#there's a sort of emptiness around them for every kid that died at the house but godddddd i cant imagine what don was thinking

[goldiipond]

and everyone managed to escape safely

#skye's doodles #AUUUGH IM SO. WAU. don and conny and don and conny and don and conny im shaking you so hard. do you understand???? #there's a sort of emptiness around them for every kid that died at the house but godddddd i cant imagine what don was thinking #the escape was a success. theyre still working to save everyone else. but it always lingers in the back of his mind. she should be there too #anywayay im so NORMAL. art motivation has been kicking my ass but i'll always be ill about these two. what ever #and i dont care abt how feasible it would've been in canon i simply think don should've been able to keep little bunny. self indulgence <3 #the promised neverland #tpn #yakusoku no neverland #tpn don

[the-ace-with-spades]

(another unfinished post i found on the way to glasgow - that was the longest train ride in my life - I'm sorry in advance)

When Ice finally passes away, at the age of 73, in his sleep, Bradley moves Mav into their house the same day.

He gets the call in the morning, while trying to simultaneously cook Jake's breakfast and try to make their daughter put on a rain jacket. It's not Mav, but someone from the hospital. Jake doesn't know this — Bradley's face twitches only for a second and then he's back to the nagging, relaxing tone and telling their daughter it's raining and it won't stop. Jake only finds out when he comes back home from the school drop-off and Mav is already there on their couch. Jake doesn't even get the full explanation until that night, just a quick, "Ice passed away overnight."

There's only their three youngest living with them at the time — their 18-year-old daughter who attends UC San Diego, and their 15-year-old son who is still in high school, and their 7-year-old daughter — so Mav takes one of the vacant bedrooms.

The first few nights, Bradley sleeps in the same bed with him. Neither of them looks like they get much sleep. They don't really eat, either, just drink coffee and nibble on the crackers.

The kids start coming back home, and their oldest helps Jake arrange most of the things for the funeral, at least for the first few days. Mav is... numb, not really there, and Jake understands — he would, too, if he woke up one day and his husband died in his sleep next to him. Bradley is silent, mostly, the way he usually rambles to fill out the silence, the way he hums, the way he sings at any given time when there are no words spoken, it's all gone and Jake doesn't know how to fill out the silence either, how to ask, how to make it better without asking.

Bradley doesn't cry, or at least not the way he knows Mav does — he can see Mav's red eyes every morning — but there's something empty in his gaze, in the way his eyes follow Mav and in the way he melts whenever Mav is around, always close, always brushing against him. Mav spaces out a lot, doesn't talk much, doesn't—well, doesn't do much. Every time he tries to help with something, paperwork, the funeral arrangements, the hospital bills, even just sorting out the kids' school leave or Jake's own work leave, he fumbles a bit, not really able to focus on anything for long, and it's like his mind is completely scrambled. Jake doesn't know how to help him — doesn't know if they even can.

The kids, well, did not take it well, as expected. The oldest two try to be brave and help Jake with everything, keep the house going, but their youngest daughter doesn't really understand why her pops isn't back, the middle kids don't understand why now — Ice was in remission, in good health, would go hiking with them once a month, play with them in the backyard, talking about plans for the future with them, nothing that would tell them to expect their pops passing away. Mav and Ice had taken care of all of them for years, while Jake and Bradley were still deployable, and helping out as much as they could. Ice was a huge part of their lives, since the very beginning.

Bradley is certainly not doing any better but one couldn't be able to tell if they didn't know him well enough. He's always been more for packing his feelings into a tight neat box, compartmentalizing until there is too much and it all overflows in some explosive way. His focus is mostly on Mav and the kids, trusting Jake to take care of anything he can't.

Jake can't even ask him how he's doing until the night before the funeral.

Mav tells Bradley he wants to be alone that night and Bradley lands in their bedroom.

He acts normal — checks the kids are in bed, checks on Mav, prepares stuff for breakfast in the morning, has a shower. Only when he sits down in their bed, their dress blues, cleaned and pressed sitting on the hangers hooked up on their wardrobe, right in front of him—only then he freezes, a blank stare still on the uniforms.

Jake sits down next to him on the bed. "Talk to me, Bradley."

"I knew it was going to happen at some point, I just," "I just thought we would have a few more years."

Bradley sleeps curled up on his chest — he sleeps the whole night, soundlessly, and Jake is almost settled.

Almost. Mav is a couple doors down, alone.

Ice's been—had been retired many years now, but he had been high enough in the ranks that the Navy still insists on making a military funeral. Jake tried to take away as much of the flashy bullshit as possible, but there are still things leftover — the sailors with the flag, the flyover. But there's no one who wasn't close with the family at the ceremony, there's no speeches, and no one tries to hand either Mav or Bradley a flag.

The wake has an even smaller amount of people, all packed in their house — Mav hasn't been at his own house since — and thanks to Slider, mostly, and his 'the bastard wouldn't want us to mope around', it's less sad and quiet.

Mav eats two slices of cake, which is the most Jake's seen him eat since, and even laughs at some stories about Ice people are exchanging.

Ice had a good life. A big family. A big happy family that loved him.

But life goes on without him. Jake goes back to work first, then the kids have to go back to school, then Bradley has to back to work. After a couple of days alone at their house, Mav starts bringing up moving back to his own house.

He's not really doing great. He's still quiet, still spaces out more often than not, still forgets himself sometimes, still freezes whenever he tries to say something and the we he uses is one person short. He's—lifeless, for a lack of better word, and seems like he's noticing it now that Bradley isn't with him most of the waking hours.

"That is our home," Mav tells them. "I can't abandon it forever, I'd be abandoning him, too, if I—"

Jake—Jake gets it. He doesn't like it, but he gets it.

Bradley's been fielding off any suggestions of Mav moving out but he's pretty sure that soon Mav is going to pack his stuff and up and leave without asking for permission.

"If he wants to move back home, we can't exactly hold him here. against his will."

"Jake," Bradley says. "I feel like—if we let Mav go back there alone, he's going to die of a broken heart and I won't have either of them anymore."

"Sweetheart—"

"I know it's selfish," he interrupts, "but I can't lose him, too. Not now."

Jake can't make Mav stay with them — so he finds the best solution he can and instead, they all move in with Mav. Hell with it, he's going to try to get everyone to live their lives to the end. They'd done it before, Mav, Ice, Bradley, Jake and their two kids under one roof, when their oldest two were their only two kids.

The two of them and two of their youngest; two of their kids move into their house so they don't have to sell it.

Mav lives on. They try to occupy his mind by throwing their youngest at him — ask him to take her to school, pick her up from school, take her to her gymnastics class, do her homework with her, teach her how to play piano. The other kids pick up on it, too, and their high schoolers would wrap Mav into doing math workbooks with them, or ask him to drive them to their friends' house, and the kids that have moved out ask Mav to go to lunch together or call him to ask him things about car and house repairs that don't exist.

Mav gets brighter every day. Never as bright as before, but no longer so numb.

Their daughter ends up never moving out and so do they.

They all get older but Mav holds up pretty well. He does break his hip when trying to wash the windows, had a limp and terrible back ache ever since, had to stop driving because he can't see shit, had to stop piloting even sooner, and his memory is also shit, but Jake is pretty sure his cholesterol is lower than his own and he has better blood pressure than Bradley. Bradley and Mav are the ones cooking after all, Jake is the one eating all the tasty but not healthiest food, and Mav's life revolves around spoiling his cute great-grandkids and Bradley's is filled with the constant stress of managing Navy's top flying school.

For his ninetieth birthday, Mav flies a fighter jet as a passenger, the oldest person to ever do that — his youngest granddaughter is the one to take him up in the air, a junior grade lieutenant herself. They have a birthday party held at their house, Mav falls asleep in the armchair, Bradley makes fun of him and promptly falls asleep on the couch, too. Jake loves them both so much and still kind of can't believe he has this — house full of grown-up kids and grandkids of his own, his graying husband of over thirty years, his father-in-law coming to an age he wanted to see his mother at.

They're cleaning up, their two daughters who still don't have kids and didn't need to go home helping, and Mav tells them he's going to get some fresh air on their veranda. "I've got a terrible headache," is all he says.

Half an hour passes, they've packed all the clean and dirty dishes, and Bradley huffs to himself. "He fell asleep on the bench again, didn't he," and goes outside.

Bradley shouts for him in less than a minute. The ambulance is there in eight. Within the half-hour and a CT scan in the hospital, the neurologist tells them Mav is too far gone to survive the day. Within six hours, every single person from their family has come to say goodbye. When they pass the seven hours mark, Jake stands up from the plastic chair behind Bradley — he's not about to tell Bradley he should rest, but he's been holding Mav's hand since the minute they admitted Mav to the ward and hasn't eaten or drunk anything all day. He tells him he'll go grab them a coffee and bagels and gets a little nod and a smile.

Jake comes back twenty minutes later and Bradley doesn't even look up from where he's gripping Mav's hand.

"Can you get the nurse for me?"

#this isn't really about Ice's death or Mav's death #but more about getting old in a family #sorry in advance #dunno if this made sense #idk felt some way when i wrote it #my nan had a stroke around that time and as a person who works mainly with critical stroke patients it hit hard #i didn't get into detail here but stroke patient at the end of their lives are very emotional sight for relatives #icemav #hangster #angst #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #tgm #charlie writes #op

[maddheaven]

My Interpretation of Yandere Dick Grayson/Nightwing - also a ramble post, kinda.

It’s been awhile since I’ve found time to write something. I was gonna write a short ramble post about my version of Yandere Dick Grayson but I had work to do.

Otherwise here it is:

So most versions of Yandere Dick I’ve read of him being extremely dark and sadistic towards his darling. Personally, I think this portrayal of Yandere Dick is interesting, and a little fun to write, because you don’t have to follow his optimistic values and traits, and just go crazy with it. Over time though - and now that I finally found time to read some comics and stuff, getting my inspiration juices flowing - it kinda got old and overused for me. While I do like the take on it, there are some parts of it that I would do differently or change completely like him having a full-blown freak-out and accusing his darling of cheating, ya know, screaming, shouting, punching things and all. I also like the soft yandere version of Dick, and incorporate some parts of that as well based on the few that I've read.

So with some inspirations from headcanons, and a bit of daydreaming, here is what I came up with:

Even before his parents' death. Grayson felt this deep, subconscious need for normalcy; for some semblance of ordinary.

He grew up moving around a lot, being in a circus act and all, and therefore, never had a real home.

Dick wanted the white picket fence, he wanted the typical suburban house, and he dreamed of being married to the love of his life with a bunch of kids, and maybe, a pet or two running around.

When his parents died, the only affection he ever had was ripped away from him leaving a dark void in his heart.

Despite being adopted by Bruce, and getting acquainted in his new home, that empty spot in his chest never went away.

He went through a couple of partners, Kori and Barbara included, had a few heartbreaks, but that empty feeling stayed.

Something was missing, he wasn’t sure what it was.

He cared for his previous partners, stayed loyal to them the whole way, yet there wasn’t a ‘click.’

There are multiple ways he could’ve come across you.

Either you were a civilian he saved from danger as Nightwing, helping you out as an officer, or maybe you met during a walk out in Bludhaven or Gotham.

However he met you, there was an instant click.

There was something, something about you, that was different.

His obsession comes in waves.

First: He’s interested, and starts watching out for you - not to the point of stalking yet.

He'll try to strike up a conversation, start building some sort of friendship or acquaintance with you, anything to get to know you.

Second: Then that interest becomes intrigue, and now he’s following you wherever you go, wanting to learn more about you.

That need he felt for all of his life grows, and grows.

He can’t get you out of his head, he can’t stop thinking about you.

He could be taking on as many cases as a police officer, he could be fighting criminals in some alley.

Yet, no matter how hard he tries, his mind always wanders back to you.

It's conflicting for him; he knows he shouldn't be this obsessed with you yet.. nothing seems to get you off his mind!

But that all comes to a head, when he either sees you in danger or hanging around someone.

Then something snaps inside him.

He doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like it at all - he hates it.

Dick can’t deny his feelings anymore.

He needs to protect you.

He needs to be there for you.

He needs you.

Then comes the third wave:

He's around you more, he's taking every chance he can to spend time with you.

Sometimes, it can come off as clingy. But if you're the kind who doesn't notice subtle cues very well (like me), then he may just come off as someone who wants to be your friend.

And given his charismatic, and almost up-beat attitude, it wouldn't be surprising if you thought that.

However, there are some things with Dick that seem.. off.

He becomes eerily silent when that one friend, who you haven't seen in months, is talking to you.

Sometimes he'll tug at your wrist, force a smile whilst trying to make some excuse that you guys are in a hurry.

And as you guys get to know each other more, he gets more 'touchy.' More than what would be considered as 'friendly.'

Swinging an arm around you, resting his chin on your head, and one time, he put an arm around your waist while you guys were walking around the park.

But if there ever is a situation where someone is getting handsy with you, friendly or not, he steps in.

Hates when people touch you, but doesn't have any problem when it's only him, of course.

The man is more touch-starved than Jason.

As your relationship grows closer - or rather, he believes you and him are growing closer - then his tolerance would start to go down.

As for meeting him for the first time, Dick comes across as extroverted and friendly!

Very much a people person, so it isn’t hard to warm up to him.

If you aren’t the social type however, then he may come off as abrasive.

If he notices your slight discomfort, then he’ll ease up a bit.

He doesn’t like it if he sees you tense up or show any signs of discomfort around him - leaves a strange ache in his chest.

Though, he’ll admit, sometimes he likes to tease you because he finds some of your reactions adorable.

Dick is also patient to an extent.

If he sees that you’re avoiding him or making it obvious you aren’t interested, he’ll either eliminate all competition.

Anyone he thinks is getting in the way of him and your relationship, or would have a hand in getting anyone to avoid you.

Dick will make sure he is all you have.

If it's him, he'll either try to ‘fix’ his behavior around you or talk it out with you.

If neither works then.. well.. he'll be tempted to just take you.

With all the general stuff aside, there is one thing that I want to get into which is his temper.

Most headcanons I read are Dick having full-blown freak-outs - shouting, yelling, punching, throwing things ect.

I don't think he would do that, if anything, I think it would be much worse:

Let's say he kidnaps you and you aren't cooperating at all.

No matter what he does, all he gets is insults, profanity thrown at him, struggling - the whole shabang.

His patience isn't one to be tested, so as soon as you start acting out his demeanor changes in a snap.

His eyebrows would furrow, the usual ‘picture-perfect’ smile drops, and those shining blue eyes go cold.

His voice would drop low, he'll get real close to your face.

If you're struggling, he'll grab your wrist and squeeze it hard.

Every word he says, he not only wants you to hear, but to listen, ingrain it into your head.

The sudden shift in the air is too obvious to ignore, and that low voice is just.. too terrifying to tune out.

There’s a threatening undertone; a warning.

It’s incredibly eerie and tense.

The man is capable of anything - he was raised by Batman for god sakes! - and if he kidnapped you, god knows what the hell he’ll do to you.

To sum it up, Dick can be the most affectionate, loving boyfriend/husband you could ever have or he can be your absolute worst nightmare...

#yandere dick grayson #Yandere Richard Grayson #yandere nightwing #Yandere ramble post #Yandere batman #yandere dc #Yandere dick grayson headcanons #yandere dc headcanons #yandere batman headcanons #yandere headcanons #yandere nightwing headcanons #gonna try and keep tags within the yandere section to avoid cross-tagging

[bisexualchaosdemon]

What if Neil was trans and had a baby after Mary died?

I've seen a few atfg fics where Neil has a sibling or kid but all the ones I've read were heavily influenced by Mary's presence. It got me thinking about what it would be like if she wasn't around when the kid came into the picture. I wrote a little prologue, lemme know if it's something you guys might wanna read.

**trigger warning: mentions of SA, forced pregnancy, and traumatic childbirth**

Hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing

🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵Prologue🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵

When Neil was fourteen, his father caught up to them in Seattle and he got separated from Mary. Nathan went after Mary and a couple of his men went after Neil. While they were apart, Neil was raped for the first time and Mary was beaten for the last time. Somehow, they both escaped, managing to reunite at one of their emergency rendezvous and take off running.

That's where their luck ran out though because they only made it to California before Mary's injuries finally bested her. In the end, his mother couldn't go on but she made Neil promise to keep running because one of them had to make it. With no other choice, Neil burned her body, buried her ashes on the beach, and did what he had promised.

Then, impossibly, things went from bad to worse — After a month of just sort of drifting in his grief, Neil found out he was pregnant.

He had no way out this one, there was no backdoor to slip through or bus to catch. He couldn't risk someone contacting the police or social services when a fourteen-year-old turned up at a clinic to request an abortion without parental consent. And, even if they weren't incredibly dangerous, any illegal methods for a termination risked Nathan tracking him down. So, with no choice but to keep the pregnancy, he spent the next eight months jumping from place to place, trying to remain out of sight whenever possible. And he hated every minute of it.

He spent the entirety of his pregnancy terrified and alone, and he gave birth alone too. He hadn't been able to see any doctors or go to a hospital for obvious reasons. He tried his best to have a healthy pregnancy but the research he had managed to do on childbirth was extremely limited. He didn't even know what was happening really before he ended up giving birth in a back ally somewhere — fourteen years old and completely alone.

The baby hadn't cried at first and Neil had never been more terrified than he had been in those few seconds. That first cry brought a relief heavy enough to break him completely. His plan the whole time had been to give the baby up, just leave them at a fire station somewhere and pray they'd have a better life than he did. He thought about it a thousand times but every time he looked at his daughter's face, and he just couldn't do it. He couldn't give her up. He didn't want to be alone again.

So he picked himself up, skipped town with his daughter craddled close, and decided to do the one thing he had always wanted; He cut off all of his hair, taped down his chest and started telling people he was a boy. He had always felt like being a girl wasn't right for him but he never dared voice this while on the run with his mother. Without her controling everything though, he was free to do this one thing for himself, and he hoped it might even help him stay hidden. More importantly, it helped him reclaim part of himself he thought he lost after the rape and pregnancy.

The first few years, they moved around a lot because Neil was always worried someone would start to notice the teenager and baby without parents anywhere in sight. However, when his daughter was almost three, they ran a ground in Millport, a dying town where they could squat in an empty house unnoticed. Neil just needed a moment to breathe. So, he got an ID that said he was eighteen which let him go to high school and play Exy without anyone needing to speak to his parents. Then he forged the signatures of their fictional parents to get his daughter enrolled in preschool and after school childcare for the days he had practice. Finally, he got them phones for emergencies and pretended to be his mother any time someone called.

