#[ visage ] » | pretty little ghost girl

[paranormaliism]

tag drop

tag drop.

#[ visage ] » | pretty little ghost girl #[ head canon ] » | listen and learn #[ musings ] » | hidden voices from the other side #[ playlist ] » | the sound of music drowns out the voices #[ interactions ] » | i don't play well with the living #[ open starter ] » | don't play with the ouijia board #[ aesthetics ] » | there is beauty in oddity #[ family ] » | the apple doesn't fall far from the tree #[ answered ] » | letters to the other side

[highvern]

Patterns III

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut (18+), eventual fluff/angst

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Chapter Warnings: oral (f. & m. receiving), protected sex, kissing, awkward wonwoo, jealousy, grinding/dry humping, making out, fingering (in public)

Length: 8.5k

Note: part 3 is here and now we will yearn. you can find most of the pieces i reference HERE and some are printable! thank you to everyone in @svthub for helping and @gyuswhore beta-ing

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Wonwoo recognizes the heat of a body blanketing his before anything else. Slowly, like sands sifting through an hourglass, he wakes. Your chest sticks to his from the heat of the morning, skin on skin. Feeling comes back to his hands as they ghost along your bare spine, following the curve of your ribs, down to the soft spot above your hips and back again.

The second thing he realizes is your lips ghosting his neck.

“Morning,” he croaks through a yawn.

You hum in response, nosing along his jaw. Eyes still shut, he can see the shadow when you rise and leave the next kiss on his lips. The same rush of arousal that haunted him last night lingers. But at least this time he’s awake enough to appreciate your efforts. 

After dedicating all his energy to pleasing you, Wonwoo nearly screamed when you palmed his cock. Too tired to fuck a pretty girl? Pathetic. But with swallowed pride, he brushed away your ardent hands, and passed out before you demanded any answers.

It was the fastest he’d fallen asleep in weeks. 

Now, you seem to be making up for the lost opportunity and Wonwoo is just as eager to enjoy. 

Hands trailing the dip of your back, his mouth opens when you prod across the seam of his lips. Everything slides together easily; your leg thrown over his hip finds the mattress and the heat against the crotch of his sweatpants calls like a siren’s song. The first nudge into the seat of your ass sends dual sighs into the air. 

Wonwoo fills his palms with the swells of your ass, dragging you across his clothed length again and again until your arousal soaks through his pants. Eyes still shut, he savors the grind, slowing you with firm hands until you protest with a huff.

You indulge him as best you can. Idle touches across his chest turn the edges of Wonwoo’s mind hazy, melting his resolve until your mouthing down his neck, then his chest, and finally his caved stomach. 

The first glimpse of your visage is proof he’s still lost in the land of dreams. All Wonwoo can see is endless skin, still bare from last night. The blur without his glass does little to dim your glow. Trails of golden light peeking through the window cast a halo around your shoulders like something ethereal; as if the sunrise itself sat itself in his lap this morning and decided to greet him personally. 

But the way you suck him through the fabric of his underwear  is akin to the devil.

“Fuck,” Wonwoo gasps. His hips curl up, searching for more relief. You don’t give in easily. Instead, you favor mouthing along the outline of his bulge until you’re back at the patch of skin sitting about the waistband.

Just as he falls into the comfort of your mouth, you move it elsewhere; lips tapering over the crescent of his hip bone while your hands make quick work of the single layer confine. Each new swath of skin is documented with fingers first then your mouth. It's slow work given the position but Wonwoo lifts his hips and assists until he’s bare and moaning your name on the first touch against his length.

Even in the coolness of the morning he’s burning. Wonwoo wants. Whatever you want, he wants too. Anything you give him he’ll take. The hunger for more worsens with each tease wherever you can reach. 

His first mistake is touching you. Hair tickling his fingertips as he cups your jaw, thumb tracing the dip of your cheek as you suck him deeper. The gentle hum from the contact vibrating through his already weak willpower.

The second mistake is peeping where you lay between his legs when you come up for a breath only to find you already looking his way. 

“Good?”

Wonwoo responds with a mute nod, trembling when you smile before taking his cock back in your mouth.

Your tongue flicks against his cockhead slowly. Content to focus the heat of your mouth there, a hand sneaks to jerk off what you’re neglecting. 

A quick buck of his hips, completely unintentional, forces you to sputter.

Wonwoo scrambles to apologize, “Shit, sorry! I didn’t—oh fuck.”

The words die on his lips as you dive back in, swallowing him down the tight heat of your throat and leaving him there before pulling away with a gasp. His head digs into the pillow as you descend, taking more; Again and again and again until your nose brushes the smooth skin of his pelvis and you choke from another involuntary buck.

Eyes weighted, Wonwoo fights between wanting to watch the bob of your head and the instinct to pinch his eyes tight and feel. Your own choked hums are the siren song that pluck him apart until a hand stops your progress.

Grabbing himself on the next upstroke to prevent more torture, Wonwoo uses all his will to speak. “Wait.”

“Wait?” you huff.

Your tongue sneaks across the tip of his cock, lapping at the leaking slit with determination. Sticky on the next stroke, Wonwoo fucks himself into your mouth involuntarily. 

“Come up here.”

“Don’t wanna,” you complain around a mouth full of dick before he can stop you.

Wonwoo pulls you off again, this time with a firmer hand and a glare he hopes silences your objections. Then, with the most pathetic sincerity he can muster, “Please?”

“Are you begging?” you goad. “Or asking?”

He doesn’t have the bandwidth for games right now. There’s a serious risk he’ll come in your mouth if you keep it up. The urge too lives in the back of his mind, haunting him since the first night you begged him to fuck your throat. But right now, after a night of denying himself the simple pleasure of burying his cock inside you, he needs more.

“Whichever will let me fuck you.”

“Say it again.”

Wonwoo chokes at the first attempt to satisfy your request. You're nasty. Licking at his cock again, undeterred by his hand preventing your greed from fully consuming him. But it’s not enough to stop you. You slip your tongue over the valleys of his knuckles, between his fingers. The wet heat of your mouth surrounds his thumb as you lash against it just to get another taste.

“What was that?” you whisper into his thigh, focusing your attention on his hip, nipping until he’s sure there will be a bruise in the shape of your mouth.

“Please let me fuck you.”

You fall to the side, scrambling for the bedside table for what he assumes is a condom. All of your back, your ass and thighs, left on display and Wonwoo takes advantage. Fingers following your curves, squeeze the supple swell of your rear until your breath stutters and your hips arch. He doesn’t stop there. Lips find your shoulder, trailing up until he can nip at your ear and his hand curves around between your thighs.

Fingers slipping through the mess, your head falls lip while Wonwoo repays your early morning favor. A ghost across your clit that sends you rocking back into his cock. “God,” you whimper as the heel of Wonwoo’s palm grinds harder. “Wonwoo.”

The sound of his name rasped on your tongue makes him hot. Wonwoo could finger you like this for the rest of morning if you let him; teeth bruising your neck, cock sandwiched between your ass and his stomach, the subtle friction enough for him to cum if he didn’t need you so badly.

But you won’t have it.

You push off his grip, turning until you’re face to face for another kiss that's too dirty for the early hour; generous with affection like you’ve got all morning to cover him in it. It’s the perfect distraction as you roll the latex down his length, and plant yourself in his lap.

It’s deep. Deep enough he feels the punch in his own gut as he splits you in half. You focus on his neck after a grunt breaks the kiss, overloading his senses. A few experimental swivels of your hips force his own to rise, keeping himself as deep as possible.

Riled from your mouth, Wonwoo is already on the precipice of finishing. Even through the condom he can feel the delicious heat of your walls clamped on his cock. The trickle of your pleased sighs into his ears don’t help either.

“Fuck, fuck, shit,” Wonwoo bites.

He tries to swallow back the rush of want, focusing on getting you caught up to where he clings so desperately to sanity. Gripping your waist, hands rough enough he’ll apologize later, Wonwoo uses the leverage to fuck roughly. One hand focuses a messy rhythm across your clit. 

But it's no use. Thighs rushing up, Wonwoo’s end hits before he can warn you. You scramble for purchase from the rough jerking threatening to dislodge you and in the chaos you end up pinned to his chest as he cums.

All you can do is blink. Wonwoo stares back, hair matted to his forehead, pinked skin peeking through the sweaty locks, eyes rounded with his own shock. 

“Well,” you pant, rolling to the side. “That's flattering.” 

The stickiness between your thighs still burns hot; unfulfilled by such a quick ending. But he’s earned it after last night. Goosebumps flicker across your body from the cool air as you stare at the ceiling and clear the morning fog from your brain.

“Sorry, I’ve nev—”

You swat at his side. “It’s okay. Promise.”

Wonwoo’s quick enough to snatch it, fingers intertwining and preventing you from poking him in the ribs again. Laying side by side, shoulder to shoulder, your eyes slip shut. You pretend to ignore the way he moves over you, flattening his body atop yours. 

A kiss on your collarbone, another between your breasts. His mouth trails to your nipple, sucking until you squirm before moving to give the other one the same treatment of teeth and tongue. It barely eclipses the feeling of his thumb searching between your thighs.

He descends lower when you start shaking. Lips blazing across your stomach and hips, lazy like there’s all the time in the world. Nerves short circuiting, you arching everything he has to offer; until his mouth replaces the hand between your thighs. 

It’s slower than last night. Wonwoo savors the taste of you, tracing all the parts that make your vision blur with shocking ease. You encourage him to focus in the right spots with a hand knotted in the base of his hair, thighs crushing to the sides of his face when he delivers exactly what you need.

A wiggle of his tongue on your clit distracts from the fingers sinking inside; one before he adds a second. Not as satisfying as his cock but the bend and curl with the right rhythm for your hips to buck.

He isn’t goading or punishing. None of the usual quips that accompany him between your legs spill from his mouth. When you grind up into his face he flattens his tongue and lets you; when you tell him to give you more he does, a third finger joins the mix as he sucks your clit until you cry.

“Just like that, fuck I—” you choke. “Wonwoo, please, don’t stop.” You hump his face, feet planted on the bed for more power as you pull tight across his mouth. 

A last rough curl of his fingers across your walls breaks the dam. Eyes rolling back, you savor the feel of him bullying your insides until everything explodes in flashes of white. Wonwoo does right and keeps playing with you until pushed away but not before sneaking a last lick to your bundle of nerves just to watch you shake.

Wonwoo rises with a cocky smirk before dropping back into your chest. He nuzzles down into the cradle of your throat, face still wet but you don’t have half the mind to complain. You don’t have any mind at all from the wet kisses he paints into your skin.

Sleep comes easily; carried by the lull of calming breaths and the waves still flooding your system.

