#(so it hardly counts as “once or twice” 'cause I never went beyond that single puff)

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ prompt: “your complexion is scaring me, please sit down.” 

♡ pairing: marcel barthel x fem! reader

♡ lyric inspiration: “cause i’m right here, darling i’m right here. close your pretty eyes, my butterfly, baby have no fear.” 

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / 

you felt yourself getting dizzy once again, not knowing where the feelings was coming from. this was going on for the third week of you just feeling completely sick to your stomach and frankly, you had no idea why it was happening or why it hadn’t gone away yet. 

you fell back onto the chair with a thud, not feeling in any mood to get up and workout. as you took a sip of water and tried to regain your breath, you saw Fabian walking past you. you waved at him as he stopped in his tracks and saw your state of being. 

“you okay?” he asked, seeing the sweat coming down from your forehead, “just tired,” you murmured, taking another gulp of water. Fabian grabbed a chair and sat next to you knowing that Marcel would thank him later, “where’s your boyfriend?” he asked. 

pulling up your phone and saw the last text he sent you, “he’s training with Alex,” you told him, “why?” you asked. Fabian stayed silent for a moment, not knowing whether or not to confess what he was thinking, “you’ve been feeling like this for a while now, haven’t you?” you nodded, “ever think Marcel knocked you up?”

“excuse me, what?” you choked on your water at the wild thought as Fabian hit your back, “i’m just putting a thought out there. you’ve been feeling like this for a while now and i mean, my sister felt the same way you did when she got pregnant with my nephew,” he explained. 

there was no way you could’ve been pregnant with his child. you were on the pill and Marcel made sure he wore protection when you asked him too. “come on, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you murmured to him, not so sure on what to think of what he said. 

“if you aren’t sure, i can accompany you on the trip to the store,” he offered, taking his hey out of his pocket. you nodded and the two of you walked towards the parking lot, “what if I am?” you asked him quietly, “i genuinely don’t know how Marcel would take to the news.” 

Fabian could see the panic expression on your face as he started the engine. there was a store not even a minute out of the performance center and although he didn’t respond, he rubbed your shoulder in comfort, “listen, i can’t answer that question because i really don’t know how he would react either but i don’t think he’d be mad or upset about it.” 

you gave Fabian one final look before hopping out of the car and running inside of the Wal-Greens. you grabbed a few things and pretending that the pregnancy test was for a friend in case the cashier knew who you were by random chance. after she scanned you out and gave you your things, the two of you booked it back to the performance center. 

“stay right there,” you told Fabian in a threatening tone, “if I have to find out the news, you’re finding out right with me,” you added on. 

Fabian nodded as you walked into the single bathroom and locked it. the hallway you dragged Fabian too was generally a lonesome hall. hardly anyone that wasn’t custodial came down here and you knew that Marcel or anyone else wouldn’t come down here. 

after you took the test and put it back inside of the box, you walked out and timed the rest of the four minutes, “okay, we need to wait another few minutes and then i’ll find out if i become a mom or not,” you murmured, your eyes widening at the statement you made. 

you looked at Fabian with nervousness as you felt your phone ringing, “fuck, it’s Marcel,” you screamed in panic. you tossed him the phone and telling him to pick it up, “why? he’s gonna wonder why i have your phone to begin with!” he yelled back. 

Fabian, despite not wanting to answer it, picked it up, “hey Marcel,” he said as smoothly as possible, “Fabian? why do you have her phone?” he asked curiously. you yelled at him to make up a lie, “uh, she’s in the bathroom and left her phone on the table so i figured i’d picked it up considering it was you,” he said in a panic. 

Marcel’s eyes scrunched in confusion, not fully believing what he was saying. your phone rang off again, indicating that the time was up and your test would be ready with the answer. you grabbed your phone and hung it up, not bothering with Marcel at the moment. 

“ready?” he asked as he watched you fumble with the box. you gulped not, tears threatening to spill even though you had no idea what the test read. you took it out of the box slowly and grasped onto the side where the result was, not ready to read it yet, “okay, on three,” you whispered. 

Fabian counted to three and you lifted your hand up. 

positive. 

you stared to Fabian, your heart racing a mile a minute and the urge to throw up crawling up your throat. you found the nearest trash bin and threw up for a solid minute before pulling back up and seeing Fabian’s surprised expression as he held the test. 

“does that mean I’ll be the godfather or something?” he asked, trying to make a light joke. you smacked him on the shoulder, “shut the fuck up! this is not the time to make a joke, you ass! i’m pregnant with your best friends child!” you screamed. 

Fabian wanted to laugh, he really did but a part of him knew that if he did laugh, you’d probably beat his ass for it. you looked down to the Clear Blue test and sighed, not knowing whether to celebrate the news or to throw up once again. 

“Marcel’s calling you again,” Fabian informed you, seeing your phone ping up for the second time. you grabbed your phone and answered it, “hey babe,” you whispered, your voice wavering, “hey, i called you twice and Fabian picked up your phone the first time. you okay?” he asked. 

you stayed silent for a second, not knowing whether to slowly break the news or just make up a complete lie. 

“i continued feeling sick and was inside the bathroom for a while. i had left my things with Fabian to make sure it didn’t get taken or anything,” you lied, Fabian’s eyes widening in surprise, “i’ll meet you in a few, okay?” Marcel hummed in response before clicking goodbye, slightly annoyed at yours and Marcel’s attitude. 

you stared at Fabian, your heart racing as you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. your eyes widened in panic as you tried to hide the test when it revealed that it was actually Walter who managed to find you and Fabian down here. 

“hey Walter,” you greeted in panic. he looked between you and Fabian, confused and slightly accusatory, “what are the two of you doing down here....alone?” he asked, seeing the way the two of you were acting. 

you looked up to him finally and sighed. Fabian could tell you were on the verge of bursting into tears as you fumbled to actually say something, “she’s pregnant with Marcel’s baby,” he screamed in a confession. Walter looked at you in surprise as you shakily handed him the test, “what the fuck,” he whispered to himself. 

“fuck, i don’t even know how i’m going to tell Marcel about this,” you exclaimed to his two friends, “we’ve never spoken about children and we are in no way even ready for it. he’s in the midst of his prime wrestling career and i’m chasing the fucking women’s title,” you continued, “but there’s a part of me that’s excited and wants to keep it.” 

Walter and Fabian stared at each other as they remained quiet. this was one of the times that Walter wished his wife would’ve accompanied him on his trip over here. you still hadn’t gotten off the floor as Walter read the positive test on the ground. 

“listen, you should get home and take a break from all this. you stressing out isn’t probably healthy for the baby,” Walter finally said. you nodded, figuring that he was right, “i’m going home, i guess. if Marcel asks for me, tell him i wasn’t feeling good at all and had a migraine or something,” you got up from the floor and looked up at the two boys before leaving. 

you had purposely took a way out of the performance arena that you knew wouldn’t cross over into Marcel’s view. you drove home, taking the back way there as you tried to clear up your thoughts. the tears that had stained your face remained as you got into the parking lot. 

as you walked inside of you shared apartment and sat down on the couch, you couldn’t help but relive the memories you had with Marcel in your head. the two of you were pretty free spirited. you enjoyed going out with Fabian every once in a while and traveled when you were able too. 

there were times where the two of you had a designated drinking nights and got plastered beyond belief to release some stress or tension that was going on. 

all of those things would have to come to a halt as your baby was on its way. a part of you knew that Marcel wasn’t the kind of guy to just drop you and the baby but you also had no idea how he would react. he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to settle down into a family but the thought of a baby Marcel running around warmed your heart. 

with all your thoughts running wild, you hadn’t realized how much time had passed until you heard the front door jingling. the thought of having to tell Marcel the news made you sick to your stomach out of nervousness as felt bile crawling up your throat again. 

you instantly ran to the bathroom and threw up whatever else was left in your stomach. at this rate, you were throwing up water as you hadn’t ate anything since the morning and you managed to throw that up when you read the test earlier in the day. 

you heard Marcel walk into the apartment as he set his things down on the floor and came to find you. you had thought that you locked the door when you ran inside but that didn’t seem to be true when Marcel walked in, a look of worry and panic instantly crossing his face as he saw how you looked. 

“hey, hey! what’s wrong?” he asked, holding your hair back. you shook your head as you tried to stand up and push him off of you, “nothing, i’m fine,” you managed to say as you went to the sink to brush your teeth and clean your mouth. 

Marcel stood against the doorway, seeing the color of your skin drained. he had never saw you this way in the years that you were together with him and as you finally looked back up again, he could see that you didn’t look healthy in the slightest. 

“your complexion is scaring, please sit down,” he stated, helping you to the couch to sit you down. you slumped into the couch, feeling a migraine coming on, “you need to go to the hospital. you’ve been sick for nearly a month and you haven’t been getting any better!” he exclaimed. 

you sighed knowing that if you even tried to hesitate, Marcel wouldn’t let it go and probably physically drag you there himself. you looked up to Marcel and asked him to grab your backpack from one of the kitchen chairs. he looked at you in confusion but nevertheless grabbed it for you. 

“what i’m about to tell you might be news you aren’t prepared for so you might want to sit down for this one,” you stated as you had trouble looking at him. he remained confused but didn’t listen to what you said and remained standing, “Marcel, please,” you repeated, “no, i’m fine standing.” 

you sighed as you took a deep breath in and rummaged through your bag until you felt the pregnancy test in your hand, “don’t freak out on me, i’m begging you. i’ve been through enough today and if you are planning to do anything irrational when you find out, just leave,” you said as you took the test out and handed it to him. 

Marcel’s eyes widened, reading the test before looking at you. he remained silent for what felt like an eternity. a million thoughts ran through his head until he finally realized that he hadn’t said anything at all. you remained looking at him, trying to read his expression. 

“you’re pregnant?” he asked. you nodded slowly as he stared at the test again, “you’re not kidding? when did you find out?” he asked again, “of course not but today. that’s what i was doing with Fabian. he found me puking my guts out earlier and offered to take me to the store to buy a test and i was too scared to take the test alone so i made him sit with me to find out the results. Walter knows too.” 

Marcel looked at you, “why did you hide it from me? i feel like i should’ve been there,” he murmured. you sighed in slight annoyance, “i know but we’ve never talked about kids and i was scared. i’m pregnant. pregnant as fuck and i want to keep it,” you stated, emphasizing the ending. 