He became Neil and he gifted his daughter his middle name, Anastasia, and on paper they became the Josten siblings.

He knew they would need to pack up and leave soon enough, but he was exhausted and he just wanted Ana to have a semi-normal life for a year. He'd clear out after graduation and figure out where to go from there. But just as their time in Millport is running out, in walks David Wymack with an offer that's too dangerous to trust but too impossible to leave behind...

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #aftg fanfic #trans!neil #kid fic #trans neil josten

[lollipencil]

Finally Found

Ok, so this just drop kicked me emotionally. And then gave me an idea. So now, I'm going to wring every drop of angst possible from it :)

Enjoy and be gentle. ---

Randall experienced it in an instant. He was cold, so cold that the fact he couldn't breathe no longer mattered. And then he wasn't. He had been curled up on the grass somewhere close by in his new body.

It had been a Liepard who'd found him and explained. "It's a rare thing," he said, "Sometimes, humans die, but instead of moving on to where ever it is they go after, they are reborn as ghost types." A Yamask, that's what he was now. His old face forever memorialised.

But all he could think about was Marc.

What happened to Marc? Did he die, or did he make it out?

In the end, Randall's mind was made up. "I'd still be careful," Liepard warned just before Randall left, "It takes time for a human to become a ghost type. You should be prepared for a very different person than when you were alive."

Naturally, the first place he checked was their house. And received the biggest shock possible.

His dad had grown old. And the rest of the house was empty. No mom, and no Marc. "No much to see kid," came a voice from behind. Turning, Randall saw it was a Shuppet. "Most of the despair and pain's left this place, ever since the female human died. There is only regret here now."

Randall didn't like the implimcations of that, but he pressed on anyway: "I'm looking for my brother." The Shuppet's eyes drifted to his mask. "Oh. You're a Reborn. And you use to live here." The Shuppet's expression shifted to something unreadable. "I don't know much, but I know who does."

With little else to go off of, Randall followed the Shuppet away from his home. They wove through streets both changed and brand new until they came to an abandoned warehouse. Inside, was a little village.

Shuppets drifted to-and-fro around decorated milk crates. Long strips of fabric drapped over anything that stood tall and stable, creating little "rooms" that they would huddle in for sleep. Under a large tent on the furthest wall sat a Banette watching over the whole space before focusing on them as they approcatched. "Dad," the Shuppet greeted, "This kid's, um, I think he's- He lived in that house when he was-" "Oh," Banette understood inspite of the incomplete explanation, "Ok then, follow me lad."

Randall followed him into a small greenhouse, in the corner of which was a set of chairs. "Now, then. Where should we start?" Banette opened as they both sat down. "What happened to Marc?"

"I don't know everything that happened. Only what I could see. First imee I was at that house, it was a funeral of sorts, yours I suppose. There was a boy there, tried to come down. But the woman ignited in fury and grief, and sent him away. Everyday from then on, she would torment the boy for the littlest reason. I tried to get some others to help me absorb all that negativity, but the very sight of us made it worse."

Banette looked close to tears. "We could only watch as this cycle continue for years with minor, equally terrible differences. Until they reached the age of maturity and finally left. Until earlier this year. The woman died. And they came back. Couldn't make it to the door and left."

Randall didn't want to believe it. It had to be wrong. How could she? "Mom hurt Marc? And Dad didn't stop her?"

Banette shook his head, and Randall wept. ---

It had been two months since then. The idea of returning to that house, to a dad who'd looked away from Marc when he'd needed him most, was nauseating. So, Randall had stayed with them. He had a milk crate close to Banette and a small wristband collection. And the desperate wish to see his brother again.

It was two months after finding out, when the dream occurred.

A vast busling city was all around him, the people constantly moving. Voices blurred into one noise, faces of both people and Pokemon blending together.

And, at the centre of it all, was a figure dressed in bandages. A floating bird skull on top. The figure turned its head and pointed somewhere to Randall's right. Turning he saw the British Museum, as clear as day, the moon casting deep shadows over the pillars at the entrance. "Go," a voice boomed from all around, "you shall meet them there."

With a gasp, Randall's eyes snapped open. The younger Shuppets that had huddled around jolted away. "I need to get to London."

---

Getting to London was surprisingly easy. The more independent over-seas delivery services had a unoffical agreement: help with their deliveries, and if there are no issues that could occur from doing so, they would ferry any pokemon who wanted to travel.

The Corviknight had stared down at Randall while her trainer checked the list of allowed species, not unkindly but very intently. As soon as the human nodded, she relaxed. "Welcome aboard little one," Corviknight had pointed with her beak to an empty section occupied by a pillow.

The trip was longer than expected, but Randall was too occupied by his thoughts to notice. Something that Banette had told him before leaving had stuck with him: "When I first left to get help, I noticed something had changed when I got back. I wasn't gone for any longer than a few minutes, but it was enough that... Somehow one soul became three." The question of what that ment continued to trouble him until they arrived. Then it was swiftly overtaken by another concern.

How to get to the British Museum.

He knew how to find Big Ben, that was easy. But the rest of London was an tangle of streets and houses and shops, crisscrossing like veins.

But Randall refused to give up. Learned the layout of each street, each landmark. And finally found it.

---

The moon was full as Randall swooped down on the massive building. A pair of Munna twirled in the air above, laughing to themselves. Otherwise, it was utterly silent.

Randall crept across the courtyard. His eyes darted around for any trace of, anything really. A footprint. A item of clothing. Then came a voice. When Randall was right up to the door, a faint murmuring could be heard. Pressing up further, he could make out two voices. One human (obvious because that he could not understand them), and the voice from his dream.

"There is still a matter to attend to," the voice spoke to someone. The other person sounded irritated. "On the contrary," the voice purred, "I think you'll like it. All of you." The other muttered lowly but didn't appear to object.

Suddenly, a giant bird skull clipped through the door and stared at Randall. "Well? Are you coming?" the skull asked, the door swinging open slightly with a soft click. With a small amount of hesitation, Randall squeezed himself through.

The entrance inside was already big, but the main hall further in outclasses it instantly. A massive tower stands in the exact middle, a spiraling staircase following up to the top. Little sections around the edge of the room occupy the otherwise empty space between doors. And standing between the tower and the entry doors is a figure.

Clothed in white bandages like the lead in a mummy movie had walked stright off the set, with a hooded cape shadowing their face as if to show off the wide glowing eyes underneath. Somehow their breaths were audible even from where Randall was floating. They were clearly trying to say something but couldn't quite finish their sentence.

The bird skulled figure appeared at Randall's side. "Before you ask, no this is not a trick," he said, seemingly to them both, "it's really him." The implication clenched around Randall's heart: "Marc?"

The figure before him froze. Suddenly, the hood flopped down and the mask unrevaled. Even as glowing eyes dimmed, even aged past what he last saw, Randall knew that face. "RoRo?" Marc's voice preached the language barrier with ease. Tears filled Randall's eyes and, before he knew what was happening, he was in his big brother's arms.

He gripped linen covered armour as he wept from sheer joy. He could feel each shuddering gasp as Marc too wept, falling to his knees. But he daren't let go. Neither dared.

Eternity fluttered by, and they remained. Then Marc stiffened. The suit seemed to rearrange itself, bandages tidying themselves up and turning black. Blinking in surprise, Randall looked up. The face was still Marc's but it wasn't him. Someone else looked down at him with tears in their eyes.

"One soul became three."

Randall reached up and cradled their cheek: "Hi." The other soul shakily held Randall's hand, rubbing his thumb gently back and forth. An equally shaky smile appeared shortly before the suit changed oncemore.

The third, dressed in a three-piece that glowed, didn't try to fight the tears. He just held Randall like he was spun from glass. Eventually, the third pulled his jacket off and wrapped him up it. It was so warm. Randall nuzzled down into it. Slowly and smoothly, the third rose to their feet, holding him close the whole time, and they left.

For their new life together.

#my fics #crossover fic #moon knight (2022) #pokemon #randall spector #khonshu #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant

[mxllitiam]

WHEN: day four, 5am, infirmary wing of district 13 CLOSED for @perfectaches

It's the first thing he asks. Once they figure out the blinding lights between the trees are not enemies, when his hands shake violently with the relief of seeing the faces of soldiers he knows are from the rebellion. It's the first, the only thing out of his mouth immediately -- is my ma safe? 

The soldier nods back at him and Gale thinks he might implode. His stomach ties itself into a sickening knot and lurches, he feels light-headed, his chest feels tight. The feeling lasts half of a second before he pulls it back together and leads the team, along with Cael, to the other survivors. They are safe.

It feels surreal, when he kisses each of his siblings on the head, squeezes them tight against his body, and sends them on one of the first batches of people that fly off to District Thirteen. It's a hollow sort of nightmare, to have his arms empty again, to be apart when they were just reunited. But they're going into much better places, lifting away from barely surviving in the woods to having a bed, warm meals, their mother. He grinds his teeth together and reminds himself it's just hours. Hours until he can be with them again. He pushes away the thought of that soldier lying to him only to keep him working, he pushes away thoughts of anything happening to the aircraft on his sibling's way, he pushes, and pushes -- and he keeps working.

It's only hours. He climbs into the hovercraft last, after making one, two, three more sweeps of the entire land they occupied, searching for any scared kid that might've stayed behind, any old man who was lost, any person who might not've heard them calling. The woods are empty. There are no birds chirping, despite the early morning hour, and the squirrels have long left their dens behind. It's all dirt, and ashes still gather steadily on the ground. When there isn't a single soul left on District Twelve, he boards the hovercraft. Exhaustion has him passed out against the wall the entire ride over, until they jostle him awake.

They try to examine him. He refuses every doctor's concerned eyes, he swerves away from needles and rips off the odd band they try to put on his upper bicep. "I need to see her, let me see her," he insists, and grows restless, ready to bite and claw his way out of the crowd of medical staff around him. There are more people they need to tend to, he's fucking fine, and he won't sit on a bed and let them poke and prod while he still hasn't at least seen her, safe, with his own two eyes. He can't believe it, otherwise. He's still fighting that voice in his head. Eventually, the doctors grow tired of holding him back. Eventually, they point him towards her.

He dashes, other beds with other people no more than a blur to his eyes as he charges towards the one spot they promised him she'd be at. His heart beats out a desperate pattern in his chest, panic threatens to close up his throat, taunts him, saying with every step -- she's dead, she's dead, they're lying, she died in the arena. When he reaches her bed, his labored breath has nothing to do with the physical effort it took to get here. He stands there for a second, feeling suddenly so much taller than her, seeing her like this. Hazelle sits on her bed, bandaged, frail, small. Alive.

"Ma," he chokes out, a pathetic sound, before he's crashing in to embrace her. He can't hide his sobs from her this time, not like he's done other times in the past. She hasn't seen him cry in years, not since before his father died, not since he was a kid, not since he accepted the role of man of the house. Tears that burn his eyes quickly spill their way down his cheeks as he collapses onto her, curling onto her lap. Like he's only a little boy again, waking up from a nightmare. Fatigue weighs his bones down, but his arms hold on tight around her, his shoulders shake, his skin is covered in soot. He's finally home. "Ma."

#interactions : gale #gale : hazelle #eventideevent04 #04 debut tag lets go babeyyyy #no need to match please! #promise he will be coherent on the next reply but nothing was coming out on this one

[uumeboshii]

6 a.m. (kazuo kiriyama x reader)

fem!reader, mentions of guns, blood, death. fluff if you squint.

When Mr. Nobu dropped to the floor, you knew there was no way you could do the same thing to another person. One of your classmates, some of them who you've known for years. As soon as you got that black bag in your hands you prayed to whatever God you could imagine that your assigned weapon was a gun. A small gun would do. Lucky you, it was. You found out a little before going through the front door, stopping for a quick second to confirm it. You didn't want to participate in this sick game.

You heard Yukie, the class president, whisper from the woods «Hey, we're just girls! Join us, we'll be safe together!» Pretending you didn't hear her, you ran to the left and into the thickest part of the woods you could find. You being with Yukie and her group would only make everything harder, since you cared for her and worrying about other people would keep you alive. Ending this as soon as possible was your only option, and doing it yourself felt appropriate. The assigned land was a small town, and houses were abandoned by their owners (forced by the government, of course). The plan was to find an empty house, maybe even a farm, and do it. You assumed no one would try to do something... try and kill their classmates, but Yoshio and the gunshots you heard earlier proved you wrong. Now, you only hoped you wouldn't cross paths with another murderer.

Kazuo crossed your mind. He had moved to town a few years back, and while he didn't have the best reputation, you had always thought he was handsome. Very. And he treated you kindly, sort of. Despite being associated with illegal issues and not-so-friendly guys, he wasn't that mean. Maybe you liked that Tsundere vibe, even though he didn't reciprocate your feelings and there was no loving coldness towards you. What would he do tonight? What kind of weapon did he get? Similar questions ran through your head as you came closer to the farms and houses in the village, the foliage now thinning out. You looked at every direction before running to the first roof you laid your eyes on. A small house with different plants growing in the back yard. You checked the doors and windows to see if anything had been forced open, but everything was untouched. Going to the window next to a door in the backyard, you took the lantern out of the bag, the sweater you had on, wrapped it around the lantern and shattered the glass. The door opened after a few minutes of fumbling with the door handle from the inside.

No one was inside. You didn't dare to light up your lantern, not wanting unsolicited attention. Walking around the house creeped you out. Someone lived here, and when they came back, they won't know that someone died here. That kids were forced to murder each other to "prevent" rebellion. Bullshit.

You decided that the place would be the kitchen. Something about it felt warmer, welcoming. You didn't want to die alone, so this would do. You looked down at your wrist, a pink watch peeking through the dark sleeve. It was past midnight, almost 4 a.m. You had never been awake this late before. Then you heard a noise from the front door. You dropped to the floor, clutching your gun as you felt your blood rush to your feet. You were terrified, holding your breath as you heard footsteps coming closer to you.

"I'll shoot you if you come closer!" You said, your voice trembling a little. The footsteps stopped, and you stood up slowly to see who was inside the house.

It was a boy. You couldn't see similarities between your uniform and his, and he seemed to be carrying something. A gun. Squinting a bit, you realized he was pointing at you. "Who are you?"

"Kiriyama. Kazuo" His voice echoed and you froze, scared. "Don't shoot. Please, I want to die by my own hand" You lifted your arm, showing him your gun. He came closer to you, the only barrier between you two being the kitchen counter. "Y/N" You nodded. You had never heard him say your name, and despite the fear you felt, your face flushed red. Hopefully the darkness of the room would cover that.

"I don't want to participate. I want to go peacefully. Don't kill me, please, Kazuo" Kazuo stared at you, thinking about your decision. If you wanted to kill yourself, he didn't have to kill you, right? He didn't really want to become a murderer, but participating in the game was entertaining, and with no consequences he could do whatever his heart desired. Besides, you were pretty, and the perfume you wore every day was nice, too. "Alright, I won't. When will you do it? If you're lying I'll know."

"By the time the sun comes out, I'll be gone, I promise" It was the truth. Being alive, in this island, was a nightmare.

Kazuo nodded and then walked over to the cabinets, looking for something. He clicked his tongue, taking a can of fruit out. He took a knife, sat down on the floor and opened his food. "Do you want some? I think it's not expired yet" Shaking your head, you declined, but decided that sitting down with him would be kind enough. His hair was still nicely styled, the uniform jacket the government had given him now unbuttoned.

Would this be the right time to confess your feelings? Probably not, but being alone with him, in what it seemed to be the end for you... Would he take it the wrong way?

"Kazuo," He looked up from his food, staring at you again "have you ever been in love?"

"Never. Why do you ask?" He said with his characteristic monotone voice. You shooked your head, smiling slightly. "I just–Being here, with the possibility of losing your life the next minute... Isn't it sad that we haven't experienced live? That so many of us haven't felt what love is like..." You presses your knees to your chest, gun in hand while resting your chin on your knee, looking out of the cracked window. It was still dark.

"Hm. I guess it is sad. I'm not interested in love, honestly, so I can't relate to that." Kazuo picked up a piece of fruit with the knife and looked at it. "I don't really like peach, I just wanted something sweet." He put the can and knife aside and turned to face you. He was intimidating, cold eyes in a handsome face, pretty hair, pretty hands, pretty voice... "Don't stare."

You looked aside quickly, blushing again. Why did you talk about love? Now how does one make conversation again? You shouldn't have waited so much, but you also didn't want to leave with regrets. Too many of them, at least.

"I still want to do something. Kiss. I want to feel a kiss." Kazuo said. Your eyes were wide open now, Kazuo Kiriyama hadn't kissed anyone? How? You swore he had had a million girlfriends, an expert at love and all of the things that come with it. Like kissing. Kazuo must have read your expression since he frowned a little.

"I'm sorry, I just can't believe it! You're so handsome, there's no way!" Oh, no. You covered your mouth with your hands, the gun now on the floor. Surprised by the words that left your mouth, a nervous laugh escaped your lips. Kazuo pressed his lips together, amused. "I haven't been kissed, either, if that makes you feel better" You said, hands now on your knees. A few rays of sun were now peeking through the sky, right behind the mountains. Kazuo sat in front of you now. You froze (again) and pressed the back of your head to the wall. Kazuo smiled once again, apparently finding you funny. Nice.

"I'll kiss you, so we'll both know what it feels like to be kissed."

"Why? I mean–not like I don't want to, but–" Your words were stopped by Kazuo's lips on yours, a little chapped but gentle, his hand rested on your cheek as your eyes closed. His lips moved, trying to kiss like he had seen adults do it. You did the same thing, butterflies in your stomach, cheeks warm and red. Kazuo took the gun in his empty hand without you noticing, too distracted to look, to listen. Kazuo was fast. His finger on the trigger as soon as he picked it up from the floor, silently lifting his hand to your temple and pulling his index finger. Blood splattered across the wall and his face, parts of your head missing. It was quick, so quick you didn't feel any pain. Kazuo stood up, picked both of your bags up, as well as your weapons.

"Thank you."

#kazuo kiriyama #battle royale #kazuo kiriyama x reader #this is my first post be gentle #oh god #tw gun violence #tw dead mention #tw bl00d

[dailycupofcreativitea]

Total TMI word dump of super personal shit 👀 trauma dump ahead because I'm unhinged and putting everything on the internet

Lately I've been feeling really sad/listless/depressed and I have no idea why. I'm sort of randomly crying at random things, I'm feeling really empty for some reason, but I have no obvious triggers. I kept trying to think about what triggered me and I have no idea.