The second time you wake up, Wonwoo is still asleep across the bed. It makes slipping away to the bathroom for clean up easier, but your eyes continue to glance at him as you move across the room for a fresh set of clothes. His back faces you so only the mangle of hair at the crown of his skull and the broad expanse of shoulders are exposed. The memory of the morning after your first hook up plays in your mind. Embarrassment, anxiety, the rush to be anywhere but his bed. 

Now it’s the lazy weight of an early orgasm and a good night’s sleep. If the afternoon wasn’t booked, you’d be sorely tempted to lay back down and sleep the day away next to him.

A fast shower wakes you enough that fatigue can’t seduce you back beneath the sheets. The first time in weeks you aren’t plagued by racing thoughts, mind blissfully empty as you wash away the remnants of a satisfying morning. You leave the bathroom dressed and prepared for the mess waiting in the rest of the apartment. 

Fishing your phone out of the trail of discarded clothes from the night, you see a litany of messages waiting to greet you. But only one catches your attention. 

Em: tickets for the new exhibit are at willcall! I got an extra in case lisa wanted to come

Wonwoo’s voice makes you jump. “Big plans for today?” 

You watch him wince out of the corner of your eye as he rounds the corner of the hallway, dressed in the new pair of sweats you left on the corner of the bed before leaving, chest still bare.His hair is more of a mess than what you left him with, and he bounces from one foot to the other. Good to know you’re not the only one out of their depth. 

Rather than stand idle, you race to keep your hands busy in an effort to fend off the awkwardness. 

“Ugh, yeah.” You pop bread into the toaster. Two slices, just in case. “My friend got me tickets to this new exhibit at the museum downtown.” 

He moves for his phone on the couch scrolling through messages from the evening. “Oh, cool.” 

You hum agreement into your coffee cup. 

The silence of the kitchen is stifling. Not ten minutes ago you curled up in bed with him but without the guise of sex there doesn’t seem to be anything tying you together. The pop of the toaster almost sends your coffee cup flying.

“It's, um, a really cool exhibit. She’s been curating it for the past two years.” You say while putting together a sham of breakfast. “It’s the first exhibit they’ve let her do solo.”

“Impressive.”

“Yeah.” You wince. “I’m gonna get dressed so…”

“Yeah.”

Mirroring last night, you shuffle to the reprieve of your bedroom. Locked in, the crumpled sheets of your bed pointedly stare at you; the scene of the crime. If you look too closely there's traces of the dip in the mattress where you both fell together. 

But you won’t look because the suffocating tension in your chest is bad enough without reliving the past hour. From tangled in a lover's embrace to the inability to look each other in the eye. 

You dress quickly. Warm enough to fight off the rain beginning peppering against your window and the winds that will no doubt come with it. In the mirror you still look fucked. The unmistakable glow of a morning on the right side of the bed; puffy lips, warm cheeks, and eyes glassy no matter how much you blink. There’s nothing to be done about that though so you grab your bag and return to the living room to deal with your guest.

The back of Wonwoo’s head sits over the couch. Slumped back like he’s given up in his fight against bad luck and ready to accept whatever fate the universe bestows.

“All good?” you ask, grabbing the now cooled mug. 

A hand scrubs down his face, “Landlord can’t come until this evening.”

“Oh.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just go hangout at some coffee shop or whatever.”

He looks pathetic. Like last night in the hallway soaked to the bone. Unfortunately, you’ve got a soft spot for pathetic things with glasses and broad shoulders.

The words are in the air before you can bite them back. “You can come with me if you want.” 

New tension fills the space. It curls around Wonwoo’s shoulders, slipping into that place in your stomach that’s suffered all morning. He turns slowly, failing to hide the shock that finds its way in the corner of his mouth.

Staring at one another, both surprised at the offer hanging in the air, it’s Wonwoo who speaks first.

“I don’t really have clothes for a museum.”

A true enough excuse. His clothes still sit in the washer from last night and the collection of wrinkled shirts and sweats sitting in the closet will get you killed; or worse, laughed at. There’s only one person who might have clothes in the apartment that would make the cut. 

“Mingyu might have some clothes here. But if you’d rather not, that's fine.”

“Uh,” Wonwoo blinks. “Then sure, I’ll go.”

Abandoning the cup on the counter, you journey down the hall. Beyond the door to your room, then Amina’s and finally the last one. You step into Lisa’s room and dial her number. She picks up the call on the second ring.

“Helloooo?” She sings. Ears straining, you can hear Mingyu’s mumbling somewhere in the background.

You wade closer to the dresser on the far wall before responding. “Hey, does Mingyu have clothes here?”

After years of living together and sharing clothes, you know the first few drawers house nothing you wish to see. But rather than spend hours digging through the massive collection she’s amassed, you wait for an answer as you slide open one of the safer ones.

“Why? Are you planning to go as him for Halloween?”

Wedging the devices between your shoulder and cheek, you move to the next drawer containing more Lisa sized clothes and less Mingyu sized ones. 

“Um, Wonwoo-is-here-and-needs-clothes.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Lisa pauses before screaming. “He’s there?” The volume makes you wince, dropping your phone as she continues to babble like a lunatic on the other side. 

“What did you do? Rip his clothes off? I knew you were a little minx.” She hums.

“I didn’t—” you sputter. “He got locked out last night and stayed here. Did Mingyu check his phone?”

“He dropped his phone in the lake yesterday and it isn’t working. So you and Wonwoo didn’t have sex?”

Choking on the directness, you change the subject. “Anyway! Does Mingyu have clothes he can borrow or not?”

“You did! Was it on the couch? The kitchen?”

“We’re not freaks like you and your boyfriend”

“Oh so there's a ‘we’ now?” Lisa asks like a shark smelling blood. 

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” she sings. “Mingyu’s clothes are in the bottom drawer.”

Shutting the current drawer and dropping on your knees, you mumble. “Thank you.”

“Have fun on your date!”

“Drown.”

“Love you too.”

The line goes dead as you dig out a pile of shirts and pants. Mingyu nearly has his name on the lease next to Lisa so it’s no surprise he’s got half his closet here. Not that you mind since the nights Mingyu stays over come with a morning of homemade breakfast and a clean kitchen. If Lisa and Mingyu ever break up you’d consider kicking her out to let him move in. 

You return to the living room with a stack of options cradled in your arms.

“Here,” you say, shoving them into Wonwoo’s chest. “We’ve gotta leave in like ten minutes if we want to make it on time.”

Wonwoo emerges from the bathroom with two minutes to spare. Mingyu’s clothes are too big for him but it works. A sweater you could only describe as “meet the parents” hangs off his shoulders, tucked in at the waist. You try not to ogle but he looks good; too good considering you know what lies underneath.

“Ready?” he asks, breaking your trance.

“Yep. C’mon.”

The car ride downtown gives Wonwoo plenty of material to strike up conversation but he falls flat every time his mouth opens. Luckily, you’re more than willing to fill the silence and he’s grateful. 

He tries not to dwell on the fact this feels suspiciously like a date. Not just the sequence of events but the fact when you stopped for another coffee he immediately grabbed his empty pocket for the black leather wallet still on his kitchen counter. Or how he steps ahead to hold open the door when you reach the imposing white marble building downtown.

It doesn’t matter what it all feels like because Wonwoo doesn’t date. Not for lack of interest but some things in the world don’t work out and one of them is his love life. Further proof was the pained expression on your face when you invited him here; like you would have taken back the invitation in a second if you weren’t so polite.

“So what's the exhibit again?” he asks to fill the silence of the line at will call.

Today is a busy day for the museum. Students mill about between different groups. Couples young and old mixed between families. What do you two look like to them? A couple? Two friends that have seen each other naked but can’t manage a conversation afterwards? The idea has Wonwoo increasing the distance between you.

“Ugh, ‘Love: Immortal.’ It’s—”

“A collection of love, in all its forms.” Someone announces from behind.

A woman with dark hair approaches, obviously familiar to you from the way you greet each other. Wonwoo feels a fresh wave of discomfort at the way she cuts her eyes his way and then back to yours. Surprisingly, the way you shake your head makes him deflate.

“Alright, c’mon. Lots to see.” 

She drags you two to the front, flashing a smile at the security guard before walking through without hassle. 

“Benefits of knowing the head curator.” She turns to Wonwoo with a spark in his eye he recognizes from his interactions with Lisa. “Who are you?”

“Wonwoo.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Em, I’m sure you’ve heard nothing about me.”

You huff dramatically but the beginnings of a smile form on your lips. 

“Y/N told me you’re in charge of the exhibit.”

“Wow, so you have heard of me! I like him better than the other one already.”

You turn to ice immediately. Shoulders tense, eyes burning. Wonwoo can only assume she means Seungcheol. He knows the barest details of the break up; he didn’t bother asking for information on something that wasn’t his business. Seungcheol didn’t like Wonwoo and he can’t say he was too fond of the older man in the few instances they interacted. Mingyu’s birthday party last year was the most recent time Wonwoo saw him and the entire night he couldn’t believe no one was feeling the same exasperation at turning every story into one about himself. 

At least someone seems to feel the same way.

“The exhibit?” you grit. 

Em leads you through the small crowds funneling towards the main room, to a closed off wing of the museum with several signs warning “EMPLOYEES ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.” Thick blue velvet curtains obscure the room beyond the final arch but she bats them aside and ushers you two through the opening before tossing them closed once more. 

Frames fill the walls, evenly spaced with meticulous precision. Photographs in black in white, large canvases full of color. Across the floor, sculptures dominate the spaces; marble, bronze, one that looks like white sand from where Wonwoo stands.

“Well, you two have fun. I have to do some finishing touches on the brochures for tomorrow's benefactor showing.”

And like that he’s alone with you again.

At least this time he has the excuse of submersing himself in art. It isn’t something he has vast knowledge of but it’ll help dull the edge he still feels in your presence. 

The first sculpture looks straight out of an Italian vacation catalog. Pure marble, dramatic and imposing as it greets you two. It’s impressive; the detail, the skill. Wonwoo may not understand what he’s looking at but he can admire people blessed with the talent to create it. 

Warm sunlight pours in from the sky light, painting the figures in glowing buttery gold. The woman appears to be reaching up for the winged man, desperate, wanting. Her face is hidden but the man’s is angelic and serene.

A metal card sprouts from the ground at the foot of the statue.

Antonio Canova, “Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss.”

You split to circle the statue, taking in the smooth marble from all angles. Concentration bleeds across your brows, turning them into a soft scowl. Instead of staring, Wonwoo floats to the opposite wall, coming face to face with what might as well be a painting of the way you woke him hours ago. 

