao pauses for a moment, movements stopping as she goes to glance at a pair of children trying to sort out their hiding spot. They're squirming next to each other as they try to both fit behind one of the big trees scattered around the clearing.

Hu Tao watches them with an emotion you can't place, before turning back to face you.

“Well, at least the kids are having fun,” She shrugs, before flashing you a smug look. “Don't be a sore loser.”

You open your mouth to hopefully give a scalding reply, but you’re cut off by the seekers' shrill shriek of ready or not, here I come! Hu Tao immediately springs into action, yanking you into the hollow of a nearby tree. You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your own surprised shriek.

“Couldn’t you have warned me?!” You hiss, before being overtaken by the… proximity of this hiding spot. You aren’t corporeal, so much of your ghostly form is being overtaken by Hu Tao’s; considering the small space. But still, even considering how you're a ghost... ugh, knowing her, she had probably planned this—just to embarrass you.

“Shh!” Hu Tao lifts a finger to your lips, as if that was able to stop you from talking. You give her a hopefully threatening glare, but she's not paying attention; instead her gaze is focusing on studying the outside. Her eyes squint as she tries to make out whats happening past the plants covering the hollow entrance of the tree.

After a few long minutes of hearing children be caught by the seeker, you finally feel safe enough to say something.

"Don't you ever get sad?" You whisper, remembering the look on Hu Tao's face when she was watching those kids.

"Hm? Not really."

"I mean about the kids."

She doesn't hesitate before saying: "Yes. All the time. But that's with all ghosts, including you."

You're stunned into silence, until you hear the voices of the kids yell out for the both of you. The game is over. You and Hu Tao won.

"It's why I'm helping you, after all," Hu Tao says simply, before climbing out of the hollow to meet the kids.

Her words play on repeat for the rest of the day. Until after she leaves, and until after the kids say goodbye. They seems almost determined to haunt you—those few short words.

Hu Tao... she really is a kind person.

From the rains of spring turned the dryness of summer. The living that visited the forest often complained unendingly about the heat, and you found yourself annoyed with their words. You couldn't feel the heat, and the nights grow shorter and the days longer. Summer was rapidly becoming your favorite season for this reason alone.

Hu Tao, however, seems to be the rare exception for the living’s hatred of the heat. The brightness of the heated air only seems to fan the fire of determination in her eyes, and you find yourself admiring it—even as you suffer through her rambling.

The aforementioned woman holds up a box to your distracted face, and your gaze narrows as you try to discern the words being pushed so close to your eyes. Her voice trails on, and your mind finally digs itself out of the trenches it was in to actually listen to what the raving funeral director was saying.

“—And so he said, ‘Hu Tao, you shouldn't set the chess board on fire as a sacrifice,’ and then I said—”

Ah. It seems you have missed quite a bit in terms of her narrative. You point out the chess board laying between you both on the dirt ground; ghostly fingers caressing the edges of the pieces.

“I can't touch the pieces, Hu Tao. How are we supposed to play this?” Your own question leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you've become used to the feeling. There's no use in pining for the feeling of something against your skin.

“Easy peasy! Just direct to where you want your pieces to go, and then I'll move them for you!”

“You seem… strangely excited about this.”

She bats her eyelashes, although you can sense the sarcasm in her tone when she speaks. “I only want to play chess with my Ghostie, how could you expect an ulterior motive?”

“You just want to see if I was good at chess in life, don't you?”

Hu Tao’s answering silence is enough to cause a loud sigh to escape your throat, but you point to a pawn and your desired placement nonetheless. Hu Tao’s smile is positively mirthful.

The game begins without much conversation. You seem to remember the pieces and their movements, but that doesn't stop you from slowly being overtaken by Hu Tao’s moves. Her strategy is erratic, unpredictable. Normally, it may help to extort that aspect of her gameplay, but you simply don't have an idea of how to counteract it.

Especially since your focus isn't entirely on the game.

The wind ruffles her hair, and the way you zero in on the movement causes you to forget where you were going to put your rook. Keep your eyes on the prize, you repeat to yourself like a mantra, even if you had no idea what the prize was.

As pieces dwindle, the mumbles begin. Quiet exclamations of; ‘your knight is in a stupid place, Ghostie’ and ‘well so is your bishop, Hu Tao,’ echo through the otherwise silent forest. Everything feels so calm in that moment, almost magically so. Your eyes start to wander with less abandon, settling on the way Hu Tao’s uncharacteristically gentle hands guide the pieces to their positions.

The game seems to go on forever, but eventually you stop watching Hu Tao to look at the board, where your king had been surrounded by her surviving pieces.

How poetic.

“It seems I have won,” Hu Tao sounds smug. Her fingers are still closed around the top of her queen, as if she were debating the idea of smacking your king off of the board with it. “I wonder why that is, especially considering I've been told how bad I am at chess.”

“You simply outplayed me,” Your voice wavers, mind catching on the possibility that she had realized your... preoccupation. “No need to act so high and mighty.”

Her head tilts coyly. “Maybe we should play again. I don't believe this was a fair round.”

“Unless you cheated, I don't see how that would be the case—”

Your voice teeters off into a gasp once you notice how close she has gotten to you, gaze ablaze with an emotion you just don't understand. She's leaning over the board, left hand braced against the ground and right hand holding her queen. The edge of the piece clouds your vision, and you notice that she has it held to your feelingless lips.

“You shouldn't lie,” Her voice is nothing short of a whisper, and you're suddenly reminded of a few months ago, when Hu Tao had last spoken to you with this tone of voice. Your breath hitches in your throat, and it feels as if your words are locked up deep inside. “Will you not tell me the truth? How was this game unfair, hm?”

You cannot feel her. Hell, you cannot feel yourself. Your heart pumps no blood, your face betrays no sense of flushing, and your eyes cannot well up with tears. You are dead, not alive. You were not living, like Hu Tao.

You couldn't…

“I can't tell you the truth,” Your voice felt so weak, and you know your emotions cause your tone to fray. You want to scream, to cry, to throw this damn chess board across the forest floor. You're unbelievably relieved that you can't cry.

“Well, you can, you just won't.”

Your eyes shut themselves, anger welling up within you like hot lava. “Is this a game to you too? Why can't you just take something seriously—”

“Of course this is not a game to me,” Her voice is so honest when she answers, and it hurts the very core of your being. She is not upset with your outburst. Understanding laces the very fibre of her words, stringing them together with an expression of pure adoration.

The realization comes too late.

Hu Tao is looking at you with such adoration.

“y/n.” She says, and your world shatters like glass under a hammer beneath you.

The name she just spoke. You don't know how, but you just know. Its a feeling digging at your soul, threatening to rip the last remnants of your composure apart.

She just spoke your name, and along with it came memories of your life—rushing towards you in inescapable waves. It's overwhelming you.

There are many memories fighting to gain prominence in your mind, but one person makes themselves obvious.

Moonlit dances and conversations lasting well into the night. A girl born of nothing, and a girl born to a family of spiritual renown. Chess and checker boards, scoreboards and cheers of victory. Nights spent alongside one another, much like the ones you shared even after your own death.

You didn't understand the funeral parlor, and you didn't understand the pressure that was placed onto your friend. But you tried to understand. You listened to the details; about the afterlife and beyond.

You were young and naïve, and death could be a difficult thing to understand. But you wanted to do it, for Hu Tao.

Because she was your best friend. Your only friend, really. And you loved her.

Nights on Wuwang Hill became commonplace. It was the only place you and her really felt like you could be yourselves. Even into your late teens and early twenties. Hu Tao often joined you, but not on this night. She had been so busy with her duties. You had barely seen her in weeks. You were upset, and irrational. You accused her of not caring for you anymore, and then stormed out of her office without a word, dead set on exploring without her.

Stupid. You were so stupid.

They had come out of nowhere. Their angered yells of stolen treasure, and their incorrect assumption that it was your fault.

You were never a fighter. No vision and no experience with any sort of fighting. Hu Tao had always protected you, but she wasn't there.

You were alone that night.

And so in death you were alone. Perhaps not truly, but without Hu Tao it may as well have felt that way.

Now her hand is against your translucent face, but you cannot feel it. You remember how it had felt, back when blood could rush to your cheeks in embarrassment and your own hand could reach up to feel her face. It hurts to remember, it hurts so badly you feel like you’re about to die all over again.

Tears do not wet Hu Tao’s hand, but nonetheless she realizes your sorrow.

“You talk of me not telling the truth, yet it's you who's kept such a huge secret from me all these months,” You mumble, a small, incandescent smile on your tired face. “Tell me, is there at least a reason for this madness of yours?”

“You seemed so fragile in the beginning, I didn't wish for the sudden onslaught of memories from your life to bombard you,” She watches you with withheld emotions bubbling up in her beautiful eyes. It's so rare for her to be vulnerable, and you know that. The only time you had ever seen Hu Tao cry was when her grandfather died. You wonder if she cried like that over you.

“I knew you had forgotten yourself for a reason.” Hu Tao whispers, and you close your eyes so you don't have to see the look on her face. "But it seems futile to keep everything from you now."

This was too much.

“I don't know if I’m happy you found me, or sad. I—” Your head feels clouded with emotions, and your next words come out as an almost incomprehensible ramble. “I missed you so much, Hu Tao. I'm sorry I left that night, I never should have left you, I'm sorry. I'm sorry—”

She hushes you, and the familiar grin you can hear in her voice serves as a welcome comfort. She must be so hurt, and yet she still finds the strength to smile for you.

How could you have ever forgotten her?

“You sound silly, rambling like this. Let’s try and calm down together now, shall we?” Hu Tao whispers, but when you open your eyes you see that she is crying. Abundant tears fall down her cheeks, trailing over the last remnants of her summer-induced freckles. You remember when you were both sixteen, and you had trailed your lips over her cheek for the first time. She had gotten so red, the reddest you had ever seen her.

Hu Tao looks so different now from how she did back then, the childhood innocence fading away the farther she progressed into adulthood. You missed how carefree she had been in your youth, and that longing for a time far gone only grows the longer you look at her tear stained face.

“I have to leave, don’t I?” Your voice cuts through the silence, scared and shaky. “I can’t stay here.”

“That isn’t true.”

“I’m dead, Hu Tao, I have to move on eventually.”

Her hands snap up to hold your face—at least, as much as they could. She looks almost unrecognizable, with her heavy frown and serious eyes. She looks like she is willing to tear Teyvat apart if it meant you could stay.

You can feel your resolve begin to crumble underneath her stare.

“You don’t have to leave, and I will not allow you to. Not again,” She herself looks shocked by her own words, and yet she continues, eyes blazing with hardly withheld anger. “Not ever.”