Today I had a therapy session that was pretty heavy and I figured out why I've been upset!! Give a round of applause for cptsd/trauma coming up in my body 🙃

Around this time of year, during the fall to winter transition, when I was 12, my dad and my sister (who both had different kinds of cancer) deteriorated so we were in and out of hospitals, and then end of December my dad died, and a week later my sister died. So it was a heavy time for the family, except I had little to no emotional connection with any one in my family, including my dad and my sister. In fact, I had a huge fight with both of them (separately, different times, unrelated reasons) at the beginning of when their health started getting really bad, so little me felt nothing when they were dying...at least I think. I even giggled when I found out while we were in the hospital that my dad died, and I think the giggling was due to nerves I think? Relief it was over? Anxiety? Idk, but I was sent to sit alone in the car cause my mom was embarrassed I was giggling.

I guess I was a quiet kid so I was left in the house alone with my few month old baby sister while my family was at the hospital. I don't even remember how I fed myself...TV dinners I think. Apparently our door was just left wide open (literally open, not just unlocked) and people would come to drop off food, but I don't remember this (I was told this).

I have covid now, and can't do groceries, and my sister has been out every day and hasn't had time to do groceries, so it's like it's mimicking that time period. Fall is coming, weather is getting colder, I'm home alone all day waiting for something (idk what, but also waiting to be covid negative), we have no groceries in the house, it's quiet, quiet, quiet and I feel empty inside. I think my body is just remembering what it was like to be that kid during that time.

I just have to ride out the feelings...distractions will only delay the inevitable, I just have to feel them.

I'm thinking of maybe drawing out memories and putting them in a separate blog, but we'll see.

#musings #total trauma dump so be warned

[believemetheodore]

I'm not scared of death (I've got dreams again)

Ted Lasso x Rebecca Welton

But his thoughts have layers, and the emotion of remembering crashes like a wave. So, he tries to breathe and pieces together the words he can find, hoping to convey even a fraction of how he feels. Or Ted and Rebecca take a drive past his childhood home. inspired by The View Between Villages by Noah Kahan

Warnings: Ted's dad, parental loss, discussions/themes of suicide, mentions of blood, grieving (let me know if you want me to add anything else) _________________________________________________________

If Rebecca built up walls, he's built up hedge mazes. Together they've climbed over a few of Rebecca's defences; put sledge hammers through others. But, now they wander aimlessly through topiary corridors, the labyrinth he’s constructed with all his tools of self-deflection.

And here, standing in front of his childhood home Ted feels as though he's in the thick of it. Unsure of how to proceed he decides to be honest; putting a metaphorical chainsaw through the winding hedge walls.

“My father died here,” he says.

His parents bought the house when he was a baby. It was supposed to be their ‘forever home’. Powder blue siding, white trims, and a red front door, with a backyard that felt acres big when he was a kid.  

He grew up here. Took his first steps here. Got attacked by a dog here. He learned how to ride his bike here. Befriended the dog that bit him here. His first words, his first real kiss; sleepovers; Christmas mornings; Halloweens; there's not an inch of that house that doesn't have a memory in it. 

He wishes he could lift it up and shake it out, sort through each moment and take only the good away with him. 

“It's funny,” he says to Rebecca, never more grateful to have her hand in his, “when you're a kid, every scraped knee feels like it might be the end of the world. Every stomach ache feels like it's gotta be the most painful thing you'll ever feel. I was so naive. So innocent…I didn't think--” his words fail him. But Rebecca's support doesn't falter. 

“Do you want to leave?” She asks. 

He shakes his head, swallowing hard, silently trying to catch up to his own thoughts. 

“You were still a child, Ted. And regardless-- I don't think there's a manual for how to deal with the loss of a parent,” her sentence trails off more than it ends. He knows she's tip-toeing around the nature of his father's death. Ted doesn't blame her for it. He does the same thing.

“I know that it's not something I'm ever going to recover from completely. The good doctor keeps reminding me of that. But, I thought it was getting easier-- I've been getting better at talking about it. But being here again…it's different,” he does his best to express himself, remembering that it feels better to get it all off his chest. 

But his thoughts have layers, and the emotion of remembering crashes like a wave. So, he tries to breathe and pieces together the words he can find, hoping to convey even a fraction of how he feels. 

The truth is he can't. There's no way to impart to anyone how shattering a gunshot really is. He has no way to communicate how long the scent of blood lingers, or how he can no longer smell bleach without being haunted by a phantom metallic stench.

He can't recall the sight in specifics, thank god, and Doctor Sharon says that's common enough. Finding his father like that was a trauma, and the human mind is capable of blocking out some of the worst bits. Knowing it happened is painful enough without the visuals. 

He can recall the fear though. The shock, the confusion, and the agony of loss. 

He remembers the aftermath, and the first day he and his mom stepped back into that house after it had been cleaned. The room where it happened sat empty, neither of them even dared to open the door, even knowing that any trace of the tragedy had been scrubbed away. 

Morbidly, he'd lie awake at night wondering what the neighbours thought, what strangers thought that room had looked like that day. Over exaggerating, or romanticising the worst day of his life. 

Now he wonders what the new owners think. Do they use that room? What rumours have they heard? 

The house no longer feels like a home, it's more of a monster lurking. And Ted thinks that might be why London has been so healing. It was damaging always knowing his personal demon was just a couple of streets away, with an unexpected road closure or detour always threatening to take him past the house of horrors. 

He drove past it a few times with Henry, wondering if he'd ever be strong enough to tell the little boy about what happened to his grandpa, and why his father's heart still aches. 

Henry asked, “if that was the school you went to, did you live near here?” 

Ted’s hands gripped the steering wheel tight, resisting the urge to clench his teeth. He lied, “ya know, I don't really remember”. 

Because how can he begin to explain that bile starts to rise in his throat a block away and that his stomach doesn't settle until he can no longer see the faded blue exterior in the rearview mirrors? 

“Because you're old now?”

“Yeah, buddy. Something like that”.

But no matter how much he wants to forget, there’s always so much to remember. Forgotten moments wedged between the floorboards, and whispering from inside the walls. The home in his mind's eye is nothing compared to standing outside on the sidewalk, face-to-face with the structure. The details of days and nights that had seemed so insignificant when they happened, scream out at him now. As loud and unforgiving, as they are comforting and nostalgic. 

A couple of days after his seventeenth birthday, and a little over a year after his father's passing, the town felt as though it had fallen silent. 

The seasonal sounds of backyard barbecues, and children who had made every inch of the neighbourhood their playground teetered out slowly, then all at once. Warm days had given way to truly cool evenings and without the white noise of the cicadas buzzing Ted found it tough to fall asleep. 

His Ma hadn't asked any questions when he took the car keys for a late-night drive. It had become routine. 

While his new habit was beginning to cost a fortune in gas, it felt like a small price to pay. To drive until the music on the radio drowned out his thoughts, and the wind blowing through the rolled-down windows reminded him he could still feel. 

Usually, he'd start out in the suburbs, winding his way through cookie-cutter streets, and he'd keep going only turning back when the asphalt became dirt roads stretching all the way out of town. 

But something had shifted inside of him, age seventeen and a few days. He just kept going. And the longer he drove, the faster he drove. Flooring it, the tires kicking up dust behind him. He wanted to scream. To cry. To throw up. Faster. His heart was racing, and the steady pounding of his own pulse rushing in his ears was failing to block out the echo of the gunshot playing on repeat inside his head. 

He hated his father for what he did. To him. To his mom. For leaving them both alone. But Ted also hated the way he'd let the rage within him grow and fester. Burning himself from the inside out. Faster. 80. 95. 100 mph. 

A rogue cow wandering from its pasture startled him to his senses, slamming on the breaks he swerved, the car spinning before he was able to steer into a skid, narrowly missing the animal in the middle of the road. 

Nothing could've stopped the manic, watery laughter that escaped his lungs. His chest heaving for breath as he sobbed and cackled at the same time. It was like all of the air was being knocked out of his lungs, sucker punched by every emotion he'd been pushing down, and shoving aside.

 The rush of adrenaline left his hands shaking for the entire drive home. But still, he said nothing about it to his mother. He set the car keys down in the bowl by the door and then met her in the kitchen. She was sitting and doing a puzzle at the dining table.

“You alright Teddy?”

“Of course, Ma. Just needed to clear my head” he grinned, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“I worry about you when you waltz back in here so late,” she confessed, crossing the room to put her empty water glass in the sink. 

“Waltzing you say?” And his laughter gave him away as he took her hand giving her a slow twirl before hugging her. 

“I'm okay, Ma. I promise”. 

There’s a guilt that comes with trying to forget, and now more than ever Ted is realizing that it’s not possible to erase a moment in its entirety; and try as he might, it’s not possible to suppress the bad without losing some of the good as well. And, just the same, there will always be great days, that get touched by the worst ones.

Watching Henry pick up a set of darts on his first trip to London, felt like a thousand pinpricks across his skin. It felt like watching his own childhood from outside his body, the hand of his father’s ghost on his shoulder. When Ted decided to do his white knighting for Rebecca, and picked up the same darts that Henry had held, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get his heart to stop racing. Looking back, it felt good, to peel back the layers just enough to let his heart fill with a fondness for his father; to be able to hold the memory of his dad in his hands and decide what to do with it rather than allow himself to be consumed by it. 

Doctor Sharon had done the same thing for him, asking him to tell her about something he liked about his old man. 

He tries to do the same thing now with Rebecca, concentrating on the way her thumb rubs circles across the back of his hand. He’s sure she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. It’s a relief he wasn’t expecting. Michelle knew about his father, but she could never stomach Ted reminiscing. She was, and still is he supposes, an advocate for leaving the past in the past. He respects that perspective, and always understood her reasoning. Everyone copes differently. In hindsight, it was just another way they didn’t match up, and he doesn’t hold it against her. 

But Ted knows he needs something different, and he deserves someone who can help him navigate that, so he can help them with their baggage too. 

Rebecca has been that person, and Ted lets himself cry; to feel all the things he resisted for so long. He doesn’t pick and choose, holding everything all at once, valuing it all in equal measure.  

“I fell out of that tree,” he sniffles, pointing to the green leave branches that now tower above the house, “broke my arm that summer”. “Were you a clumsy child?” Rebecca asks. He shakes his head, “Nah, just enthusiastic, and long-limbed”. 

She laughs, and he’s glad for it. He tells her about his memories as they come to him, shimmering little gems he hadn’t been able to see from all the dust he’d allowed to collect. It doesn’t fix anything, there’s nothing to fix, but it eases the weight on his chest and lessens the metallic taste in his mouth. 

They drive back to his Ma’s house, across town. The windows are down and the radio playing low. He glances at Rebecca at every stop sign. She’s stunning under the yellow glow of the streetlights. And it all feels so simple all of a sudden. 

His smile grows as they pull into the driveway, Henry dropping his basketball in favour of tackling them into hugs. Rebecca, it turns out, is pretty good at free throws. And when Henry says, “Yeah, but Rebecca is good at everything!” 

Her green eyes meet his, and Ted feels the now familiar feeling of another hedge maze wall collapsing inside his heart.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso x rebecca welton #ted x rebecca #tedbecca #tedbecca fanfic #ted in kansas

[garoumylove]

Golden Hour Part 5

This is part 5 of my domestic fluff GarouxReader! You can also read it here on AO3 :) ♥️♥️

And then the kid showed up.

I hate to admit it, really fuckin’ hate to admit it, but he was the real MVP of this whole thing. A hero you might say. I won’t because I fuckin’ hate that word. But that part’s still comin’.

It was several days later. I still had to make good on my promise for two more dinners but things just hadn’t lined up right yet and I was getting agitated. It was a Saturday and the old man with the truck said he wanted me there because he had some house moving job or some such fucking thing. And this irritated me even more because I wasn’t counting on that. More money, more problems they say but damn, for whatever reason I couldn’t say no.

So here I was, in this fucking truck, and I have no idea how it hadn’t up and fucking died up to this point because it seems it like it was as fucking ancient as its owner. And that’s saying something.

And we’re heading in a familiar direction. And then turning right and I suddenly gotta laugh coz there I am, right on my own fuckin’ street, just a few houses down.

“That’s the one. Number nine,” the old man says as he parks way too close to the curb.

The odd numbers are on the good side of the street. Her side.

Fuck. I glance down the road, wonder if she’s at home, just three or four houses down. And if she is, what is she doing?

Now, I don’t have to wonder, because I’m there. Just like today. I know what she’s doin’ on Saturdays. It’s me, I think and grin to myself half-asleep. Once it started, there was no stopping it. Not on my side, not on hers. Every free, waking moment it seemed we were in my bed or hers, or on the floor, or the kitchen, or, my personal favourite, the shower. Even on that pier one night, after midnight, when it was all black again and she pulled her skirt up and I pushed up into her while she grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, tugging me closer and fuck it was hard to not cum right then. But she can tell when it’s gettin’ like that, forces me to slow down, knowing exactly what to do with me., how to handle me. All these things we’ve done, that we continue to do. Back then they were nothing but intense fantasies, over and over, making me feel out of my fucking mind. And then it all happened for real. After almost not happening at all.

“Oi, these things ain’t gonna move themselves,” he calls after me, swinging the truck doors open, yanking me out of my more pleasant thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, taking over. ‘These things ain’t gonna move themselves’ is code for ‘They ain’t gonna move themselves coz Garou’s gonna get them all while I sit on my fuckin’ ass and watch and complain about my goddamn knees or whatever the fuck it is today’.

He goes to unlock the front door of the empty, neat house. We’ve arrived before whoever’s moving in and I ain’t wasting any time.

“Boy, you grab the big ones in the back,” he says, coughing, as if this is a new arrangement, just for this particular job. “My hip’s giving me jip today.”

Ah. Forget the knees. It’s his fuckin’ hip today.

The family arrives just as I’m about done and I make myself as inconspicuous as possible while they chat to the old man, finishing up the big items. Seems like a pretty standard non-descript family with a non-descript kid.

“Whoa! Uncle! You’re really strong!”

Huh? I place the table down and turn. Uncle? I turn around, wondering who else is here but I’m just met with the kid staring up at me with these wide eyes and a pudgy face. He’s clutching some sort of yellow superhero book or something. The kind of shit I hate.

Fuck. I’m uncle.

“Oi, don’t call me that. I ain’t that old,” I say, making my way past him. Which is funny, because really, I’m fuckin’ dying to be older, to have her look at me as if I’m not some high school troublemaker she’s babysittin’ but when it comes out of this kid’s mouth, it pisses me off just a little bit.

“Sorry uncle!” he says and follows me out.

Tch.

“My name is Tareo,” he continues blabbering.

“Good for you,” I say, trying to get him off but he’s following me around like a shadow.

“We moved here because of my dad’s job,” he continues.

“Ain’t that nice,” I say, trying to get this done as quickly as possible as I head back inside with one of the last oversized boxes.

“This town looks really nice!” he beams. “I’m going to the school just by the park over there,” he points down the street as I head outside again. “I saw it when we drove past! I hope it’s nice too!”

“Uh-huh,” I say.

That’s the fuckin’ school I went to. And there ain’t no pleasant memories there. I’m sure others had them. I’m fuckin’ sure. And at my expense. But there ain’t none for me.

I glance down at this kid as he jabbers on. Poor little brat. He’s goin’ to get eaten alive.

Oh well. Ain’t my problem.

Or so I thought.

“Headin’ out?” the old man says as I give him a nod and proceed on my way.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t want a ride?”

“No.”

“Are ya sure?”

Sure I’m fucking sure.

I give him another nod and continue up the street, it’s literally right there, as he starts the truck. I let him go ahead, watch him turn and disappear around the corner before getting closer to my own place. Don’t want people knowin’ where I live if I can help it.

The truck is nowhere to be seen and I’m about to head down the path to the front door. It’s after lunch and I’m starting to feel the hunger.

“Hey,” her voice stops me where I am. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day. In the last three days.

I turn back around, facing her place instead now. She stands in the doorway, on the porch, leaning against the door frame, lazy wine glass in hand.

“I still like pasta, you know,” she says, taking a small sip, expecting an answer.

And I’d still like to fuck you senseless, darlin’.

Until we’re both senseless, really.

“That’s news to me,” I say with the most insolent smile I got. I ain’t one to give in so easy.

“Is it?” she says, leaning away from the door frame now and standing straighter and fixing me with her intense gaze. “Or is it that you have no idea how to make pasta?”

Well.

“Number nineteen with a side of twenty seven,” she says, taking another victorious sip, never taking her beautiful eyes off me. She knows she’s got me cornered. That I have no idea what she’s on about.

“La Porchetta,” she laughs. “It’s the thing I always get.”

Oh. That place. That generic Italian place up the street and round the corner. It’s so generic I always fuckin’ forget it’s there.

“You sure those aren’t just lottery numbers you’re giving me?” I say.

“Who knows. Maybe you should try your luck,” she says mysteriously and disappears back inside.

Oh don’t tempt me, woman. Don’t tempt me, I think with those departing words.

But it appears, I’m being expected.

This day just keeps getting better and better, that insolent grin stays plastered on my face as I head inside.

I didn’t realise at the time, but he wasn’t the only one who disapproved. She, highlight of my days, despite acting mighty dismissive of my ‘playfighting’ was just as disapproving. I got the impression that she thought it was stupid nonsense she couldn’t be bothered with, but really it was just her way of dealing with her worry. She was worried. About me. It was only later that she’d made her feelings about all this, about me, very clear. I’d never been so happy to have anyone worry for me before. But she knows now. She knows. I can take care of myself. And of her. No need for you to worry. None at all. Sleep easy with me, my love…I think as I doze off. And speaking of sleeping…

But it doesn’t last long.

I come down the stairs, having just enjoyed the hot water, the fruits of all my inane labour. It feels good on my back. I roll my left shoulder back one or twice. It’s feeling better after that shower. I might’ve gotten a little too carried away last night, but no matter. I’m in a fucking elated mood as I come down those creaking stairs and then there he fucking is. Standing around, pleasant as ever, as if he’s here for a tea party.

“What, you’re just fuckin’ letting yourself in now?” I stop and can’t help fucking glaring.

He just stands there, that pasted-on smile under the mustache, hands behind his stooped back. All a fucking act because this old bastard’s agility still catches me off-guard from time to time.