Marcel walked up to you and gave you a hug as you immediately cuddled up to him and let the tears go free, “i’m just surprised, baby. we weren’t planning on having one but i’m not mad or scared. that just means we’re going to be parents earlier than anticipated. nothing wrong with that,” he finally said. 

you smiled at him, happy that he was on the same boat with you, “so you’re happy?” you asked. Marcel laughed, “of course i am. you’re making me a dad! we’re going to be parents!” he exclaimed, “we just need to find a home and start building that nursery as soon as possible.” 

you brought him down for a kiss and remained that way for while before finally pulling away, “i’m sorry happy that you’re happy about this,” you confessed. Marcel brought you in for another hug as you put your head on his chest, “if we have a son, you wouldn’t mind naming him Axel, would you?” he asked with a serious tone. 

your heart fluttered as you realized he wanted to name your possible son after his father, “of course i wouldn’t mind. it’s a beautiful name,” you whispered back. he nodded in agreement as the two of you remained hugging in the middle of your living room. 

you knew you’d tell everything to Fabian and Walter later on but for the moment, you just wanted to remain in Marcel’s embrace. 

#wwe imagine #wwe x reader #WWE #marcel barthel #marcel barthel imagine #marcel barthel x reader #marcel barthel x you #Wrestling #wrestling imagine #imperium #fabian aichner #walter #Walter Hahn

[patricia-von-arundel]

Danse Macabre: Teaser - Anselma

Summary: A setting of stage: a series of teasers to introduce an upcoming dark AU by @lysissisyl​ and @patricia-von-arundel​. Coming perhaps too soon... 

Rating: G (teaser only)

AO3 || Additional Teasers (coming soon)

Danse Macabre Story Blog

There had been storms the night before.

Summer squalls were not uncommon in Enbarr, but they were usually brief and thunderous, leaving damp earth steaming and the air feeling as thick and sticky as melted sugar. Last night’s storms had been unusually long, unusually intense: heat lightning and throbs like the distant boots of some approaching giant, deep and ominous and growing closer and closer under a sky turned a curdled, heaving mass of green-yellow clouds. Then rain, and rain, and rain.

Anselma had felt the oppressive thrum of it, some monstrous manifestation of the same turmoil within her gut. Perhaps Edelgard had felt it as well; she had been excitable all afternoon, full of even more impossible store of energy than she always seemed to contain, a whirlwind of activities quickly abandoned, toys and books left scattered across every room and corridor, and endless, incessant chatter-chatter-chatter. By evening, when the heavy clouds finally burst into deafening torrents, she had become querulous and irritable, and dinner pushed with an aggravated whine to splatter across the floor was the last straw Anselma could take. She shouted, and Edelgard, with the righteous fury reserved for the most faithful of the church but also four-year-old children, shouted right back before descending into a tantrum that faded only with her consciousness.

She slept afterward as peacefully as if nothing at all had happened, never stirring as the wind took up howling and the rain drummed like mallets against the roof and the windows, each thunderclap reverberating through the floorboards. Anselma wished desperately that she could do the same - but instead, she remained restless, and watched the raindrops glisten golden as the sun finally made desperate attempt to rise and shine against a world of dark and tumultuous surprises.

Unavoidable surprises…

She took Edelgard outside, into that fresh sun, nursing her third cup of tea since dawn and wondering - not for the first time - how much more often such times would be allowed: Edelgard in an old dress, too short, and old boots, almost worn through at the soles from having once been a most beloved pair, both perfect for stomping gleefully in puddles or leaving hopelessly smeared with a canvas of mud. The stomping. The mud. The center of Enbarr - a world of palaces and of prisons - could be reached in less than an hour on foot, less than half that on a horse, but for all Anselma truly knew of it, it might as well have been Almyra. But there were children there - of course there were. In a cottage beyond the walls of the city, or a palace, or in Almyra or Faerghus or Dagda or anywhere else: a child was a child. They played, and chattered, and refused dinner with angry vehemence. Would that, for Edelgard, truly be any different?

Or so Anselma tried, for a time of which she had long since lost count, to convince herself. She tried as well to drink her tea - but it had no taste, and her throat seemed to spasm for a moment as she forced it down, leaving her chest burning and her eyes watering and some primitive corner of her mind convinced that she was drowning: ridiculous, all of it, and all of it she fought. Whatever the cause, tears solved nothing.

“Look!” Edelgard’s voice, eager and excited; she had finally learned where to click her tongue into place for an “L” sound, rather than settling for a “Y.” “Look, look what I found!” The tempests of the night before - internal and external - seemed completely forgotten, and again Anselma wished there was some way for her to do the same. She might live the impossibly-long life of a child of the Goddess, and still she would remember every moment, every detail, of the night of such summer storms.

She put her teacup on the windowsill - carefully; the stone was lumpy and uneven - and went to see what had this time caught Edelgard’s curious attention.

Edelgard was crouched on the broken stone pathway, almost to where the tall row of hedges separated their tiny piece of earth from the endless, rolling farmland beyond: the closest Anselma had been allowed to get to running free of Enbarr entirely. They would not let her take Edelgard from the city. She would not leave the city without Edelgard. As far as truces went, it was not a happy one. She had dreamed a thousand thousand times - both awake and asleep - of taking Edelgard regardless of what they ordered, of escaping to another land entirely, where no one would care who they were or of the fate of any chosen children of the Saints-cursed Hresvelg family. What were the true odds that anyone might care to find them, with so many other Hresvelg children who could be burdened with family mantle?

But it was the lack of absolute certainty - strong odds, but not absolute ones - that kept her from doing it, and kept her in Enbarr. She wondered frequently if she would ever know for sure if this was a good decision, or a very, very poor one.

None of these possibilities and speculations mattered a trifle to Edelgard, of course. Edelgard was four years old, and what mattered to her at that moment was a worm.

The worm had found its way from the depths of the earth to the warm, damp, crooked paving stones that made equally-crooked way from the door down the center of the overgrown garden. (Anselma had made a single season’s attempt at taming it, then was wise enough to return to purchasing her vegetables from the market square just inside the old city walls.) The worm was clearly now ready to return home, the cooler night sky having left it to the merciless beat of the summer sun. She could feel the same thing - the blessed break from oppressive summer dissipating almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the rays of sun sharp and glistening as fangs; the heat was not done sinking deep into Enbarr. Living within the mud must feel quite good…

“Gross,” Edelgard said - but her eyes were fixated and intent, and there was pure fascination in them, and in her little smile as well. The ribbons holding her hair away from her face - away from dirt; there would not be time to wash it again - were already coming loose; she’d been too squirmy to tie them properly, eager to get outdoors after a single day of rain had trapped her inside. Edelgard had never liked feeling anything was forbidden to her, and grew quickly stubborn if it was, no matter how practical the reason. Anselma knew exactly from where she had inherited such inclination… and also now somewhat better could appreciate the frustration she had once caused in others.

“Don’t touch it,” Edelgard added - a curt, firm mimicry of adult authority held carefully in her voice. “We don’t know where it’s been.”

It always took some effort not to laugh, when Edelgard unexpectedly took on tones that seemed impossibly incongruous from a frame so small. It was perhaps something all children did, but what did Anselma know of children besides this one? “And we don’t want to hurt it, do we?” she asked - a more practical reason for Edelgard to leave alone the poor creature, already struggling mightily to wriggle its way back into the earth.

“We could hurt it?” Edelgard looked up briefly - concerned. “I didn’t touch it!” She pursed her lips and shook her head, as if vehemence might erase any doubt of the truth in her words.

“Of course not. He’s just fine. He just wants to go home.”

“To the dirt.” The disgusted glee was back in her voice. “Are worms related to snakes?”

“Snakes?”

“Snakes are slithery.” Edelgard put her fingers on the stone - carefully apart from the worm - and dragged them in little curls. “Sssss!”

“Maybe they’re cousins.” Anselma knew as much about worms and snakes as she did about children, but it seemed a harmless-enough little fiction to satiate Edelgard’s curiosity.

“Slithery,” Edelgard said again. “Sss. Ssssss.”

“How about this?” Ribbons already loose, and frayed at the ends besides - they were as old as the dress and the boots. And unlikely to be needed again soon…

Anselma tugged one away with more force than necessary - more force than intended - as if she might too loosen and pull from her own head thoughts she desperately did not wish to think. She was lucky the knot was already coming undone; Edelgard seemed hardly to notice her hair falling to her shoulder, much less the force of the pull - she was still dragging her fingers and hissing. The worm, equally unconcerned, continued its fight away from the growing suffocation of Enbarr summer heat.

Lucky things…

Envy of a four-year-old and a worm - utterly ridiculous, and yet there it was. And quickly dashed with guilt: here was a four-year-old, excited to be outside, in fraying ribbons and old clothes, fascinated by a worm. A child. A curious, tempestuous secure child.

How much longer? How much longer?

Anselma dragged the ribbon along the stone, mimicking Edelgard’s little fingers. “Another worm! Can you help it get home?”

“Yes!” Eager, excited - content. Content with an old red ribbon.

For a time, the ribbon occupied her. She wriggled it from the stone, shuffling along without even rising from her crouch, into the grass, then back again - this worm needed several trips, or perhaps was attempting to show the other how this should be done. Then another idea occurred - “It’s time for lunch, worms!” - and Edelgard ran off for the hedges, gathering spiky little leaves and then tufts of grass. She mixed them and made careful, uneven piles, several more than she had worms, real or ribbon - perhaps the snake cousins had been invited to share in the meal.

Anselma watched. Watched, and tried hard not to think: a truly laughable waste of energy. She could still run. Take Edelgard, bring more old clothes; who would look twice at a young woman and a child in worn, ill-fitting things, just two more wretched beings spit upon by powerlessness and circumstances? The poor of Enbarr swarmed like rats in parts of the old city - she had seen them herself, more times than she could count - and very few of the more privileged ever paid them any mind, so long as they were not causing trouble. They could go further, see the world. How long had it been since even the thought of Enbarr had excited her? She could feel like that again, and share it with Edelgard, until they found together a place that felt like home. A safe place. A place where…

“Uncle!” Edelgard’s sudden cry once more breaking through wandering thoughts - Anselma had failed to hear the door, or the footsteps on the path behind her. “Uncle, I made lunch for worms! I found one! It’s here, look!”