“So what, you’re going to be trailing after me—a dead girl, for the rest of your time alive? Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?” You cry, balling up your hands into fists at your sides. “You need to let me go.”

The words seem to strike a chord in Hu Tao, her hands slowly drifting away and dropping to her sides. When you open your eyes again to look, her face is downcast; hidden from view.

You're reminded of when she was a little girl; how she had hidden and avoided eye contact. How she didn't have the courage to come up to you and ask to be friends, so you made the effort instead. You had proposed a game of chess, taking the white pieces and leaving Hu Tao with the black.

She beat you in that round, and each round to come. She opened up to you over those games, and little by little you could feel her become a gradual force in your life—a force that giggled over queens taking your pawns.

One night, when you were eighteen and she had just turned nineteen, you two had shared a game. A birthday game. If she won, she got to ask you a question you must answer. But if you won, you had the opportunity to do the same.

Her hand had been holding your losing king teasingly when she asked you a simple question, a smile dimpling her cheeks and lightening her expression; even in the darkness of night.

“Do you love me?”

And when you said yes, she had flipped the board over to reach across the table and kiss you. Your giggles are burned into your memory along with the feeling of her lips.

In the cold present, you can only smile at the memory, even if the girl who you love so dearly is so obviously distraught at the same thoughts. You reach down quietly, pointing at the queen piece Hu Tao had been holding earlier.

Your voice thankfully does not tremble when you speak. “Do you remember your nineteenth birthday?”

“How could I ever forget?” Hu Tao replies absentmindedly, tracing a pattern in the dirt beside the board.

“...Exactly. You won't ever forget me,” You lean forwards, caressing the top of her hat with your ghostly lips. Hu Tao stiffens underneath you as if you just struck her with a bolt of lightning. “Just as I won't ever forget you. You made me so happy, Hu Tao. I was so lucky to have a person like you in my life.”

Her voice cuts off into a choked sob, and your eyes fall to her crying face. She really did love you.

The laughs that escape her sound fake and strangled. “You made me happy too, I don't know what I'll do with myself now that you're not gonna be here with me.”

“You'll find others,” Your hands rest over hers and you wish with all your soul you could feel them, but you push on, eyes boring into Hu Tao’s. “I promise. You won't be alone forever. New friends will find you, and they'll love every bit of you, just as I do.”

“You're such an idiot,” She sniffles, but her watery giggles make your soul feel like it's flying. “Did you read that in a book or something? So cheesy…”

Suddenly, there's a change in your form. The weightless feeling you've been experiencing for months now; it feels stronger. More powerful. You know what this means, and you know it's right, but you don't want this yet. Deep down inside, you wanted to be with Hu Tao forever, no matter how selfish it is.

The feeling is becoming too difficult to ignore, but your eyes stay trained on Hu Tao’s face. She's still smiling, and you know it's for your sake.

Your smile is strained, but undeniably real. “I thought you would like it.”

“I—” A catch of breath, a withheld sob. “I do. I really do. Thank you.”

Her simple expression of thanks is more than she makes it out to be, and you can tell. Love, hope, sadness and grief all tied together into a complicated knot you could never hope to unravel. Your head feels like its floating in the clouds. She's always been bad at expressing her emotions, but does it really matter when you're able to understand her like this?

Your grip on the world is fleeting. You're leaving for real this time, and this would be the last you see of Hu Tao. Her crying face and wide smile, all directed at you.

What comes after this may be lonely, but at least you'll have this memory to keep you company.

Your last words echo through Wuwang Hill, full of unconditional love and nothing more.

“Anything for my favorite opponent.”

#lie's fics #hu tao #hu tao x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin angst #hu tao x you #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #hu tao fluff #genshin impact fanfics #hu tao x y/n #hu tao x female reader

[scorpiongrassfield]

Theo is Spooked... Again

Start | Prev

Pat laughs it off. 

“I mean. It’s not really for us to decide, kid. Either it was or it wasn’t, factually. We have no say in the matter when it comes to reality,” they ramble. 

This leaves Theo looking pensive, but less afraid. 

It sounds like a distraction to you.

“Anyway, to answer your question, usually. Ghosts made from traumatic events are usually either angry or like. Sad and lost. Or both I guess,” Pat shrugs. 

They gesture for you to eat more of your food.

You sigh, but dutifully comply.

Once you’ve eaten a few more bites you ask: “What kind of ghost is the shadow?” 

“Dunno I’d have to meet them,” Pat say’s flippantly. 

You give them a flat look. 

A quick glance at Theo shows he’s doing the same.

Pat heaves a comical sigh. “Alright, I guess I can give you a hint this time since you’re having brain trouble,” they say, over dramatically. 

Theo is trying not to laugh. 

Pat winks at you. 

“So. If I had to guess, I’d say this shadow is the sort of ghost with Unfinished Business,” Pat says. 

“Oh?” Theo says, looking almost impressed.

“Yeah. This sort of ghost is usually pretty at peace with their own death, Except for they still feel like there’s something they still need to do. Look after their friend, feed their cat, tend their garden, stuff like that,” they explain. 

That all makes sense to you.

But you aren’t sure it all adds up. 

You can accept that the shadow is a ghost. And it does seem friendly and interested in helping you. 

But you can’t reconcile that with the ghost you’re supposed to be looking for. 

Your head kind of hurts as you think about it. 

Theo and Pat both lapse into silence as you think, Pat chowing down and Theo simply staring off into space. 

He fiddles with the glasses sticking out of his shirt pocket and its like something snaps inside your head. 

You and Pat aren’t here to investigate a ghost. You’d forgotten that. 

You still aren’t sure why Pat feels the need to lie to Theo to this extent, even as they begin to befriend him. 

Maybe they’ve also forgotten? Memory issues do seem to be going around like the flu these days. 

You run back over the conversation again. You can’t guess Pat’s motives for telling Theo his house is haunted. 

It feels more like you’re the one that’s haunted. 

“Oh. Myo-“ Theo cuts himself off. “Excise me, I misspoke. Sylv. It wasn’t your shadowy friend that lead you to my house today, was it?” Theo asks. 

He suddenly seems… different. Like someone opened up photoshop and turned up the contrast and saturation on his very presence. 

It seems that he remembers your earlier visit now. Had he been faking it before? 

Pat wipes their mouth with a napkin before piping up. “I was wondering the same thing. I said you should stay in the cars since you… had a migraine,” Pat hesitates on the lie this time. 

You realize you forgot to tell Pat about the woman. 

Oops. 

You could always lie. 

It’s not like Pat doesn’t do it literally all the time. 

But Theo is giving you this expectant look. 

Like he knows what you’re supposed to say. 

You sigh. 

“I met this woman in the woods. She freaked out when she saw me and tried to attack me. So I went inside to get away from her,” you summarize.

Pat looks like their blood pressure just shot through the roof. 

Upset would be an understatement.

“This Cannot keep happening,” they mutter.

“Patience,” Theo says reproachfully. 

Pat deflates. “Okay. You’re right,” they nod, seemingly to themself. 

They turn to you and look you right in the eye. “I’m not mad at you, especially since you don’t remember any promises you’ve made me about this. I’m glad you’re okay, good job getting to safety. We’ll discuss this further after I take a smoke break.” They say, like they’re checking phrases off a list. 

Theo hands them a lighter on their way out. 

That was… odd. 

Now you’re alone with Theo again. 

Except…

“You aren’t Theo, are you?” you say to the person who looks like Theo, but has entirely different body language from him.

“Oh. You’re observant, but are you connecting the dots?” says not-Theo. 

“I’m trying,” you say. “Why’d you bring that up? You knew Pat would freak.” 

“Ah. Pat cares about you though… They want to keep you safe,” not-Theo placates.

Something dawns on you. 

“You’re the one that told me not to be alone!” 

Not-Theo gives you a small smile. 

“She’s a danger to all of us. There’s only so much I can do, off-script. Please go easy on me,” not-Theo pleads. 

Then Pat is sidling back into the booth smelling of tobacco.

Next

#choose your own adventure #interactive fiction #original writing #writeblr

[writinggoodness]

My Boggart

Warning: Smut/angst/cuss wards/sexual act

Genre: Smut/Fluff/Angst

The room is bright with the rays coming from the Defense Against the Dark Arts room’s wide elongated windows. Laughter and hushed excited whispers with slight trembling voices talking to their friends for what’s about to come. I Look around with shifty feet hiding in the corner of the shadowy part of the room looking for my best friend Hobie. Not finding him anywhere I reluctantly looked towards where his six closer than blood brothers stand. Sunlight gleaming on them with all their face looking a little down cast, seeing them worry I know for a fact Hobie is sick today because he can make all of them at ease by putting them before himself, and thinking of how the one time I truly needed him the most, he’s sick.

Oh, how I wish our lesson was to defend ourselves from dementors, and panicking inside because I could have sworn that the scheduled date for defending against the boggart was next week and, not this week! I can feel my breathing start to pick up when the Professor asks us to get in a line in order to get started. As I start numbly move into the middle of the line, I try to think of excuses of a way to get out of here, but knowing if I back out now everyone will know I am a coward. Although, if I stay, he will know I’m terrified of him and it’s not exactly all his fault but when we were kids, he pulled a prank on me. One where I will never forget because of the nightmare of my childhood…

It’s pitch black, traumatizing silence, heart rate skyrocketing and not slowing down anytime soon, but nothing and I mean nothing compares the heart wrenching grief that holds me seeing my parents get murdered from other muggles. Not being able to help or scream loud enough for them to stop bashing their feet and fists into my parents’ limped bodies on the floor and all because of my witch powers show up because the strong bursts of emotions. For some reason my powers listened to my fathers’ words when he told me that he loved me, to be quite like a good girl, to not get caught, and to be safe. My body paralyzed from the gut-wrenching scene in front of me and the unknowing spell I put around me to keep me quiet was silencio.

Getting slightly nudged to go forward I snap from my haunting memories and looked at who nudged me to apologize for not paying attention, when my body stills just like before, one with terror and guilt. Jimin looks down at me with a slight smile and graces me with a nod of his head. My eyes widening, I mumble a small quiet, “Sorry.” Turning to look back in front of me to realize that there is the shocking nonexciting line. Shit I’m next. Next to my dreadful beginning, next to having guilt was over me with a lead like weight. Next, is having him know that he is my greatest fear. Next, is knowing that he is the most kind and generous guy now in school. Which will make this even more atrocious and last, but not least, is him knowing he is the only one to make that fear go away.