“The door was open.” he says, still smiling so politely.

Of course it was. It’s always fucking open. There ain’t no point in locking this fucking dump.

“What d’you want?” I say, knowing exactly why he’s here.

Last night, I may or may not have hung around another dojo, waiting for them to finish for the evening before engaging them in some…friendly sparring. And then the voice in the back of my mind said, ‘and then what?’

And then I went home, had a nice hot shower, a nice little fantasy in the shower and went to sleep a happy man.

What else is there?

But news travels fast in this town, eh?

“Oh, just here to check in on my former pupil,” he says so innocently while I note, know so well, that steely glint in his eye.

“There ain’t nothing to check on,” I say. “If you got something to say, then say it, old man,” my anger is starting to get the better of me. “If you’re here about last night, they should’ve trained harder I suppose.”

“Mm,” he nods, a little seriously. Almost in agreement.

If eight of them couldn’t take down one of me, then that’s the fault of their sensei, ain’t it?

“Do you really have nothing better to do?” he says, as I slowly make my way down the stairs, never taking my eyes off this wiley bastard, before the work shirt I threw over the back of the couch as I came in catches his eye and even he can’t keep the surprise off his face.

“What?” I jeer. “Didn’t think I’d be good for anything but getting into…what was it again…? Shameful, pointless fights?”

“You never fail to surprise me, my boy,” he says, suddenly laughing quietly in that way old people do that makes you feel somehow slow and inferior to them and it pisses me off even more.

“Never fail to surprise me,” he repeats and shuffles out, his mustache bristling with some self-satisfied smile.

Fuck! I grit my teeth, don’t know what to do with myself for a moment. Feeling like punching the living shit out of someone or something. Fuck!

I remember, the first time they called him into school, he somehow managed to get them to let me stay. I don’t remember exactly what was said and by whom. I was fucking seething, blood pouring down my face, my mouth full of it, holding the ice packs to my jaw, the blood dripping onto one of the two school shirts I owned. I was ready to fuckin’ kill someone, anyone. But he’d showed up and they’d stopped restrainin’ me and he just looked at me and I settled the fuck down.

But that doesn’t work on me anymore.

And he’d gone in and I don’t know what he said, but they let me stay. Next time I wouldn’t be so lucky and they wouldn’t be so lenient, they said. And that’s exactly what happened.

I’d let the old man down, didn’t I? But I didn’t give a shit. I was fuckin’ free and happy.

And I was happy just now, right up until he showed up again, with his thinly veiled disapproval and his fuckin’ concern that always feels like pity.

“Ooh,” she peeks at the take-out boxes, the numbers scribbled on them in black marker, as I hand the bag over to her, coming in once again. “You remembered!”

Of course I did.

“This is going straight to my thighs,” she says, beaming as she sets it on the table and proceeds to get the cutlery and plates and whatever. “All that sauce…You wouldn’t know. Boys like you can eat and eat and eat and gain nothing but muscle.”

Fuck. I wish I was going straight to her thighs too. I fuckin’, fuckin’ wish. This ‘Look but don’t touch’ situation grows more intense by the day.

She beckons me to sit down at my usual seat at her table before getting up quickly, as if having forgotten something.

She pulls out a wine glass from the cupboard and reaches for the light green bottle and pours herself half a glass.

“What?” she says, as I watch her movements. “Do you want some too? I think you’re a little too young, Wolf Cub,” she teases. “But if you want, I can pour you some apple juice in a fancy glass and you can feel all grown up too.”

“All my Christmases have come at once,” I say, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. I ain’t that young. I know she’s only playing but this thought, this thought that she keeps seeing me as some stupid kid just plagues my mind. And I don’t know what else to do.

“Sorry,” she says, an apologetic smile. “You’re right. You’re not that little anymore are you. Got yourself a job and everything,” she winks. And I love it when she does that. Makes my mind wander and imagine there’s something else behind it. “You want to try?” She holds her glass out to me.

“What makes you think I ain’t tried before?” I say, looking a little warily at her.

“You’re fucking impossible,” she smirks and pours a second glass, placing it in front of me. Legal or not, she’s decided it’s none of her business and my insistence has won.

We eat in silence for a bit. That familiar, comfortable silence.

I see her take a sip from her glass, just a small elegant one. She seems to enjoy it.

I made a big show about it all so now I gotta do the same I suppose.

It tastes like shit.

She’s looking up at me, laughing, while I try to not cough but goddamn.

“You don’t have to drink it,” she says, still unable to contain her laughter.

At first I’m fucking furious. I ain’t a stand up comedian. But then I see the kindness in her eyes and I can’t help it either. I got myself into this, after all.

“It’s fucking disgusting,” I say, clearing my throat again, grinning at her.

“It grows on you,” she says, taking another sip like it’s nothing.

But I’m determined to finish this thing because I ain’t ever backed down from a challenge yet.

It tastes sour and bitter at the same time. But it feels warm going down. And to my surprise, goes straight to the head. Not in an unpleasant way.

“You really don’t have to finish that,” she says, fork midway between plate and her beautiful mouth as she watches me.

I can’t put up with this shit anymore, down the rest in one go.

“I’m not giving you anymore,” she says, watching me wolf down the rest of whatever I got myself. I don’t even know. Picked a random number off the menu.

I ain’t never been good with feelings. Just thinking about all that shit makes me wince. There’s no point in talking about that crap. And she understands that side of me, never makes me talk about anything. Though I’m sure she wishes I would sometimes. But she doesn’t need to get involved in this fucked up tangle of rage and regret and whatever else I got going on.

I always feel this pleasant warm satisfaction after a good meal but this time it feels different. It’s like something begins to loosen up in my mind. I find the frustration I was still carryin’ from that old man’s visit melts away. Everything seems…cheerful, pleasant. She could probably tell me the house was burning down and I’d find that mildly amusing. I even offer to help with dishes.

“Are you ok?” she looks at me, shaking her head, that knowing laughter.

“Why?” I ask, taking the plates from her and putting them in the sink.

“You’re smiling like an idiot,” she says, pursing her lips to stop herself from completely cracking up.

Am I? There’s just so much to be happy about… I think. I’m full, and she’s right there, and last night I layed out about ten assholes. Or was it eight? My shoulder still hurts a bit, I feel that twinge still, but what is there to not be happy about?

“Do you want some ice cream?” she says, and I feel like she’s in on some secret that I’m not and I don’t even care. Fucking ice cream!

“I,” I start, looking right at her, as if I’ve got something very motherfucking important to say, “fucking love ice cream,” I inform her very seriously. There’s some part of my mind that is watching all this and realises I’m making a fucking fool of myself but that part can only watch, having lost all its usual power over me. I am at once fuckin’ horrified and so fuckin’ happy.

“Ok, cowboy,” she says behind me, steering me to the couch, her warm hands on my shoulders. What if I took off my shirt? This idea suddenly seems like a good one. I think I almost start but then she sits me down on the couch. “We do indeed love ice cream. Here,” she says, handing me a glass of water, “drink that.”

“Why?” I say before gulping it down in one go.

“You’ll feel better,” she says and walks away back to the kitchen.

Better? I feel fuckin’ fantastic.

No, you’re a motherfuckin’ embarassment that little voice in my head says. I tell it to shut the fuck up.

She comes back with the ice cream, just as I’m massaging my shoulder again, rolling it back and forward.

She holds onto the bowl and looks at me a little suspiciously.

“What did you do to yourself?” she says, ice cream in both hands.

“Nothin’,” I’m still smart enough to lie. Just barely. “Work,” I say.

She keeps looking at me and I can tell she doesn’t buy it. Doesn’t believe me. Her laughter is gone for a moment and I feel bad. I think she knows. And she’s not pleased. And I want her to be pleased. I want her to be so fuckin’ pleased…and there goes my happy, clouded mind again.

“Mm,” she says, finally handing me the bowl and sitting on the other side of the couch.

“I fuckin’ love ice cream,” I say again, as if I’m delivering earth-shattering news. And finish it way too quickly.

She turns to look at me, and can’t help cracking up at me again. I feel relief. Happy, happy fuckin’ relief. As long as she’s laughing. I know at the back of my mind I’m complete fucking idiot right now but I’m also so fucking happy about it and I can’t really control it.

“Remind me to keep the wine away from you, Wolf Cub,” she says, finishing her own ice cream as she stares at the TV and puts the bowl down next to mine on the coffee table.

Fucking shoulder is getting to me again. I try to adjust it and my eyes are starting to close. And I’m just so fucking happy.

She watches me, completely unaffected despite drinking the same disgusting thing as me.

“Lie down,” she says, uncurling her legs from under her, putting her feet on the floor.

What?

“You’re out of it,” she says. “Lie down,” she pats her lap casually as all her attention is taken up by scrolling through her favourite shows on the screen in front of us.

And if I had been stone cold sober I never would have but I find my control has slipped just a little bit and I happily put my head on her thigh.

This view. This magnificent view from below, staring up at her breasts, even if she is fully dressed. I’m in fucking heaven.

Her legs feel soft and my mind is swimming in her scent, subtle and floral and…it reminds me of golden hour. There’s something so fucking enticing, beautiful about it.

She puts on some show but doesn’t really watch it, pays no attention to me either, just scrolls through her phone, her own mind preoccupied.

“What are you doin’?” I say, unable to keep my mouth shut.

She glances down at me for a moment. “I’m going to visit my brother next weekend,” she smiles and it’s full of affection. I can tell this is something she’s looking forward to. “I’m just looking at the best train tickets.”

She’s going away next weekend. Fuck. Suddenly I feel sad. This real childish, stupid sadness I haven’t felt since I was a dumb kid. Where is all this coming from?

Every once in a while I find myself maybe saying something I might have never said to anyone else. And I always feel fucking stupid after but, I think she appreciates it. She doesn’t try to ‘fix’ me, or make me ‘open up’ or all that shit. But sometimes I feel I can say a word or two, when it’s really pissing me off inside and I got no other way to get it out right then. And then she smiles at me, with the same kindness and affection she always has for me, and says something calming, pretending she almost didn’t hear me. Runs her hand through my hair, and if I’m lucky (and I often am), kisses my forehead or cheek and lets me take her to the couch, or her bed or wherever. And then I try to make her forget everything I just said, and focus on how much I fuckin’ love being with her instead.

This sadness. This stupid, childish sadness. The way she looks when she says she’s going to visit her brother, I wonder if she’d look the same if she were talkin’ about visiting me.

The happiness takes a backseat for a moment.

I may not be in my completely right mind but even through that relaxed haze I know what to keep my mouth shut about. But I can’t keep it shut completely so I redirect my disappointment into something else.

“This fuckin’ job is shit,” I hear myself grunt.

Her fingers pause their dance over her phone and she looks down at me again, full of laughing wisdom.

“Welcome to the adult world, Wolf Cub,” she says, before going back to her little screen.

I stare up at her, wide-eyed, thankful she’s not looking at me.

Does she really mean that? Have I made it? Are we finally equals…?

“Prepare for more disappointment,” she says absentmindedly. “This is only the beginning.”

"Fuck," I say. That twinge in my shoulder again as I grab it reflexively, try to massage the pain away.

"You good?" She looks down. "Want me to move?"

Fuck no! Don't you dare…

"It ain't nothing'," I dismiss her concern.

She doesn't say anything, just gives me a quick smile and goes back to her phone. But then, I have no idea why, and by the completely engrossed gaze she's got on her phone screen she probably doesn't know either, her hand slips into my hair, gently raking through it as she keeps scrolling, not paying me one bit of attention while I feel I'm about to fucking die in ecstasy on her lap.

Her fingers feel tender and light, as if we've known each other for an age. And even though I'm always thinking about her naked, can't help it, this little touch feels more intimate than anything I've imagined so far. And I know, right then I fuckin' know, I'm completely hers.

But my mouth, or rather my brain, is still in dumbass mode.

She gives me this playful scratch behind the ear.

"I'm your stray fucking cat," I say, in my own personal nirvana.

She pauses, her fingers still tangled in my hair.

"No," she says and I don't know if she's looking at me because my eyes are closed. I need to concentrate with everything I have left on what she's making me feel. "You're my stray Wolf Cub," and then goes back to her phone or so I assume as her hand continues to affectionately, slowly weave through my hair.

And I'm back to being so fucking happy. Being so fucking happy to be her stray anything.

Later she told me she didn’t understand how I could be so ruthless, so cold-blooded and so kind. I don’t know what she means. I ain’t ever set out to be kind to anyone. But she insists. I don’t want to argue so I say nothin’. I don’t understand it either. I’m just a cocky fuckin’ asshole that got lucky. And I try to be on my best behaviour to not lose what I clearly don’t deserve. I’m a lucky fucking bastard, I think, peacefully asleep on her breasts.

When I open my eyes it's dark again. It's quiet inside and out. My head feels like there's a thin layer of cotton wool wrapped around my brain but it ain't too bad.

And then I notice, her hand lying on my chest.

I don't have to look up to know she's asleep, I can feel it in the rhythm of her soft little body under me.

Why didn't she wake me up and kick me out?

I stay completely still. Listening to her quiet, relaxed breathing, feeling her hand lying lightly on my chest.

The heating is still on and we're good here, together. I have a mind to just go back to sleep, pretend I never woke up. Stay until morning. Deal with the awkwardness of it later. But then I feel her shift a bit under me, trying to get more comfortable in her sleep.

I might be used to sleeping on god knows what but I imagine she's starting to regret not waking me up sooner.

I take her hand, barely, being so fucking careful to not wake her up and remove it from myself, never regretting anything so much in my life.

I get up slowly, making sure she's still asleep, self-conscious about my lack of control, not even being able to stay awake.

She shifts again, unable to find a comfortable position.

It’s three in the morning. Just like when I saw her in her window. This seductive time of night.

I need to just leave but I feel bad leaving her there.

I slide my arms under her body and lift her up, holding her carefully, close to me.

She’s wearing this big, thick jumper but even so, I can feel the outline of her body against me, in my arms. Now I don’t want to put her down as she nestles her head against my shoulder.

Her bedroom is upstairs. I don’t have to put her down just yet.

I make my way slowly up the silent stairs and they don’t give me away like my own would.

Which door is it? Judging from her window facing the street, it must be this one. It’s ajar and I kick it open quietly, carrying her inside.

I feel like I shouldn’t be here. Like I’m an unrefined intruder in this elegant, private space. She never gave me permission to be in here. The curtains are open and there’s enough moonlight and streetlight for me to see clearly.

To see her dresser full of little bottles and little black cases, open jewellery box, the white shirts hanging neatly on thick hangers in the open closet, the fragile-looking lingerie draped over the back of the chair…Fuck, so that’s what she wears underneath. I start to imagine the lace covering her breasts, her body… I feel her cheek rub against my chest softly but when I look down she’s still, thankfully, asleep.

And there’s her bed.

I can’t hold her and pull the covers back at the same time. With the heating on, it’s plenty warm in here but still.

And I don’t want to let go. Not yet.

This is the closest I’ve ever been to her. And despite my constant, increasingly explicit, lewd thoughts I’m happy just to do this. Just feel her so light and warm in my arms.

I don’t know why it means that much to me. But when I’m around her, things feel…more exciting. It’s like something opens up in front of me. And there’s more. I don’t know what of. But there’s more of it.

Just like her, I’d always thought there’d be more. But I’d always push that thought away. Content with what I had, with what I’d achieved.

And now, standing here, holding her in the warm, in the dark, in the intimacy of her own room…

My chest. That pain. That fucking, goddamn pain that I can’t get enough of.

I lay her down slowly on her bed, on the covers and then carefully throw, the other half of them, the half that she’s not lying on over her. She takes the corner and pulls it closer into her, curling into the blanket.

“You’re very kind, Little Wolf,” her words are barely audible, her eyes still closed. I freeze. No idea how long she’d been awake for. “I don’t understand,” she whispers before her mind switches off again and she’s plunged back into her dreams. I wonder if she ever dreams of me, if I ever show up in there, even as a side character.

And I just stand there, watching. Not knowing what to do or say.

What is it that she doesn’t understand? Why I carried her to bed?

Somehow it feels like it’s not that.

I let myself out the backdoor since I can’t lock the front one after myself and wander home, to sleep off this happy little mess in my head. And to dream, yet again, of a moment. A three am moment, cotton on my tongue, the streetlight hitting just right. A moment that changed everything. And I remember thinking the mess couldn’t possibly get messier than this. And it’s laughable how fucking wrong I was.

#garou gets drunk! XD #garou #garou one punch man #garou fanfiction #one punch man fanfiction #opm fanfiction #garou fluff #x reader #xreader #garou x reader #garouxreader #garou x y/n #reader insert #one punch man #opm

[artisnowy]

My grandma died a little before christmas last year.

As a kid I went to her house every friday after school to spend the night, aswell as all my cousins. I could still find exactly where the carpet hardened and the floor creaked.

She would take care of us, treat us with food, watch over us. she had cable unlike my parents and she enjoyed watching our excitement when watching the tv.

while my family wasnt rich, there were many outside gsmes we would play including playing with shaving cream on the glass table and running through the hose with a bunch of holes poked into it to be a sprinkler.

Every holiday was spent at her house no matter the weather. even after my family sort of self destructed my immediate family still saw her ever holiday where we would play boaed games and tell stories

After we grew up, eventually our grandpa took the playset out of the backyard nuch to the distraught of our grandma realizing the time with grandkids was over.

Her mobility became limited, she had a condition i dont remember what it was called but she would inflate with waterweight and need to be drained and havr wraps on her legs. Some days she couldnt even use the bathroom herself.

A 4 days before she died, I was informed her health was decreasing, unsure of how long she would live but i was busy and didnt have time to visit. The 2 days before she died on a sunday I was informed she would not live into the next year, let alone the next week. I was holding out hope she would live to wensday when I was no longer busy.

She died around 1:30 am on tuesday the 12th. I woke up to texts asking if i was awake and once i left my room my sister told me. I would like to say i was distraught and collapsed into tears but in full honesty I felt empty, as if all sense of emotion was drained out of me.

I cracked some half hearted joke unsure of what else to say and went to my friend's house like we had been planning for months. I told my friend about what happened and we spent the hangout talking about her.