“In a moment, Edelgard.” He wasn’t even looking at her - when Anselma turned, her brother’s eyes were quickly fixed hard upon her own. “Good morning, Anselma.”

“Is it?” She made no effort at all to hide the disdain in her voice, only her surprise at his arrival. Why should she hide it? She knew as well as he did the role he had played - had insisted upon - in securing Edelgard’s fate. And he also knew exactly how Anselma felt about that fate.

He ignored her question - as well as the disdain. “Worms? You think it wise to let a child of her birth play with worms?”

“What harm is there in worms? I don’t care a Saints-damned bit about her birth. And neither do you.”

“Anselma…”

“Volkhard.” Petty, puerile - but she also felt, sparking like a flame thought long since snuffed, a defiance growing once more inside her. She lifted her chin, staring up at him with challenge writ quite deliberately across her expression.

He saw it - he knew it well. He sighed. “It would be far wiser, and safer for Edelgard, if you might offer simply a facade of caring. Especially now.”

“I don’t see that it matters. Everyone had made it quite clear that my feelings, facade or no, matter somewhat less than horse droppings do to the horse.”

“You believe they will simply leave you be, no matter how your rash behavior might come to affect them, simply because Edelgard has taken what has always been her rightful place?”

“Her rightful place? There are ten more before her!”

“Not with the Crest of Seiros. The Vestra line -”

She wanted to slap him. Instead, she cut him off: “You’ve said that. A hundred upon a hundred times, you have said that. Say it a hundred upon a hundred times more, and it will still do nothing at all to change my mind.”

Again, he sighed - exasperation, now. “And your opinion on this will change the minds of no others. But that is irrelevant - Anselma, I am trying to keep Edelgard safe. Can you truly continue to refuse to see that, even now?”

“I can keep her safe.”

“You don’t -” But he stopped himself - shook his head. It was not the first time he had almost said more than intended… and just as every other time, the reminder of his secrets, his self-appointed superiority even where her own daughter was concerned, fanned the flames of her defiance and anger from spark to inferno. “There is no safer place for her here than amongst the protections afforded to the royal family.”

“The true danger is within that family. Or were you too busy in prayer to the Goddess to pay attention in your history lessons? You’re asking me to entrust Edelgard to a nest swarming with vipers.”

“She’s being honored by a sacred tradition as old as the empire. No one will harm her. Certainly not her own family - she will be with her father, her brothers and sisters. And the Vestra boy? Anselma, he is six years old!”

She snorted. “A baby viper is still a viper.”

She could hear it, an echo; Edelgard’s voice: Sss. Sssssss. She glanced back, over her shoulder. Edelgard was playing with the twigs she had gathered, arranging them upright in the muddy ground, but if she was listening, it would not be the first time she had appeared to be completely absorbed in something else while taking in every word. Would she say anything later, as in the past she had done to Anselma?

What will happen now if she does?

“Vipers or not, she will be safe,” Volkhard said. He, too, glanced at Edelgard, but his expression was unusually cold and closed - difficult to read. “This is nothing offered to her lightly. If anyone seems to take it lightly, it is you - why is Edelgard not yet dressed and prepared properly to leave?”

The inferno was a sheet of flame across her vision - but had not yet fully engulfed all rational thought. She fought the rage at his words: take it lightly. As if he had not picked such phrasing quite deliberately, knowing her months of refusals, arguments, and blunt anger. She fought it - fought it, and said, “You told me yourself you would likely not arrive much before dusk. Unless the definition of such has changed, you seem to be several hours early. You expected to find Edelgard demurely waiting in satin and braids by the front door, no matter the time of day?”

“I would love to see Edelgard that way, at any time.”

She bristled at that - and certainly, he noticed, but she still attempted to cover it, turning away from him to call Edelgard in. What he would not see were the tears she fought.

None of them would ever see that.

This will not be the end of it.

Words she repeated to herself in silent, determined mantra as she led Edelgard back inside, far earlier than her fevered brain could possibly have prepared for. Repeated as she tugged Edelgard out of her old clothes, wiped the mud from her face and hands, dressed her in a skirt and jacket in Imperial colors - a gift from the Vestra family she had until now tucked into the furthest, darkest corner of Edelgard’s wardrobe. Whatever happened, no harm would be done in making a positive impression on this day of all days.

Edelgard pulled at the pleats in the skirt and twisted the tiny gold buttons with her fingers. “Fancy,” she said. “Don’t get dirty…” She was already dirty - dark crescents under her nails, a stark contrast to the polish and gleam of the buttons. But there was no time for bathing. Not now.

“Be very careful,” Anselma said, and Edelgard nodded in solemn agreement. She was unusually reticent as Anselma brushed and tied back her hair - or maybe the unusual factor was Anselma herself, taking almost-unconscious care in what might be the last time she ever did this.

No… Tying fresh ribbons, new ones, and more tightly this time. A deep breath. For a moment, she held it.

This will not be the end of it.

The little trunk Ionius had sent - it was already filled with Edelgard’s nicest things, all those satins apparently so precious and so rare. On top of them, Anselma put the brush she had been using. It was the only one that didn’t make Edelgard scream and fight any time her hair was touched.

Closing and latching the lid seemed as difficult as lifting the house from its very foundation. She let Edelgard help her carry it to sit by the door, though it wasn’t heavy. The weight was not the point. Edelgard took the task as seriously as lunch for worms: watching very carefully each step she took, her tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth. She looked more like her father when she was concentrating: the same thinned lips and drawn brows.

Volkhard did not let Edelgard help. He took the trunk and secured it to the back of the carriage - but Edelgard, distracted by the horse at the front, paid this no mind. “Does he have a name, Uncle?” she asked.

Innocent curiosity in her voice - no fear or uncertainty at all. But she had also not feared last night’s storms - very few things frightened Edelgard. A boon… except Anselma might once have said the same of herself. Standing now in the doorway of yet another home not truly her own, watching Edelgard stare up at a black beast towering above her - she felt not just fear, not just the anger she had nursed for so long, but something more like terror.

She could grab Edelgard, still, and attempt to flee. Perhaps they would simply be cut down by Imperial soldiers - could whatever skulked and screamed in an afterlife truly be worse than the most powerful men in life? Or they would escape, as she had imagined so often. Or -

“I don’t know,” Volkhard said to Edelgard - blunt. Still cold. “Into the carriage, now. Your father is waiting for you.”

“I don’t remember him,” Edelgard said - but quite matter-of-factly, and she did not hesitate to climb up the high steps. She required no help.

“You will soon enough.”

No goodbyes, just the slamming of the carriage door and a brief wave from Edelgard. It was likely for the best. Perhaps it was to be expected, considering how little Edelgard knew. Her stoicism in this might prove a necessary armor.

Anselma took a deep breath, and hoped only her own false stoicism showed. There was no one to see it - but that was not the point. She would wear this mask for herself. Wear it until…

Another breath, deep and slow and carefully even. This will not be the end of it.

Small, concrete things to do: clear away and clean the breakfast dishes. Tidy the toys scattered the evening before. Perhaps later scrub the floors. Things. Things to do. Things to distract. 

She returned first, though, to the garden; she had left her cup on the windowsill, interrupted from finishing her tea by Volkhard’s early, unexpected arrival. For a moment, she ignored it still - distracted by a flash of red further down the broken path.

Edelgard’s ribbon.

It was a coil upon the stone, bright against drab. Small and fraying, but like some helpless, pulsing creature, clinging stubbornly to life.

The worm had not been so fortunate. It lay next to the ribbon, prone and cracked and drying. Dead. Struggling for refuge, it had not escaped the sun.

#danse macabre three houses #FE3h: Danse Macabre #three houses fanfiction #fire emblem fanfiction #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #anselma von arundel #edelgard von hresvelg #danse macabre treaser #edeleth #(not here #but it's coming later...)

[khadij-al-kubra]

Thomas In Wonderland (ch 2)

Characters: Thomas (fictional), Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan, Remy, Emile, Joan, Talyn, Deceit, Nate, The Dragon Witch, fan adopted short vid characters

Pairings: None (some implied Prinxiety)

Words: 1993

Summary: Thomas takes a long fall and has some snacks

Author’s Note: Hey friends! Ya girl is back at it! Not much to say in the ways of notes except now i have an actual Beta reader! Yaaaay. The awesome and talented @fuck-my-life-i-want-food. I have to thank them for catching all the little errors and typos I miss and that WordDoc failed to point out. (digital dummy) As always I am open to any writing critiques or tips you may have, and any likes, comments or reblogs would be immensely appreciated! Also please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters for this fanfic or any of my other future writings. I am so happy everyone’s enjoying the story so far, and i’m having a lot of fun writing it! So now, where were we? Ah yes...

Down the Rabbit Hole

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH”

Thomas’s echoes screamed as he tumbled down the rabbit hole. Which if he wasn’t so busy falling he might’ve noticed was much larger than a normal rabbit hole might be. Not that he had seen the insides of many rabbit holes, but it didn’t take someone with a degree in chemical engineering to take an educated guess that most weren’t the circumference of a very large albeit dirt covered swirly slide. Nor were they probably as well lit or furbished with homey brick-a-brack here and there.

But then again, nobody in their right mind would be expected to notice these things while falling down said hole screaming their lungs out. So you could hardly blame Thomas’s momentary laps of attention to detail.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH *cough cough * AAAAAAHHHHHH”

Thomas had never been so scared in his life. Not even that one time his uncle had taken him out on a fishing trip and they got caught in that rainstorm out on the water. He didn’t know how long he’d been falling but surely it was only a matter of time until he hit the ground harder than Wile E Coyote. And his body did NOT run on the kind of cartoon logic where he could survive such a fall. His anxiety was going through the roof and his voice was growing hoarse from his shouts. Plus it was dark and dirty and humid and oh my gosh, why didn’t he just stay home!?

“AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaah?”

Huh…jeez this tunnel is deep, Thomas thought. Now that he wasn’t so focused on screaming, Thomas had a chance to let his logic catch up to him. He realized that the less he panicked the more his decent slowed down.

Okay Thomas, just remember your breathing exercises. In for four…Hold for seven...Out for eight… As Thomas worked to count, hold, and release his breath he felt himself slowing like syrup. His spinning body settled into a calmer upright position, and finally his heart rate was back to a comfortable comforting rhythm.