Gulping I step forward seeing the boggart changing into a shapeshifting mess trying to find my greatest fear. Which I can’t seem to prepare for. That’s when the once mixed emotion chatter becomes deathly silent because either my traumatizing despair looks right back at me or their utter shock of what the boggart turned into just for me to torture. Right now, there in front of me is Jimin laying on the floor beaten to the pulp with stab wounds leaking into a puddle of blood underneath him, as he reaches out to me saying, “help me.” I whimper out a crushing cry with tears streaming down my face, “No. please not again..” Shaking I clutch my wand realizing again this is just a boggart. I raise my hand getting ready to say ridiculous, but the boggart Jimin beats me to it. “You’re pathetic, even with your powers you can’t save me. Just like you couldn’t save your parents.” The exact same words the real Jimin said to me when he did the prank as a kid. Shaking my head vigorously I scream with determination, “NO YOUR WRONG!” vibrating with remorse I exclaim, “REDICLOUS!” In the next moment, the boggart Jimin turns into a healthy looking Jimin walking straight towards me with a gentle small smile. The same one he gives me in hallways, the same one after he apologized. Reaching out to caress my cheek, I lean into his hand when he gets ripped away from me. Opening my eyes to no longer finding boggart Jimin anywhere and that where I see the Dark Arts Professor look at me in concern. Then the once cold room that just turned into a nice cozy warm room turned once again

just like ice because of silence from my classmates and Jimin. Not even glancing at them, I rush past all of them running as fast as my feet can take me out of the room hearing the professor yelling for me to stop. Still too mortified from the whole situation, I don’t stop running and running until I end up under the bridge that leads to the lake dropping to my knees to weep into my hands hysterically. “How can I go back?”

Jimin’s Pov

Y/N sprints out of the room crying while I just stand there shocked by what just happened. Am I her biggest fear? I know what I did back then when I was a kid was wrong, but I had no clue it terrified her this much. Made her fear me this much. Made her hate me this much. I thought that her parents being murdered was just a rumor, a lie, but now I realize it wasn’t. Feeling guilt punch me in my gut, and feeling my heart twist in pain from actually hurting her this bad. Once again, I realize my horrific mistake but feel fifty times more regretful. I know I must make this right somehow, but what I don’t understand is why was I the one dying on the floor? Why was it so ridiculous and funny that I smiled at her and touched her? Does she really think I am still that kid? The kid that dared to do a prank and followed to do so just to prove my friends wrong. That stupid, heartless, jerk of a kid? The one I try to make up for every day since then and because of that.  I do know one thing and that is there is only one person who can tell me every answer I need to know, and I need it now.

Y/N’s Pov

Walking towards the edge of the lake I wipe my tears from my face. Drained from all the emotions, I slowly discard my clothes. At first going snail-paced, but after unzipping and taking off my skirt I start to yank and thrash to get my clothes off to be free. Free from the school. Free from being a witch. Free from guilt. Free from the most horrified moment of my life. Free from my parents’ death. Free from Jimin. Yanking my jewelry off I walk into the lake not noticing anything around me because I just want to be free and be relaxed in the ice numbing water. Wanting peace and quiet, I start to rush further into the lake when I get yanked back into a warm firm smooth chest. Still dazed and confused about what’s going on, I feel arms wrap around me holding me tight into this unknown person. Struggling to get free as I am naked. I feel the arms get tighter and I start to panic, so I start to scratch this guy’s arms to let me go. That’s when I hear a semi deep but soft voice whisper in my ear,” Please don’t kill yourself. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m so sorry please stay… Stay alive.” Frozen on the spot and mortified that this person thinks I’m trying to end my life I turn around in this guy’s arm to reprimand him that I’m not trying to die, but to just swim. I am looking up at the culprit as I open my mouth when my throat closes realizing it is Jimin. Not just Jimin, but a crying Jimin. One with so much pain and regret in his eyes. Feeling my muscles relax and soften not only from his touch, but from how much pain he seems to be in I swallow thickly raising my hand to hold his cheek, “I’m not trying to die Jimin.” His eyebrows furrow in confusion, “What? But the way you stripped so fast and desperately too, and the way you were crying. Not only that, but rushing into water faster when you heard me start yelling for you to stop. Exactly how am I supposed to think after all that happened?” Tensing up again from taking notice that I am naked and cold, but also the mention of what happened in the classroom. Shaking my head slowly a no I begin to speak again, “No, I didn’t hear you I was lost in my thoughts and numb from crying. I just wanted to get refreshed with the ice cold wat..” getting cut off he speaks incredulously, “ Butt naked?.. and at school?.. and in broad daylight?” Blushing scarlet red I justify myself while staring at his bare chest. Bare chest when did he? Never mind.  “I wasn’t thinking right, okay? I was emotionally drained after what happened in class, but also from crying so hard under the bridge. Look, I just want to swim and float, okay? I wanted to distract myself from everything.” Humming he pulls me tighter to himself right against him as my chest

brushes against his. “We need to talk Y/N, but as much as you are beautiful when naked. I’d rather talk to you when your fully dressed.” Hiding in his chest I nod in agreement, “That would be great and all, but I still want to swim, so you can stay and wait until I’m done, or you could join me in my skinny dip.” Looking back up I see and feel Jimin chuckle with his head thrown back before shaking it in disbelief as he lets me go before stripping his pants and boxers. When did he get rid of his shoes too? Was he really going to save me? “Enjoying the view Love?” “Huh?” I replied before realizing I was spaced out looking at his crotch the whole time. Mortified I speak rushing a little,” No! I mean yes, you look appetizing. I mean wait what? What I mean to say is you look fine and hot, but I was just spacing out. I swear!” Jimin starts to laugh so hard he squeaks while bending down touching his knees trying to control his fit of giggles. “Whatever you say Lovely.” Straiting up again he walks up to me with full teeth smile and grabs my hand and pulls me into the ice water. Once we’re completely enveloped by the lake water, he again pulls me close to his body to where my legs and arms naturally lock around his body. Staring into his eyes he speaks softly, “I’m sorry for what I did as we were children. I wouldn’t have done that if I thought the rumors of your parents were true. I regret it so much and I can’t apologize enough… but why? Why was I on that floor dying and not your parents. Why is it funny to you that I touch you or smile at you. Although, you allow me to pull you close now? It makes no sense.” Grabbing my chin with his thumb and forefinger, but then slightly moving his fingers to rub my cheek, I leaned into his touch. Closing my eyes I speak the truth, “After you changed, I saw you differently and after you apologized years ago, I forgave you, but then having Hobie as my best friend he won’t stop talking about you, so I saw you in a different light. Then you would smile at me with that small smile of yours and I would start to feel happy around you. Next, I sometimes catch you stare at me, and I would get butterflies because you wouldn’t look away.” Looking back up at him I see him smile gently and pushes me even closer until there is no room left and I gasped out looking at him with slightly hooded eyes as I felt his erection nuzzle in between my pussy lips. He’s so close to me, but not quite close enough to get rid of the burn. That desperate sensation to have him even closer.

Starting back up I continue,” What I’m trying to say is, that I fell for you Jimin. The fear that you end up like my parents as war might break out again in the wizarding world and..” Stopping I gasp again before moaning deeply as I feel Jimin hum deeply in pleasure when he slowly pushes all the way into me. “Oh my gosh, fuck, so thick Jimin.. mhmm..” Grabbing the back of my neck to make me look at him in the eyes with a desperate need for him to be even closer. Somehow… someway. “And?” He spoke gruffly when I moan, “Ugh Jimin…” I whisper as I start back up where I left off, “And the only way to make that fear disappear is your smile; oh, Fuck Jimin I need you closer please…” He didn’t even start thrusting yet, but I’m already a begging mess. I can’t help it though. Even being this close to him, chest to chest, legs tangled together behind him as I pushed him deeper inside me. Then noticing him bite his lower plush lip through my almost closed eyes from the pleaser of us connected. Hips to hips I continue moaning feeling that itch slowly getting scratched as he grinds his pelvis against mine, grazing his tip to my cervix. “And when our hands touch just slightly when you pass the paper to me in potions class. Just imagining us as lovers takes away any fear that I have.” “Oh baby… Y/N…You have no idea do you…Shit stop moving just for a sec..” I whimper in need as the burning itch is back. Desperate to have his tip brush my cervix again I pull his hair at the back of his nape to pull myself up before dropping back down until his tip hits the spot where my muscle inside my pussy tightens around him before breathily moaning his name. Jimin’s hold on me tightens to make me stop moving and crushing me to him to where it almost hurts. “Love, please let me finish talking and then I can take care of your needs, okay? But here maybe this will help the ache for a little bit, hmm?” Jimin bends down and connects his lips with mine before circling his hips a couple of times until his tip sits perfectly kissing my cervix. Moaning into our mouths he stills and speaks again, but urgently looking into my eyes. “I love you Y/N more than you know. Even as a kid I had a crush on you that is why my hyungs dared me to prank you that idiotic prank. After apologizing to you I

wanted you desperately to like me, but watching you avoid me..” Huffing he circles his hips again before slightly thrusting into me “ Fuck Jimin.. please, please, please.. My Love please…” Slightly growling in his throat he moans out before kissing desperately, “ Fuck it, I’ll tell you after”

Picking up his pace feeling his raw veiny dick rubbing my walls before hitting the spot where he brushes against my g-spot before hitting my cervix just right. “Oh yes …Jimin..” Digging my nails into his back before matching his thrusts. Feeling the water swish around us and in between our hips as our bodies glide on top of one another. Feeling his chest rub against my nipples, which makes a tingling itch go straight to my core just before he scratches that itch with each thrust. Moving back slightly to look at him just to see his eyes drooped with hooded pleasure before ducking his head down to take my left nipple into his mouth rubbing the tip of his tongue on the tip of my nipple. He looks up at me one more time before he sucks and closes his eyes. My head falls back before breaking out into the loudest moan yet, “Fuck Jimin baby.. Oh, fuck yes right there.”  Moaning out after almost each thrust of our hips when they collide again and again. Rumbling around my nipple he moves to the other. While bringing his left hand from my ass cheek, as to rub my clit in slow circles matching the thrusts of his hips. My breath hitches feeling my lower stomach slightly tighten, as it makes my walls tighten around his thick cock. “Oh shit… Y/N keeping doing that baby...” Kissing his way back up latching onto my neck before whispering huskily into my ear, “Can you Imagen us together on our positions desk?... Hmm? In the middle of the night where there is no one around and everyone is asleep?”  Thrusting faster and matching the pace with his fingers on my clit I moan out gushing out my slick. “Yes Jimin! I do and have imagined it when I’m alone in the dorm rooms…. Fuck, fuck, fuck.. but can you imagen us in the middle of class? Me jerking your cock and you rubbing my clit… Jimin please I’m so, so close .. please, please fuck me deeper…” Removing on of my hand from his back I rub my hand down to his chest. Down his stomach and all the way down to give his balls a nice gentle squeeze. “Jerking you

off until you come and then pretending, I dropped something just to lick all of you clean…” Thrusting deeper into you he groans loudly,” Fuck your so dirty… I Love it .. so close.”