Two lovers, curled in the sheets, share a passionate kiss frozen in time. It hollows Wonwoo’s stomach to think someone from decades ago could paint something so familiar. Capture a moment he took for granted in a second only to have it replay in his face.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, In Bed, The Kiss. 

Whoever this Henri guy is, Wonwoo doesn’t like him.

“What do you think?” you ask from his side.

Startling from your voice, Wonwoo is at a lose for words. “It’s…nice?”

“Nice?”

Scrambling for an explanation to the lie he decides on the obvious, “Like the colors and stuff.”

“Huh.” 

He can’t help but feel he’s failed some kind of test. That something greater rode on his analysis of such a stifling painting.

“It looks like that one dude— Monet?”

“That dude Monet?” You snort. “He founded the impressionist movement so you’re not too far off.”

You’re already moving on to the next area when the initial sting of disappointment wears off. 

More paintings, all lovers clutching in passionate embraces dot along the walls. Some are sequenced to tell a story. Some painfully longing, others with surprisingly obvious eagerness.

Wonwoo finds you again parked in front of one of the darker canvases. Your figure shields the entire image from view but it's okay. He finds himself observing the way your head tilts to the side, like the two hooded figures are the most interesting puzzle you’ve ever faced. It pulls Wonwoo in like a magnet, he wants to see what you see. Understand what makes it so fascinating even if he doesn't get it himself.

René Magritte, The Lovers.

Suffocating is the first thing Wonwoo can think of. Unsettling, scared. A litany of descriptions he’s felt looking at the other works around the room but this one leaves him reeling. He moves on before you can ask him how he feels. 

Wonwoo doesn’t understand art, but apparently it understands him.

More pieces, cacophonies of colors and textures, swirls blending scenes into dreamlike scenes. Photos of couples, man and woman, woman and woman, man and man; all wrapped in embraces or staring fondly across the expanse.

Wonwoo works the way you came and you cover all the works he’s pretended to look at. The next time you collide in front of a dark painting near the end of the exhibit hall. 

Edvard Munch, The Kiss.

“What do you think?” Wonwoo asks this time.

You stare at the canvas a moment longer before responding. “It’s one of my favorites so I can’t be unbiased.”

“Promise I won’t tell anyone.”

A conspiratory smile, there and gone in a flash, makes his heart squeeze.

“Munch was supposedly pretty ambivalent to love, at least that's what some people think, but I feel like this and his other paintings show the opposite. It feels jealous? You see other people blend together seamlessly and it feels that's what he wants. If you saw Kissing by the Window I think it’d be more obvious. If you look at any of his other work you’d see he wasn’t ambivalent to anything.”

“Anything I’d know?”

“The Scream?”

“Wait, really? Like The Scream?”

“Yeah, it was a few years before he painted this but he painted couples kissing since before that.”

“Huh.”

“What do you think?”

“Now that you say that, it feels like I’m watching my friends make out at a party.”

Dual shudders wrack your bodies, no doubt picturing your roommates.

Searching for a distraction, Wonwoo approaches the last piece of the collection. A dark bronze statue; two lovers, a man and woman, sit naked, wrapped in each other's arms. The placard on the floor reads: Auguste Rodin, The Kiss (Le Baiser). 

Even though there's no movement, the desire is clear. It reminds him of this morning. How you sat in his lap, twisted in his embrace while he worked you up. For the first time, Wonwoo understands art. If he had the talent to immortalize the way you glow under his hands he’d do it. 

The realization leaves his ears ringing, heart beating in a flurry. 

Luckily, the only thing at the end of the hall is a photobooth. The sign next to it advertises the photos are free and the museum’s social media to share the pictures. You’re already making a beeline for the curtained side when Wonwoo decides to follow.

You scoot to the far edge of the seat, assuming he’s right behind. There's just enough room for him to fit in but the heat of your side into Wonwoo makes him sweat.

“Alright so we just press this and—oh!”

A flash of bright white startles you both as the machine quickly catches both of your startled expressions. The next one also catches you both off guard and so does the next. Wonwoo barely manages to smile in the last picture.

Peeking out from the curtain, he catches the strip of film falling into the dispenser tray and collects it for you both to inspect.

Surprise captured in blurry black and white photocards. Your mouth hangs open in almost all of them. Wonwoo’s eyes are shut in three of the four. As expected the final picture is the best but that's not much given the mess of the first three.

“Oh my god, you can see up your nose.” You cackle, fingers pointing at the second picture where Wonwoo’s barely a few inches from the camera. 

He can’t argue. Instead he laughs too and points out how you’re crossed eyed in the third picture. You both howl with amused delight at the collection of silly expressions. And just when it’s under control, one of you snorts and starts laughing again until you're both breathless.

“Okay, okay. Let’s do a real one now.” 

Settling in, you both wiggle next to each other to get comfortable despite the lack of space. Wonwoo’s arm finds its way around your waist simply because there's nowhere else for it to go. Same for your hand on his thigh as you lean forward and press the button again. 

You're still too close to the camera lens when the first picture flashes but manage to lean back in time for the second. 

“Now a silly one.”

You both move at the same time, heads colliding. Wonwoo jumps back, head hitting the hardwood wall behind him. The camera flashed again while stars danced in his vision. Like something in a movie, his eyes meet yours. Humor melts into something more serious. The urge to kiss you, to feel your lips against his, not from some primitive hunger but a different sort of long he felt all morning. 

“You guys found the photo booth?” Em’s voice calls from beyond the curtain.

Wonwoo tries to hide his disappointment but you mirror it clear as day before he ducks out of the booth.

After your not-date with Wonwoo, you cherish the peace soon to be shattered that evening. Your roommates integrate you when they return from their trips. Amina first, pretending she has no knowledge of the unexpected guest until Lisa arrives an hour later. Her suitcase sits forgotten at the door, diving into a good cop bad cop routine over bags of takeout. 

“Okay, so you hook up the night before, go to a lovers exhibit at an art museum the next day, get lunch afterwards, and you still don’t think it's a date?” Amina asks in disbelief.

“Nope.” You pop the ‘P’ for extra emphasis while dividing the steaming take out between three plates. The events of the early morning are one of the few details you kept secret. Mostly to preserve Wonwoo’s pride but also to keep more evidence from building your roommates’ case.

Lisa chews through her noodles. “Did he think it was a date?”

“No.” Maybe. What if he did? Wonwoo didn’t say anything, didn’t attempt to hold your hand like some might on a date, didn’t flirt with you or stand too close. The only thing to suggest otherwise was the almost kiss in the photobooth that didn't really count at all. He needed to kill time before being let back in his apartment and you were sympathetic enough to help. 

But the strip of film, with blurry captures of you mid-sentence and Wonwoo’s shocked face, remains a secret, tucked under a pile of books on the shelf in your room. Another moment you feel protective of. Want it to exist away from prying eyes, just between you two after what was definitely not a date in an exhibit full of romantic paintings and sculptures. 

The second strip of film is with Wonwoo. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he scooped it up while you focused your attention elsewhere. Anywhere that would keep away the idiotic warmth attempting to bloom in your chest.

“Mingyu said Wonwoo wouldn’t talk about it so maybe your right.”

“How is your boyfriend just as nosey as you?” Amina asks through her own mouthful of chicken.

“Hey! Mingyu is definitely the bigger gossip in our relationship.”

“Steep competition.” You snicker, joined by your other roommate when Lisa chucks a fortune cookie.

“Anyway,” Lisa claps. “You and lover boy should figure out if you’re dating now.”

“We’re not dating."

Another week passes in a blink; the same nonsense with work, roommates, and friends. But you can’t shake the feeling something has changed between you and Wonwoo. His endearingly awkward attempt at small talk over text didn’t help. Assuring you Mingyu put him under a microscope when he got home, random drivel about his work day, even asking more about some of the artists you showed him in the other exhibits at the museum.

But you aren’t dating Wonwoo. That’s the key fact. You aren’t in a relationship and you’re both free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. It’s the mantra you repeat in your head over and over as you watch another girl flirt with him at the bar over the rim of your drink. 

She’s pretty. Pretty enough you can’t find a way to fault him for entertaining her while waiting for the next round. Confident too, tossing her head back as his mouth moves to respond to her quip. Nothing he said could be that funny. But she laughs wildly nonetheless and Wonwoo eats it up. One of her hands finds his arm, claws digging into claim him for the night.

Your buzz turns to a boil, fueled by alcohol and the green-eyed monster whispering in your ear. Wonwoo came with you. Technically not a lie because you arrived together with the rest of your group after meeting at his and Mingyu’s apartment. But Wonwoo hovered near you, his hand slipping further up your bare thigh as the night progressed. The unnamed woman can do whatever she wants because Wonwoo is at the bar to get you a drink. And it’s you he’ll sit back down next to. Or that’s what you tell yourself.

The details of Wonwoo’s face are indiscernible; if he’s smiling at her awkwardly, or laughing at her jokes, or looking at her with the same hungry expression you’ve been on the receiving end of. Granted the bar is dark and bodies crush in on all sides, obscuring your view to the point you try and peer around them without shame to watch the show. But she steps closer and Wonwoo isn’t stepping away.

Rather than continue your own torture through watching the display, your drunk brain forces your body to take action. The bar gets closer as you weave between the crowd with grace or shouldering through drunk partiers who pretend not to hear you ask for space. 

Just enough space remains between Wonwoo’s body and the redhead for you to slide between them.

“Hi,” you smile with false sweetness.

Wonwoo doesn’t seem shocked as he smiles back after a beat. “Hi.”

“Um, excuse you?” the woman scoffs behind you. “We were talking.”

You don’t even need to speak before Wonwoo plucks the cup full of ice and lime wedges out of your grasp, passing one of the new drinks the bartender slides his way. Once he has his own, you’re led away while whatever-her-name-is stomps her foot in the background. 

The dance floor bleeds out into the rest of the club but Wonwoo wedges you both deep enough that the walls of bodies all around offer some sort of privacy. Not that anyone is paying mind to another pair crammed close together, you two are simply one in dozens.

Chest to chest, the pulse of music lulls you into blind numbness beyond the warmth of his thigh between your own. The drag of muscle against your core with each sway. Firm hands guide your hips, teasing under the edge of your top before dipping back down. Your hands are far more teasing; one knotting in his hair, pulling until you can feel the rumble in his throat where the other rakes across. 

Wonwoo focuses his own taunts across your face. A kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, chin, temple, ear. Everywhere you want to feel him but not where you need him. The smirk of his lips against your jaw, a cruel mock at the way your hips buck eagerly from some light petting, sends a new wave of chills down your spine.