Phew! Taking a break from his tiring terror, the young artist got a look around him. It was dirt brown for obvious reasons, but for less obvious reasons he also spotted old-fashioned gaslights along the walls. As well as a half stuck leather love seat, a mirror, exactly three different pride flags and a toaster oven. One thing he did not see however was a pitcher of water, which Thomas wished was around because his poor dry throat sure could’ve used something to drink right about then. Oh! He just remembered there was half a packet of gum left in his pocket from his last run to CVS. Too bad I didn’t keep the receipts, or else I could’ve made myself a rope to climb up or something. Oh well. Thomas took a piece of gum and chewed on it gratefully.

As he coated his throat in minty sweetness Thomas wished that he had a wristwatch so he could know exactly how long he’d been falling. I mean it’s gotta be a solid five minutes at least since I tripped. Stupid laces. Thomas bent down to tie his laces so he wouldn’t trip on them into any more holes. That is if he ever landed on solid ground again. The momentum caused him to flip around once or twice but eventually he made the two rabbit ear knots. Down and down Thomas went, yet still no sign of a light below or any below at all beyond the shadowy black. Who would’ve thought slowly falling down a hole for so long could be so boring! Thomas hated being bored. Almost as much as he hated writers block, but definitely more than muggy weather. And he still had no clue what time it was.

“Such a weird thing to want while falling down a deep hole,” Thomas said. “A watch of all things. Then again, I’ve definitely had stranger thoughts…Have I always talked to myself this much?”

Before he could answer his own question, Thomas spotted a glint of something from below. A light? Or maybe it was a ladder or something useful. As he went down the item came up to meet him and he snatched it form the air. It was the silver pocket watch the Black Rabbit had on him.

“Poor thing must have lost it on the way down here.”

He opened the watch to check the time, only to find that the hands were not only ticking oddly fast (Thomas would’ve sworn it was the same counts as a waltz) but also moving counter clockwise. Well that’s a lot of help, he thought. Only now did he see there was also an inscription written on the inside:

‘V- I go mad for you, every time. – R’

Thomas wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a compliment or a weird threat, but either way it was clear from the inscription and well-worn look of the silver that this watch meant a great deal to the Black Rabbit.

“Poor little guy must be going nuts without it, especially if he was in a hurry for something,” said Thomas. “I’ll try my best to get it back to him. If I ever touch ground again, let alone—Oof!”

His whole body suddenly jerked to a halt, like how it did at the end of rollercoaster rides. Thomas looked down and to his great relief saw he was floating a foot above solid ground. A second later he was dropped down and tasted said solid ground.

“Ow…” Despite the taste of twigs and leaves that he picked out of his mouth, Thomas was relieved to have reached a bottom at last.  

It looked like he was in another tunnel- only this one was long ways and had a clear warm light at the end. Moreover, he saw up ahead of him a rather large shadow on the wall with rabbit ears and could hear anxious mutterings of, “I’mlatei’mlateafucki’m SO late! Where’s my watch, I’m so LATE!”

“Hey, Mr. Black Rabbit,” Thomas called out.

The shadow turned to his voice, ears shooting straight up, only to scamper out of sight. He really was a jittery little fella. Thomas ran down the tunnel in the hopes of catching up. Not only to give him back the pocket watch, but also he was honestly still pretty curious about where the Black Rabbit was going.

As he ran Thomas passed a few wooden doors and portraits of upside down selfies, but he kept his eyes ahead. At one point he saw the Rabbit’s cottony tail and turned that same corner. At the end of the hall was a door left ajar. Thomas opened it and found himself in a spacious room, nearly bare save for a round glass table and lamps along the walls. The Rabbit seemed to have vanished.

“Boy he’s really good at popping in and out of places suddenly,” Thomas said, scratching his hair. “But where could he have gone?”

Just then he spotted a spec of blue to his right: a small pair of curtains low to the ground. Thomas knelt down and pulled them apart. Behind it was a simple door with a brass handle and keyhole. This was getting curiouser and curiouser by the minute. He stooped even lower, practically laying on the wooden floor now and peeked through the keyhole. What he saw took his breath away and made him smile for the first time all day. Beyond the door was the most gorgeous garden he had ever seen! Filled with gardenias and tulips, roses and violets, sunflowers and daffodils…he really liked flowers. There were even ones in colors and species he didn’t recognize.

“Oh I gotta check that out! But how am I going to get through this teensy thing?”

Thomas stood up and walked around the room, hoping there might be another him-sized door he’d maybe missed. He saw no door but when he accidentally knocked his hip into the round table (Ouch) he saw there was a small glass bottle with a tag on it that read DRINK ME in Arial font, and a plate with a single large sugar cookie on it. On the cookie in pink colored icing were the words Eat Me in lovely Cursive. It wasn’t every day that Thomas came across food that was so bossy. Then again, he hadn’t eaten or drunk much today, and he was no good on an empty stomach. He left the bottle alone because a) the font wasn’t too nice and b) the blue liquid inside looked like Gatorade but could also very well be poison or liquid drainer or something. He remembered what happened in Heathers.

The cookie on the other hand a) had a sweeter font and b) well, he’d always been weak for cookies. So he pocketed the bottle for later, took the gum that had long ago lost its flavor out of his mouth, put in in the wrapper (because he wasn’t a barbarian), picked up the big cookie, and took a bite.

Aaaand he immediately regretted it. Not because the cookie tasted bad, it was actually delicious. But because he felt himself getting slightly compressed and saw the room getting even larger, until Thomas found himself to be the size of an ant.

“Oookay. So big cookies here make you small. Duly noted.” For some reason he felt like that should be reversed, but he could mull one that more later. Thomas turned to the door. “Say, maybe I’m small enough to fit through that door! Even if it’s locked, which it probably is and I didn’t see a key anywhere…I could probably fit through that keyhole. Ha!”

Thomas jogged on his teensy legs over to the door. He was certainly small enough to fit into the hole. Unfortunately he was too small to actually reach said hole no matter how high he tried to jump. Thomas gave a sigh.

“Okay new plan.” Thomas thought for a moment and then took the DRINK ME bottle out of his pocket. If the cookie made him small, then it stood to reason the drink might make him big. “Well, here’s hoping is not liquid cleaner.”

With 50% hope and 50% anxiety, Thomas uncorked the bottle and took a swig, downing the whole thing. Not that there was much to begin with. It was a small bottle after all. Thankfully it wasn’t poisonous; actually it tasted like grape soda. Or  some kind of berry maybe? Definitely something fruity. Also thankfully, Thomas felt himself being stretched big and bigger. Not so thankfully his head knocked into the ceiling. Now he was too big. Thomas groaned. At least now he knew what it was like to be tall. That was kind of nice.

“Okay, new-new plan.” Thomas took out the rest of the Eat Me cookie and this time only took a nibble. “Take two.”

Thomas once again felt that compression like before. This time however, he was more like the size of a mouse than an ant. He jogged back to the wooden door again and this time found he could just reach the rim of the keyhole. He pulled himself up (good thing he’d been going to the gym lately) and through the hole. Finally he was on the other side.

“Woohoo! Thank you size changing snacks!”

His mood improved greatly with the treats and the new scenery. The garden was even grander up front than through a keyhole. So many vibrant colors, and the sweet earthy perfumes seemed to wrap around him like chiffon. Thomas relaxed for the first time all day. Still, he didn’t know where exactly he was or where the Black Rabbit in the purple waistcoat had run off to. What Thomas did know was that he had been very distressed about something and that he had the bunny’s missing pocket watch. There was still a chance that Thomas could help the poor fella, or at least give his belonging back to him. He could still do something. So Thomas moved on in the only direction he was sure of- forward.

<=PREV

NEXT=>

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#KDsWriting #Thomas in Wonderland AU #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #Logan sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #emile picani #remy sanders #joan and talyn #nate sanders #dragon witch #sanders sides #sanders sides fandom #famders

[perpetually-jungshook]

Without You: Bloodstone (Part 25)

Genre: AU, bts!werewolf, fantasy, angst

Warnings: language, violence, suggestive content

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Werewolves, contrary to popular belief, are usually gentle creatures. Except for a very specific set of circumstances, they would never hurt a human (on purpose). The few unfortunate times when mistakes were made put a permanent dark mark on the beasts and people began labeling them as monsters. What the human population failed to recognize was the fact that they were protecting us from something much more sinister. Luckily, a few survived and the gene was passed down hereditarily until one day finding its way to me… in the form of my best friend.

Link to: Storyboard (reference pictures) | General lore post | Intimacy lore post Prologue | Previous | Masterlist | Next

Loyalty is often as blind as justice should be, as unstable as a lightning storm ought to be, and as misplaced as an opinion in the truth.

Chapter 25:

Despite Jimin being gone, Jungkook still seems committed to avoiding me, along with the other wolves. Namjoon and Seokjin are more polite about it, often stoping to have brief conversations, but Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jungkook hardly speak to me. Yoongi seems apathetic, but I rarely saw him to begin with anyway.

The pack spends most days outside. Doing what? I’m not sure. Exercising? I went for a walk once and came across Taehyung and Jungkook. They were chasing each other, the bronze wolf running from the raven black one. When Jungkook finally caught up, they playfully wrestled. I had paused to watch, curious, but for over twenty minutes they didn’t do anything else. I think they eventually noticed me, so with their supernatural speed they loped off elsewhere, leaving me physically unable to keep up and follow.

I’d heard in one of my classes that when they’re young, animals (mammals in particular) play to develop hunting and/or social skills. Maybe Jungkook could be considered “young” as he just recently transformed. That’s the reason I stick with to validate the behavior.

I tried to go out for walks often, following different paths of hidden lanterns to give myself a sense of variety, but the wolves evaded me. Purposeful or not, it made me feel lonely.

All I wanted was to see my friend, to see how he’s progressing and growing. Even at mealtimes, I got ignored by almost everyone except Munhee, my questions and comments going unheard amidst the general din of conversation.

For whatever reason, the isolation, especially when the others were within arm’s reach around me, began to feel heavy. Naturally, the thought of simply eating alone crossed my mind. It would make me feel less frustrated that they ignore me, avoid me. But I’d only done it once or twice before I realized that eating alone is what Jimin always did. The psychological threat of being like him drove me back to the dinner table.

So I buried myself in my studies.

Munhee and I went to the workshop every day. With my new silver knife in hand, she taught me the basics of how to use it, making me practice holding, hiding, and brandishing it. I also started learning intermediate magic.