Now thrusting into me harshly splashing the water all around us I cum moaning Jimin’s name repeatedly. “Fuck baby that’s it cum for me. Oh shit, I’m going to cum.. Y/N… fucking take me .. Take all of me.” Reaching up to kiss my mouth desperately while moaning into it as our skin slide on top of one another, “Fuck I love you Jimin.”  Slowing his thrusts Jimin rubs his hands from my ass to my hips all the way to my breasts, giving them a squeeze before taking ahold of my cheeks brings us closer together as we kiss deeply. Just enjoying one another’s touch and closeness. Jimin is still fully sheathed into me as we stay like this. Slowly touching one another and kissing what we can, mumbling I love you and sorry. Kissing my lips one more time he speaks with a gentle hum. “Date me Y/N. Let me show you my love and let me see more of your love for me.” Laughing quietly into his neck, “Okay… But we should get going we don’t want the headmaster to catch us.” His eyes widen, “Oh shit..” Furrowing my eyebrows I ask in concern, “What? What is it?” he looks at me slightly scared, “I don’t think it is our Headmaster that we should be worried of catching us, because look.” I look over my shoulder and squeal in shock. There right behind us is the Dark Arts teacher with his mouth hanging wide open.

(Credit Hogwarts to JK Rowling and BTS as Characters.)

#park jimin #bts jimin #jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin x reader #bts #jimin #bangtan #jimin x y/n #jimin x you #btc #jiminie #hobie x reader #smut #bts smut #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic

[juniperberries-canisroot]

MORTAL SANCTUARY

Summary: The one year 'anniversary' of Astrid's betrayal weighs heavy on the guilty conscience of Listener and Matron, Chantilly Leice.

Content warnings: Paranoia, regret, betrayal & guilt. Canon events, violence and death. First person PoV.

Context: I know Arnbjorn is scripted to die in game. In my story CL arrives just in time to save him. Everyone else dies thou.

Fun fact there is actually in game a NightShade plant by the escape tower. It's inside Solitide by the gate of the tower if you were using it to go outside. It's near the food stalls.

@tes-summer-fest

"You're part of the Family, after all. This, as you can see, is our Sanctuary. You won't find a safer place in all of Skyrim."

"Our Family, my dearest. Our Family."

Eight years. Eight years ago you told me that after I was recruited into the Dark BrotherHood. Family, safety. For seven years I was part of your 'family'. For seven years I did as you told. I served, and I killed, and I was part of your family. In some strange twisted way, you became the closest thing I ever had to a mother figure in my life.

But just like the people who were supposed to be my parents, you sold me off. A year ago you betrayed me. You saw me as a threat to your authority, your leadership. Years of loyalty meant nothing to you. I was nothing more than leverage in the end. And I still wasn't enough. My one purpose to you, my one final use, and I failed that as well.

I couldn't save them all. I couldn't save your family. I barely had enough time to protect the ones that survived. I am forever grateful for the ones who did, but I am forever haunted by the memories I have of those who didn't. The memories I have of them are tainted, thanks to you. I lost them. They're dead. It's my fault they died.

Do you know NightShade grows in areas associated with death? Areas where dead bodies lie. Places where someone was killed. Caves and homes that undead vampires inhabit. The exit tower you told me to take after poisoning the fake Emperor.

Some grow outside both Sanctuaries. There were always a few outside the Falkreath Sanctuary, even years before that day. Now, there's five more plants. Festus Krex. Gabriella. Veezara. Lis. You.

They others are doing well. Arnbjorn, Nazir, Babette, Cicero. There's been three new recruits since then.

I'm not doing well.

When I see a flash of black and red, my blood runs cold. Fear pumps through my veins faster than any drug could take affect. I instinctively reach for a dagger and search for a shadowy corner to drag them off to and slice their throat out. It's usually not a Penitus Oculatus agent, but there have been the rare times it was. Too many times for my comfort. What a sick irony that the BrotherHood and Oculatus uniforms share a similar colour scheme.

I'm constantly terrified that I'll loose them. That I'll come back to the DawnStar Sanctuary one day to find it ablaze, or that I will arrive far after the embers have died down, and find their charred corpses. That once again I will be too late to save someone.

They are the closest thing I have to a family, and I'm terrified at the thought of that. I'm terrified that if I say it aloud, if I think about it too much, they'll die. They'll be killed. And it will be all my fault again.

You were an idiot thinking you could go against somethin more powerful than you. I was a fool thinking I could allow myself to have a family.

Now I carry the Blade. I'm the Matron and Listener. Maybe it was supposed to be this way. I knew for years the way you ran the Sanctuary was wrong. Abandoning the Tenets, disregarding the Night Mother's authority. My authority, as Listener.

But what I wouldn't give for everyone to alive today. Arnbjorn said the others were already dead by the time I arrived. But that doesn't prevent me from thinking what could have been. If I was just a little faster, if I left a bit sooner.

I'll never have a family again. I can't allow myself to have a family, to cars for someone, anyone, like that again. Not after what happened that day. Not after you.

I hope you're happy with your decisions. I know I'm not with mine.

#tesfest23 #Skyrim #Elder Scrolls #Elder Scrolls V #tes #tesv #Chantilly Leice #pls be nice this is my first time posting actual writing in literal years #i dont have an Ao3 so you gotta read it on the post #pls do let me know if the warnings need to be altered #first time doing it #i also feel like with a game rated T and the canon typical blood and violence its kinda a given #my writing #fanwrite

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The first sounds

Warning : nightmare, blood, fluff, comfort, angst, slightly emotional

Summary : A dream haunts her. An initial desire transformed with the things of her mind becomes a bloody nightmare that pulls her into the depths. An encounter that will still be significant but when only the future knows. Before something is trusted to her and she experiences slight rejection.

Masterlist, next part

------------------------

It was dark around her. However, it was peaceful not scary for which she was very grateful. The darkness could be frightening. She was glad that it felt almost soothing. Like an old friend or acquaintance trying to protect her.

She clung around it and didn't seem to want to let it go. As if the darkness was afraid of losing her to something or someone. 

Only when a wing beat could be heard in the distance did it break through the darkness like a broken pane and the darkness lay at her feet. She looked down and saw the small shadowy something. Her hand wanted to reach for the shards.

As she grabbed one, a pain appeared on her finger. Startled by the pain, she dropped the shard before she felt the sticky blood on her hand. Shaking slightly, she looked at her hand and the dark red blood envied her. It hurt slightly, but the wound seemed to stop bleeding. 

Recovering from the shock, she took in her surroundings. Her eyes wandered through the new place. She knew it as in a distant memory she seemed to have known it so often. The castle around her was incredibly grand and elegant, as if from a distant century. It had meter high walls with candles in golden halos. The flames danced around the wick, flickering like an incantation. 

The fire seemed to light their way as well as to guide them. The walls were covered with ornate pictures and paintings. Old paintings of rulers, residents, animals and forests. Painted with oil paints and lovingly decorated. They radiated beauty for eternity. She continued to walk down the hall and yet she felt watched.

She saw something flashing and went towards it. To her surprise, it was a mirror. It took up almost an entire wall. The reflective material itself was cradled by a silver flower-adorned fixture. The flowers flashed in the fire of the candles and almost seemed to dance. Astonished, she saw her own image in the mirror and a soft smile came to her lips. 

Even though she would realize later that it was just another dream. A long red dress covering the floor behind her clung to her figure. In the darker environment, lit only by the candles, it seemed almost as if blood was clinging directly to her body.

She stepped closer to the tall mirror and turned. In doing so, she noticed the deep cutout on her back, which exposed it slightly. In general, a lot of tulle was gathered along the dress so that it almost looked like a flower. The sleeves wrapped around her upper arms before they widened and slightly fell down.

She thought she looked almost like a rose and she was the nectar that was in the flower of love waiting to be opened. She continued to look at herself in the mirror when out of nowhere the mirror glass began to move.

First it seemed to move only slightly like a chiming back and forth before it began to move in waves. What was confusing in the dream would be a distant memory after waking up. Uncertainty gripped her and hesitantly she reached out her hand to the moving mirror. 

Her fingers touched the waves and it had a coldness about it that gave her shivers. She was so fixated on the mass that she flinched when she felt a hand on each of her shoulders. Something seemed to stop her from turning around. Whether it was the grip of the unknown person or the dream, she did not know. In her eyes was fear and anxiety, she was helpless and at the mercy of her own mind. The hands of the person laid on her shoulders, slightly exposed by the dress, before they slid down agonizingly slowly. 

Her breath caught in fear, the fear of not knowing who was doing this to her.

His hands were ice cold as his left reached around her and placed it on her neck. His right embraced her wrist before he lifted his hand slightly and the wound was illuminated by the flames. ,, A wonderful symphony" she suddenly felt the unknown man say to her ear and it gave her goose bumps. But something in her seemed to recognize the voice. She was about to say the name when her right hand was taken back while the unknown's left held her by the neck in warning. 

His fingers on the left were ice cold and exerted an almost dangerous pressure on her carotid artery. Underneath, her blood was flowing fast and fear was consuming her.

A surprised gasp escaped her which broke the silence as she felt the unknown man lay over her wound and greedily absorb every last drop of her blood.

,,You let yourself play so wonderfully," he purred, and in the corner of her eye she saw the bright blue eyes flash. She would recognize them anywhere, but suddenly her heart was beating too fast, ,,Michael?" the name came across her lips like a breath. 

Then, in a moment when she thought he would let go of her, she felt a burning pain on her arm. She turned around and what she thought was Michael was a beast. A hybrid of bat, man and mist. The blood that had caused the wound began to wet her body and the ground. The lifeblood was already dripping from the razor-sharp claw. Peculiar.

It was not Michael, it seemed to be a beast from hell. The something hissed at her animalistically and before she could react the beast scaled her in the mirror.

Cold surrounded her as if someone had thrown her into river water or put her in an ice bath. 

She opened her eyes but again saw only darkness. She tried to swim but it had soaked up the liquid and pulled her down. Her instinct to survive screamed at her to swim and she did. Desperate to reach the surface, she swam through the mass and in the darkness she seemed alone. Only when she thought it was over and she had run out of air did her hand break through the water.

With one last stroke she came out of the dark water and grasped something. As if everything had turned around at once, she was now standing on a building. Confused and yet grateful, she looked around and saw nothing but chaos. Below her the black sea above the bleeding stars shining into it. 

A look down at herself made her realize that the beast had inflicted a deep wound on her arm, turning her dress a dripping red. But it did not hurt only the cold as if it was already dead pulled through her arm. The blood ran further and further out of the wound and yet it did not seem to be life-threatening.