It's nothing worse than anyone else is doing but you feel naked. More exposed when you find his mouth against your own, tongue scorching between your teeth, dragging across your own to spread you thin. All you can think about is where he’s touching you, how easily he could dip his hand up the back of your skirt and find evidence of arousal in spades. 

The bass dips to something slower, vibrating deep in your bones and any concerns for the public eye dissipates with it. You don’t know the song. It doesn’t matter if you did because the motions of your hips follow Wonwoo’s until you turn around. He doesn’t miss a beat when you turn and glue your back to his chest; hard against the seat of ass with his palm spread across your stomach to keep you firm against the next grind.

Wonwoo’s hand follows the heat of your thigh up and up and up until only the short hemmed skirt stands in the way. Skin glowing under the attention, you wiggle further back into his chest until he takes the chance. Wonwoo lets the sway of the music do the work, fingertips flat to the seam of your panties providing enough friction to drive you wild.

It’s too dark to see below your shoulders, let alone for anyone else to see where his hand works, but the risk of getting caught scorches your nerves. 

Hot smokey air blurs your vision when you lean back to whisper an offer too good to refuse. The bar is on the same long street as his apartment, a quick walk to fuck in the comfort of a mattress. But as your eyes slip open to tempt him, Wonwoo is already looking at something far across the club. 

Following his line of sight, you find your ex-boyfriend crowded in a booth, surrounded on all sides by familiar faces who became strangers in the aftermath of the breakup. Seungcheol isn’t looking at you because he’s in deep with some blonde; arm around her shoulder and chin tipped back. The same moves he used to get you.

But Seungcheol can’t be here because he’s halfway across the country. He wasn’t coming back. That’s what he said. He wasn’t coming back yet he’s sitting less than fifty feet away. 

Your eyes finally manage to work again, scanning the others at the table and finding his best friend. Of course he’d come back for Jeonghan’s birthday. 

It’s Jeonghan who looks at you first, not Seungcheol. His eyes drag above your head, where he must spot Wonwoo’s face given the way he fails to conceal a second of shock before looking away. Jeonghan leans towards Seungcheol’s ear and you don’t stay to guess what he’s saying.

The bar is too crowded, the music too loud. Too many people jostling you side to side while you navigate towards the hallway leading towards the bathroom. It’s dark, a few couples pressed against the walls; some chatting, others… reenacting what’s happening on the dancefloor.

Thankfully the bathroom is empty. After locking the door, you catch a glimpse in the mirror. Skin flushed with sweat, hands trembling, and heart racing. How much is due to dancing after a few rounds and what can be attributed to the anxiety of an unexpected run in with your ex is unclear. The coolness of a wet paper towel against your skin helps wash away some of the mess.

Pacing in a tight circle, you burn a rut into the floor.

You won’t be upset. You won’t. You aren’t. Whatever you had with Seungcheol is long over. Thoughts of him, rose colored memories, were nothing but the past. They didn’t bring the same misery as before, the longing to have him back or for a different reality. But your body refuses to have the same reaction now that he’s back in orbit.

A firm knock against the door startles you. 

“Um– someone’s in here.”

“It’s me.”

Not Lisa. Not Amina. You unlock the door to find Wonwoo peering back. His eyes widen behind the frames of his glass as he eyes your state in the new lighting. 

“Sorry, I’m—” you sniffle, cut off by the comfort of Wonwoo’s chest.

It’s awkward, arms pinned under his own and your nose jammed against his collar bone. You’ve never hugged Wonwoo, or seen him hug anyone else for that matter. But he’s trying. 

The rhythm of his heart calms your own. On instinct, your arms circle the narrow part of his waist, melting into the weight of his hold. All the worries dull around the edges, softened with Wonwoo here; his face pressed into the crown of your head.

“Wanna leave?” he asks.

Nodding into his collar bone, you inhale the smell of his cologne. Sweat and beer and smoke from the bar also seep in but you hold tight anyway; cling to the comfort of his scent until you feel lighter.

Another knock at the door breaks you apart, but Wonwoo keeps you close with a squeeze.

“Occupied,” Wonwoo responds.

You imagine what the person beyond the door will think when you exit. Eyes glazed, shirts wrinkled, even Wonwoo’s hair is a mess from your fingers constant tugging earlier. Maybe you’d care less if the night wasn’t interrupted unexpectedly. But now you just want to run home and sleep.

This time when you step away, Wonwoo lets you. “Good?”

“Better,” you respond. 

Ushering you out the door, you quickly find the person who knocked.

Seungcheol leans against the far wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. The massive silver watch he insisted on wearing staring you down. He looks exactly the same as the day he left albeit more inebriated. Face tinged pink, shirt wrinkled at the collar. The light pouring out from the bathroom highlights the smudge of lipstick on his throat. 

And he’s staring Wonwoo down like he wants a fight.

He quirks an eyebrow. “So this is what you’ve been up to?”

The ability to speak evades you. What’s there to say? The first words you hear from him in months and the situation doesn’t paint a friendly light.

“Ya’ know, she let me fuck her in there too.”

Wonwoo stiffs at your back. It’s a half truth. Seungcheol wouldn’t fuck you in the bathroom after you asked but he left you suck him off. You don’t argue. The details won’t make you look any better. You doubt Wonwoo wants to hear it. Not after being so close to fingering you on the dance floor for everyone to see.

It’s embarrassing. You heat in the face once again but ignore the bait. Instead, you snag Wonwoo’s hand and pull him away. He fights for a second, a hesitant tug backwards while he sizes up the older man. If they want to fight, you aren’t going to play witness.

Wonwoo stays as you leave. Down the hallway, past the bar, and out the exit as quick as you came. Only the bouncer stands outside the bar in the chilly night, bidding you farewell as you follow the sidewalk home. 

The cold sobers up whatever alcohol remains in your system before freezing you down to your bones. Rain lingers in the air, on the edge of falling so you pick up the pace. It’s a long walk but not an unwelcome one. Plenty of people fill the streets, pouring in and out from other bars or restaurants open to the late night crowd. Hopefully they’ve all had a better night than you.

A crack of thunder announces the sky’s descent. Fat raindrops soak you to the bone before you can dodge under an awning. Everyone scatters like ants, swarming for any safe haven available. Puddles the size of swimming pools flood the sidewalk; cars rip up waves to douse the unfortunate souls close to the curb. 

It’s the kind of rain where the clouds fall all at once. Waves of thunder split in half from bolts of lightning. Raindrops bounce from the ground, sent sideways by the wind to soak your shoes. The pounding sound deafens everything else but not the embarrassment clouding around. All you want to do is get home, lie down, and forget everything in a tub of ice cream. 

You thought you wouldn’t care about seeing Seungcheol after your break. Sure the brief shock would settle in but after that there wouldn’t be anything else. No hard feelings, no feelings at all. But the reality of these things is always worse than the way they play out in your head. 

Seungcheol with a new girl like he’s done it a million times since your break up. Seungcheol wrapped in someone else’s arms, covered in someone else’s lipstick, without a glance your direction. 

The more you think, the more you realize it isn’t seeing Seungcheol that freaked you out. Because you’ve been hanging around Wonwoo, spending nights wrapped in his arms, almost kissing him without the excuse of sex afterwards. 

It’s having Wonwoo there to witness Seungcheol acting like an asshole. That he practically called you a slut to Wonwoo’s face, treating you like some object in their weird dislike for each other. It’s also the embarrassment that you dated Seungcheol to begin with. And how before you spotted Seungcheol you didn’t care about anything beyond where your body ended and Wonwoo’s began. All you wanted was to spend the night with him.

“Here,” a familiar voice rumbles next to you.

Wonwoo forces his jacket around your shoulders. Too tempted by the warm dryness, you accept without objection. The comforting scent of his cologne tickles your nose and you fit the urge to press into the collar for more. Instead you pull it tighter around your frame and watch the storm rage on. 

“My place is on the next block.” Wonwoo says. “You can wait there until the rain stops.”

This time when you grab his hand, Wonwoo follows. 

What Seungcheol said, what he implied, boiled Wonwoo’s blood. It wasn’t his business. It wasn’t anyone’s business. Maybe Wonwoo was jealous of what Seungcheol said, the power he still clearly had on you.

He hated that after you walked away Seungcheol’s eyes followed you down the hallway; the cocky expression on his face say ‘I won’ like you were a pawn in some fucked up game. In a way, Seungcheol had won. You scurried away like like being around Wonwoo was some sort of crime, leaving him to face the older man.

Wonwoo hadn’t take the bait. He was more concerned about where you’d end up in such a frazzled state that he only hesitated for a second rather than beating the crap out of your ex.

But right now, instead of dwelling on those unwanted feelings, Wonwoo focuses on not freezing to death in the storm. He sprints alongside you, kicking up more water that only serves to soak you both further. You take turns pulling each other under awnings and into doorways. A car passes by and sends a wave that splashes him in the face, knocking his glasses askew.

One glance at your face, shock pulling his features wide, sends you into a fit. 

Hands on your knees, you keel over in laughter. Shoulders shaking, belly clenched cackling that confuses Wonwoo more than anything else tonight. More and more rain falls around you as you hunch over to catch your breath, only to choke on more shrill giggles.

Wonwoo starts shakes too. From the cold mostly. But then his head kicks back and he laughs at the ridiculousness with you. At the way you sway on unsteady feet, unable to breathe. At the utter insanity of the night you’ve shared together.

You fall into his arms, propping each other up the remaining distance to his apartment. Occasionally chirps break through; Wonwoo collapses, pulling you with him or vice versa teetering back and forth like a pair of drunk fools.

The metal of his front door is familiar once again but Wonwoo cages you against with new warmth in his chest. He could kiss you. He wants to kiss you, but he also want to stand here and laugh like kids sharing some silly secret for hours. 

Settling for a quick peck against your chin, Wonwoo smiles again as your lips chase him. It squeezes something deep in his chest until it hurts. The corners of your own mouth strain along with his, warm pain because Wonwoo thinks he might like you. 

More than a hookup. More than some casual fling that will dissolve in the next few months. Wonwoo likes you.

As he opens the door, ushering you inside and pulling off your soaked top, he really hopes you like him too.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @cheolism

Series Taglist: @aaniag @sdoulc @wonvsmile @jeonwonwooscutie @wonrangwoo @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @yogurttea @4cheezflatbred @fragmentof-indifference @p-dwiddle @icedearlgreytea @cottoncheol @hoshiskimchi @listxn @kwonshiho @kyeomofhearts @beananacake

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

#ksmutsociety #kvanity #svthub #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fanfic #svt smut #🫡 highvern

[hornedadvance]

Horned Advance

Chapter Spooky - Palo, the Ghoul

A couple years before our story begins, a younger Palo and a smaller Quinn find themselves prepping to go ‘Trick or Treating,’ a strange concept to the critter but one that Quinn assures will be fun and worthwhile. Quinn had stolen a set of bedsheets from her bed and cut out two eye holes, bringing this brand new ghost costume to her forest creature friend.