I can now perform reactive magic with most herbs and stones. It’s simpler than I thought it would be, interacting with the energy of the object instead of only my own. I can produce all sorts of colors of “flame” now and find myself often carrying wildflowers in my pockets to “burn.” Most plants don’t do anything as dramatic as the Calendulas but I find it entertaining.

Munhee has scolded me several times, saying it’s not right to play with magic, but it’s not hurting anyone and practice makes perfect. Whenever I’m not on a walk, practicing reactive magic, being bitter about being alone, or pretending I have any skills with a knife whatsoever, I find myself reading.

There are so many herbs and stones that do incredible things with magic, but like I said, there are so many more that do absolutely nothing. Memorizing them all is not difficult. It just takes a lot of time.

Among the things that I have not done are: ask where Jimin might have gone (because that’s his business and I doubt anyone here would know anyway) and tell Munhee about my second exchange with Halsahm.

Obviously, Munhee knows something happened as there was a dead body in my room, but I figure I won’t have to deal with any of it for a while. Besides, good spirits, corresponding evil spirits… it might all just be something Halsahm made up in an attempt to possess me. Maybe even my rudimentary magic might be advantageous for it- especially since I would be relatively easier to access than someone as skilled as Munhee. I couldn’t even find anything about it in the workshop’s literature collection, so I decided to drop the topic for now.

I turn the page of the book in front of me carefully. It is thin and yellowed, delicate. I idly wonder if I should ask Munhee about rewriting it. Or better, photocopying.

This chapter is about quartz, something I’ve already read extensively about. I sigh quietly. Might as well just skim then. There may be some obscure yet useful information. As my eyes trace over the words, I can’t help but let my mind wander a bit.

Another thing that I haven’t seen in any of the books is divination.

Not a single word.

It’s led me to question whether divination is actually magic and if… I hallucinated the whole thing. Doubt is easy, especially self doubt. But the vision hadn’t been wrong. Halsahm had been alive.

Maybe I can try it again after my walk today. The Hepaticas aren’t in bloom and I’m not exactly sure what I should be searching for, but who knows? I might just see something interesting.

I set my book aside, fix Jimin’s bed, pick up my backpack, grab a few fruits from the kitchen, and head outside. Today, I choose to follow the red lanterns. Howling and playful barks echo through the empty streets surrounded by crumbling buildings, all shadowy sounds carried on the breeze. Each of my steps leaves a small crunch in my wake, courtesy of the gravel and plant life that litters the roads.

I find the edge of the forest and take a seat against a tree to eat. At least I’m getting fresh air.

Now late summer, early autumn, it’s a bit hot out, but not unbearably so, particularly in the shade. Clouds have begun to gather in the distance. A cold front? That might be pleasant. I scan the decaying town with interest and a bitter weight settles on my chest. Somewhere in there, my best friend is living his life without me. All because of Jimin.

I kick angrily at a small pebble and it skitters a meter or two away. Why couldn’t things just be easy and simple? Slowly, I reach for my backpack and dig around until I find the bloodstone. The surface is cool to the touch, polished. I smooth the pad of my thumb over it.

Okay, I did this once, I can do it again. The only question is: what had I done?

Stared at the stone and asked questions, felt frustrated… I start to zone out, trying to remember. Then the flickering starts. I find myself in the village, in front of one of the partially collapsed structures with a blue lantern inside. Not as shellshocked due to vague familiarity with the location, I find it easy to relax into the double vision.

The village is still in front of me, the forest behind and in my peripheral vision, but I can also see the wolves, four of them. I can’t see anything beyond or around them. Just their spectral forms, Jungkook, Hoseok, Seokjin, and Yoongi.

The soft grapefruit colored wolf, lies off to the side, watching with bored eyes. The other three prance and sprint around, batting each other roughly, but not harmfully until one is pinned or has fallen, only to start over again. Irritation seeps through me, making the vision waver. It still looks like they’re only playing. Why aren’t they training? To fight demons?

What had I expected? Specialized training? Yes. Organized exercises? Yes. But this is the second time I’ve seen them… messing around. And it’s annoying. I bury myself in studies to make myself stronger, more useful and they’re playing.

I try not to be angry. I could be assuming things incorrectly or- or…

This is exhausting, making excuses on other peoples’ behalf to see the best in them. I blink and the vision of the wolves disappears, like clearing blurriness out of my eyes. I stare idly at the bloodstone, torn between fairness and supporting my friend. Well, my “friend” that hasn’t spoken directly to me in days. I run my finger over the surface of the stone again and can’t help but empathize with Jimin. Just a little.

The crimson specks in the bloodstone flicker.

I see a field, full of short, flowerless plants. They’re familiar, yet oddly different. The Hepaticas? Why am I here? My view pans around as my mind’s eye silently requests. Now that I have a basic comprehension of magic, it makes this a great deal easier, more understandable.

I can’t see the trees at the edge of the clearing. It takes a few seconds, but I eventually notice the person kneeling in the middle of the field.

Jimin.

I almost call out to him in shock, but then I remember that I’m not actually physically present. Why is Jimin in the Hepatica field? Where has he been this whole time? For some reason, my heart starts to pound- no. Flutter. Excitement.

He gets up and starts walking toward where I know the edge of the forest is supposed to be, but in the opposite direction of the bunker. Panic floods through me. He’s leaving. Why? He can’t just leave- but I can’t go get him. I might be able to stumble across the Hepatica field, but there’s no way I’d make it there before he disappears back into the mists of… I have no time for metaphors.

“Jimin!” his name futilely leaves my lips and the sensation causes the vision to waver. Maybe I’m seeing things. Maybe the double vision is messing with my head. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

But I could swear he turns and… sees me.

“Eun?”

The jolt back to the real world- or back to the reality that surrounds my body is disorienting. I blink a few times before Namjoon settles in my field of vision. He is blurry for a second or two, but the effect fades as he continues speaking.

“You alright? You seem a little dazed.”

“Sorry, sunbae. I was practicing divination,” the words leave my mouth before I can think about them. But what’s the harm? Namjoon knows I practice magic.

“Divination?”

“Yes.”

“That’s quite a skill you have,” he smiles warmly. “Even noona finds it hard to perform divination.”

“Really?”

Namjoon nods, “That’s advanced magic, at least, according to what she’s told me. It’s great that she’s teaching it to you.”

Teaching it to me… right. I agree politely.

The man with the blue-grey hair laughs lightly, “What were you looking at? If I may ask.”

“Nothing particularly interesting,” I shrug, but refrain from being aloof to avoid suspicion. He doesn’t need to know I saw Jimin and he probably already knows what Jungkook was doing. “Just exploring around.”

“Well that’s wonderful. It’s good to test your personal limits, especially with things like this,” he offers me a hand up, a surprising gesture considering I’ve been unofficially ostracized. I take his hand and hoist myself to my feet. “Noona asked me to tell you that we’re all heading into town later to pick up groceries and extra supplies. Would you like to go? Or do you need anything?”

“I think I’d rather stay here if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. I’ll let you get back to practicing then-”

“Sunbae? Can Jungkook stay behind with me? Just in case.”

Namjoon pauses mid-act of turning around, then nods, “If he agrees, absolutely. I’ll ask him for you.”

“Thank you.” I give him a polite bow.

The pack leader looks as if he’s going to say something more, but then a howl splits the air, a deep sound, velvety. Taehyung. Namjoon’s attention snaps toward it.

“Sorry to cut this short,” he whispers. “Gotta go take care of something.”

Before I can acknowledge his statement, his shirt is off, he’s transformed into the massive blue-grey lupine creature, and full sprinting in the direction of the howl. Bending down, I pick up the bloodstone from a small tuft of weeds and slip it into my backpack. Apparently, I’d dropped it at some point after Namjoon startled me. I have to stop doing that before I lose it.

Figuring that the howl had something to do with demons, which even with my silver knife I should stay far away from, I decide to stay out a little bit longer and try to find the Hepatica field.   Why? Plot development. I have nothing better to do other than attempt to find Jimin.

He’s irritating, pretentious, and possibly dangerous, but now I’m armed and for some reason… I miss him. The thought makes me cringe and I blame it on supernatural hormones. I will blame it on an “instinct thing.”

Hiking my backpack higher on my shoulders, I start my rather pointless walk through the forest. It’s highly likely I’ll get lost and even if I, by stumbling over a deposit of miracles, do somehow manage to find the Hepatica field, Jimin will probably be gone. But here I go anyway.

While familiar with the dilapidated town now, I haven’t been into the forest more than a few times, at least, beyond a few yards past the tree line. Every time I’d gone further, it had been with someone else leading the way.

At first I try looking around for familiar landmarks, but the change of season has all sorts of new mosses and lichens growing and the stream has swollen a bit too, swallowing any notable stones or the like.

As I walk, my hand reaches into my pocket to find the wildflowers I’ve been idly collecting. Taking a moment to gauge their different energies, I pick one and crush it in my hand, letting the heatless fire consume it, creating a royal purple flame. I repeat the process every time the flame starts to turn a pale pastel color. It’s not productive, but it keeps me busy and keeps my anxiety low.

I also make sure to brush against as many plants as possible, leaving my scent so someone (one of the wolves) can presumably find me if they come looking. Especially Hobi.

It only takes a half an hour for me to get absolutely lost, and yet I keep walking.

As the sun starts to fall below the tops of the trees, I decide to take a break and sit down with my back against a fallen log. This was such a stupid idea, but who cares? The only person who will probably immediately miss me is Munhee-

The thought gives me chills. Is this how Jimin feels? Except, he doesn’t have an “only person” to miss him.

I reach into my pocket for another flower, a therapeutic compulsive habit, but find it empty. With a sigh, I hold my palm out in front of me, letting the familiar green flame blossom on my palm. If only revelation magic could take me to the Hepatica field.

Sudden movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention, just at the edge of my field of vision, a flash moving between two trees.

A coffee colored werewolf. The coffee colored werewolf.

I immediately get to my feet, almost stumbling and falling under the weight of my backpack, and rush forward in a dead sprint; but by the time I reach the place I thought he might be, there’s nothing there. Not a footprint, not a broken branch.

I even conjure the green flame again to provide a little more (color tinted) light. Nothing.

On the slight breeze that slithers through the forest, I can hear a very distant howl and identify it easily. Jungkook.