She wanted to flee to the center of the building, but the abyss seemed to want to catch her. The further she ran to the rent the more distant it became and the abyss seemed to call for her. She let out a horrified scream as the beast in question, a huge misshapen bat dripping with blood, landed on the building opposite her. 

It gave a shrill scream and its wings could have swept her off the building with one well-aimed blow. This was not Michael, she knew, this beast seemed to want only the blood on her. It wanted to murder, it wanted to kill. It didn't want to love her, or did it?

The abyss loomed behind her and what she thought was water made its way up to her in a viscous mass.

A flash of lightning flashed through the starry night and then she saw it. What seemed to be water was only blood. It stretched its long dripping arms towards her and wanted to pull her into the abyss. But where should she go straight into the mouth of the beasties. She could practically feel the sharp teeth and claws digging into her flesh and tearing her apart until her body broke. 

She took another step back and could feel one foot already hovering over the abyss. Escape seemed impossible and her end sealed. The beast started to jump and the sharp flesh-tearing teeth appeared. Her gaze, however, went down to the abyss. With a last indefinable thought, she let herself fall backwards. She screamed, at least she thought she did, because there was no sound to be heard.

She was not the ruler of the air. The element let her fall and did not hold her. The dress fluttered wildly in the wind and again and again she reached into the void. In the air she had managed to turn from her back to her stomach and was now racing directly towards the blood. But there was a certain calm in it all. A symphony of chaos seemed to be playing and it would end with her drowning. 

She was about to close her eyes and think of something soothing when she saw something rising from the blood. From the blood, a human silluete was gradually forming. Now her instinct had kicked in again and desperately she tried to hope somehow that this silluette would catch her. But when the silluette reached up to her, she knew it was over. Her hands clasped the silluette's in that moment she could see the blue again before the blood engulfed her as if it wanted to bind her to itself. 

She felt herself being pulled into the water, she felt the cold hands on her. She could feel Michael again and allowed him to pull her down further. ,, The beautiful highlight of the piece " she heard his voice muffled. The last thing she saw before her lungs filled with blood was the silhouette of the bat.

And then she remembered what she had seen at night at the hospital window. A bat.

She jumped up and her eyes looked around her dark room. Her breath was fast and as if she was not sure whether she had not experienced reality, her hand went to her chest. But after several breaths she was convinced that she had no blood in her lungs. From her lungs, her fingers ran over her arm, but there were no deep wounds to be felt. 

Her breathing slowly calmed down and she let go of her safe blanket. Hastily, still reeling from the fright of her dream, she flicked on her bedside lamp and illuminated her room. With a glance at her phone, she was reassured that she still had time. She had lucked out and had gotten the night shift, which is why she didn't have to work until the evening. But the fear that something could reappear in her dream made her feel uneasy. She sighed and thought about trying again. 

It was early in the morning and maybe she would at least get some sleep. No sooner said than done, she turned off the light and crawled under the still warm blanket. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the noise of the city. But they also formed their own symphony and soon the driving of the cars had become a constant noise which hummed softly.

She opened her eyes for the second time and was clearly more sleepy. She stretched and yawned as she reached for her phone. 

Relieved and pleased, she looked at her watch and saw that it was just after ten in the morning. But she still wanted to go shopping as well as to continue cleaning up or rearranging her apartment. She rose from her bed with a tired sigh and went to her kitchen. But when she wanted to make a coffee or at least tea as usual, she stopped in the middle of her movement. Although she had a kettle but what food and drink it looked bad. 

Surrendering to her circumstances she dragged herself into her bathroom and took a shower. Although it was not a bathing mania, which she did not have, but against a shower was nothing to object. She took off her top and the short pants before she slipped under the shower. The warm water refreshed her and made her fortunately not further tired. After turning off the water she got out of the shower wrapped her hair in a towel and her body before she went into her small living room. There she went to her record player and put on her favorite symphnoie. For Elise by Beethoven.

After a short moment the classical sounds filled the apartment and she started to get dressed and blow dry her hair. 

Turning off the music, she grabbed her cell phone and purse before heading out into the city. New York was almost overwhelming and almost too big for her to handle. She knew where she was, but she didn't want to stray too far from her apartment. In order not to get lost unnecessarily, she decided to go to the small supermarket around the corner before she tried something else. It didn't take her long to get her groceries and she only had to go to the checkout when she found the important coffee. Sighing and slightly annoyed, she turned around and looked for the beans. Luckily she found them, but the day did not seem merciful. 

The mixture she always drank was on the top shelf and despite her normal height of about one meter seventy, only her fingertips could reach it. She avoided asking strangers something that bothered her, but she wanted to do it on her own. Again she stood on her tiptoes and got hold of the package. Since she drank a lot of coffee anyway because of her job, she grabbed the biggest and heaviest package. She was distracted, however, when a child ran screaming past her and she was about to dismiss it as annoying when only a few seconds later her mother ran up behind her. She didn't even seem to be interested in Y/n and bumped into her. 

She then grabbed the coffee out of the flinch, which threatened to fall straight down on her. It probably wouldn't hurt, but who knows what else could happen. Since her gaze was still on the now disappeared mother, she did not notice how the coffee mixture was held and appeared lighter. ,, Are you alright?" came a soft voice that did not belong to Michael. Turning to the unknown man, she realized that he was not, as she had thought, a creepy old man or a would-be tease or a truant teenager. 

Next to her, almost pressed against her body, stood a man who seemed to be like Michael in his thirties and smiled slightly shyly at her while in his eyes the worry still lay because he got no answer. He had pale almost sickly looking skin and short thick dark brown hair. His dark eyes resembled the beautiful hazel brown. Only when she looked down at him did confusion spread through her head and it ran at full speed. She was sure she had seen the man before. Not in a dream from somewhere else like a distant memory, as if she knew him and yet never had. Only when she looked down at him did her senses jump. 

The man was leaning completely on one of the two crutches due to the effort of holding up the coffee. ,, Yes...wait, I'll do it," she said hastily after catching herself and taking the coffee from him. He quickly stood on his second crutch and briefly avoided eye contact. There seemed to be an awkward silence between them, but she didn't find the stranger annoying. ,,Thank you," she thanked him and elicited a winking smile from him. ,, Not at all, I was happy to do it," he said, seeming sure of himself.

,, Thank you again, I'll be going, thank you," she stammered as she noticed that she could almost feel the man against her. Although she could not feel the heartbeat, the man seemed to emanate a certain symphony. 

Despite the fact that he seemed sickly, he had a charming attractive charisma. ,, I always like to save a woman in distress," he quipped, and this time Y/n gave him a farewell smile. Even though she regretted not asking him for his number, her heart belonged to Michael, didn't it?

Later, when she arrived at her apartment, she noticed one thing. The man's illness had a lot of similar symptoms to Michael's. 

But until the erkentniss whom she had met there it would not take too long.

The day progressed quickly and in the early evening she made her way to the hospital where she met the shift changing nurse including Katrine. They had a brief exchange before Y/n went on her daily rounds, talking to patients, giving diagnoses and distributing medications. It was not until the middle of the night that she was given a break and found herself on the ward with Anna. Almost afraid of what to expect, she went to the room before opening it. The beeping of the machine was quiet and constant. She was asleep and yet looked so fragile. 

She could only hope that Anna did not have a nightmare like herself. She put a stuffed animal in the girl's army and gave her a sad smile which she did not see. She sighed softly before leaving the room. As soon as she stepped out, she flinched imperceptibly as Michael stood in front of her on his crutches. ,, I thought you had quit. I haven't seen you all day. Where have you been?" he asked, and Y/n wondered if the doctor was even looking at the schedules for the shifts. 

But something made her good mood break immediately. To her amorous ears it sounded like "I was looking for you" and that would mean he might be worried. But she immediately shook off this childish thought for her own sake. ,, I'm on night shift, so I've only been here for a few hours. Have you at least rested or should I buy you coffee now?" came the rhetorical question. Although she had to admit that Michael really seemed very exhausted.

A surprised expression appeared briefly on his face, apparently he had worked so much that he had not noticed his own tiredness. No, thanks," he mumbled as if trying to remember something before he pointed to a file under his arm. 

With a raised eyebrow, Y/n took it and was about to open it when he put his hand on the piece of writing. ,, No, think of it as homework in your free time. I want your opinion on the patient's condition and what therapy you would use," he explained, and Y/n didn't quite know what to think. The last time she had been in school, she had really gotten excited about home. On the other hand, Michael confided in her something that spoke of trust. ,,Thank you, I'll take a look inside," she thanked him and resisted the urge to open the door. 

Again Michael seemed to think and a short twitch went through his fingers. ,, No offense, but are you sure you don't want to take a break?" she asked, thinking that Michael looked worse than the mystery man. ,,Yeah, I'm fine, I have some personal stuff to attend to," he squeaked before turning and disappearing into the hospital before the sound of his crutches faded.

Her gaze went to the corner, but she listened to Michael and left it at that. So she put it in her locker and turned to the rest of her shift. It was now shortly before two o'clock and it would still take a few hours until the change was due. 

She was just coming back from her rounds when she saw Martine. ,, Hey, how are you?" she asked, friendly and slightly exhausted. Martine turned to her with a stressed expression and sighed quickly. ,, Nothing too much to do, I still have to finish the reports for Anna. At the same time, I have a few calls to make and this has to be taken downstairs," she said before pointing to the blood samples. Y/n's eyes caught a glimpse of the blood and she happily realized that it would go to Michael. ,, How about I take this downstairs and you do your stuff and have a coffee?" she asked, giving the woman a smile.

Martine looked at her and hesitation was in her eyes before the sound of the phone stopped her. ,,Thank you" she said quickly before picking up the phone and starting to speak. Y/n grabbed the samples before heading for the elevators.

She could feel her nervousness, though she pushed it aside as she worked, but she couldn't help but feel her heart beating fast. With a pling, the doors opened and she stepped into the large hallways with large windows. She had never been in Michael's private lab before, but she was sure she would find it. 

So she first walked the way she knew before she tried to orientate herself by signs or other things. She stopped when she heard something. Looking around, she tried to pick up the sound again. It seemed to be the hum of a machine.

Confused, she followed the sound before the cracked glass walls stretched out to her right. Her gaze went inside but saw nothing much as the lights were turned off. The large double door opened and she stepped inside, slightly disoriented. ,, Michael...are you there?" she asked cautiously, considering that he was asleep. She continued cautiously and felt her way forward. 