"It’s perfect! This way we can walk together and no one will suspect a thing!" She says, a wide grin spread across her round face. 

"I don’t think this’s a good idea, Quinn…" Mutters an ever cautious Palo, with a look of resignation on her face. She’d tried many times to sneak into normal human cultures in her yesteryears, being stung every time she did.

"Bah! Quiet you. We’ll be dandy.." Quinn snaps back. ‘You could get away with no sheet at all this time of year… But this way we’re being extra safe, just how you like it alright? So I’ll be having none of that from you.’ She lectures Palo in the same way you would lecture a cat, jokingly scolding her for her party-pooping. "Plus, you’ve always wanted to try it right? Touring the town and getting a taste of each little home." She says, throwing the sheet over Palo’s head. Palo bears a sour frown, unable to shoot down Quinn’s jolly hopes. "We’ll head out together, we’ll load up and we’ll come back here to chow down, ok? I told my parents I’m out with the village girls, so they won’t be expecting me back any time soon." Quinn reassures. Palo keeps her cautions, but concedes to Quinn’s insistent plan, picking up a spare bucket she’d brought over from her parents house.

And so the two set out into the night, Palo leading the way through the dense woodland within which she’d been living back to Quinn’s small town of Babilia. After a couple scrapes to the sheet, leaving it with a more worn and ghastly look they arrive on the edge of town, staring down all of the houses ripe for the tricking. Or treating. 

"How do I look?" Quinn asks, with her outfit now made clear by the bright lights of town. She wore a frilly white dress with feather wings far too small for her poking out from her back and a cheesy yellow halo poking up over her head, held up by a thin stick. In all honesty she looked pretty bad, the shrubbery they’d passed rubbing off on her outfit- staining it green and covering it with fabric tears. Despite this, it was clear to even one thick skulled as Palo that this meant a lot to her, so she replied, "Great! You look great." With the best not at all forced smile she could manage. A coy smile creeps across Quinn's face before she turns back to face the town. 

"Let’s go, then!" She says, leading the way with a hop in her step.

The two girls knock on the first door of the night, with it swinging open to reveal an elderly woman, one Quinn seems to know.

"Trick or treat!" She says, with Palo following in a much less confident fashion.

The two girls walk away from the first house with their buckets already a good bit heavier, Quinn skipping jubilantly.

"Y’see I know all the best spots. My parents had me go on errands for them so often that I know most of the village by name… Which means I also know who has the biggest stashes!" She announces with a hint of mischief in her voice. Palo could tell from here that it would be a long night.

Hours later, the clocks nearing midnight Palo and Quinn return to the critter’s little forest den, Quinn’s legs tired from all of the prancing about town. The two empty their buckets on a stone slab Palo had been using as a table, taking in the awesome visage of their candy mound.

"It’s… It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen…!" Quinn mumbles under her breath, this time even Palo taken aback by the sheer ocean of diabetes laid out in front of her.

"Can we eat it?" The critter asks, desperate but unsure if it’s ok to do so.

"Of cour- WAIT… One moment… I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t touch anything!" Quinn says, springing out of her seat and sprinting off into the dark.

For a moment it was quiet. The night was dull, and away from the city there was no light or cheer beyond the quiet gaze of the starry night sky. Palo felt a deep sense of loneliness cut into her, as she realised she’d be once again spending a night of festivities without any family or companio-BAM! Quinn thuds back into the scene, bursting through the makeshift door Palo had put in place to conceal her woodland cave home. 

"I’m back!" She proclaims, as if she hadn’t made it clear with her presence. The girl pants for air for a moment before steadying herself and sitting down next to Palo.

"You really thought I’d forget, didn’t you… That it’s your birthday!" She says, pulling out something from a little knapsack she had tied around her shoulder since leaving. She pulls out a handful of tinfoil, before unwrapping it to reveal a scruffy little chocolate cake, the icing pulling away with the foil. It looked a mess, and Palo could see the light draining from Quinn’s face as the cake essentially fell apart in her hands, but didn’t want to let the sweet gesture go to waste.

"Thank you… Thank you so much." The critter says, taking the mess of a cake from her hands.

"Ah, wait!" Quinn blurts out, pulling out a single candle and a matchbook from the sack, sticking it on top of the cake and lighting it up. "Now it’s a real birthday cake." She says, with her radiant positivity restored to her face. In this moment Palo feels the most sincere appreciation she had felt in her life up to this point, and tears begin to roll down her cheeks. Not once before now had anyone even noted her birthday, let alone celebrated it with her, and for one such as her this was too much. She places the cake down atop its foil on the table, and pulls Quinn in for a tight embrace; tears now streaming down her face in one of the few honest shows of emotions in her life. "Thanks… Quinn.. Thanks.." Was all she could manage, in the unusually shaky voice for a hardened survivor such as herself. Quinn hugged her back tightly, before turning to the cake that she’d brought over.

"You’d best start eating this… Or I’ll be done with it before you get a chance!" She taunts, reaching for the cake. Her action prompted Palo to react, snatching at the cake and gobbling half of it down before Quinn could even lay a finger on it. Palo wipes the tears from her face and genuinely smiles, not a sight you see often.

"Oh, that’s right! The candle. You need to make a wish!" Quinn says, gesturing towards the mangled corpse of the cake, the candle leaning awkwardly off the edge. "Blow it out, and make a wish in your head…"

Palo takes a moment to consider what she might wish for, mulling over her options in her head but in this moment there is only one thing she could really consider.

"I wish we can grow old together." She says, blowing out the candle.

"Gahh! You’re not supposed to say it out loud!" Quinn cries, "Now you’ve jinxed us forever!"

Palo looks at her for a moment, and Quinn looks back, before they both burst into a fit of giggles. And so they laughed the night away, the night of Palo’s first real birthday, and one that cemented the two as friends ‘til the end.

Chapter Spooky 2

Link to All Chapters

#horned advance #creative writing #original work #original fiction #ocs #original characters #writing #fantasy #writers on tumblr

[quiet-kunoichi]

[LAP]

[ surprise! it's some old ass meme || @spikyhairedsilhouette ] She had been there to witness the show. Lingering in the dimly-lit corner of the underground bar, nursing her drink close to her chest. Scintillating stare hardly strayed from his glistening visage, skin pebbled with sweat as he ferociously played the drum set like it owed him something precious or vile, Kimiko couldn't decide. Shikamaru was lost in the music and probably some ludicrous concoction of drugs and alcohol, as per usual. She didn't intend to be seen, tonight. It had been a little over a week since she last saw him, and he seemed less than thrilled that she had picked up and left shortly after their usual bedsheet tryst. It was the horrendous loss she suffered in the ring the following night that kept her away, unwilling to let him see the aftermath— turns out, she was a sore loser.

The original plan was to watch his performance from afar, then take herself back home. It felt too close to groveling to show up at his show expecting some kind of recollision after practically ghosting him last time. Someone more emotionally mature than herself would recognize that an apology was owed. Kimiko, on the other hand, wouldn't even consider waving that white flag of surrender. It's not like they were in any kind of committed relationship, anyway. Whatever they had, it wasn't serious. That mantra failed to sink in as Kimiko found herself stalking through the dispersing crowd, tailing the stag and some whack-ass groupie he plucked from the crowd after the show. If this playboy thought he was going to whet his whistle with just any face-painted clown, he had better come up with some God that would consider forgiving him at the pearly gates. It took some thorough 'convincing', but Kimiko made it back stage without some sycophantic escort to hang onto. Her heavy boot busts the shoddy doorknob lock, and the gnarly scene is revealed. Said groupie couldn't have leaped off of Shikamaru's lap any faster. "Sorry princess, I don’t mean to interrupt your play date." Nevermind the very reason she roughed up the backstage 'security' was to interrupt this revolting rendezvous. Man-spreading on the ratty couch, Shikamaru appears like a disgruntled teenager— effectively cockblocked. A vein in Kimiko's forehead was already throbbing. At the very least, blondie is adept at reading the room. "You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend." And a scary one at that. "That's because—" Excuses already pouring out of his sloppy lipstick-riddled lips. Glossy pink was absolutely not his color. "He doesn't." Kimiko offers the answer he was looking for in the middle of his sentence. '"I didn't tell you anything." "Do you mind if the adults talk?" While Kimiko appears nonplussed, there's a threatening energy surrounding her. The phantom song of a rattlesnake's tail as she approaches, vicious glare zeroed in on her target. The brassy haired blonde thinks wisely to jump out of the way and save her skin. The metal door clicks shut behind her.

She hates how expectant he looks. Like he wasn't just caught entertaining another girl. "Give me one good reason I shouldn’t fucking kick in your teeth right now." It was a rigged game. "Because you wouldn’t want to ruin this pretty face." Arms stretch to their wingspan across the back of the couch, that wily grin of his only stirring her up all the more. "That’s presumptuous of you." "Just an educated guess, considering you were sitting on this pretty face last time."

"Get a grip." The scoff accompanies her signature eyeroll. She’s flustered now, teetering between her anger and something else. "Come on, you just saved me from some groupie hopped up on molly." He knew he was getting through to her, effectively pruning her thorns. "Right, because you really looked like you were kicking and screaming for help." Her tone is mockingly jovial, but her stare is beyond disapproving— closer still to straight-up eviscerating. "And your appearance now makes up for the last couple of weeks..?" That comment hit too close to the bullseye, those once-flattening quills once more poised for defensive strike. She doesn't respond, and the lack of banter is enough of an indicator for Shikamaru to sweep that conversation under the rug. Instead, he reaches through the invisible barrier and clasps her wrist, tugging her forward with the strength of his forearms and landing her in his lap before it went cold. "You’re here now, let’s turn that playdate fantasy into a reality. I'll call you mommy if you call me daddy." "You’re deplorable." Shikamaru knows better than to try and kiss her with another woman's lipstick still marring his mouth. He opts to smear it over the heat of her exposed throat, instead. "And you reek." Naturally, she wasn't finished doling out jabs. Nevertheless, his hands are roaming, undeterred from his goal. Kimiko could feel his dastardly smirk curling into her skin as he hums his reply whilst grazing his teeth over sensitive skin. "You really know how to flatter a man." "Just what concoction of poison are you on tonight?" She needs to feign total composure regardless of how her breath just hitched. "You want some?" Crooning. "I want you—" "That much is obvious." His turn to interrupt her. "—to stop infuriating me." She's holding onto her frustration, or at least she's trying to. He knows that he's wearing down her reserves, he can tell in the way her body starts to give in to the persistence of his ministrations. The weight of her starting to melt further into his lap, her back naturally arching beneath his touch. Despite the venom still trailing her voice, Kimiko was certainly not putting up a fight. Even her hands had begun to find their place on his shoulders, up into his hair. "Listen, Kitten—" Sweet talking his way to the honeypot. He just likes to brandish those submissive pet names against her for a damn thrill. "I won't be stopping anything unless you beg me to." Heavy-lidded eyes stare unabashedly up at his target as her face blooms into a brilliantly pigmented hue. Speechless, but not for long if he has his way. She's going to flay him alive, and he's not ashamed to admit that the mere thought of it arouses his interest. His drum-stick calloused hands have found her backside, boldly plucking the webbing of her fishnets as though it were the strings of an angelic harp.