I brush the recognition aside and look around. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe I hadn’t seen him, or maybe I had gotten the place wrong-

A flash of rich brown in the corner of my eye causes me to turn my head. Like the naive little girl I am, I follow. And follow again. Each glimpse of hope, illuminated by the green flame flickering in my palm and eventually the light of the full moon as it rises, leads me further, making me- almost redundantly- more lost.

Until I find myself in the Hepatica field.

Naturally, as I’d predicted, Jimin isn’t here, but the very fact that I’d found it is astonishing. Did it actually have something to do with the revelation magic I had been using? Or maybe this is some strange offshoot of my seeming talent for divination.

I glance around the clearing, breathing in deeply the smell of damp earth and natural, earthy, sweet forest decay. The sky above me should be peppered with stars, but everything has started to take on a grainy quality. Fog will be settling in soon. I should get back before something happens to the moonlight and I’m left in the complete dark. Well, except for the whole magic fire thing. I look around as if the universe will present to me the thing that I want. The person that I need.

Wait… amber eyes? In the trees on the other side of the clearing…

“Jimin?” for some reason, excitement permeates through me, then dissipates almost immediately.

“Eun, what the hell?”

I glance away just for a moment, but by the time I look back, the eyes are gone and my full attention swivels to a very angry Jungkook.

“Where have you been?”

I sigh, wanting to ask him why he suddenly cares, but that would be bitter and I am not a bitter person. At least, I refuse to be. I play idly with one of the tattered straps on my backpack, “Just taking a walk.”

“Do you even know how long it took me to find you? Were you just wandering around in circles?”

My gaze drops to the plants that litter the ground around my feet, crushed underneath them. I feel like a scolded child as my voice gets soft, “Kind of. Yes. You were busy and I had nothing better to do.”

“So you went tramping through the forest?”

“I didn’t go tramping.”

Jungkook lets out a huff, raking his fingers through his hair, “We’re going back to the bunker.”

“But…” I look back at the forest, where I had seen- where I had thought I’d seen the amber eyes.

Jungkook steps forward, catching my wrist, “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” I relent, knowing that Jungkook is the easiest, if not my only way home. I wait until he’s shifted to climb onto his back, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face into his raven black fur.

This is the first time in weeks that I’ve touched him for more than mere moments, more than accidental brushes of hands passing plates at the dinner table or attempted but failed embraces at the mistletoe double doors before he leaves. I’m surprised he’s letting me touch him at all. Maybe it’s because Jimin has been gone for so long. Maybe it has something to do with convenience. As he starts walking, then speeds up into a jog, I can’t help but let my heart hurt.

I miss him- Jungkook.

With this close proximity, I notice he feels more muscular than before, fur more shiny, movements more purposeful and coordinated. My best friend has changed so much, physically and mentally it seems. He’s never spoken to me so sternly, so angrily. He’s been worried, sure. Demanding too, but never furious. That hurts more than the inadvertent abandonment. What happened to my sweet, soft Jungkook?

The more I think about it, the more it hurts me.

With each of his confident, bounding strides forward, I can feel the movement resonate in my own body and roll through me in waves of nothing short of pure loneliness. I begin to feel the despair that Jimin must have felt at first, then the inevitable ebbing of feelings as we draw into ourselves, closing ourselves off emotionally because knowing we’re being shut out by everyone for something that isn’t really our fault… it hurts.

Jungkook starts to slow as we leave the army of fading trees, entering the empty village. I loosen my grip around his neck and allow myself to drop to the gravely street. He transforms back into a human, walking a few paces ahead of me.

He says nothing, which I suddenly find is worse than yelling.

The further we walk, the more his demeanor begins to get colder, and the more the fog rolls in. I begin to feel numb. By the time the little shack that hides the staircase to the bunker is in sight, I am numb.

Jungkook reaches for the door, then stops.

He slowly turns around, “What’s your problem?”

You. Me…

“This whole thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” his tone is as distant as it is aggravated, a strange combination.

“This, us, this place. I want to go home.”

Jungkook’s stare is hard.

The fog that surrounds us is heavy, so thick that I can barely see three meters in any direction. It stills the air, absorbing sounds, muting color, a visual manifestation of the emotions looming inside me.

“I just can’t do it anymore,” my voice cracks, but I somehow manage to keep his gaze.

Jungkook’s composed expression falters, features simultaneously betraying both hurt and anger, “What? Do you think I want this? Do you think constantly tearing my body apart and losing my mind is fun?”

“Do you think watching it happen is any better?”

His gaze flicks to the sky and I know his attention is pegged exactly on the full moon, despite not being able to see it myself. Jungkook’s voice lowers in warning, “Now’s not the time to have this conversation.”

His words only make anger bubble into my chest, “Oh? Then when would be better for you? After training? After everyone else gets back? After you’re off your man-period?”

“Male dogs don’t go into heat,” he states blandly.

“Well excuse me for not knowing everything.”

“Maybe, if you paid more attention to noona, you would.”

My skin prickles in irritation, “Stop making this about you.”

“I’m not the one being selfish,” he snaps, attention plunging down from the moon to me. “Do you understand how hard it’ll be if you leave? How many people I could hurt? How many people those things will kill?”

“Selfish? I’ve given up months of my life, Jungkook.”

“At least you can leave after this,” he storms forward until stopping only a handful of centimeters away, harsh amber flooding his irises, “I’m going to be stuck with this for my entire life.”

Instinctive fear trickles through me at the change in his eyes, the subtle rippling of his muscles, but I refuse to let it be the reason this argument stops, “You’re making it about you again.”

“We’re not having this conversation right now.”

“Sure, just keep pushing it off and maybe you won’t have to deal with it.”

“What’s your problem?” Jungkook’s body shudders, making him clench his jaw and speak through his teeth, “We’re not even asking you to do anything difficult.”

“Not difficult?” my voice begins to rise, “First of all, you get to go gallivanting around with your  friends while-”

“We aren’t gallivanting.”

I talk right over him, “While I have to spend countless hours memorizing and reading and practicing, only to get left behind and ignored. On top of that, I have to lie to my family so that I can stay here and make sure you are okay. And let’s not forget I risk my life staying here, for you.”

The last part visibly makes him bristle, “That’s not my fault.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m doing it because you’re my friend, Jungkook.”

“Well I didn’t ask for that either.”

Both of us pull away slightly, eyes widening, shocked into speechlessness by the implication of his statement. Time slides to a stop, the only evidence of its passage being uneven breaths. I recover first, “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble then.”

“Eun,” he calls my name, regret lacing his tone, shock rendering him immobile, and amber draining completely from his irises, replaced by the familiar chocolate brown, but I don’t hesitate to turn and enter the small, inconspicuous shack, quick pace fueled by my desperation to not let him see me cry. I’m halfway down the concrete staircase when he finally chases after me, pleading, “Eun-ssi, wait, I didn’t mean it like that-”

I manage to slam the double doors in his face, knowing he won’t pass the mistletoe barrier unless it was opened for him. With my back pressed against the hard wooden surface, I listen for the telltale signs, the screaming, the whimpering, the snarling, or (a recent development) just the cracking of bones, but am met with none of those.

Even through the haze of my anger and the violence of my tears, I can’t help but notice he’s kept his human form, despite the emotional pull of the argument and in sight of the hormonal impact from the full moon. The smallest bit of pride flits through me at this mutual accomplishment, but is forgotten as soon as I hear a door from within the bunker open, making me freeze.

Everyone had just left for a trip into town…meaning Jungkook and I were supposed to be here alone.

Hope surges through me. Maybe Jimin had come back. Maybe he’d led me to the Hepatica field and followed Jungkook and I back to the bunker, slipping inside when we were arguing. Maybe-

Then I feel it, the eerie stillness. My ears prick up and I realize that the silence from the fog outside has permeated into the bunker. The strange suspension in time hadn’t been warped perception due to stress.

Hello, Eun. Have you thought about what I said?

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

A/N: sorry it’s a bit late. Life happened :’) hope you enjoyed!

Send me your theories/questions here. Or just come say hi ;)

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#bts fanfic #werewolf bts #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #werewolf jimin #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #werewolf jungkook #namjoon fanfic #fantasy #werewolf fanfic #without you: Bloodstone #bloodstone

[toukens]

Chapter Rating: Mature Pairing: Touka Kirishima x Haise Sasaki (Tousaki) Genre: AU (Godless/Western)  |  Word Count: 3117 Chapter Warnings: Swearing and alcohol usage AU: Heavily influenced by the Netflix series Godless. This world of the wild west is new to everyone and everyone sure as hell wants to make this place their paradise. But how can a paradise be full of bandits, murderers and people who claim to be the law? Chapter: 1/? Chapter Note: $1,500 in 1860s is worth roughly $20k today. ________________________________________

With a heart beating wildly out of control, the woman awoke with a start. Not only had her dreams been filled with terrors of the past, but… there was water on her face? Before she had time to actually process why there were little droplets littered over her features, there was suddenly a heavy stream poured on her face.

Sitting up, sputtering for air, Touka’s wild eyes looked around only to land on a smug face. Fucking Ayato.

“Oi. Shitty sister. Wake up. We’re hungry.” The man spoke, his fingers still wrapped around the handle of the bucket. Without thinking twice about the consequences of her actions, Touka swiped the bucket from her younger brother’s fingers and swung it at him. Narrowly missing his head and hearing a hollow thud sound from behind him, both siblings froze. Ayato was the first to slowly turn around to see Yomo’s usually stoic features twitching with pain. Direct hit.

A sharp hiss escaped from between Touka’s teeth as she abruptly stood, but not without swinging her pillow at her brother. This… was unfortunately not the first time. “Touka…” The voice growled, his usually calm voice raising.

“Hey! It’s not my fault, he dumped water on me ag-”

“Just. Don’t do it again.”

“If Ayato doesn’t do it again, I won’t.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“...Fine.” Touka grumbled as she shot a glare at her brother who still held a nervous look on his features. He wouldn’t forget about that easily. But that tense look only lasted a moment as Ayato then turned to his sister. “Well?”

“Don’t ‘well’ me, you asshole. You can cook for yourself- unless you want to finally admit that you can’t cook for shit.”

“I’ll make it myself then. Don’t blame me if there’s a fire again.”

“I will blame you.”