The large laboratory was lit only by the many small lights. She dared to take another step and another until she bumped into something. Confused, she bent down and identified it as a syringe. Discomfort and fear rose in her. Fear for Michael. ,, Light the room completely!" she said quickly and was grateful that the system listened to her. But what spread out of the darkness in front of her made her drop her samples in fright.

The glass shattered and the blood spread on the floor before she ran to Michael who was lying on the floor. ,, Can you hear me?" she asked in a panic, trying to detect any outward signs of injury. She was about to ask what was going on when she noticed that his sleeve had been rolled up. Looking around, she found the cause and realized a number of things. He had forgotten to take his blood. But how could this happen? He was familiar with his illness all his life, he knew it better than anyone else and he just forgets?

She got up and took the untouched blood bag and the intravenous drip before hurrying back to Michael. ,, Stay with me and try to focus on me!" she admonished him and she felt herself getting anxious. She prepared everything before starting the blood transfusion. She knelt next to Michael with his head resting lightly on her legs.

Her fingers remained at his wrist to feel the heartbeat that constantly grew stronger with each drop of blood. When a murmur from Michael was heard, she leaned down slightly to him. ,, I would like... I would like to have the coffee now," came a weak and almost kicked away murmur from Michael, who seemed to think this was funny. Inevitably her lips twisted into a sad smile and to cover her eyes, wet with tears, she avoided his gaze. 

She watched the dark blood run through the tube to the entrance where it disappeared into the pale sickly arm. She didn't know how long she had been there with Michael, but she didn't care. It could have been hours or even minutes. Her concern that something might happen to Michael was greater.

Only when the blood bag was empty and Michael returned to his normal appearance, did she help him sit up. ,, The chair, please," Michael said, still sounding weak, and he pointed to the black stool with wheels. Y/n pulled it up and offered Michael a hand. But something seemed to have happened, he just shook his head before he hoisted himself up on the stool and seemed to suppress a sigh. 

She wanted to help him by removing the access, but when Michael pulled it out and threw it carelessly on the table, she saw that it was frustrated and angry. ,, Are you all right?" she asked the unnecessary question and shamed herself for it. Even a blind man would have seen that Michael looked affected. I've never been better," he said, turning in his chair away from her to his medical equipment and its associated procedures.

Not knowing what to do now, she began to pick up the pieces from the floor. But she was not at her best. The question of what had driven Michael to this carelessness had settled in her head. A soft hiss escaped her as she felt a tug on her finger. 

The first drops of blood spurted out and wet her skin. She continued to pick up the pieces before throwing them into the trash. She was about to wipe away the blood when Morbius interrupted her. ,, Wait, come here," he said, and there was something in his voice that was unanswerable.

She stepped closer and Michael held out his hand to her. Like a defiant child, she hesitantly held out her finger and he shook his head with a smile. ,, You have to be careful, it's sharp," he playfully admonished her before looking for a band-aid from his drawers. She felt his hostile cold fingers apply the plaster and checked it briefly.

,, The same goes for you," she only admonished him and got an annoyed knowing look. ,, It looks like you'll have to get new samples...Martine won't like all this," he said and saw a slight panic in Y/n's eyes. ,, If you hurry up and bring me a coffee, it will be our secret," he suddenly said calmly and gently. And as if he had never touched her, his fingers stroked the band-aid one last time before Y/n started to move.

Shortly after she had opened the door she looked again at Michael who seemed to be back at his work. ,,Thank you Y/n" she heard the warm tone before she closed the door behind her.

#nightmare #blood #vampire bat #fluff #comfort #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #michael morbius #michael morbius x reader #morbius the living vampire #loxias #milo brown #matt smith #angst #little emotional #seizures #reader is female

[em0tionl0rd]

Dear friends,

For anyone who has been a long-time follower or hasn't heard from me in a long time, years even, or has ever wondered/worried about me, this is for you:

The past few years have folded over like an accordion for me. A lot of horrible/terrible things have happened. And my memory is no longer what it used to be. My mind seems to naturally cope with trauma and any negative interactions by locking them away deep within it's confines. Despite this, I always try to stay positive, because I know nobody likes to hear about bad things because it only makes them feel bad. Worse, they feel bad for me, and I don't need need people's sympathy. I just need time to heal, and that's what I have been doing; Taking my time. Previous post on the matter.

It was just One thing after Another, for Years, and my mind's trauma response was to simply cope and continue to endure helplessly instead of push myself away from the situation I was in. You can really see this with my lack of activity on here through my Archive. (not including my art side-blog since I tend to just mass dump whatever art and doodles I've accumulated over there). I was active on Twitter for a bit during Tumblrs downturn, but then Twitter changed. I nuked my art account over there. It's empty. All the posts I made to nobody about my characters and headworld, gone. All because I didn't want my art and ideas stolen and used for Al training.

My main Twitter remains active. I just use it to reblog art now and casually tweet about stuff. Initially I used Twitter to follow content creators, but as my timeline got cluttered, I made alts to follow specific topics. I started using my main to follow news and current issues, and my art account to follow artists and content creators, which I still do, but I retweet to my main only. Then all my art likes stay on my art account and don't comingle with political issues.

I was going to work, and while I would work, I just kept thinking, non-stop. Thinking about all the bad things. Failing to distract myself with my own characters and my story universe. Unintentionally over-sharing with coworkers because at some point in my life I learned how to cope with my anxiety by talking, and talking, and talking.. Unintentionally forming bonds with people I should have never associated with because I felt so desperate for real human interaction other than what I imagined in my head. Something other than my daemons, my conscience, my delusions. The swirling thoughts, the nightmares, the dreams that haunted me just as much as my reality.

Every week, for years, I was experiencing these nightmares. Something would manifest in my room. I could sense it was there. I couldn't escape it. Even if I went to bed and tried my best not to think about it, it would get me. It enjoyed tormenting me.

I started to stay up later and later, fearing laying bed and being prone to this unseen entity. Hoping that depriving myself of sleep would help me fall asleep faster and whisk me away to the sanctity of dreams, but even then, I wasn't safe. If I ever overslept, or didn't do enough to make myself tired before bed, it would find me. If it was merely psychosis, I couldn't tell, because it felt so real.

Eventually, after everything I went through with my ex, things changed for the better, when it came to sleep at least. There was no longer a shadowy presence standing there, grinning at me feet from my bed, or watching me at my desk, waiting for me to go to bed. Instead, there were actual hallucinations. Sleep depravation had taken it's toll on me. My ex had kept me awake many, many nights during my workweek, and forced me to drink with him, or made noise that kept me awake because he would stay up all night.

I distinctly remember watching these long brown withered fingers reaching out of the utility closet in the bedroom while we were both sleeping, and shaking the door violently as if it were trying to get out/in. My eyes were open just enough while I was asleep for this to fully wake me up and scare me. I remember turning over to my ex whimpering and he didn't even care..

Then when he was finally gone (for good), I continued to hallucinate. I had gotten into such a habit of staying up, on top of my uncomfortable sleeping situation due to work related physical pain (among other things), that I started seeing full-body characters dancing in my doorframe. This was completely new to me because before, it was less of a visual hallucination and more like THERE IS A GHOST RIGHT THERE, and now it was more like my eyes were legit not working properly. I just remember staring at my door and seeing all the Digimon characters, full color and everything, dancing and moving around like my eyes were projecting a perfect recreation of them.

I noticed in the past that if I binged a certain amount of content, my eyes would start generating new versions of what I was looking at whenever I closed my eyes. Like my brain could take all this information and create something completely unique and original, which amazed me. For example, whenever I would browse Deviantart and look at character designs or dragons or something, I would close my eyes and every time I closed my eyes I would see a completely new and unique fleshed out design in full color. The downside was that they were usually too detailed for me to do justice in drawing.

I also just see ever-changing generic psychedelic patterns and colorful concentric waves at the edges of my vision. The only time I ever see these properly with my eyes fully open is if I'm staring at the ceiling or the grass or if I press my arm against my eyes. Then there was the one time I was flying out of LA and had taken a 1g thc tab while sleep deprived and noticed a little blob of rainbows in the plane window after take-off. (my ex pushed alcohol and weed on me really hard despite me not wanting anything to do with it bc i don't need it)

So anyway, I had binge watched Digimon Adventure and was now seeing all of the characters in my bedroom door. That was a new one for me. Before I would just stare at the cottage cheese patterned ceiling and try to make out characters in the bumps. I did this my whole life as I had the same ceiling as a kid at my childhood home.

I went back and watched Digimon because I never really got to watch it as a kid and had vague memories of it being overly-dramatic (I was like maybe 4-5) and My Gosh that show goes hard for a kids show. Completely unrelated to my rambling but I wish more kids shows were comfortable tackling such hard-hitting issues, my gosh. Modern media is too soft and probably sets a bad example of reality. (my dad let me watch gory horror movies, rated r flicks, and explicit 90s anime as a kid so who am i to talk)

Before my ex and around the time the nightmares started, I started having surreal auditory hallucinations while half awake. I remember waking up to a small black geometric object floating above my face with blue lines running across it's surface. I was in the thralls of sleep paralysis and felt like it was just floating there above my face watching me. Another time, while my niece was over, I remember hearing something at the top of my stairs, clawing at the carpet and growling at me. For context, I was living in my mom's attic. It was relatively small, with low ceiling, and carpeted.

This thing that was growling at me and snarling genuinely worried me because my niece started developing very strange behavioral issues around this time, but I won't get into that here. I don't think people want to hear my supernatural/paranormal psychology ramblings. I'm just happy that after talking to my mom about it my niece is getting some much needed help. I was so worried that I remember breaking down and crying over it at work.

I felt like something was attached to my niece, and that thing was sort of a manifestation of that that only I could hear while I was half awake. Before it climbed the stairs and started growling, I distictly remember hearing it mimicking my nieces laughter (she was just a baby). And the way it dug it's claws into the carpet and growled, this guttural snarl, I couldn't tell what it was. It felt inhuman.

Around this time, because I was so isolated, and generally miserable, all the research I had been doing into various paranormal and metaphysical phenomena had taken a detrimental toll on my mental health. As you can clearly tell from all of this rambling about things unseen. I started believing that lizard people were real and lived on Saturn. Yes, because I read it on someone's blog. And because of that, I started to be attacked in my sleep by what I can only describe as something reptilian in nature. It somehow had the ability to appear before me and put me into sleep paralysis, pick me up, and send me to the shadow realm (or at least that's what it felt like) where it would claw and bite and do unspeakable things to me while I was unable to move or fight back or even scream.

These experiences carried over after my mom kicked me out. They followed me to my apartment, and they stuck with me for a majority of the time I was with my ex. Part of me really hoped that living with a real living breathing human being would help me out of my psychosis, but that was kind of hard given that he was an actual sociopath and psycho himself. I had no grounding in reality other than work. Work started feeling like an escape. And talking with coworkers even more-so.