"So then, what will it be? Are you going to let up on that sour attitude, or should I speed dial a fresh groupie and commit adultery?" The fire in her eyes is exactly what he was hunting for.

#a drabble in which i write more of spiky than of kimi?? #i know i can do better than this #its self indulgent at this point #this was supposed to be finished by your birthday btw #i hope you get a kick out of it! #and if i horribly butchered his portrayal: you'll have to do me one better 👀 #verse; modern #spikykimi #spikyhairedsilhouette

[eurofox]

Just finished Visage and it was great, better than I was expecting and I didn't feel it was too expensive for what it was.

The PT inspiration is obvious and they acknowledge that, there's several silent hill references and one ghost shares a lot of similarities with Lisa. Amnesia is another strong influence, the sanity loss in darkness but this wasn't implemented as well imo. It was hard to see and occasionally went down when I was standing in light with nothing happening and just seemed random at times, which felt unfair.

The atmosphere is top notch, I rarely feel unease because I've played so many of these games but I definitely did here with headphones on. Nice soundtrack as well and the way it changes as they get closer was very effective. Although I did notice some of the spooky effects getting reused. Sometimes I felt like I was being chased when I actually wasn't and I was sometimes procrastinating to avoid going into an area I knew I needed to go because shit was bound to happen. Having separate chapters helped as you weren't dealing with the same ghost every time and it stopped it getting stale. The lighting especially looks great.

Controls are not good. You don't do much, just walk and look around mostly with occasional item use so it's not game ruining. It's very fiddly and you can't hold much and will have to drop things. Which will probably despawn so don't expect to find them later. This gets VERY irritating in a chapter with a sledgehammer that requires two hands. I get the idea that fumbling around with items makes it scarier but here it just felt annoying and badly designed. Also some items you can use while others need a specific interaction which is also confusing but this is rare. You're character is also pretty slow, again not bad but when you're going around in circles you'll wish you were a bit faster.

The game is longer than I was expecting though,perhaps too long. Even with the different chapters some of the tricks did start to get a little old after awhile. Lights going off eventually just gets tiresome, especially when I'm trying to find out what to do, and that's the big problem with this game.

This game is vague AS FUCK. Your character never says a word except grunts and his story is vague too. It has an edgy opening, your character murders his whole family and then himself, but other than that you just start in the house with items leading to random chapters, with the 'hub' also containing stories. There's no hint whatsoever about what to do first and arguably it doesn't matter, but I looked I went to a guide at this point. There was an order intially, and I chose to do a 'shit sandwich' based on internet opinion chapter 1,3 and then 2. The stories do kind of tie to the main character but only slightly, and none of them are groundbreaking or very original. But they are fun and spooky. There's some social commentary on mental health I suppose, but I didn't find it to be as insightful as some people were saying tbh.

The first is a about a little girl haunted by a spirit. This is a classic ghost story. Guessing the ring/grudge influenced this one. You know what to expect here and it's done very well. Jumped a few times with this one, even in such well trod territory.

Second is another haunting but a bit more human focused. This was my favourite story and probably the scariest. It's also where you have to use that stupid sledgehammer to smash mirrors that lead to puzzles. Although I enjoyed the story the lack of hints here as to what to do and in what order really got annoying. I ran out of lighters and restarted the chapter with a guide. Hate doing that but I would have been stuck wandering round clueless for ages. And there's no journal or anything so not doing this chapter in a single sitting wouldn't be ideal. It involves backtracking and remembering the layout of different areas. The ghost here is the most unsettling and I didn't even have as many of the freaky encounters other people have recorded.

Chapter 3 was the weakest imo. The ghost is the least scary, it's just some guy really, and it's more like an outlast clone. It has a few chase sequences that don't work well in a game where you can't really run. They were going more for stress/panic here and it's far more linear. You also leave the house several times, a nice change of scenery I guess but it was mostly corridors. There's also an event here that repeats a few times and it got dull. It also has a boss fight of sorts. There is also an action you can perform here that is never used anyhere else in the game with no clues to do so and I was actually locked in a room because of it. I had to restart, near the beginning thankfully, but still. I'm glad I did this chapter second as it would have been a bum note to end on. There's nothing new here and I just wanted it over and done with so I could get to the other chapter.

The hub has videos you can watch to piece together clues about the main character by investigating the locations in the clips. This is the where more of the surreal horror comes into play. There is another spirit here as well. What you learn however, is again, pretty vague and open to interpretation. And any links people make to the other characters seem to be personal theories from what I've seen. There are 2 endings, and personally, I feel the 'bad' ending was better. Frankly, even when I learned more about the main character, I still didn't care about him at all. I can't remember caring less about a character in fact. He's no James Sunderland, put it that way (and I don't like James either, but he had his moments)

One thing I wish this game had was an 'easy' or 'safe' mode like SOMA had, with more clues on what to actually do and maybe an unlimited lighter. Meandering around slowly without a guide on chapter 2 running out of supplies got very tedious, also getting killed in pitch black isn't even scary either.

There are other things that I was confused by, but it would get spoilerish so I'll make a separate post.

For a Kickstarter/indie game, it was beyond what I was expecting. Aside from a few minor things, it was really good overall and well worth checking out.

#visage #pt #silent hills

[sor-vette]

Chapter Three... Uncertain Steps into an Unknown Otherworld

Has no one ever told you not to rifle through old attics? Has no one ever told you that if you find old vintage rings that seem to have a mind of their own, the one thing you should definitely not do is to wear them? Well maybe they have, but it’s October 31st and you’re in desperate need of good accessories. And as such the next thing you know, there is a man named Yoongi in your bedroom and he insists that you’ve just married the King of the Otherworld.

▶ t/w: strong language, drowning, attempted sexual assault (the Otherworld is not the nicest of places), throwing up (?)

▶ word count: 2.8k

▶ Interested in this story?

▶ Interested in reading something else?

Your cheek lands against a soft expanse of blue grass. You cough, back aching from the sudden, prolonged fall through the vile void on the other side of the Hell Mouth. The dripping protrusions caressing the side of your face and playing almost lovingly with your hair makes bile rush to your throat. You retch on all fours, vaguely catching the sounds of Yoongi stumbling through, still fighting the eager touch of whatever ungodly things resided in the eerie space between dreams and reality.

“Creepy fucking things,” Yoongi curses, yanking his ankle back from their grasp. You feel a certain warmth ghost across your back but when you look up it’s gone and Yoongi is nowhere near you.

You push yourself upwards, gaze trailing from the blue ground upwards - to the surroundings at hand.

The air is thick and heady, perforated by the luminescent dandelion pappus. Though it is night, the same as your world, nature here pulses with a flickering shine and it is as bright as day. Behind and slightly above the ground level, there is the opening to the pathway between worlds and it has spawned you in the middle of a broken stone trail. Along its sides, large, glowing flowers in the shape of an inverted heart hang ominously across the gliding path. They remind you of a story, one you read in your childhood and, though you can’t remember its name, you know it was not a happy one.

“Let’s go,” Yoongi huffs at you and briskly walks past, ignoring the flowers that reach towards him like sinners toward salvation. Something crawls up your calf and you bound after him, carefully avoiding any other flowers or mushrooms.

“So what exactly are you?” you wonder, taking in Yoongi’s form. Now, having dimmed the sickly glimmer in his eyes, he looked like any other human. Robed in a dark green jacket, heavy boots and even heavier chains, he looks like the type that lounges around fast cars and pretty girls.

“Show them a good time and promptly kick ‘em out,” something resentful in you lifts its unsightly visage.

You shake your head and purge that nasty little creature away. In the grand scheme of impending things, it wasn’t even remotely crucial.

“I’m what humans classify a dark fae,” he mumbles back, still sprinting down the cobbled path, so very quickly to an unknown end.

“Shouldn’t you have wings then?”

“Had them filed down for you, Your Majesty.”

It’s your turn now to be annoyed. You have a strong inkling that there was a permanent cycle ready to be set.

You breeze past, too fast to properly register what exactly are you seeing but it is striking. Even with closed eyes, you can see their effervescent gleam. Abruptly the shrubbery dissipates and you find yourself standing before crossroads. In the middle of it, there’s a sign with a pointing hand. To the right - Avalon, to the left King’s Town.

“Avalon?” you echo surprised and gives you a non-committed sound.

“Overrated,” he waves off before sinking deep in thought, eyeing suspiciously every dark crevice of the road that be.

“We might need to travel incognito for a while. There’s been a surge of imperial opposition, we’ll take a detour.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around? If there’s trouble, the palace would arguably be the safest place.”

Yoongi turns around, arms crossed, and narrows you down with a critical glare.

“Well I could send a message for the King’s carriage and you’d be by his throne in day’s time.”

Without hesitation you backpedal, an empty smile on your lips.

“Detour is fine.”

Yoongi grumbles something underneath his nose. A sudden thought flashes in your brain and somewhat enjoying egging him further on, you leap in the question with no qualms whatsoever.

“Does that mean there are like light faeries?”

Instantaneously, Yoongi’s face contorts in a sour expression. He spits on the ground and from the tufts of Aegean grass a small gathering of tiny figures splatter away with shrill, accusing curses. Peculiar to say the least.

“May they rot while still standing,” he growls, lips curling in a deep snarl, that red scar growing more pronounced in his wrinkles.

You make a stern reminder that this particular topic was a no-go. While you fall silent, scrambling between choices of making what promised to be a cantankerous conversation or just keep silent the entire time, Yoongi begins to circle around you.

“What? Excuse me, are you a faerie or a vulture, what are you doing?!”

Even to your own ears, you sound petulant, spoiled almost. You’re not one usually but there is something about that stupid face of this weird faerie man that seemed to change moods and dispositions at the drop of the hat, that pulls you into wanting to make a scene. To be loud and object to all that he was doing.