A week later i went to the morgue ro see my grandma for the last time and there is something so distraughting about seeing someone, seeing them right in front of you, and knowing their not there, knowing deep down that it is empty. I cried then but the realization hadnt set in yet. even after realizing the lamp i gave her that was always on had finally been shut off

About 3 month later I was trying to get to sleep and i thought of the touch of her hand and it finally set in that I wouldnt see her again and I cried so hard.

i feel as if finslly I have fully processed ehat has happened and now i wanted to share a bit about her.

[rocksandboulders]

i wrote this about how im doing right now and about the path ive taken to get where i am. it's a healing bit of writing, but it hurts. it's mostly about childhood and growth. enjoy.

tw: mental health issues, suicide mention, parents

I think at this point in my life, upon coming to terms with my childhood, my past, I have moved forwards into a mourning of sorts.

It started with an anxiety, a fear of what I had to overcome to heal. I looked away from everything to escape, I moved, I isolated, I cut down and restarted from the beginning to build myself a person in which it was safe to live, and a mind in which I would not continue to kill myself.

When I relearned my lungs, I screamed. I cried out in anger for what I now had to face. I lashed out at my mother. I shunned her from me. I rejected her. I built an impassable fortress around myself and my space and my mind, only letting one in to correspond on business terms. It was dark. There was no warmth.

When my mind finally calmed down, when I shivered in the cold of my aloneness and my eyes ached for the light again, I turned on my lamp and I wrote poetry. I longed to see my mother, my siblings, my family. I found pieces of them in every person I knew, I remembered them in songs I heard, and I began to look at the open places where I had so unceremoniously torn them from inside myself.

And then, I cried.

And as I look, now, upon myself, and upon this old house, upon my past and present, upon those around me, and those who are not, I find myself comforting each of those parts of myself.

I take my boy in corduroy and fit him with the weighted blanket of the one who gave him his first taste of a new, true home.

I regret the tears I caused in that lobby, and thank the universe that my phone battery died when it did. But I’ll never disagree with what I said.

I look at my mother, my siblings, my family, and the spaces that they are finding ways to fill once again, and I take a moment to ponder the hole left still empty. It has the scratches on the walls of one buried alive. There are many versions of me, from many times in my life, that still inhabit this body. Once they finally heal back together, that’s where they’ll all go. Once we are, once I am one person once again.

And, I still cry.

I’m sad to leave, now, when I do. This is my home, this is where I grew and changed. This is where everything that has ever happened has happened. This is where I was before everything. And this is where I come back to, still. I keep all those feelings I’ve had, they all still live inside.

I still run, retreat, hide, and reject those I know.

I still curl into my own body, the walls of my skin and muscle and bone protecting the gentle and heated soul that raptures and destroys.

I still search.

I still write.

And I still yearn. I wish for the years that have passed to be different. I wish I had memories to find joy in from my youth. I wish to read the books they wrote to me and remember how their promises carried through.

I had wanted kids for a long time. I couldn’t stop laughing.

It was the best day in my 25 years of life.

You cried- Mama & Papa felt very bad. But you were brave, very brave.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

I wish for a childhood that I can remember, not just in fondness, but one I can remember at all. I want, so badly, to be able to hug my mother and know that it isn’t new. I want to feel as though being held by her is something I remember from anywhere, anytime. I want to believe she has always wanted me close.

I want for the unwavering love that a child deserved.

And I want to cry. When that finally sinks in.

#writing #poem #poetry #writer #angst #healing poetry #free verse #tw suicide mention #tw mental health #tw mental illness #tw parents

[arjaandsimoni]

The Howling House

“Just sort it out Fullmoon! I’m paying you enough!”

The older man shouted across the desk, wearing a three piece suit and sweating uncomfortably in the balmy southern heat.

Alabama wasn’t a major tourist destination, but sometimes the rich and powerful liked it as a vacation home, if only so they could sneer at everyone in the state who wasn’t rich and powerful like they were. Also there was apparently some good golfing.

“Just saying, we would need to know as much as we can about the situation beforehand.” replied Nelen, sitting in a leather armchair across the desk from him. This client was getting on his nerves, but he’d always had issues with guys like him. They reminded him too much about why he had what he did on his hands.

Dawn just sat nearby grinning, the feline shapeshifter in her human form at the moment, wearing her usual baggy jeans, sock hat, and shiny reflective sunglasses to hide her less-than-human nature. Her purple teeshirt sported a grinning depiction of Disney’s take on the Cheshire Cat from the animated version of Alice in Wonderland.

The man sighed, “All I know is that rotten old house is sitting right where I want to build my summer home… but every work crew I send in gets chased off. Machinery gets sabotaged, huge claw marks in engine blocks, and now someone has turned up dead.” he huffed, “I want this sorted out before the police get involved! I don’t want a scandal! Find out what the hell is doing this and get RID of it!” he snapped.

Nelen nodded, “Claw marks… any idea what kind of claw marks?” he asked.

“NO!” he shouted, “THAT’S WHAT I’M PAYING YOU TO FIND OUT! NOW GET TO IT!” he retorted, spit flying from his mouth.

Nelen held up his hands, “Alright alright, Dawn and I will go take a look around the site and see what we can figure out.” he nodded, getting to his feet and nodding for his ‘daughter’ to join him.

She hopped to her feet, then with a smirk said “Later, scotch breath.” and followed Nelen out of the office, the man glaring at her. He had a five-year coin from Alcoholics Anonymous framed on his wall.

He rolled his eyes at her, “Jeez Dawn, he’d better not cut our fee.” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh come on, I had to. So any idea what this one could be?” she asked.

“Probably not a ghost at least, I mean claw marks implies something corporeal, but if they’re in an engine block that could be something dangerous. Those things are cut from solid steel normally, they can take a beating.” he nodded. “Its late though, we’ll hit the hotel tonight and head out first thing tomorrow.”

Later, at their Hotel

The hotel was a nice one for once. Not exactly amazing, but one of the better Holiday Inns in the area. Clearly the client wanted this done. There were two empty pizza boxes on the table next to the TV, along with a half empty two liter of Coke and an empty pint of milk. Nelen stretched out on the bed, flipping through urban legend wikis on his tablet as Dawn watched a re-run of the classic William Shatner Star Trek series, her tail swishing behind her.

“Hm… okay, this might be something.” said Nelen, “Dog Boy. Apparently there was this kid in the 1950s who actually lived at a house in the area, real sick bastard too. He’d catch animals and torture them, locked up his parents apparently too. He died of a drug overdose in prison though.” he said.

Dawn hissed at that, “Oh EW. We got a slasher?! Ugh… I hate those guys! They always come after innocent cats first!” she glared, her tail thrashing about angrily.

“Well, not necessarily Dawn. He said claw marks on an engine block, even a grizzly bear would have a hard time doing that. Whatever is there probably isn’t human, or at least not a mundane.” he nodded, “Of course, this is an Urban Legend wiki. It could be something totally different, or the story could be bullshit."

Dawn shrugged, “Eh, we’ll find out tomorrow I guess.” she nodded.

Nelen nodded too, glancing back over that story. “Hm…” he muttered.

An abandoned house in rural Alabama.

The rental car pulled up outside of the house, the two of them climbing out of it. It was a fairly big house, nothing massive but definitely the kind of house that said ‘someone who had some decent money lived in me once.’ What architecture remained suggested it predated the 1950s at least, possibly made in the 1920s or earlier. The left side was busted in, clearly where the demolition work had begun, but the rest was still standing.

The same couldn’t be said for the construction equipment. A bulldozer’s engine was indeed sporting several deep gashes on it, severing a fuel line and leaving a spark plug missing, and a crane’s arm had been completely ripped off as well. Nelen frowned at those, walking up to the house. “Hm…” he sighed, “Well shit, guess we gotta at least check…” he shrugged, flexing his hands, then walking in along with Dawn.

The inside of the house had seen better days. Grime and dust covered most surfaces, the furniture out of date by several decades, at least what wasn’t wrecked. Dawn hissed, her tail floofing, “GUH! What the fuck is that smell?! I… oh.” she paused as they turned a corner and found, well, most of a deer.

It had been torn open, the inside left to rot, its entrails spilling out onto the floor. “That… narrows the field a bit.” said Nelen, looking down at it. In the gloom it was hard to make out, but he could tell that whatever had pulled it apart had done so with its teeth.

“Nelen… we should probably get going…” she whined, her ears folded back. She had untucked her tail and left her hat and glasses in the car. Nobody was around to see that she wasn’t human anyways.

The mage nodded, “Yeah, I need to check some stuff back at the hotel.” he muttered. He’d brought his messenger bag with him, but he had a feeling that this would require some serious prep work.

As they left, Dawn’s nose twitched again, the feline girl whining softly in the back of her throat…

Back at the Hotel

When they got back to the hotel however they found the concierge waiting outside their room, with the police.

“THERE you are!” he shouted, “Officer! Arrest this vandal!” he snapped.

Nelen took a step back, “Woah woah! Hang on! We just got back, whats this all about?” he asked.

“Whats this all about… your room is completely destroyed! You had better believe I’ll be pressing charges for this Mr. Ferguson!” he shouted, and Nelen immediately glanced at the cop. He’d signed in under a false name. This could be getting messy…

“Hey! If someone trashed the place it wasn’t me. Me and my kid were out driving around today, c’mon whats this all about?” he asked.

“See for yourself!” frowned the concierge, standing back and jerking a thumb towards the room. Nelen walked to the door and winced.

The mattress on the bed had been torn to pieces, the TV taken apart as if by a hammer, and scratched into the wall above the bed were the words ‘Go Away!’

“Okay, look. I know this looks bad, but this wasn’t me. Check the security cameras! You’ll see me and my kid leaving hours ago!” he insisted.

The cop however was far more composed than the hotel worker. “Afraid Mr. Ferguson is right sir. What we could see on the cameras clearly showed he left the premises.” he nodded, “That being said, about two hours ago the camera on this floor wound up in the same state as your room, so we can’t prove whether or not you came back…” he added as the concierge grinned in a smug way.

“Someone is going to pay to have this room rebuilt sir, and the room is in YOUR name.” he nodded.

Nelen glanced between them, then sighed… “Fine fine, I guess if I gotta then I go- DAWN!” he shouted, ducking as the girl scrambled up his back, whipped off her glasses, and there was a sudden bright flash from her eyes.

The cop and the concierge dropped to the floor like puppets with their strings cut, the cop gasping and frantically pawing at his shirt as the concierge whimpered and covered his mouth, his eyes rolling in their sockets.

“Spiders and scorpions, we got a minute tops.” she nodded. “Poof to the car and initiate Plan fifty three?”

“Got it in one Dawn.” he replied.

Plan fifty three: RUN LIKE HELL!

A minute later a rental car was burning rubber out of the parking lot, Nelen speeding off down the road and sighing. “Dammit, I liked that place too.” he frowned. He was glad he’d at least kept their luggage in the car this time.

“Yeaaaaaaah, pity. Ah well, back to the ‘bedbugs, whats that, never heard of ‘em’ hotels for us.” she shrugged.

Nelen sighed and nodded, grateful that his partner could pull that trick off.

Dawn was a mixed breed, half tortoiseshell cat, half Cheshire cat… as in the Cheshire cat of Wonderland, and besides the teleportation and invisibility the grinning feline was known for she also had another trick that hadn’t made it into the works of Lewis Carrol.

They called it her ‘Wonderland Eyes.’ Dawn carried a little piece of Wonderland inside her and by making eye contact she could show it to anyone, inflicting them with hallucinations and insanity temporarily. There’s only so much the human mind can cope with. Still that meant that they would have a cop who after the spiders went away would have had every reason to believe he was fleeing the scene of a crime.

“Well, at least we know something. Whatever did this is able to pass among humanity.” he nodded.

“Oh?” she asked.

“Those claw marks on the walls were the same kind on that engine block. I think whatever lives in that house saw us there today and figured out where we were staying somehow…” he sighed, “Fucking hells I bet I know what it is too.” he nodded.

Then he told her.

Dawn winced, “Yeaaaaah, had a hunch. I mean I smelled something like that back there, but I was hoping it was just the mundane kind.” she frowned.

He sighed, “Well, at least I can say I’m doing the family business this time.” he smirked ruefully, “Either way, we gotta get back to that house, preferably before dark.” he nodded.

Soon, back at the half-ruined house.

From the gloom of the house came a snarling snapping sound, an elderly looking hobo of a man hunched over what was once a wild raccoon. His face and hair were matted with blood, his clothes clearly second hand. “Fuckers better go after that…” he snarled, then paused, sniffing at the air as he heard something nearby.

“Yanno, I really liked that room.” came a voice from the shadows of the ruined house.

The man snarled, baring his teeth. “MY LAIR! GET OUT! MINE!” he barked.

“If they make me pay for it, I’m going to be pissed.” he said, the voice echoing oddly.

The man glared around him, sniffing, but the scent was… gone? He couldn’t smell anything of him, even soap. “Who’re you?” he grunted.

“Sorry that rich asshole wants your house. He must’ve believed the story about you dying of an overdose in prison, but a bit of heroin won’t stop one of you for long will it?” came Nelen’s voice. “Your parents had no idea did they? Must’ve been a recessive gene somewhere. First change came and you had nobody to tell you what was going on or show you how to cope with it.”

The man snarled, his eyes flashing dangerously in the darkness of the wrecked house. “Monster! They called me a monster! Their fucking son! I had to… I had hunt! I had to chase and bite and tear and eat!” he snarled.

“Pity... You’d think one of the local packs would have found you, but I guess they might not have realized what was up until after you got arrested.” came Nelen’s voice again. “Too late now. Wrong guy noticed you. He wants a neat summer home in Arkansas, but I think a rich businessman like that would find the idea of capturing you to sell you off to the Cheron Group to be way too good a payout to pass up.”

The hobo snarled again, and as he did his body seemed to get bigger.

“Its not your fault, I’m still willing to help you escape. Plenty of wilder areas around here where some of your kind still live out in the open, though a half-feral like you would be a really hard sell…” his voice came again.

The hobo glared, baring fangs from a now long furry muzzle, his clothing tearing free from his body. He barely noticed it, his clawed feet pawing at the floor as he straightened up to a full ten feet in height.

“… but we gotta do something. You did good staying hidden for a long time, but we can’t have a lone werewolf running wild.” came Nelen’s voice.

The werewolf roared in fury, breathing in deeply, his ears twitching and flicking around.

“Don’t bother, I’m using a scent charm and a cantrip to throw my voice. I could be standing right behind you, I could be outside the damn house.” came Nelen’s voice again, “Ever hear of Clan Fullmoon? We specialize in werewolves. We were formed to deal with the old cannibal packs of Ireland. I’m not some jackass with a gun and a hat that says ‘bounty hunter’ old man, I know what I’m doing.”

The werewolf ignored him and lunged, smashing through a half-rotted kitchen table, scattering the wood! His head snapping up as he sniffed around again, trying to find some trace of a smell.

“Yeah, see, this is how I can tell. Any werewolf in a pack knows how to balance man and beast, but you? You’re all beast now. You never learned how. Your soul is so far outta whack you can’t even understand what I’m saying anymore can you?” asked Nelen.

The werewolf lunged again, crashing through a wall!

“Yep, thought so. Well fine then.” he said, and from outside the house came a faint whistling sound. “Here boy! Here puppy! Over here! C’mon boy!”

A moment later the front door and most of the wall around it came down as the werewolf charged through it, seeing a man shaped figure on the ground. “Oooo! Almost! C’mon boy! You can do it! Fetch the stick boy!”

The werewolf roared in fury, rushing towards the prone figure, then tackling it and digging his teeth in.

A moment later there was a crash of thunder and the werewolf went rigid as a bolt of lightning arced down from the sky and slammed into him, sending him flying with a loud yelp!

“Goooood boy. Sit. Stay.” came Nelen’s voice as he walked into view with a stick that had several runes carved onto it, lowering the hand he was using to direct the soundwaves, a strange wooden charm dangling from a string around his wrist.

The werewolf lay unconscious next to the smoldering remains of the scarecrow Nelen had swiped from a local farm, the sack cloth man set ablaze by the lightning bolt. Laying on the ground nearby was a copper coin inscribed with the symbol of Thor’s hammer. Not an Irish trick, but hell, shock collars worked on mundane dogs. For a werewolf you just had to scale up appropriately.

“So now what? We stick a silver knife through his heart?” asked Dawn as she appeared next to him.

Nelen looked down at the stunned lycanthrope, then sighed, “… his own fucking parents called him a monster Dawn, you heard him.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, “You’re not seriously considering…” she frowned.

“Yeah, I made a call while you were in the bathroom at the library. C’mon, get the back door open.” he said, taking out a charm that looked like a crescent moon. “I’ll make sure Fido stays asleep.” he said, tying it around the stunned werewolf’s wrist.

The wilds of Alabama, some time later.

The werewolf’s eyes flew open. It was nighttime now, the moon high in the sky, and he was far from his lair.

He snarled, looking around. This area smelled different, very different, where was he?! Where did that human take him?! Where…

And then a howl went up in the distance, his ears going up.

He could understand that howl… it had no words, but somehow… he just knew.

‘We are like you, we understand, come to us brother.’

The werewolf gazed out across the wilderness. He’d ached to hear such a thing for years and years… more than he could count. He threw his head back and howled in response, then tore off into the woods towards the source of the sound. He was an old wolf, it had taken years, but the one thing that a werewolf couldn’t exist properly without was their pack.

Nelen sat nearby on the hood of the car, then opened his phone and called a specific number, “Yeah. Hey yeah its me. House is all clear now. Your men can get back to work tomorrow. Just wire the money to…” he paused, then pinched the bridge of his nose, “Yeah look, that wasn’t my fault. The mark found out where we were staying and came after me okay? The hotel is insured right?” he asked, then sighed, “Alright alright fine… whatever.” he sighed, then disconnected the call.

Dawn looked over at him, laying on her back as she gazed up at the stars. They were far enough from the cities that they could see them properly. “Hotel wants him to pay for the room?” she asked.

He sighed, “To be fair Dawn, he did make the reservation so it’s his card on file.” he replied.

Dawn rolled her eyes, “Sheesh, so we’re doing this pro-bono?” she asked.

Nelen smirked, “No, because I already know you emptied his wallet before we left the office that day.”

Dawn grinned at him, “Whaaaaaaaat? I thought the rule was client always pays up front, even if they don’t know they are.” she replied.

Nelen smirked, “So, we definitely can’t go back to that town for a while. Swap the rental’s plates, head down to New Orleans, and invest some of that at the fish market?” he asked.