For context, my mom did nothing to help. Both of my parents have mental health issues, and I don't want to talk about it. I'm saving that for my biography. My mom kicked me out because the internship program she forced me into in 2018-2019 didn't get me employed right away, so I ended up living with a social worker for a short while who was also a pet foster. It was a bit chaotic with all the animals but I was able to get a job and my own place and get away from my mom which was good. Also my mom was drinking when she decided to come upstairs and lecture me (again) for 2+ hours about how useless I was.

As you can tell, there was already plenty of fuel on the fire for my mental health issues to spiral out of control. I started to neglect my art, my characters, my story, my wellbeing. Yet I somehow managed to keep it together, for the most part. Enough to be employable and push myself to socialize more at work and be personable and friendly. It helps to be overly self-conscious of how I come off to people due to being bullied throughout HS for being "weird"..

I felt like I peaked in 2014-2015 while I was still in Highschool and spent most of my time outside of school hanging out with friends in Minecraft servers. I was having so much fun despite my circumstances, but then the balance shifted in a really bad direction. At one point I was even living with my grandma in an even worse situation back in 2017 just because I was that desperate to get away from my mom.

While in my internship program I realized how freeing it was to be out in the city during the day while taking the bus to work. I was far away from home back in that small farm town and got to spend time at the mall every day which was cool. I got to see the city in fall and winter and it translated well into living on my own bc I had already familiarized myself with the bus routes enough to continue using them when I got another job. I also used them when I was with my ex to get out. Other than that I biked to work. More on that later.

And during my downtime in this program I spent so much time drawing. It was like being back in class in Highschool and sitting at my desk and doodling while the teacher was talking. (it was literally the same) Other than that, I spent most of my time on my laptop doing whatever I could to distract myself from my current situation out of habit. I'd draw digitally, but I struggled to motivate myself to do anything useful with it.

For a long time I relied on Youtube and social media as an escape and a distraction from my problems. Frequently venting to friends online. Paragraph after paragraph. Driving them crazy. Even driving people away. I just didn't know what to do because I felt so helpless. I even became active in the local metaphysical community. I took classes and became a certified psychic (not kidding). I met and attended classes with a paranormal psychologist. And I hung out with a wizard. (RIP)

Needless to say, I think metaphysics and spirituality are bunk at this point. I only see value in maybe paranormal psychology, because at the end of the day, it is literally all in our heads, even if our heads are literally a window into another world sometimes (even if said other world is just dreams and imagination). Taking a huge step back from my interest in the paranormal genuinely helped me heal and become better about handling myself, where I was no longer letting illusory entities harass me in my sleep.

I remember sitting in bed that fateful night and just saying in my head to myself, "This is all in my head and I am the one in control". Then I never got attacked again. Something I didn't mention throughout this whole spiel was that I had an imaginary friend and I frequently imagined myself doing the dirty with said imaginary friend (who is also a character of mine). The "attacks" were simply an escalation of all the kinky shit in my head and all the bullshit alien conspiracies I had been immersing myself in. I had let myself get to a point where I genuinely believed that something else was controlling me outside of myself. Very not mentally healthy if you ask me.

Near the end I remember having to make sure my bedroom door and closet doors were closed, and to cover my eyes and ears with something just to prevent them from playing tricks on me while I slept.

Anyways, lucid dreams, daydreams, OBEs, and sleep paralysis had become normalized to me at a young age. I frequently dreamed about flying and imagining characters in my head. It genuinely became an escape and coping mechanism for me, especially with the creation of an imaginary friend as a teenager because I struggled to make real meaningful friends. Changing schools several times didn't help that of course. I still experience these things and still enjoy them but don't take them as seriously anymore, but they're still fun, even addicting at times. I feel like the human mind is an endlessly deep pool that continues to amaze me at times.

As for my ex boyfriend, god.. It was like dating Murdoc irl, but somehow worse, and sadder. I wanted that Stockholm Syndrome abusive boyfriend relationship sooo badly. Like I felt I needed to be punished for being such an outcast. He Almost killed me. Aside from the few bicycle accidents on the way to work, I think what he did will leave me limping and struggling to walk for the rest of my life.

Also fuck the creep I met at my last job. Holy shit, now that guy was Literally insane. I genuinely hope his kid will be okay. (why the fuck does he have a child holy shit)

Lastly, I am doing better. At least I think I am. It's hard to tell. I'm just happy to be drawing again and enjoying it. After all the BS I went through over the past few years, I actually got pretty rusty so a lot of what I'm drawing might get dumped on my art blog, but in the meantime, I'm just happy I'm posting art and people are enjoying it as much as I do. I haven't felt this stable about my art in a long time. Getting out of that apartment and away from the city and all of those negative memories weighing me down was a huge step in the right direction.

If you read all of this for whatever reason, good for you. Have a gold star. Lemme know if you would read my biography. I have plenty more fucked up stories where these came from, and this is just incoherent rambling that skips most of the awful details.

#words words words #sadz talks

[writerof-thewoods]

Chapter 3: The Fall (part 1)

"Lay Me Gently in the Cold Dark Earth" Chapter 3)

Summary: Recurring nightmares of the fall continue to haunt Crowley. So much that this one instance leaves him in a state he'd never been in before.

TW for religious imagery/references

What begins this hazy twilight is the slow steady prelude of an epic tale. A tale that would span through the ages woven with the threads by a universe in its infancy. Unresting, unwavering, and silently preparing itself to be given a purpose. A destiny unknown. 

______________________________________________________________

The heavens rang out with a first flash of energy-the bang flashing in every and all directions. The stage set for the first act. The curtain rises as the actors take their positions and begin in the familiar dance that was eternity. Angelic celestial beings rang out as heroes with their plan for the story. Crashing in an unending battle amongst themselves and the cast out villains lurking in the shadows. Their Righteous Dominion fell onto their shoulders as they fought with divine authority. They were angels of grace, power, and order, everything wanted in a defender of what was right. 

It was not a performance of triumph. There were neither winners nor losers in the ending of this strange battle. Only the falling of archangels and beings to follow the first. The one who burned the pages of the book, wanting to rewrite it in his own devotion to the universe. The rebellious one. All who stood with the prince of darkness were sent down with him. 

Stripped of their holy title, bodies marked with their deeds, and eyes once full of wonder and knowledge of the galaxies were tarnished as a reminder of their betrayal to the Almighty. Whatever comfort they had was gone, only jaded suffering would be allowed to take its place. 

One of said creatures lay shriveled on the ground, struggling to breath in its paralyzing agony. Their mind raced with what they could’ve done, why the creator who once loved them so would send them to endure such pain. They hadn’t meant to do any harm; they didn’t even know what wrong was; they only wanted to see something different. To ask questions, but they never thought it would land them here. 

The monster’s once sweet nature was replaced with feelings of sorrow, fury, and anguish. Their body cried with even the slightest of movement, even when tears began to fall from their eyes. The creature laid covered in debris and ash from their fall from grace. Said tears stained and stung their burning, soot covered face. As the memories of the experience began to flood their already fractured mind, a shadowy figure watched from afar. 

The figure being Satan. He’d seen many creatures come and go, the fear that came to their eyes as they realized their fate filled him with childish glee. But this one was different somehow, at least in this specific instance. They weren’t moving nor did they want to be here that's for sure, but they seemed to be taking it much harder than the rest. Most of the fallen had already gone and gladly taken their positions in Hell with an overwhelming amount of pride. Unlike them, they weren’t happy or even willing to be on his side. They probably didn’t even know who he was other than what they’d heard above. If anything, they were like a lost child separated from their parents, rather than a fallen angel. 

He cursed himself for feeling this sort of way. He was Satan. Humanity’s main antagonist, and hear he was feeling some form of sympathy ? Well, if you could even call it that. It was more pity than anything. He looked over at the creature with a pained look. Remembering that he too had been in their place. He knew what it felt like. To be cast out by someone that you once loved and trusted. However, that had been a millennia ago, so the empathy he had for them was very limited. Despite that though, he stalked over and looked at them, seeing what lay inside their soul that couldn’t bear itself to the human eye. 

The monster shivered at the feeling of eyes on them. Shuddering as the burning feeling began to dissipate through the rest of their body, they tentatively opened their eyes. 

Satan clucked his tongue at the creature. Such a terrified little thing. Whatever brought you down here? You don’t belong here. If anything, you belong in purgatory at the very least, but not in Hell. “Who are you, demon?” He asked, his voice ringing out like an abandoned organ. 

The ex-angel tried to remember, but the pain was too unbearable. They lay back in shame and sighed. The smallest of actions seem to take an eternity. When they felt like they could respond, they leaned over and quietly whispered. “I…I..” But they were instantly cut off by a fit of coughs erupting from their chest. 

A cruel smile formed on Satan’s lips as he cooed at the creature's struggle. Leaning down, he pulled them up to their feet and held them in his arms. “Never mind that, you’ll have a new identity. You, my pet, will be Crawley. How does that sound?” 

Crawley cried out as they were lifted off of the ground. Struggling for a moment, they went limp and couldn’t meet Satan’s condescending eyes. That was one of the many things he remembered. To never look him in the eye unless you had a reason to. And that’d better be a good one. The demon nodded slowly in response. 

Satan smirked with horrific glee and marveled at the fear that coursed through every fiber of the new demon’s being. A small part of him begged him to spare this one, and shockingly enough, he listened to it. It would take this creature a much longer time to adjust to their new fate. Just like he had. So, in the moments that felt like an eternity between the two, he decided he would take the demon under his wing (figuratively and literally). 

“I know how you must feel, but trust me, you’ll adjust to life here much sooner than you think. You have potential, unlike any other demon I’d seen in a long time.” 

Crawley trembled in fear as tears ran down their face. They didn’t want this. They didn’t want to be here in the first place, but especially not this. What was he talking about? What could this mean? Most of all, why did it have to be…them? 

“Come now pet, we have a lot of work to do.” He stalked forward towards the long trek to the beginning formation in front of them. The creation of Earth. The place Satan presided over while his disciples went and did as they were told. Crawley had been there when the Almighty made the planet. It was so unique, so different, so beautiful…just like everything she and her Angels created. Now, it was as bittersweet as ever as they knew they’d never get to see it with them. 

Reluctantly, with a body and mind filled with an aching sorrow for the future they’d never have, Crawley followed him. A hole in their heart grew as the realization that they’d never feel love, tenderness, and kindness from the Almighty again set in. 

The hole only continued to grow. So much so that all they could do was scream. 