“Do you have to look so human?” he gives a withering sigh. “We won’t be able to take five steps without someone trying to snatch you up.”

“What, like you did?” you hiss back but it falls onto deaf ears.

Saying no more, Yoongi smirks in your face and languidly walks down the road to King’s Town. You breathe weary, something shaken breath towards the sky. Starless. Dark. So wide above you. In this vast expanse of otherworlds you only have one companion, his sharp smile retreating down the road.

“Do move your ass, Your Majesty. Wouldn’t want to have you over my shoulder again, wouldn’t you.”

Even a long way away from the city gates, music reaches your ears. It’s not what you imagined fairies to play. For one, there was an electric guitar and synthesizer. No harps, no soft-winded string instruments. If anything it reminded you much of the wailing local band that performed at any menial festivities but judging from the cheers the people, or not people, seemed to enjoy it.

As you move in further and the crowds start enveloping you tighter and tighter, a pair of rough fingers intertwines with yours.

“If you let go of my hand, you’re so finished,” Yoongi threatens, tossing an accusing frown. In the vibrant bustle of the rustling strange crowd, you dare not to think of it, clutching to him like a lifeline aboard this strange fantasy.

The town has a cobblestone road, the same one that you had underneath your feet by the Hell Mouth and it leads further and further into a warm, glowing light of unusual creatures of the night. The buildings were largely narrow but tall, slightly edging to the side as if purposefully built wrong, with many great signs hanging off amidst low strung lanterns. Ivies and bare tree branches seized some homes, obscuring windows with ominous creeks behind which shrill screams broke through the imprisonment. There’s cafes, vendors, stalls for unusual purchases. Eyeballs in glass jars, shimmering rolls of cloth, now with 50% more drapery effect, as one sign announced. Snakes, not being sold in baskets but selling on their own. A bearded guy that Yoongi quickly brushed by was trying to haggle the snake but it hissed venomously back at him, swaying back and forth, the white eye on its stomach expanding threateningly towards the cheapskate. The deal was apparently not doing so well.

It is when you accidentally bump into a pumpkin man that you realize that what was happening. The nightmarish, the extraordinary, the most peculiar of fantasies, was your reality. It’s exhilarating and it’s terrifying, and it’s the best Halloween you’ve ever had.

The Pumpkin Man was just that. A man-shaped slinking figure with weighty tendrils for arms and a pumpkin head for a face. In it sat engraved the familiar classical expression that all Halloween pumpkins had, but this, of course, is not a vegetable rotting idly by. When you look into the dark hollows there is a sentient being looking back. And doing so curiously.

You whip your head away, only stumbling upon an even weirder sight. There is a family of well-dressed werewolves sitting by a “Cauldron’s Inn”. Shaped exactly like the classic Lycan kind. Less so of a man but a wolf standing on their hind legs. There was the father or so you assumed, a slightly aged wolf, with grey strands running down his, well, paws. Comically, there are a pair of glasses perched upon his wolf nose and a burgundy waistcoat tucked around his sternum, and as his daughter, also a werewolf, happily munches on a bright orange cake, he is avidly breezing through a newspaper.

“UNDEAD TRIBUNE,” it exclaimed boldly at the top, then below it somehow louder still.

“IMPERIAL CREED: “HUMANS ALLOWED RESIDENCE!” DELECTABLE OR DELUSIONAL? WHAT’S THE LATEST ON OUR KING?”

You’d really like to read the rest, but Yoongi tugs you further ahead and the family of werewolves is replaced by a gaggle of young vampires, lounging around, smoking something that left large green fumes hanging in the air. The vampires turn into ghosts, pale apparitions, mopily gliding past the many vendors of the narrow, cobbled street, amidst the low, bright lanterns that are frequently shaken by small winged creatures. At first, you think, fairies, finally! But as you look further in, you make out that they’re in fact small dragons, circling past the lights in the lanterns, fanning the flames. They’re too small for a proper dragon roar and as such all that comes out of their small mouths is a happy chuffing noise, that reminds you much of a good old, earthly tiger. You’re so enraptured by the sight of their scales, glistening radiantly against the backdrop of the warm lantern flame, that when Yoongi’s hand loosens from yours, you notice but are too taken aback to react.

Out of all the stories and all the creatures of the night, the dragons had captured your heart like no other. When you reach your fingers, to touch one, an irrational very human desire to pet them rips through your very being, and you do as it demands. The dragons like wayward, but curious kittens watch with rapt fascination at your outstretched, shaking palms, slowly gathering the courage to sniff at them. Pale tufts of smoke erupt from their nostrils when they do. It doesn’t take long for the curious dragon babies to herd you eagerly for the weirdest head rubs in your life. The scales are warm and dry to the touch and when you glide over their ears the small dragons squeak in happiness.

Suddenly they bristle in your palms, the pointed protrusion of their still-growing horns, rising sharply in the air. For a second you’re scared that their mother, a full-grown dragon, was behind you, probably not taking too well of a stranger harassing her children, but when a pair of cold wet arms reach around your waist, the baby dragons scattering in fright away, you think that maybe not. An airy, soft female voice brushes by your ear and with a kiss and much against your will, you fall limp against their hold.

Cold, unspeakable terror gripped Yoongi’s heart like talons of a harpy when he turned around and instead of your warm fingers, he grasped only air. He called your name but no one responded and there was not a sight of your human looking head amidst the crowd of oddities.

“Hi, good looking!” a sweet voice called behind him, giggling obnoxiously. It was a red-haired vampiress, one of many that hung around the main street. She slid a cold hand over his shoulders, nuzzling flirtatiously in his neck.

“You look lonely this evening, do you need any company?”

Yoongi doesn't have to say anything, he only turns and she glimpses the bright red scar across his eye and impressively for a vampire blanches and hurries away, lest she faces his misplaced wrath.

His palms begin to tremble as he gulps breath after breath, scanning all available and unavailable corners of the streets. You’re not to be found. Yoongi’s heart drops to his stomach as his throat seizes up. Unsightly, horrible things that could happen to you, pass by his eyes and he feels an overwhelming wave of panic sweep him under. A distinct, frightened chittering rings above his head and a light weight drops on top of his head. He speaks little of dragon tongue, Namjoon always pestered to learn more, considering the influx of migration, and, while he regretted not taking up the many study offers, Yoongi could, in fact, piece enough information from the clumsily worded children, to catch the direction where you were taken to.

You are wet.

And cold.

And the ceaseless swishing of the river water in time makes you nauseous. The waft of algae is overpowering, it penetrates your nose and embeds deep in your brain. You cough and water sputters from your lips. You’re on the riverbank is all you realize before your ankle is roughly yanked and your face swipes against the small stones by the shore. Water fills your mouth and you flail helplessly around but there’s a webbed hand around your leg and it pulls you deeper underneath.

You kick it, lodging your foot deep into what feels like a nose and jaws full of jagged teeth. Panicking, you swim up to the front, fervently trying to get out of the water. You’re never going to let Yoongi’s hand, you’re never going to leave his side if only he would be here to save you.

He’s not.

The riverbank is dark, there’s not even moonlight to shine your way. Just the dark, neverending stretch of water. A sharp hiss comes from behind you as a massive figure breaks the water surface. It falls on top of you, pushing you against the shallows, almost burrowing you into the grainy sand. It is so incredibly heavy you feel as though the earth itself has piled on top of you. It has claws and the creature doesn’t hesitate to sink them deep in your shoulders, pulling you back towards the depth. You let your head slam back and another high-pitched scream nearly shatters your hearing. It is not one though, you realize with a sick twist in your gut, not one but one of many. There are many on top of you, more than five, more than ten, all determined to drown you. You clutch pitifully by the grass strands but they force your fingers to let go, spinning you around.

A face, eerie horrible face, slightly human and even more a monster stares back at you. Pale as a corpse, face twice as long as that of a human, with eyes completely white, no irises, no colour and mouth like a shark, sprouting several dozen sharp teeth, all crooked and yellow in colour. The creature’s hair is long and dark, falling in your face and coating it in a pungent, sickly sweet aroma. It wraps both of its webbed, long-fingered hands around your throat, squeezing the life out of you. Pressure builds around your head as you struggle to breathe, water still running down the side of your mouth.

“Stupid thing,” it whispers, airy, disgusting, enchanting.

You cry against the arms that wrap themselves tighter and tighter around your neck until you’re sure your head will explode.

“You should have stayed away.”

As if that’s enough the creature leans down and pressed its cold almost dead lips to your own. You vomit in your own mouth as the smell and taste of rotten fish invade your senses. You’re sinking, deep and deeper still into pain, the world turning red in front of your eyes. It’s warm suddenly and you feel very light, floating like a balloon across the river surface. There’s no weight to you anymore, no hands, no anything.

The mermaids scatter in unsettling, piercing screams as fire erupts all over their heads. It burns their hair, it melts their fins and thankfully it tears their greedy, repulsive hands away from your neck.

Someone is screaming at you. For you. And unexpectedly the world turns upright. As Yoongi pulls you away from the shallows, you see a pair of white eyes, glare back at you, unblinking before they slip down under, into nothingness.

“Come on, breathe, please, breathe.”

You do and your entire system spasms and everything comes back up. The alcohol, the spiked brownies, yesterday’s lunch, everything returns up your mouth in a mire, along with the salted water of the river bank. When you’ve given it all away, you slump back, exhausted.

“I really am finished if I let go of your hand,” you mumble somewhat self-consciously. Yoongi gives you a wry smile in return.

previous ⟷ next

Trivia:

Aegean is a shade of teal and a very nice colour

Most of the inspiration for the creatures Otherworld, I took from kid's books and cartoons, except the mermaids, they're yikes. The Otherworld is allegedly the dark side of this fantasy realm hence why the Vampires, Pumpkin Men, Werewolves - the classic Halloween creatures.

The Otherworld has followed the same evolution humans have - they have the printing press, modern instruments and bands, fashion, little shops, immigration, also voting. I've always adored the normalcy in the strangeness and this is a testament to that.

Every species have their own domain in the Otherworld, ruled over by the Imperial Court and the King, be it a town or a county. There following main species are as follows:

- The Pumpkin People

- Dragon Kind

- Scarecrows

- Vampires

- Lycans

- Nymphs (an over-arching term for various elemental beings such as dryads, Aurae aka air nymphs, naiads or water nymphs and so on)

- The Mermaid Clan

- The Fae

I'd pet a tiger or a dragon so fast even if it's the last thing I do

Next update hmm.... Tuesday most likely. Happy reading!

Tag list (open):

@sugaaddiction; @ggukkieland; @loveyoongles; @xjordynary; @alpacaparkaseok; @grandqueen1533; @xxsugababexx; @mayla548

#yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts fic #bts fantasy au

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Go to scary campfire story?