Dawn grinned as only a Cheshire can grin, “Now THAT sounds like a good idea!” she cackled. In the distance, another howl went up, and you didn’t need to be a wolf (or a wolf-like being) to recognize that the one howling was happy.

Next Story

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#supernatural adventures #modern fantasy #werewolf #fiction

[fellpyrean]

Advent Statement 6 - Shadow Puppet

oh boy we goin’. The original halfway point! I believe this one is actually a couple ideas I ended up fusing into one since I felt like some of the nuggets I had before couldn’t quite stand on their own? 

No particular warnings on this one I don’t think; general canon-typical violence and I suppose possession of a sort? 

Ah, almost forgot: this one is on ao3! Click here if you’d prefer to read over there! 

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I didn’t know my grandfather. 

I never really thought about it before, but  I’ve. Had to realize some things very quickly, you know? Largely that the man I thought he was? Has nothing to do with who he actually was, or what kind of life he lived. I didn’t know, and I don’t think I want to look. Not sure I have a choice now, though.  

He died last year. Outlasted my grandmother, which was surprising. Kind of thought she’d keep going to 103 out of spite; some old ladies are like that, you know. But no. She went quietly in her sleep a few years back, which left my grandfather alone in that big, old house. We still talked. I’m not going to pretend I visited a lot, because I didn’t. Once I moved out from my parent’s house, I went west and they all stayed put. I really only saw them when I could afford to fly out every couple years, with a few phone calls in between for the holidays. 

But he seemed happy. 

It came as an honest shock when he died, too. He’d been trucking along cheerful as ever, excited about his grilling, his gun collection and trips to the shooting range until the day he left. And, shocking as that was, probably the bigger surprise came when I was told he’d left me his house. 

His son was still alive. My father. And I mean, they got on alright, so me taking the house felt a bit like getting involved in some family drama in the final act without a clue of the script that had come before, but, I mean. I still did it. Things weren’t really working out where I was, I did kind of miss everyone, and I won’t lie, it felt really good to screw my dad out of something for once. 

It took about a month before I managed to tie up the loose ends and fly back out and take stock on my freshly inherited house. It seemed a lot smaller than I remembered, though it wasn’t small by any means. Just that the last time I’d spent time in it, I’d been maybe seven or eight. The front door had two glass windows on either side, and a landing with a high, vaulted ceiling and a bright, dusty light that cast nice, crisp shadows onto the walls - and above that, an overlook from the second story. I remembered they used to keep plants up there, since the sunlight spilled through the windows in the afternoon and made the whole space feel warm, open and bright. Welcoming. 

It was just kind of dark then, of course. My flight hadn’t been early or on time. I ditched my bags by the front door and just went through the house, flicking on lights as I walked along, and paused here and there to admire the photos on the wall. He’d always liked to take pictures. I think if I’d asked he would have set up a dark room honestly; that was just how he was with me. He even got me a telescope once. He was always so eager to have me join him in his hobbies, but I was a kid, and poking around in the dark wasn’t as exciting as video games. 

The house was a bit of a cluttered mess, but it was nice. Seeing these relics of his, left behind. Almost felt like I’d turn the corner and he’d be waiting there in the kitchen with a cup of black coffee, but, no. That was dark and empty too, and the stairs to go up were even darker. I never liked those stairs as a kid. The switch to turn on their light was half way up, which meant either a mad dash into the dark or a mad dash out of it if I was the last one to go to bed at night, or if I’d snuck down for a drink. My grandfather eventually stuck nightlights at either end, but I would still always run like mad. 

I joked that it was so nothing would catch me. I was too fast for it, I’d say proudly, and my grandfather would always chuckle with a little too much cheer. I just thought he appreciated my bountiful wit.

The light wavered a little as I headed upstairs, but stayed on. It was honestly a little strange heading up. It was… so quiet, and the shadows so thick, clinging to the edges of the light. It looked a lot like a film effect; some high contrast trick, to make the lights look brighter and the shadows so, so much darker than they should be. 

I actually had a little fun with it when I got to the top of the stairs. It reminded me of when I was small. We’d lived here for a while, my parents and me, when we’d first moved and money was tight. It was a big house and my grandparents were happy to have us along. I was given a big room above the garage, and oh, did I love it. 

And I remembered, standing there at the top of the stairs, that I used to love turning on the flashlight in the dark and playing with shadow puppets across the ceiling. My grandfather taught me. 

I liked making dogs the best. 

I made one then, too. Just a simple thing. Thumb up, forefinger tucked. The rest formed its, hah, its fearsome maw. They were always so crisp here, I recalled. No matter what odd eagles or rabbits I cast flying or running across the spackled ceiling, they were special. Vivid. 

Even that simple dog I cast then, barking idly at the edges of the shadow, seemed livelier than normal. 

It put me in a nostalgic mood. I mean, I already was, given that, you know, this was my dearly departed and beloved grandfather’s house, but it made me feel young again. Small and smiling on just another normal night as I played with shadow puppets on the walls.

I headed to what had been my room, all those years ago. The hallway was utterly dark - each side of the hall dotted with closed doors, locked, and the switch busted - and barely a sliver of light came from beneath the door to my old room. It honestly wasn’t all that different from when I’d lived there; the bed was gone, but when I looked up at the ceiling, I saw the cheap, glow in the dark stars that I’d stuck there more than a decade before still stubbornly clinging to the paint, and the old couches I used to roll across were still here, too. 

That light worked. Which I was glad for, because, admittedly, I was feeling a little spooked. It felt like something was waiting in the dark. The moonlight was so thin; it only helped the tree branches to cast shadows like grasping claws across the room, chaotic and tangled and absolutely unnerving when the wind rustled through them. I always thought those shadows would be all too happy to catch me as a kid. But it was light now, and the house was aglow with every switch I’d left on in my wake. It was practically cozy. I mean, minus the hallway right outside my room. 

I let myself wander the room for a little bit, finding my old left-behind marks before I called it a night, fetched my bags, and decided to crash on the least destroyed of the old couches. There was a lot of work to be done, and I sure wasn’t doing it tonight. 

It was maybe something like five days before something happened.

Just long enough for me to spend some time in nostalgic reminiscence before moving on to the simple fact that the house needed cleaning out, and I realized I didn’t have any of the keys for the locked rooms. I had the front and back door keys, of course, but anything on the interior was just… gone. I had some suspicions about that. 

The house keys had been given, at first, to my aunt - my grandfather’s sister - who had a very good relationship with a certain childish, spiteful little man who had made no secret how irritated he was at being skipped over on something he’d already regarded as his own. It seemed like just the kind of thing he’d do; make sure the legal keys were handed over, and then sneer at the idea he’d do something as petty as taking the ones for all the interior doors. I didn’t doubt that he still had them, but I can be petty too, and I had no desire to call him up and plead or whatever he’d want from me. 

Sooo, I, uh. Pulled up a video and found some of my grandmother’s hair pins in a bathroom drawer and picked the locks. They were all old and I mean, I’d be replacing them anyway, so I maybe busted a couple. Which included the real kicker; the door to my grandfather’s gun room. It was a lot darker than I thought it’d be when I first stepped inside and fumbled at the wall, shocked at the absolute blackness - I knew it had a window in there, so it was not a place I expected to be that dark. 

Turned out, at some point, my grandfather had put blackout curtains over the window. Had stapled those curtains tight to the wall.  

The bigger surprise was that every single gun my grandfather owned was scattered on top of the wooden table tops that bordered the room. Now, this was weird. As far as I knew he hadn’t died while cleaning them and he’d always been a real stickler about gun safety. He always kept this room locked, for one, and those guns were always, always kept inside the safe. One of those enormous things; so big and heavy he’d had to have the floor reinforced to put it upstairs, and the front of it emblazoned around the massive combination lock in old font with warnings for gunpowder. He’d told me it was so nobody decided to try and blast the thing open. 

But now, each and every one was strewn around, like he’d pulled them all out in a hurry. 

And the safe was locked. 

I’m wasn’t sure if it was worse that it was locked or not, on first sight. I mean, if it had been open, that would have kind of fit with the idea that maybe he had died up there while admiring his collection. Admiring it in, uh. A haphazard mess. But it being locked implied that there was still something inside the safe. And I had… no idea what it would be. Logical brain said, very helpfully, that it was probably just more guns. Maybe he’d just gotten a lot more than would ever fit in the safe when he got older, and what with his wife gone and him being the only one in the house just. Threw safety to the winds and figured a single locked door was enough. 

So why were his guns, some of his favorite things, strewn around like garbage? No idea! It’s argument was, as you can see, pretty thin, but what else could have been in there? My world view still had a few minutes left in its lifespan after all. 

I headed over to the safe, wanting to give the handle a tug and check it out, when uh. When the safe growled. Low and throaty and deep, and oh, did it send a chill up my spine. And then something began scratching and clawing at the inside, again and again, with enough force that the safe shook. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said how big and heavy that thing was. You’d need serious professional movers to get the thing out with serious professional equipment, and there was something inside it snarling and scrabbling so furiously that it made the safe tremble and my blood run cold. 

I could hear its claws scraping through metal. I had the wildest, clearest thought that whatever was in there - evidently alive and well after being locked inside a safe for over a month - it could absolutely get out if it just kept it up. 

So why hadn’t it tried to get out before? 

The light flickered. 

And I backed up, reached out, and turned off the light. 

The growling stopped almost immediately. 

Well, as you may imagine, I handled this like any adult would. I shut the door, wedged a chair I dragged out of my old room under the regrettably busted handle, went downstairs and had a truly awful gin and tonic. 

I did not like gin and tonic and I still do not. I like it less now, actually. 

But a couple large gin and tonics in, I came up with a plan. 

I would ignore it. Ta da~ 

It would be someone else’s problem. I would get a very nice lock. I would take out the light. Hell, maybe I could just take out the door entirely and wall it up and make an incredibly cursed forgotten room. I rather liked that idea. I told it to the door when I went back upstairs I think. 

I need you to understand that I was… very, very drunk at that point. A drunk person is never a great measure of their own level of drunk, but from what I remember… yeah, I was smashed. 

I left the locked and makeshift barricaded door alone and staggered back to my room and slept it off and then continued on with my peerless plan of Just Ignore It™.

I never bothered to examine any implications of my grandfather leaving me a safe with some kind of creature locked inside it, because I had other things to do. There were some nights where I would pull out that gin and drink again, though. The room and the safe were both quiet as long as I didn’t turn on any lights in the hall, so I started… I mean, humans are very adaptable, so I started drinking outside that room. I sat in the chair, actually. 

As long as it was dark, it didn’t care, so it was fine. And when it growled, faint and rumbling, when I turned on a flashlight, I turned it into something of a game? 

It was fine with candlelight. It only grumbled at that. So, as you do, I sat there with my candle and my gin and rambled at it. At some point it occurred to me that the growling sounded like a very large dog, so I started… Talking to it in that baby voice you use with pets. Making shadow puppets at it. It would growl and I would laugh and make my little shadow puppet dog bark and growl back. 

I’m not saying this was a smart thing to do. Or maybe it was. As far as I knew, it was locked up nice and tight. It even stopped growling as much after a while. It sounded more… curious than anything? Confused why this drunk dumbass hadn’t left screaming yet? I’m pretty sure it would have actually stayed fine and my bricking it up plan was actually good, but, well. Some people can’t leave well enough alone. 

I went out one afternoon. I had things to take to the dump, which was a bit of a drive, and on the way back I decided to grab some Mexican food from this restaurant down the street, so I got back well after dark, only to see the front door hanging open and an awful lot of dark, splashing stains leading off through the gravel walk and up to the street. They were smeared. Like something had thrashed desperately in the grass as it fled. 

This was not what I had in mind when I got my bag of tamales to go.  

I was tired, cranky, and my house was probably a… A what? A murder scene? Attempted murder scene?   

I’d just about dialed 911 to share my now very bad night with someone else when I thought of… upstairs. Of the door I’d not bothered fixing the lock to, and all the guns I’d never bothered moving. Of the safe I didn’t have the key or the combination to, but someone else did. I went very still. 

I turned back to the grass and raised my phone. The flashlight blazed white-bright in the dark, making all-too-clear the dark, dark red on the grass. And the single, familiar pistol that gleamed, smeared in blood, dropped just off the gravel. Of bullet holes I spotted, peppering the old, wooden beams that framed the porch. 

Of a dark, ink-black stain without a single hint of red that oozed across the landing tiles. 

And a growl that rose in instant, murderous fury. 

The light on my phone died. Flicked out like a snuffed candle and everything went black. It shouldn’t have been that dark. The moon was out. The neighbor’s houses were only a yard away. But in that moment, it was all gone. All that was left was a sea of pitch-dark shadow, so dark your eyes start fooling you. Because there must have been something to see. 

I could hear it. 

The growing, low snarl. The click of claws on cement. The crunch of footsteps stalking across gravel. 

I know I didn’t see it, but my eyes… invented something for me to see. 

A hound. Long and lanky, with sharp, pricked ears. 

Like the ones I made puppets of on the wall. 

It… hurt to look at. Its shape blurred at the edges, impossibly blacker-black than the void around it, and I knew what I was seeing was useless, so I. Closed my eyes. 

Its heavy, panting growls came closer and closer. I was honestly terrified. I’d been shoving back how scared I was of this thing while I joked about sealing it up behind a little devil door or a brick wall through a haze of alcohol, and I hadn’t let myself consider what would happen if it did get out. 

I felt its cold, cold breath on my hands. Like ice. Like a. A pressure that wrapped around me as I stood there, my eyes shut tight against the dark. And then it. It burned. I couldn’t move, couldn’t pull away as my arm burst into absolute agony, like a million needles sinking into the flesh and burrowing beneath it. As that ice cold held me absolutely still, fixed in place as well as a bug with a pin, and sank horrid, frigid fangs into me, again and again, until it felt like every bone in my body was freezing inside me, until the pain rose so high that I couldn’t think of anything else.

A-And then it was gone. I crumpled to the ground, my breath frosty on my lips, and I just lay there, shivering. 

It took me a while to realize I could see again. To realize there were stars and a moon in the cloud-streaked summer sky above and neighboring porch lights and their wreaths of moths. That I should feel warmth coming back. But… it didn’t. It was all gone. And then I felt myself move. It wasn’t me moving. And it wasn’t like someone pulled any strings. It was like. Like I felt that cold touch on me, sliding over my skin, and my body moved with it. 

And as I stood, I happened to catch a glimpse of my shadow. 

It wasn’t mine anymore. 

My shadow had become that thing. And all I could do was watch as it puppeted me back inside, my steps in time with its own. 

Do you want to know the craziest thing about this? I mean, aside from the fact that my shadow is a monster now that takes my body on joyrides. That there’s a goddamn cult in my grandfather’s hometown, and they were so, so happy to see me when my shadow dragged me to meet them. 

That night? It took me inside. It brought me up to the chair in front of its room. The door was open, the safe yawning wide. Guns littered the stairs and bullet holes peppered the walls. 

It sat me in that chair and lit the candle, and made shadow puppets with my hands. 

Eagles, rabbits. And a pair of dogs. 

A small one and a big one. Running around until it brought them together, and they merged into one. 

#tma advent project #crowswritings #still and lightless beast's friendly cousin named Licorice

[quindolyn]

General Relationship Headcanons || James Potter

Request: “Please can you do a general relationship for james potter? xx” -anon

Word Count: 5,835

Notes: This is kinda slow burn, I’m a little sorry. The ones I did for Remus and Sirius were not canon so this won’t be either which is a little easier because no Jily. These keep on getting longer and longer, but part of that is because Jamie is definitely my favorite marauder.

Warnings: Smut, angst, lots of fluff, dom and sub James, momma’s boy Jamie

Masterlist

You were something special

James had known that since he was 4 years old

It just took him a long time to realize exactly how special you really were

James Potter was an idiot

That would become increasingly apparent to him as he grew up

Your family and the Potters were great friends for as long as any of you could remember, meaning that you and James were practically attached at the hip

And who could blame you? He has such nice hips 

The both of you are heart broken when he leaves for Hogwarts leaving you behind because you wouldn’t start until the following year.

All throughout his first year you guys write back and forth sharing every single detail of your respective days, down to the color of the plate you ate your lunch on

You can’t help but feel envious

There’s your best friend in the entire world, in fucking Scotland

Making new best friends

When the next year rolls around and you get to finally join James on the Hogwarts Express you want to hate Sirius and Remus

You really do

But how can you? They’re Remus and Sirius 

You guys spend the entirety of the train ride laughing and talking and the other two boys tell you embarrassing stories from the year prior about James

When they hear your nicknames for him (Jamsie, Jamie, J), they make fun of him relentlessly

He calls you an assortment of cheesy nicknames too but his favorites, before you guys get together, are “Sweetheart”, “Sunshine”, and “love”

If you get sorted into Gryffindor James screams his head off for you, making room for you to sit next to him at the table in the Great Hall, opposite Sirius and Remus.

If you’re in a different house then James gets sad, really sad, like that night he cries into his pillow and Sirius has to climb into bed with him to give him hugs and tell him that its okay even if the two of you are in different houses. That doesn’t have to affect your friendship if you don’t let it.

The next day James would find you before you got to the Great Hall and engulf you in a hug in the middle of the corridor, not caring that there were people streaming past the two of you in either direction. 

“We’re gonna be friends forever right (Y/N/N)?”

“I hope so Jamie.”

Even though you’re in different classes and potentially different houses you guys are around each other all of the time

You sit with him and the other boys at their place at the Gryffindor table

They sit with you in the library

And by the end of your first year you’re having sleepovers in their dorm

You sleep in James’ bed of course and Remus and Sirius do. Not. hesitate. To mock you relentlessly

“You and your girlfriend getting comfy over there Jamie?”

“Go to hell Siri, let me cuddle James in peace!” 

These jokes continue through your years at Hogwarts and you and James take them in jest

As you guys get older the physical affection you share never dwindles

After someone made a crude comment in the hallway about the two of you he talked to you making sure that you were okay with the arms he would throw over your shoulders, the arms wrapped around you waist, the kisses to your forehead before he left the Great Hall for class, holding you in his arms in the Gryffindor common room as the two of you drifted to sleep.

You assure him that its okay, that its not weird because you guys have been best friends since forever and that you love how affectionate you are with each other

You don’t start to realize you feelings for James until he starts pining after Lily, you don’t know what you have until its gone, right?