#reposted from my ao3 account #my writing #good omens fanfic #good omens agere #agere fanfic #fandom agere #sfw regression #non com agere #my fanfiction #ineffable husbands agere #ineffable husbands fic #willowws writing

[peligin-eyed]

Dreams and Nightmares

(Kind of a backstory continuation touching on Liam’s early days in London, spoilers for the Bloody Wallpaper)

London may be strange but you're figuring it out, with time. You meet some friendly artists and musicians, try your hand at writing some poems and lyrics of your own. You find places where they want people who can put up a good fight and aren't afraid of going after beasts. Even with your bad shoulder, you’re stronger now and you’re much better at tracking and hunting things. It frightens you how easy it is.

You take solace in dreams. Sometimes you have the same dreams, of being back in that forest, but sometimes you have unfamiliar new ones about water and fire and dead men. There's a type of honey down here that sends you off into dreams and lets you forget about your life for a while. You start frequenting honey-dens and on occasion you meet some nice people, like a charming young heiress. She flirts with you in dreams, and a bit when you finally meet in the waking world, but you know it would never work. You don't trust yourself to get close to people now.

For about a week, you have dreams about a shadowy beast tracking you through the streets of London. It's distinctly different from the Surface beast that still haunts your nightmares, but the mark it leaves on you and the way it pursues you are hauntingly familiar. You wake panting and sweating from those dreams, its mark itching and your old scars burning, until you manage to defeat it in your dreams.

You learn that moon pearls can tell you the phase of the moon, and you studiously keep track on your growing little store of them. You can tell when the full moon is coming. You don't know what you'll do, maybe go wander out into the marshes with your pets locked safely inside your cottage and hope for the best, but it turns out that someone else has other plans for you.

There's a man you see sometimes. He wears a coat with bright brass buttons and has an unusual number of fingers. He disconcerts you when you pass him on the street, and after dreams of red and gold you learn that he is the manager of a rather elaborate hotel down here.

You weren't expecting to receive an invitation to the Red and Gold Gala. You're new and you hardly know anyone, let alone the sort of people that would be invited to that kind of thing. You're willing to serve at the event, though. You're good at following orders and you figure it'll be a memorable experience, if all the gossip you've heard is to be believed.

Well, it certainly is memorable. You'd met some strange types down here, like the nice rubbery chaps and the talking rats, but they mostly seemed like decent sorts, just a little odd. You like odd, you're a bit odd yourself. The people you meet in this hotel, however, as you're bringing them unsettling meals and carrying about their bloody linens, they seem like a kind of dangerous you don't understand. Something is off about this place, perhaps even more off than is typical for London.

The work itself is tedious and degrading, though hardly worse than some of the things you had to do in the army. Between the fumes and the continual stitching of your smile and the endless up and down of the lift and the stairs and eventually the opium, you end up feeling quite dizzy and dazed. By the time you find yourself in the nightmarish jungle, you keep seeing it flicker to a different place, a cold pine forest, in between blinks. That goes away when you peel off the wallpaper at least.

In the end, you're pretty sure you've done your best and you at least made sure your fellow staff got some kind of compensation. When you wake up the next morning achey and exhausted with some concerning holes in your memory, you're not entirely convinced that your time in service actually happened. Maybe it was just a dream while…something else happened. (Well, you know it was a dream, sort of. You think.) But you're at home, still in your nightclothes, and free of unexpected blood on your person. At least there’s that.

Whatever really happened, the one thing you're sure of is that you would be quite pleased to never have to run into the Manager again if you can avoid it.

#oh boy is he going to be grumpy when he finds out who he needs to recruit for a card game #in a way the whole experience was good practice for HD #running around doing errands for people #anyway my thoughts on moon stuff is that if the sun can’t reach the neath neither can the moon #(with some exceptions like mirrorcatch boxes and maybe the balmoral woods) #so he won’t have forced moon transformations for the most part but can learn to do it at will if he wants #oc: the cursed balladeer

[eerieplease]

Je me souviens pendant que je vis (I remember while I live) — this is how Agnès Varda haunts us at the end of her beautiful recollection of what if feels like to exist within a period in time, Les Plages d’Agnès. I find it mysterious why we always seem to associate the idea of memory with watery forms of existence. There is something about bodies of water that suggest an echoy haze, which is exactly how memories appear to me. Wong Kar-Wai said it better: He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.

I feel like my songs are embedded with the idea of teenage wonder. My heart becomes something special when I think of those years of sensorial exploration, and I constantly find my way back to a pub that I used to go to that no longer exists. I see the shadowy green light, the dark walls and the checkerboard floor with a blur very specific to the filter of recollection. There was a jukebox in the space where my friends and I used to dance. I discovered something about love then. To this day, I keep making songs that I would like to hear on that jukebox. That’s probably why I love synthesizers — they channel my nostalgia through me.

I need a strange kind of peace to be able to remember. When I feel uneasy, I often resort to the whimsical tunes of Mort Garson’s Plantasia (warm earth music for plants… and the people who love them), which used one of the first Moog synthesizers ever to craft songs that would supposedly help houseplants grow. This album was released at a time when a book called The Secret Life of Plants brought a special kind of attention to plants and how we perceive them. Perhaps the elements of memory in plants are superficially treated, but at least there they are in black and white! Yet no one calls his friends or neighbors, no one shouts in a drunken voice over the telephone: Have you heard the news? Plants can feel! They can feel pain! They cry out! Plants remember everything!

To support this affectionate thought, the book details a mildly weird experiment that aimed to prove that plants can remember. A plant was exposed to two men: one who treated it with care, while the other showed nothing but cruelty toward it. After a certain period of time, instruments electrocoded to the plant showed that chaotic impulses arose when the cruel man got near to it. I don’t know anything about the scientific validity of this experiment, but its findings certainly have poetic value: it only takes an existence to remember.

I’ve been delving into a particular exploration of modular synths for a song that I am currently producing, Allegory of Touch. With my songs, I feel like I am always trying to touch something thas has faded. Poignant fragments amidst a non-linear mental narrative made up of moments that are too close to touch. I know that I am done when I press play and my heart quietly acknowledges: here, this is the sound of nostalgia. It hits me like confusion but with the lingering feeling of being home, surrounded by an eerie afterglow that suggests that something does not feel quite right. It is exactly how I felt after watching Aftersun this Wednesday. What I would like to say, I guess, is that remembering can be an act of survival in moments when you feel like reality will never feel like a memory. Days are too much of a mirror, and there is little to do other than look back and exclaim, with astonishing warmth: I think this is what happened to me.

#agnes varda #wong kar wai #plantasia #mort garson #moog #synthesizer #dream pop #journal #bedroom pop #musician #queer #aftersun #paul mescal #songwriting

[kagrenacs]

@tes-summer-fest 2022! Prompt 1: Dreams

(A bit of context, this follows the events of the ESO Shadowfen quests, during the Dream of the Hist.)

Mere-Sa dreams of the life preceding.

    The water is cool against the tender scales of their underbelly, as they swim forwards in search of a snack, on alert for swift bursts of movement among the sway of the tall marshgrasses. Within the woven nest of the great tree’s twisting roots, they snap at a writhing thing, picking at flesh and sinew until their belly is full. Comfortable and sleepy, they paddle through the dark water in search of a basking place.

    Here, in this place, days and nights are one continuous movement. Words like future and time have no meaning, and the past only exists as a cohesion of memory and instinct. Survival is the only meaning in this life.

    Then comes the Root and its honey-sweet sap. They and their siblings drink it deeply, so it may touch every corner of their being. The undercurrents sweep them into the great flow of time, and their mind multiplies, spilling forth like an overflowing river, moving forth in rivets and eddies. What was once the primal instinct to survive, becomes abstract concepts- shades of being infinite in complexity.

    Their body always remembers what it used to be, but it changes. Their legs and spine rise and lengthen like a tower, their mouth becomes adapted for much more than consumption, and the idea of language grows in their mind like a fruit on a tree. They become more like the things that the Root remembers from other places and times, a monument to the past that it achingly sings for the memory of.

    When they look up at the branches of the great tree, they see countless others in their image. Their ancestors and the ancestors before them, back to the first and even beyond that. Other trees, interconnected and winding from the boughs of the last rise into the flaming sky. Their roots and branches get confused and tangled like the axles of hurling wheels. Clashing into one another and breaking into fragments. Around them, within the water they see this image reflected forward in time, to their children and their descendants and everything they might become in the future. With a sadness, they watch as the breaking approaches upon their tree, but a great shadowy serpent rises from the water and eats the roots so their world can selfishly live forever.

    A tail brushes up against them, they know this soul in the waking world, this time around she’s called Heita-Meen, the Vicecanon of Stormhold; a respected elder and trusted friend. She swims forward, deeper and deeper into the dark water they fear to dive into (but not so deep as to wake the serpent). They follow, but the water becomes murky, and poison stings their gills. 

    Like the roiling head of a thunderstorm, thoughts of a great presence makes itself known to them. The three siblings cry out a keening song of sadness and mourning for their fourth. It tastes the blood of its children as it spills and seeps into its roots. It lashes out in rage, but it can’t rationalize why such a tragedy could occur. It’s children’s eyes saw drywalkers- Dark Elves and a Nord, snakes shedding their skins to hide their intentions. They must be the ones tapping their siblings blood and boiling it in great vats of hot iron!

    It’s overwhelming, Mere-Sa feels like a capsized boat in the midst of a tempest and Heita-Meen clings to them as to not be lost in the turmoil. Together they swim forward, until their scales scrape against worn bark. “An Altmer wore the skin of a Nord, and the Dark Elves cried with us for our hatchling’s loss. Ruutivar the Alchemist has committed these crimes against you. And I am sorry.”

    The siblings' thoughts pulsate as they confer. The Hist of the Hatching Pools, Stormhold and Ten-Maur-Wok’s minds are put at ease, but the rot-memories of their sibling threaten the rest of the system- excising it may be the best mercy they can afford.

    Mere-Sa remembers the Treeminder and her haunted eyes, her burning pain. She and her people will be cut from the cycle of rebirth, and their memories lost to the void, an unending era of stagnation. They’ll lose their family- no, Mere-Sa can’t let that happen.

    Though small, they leave Heita-Meen behind and dive a bit deeper, (but not enough to wake the serpent), to the source of the ache. 

    “You’ve been hurt, it’s ok to grieve this pain- but this doesn’t have to be your reality forever! After the flood, in time, trees from the underbrush grow again. A bent tree can keep growing and the bleeding wound heals. There is joy in every moment if you just try to look. You have yourself, and you have each other, and that way you’re never really alone.”

    Their voice is small, but the voices of the Treeminder and a thousand, thousand Saxheel join in and they sing, “I’m home. I’m not alone. Welcome home.”

#my writing #this is last minute scrapped together from a much larger piece but i thought it'd fit with the theme