With that, the two siblings parted as their bickering ceased at last. While Ayato tried his hand in the kitchen, Touka walked over to the foot of her bed and opened the old chest that lay there. Pushing past the dresses that she was expected to wear, the violet haired woman brought out a pair of breeches and a fitted flannel. The flannel had been her brother’s until he had grown out of it and the same went for the breeches. However, the trousers were just a bit too large for her. This was an easy fix thanks to the worn suspenders she easily buttoned to the pants.

Returning to the head of her bed, Touka withdrew a knife from the post of her bed and gave it a twirl before finding it’s sheath and wrapped it around her left thigh. If she was somehow forced to wear a dress, this was usually her go to weapon. But she wasn’t forced to do anything on her ranch, so the woman reached for her holster, the gun still embedded in the conditioned leather. It was a Colt 1871-72 Open Top- her father had given it to her at a young age. He wanted her to be a strong woman and always joked that men would bow before her with both this gun and her attitude. It might sound strange, but she felt like she was always closer to him when she held this gun.

Straightening her shoulders, Touka pushed open her door and walked out to join the two men, struggling in the kitchen. Ayato gave a glance before letting out a small snort. “Why won’t you ever dress like a proper woman?”

“‘Cause we need a man in this house.” Touka shot back, sitting down at the table and kicking up her feet as she watched Ayato look cluelessly at the eggs he had brought in from the coop this morning. It was always fun to watch him try to cook when it was painfully obvious that he didn’t learn a single thing from her. Unfortunately, she wasn't the best cook either, but at least her food was edible.

With a disappointed huff, Touka dropped her feet and walked over to the rough stove they had managed to buy with their already sorry funds. Pushing Ayato aside, the woman raised an eyebrow as she looked down at the egg whites and yolks burned beyond salvaging. “You suck at this.” She quipped.

“It doesn’t help that I have a shit teacher.” He scoffed as he watched Touka scrape the burnt eggs away and break a couple new ones over the soot covered pan. The woman then poked at their breakfast with an old but clean wooden spatula. Everything they had here was inherited from their parents.

Motioning at Yomo to give her the cup of water he was drinking out of, the man gave a small sigh but obliged. Taking the cup, the woman dumped what she assumed was two or three tablespoons of water onto the hot pan and eggs before grabbing a pan lit and putting it atop of the frying pan.

“Why’d ya do that? I dun want any soggy eggs.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Touka taunted as she reached out to smack Ayato with with spatula. “It helps so you don’t burn the eggs, and they also come out fluffy. How’re you gonna get a wife if you can’t cook?”

“Because the woman should be cooking”

Smack.

“You’ll never impress Hina with that attitude.”

Those words seemed to fluster Ayato as he crossed his arms in a defensive position. “Yeah? And what about that sheriff that stops by? Don’t tell me you don’t see the look on his face when he sees you?”

“What? Arima? Horse shit.”

Hearing Ayato mutter a few choice words at her, Touka only rolled her eyes in response and she returned the cup to Yomo. Waiting a minute or so, the Kirishima picked up the lid and watched as steam rose and quickly fanned it away. Putting the lid away, Touka grabbed a plate and dumped the half dozen eggs onto the plate before splitting them up onto other plates with bread.

“Eat while I make coffee.” Touka ordered as she began to pull out the beans and went to work. While they were helpless without her, she didn’t know what she would do without them. This thought only brought a small smile to her lips.

Returning to the table with three cups of coffee, Touka sat down and began to pick at her food. It didn’t take long to finish because it wasn’t much of a meal, but at least it was something. When they had silently concluded their breakfast, Yomo gathered the plates. “Why can’t you be more like him?” Touka directed at her brother.

“Fuck off.”

And that was the last words she heard from Ayato before he slipped on his boots, grabbed the Henry 1860 and walked out the door. Looks like he was going to be useful today and hunt them some game. Meanwhile, the small herd of horses in the round pen out front needed some looking after while Yomo took care of just about everything else.

Putting on her own boots, Touka opened the door and was hit was a strong gust of dust. Slamming the door behind her to avoid getting any more particulates into the house than necessary, the woman couldn’t help but wish for some rain. Until then, she had a job to do. Squinting out towards the herd, the woman noticed the mares fighting over their position again and the stallions eyeing each other as though waiting for one of them to make the first move. She really needed to fix the fence so they had some more space to run.

Grabbing a bale of overly dried hay, the woman hauled it over the fence before repeating the process three more times for the thirty or so horses. They really needed more space. After that job was completed, Touka trudged over towards the well and began to fetch some water for the horses, so she could fill the trough as much as she could. Then it was time to work on the fences once more. The day was filled with these long, enervating tasks, and each time hardly varied from the other. But it kept them all busy.  

In the midst of the tasks today while Touka decided to take a break to quench her thirst, the Kirishima saw a horse coming their way on the horizon. It wasn’t the plain bay that Ayato rode, but instead a grey. Whoever it was, they weren’t welcome on this property. Backtracking towards the house, Touka let out a curse as she recalled that Ayato had the rifle. Guess her revolver would have to do.

Retrieving the slick gun from her holster, the woman held her ground as she watched the stranger approach, the barrel of the gun trained at her target. It was a minute or so until she realized who exactly was approaching, an agrivated huff escaping her lips as she dropped the gun to her side. Waiting for his approach, Touka kept shaking her head.

“Miss Kirishima.” The white haired man greeted with a small tip of his hat.

“Arima.” Touka responded shortly to let him know that she wasn’t fond of his visit. Luckily, he easily read her reaction and decided to keep their conversation short- like they always were.

“Gotta a new warrant out. Thought I would inform you of this man.” Arima spoke as he reached back into his saddle back and grabbed a flimsy piece of paper with a rough sketch on it.

Narrowing her eyes at the paper, Touka rested her hands on her hips. “Okay. You can go now.” She spoke, annoyed by his presence.

“Ken Kaneki. Please, at least, remember the name. The man is up to no good and has many dogs on his trail.” Arima spoke, dropping the paper to the ground before backing his horse up to be on his way. Thank god. But if the man had dogs on him, that meant he probably betrayed his own group of bandits. Interesting.

Watching as the sheriff finally let her be, Touka glanced down at the paper in the dirt. Ken Kaneki, huh? What kind of reward were they looking at? Pacing up to the paper, Touka brushed off the dust with her foot and a look of surprise rose to her features. One thousand five hundred dollars. While it may not sound like much, it was enough to fix up the property nicely.

Regardless, Touka couldn’t help but feel confused as to why Arima insisted on checking on her family. They were a good few miles away from the small town, yet he stopped by. Was he waiting for the day he would stumble across their corpses? If that was the case, he better wait a lifetime because the woman wouldn’t die easily. She may be a woman in a man’s world, but she held her ground.

By the time Ayato finally returned home, the cool dark blanket of the night began to settle down on the ranch. Touka was the first to greet him, examining his catch. He had managed to kill a couple rabbits. For some reason, Touka was fond of these small creatures and everytime time Ayato returned with their carcasses, it pained her. But they needed them to survive and she had no right to be picky.

“Why can’t you ever catch a deer?” She teased as she examined the rabbits. Frowning as she noticed one of the rabbits had a large hole in it’s hide from the bullet of the rifle. It would be difficult to salvage this one, but again, they had to.

The frown Ayato gave her told her that there weren’t any deer. The more skillful hunters severely depleted out the population. Without another word, her brother took his catch to the back and began to process of skinning and drying the meat. Meanwhile, it was time for Touka to make a final sweep of the property.

Arming herself with the rifle that Ayato had left with her, Touka kept one gloved hand on the barrel and the other bare, tracing the cool metal of the trigger. It wouldn't be the first time if she found a stray coyote lurking or a man with ill intentions. With both those incidents, her rifle was her only ally.

Following her usual path, Touka made sure to poke at some of the posts to make sure they were able to stand if they happened to be pushed by a strong gust. Frowning as a small post toppled over with the pressure of her hand, the woman let out a small sigh as she kneeled and placed her gun on the ground. Digging at the base of the post with her hands, Touka pulled the post up and tried to steady it in it’s makeshift hole. Letting out a grunt of effort as it tried to fall once more, she froze as she heard something out of the ordinary. The sound of hooves thundering towards her. A lone horse- either it was a large creature or it held a rider.

Eyes rising Touka let out a surprised shout as a large shadow of a horse was nearly upon her even though the sound of the hooves seemed farther off than they actually were. Crawling back a meter or two as the horse charged in her direction, the impact was imminent. The velvet body of the horse was easily split by the barbed wire as it charged through, snapping the old and rusted cables, but also earning itself some serious injuries.

She hadn’t noticed the man on the horse’s back until the horse had fallen, the body of a lean man tumbling to the ground as the horse forced itself to its feet and began to run once more, spooked by something. Naturally, it noticed the herd in the round pen and charged towards her horses. But she wasn’t worried about the large horse now, she was worried about the man on the ground not too far from her.

Ignoring the ruined fence, Touka quickly got to her feet and grabbed the rifle before closing the distance between the two of them. The long barrel was pointed at the man as she was now hovering over him. There was blood soaking through a wound on his arm and another on his thigh. She didn’t know or care at this point about how he was. She needed to know who he was and why he was here.

“Who the fuck are you?” The woman growled as she glared down at the man with narrowed eyes. The man’s hat had fallen beside him to reveal a mess of black and white hair and fairly glazed eyes. Whoever he was, he probably didn’t know who he even was after that fall or even because of his inflicted.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself again. Who are you?”

In response to her demands, the man seemed awfully confused and only tried to block the view of the rifle with his dirty hands. He was only able to keep his tried arms up for bit before they fell at his sides, obviously exhausted.

Eyeing his body, Touka noted that there were no obvious weapons on his body and ultimately decided to take her aim from the stranger. He wasn’t fit to fight back and like hell she would just let this man go now. He damn well owed her a new fence.

Dropping the gun, Touka didn’t say a word as she hooked her arm around the man and began to drag him towards the barn. He needed to get out of the cold but she wouldn't bring this man in her house.

After hauling his body towards the barn, Touka pushed open the door and brought him inside. Looking around for an appropriate place to put him, the woman dropped his limp body against a pile of hay before leaving for a second to light the lanterns around her so she would be able to see and to inform Ayato and Yomo of this man.

Dropping a nail over one of the small flames, the woman didn’t hesitate to unbutton the stranger’s shirt and take it off to get a better look at the wound. Hearing small whines of protest from the man as each time she moved his body seemed to hurt him, Touka lifted his chest forward to see if the wound still had a bullet lodged in it. To his luck, the wound was clean of metal. But he wouldn’t like what was to come.