Watching him stare at her in the Great Hall

Writing her little notes that even though he’ll go up and ask her out in front of everyone, which you’re not too fond of either, he’s too shy to actually give her

Listening to him go on and on about her, her hair, the cadence of her voice, the beautiful color of her eyes, how intelligent she is, and on and on

Sirius picks up on this instantly

And he does not hesitate to make fun of you for it all the time, obviously not enough for James to pick up on it because he’s a prick not a complete asshole, but still enough to make you blush uncontrollably

You can’t say anything to him though because he’s your James and there’s absolutely no way that he returns your feelings, you’re like a little sister to him

So, much to Sirius’ chagrin, you swallow your feelings and sit there by James, trying to listen to Remus as he tries to explain to you your Charms homework while James watches Lily on the other side of the Common Room laughing with Dorcas and Marlene

And a little piece of your soul dies

The summer between your third and fourth year, his fourth and fifth, you were excited to finally have your Jamsie back to yourself again.

It went without saying that the two of you would alternate between each other’s houses over the summer

There would be no Lily Evans to distract him

No exams to stress over 

Just you and James at the Potter estate, exploring the woods that, in all honesty, didn’t change all that much from summer to summer, and swimming in the bioluminescent pond on the edge of the Potter property, simply floating next to each other on your backs, one of his hands grasping your forearm, making sure you didn’t float too far away from him

But apparently this year it didn’t go without saying.

Instead, a mere month before the end of the term, James regretfully tells you that he and his family are going to Spain for the summer to be with his aunt who lives there and he really wants to take you but its the entire summer and his parents nixed it

“I’m so sorry sunshine, I really want to take you but-”

“It’s okay Jamie, I get it if you could you’d take me, but you can’t so its fine. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

And you can tell that he’s genuinely upset about it but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt any less when you hug him goodbye at King’s Cross knowing that unlike years prior you weren’t going to see him in a few days.

You spend a good chunk of the summer wallowing, not necessarily because your crush isn’t there with you but because your best friend isn’t

James writes you every day just like he did during his first year at Hogwarts but its not the same because you can’t see him

You can’t hold onto his arm when you’re tired and set your head on his shoulder

So when September 1st rolls around and you finally get to see him again you’re down right giddy

But on Platform 9 ¾ you’re looking for a wiry, lanky boy, with a nose a little too big for his face, and a squeaky little voice

Not the 6 foot man who approaches you, with broad shoulders and budding facial hair along his jawline.

“Sunshine!”

Oh holy shit

His voice

He no longer sounds like a dog toy, a very cute dog toy but still

You must admit that you’re a fan of the change, as the word leaves his lips you imagine resting your head on his chest and feeling the vibrations as he spoke with whomever

Its not a single day that you’re back at Hogwarts before James is fawning all over Lily again and you’ve had enough of it

You’re not going to let yourself to keep on pining after a boy who doesn’t love you

Not even doesn’t love you

But loves someone else

Sirius finds you a couple weeks into the school year, sitting with your back against a wall in an empty corridor trying to hold in your tears.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“I-I can’t believe I let myself fall for him. I’m an idiot Si!”

Sirius holds you in that hallway, rocking you back and forth while he murmurs to you that James is the idiot, not you, and that you deserve so much more than him

He helps you concoct a plan to get over James, he pitches to you going out on a date with someone else

Doesn’t have to be anything all that serious, just something to get your mind off James and remind you how hot you are, and how many people are lining up for you to give them so much as a moment of your time.

It doesn’t take too much on Sirius’ part to get you to agree to let him set you up

His name was Sullivan, he was in your year, a year younger than Sirius, with sandy blonde hair and chocolate brown eyes 

Sully, as he insisted you call him, took you for a butter beer at the Three Broomsticks

You had a good time, Sully was smart, and attractive, and you and he shared similar interests 

And all though he was lovely, and he insisted you were too, the both of you agreed that you would be better off as friends

You spent more time with him in the following weeks and less with James, Sirius, and Remus

The latter two were very happy that you were trying to move on because watching you stare at James was a little sad

James is confused, and hurt, and jealous

Though he adamantly refuses to admit that last one

Instead he just watches you. All. Of. The. Time.

To the point where if it wasn’t James it would be disturbing

And even though it is him it gets touch concerning

Sometimes before you go and sit with the Marauders at their spot in the Great Hall you’ll stop by where Sullivan sits with his friends and give him a smile, talk for a few minutes before hugging each other and walking away

It made James’ blood boil

Who did this kid think he was, you were his best friend he didn’t get to just waltz in and take you, or Godric forbid date you

One day you’re sitting outside with the boys when you see Sullivan on the other side of the court yard, excusing yourself you walk up to him and chat for a couple minutes before Sullivan’s face goes pale and there’s a shadow looming over you.

James throws an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side while extending his hand to Sully

“Hi, I’m James, (Y/N/N)’s best friend.”

James is standing there with you guys maybe 2 minutes, being the most passive aggressive petty person he could possibly be, dropping not so subtle hints about his distaste for Sully before he’s tugging you back to the tree where Siri and Remmy still are, their hands resting dangerously close to each other’s 

“What the fuck James!”

He plays dumb because if there’s one thing James Potter is good at its being an idiot, but eventually he relents

“I just don’t like the way he looks at you, it's like he’s trying to get into your pants!”

You start cackling

Borderline manically

“You’ve got to be kidding me James we’re just friends!”

Sirius being the eternally helpful human being he was added in his two cents, “Maybe you’re projecting Potter!”

And the laughing stops

James goes beet red, you feel all the blood drain from your face before collecting yourself and murmuring a quick apology before racing off for the castle 

You and James don’t talk for 2 days

It's the longest either of you have gone without some form of communication

You’re both so embarrased and you don’t want to hear James tell you that he doesn’t actually like you and that it was just Sirius being an asshole

Of course he would say this to make you comfortable but that’s not what it would do

It would crush you

You don’t have classes together so it's easy to ignore him there, and if you’re in separate houses it's even easier

Meals

Now that’s a different story

You can’t just eat somewhere else and the prospect of facing James after what Sirius said has you running for the nearest toilet

So you scrounge up what you can in the kitchen after meals

It kills James that he’s only seen you on the other side of the courtyard or disappearing behind corridors 

You’re supposed to be his Sunshine, he can’t stand that you’re hiding from him, he misses you so much

And at first he’s a little angry when you don’t sit with them at meals, but after scanning the Great Hall, he realizes you’re not there

His stomach drops, have you not been eating?

So dinner the second night he collects a plate for you with all of your favorite things and determinedly sets off for your dorm, balancing a plate in one hand and a glass of pumpkin juice in the other

He has to knock on your door with his foot

“Jamie, what’re you doing here.”

He gently pushes past you letting himself into your room to set the plate and glass on your desk

“You haven’t been eating.”

And despite yourself your heart flutters, because he’s right you haven’t been eating as much as you should’ve not wanting to get caught in the kitchens you only swiped what you could easily get your hands on

But then you have to remember, it's because you’re basically his little sister, not because he reciprocates your feelings

“I’ve missed you Sunshine.”

And you lose it

“Stop! Stop it Jamie I can’t take it anymore, you can’t keep calling me Sunshine and Sweetheart and Love and cuddle with me on the couch and then turn around and declare your undying love for Lily fucking Evans. I can’t do it anymore! I like you, differently than you like me and I can’t do this anymore!”

Poor Jamsie has never felt like more of an absolute asshole

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t revel just a little bit in the look on his face, didn’t feel a little triumph that maybe he felt even a fraction as bad as you did.

He’s an idiot and he realizes it

You’re both very quiet for a minute before he walks up to you so that you’re a mere inch from him before he gulps and leans down to press his lips to yours

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yes you are.”

“But I’m your idiot, right?”

“Always Jamsie.”

It's not as though much changes between the two of you on the surface once you’re together

You’re a bit more touchy feely with each other, kisses usually pressed to foreheads or temples often find themselves brushing at the other’s lips

He holds your hand a lot more freely now and more often than not it will end up clasping your thigh under the table in the Great Hall, or after having pushed your chairs together in the library so they touched

When you curl up together in the Gryffindor common room his hands find their way under your shirt, lightly tracing the skin of your stomach, pressing kisses to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder

His arsenal of nicknames expands impressively

Angel, darling, beautiful, gorgeous, poppet, pretty girl, mine

And he’ll add the occasional my before the word “love”

You already slept over in their dorm room every other night before you and James got together but now it's more of a nightly occurrence

Especially the day before a Quidditch match, James insists that he sleeps with his lucky charm, says you keep him calm

You cheer the hardest for James at his matches, bar maybe Sirius

Even if you’re in a different house you sit with Siri and Remus in the Gryffindor stands and get all decked out in red and gold

Now that you’re his he has no problem with Sullivan, he trusts you and by extension he trusts the people you trust

You’re touched one day, early on into your relationship, when Lily comes up to you in the Great Hall and tells you that you didn’t have to tell James to tell her that he was sorry for being a prick and not taking no for an answer.

You don’t tell her this but you didn’t ask him to do anything

James is just a good person

He also has an abundance of money and little impulse control

He’ll buy you literally anything he sees that reminds him of you, or if he remembers you bringing up that you wanted or needed it

He likes buying you jewelry because you can wear it more often than you could say the same dress or blouse

That’s not to say that he doesn’t buy you clothes too, he has all of your sizes memorized and knows whether you wear normal/petite/tall

James Potter will buy you pads/tampons/whatever product you use

He’s a man not a little boy and he doesn’t give a flying fuck if someone makes fun of him for it

One day Lucius calls him out for it and Jamie is just not having it 

“You have no clue where the clit is or what to do with it do you Malfoy?”

He’s always helped you through your periods so now that you’re together he’s just more liberal with his touch because he knows how much you love it

He knows how to do basic hairstyles and such because he watched his mom when he was a little boy and watch your mom do your hair too

If your hair requires special treatments and hairstyles he will write to your mom, asking for her to teach you because he loves your hair and wants to be able to help you, like imagine sitting in his bed while he puts braids in your hair following the instructions your mom sent him

Speaking of families when he tells Euphemia you two are together (which he does as soon as he leaves your dorm that night) she literally screams

Fleamont was worried that she was being attacked

But the next day at breakfast you get a letter from Euphemia stained with dried tear drops as she poured her heart out to you, telling you how much she loved you and that if her son ever broke your heart you were to go to her immediately and she would deal with him for you 

The year you finally become boyfriend and girlfriend is the year you all become animaguses 

James tries to argue with you, insisting that you shouldn’t do it because it's dangerous and he doesn’t want you getting hurt

Your rebuttal is that isn’t it just as dangerous for him? And if you’re not doing it neither is he and that leaves Sirius which just wouldn’t end well 

He’s so proud of you when you transform for the first time, he gets so distracted watching you that he forgets where he is for a moment

That summer, unlike the one previous, you and James spend all of your time together 

You spend the entirety of the holiday at the Potter estate doing all the things that you and Jamie used to do when you were younger, only this time its better

Instead of being childhood friends you’re each other’s 

You can kiss him, and hold his hand, and he can lift up your hair to kiss the back of your neck

Euphemia lets you guys sleep in the same bed but before that she sits the two of you down and gives you the talk

“Now (Y/N), I don’t know if your parents have ever discussed this with you but if you two are going to be sharing a bed I think it's important we go over it.”

There’s so much blushing and whining from James

“Muuuummmm.”

One night you guys are lying on the floor of his bedroom wearing the absolute bare minimum because it was so hot and humid out when you pitched the idea of going skinny dipping

James is hesitant at first because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

But you insist that you’re fine and point out to him that it was you idea not his

Being the gentleman he is when you strip by the lake he looks away making you laugh

When you turn him to look at you his jaw drops

You’re even more gorgeous than he could’ve ever imagined

It's dark out but the light from the lake allows you to drink in your figure

He blushes so much you’d think that he was the one naked

 When he does strip too he grabs you and jumps into the water, you guys are all over each other, running your hands up and down his chest, his hands are supporting your bum while your legs wrap around his waist

You have sex that night, for the first time, he was very gentle with you and holds your hand when he breaks you hymen and if you cry he kisses away your tears

“Do you wanna stop baby? Does it hurt too much? We can stop.”

James is one of two things depending on your preference

We have soft dom!James and sub!James

I personally appreciate a healthy mix of both 

Starting with soft dom!James, he would be so gentle with you 

Also very firm though, if you broke any of his rules he would not hesitate to punish you

He’s a thigh man through and through

Doesn’t matter if we’re talking dom or sub, the man lives for your thighs

Which makes his favorite form of punishment laying you across his lap to spank you, but most of the time his blows land on more of your thighs than they do your bum

He makes you count as he spanks you too and after every blow you have to thank him

“One! Thank you Daddy!”

And if you ever call him James instead of Daddy during sex he’ll stick his fingers in your mouth and make you choke on them, kissing away the tears that fall from your eyes, “S’okay baby, you’re okay. Can you do this for me? Can you take my fingers like the good girl I know you are?”

He loves taking you up against a wall, especially in the locker rooms after a Quidditch match

Shower sex is one of his favorites, thinks you look absolutely gorgeous, soaking wet and moaning for him, not to mention he get’s to fuck you up against the wall

This is the point in the headcanon where I urge you all to go read the blurbs by @randomoutsiders​ where Remus and Sirius teach James how to brat tame you, she captures his essence perfectly

He loves to blindfold you, he likes the little jump he gets out of you when he touches you

He gives you the most condescending mocking smiles

What comes to mind is the first time he makes you squirt, he’s so proud of both himself and you

“Good girl, look at that, look at how much of a mess you made for me angel. So pretty, good job.”

He then proceeds to lick the mess you just made off of you 

He loves buying you lingerie

He likes it in a deep red and black

Loves ripping it off of you, absolutely adores it 

After care with him would be so soft and sweet, he loves taking baths with you so he can clean you up and kiss all the places he left bruises while he murmurs to you about what a good girl you were and how proud he is of you

One night he tells you that if Godric forbid the two of you ever split up and you’re with someone else that after care is necessary and that you’re precious and deserved to be treated as such 

He treats you like a goddess 

Sub!James is just as precious

He’s also my current obsession so stick with me here

He’s just so eager to please, always wanting to make you feel good and not even caring all that much if he gets off himself

Just so centered around making you feel good

He calls you “Mommy” and I will not be accepting criticism

I feel like “Mistress” is too impersonal if that makes much sense

The former is just so intimate and James wears his heart out on his sleeve 

James is rarely if ever a brat, usually when he’s disappointed in himself and he takes it out on you and you have to remind him how to be a good boy

And the rest of the time when he breaks a rule it's completely on accident and he’ll come to you and tell you about it to apologize

He feels so guilty, like he’s failed you

Especially if he touches himself without your permission, it's almost enough to keep him from doing it but he’s still a horny teenaged boy and can’t help himself sometimes

Most of the time though you’ll end up with a horny James knocking on your dorm door begging you to help him 

He prefers giving you head than you giving him head

That’s not to say that the visual of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth isn’t appealing, it most certainly is 

He just loves that he can make you feel that good with just his tongue

James also loves how you taste, tells you it’s better than candy

Which makes you smile like an idiot

Will finger you under the table in the library if you ask him to, it's not like he was paying that much attention to his homework in the first place, and even if he had been you are without a doubt more important

Loves it when you ride him

Absolutely adores it, he loves the way your tits bounce which is why he prefers cowgirl to reverse cowgirl because he can keep his hands on your tits and on your thighs

He asks you for a cock ring, loves that you get to decide when he gets to cum 

Extra points if its a vibrating one

With his consent of course, you tie him up and make him watch while Sirius and Remus fuck the living day lights out of you, barely paying him any mind while you scream for the cocks of his two best friends 

He likes being tied up in general allowed to look and only look

The first time you peg him he almost cries it feels so good

And you take his sniffling as a sign he doesn’t like it and that he’s hurt, he has to explain to you that that is not it and “You make me feel so good Mommy.”

His whimpers and moans are the most precious things and he’s very vocal

Screaming your name and begging you to cum

He is not shy to beg you 

To cum

To make you cum

To get to so much as look at you

Baby boy has absolutely no shame 

I especially like sub!James because he’s such a cocky asshole 90% of the time but he’s also the kindest, most considerate soul and he spends so much of his life helping others that sometimes he just wants you to be in control

Regardless of sub or dom James you were making out on his couch that summer, your hands in his hair, his fumbling with the clasp on your bra when there was a pounding at his front door

He makes you stay where you are because he doesn’t want you to get hurt but its just Sirius

Well not just Sirius

He was bloodied and broken and looked like he’d been to hell and back

When he told the two of you what happened, how he’d been disowned and had nowhere else to go, while Euphemia tended to his wounds James engulfed him into the biggest hug and they just sit there, Sirius crying into James’ chest while James ran his hands up and down Sirius’ back whispering to him about how it was going to be alright that he was safe, that no one was ever going to hurt him again.

About 2 or so hours after you’d all retired for the night, you and James snuggled together in his bed you awoke when the door to his room creaked open

There was Sirius, with tears streaming down his face, his bottom lip wobbling

After untangling yourself from James you walked over to him, taking his hand in yours and leading him over to the bed

“James, scooch over.”

“Huh?”

“Scooch!”

When he opens his eyes and sees his Sirius standing there, bashfully ducking his head he quickly moves over and you and Sirius settle into the bed with him in the middle

You and James pet his hair hold his hands while you tell him how much the both of you love him and how you’re never going to let anything bad happen to him again

You fall asleep that night with James spooning Sirius from the back and you with your body curled into Sirius’s front, his head resting on your chest

When you go back to Hogwarts you often end up in this position in their dorm room only add Remus into the mix

You’re a year behind all of them at school meaning that when they graduate you’re still stuck their for a whole nother year without any of them

And it nearly kills all of you

You and James most, though you write to each other every day it's still not the same as him actually being there with you

When you get particularly desperate to see him he apparates to Hogsmeade where he becomes Prongs and meets you in the Forbidden Forest where you basically just spend the entire time holding each other and telling the other how much you love them

He cries at your graduation, full on blubbers 

“That’s my girl!”

Insists that you look better in your graduation cap than anyone else

Doesn’t relent when you tell him how ridiculous that is

You guys move in together as soon as you graduate, it’s barely even a discussion because you guys can always tell what the other is thinking

“Hey babe, do you wanna-”

“Yeah Jamie, when you wanna go look at apartments?”

He loves going shopping for your apartment, he has so much fun looking at color swatches and different fabrics

He insists that you guys decorate at least part of the apartment in Gryffindor colors

Wolfstar lives down the street from you guys and you have biweekly coffee dates together at a little coffee shop in between your two houses.