Rising, Touka found the nail she had left on the flame and handled it with her gloved hand before turning towards the man, the glow of the hot nail reflected in his eyes.

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch.” Touka spoke before placing the hot nail over the wound. The sickly smell of burning flesh arose between the two as the man suddenly let out a loud cry of pain. Before he could do anything, Touka was able to move him forward to place the hot nail over the other end of the bullet wound. At this point, the man didn’t make another sound. Placing the nail back over the flame, the woman moved her hand under his nose to see if he was still breathing. To her surprise, he was. Guess that was supposed to be a good thing.

With her features unchanged throughout this process, Touka withdrew her knife and cut the fabric around the wound on his thigh. This one didn’t seem to be as life threatening and didn’t require to be cauterized as it looked like it had clotted. Luckily, Ayato came just in time with a shot of whisky in his grasp. He knew what she needed.

Taking the shot and dumping it on the thigh wound, Touka began to tear the man’s shirt into strips of cloth to cover the wound with a bit of pressure. Tying off the ends, Touka stopped her job and finally rose to her feet to look at what she had done. To be honest, she didn’t realize how well built his body was until her eyes gazed over him now. She had to guess he was in his mid to early twenties- but neither of those things mattered. For now, he just needed to wake up in the morning.

Tossing a saddle blanket over his body, Touka blew out the candles before vanishing into the dark. This wasn’t the first time she had to treat an injured person who stumbled on to her ranch, but she had a feeling that this time would be very, very different.

#guys this is my first fic in forever #it sucks ass #touka x kaneki #touka x haise #kaneki x touka #haise x touka #touken #tousaki #pls be nice xD

[jiminwreckedme]

7 Letters...

PROLOGUE

| 1 | 2 |

Member - Taehyung x reader , Jungkook x reader

Genre - Angst, Fluff, (future) smut

Warnings - none for this chapter

Word count - 1,936

Summary -  A mysterious person who writes on your skin, an interesting co-worker who is making his way into your heart. A man whose past you need to know and a man who needs to understand your present. In a  journey that takes you beyond the boundaries of time, sanity and love, you are left torn between choices to make and decisions to take.

And no. Not everything was about love. It was also about destiny.

[A/N] - This is my original work and has in no way has been plagerised. If you see a story similar to this that was posted by @bts-things-we-all-imagine please know that I am the owner of that blog and that I have abandoned it because of certain issues. I’m reposting my work on this, my new url and have edited it heavily (cause why not :), but it is all my words and my work only.

A black lane.....a small bridge......two swords......a ring spinning on the floor.......the painting of an unknown someone....the sound of a flute...a strange constriction cutting your breath....

and you begin to scream.

You feel your body arch against your bed and crash into in, forcing your eyes to fly open at the suddenness. Air. You need air. It’s as though someone wrapped a bag over your head, forced water to flood your lungs and placed a ten pound weight on your chest and all your intercoastal muscles can do nothing but strain against it. Every muscle in you has given up the fight to devour oxygen, letting the darkness which robs away the daylight, steal you sanity.

Kicking the sheets off your body you sit up scrambling frantically, bringing your knees to your chest and burying your face in them, your hands habitually  covering your ears, desperate to run away from nothing and everything. The noises. They always take a while to calm down, slowly ebbing away, bringing back your breath and your ability to think again. Dragging your hands behind your head, smoothing your messed up bed hair, you feel the beads of sweat trailing down you neck as you gently massage it. Air is beginning to tickle in your lungs once more and you lift your head letting your vision adjust to the shadows.

It’s okay I’m home. I’m home. Everything is fine. You tell yourself. But you know it is a lie. Nothing about you is fine.

Flipping the switches of your bedside lamp to drive away the darkness, you swing your legs off the bed onto the cold tiled floor, not flinching even a bit at the sudden lack of warmth. When every inch of your body was shivering already, a minor change in temperature was hardly going to affect you. Pulling your slightly damp hair into a bun, you walk across your bedroom space into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water. The dishes you avoided doing last night are still in your sink staring at you disapprovingly making your insides curl in shame. You quickly gulp the liquid, letting it flow down your sandpaper throat, to avoid looking at it.

The soft beep of your alarm clock rings loudly in the silence of the night. You know by experience that it is 2. 2 in the morning and as usual you are devoid of sleep. It would be a while before it comes back to you. Even though it was the same dream running over and over again in your head, it still managed to leave you breathless and panting and sweating and knee deep in fear. It would take a while for your body to come back to normal.

Striding towards the bookshelf in the corner of your room you pull out a small notebook and a pen and sink into the couch next to it, skimming through the thin papers, eyes falling on your years of notes - small scribbles of blue and black here and there, huge paragraphs formed by illegible handwriting, rough sketches of places, people and things.

It’s your collection. A collection of all the things that haunt you every night. Things that you know are more than just random flashes of images in your mind. Things that mean something, something you have been trying to figure out for ages now, but in vain. You quickly scribble down tonight’s details before the faint memories of your dream fade away.

Biting you lip you read through your words again, cutting some of them and then writing again, making the scratch of the pen against the paper the only sound other than the train that passes by, causing your whole house to shake. You read through it again, once, twice, three times until you finally slam it shut annoyed, letting your eyes fall on the place you were really concentrating on. Your hands.

Why wasn’t he saying something tonight? You want to talk to him, tell him that you saw something new  today - a ring. A golden engraved metal studded with a single red stone, spinning on the floor as though someone dropped it. You had never seen that before. Never once in the last 16 years did you remember seeing that. Yes your dreams did change everyday, but it was cyclic. The same images would flash again after a few days but never a new one. And you want to know what he thought about it. Now that you could see new things, what did it mean? But he wasn’t saying a word.

You get up sighing irritably and stuff the book back in its place, clutching the pen harder than you should in your disappointment. What was wrong with him today? Every night the moment you see a dream he writes to you to calm you down, then why not today? Why did he not-

And the familiar tingle runs across your hand, black curves, lines and crescents forming letters with seraphic expertise and confidence. Though they send a funny feeling under your skin, yet their presence calms you.

Did you not get dreams tonight?

You frown at that confused at the complete contrary response. You were expecting him to talk to you about that ring you saw but he was asking if.......

The words sink in your skin, new ones replacing them.

You aren’t asleep are you? You can’t be, I know you read what I said. But if you read it then….

You straighten, all your senses working far too sharply for someone in the dead of the night. Then what?

Then why can’t I read your thoughts?

You panic, feeling the breathlessness come to you again. The silence is suddenly deafening and everything around you is starting to spin and phosphenes are dancing before you even with your eyes wide open and nothing is making sense. 

You are unable to fathom what he is saying. What did he mean he cannot read you?

I can’t feel what you are thinking, everything is so empty, it feels like you are not there. But I know you are and I know you are reading this then why can’t I feel you?

And all of last New years fireworks set off in your body. Every nerve of your being is screaming in fear. Fear that one feels when losing someone who is a constant support in your life. Someone who is an anchor in this mirage of a world. Someone who is anonymous yet familiar. A stranger yet more of a family than anyone.

Tears begin to prick your eyes, and your body is uncontrollably shaking and you want to say so many things yet nothing is able to leave your body but short, rapid breaths of air. Your mind is thinking. Thinking fast about what had changed and what went wrong and why the universe was against you tonight. You look around tensed, gulping the cold air as though the silence around you holds answers. But-

Stop.

And that one word is like a defibrillator for your racing heart. Stop what?

Are you holding a pen?

You look at your hand only just feeling the cool touch of the metal. You didn’t even realize you are holding on to the pen all this while even though you had gripped it tight enough to leave marks of blue ink on your palm.

Write something on your hand.

You stare at the message, rolling the device in your hand nervously, as you remember the last time you tried that. It was about 6-7 years ago maybe, when he first spoke to you.

It had been so many years since then and you still didn’t understand how he knew exactly what to say all the time, how he knew details of your dreams even you could hardly remember, how he understood every emotion of yours so clearly. And over time you learnt one thing - he couldn’t read your mind that was for sure because he was aware of a lot of things about you but not everything.

He never seemed to have knowledge of the things that you knew but didn’t pertain to you. Like your friends’ secrets or the gossip you shared with your colleagues or the useless stuff you read on the internet. He only seemed to know matters that were personal to you, closest to your heart.

So he never knew how curious you were about him. He never knew that you wanted to know why you shared such a connection with him and why it had to be you of all people and why he never talked about himself. But most importantly you wanted to know who. Who he was.

And obviously a very simple logic had struck in your teenage head. He speaks to you through words on your skin, so technically you should do be able to do the same. The day is still fresh in your mind when you were pacing around your classroom, thinking hard about how to phrase your words and how you finally sat down in a corner trying to mimic his beautiful handwriting on your hand. But nothing happened. The ink just stayed till it was washed away, never reaching him, never letting you to say the things you wanted him to hear or ask the questions you needed him to answer. And soon you grew to accept that it is a one way thing. Only he is allowed to speak to you.

But now he is asking you to try and you don’t hesitate to hold the pen and let it hover over your skin. You know there was no point, that it will fail. But right now you are desperate. Desperate to keep this unknown man from leaving your side. Desperation can make one do so many things. At thi moment you are ready to let vultures gnaw out your intestines if it means reestablishing your connection with him again, repeating a failed act is no big deal. There is no harm in trying again right?

And you bring the pen down to the back of your right hand and write what is bothering you the most.

So is this the end?

And you stare at your hand for too long that night, watching the words linger there like they always do. But then the universe really is playing with you and your breathing hitches again, eyes widening and a small gasp leaves your tired body. They sink.

The blue words sink right through your skin, every last trace of them disappearing like they were never there in the first place. Your hand is trembling, fingers shaking in a crazy motion and if it is the cold or excitement or fear, you cannot tell. You don’t even have the time to think about it and decide because within seconds the emptiness is replaced with his blank letters.

No. I think it is a new beginning and I think I know why.

A pause. He gives a maddening, long sick pause of a few seconds before -

Happy 24th birthday beautiful.

The words jolt you to reality as you rush across your living room towards your bedside, knocking a few things on the way, your hair leaving its knot and falling around your shoulders, your toe aching from banging against the edge of the dining table. Still out of breath you notice the time on your clock just crossed two and the date today was a familiar one and stare at it only just realizing what the universe you hate so much has been conspiring.

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