After a year or so you realise that you and James still aren’t married, and you get very self conscious

Does he not want to spend the rest of his life with you?

Does he not love you as much as you love him?

It completely eats you up

And James can tell that something’s up

When he asks you you confess your worries to him and his heart breaks

He never wanted to make you feel like he didn’t love you

Because of course he loved you

You were his everything, you were his Sunshine

After telling you all of this he goes rummaging through his drawers looking for something

That’s how you find him when you wake up to him accidentally dropping something results in a loud bang

“Jamie? Are you okay?”

When you find him he’s standing bashfully, blushing with his head down, his hands holding something behind his back

“James?”

And that’s when he gets down on one knee and pulls the small velvet box from behind his back

“This isn’t how I wanted to do it darling, but I spend every single day  thinking about you, you’re the first thing I think of in the morning and I fall asleep with you in my arms thinking about how much I love you and how I don’t know if I could live my life without you. I’m so sorry if I’ve ever made you feel differently, I can’t believe I was enough of an idiot to ever hurt you, in any way. Even though I most certainly don’t deserve you, would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man alive and marrying me?”

Euphemia plans your wedding with the help of Sirius

They go all out

There may or may not be a life size ice sculpture of you and James per Sirius' request

Married life is absolute bliss for the two of you

You wake up every morning with that ring on your bedside table (do people sleep in their engagement rings and wedding bands? I’m a child of divorce whose parents are both children of divorce, true love is a foreign concept) to remind you of the beautiful man beside you

Both sub and dom James go absolutely wild on your wedding night, he can’t believe your Mrs. Potter, that your his

Its that night that you pregnant

Though you don’t know it for almost 2 months 

James is the best husband 

He carries you everywhere, even when you’re not showing 

And he can because fuck that man is strong

He’ll carry you upstairs at night and down them in the morning and to the sofa 

You can only move by yourself when he’s not looking 

James is really good at puzzles and putting things together so it takes him less than 2 hours to put all the furniture together for the nursery 

Which he insists you paint yellow, the color of sunshine

One of the first things he buys is a little Gryffindor onesie for your baby

When he comes James has him in it all of the time

When you go into labor he’s very calm and collected

Euphemia is there to help the both of you because that’s the person he first called when you had your first contraction 

He holds your hand the entire time, kissing you, and coaching you along, telling you how good you’re doing, how proud he is of you

He cries when he first sees his son, he’s so beautiful 

Even though he’s basically the spitting image of James, Jamie swears that he looks so much like you

Once the doctors and nurses leave the room he climbs into bed beside you, throwing and arm over your shoulder as you cradle your little boy in your arms

“He’s beautiful Jamie.”

“Just like his mother.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts​ @kittykylax

#harry potter headcanon #harry potter headcanons #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #marauders headcanons #maruders smut #marauders fluff #marauders x reader #marauders angst #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter headcanon #james potter fluff #james potter angst #james potter smut

[notchesandbullets]

She’s Mine (Protective!Bakugou x Punk!Tattooed!Reader) feat. Erasermic

Warnings: racism, implied homophobia (not by anyone in the main cast), sexism, discrimination/discriminatory behavior, Modern!AU, Aged-Up!AU, features Bakugou’s parents, Erasermic, Kota, Eri, Mahoro, Katsuma and all of Class A defending you when insults start to fly.

Synopsis: This is not the first time you’re seeing Bakugou’s family but it is the first time you’re meeting his grandmother, who is not the best company to be around. He comes to your defense after you stand up for yourself and he had no qualms about sticking his face in the old hag’s because he’d be damned if he lets anyone talk to you like that. You’re his.

Words: 3.2k

“Y/N’s here!!!” Mitsuki called over her shoulder as she threw the front door wide open before you could even ring the doorbell.

Her son had texted her that you two were on their way and she was eager to see you. With the job and your relationship with her son, you two were busy bees and didn’t come around as often anymore. 

Which is why she insisted that her stubborn son at least come around for his birthday since it only happened one day out of the year. Then he could continue doing whatever it was that he was doing. 

Luckily, you were on her side and helped convince him to go just this once.

You laughed at the pitter-patter of tiny feet scampering across the cherry hardwood before dropping everything to catch the little kid that tunneled into your legs. 

“Y/N!!! You’re back!!!”

Eri’s ruby red eyes sparkled with joy as she clung to your legs.

“I missed you!!!” She shouted excitedly, hugging your knees tight.

You giggled, resting a hand on top of her head. “I missed you too, munchkin.”

Bakugou snorted behind you and you were reminded of his presence. “Oi, brat. Are you going to let us in or what?”

Eri stuck her tongue out at him childishly before dashing back inside, a trick she learned from her big brother Izuku, doubling back to grab your hand and hauled you inside with her. You casted a glance over your shoulder at your boyfriend but he shrugged, giving you the go-ahead.

He would catch up to you two troublemakers later. Besides, he knew you would want to see all the kids first. 

Kota, an orphan whose extended family gave him up for adoption, along with the siblings, Mahoro and Katsuma, were all under Aizawa’s guardianship.

After he adopted Eri, it sort of just snowballed until he was in too deep. He told Mic repeatedly that it wasn’t his fault that he had a soft spot for orphans.

His husband had merely shook his head with a laugh and hoisted Katsuma up higher so that he could reach the cupcakes they were going to sneak behind his back before dinner.

Mitsuki closed the door behind him as her son kicked off his shoes. 

“She gets that from me.” She said proudly as she gazed lovingly at Eri. She loved having her around the house. 

Since Aizawa and Mic lived relatively close, they came over often since she was feeling rather lonely with an empty nest.

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

His mother glared at him for his language but didn’t reprimand him like she normally would and his eyes turned into hateful slits.

“Don’t tell me—” He started, gritting his teeth.

“They’re here.” She said with a heavy sigh.

Bakugou cursed vehemently under his breath, his brow furrowing deeply as he fought to control himself. He was banking on them not making an appearance today. 

His grandparents on his dad’s side, though he adored his grandad and thought the world of him, he absolutely could not stand his grandmother. 

She was racist, sexist, had limited views on literally everything and would raise hell if she didn’t get her way and she was a huge pain in his ass.

Even his own mother couldn’t stand her and that was saying something because she tolerated everyone to some degree, despite her odd love language when it came to him. 

They were both shit at communicating but it had gotten better as he got older. 

Now, the worst things that happened were spats here and there when they disagreed but his mother was usually good about backing off if she felt he could make the right decision for himself, which wasn’t often but it was better than none. 

Bakugou strolled inside and his eyes softened for a second when he saw you playing with Mahoro, Kota sitting on your lap as Eri was climbing all over Midoriya. You four were currently playing Monopoly and Eri exclaiming in shock as she realized she was losing since the devious Kota was slowly claiming more and more property.

“Haha!!” He cackled, rubbing his hands together evilly. “You landed on the purple one!!”

“No fair!!” Eri protested. “I don’t have enough money!!!”

“Too bad!!”

“Deku-niichan.” Eri cried, her eyes watering and you nearly fell over laughing as he frantically tried to get her to stop crying. 

The rest of his old class from college was already here, as per his mother’s request and Kirishima’s invitation.

Shinsou, Tsuyu, Todoroki and Iida were all near the food, the previous class rep serving drinks even though it wasn’t his job to play host. 

Tokoyami was currently engaged in a conversation with his dad and as Bakugou spun around the room, he realized every last one of his old classmates had shown up.

It was fucking crowded in his house. 

But the spark of joy he felt diminished the instant he saw his grandmother and he scowled, straying to your side almost protectively as her eyes burned into his back. 

This. 

This was why he didn’t fucking want her here. He didn’t want her to rain judgement upon the person who had won over his heart.

No way in hell.

Look, you weren’t fragile by any means. Your heart was filled with a healthy amount of self-esteem and you had built up your walls to protect yourself against people who had something to say about your many tattoos or piercings, yet you still were the kindest soul he had ever met. 

It was in the way you walked and interacted with people, a genuine smile always present on your features as you gave them more respect than most would give you upon first glance.

Bakugou knew you could handle yourself but you shouldn’t have to with his own fucking relatives. That shit was messed up. 

You glanced at your boyfriend out of the corner of your eye and your gaze dropped down to where his hands were clenched into fists, jaw locked tight and you sigh, softly urging Kota to get up and continue playing with Mahoro and Katsuma until you got back.

The boy grumbled but did as you asked, easily getting swept up in the competition of the game as you drifted to Bakugou’s side.

“I know that look,” You murmured into his ear, your hand covering his as you ignored the idle chatter coming from your friends and family around you. “What’s wrong?”

Bakugou clenched his teeth and debated about it for a second.

“Nothing.” He spat out eventually, choosing to deal with the old hag himself and you let him go when he stomped off, knowing that Kirishima or Kaminari would handle whatever it was that just happened if he didn’t want to talk to you about it. 

Momo greeted you warmly and a smile slipped onto your face as though it had never left. 

You hadn’t bothered to dress all that nice or different from your usual getup, feeling more comfortable in leather and all black that looked like you just came from a rock concert but you got the feeling that not everyone was feeling it as much as Jirou was when she came over to compliment you on your fashion taste.

Shoji and Koda each greeted you respectively and before you knew it, the catered dinner arrived and it was finally time to eat. The judging look you had been aware of from someone you didn’t recognize passing by as you brushed it off as unimportant and focused on helping Mitsuki set the table. 

You clapped your hands gleefully when Eri pitched in to help, complimenting her on how well of a job she did as she finished and you beamed at her when she smiled up at you.

Of course, Aizawa needed to help her since he didn’t want her to stand on a chair and lose her balance but it was easy enough to lift her up. She wasn’t that big yet. 

He had already told Mic he was dreading the day when she would grow up and have to leave home to start her own life and his husband patted him on the back sympathetically, reassuring him that it wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

They loved their children and their children absolutely adored them. 

You had told them as such on more than one occasion since they got insecure that they weren’t adequate parents but you reassured them that they were perfectly imperfect.

They put their kids’ health, safety and happiness before everything else and did everything they could for them. 

You wished your own parents had done that for you. 

As soon as you set down the place settings for everyone and called everyone in for dinner, they flooded the huge dining table that overflowed into the living area to accommodate everyone. 

Bakugou had left for a second to grab something from his old bedroom, promising to be back right away and you reassured him that you would be fine. 

You were barely into helping Mic convince a stubborn Kota to take a spoonful of green beans onto his plate, Shinsou helping Aizawa with Mahoro’s vegetable serving, when a throat cleared itself loudly.

The lively chatter died all around the table died down as grey eyes pierced your own and you stiffened but held your ground. 

You knew that look, you had seen it too many times. 

The older woman opened her mouth and spoke.

“So, you’re my grandson’s girlfriend?” She enunciated, looking you up and down from where she was sitting at the head of the table, her hands setting down her knitting project to glare at you. “I don’t see why he’s dating you.”

The expressions of shock at her vulgar words made several of your friends angry in your defense, Iida and Todoroki trembling in anger and Mina’s eyes narrowed as she dropped her happy-go-lucky personality in favor of ripping her a new one. 

But before any of them could act, she was continuing evenly.

“For someone who doesn’t know how to dress properly and looks like that, I mean, it’s already bad enough that your skin is that color, my dear, and you’ve ruined it even further with those ugly things.” She spat, unaware of the wrath she was evoking from every single person in the room. 

Kaminari’s electric eyes glowed as he saw red. “Bad enough?” 

“Excuse me?” Shoji seethed with unparalleled anger rising up in his chest, a rare sight for the normally calm and collected man.

Jirou, Ochako and Momo were furious at the way she was talking down to you and they shared a look amongst themselves, communicating wordlessly that this wasn’t going to be allowed to get out of hand any longer.

Kirishima was visibly shaking and even the normally shy Koda was fuming in his seat, openly glaring at the elderly woman who spewed insults at you. 

A chair scraped back as Midoriya shot up but you shook your head, holding your finger up to your lips as you subtly gestured for everyone to hold back. 

Aizawa’s nostrils flared from where he was covering Eri’s ears while several of his former students took care of the rest of the kids to make sure they wouldn’t hear this.

To their horror, the grandmother wasn’t even close to being done as she pointed a gnarly finger at you.

“Your job as a girl is to stay in the kitchen and attend to your husband. To even think you’re worth anything if you weren’t involved with my grandson is absurd.” She hissed at you venously, her skewed ideals rooted deeply in her beliefs and how she was raised. “You are a disgrace to even breathe the same air as someone like me.”

“Mother!!”

Bakugou’s father frantically tried to amend what had been done and Mitsuki was about to yell at her but you stopped her. 

Everyone’s eyes turned on you as you took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I won’t apologize for being who I am.” You said quietly but firmly, failing to notice someone coming down the stairs and overhearing your steady words as they flowed from your lips like honey. 

Not tricks. Just genuine sympathy, like you didn’t even hear her say all those horrible things to you. 

It was supposed to be your boyfriend’s day and you weren’t going to ruin it for him in the same manner that she had just done. 

“I understand what you’re saying, but don’t you think that we should be allowed to love who we love?” 

You inclined your head slightly, allowing a sliver of the emotion you felt to slip onto your face as you glanced pointedly as Aizawa and Mic.

After you noticed her staring so openly at you, you also noticed that she would scowl whenever the two men would walk in the room and play with their kids and while you would take whatever she was going to throw at you, you weren’t going to tolerate the same for them.

They didn’t deserve that.

Holding up your arm, you inspected the ink running up and down the length of it. “As for my appearance, my style is my own. I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

There were a couple of snickers from Jirou, Kaminari, Sero and Mineta as you put her in his place and Todoroki leaned back in his seat, gazing up at you proudly as you stood your ground without firing any hate back at the old woman. 

Hagakure clapped her hands jubilantly as a few cheers of agreement sounded around from the table but you had one more thing to say. 

Your eyes softened. “I understand how you may feel about me, but I don’t need your acceptance. I love myself just as I am and if Katsuki ever feels differently about me and we split, then we’ll split. But please do not judge my love for him based on how you believe I should be. I am who I am and I won’t ever apologize for that.”

“And you never fucking have to.”

Bakugou strolled into the dining area, smirking at the old hag who had the nerve to look shocked at his appearance. Of course she would be so fucking disgusting to say something this horrible to you when he wasn’t within earshot. 

Bitch. 

Blood relations didn’t excuse behavior. 

Narrowing his vermilion eyes at his grandmother, he faced her head on as he took your hand into his. 

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.” He declared, tenacity and stubbornness dripping off of his tone as he snarled at his grandmother. “And if you ever speak to her like that again—”

He nodded in time to Mic and Aizawa, the men who had mentored him and taught him almost everything he knew. 

“Or either of them, including the rest of these shitheads, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The veiled threat hung in the air and you squeaked as Bakugou abruptly dragged you to the front door.

“Where are you going?!” Mitsuki cried out, worried that you both were going to leave without eating anything and she was sad to think that her mother-in-law had driven you away.

Bakugou gnashed his teeth at the confused clamour that arose from his classmates. “Out!! We’ll be back later!!”

You could hardly get a word in edgewise as he dragged you all the way out to the car after barely giving you enough time to put on your shoes.

“Katsuki!! What—”

Your bewildered protests were interrupted as he whirled around and kissed you hard. You melted into his touch as his hot palms settled on your hips, pulling you flush against him. Whining softly when he pulled away, you panted as he breathed hard against you, his exhales fanning out over your face.

You were in a daze as he led you to the car, buckling you in before he got in the driver’s seat. 

And he drove, taking a detour that would take him towards the countryside where there were no people, no places, just you and him. 

Just how he liked it. 

The painted lavenders and pale pinks of the setting sun faded to midnight black with stars twinkling high above you as you cruised around for hours before he finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” He apologized quietly and you immediately grabbed his hand that wasn’t currently occupied with steering.

“No!! You don’t have anything to apologize for—”

“Yes I do.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel a fraction as he slowly explained that if he had told you earlier about what she was capable of instead of ranting to his best friend like an idiot, maybe he could’ve—

“Katuski.”

Your soft murmur brought him back down to planet Earth and you shook your head firmly. 

“It’s not your fault.” You told him without wavering once as he brought the car to a stop just at the edge of the trail. “I don’t blame you at all.”

Bakugou slammed his hand against the steering wheel angrily. “Yes it fucking is!!!”

He ranted and he ranted about how he had come downstairs only to hear his own flesh and blood spitting those vile insults that you didn’t deserve at all. 

You didn’t deserve it at all.

You were quiet when he finished and when his chest was heaving with the spent rage he had aired out, you asked, “Feel better?”

“Like hell I do!!!” He snapped at you, about to go off again when he noticed the bemused expression on your face. “What the fuck, dumbass?”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Huh?”

“Why the hell aren’t you bothered at all?” He questioned, genuinely flabbergasted. 

Eyes clearing in understanding, you traced the back of his hand with your fingers. “Because it doesn’t bother me.”

At the sight of Bakugou opening his mouth, you hurried out, “I mean, do you really think someone like that gets to cut me down? Her words don’t mean anything to me.”

You hesitated and opened yourself a little bit, trusting him not to take advantage of your weakness because while her words stung in the moment, it was nothing your heart couldn’t come back from. But…

“If you were to say them, it would hurt a lot more, but I don’t think you would— eep!!”

You yelped as he dragged you over to his seat, yanking at the seatbelt that got in the way, but pulled you to his chest once he released the safety clip.

“Never.” He breathed against your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I would fucking never.”

You closed your eyes. “I know.”

There, in his car, you two stayed in a tight embrace under the stars until you it got late enough that you insisted you should go back and at least spend the rest of the time with your friends, which, if their sleeping schedules hadn’t changed since college, there was a good chance almost all of them would still be up.

So Bakugou drove you both back, his heart a little more at ease after he got to hold you close and be alone with you. 

That was all he wanted.

Well… He thought to himself as he unconsciously brushed his left hand over the small velvet box that had been hastily stuffed in his pocket the second he grabbed it from his room.

That and one other thing.

#bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader onshot #bakugou x reader comfort #protective bakugou #protective class 1-a #aizawa #yamada hizashi #yamada #aizawa shouta #erasermic #eri #kota #mahoro #katsuma #yaoyorozu #todoroki #tokoyami #ojiro #jirou #kaminari #kirishima #iida #deku #midoriya #modern au #bnha modern au #defensive bakugou #bakugou x reader fluff #bnhacity