Happy spoopy month, everyone! Stay safe and enjoy Halloween :D

Resources from here and here. I encourage everyone to look up some of these stories. They make for some pretty interesting reads!

TRIGGER WARNING: scary stories, murder, general spookiness, jump scares in the stories if you're having them read to you, death, etc.

-

Xemnas - Don't Turn on the Light - Two college roommates are in the same science class, and the big midterm is tomorrow morning. Marie wants to stay in and study, but Tara wants to go out and party with a cute guy from the lacrosse team...

Xigbar - Axe Murder Hollow - this quick and scary campfire story follows a couple who get stuck in the mud during a rainy drive. They find themselves in — you guessed it — Axe Murder Hollow.

Xaldin - The Ribbon - A man marries his beloved: a beautiful young woman who always wears a black, velvet ribbon around her neck. On their wedding night, he asks why she never takes the ribbon off. "If I do, you'll be sorry," she says.

Vexen - The Clown Statue - A babysitter has been hired to watch two children for the night. After she puts the kids to bed, the parents ask that she watches TV in their bedroom upstairs, because the children have been having nightmares recently. She puts the kids to bed easily enough, and settles in the parents' room to watch TV. But in the corner of the room there's a large, creepy clown statue, about life-sized...

Lexaeus - The High Beams - A young woman is driving home late one night, when she notices a truck driving up directly behind her. No one else is on the road. She waits for the truck to pass her, but instead it stays directly behind her, and flashes its high beams...

Zexion - An Open Wifi Connection - the story of a group of friends camping in the woods who, unsurprisingly, connect to an open Wi-Fi network...

Saix - The Wolf Girl of Devil's River - In 1845, a young boy reported seeing an unclothed girl devouring a goat alongside a pack of wolves. The girl was later captured by cowboys who tried to lock her in a shack. She escaped in the middle of the night, and the wolf girl has never been found.

Axel - Doggy Lick - A girl is just a little afraid of the dark, so every night her dog sleeps under her bed. When she's afraid, she puts her hand down, and her dog licks it to reassure her. One night, she wakes to hear a strange dripping sound...

Demyx - The Hawaiian Night Marchers - night marchers are the deadly ghosts of ancient warriors. They are said to rise up from the ocean and march to ancient battle sites after sunset. The legend states that any mortal who looks directly at the night marchers will die a violent death.

Luxord - The Seventh Barn - The legend tells of a wealthy farmer who built a new barn each time his wife had a baby. They were expecting their seventh. However, the farmer’s wife and child died during the birth. Struck with grief, the farmer murdered the remaining members of his family.

Marluxia - The Keyhole - A man is staying in a hotel for the weekend. On his way to his room, he notices a closed door with no number on it. When he asks about it, he is told that no one is allowed in that room. Curious, he stops to peer in the keyhole on the next night...

Larxene - The Deer Woman - The deer woman is a shape-shifting creature living deep in forests. Appearing either as a deer or a woman, she lures unsuspecting lovers or promiscuous men into the woods, then stomps them to death with her hooves.

Roxas - The Vanishing Hitchhiker - A couple are driving late at night, when they notice a girl hitchhiking. They pick her up, and she thanks them profusely and gives them a nearby address. They drive her home, trying to make polite conversation. But after a few minutes, the girl falls silent...

Xion - Bloody Mary - The story goes that if you look into a mirror in a darkened room and chant "Bloody Mary" three times, you'll see the ghostly visage of Bloody Mary herself staring back at you.

#holiday headcanons #organization xiii headcanons #kingdom hearts headcanons

[brain-amoeba]

I already get a good vibe from your profile oh my god- could I have narancia trying to tell his crush he likes her thank you ❤

hello! thank you so much, i’m so happy that I've passed the vibe check!! here's some orange juice for you! i based this off the song bombastic love by britney spears, so read the lyrics or give it a listen! 

bombastic love . (narancia confessing to a fem crush)

narancia was always a late sleeper, usually the last of bucciarati’s gang to dredge his way out of the bedroom while still wiping the sleep from his eyes. when he started waking up later and later, though his dedicated capo started to worry. 

“narancia--” bruno set a firm hand on his shoulder, causing the shorter man to jump before facing his superior. “b-bruno! is something wrong?” he asked, doing his best to sound alert and awake, despite having barely woken up but a few minutes prior. “narancia, i know you like to sleep, but you’re mistaken if you don’t think i haven’t noticed you waking up later each day. i’m sure you--” 

“bruno, it’s okay, i’ve just, uh, been heading to bed a little late these days. and i know, i know, go to bed sooner. don’t worry, bruno! i’ll be up and at ‘em tomorrow for sure.” narancia interrupted, not giving bucciarati the slightest chance to lecture him for something he just wouldn’t understand. bruno furrowed his brow, giving narancia a warning glare before walking off with a sigh. 

 no, of course he doesn’t understand, because bruno’s not the one seeing visions of you taking his hand while lying under the stars in his sleep, no. bruno’s not the one dreaming of you cupping his cheeks before going in for a kiss, whispering sweet nothings he would do his damndest to remember throughout the day. of course he doesn’t understand, so narancia gave him the most half-assed excuse he could understand--get off my back. 

when it came to you, narancia had only thought of you as a friend, a damn good one at that. you two had amazing chemistry on the battlefront; it was almost as if your stands were tied to each other by the red string of fate. he wasn’t the only one who took notice of that of course. hell, even bruno would be impressed by how well the two of you worked together which is why he started partnering you up on missions more and more. narancia hadn’t really realized, though, that the more time he spent with you--learning about your favorite color all the way to how you ended up alongside him in passione--he developed feelings for you. he simply brushed it off as the fact that since he worked with you the most, you became his closest confidant. 

his subconscious was desperately trying to get a hold of him, trying to make him realize not to compromise his true feelings, the fact that he and you should be--

“nara!!” you eagerly bounded up to him, greeting him with the bright smile he loved so much. “o-oh, y/n! what are you up to?” the faint blush on his cheeks deepened the longer he looked at you. your voice lingered in his head, and for the first time since meeting you, narancia felt nervous around you. why? why now? 

“up to finding you, sleepyhead! i just got this from bucciarati-” you waved a manila folder in front of him which ended up snapping him back from his thoughts--all of you, of course. “oh! what’s this?” you gave him an exasperated look as you landed a playful punch to his chest. “all that sleeping is turning your brain to mush, nara. what else do you think it is?” you waved the folder around again, this time a little too wildly, and its contents fell to the floor with an almost inaudible thump. instinctively, both you and narancia dove for the papers; however, when both of your hands met, he mindlessly entangled his digits with your own smaller ones. “n-nara, it’s okay, i got it--” 

“OH, Y/N, I,” he coughed, trying to calm the rising panic in his voice, “I, uh, didn’t even realize i did that! d-don’t worry about the papers, i-i got it.” his lean figure visibly trembled as he quickly gathered the folder messily, clutching it tightly before his chest to keep the slipping papers from falling once more. “narancia, are you alright?” you asked, noticing the flush coloring his cheeks and the sheen of sweat accruing at his brow. the soft pads of your fingers ghosted along his arm and made all the hairs on hid body stand on end. “y-yes! yes, y/n, i’m fine! don’t worry about me, just a little, uh, sleepy.” 

you blinked at him while trying you hardest not to break into a fit of laughter. “narancia...you’re sleepy?!” narancia took a step back, now holding the folder with two hands. “uh, yeah, i think im g-gonna go splash some cold water on my face,” he took a few steps in the other direction before spinning right back around again, “oh, right! y/n, don’t you need this folder?” 

you barely had a second to even register all that transpired within the last 5 minutes, the sight of the folder being thrust back in your direction snapping you back with a start. “ah, n-no, actually, nara, bruno told me to give it to you. he told me there was something in there he wanted you to get a chance to look over before i did...something about needing you to devise a plan on your own so you can start taking the lead a little more, i dunno.” you shrugged, giving him an awkward smile before you stepped back. “well, uh, i think i’ll leave you to your planning, nara. come get me when you’re done, okay? i’ll just be in my room waiting for you.” before he could say another word you hurriedly found solace in your bedroom. 

you hadn’t noticed the burning in your cheeks and the faint tremor of your hands, but they became achingly apparent the second you shut your door behind you. was nara always that cute? your mind was racing, going a mile a minute. even when he was acting like a total klutz, you couldn’t help but subconcsiously admire the way his raven hair messily framed his face--youthful, yet prettied with age. the way his hand felt around yours lingered on you like a phantom, causing you to slide down your door like a lovesick teen. have you always cherished him this much?

**

meanwhile in the bathroom, narancia splashed his face with freezing cold water nearly 5 times. what the hell was wrong with him?! first those damn dreams, then the way the heat in his cheeks would radiate to his reddened ears when your visage hung in his mind, now the tremble of his voice? “merda, narancia...pull yourself together!” he cursed under his breath. as he crashed back upon his bed with a groan, his violet gaze met with the folder lying limp on the bedside table; of course, he forgot to even see what the hell bruno’s deal was. taking the lead? planning without his partner? it made less and less sense the more he replayed your words in his mind--though, that could be because he was too focused on remembering the harmony that was the sound your voice. 

with an exasperated sigh, narancia sat up and leaned over to snatch the folder, emptying its contents carelessly across the bed. “cosa diavolo sta succedendo?!*” in his tremblng hands was--bruno’s credit card? and with a note attached: 

“narancia, 

i see the way you smile aorund y/n, the way you lose yourself in her gaze and your undeniable dedication to her partnership. i think your oversleeping will resolve itself once you finally take the lead. 

take her out tonight--that’s an order.

-bruno.” 

narancia nearly fainted. too much was happening and too many thoughts raced into his mind as he struggled to even hold the card still enough to remove the sticky note. “so a date..he wants me to ask her on a date--” 

“nara?” 

narancia’s head snapped to the doorway, and seeing your figure frozen in the doorway made his blood run cold. when the hell did you get there? “y/n! wh-what’s up?” he asked, the tremor of his voice only making your own panic worsen. “uh, i came to see h-how you’re doing, but...who are you asking on a date? i-if you dont mind me asking!” your heart pounded in your chest as your mind pleaded not to hear another girl’s name, not to hear anyone but you. narancia glanced back to the note-- take her out, that’s an order--then back to you. “uh, y/n...” he set the card aside, getting up to close the distance between the two of you, then gently held both of your hands.

 “n-nara, i--!” he shushed you, thumb gliding gently across the back of your hand. “y/n...i’m going to take the lead now. i’m going to make sure you never have a doubt in your mind about my next move ever again!” with newfound confidence he gave your hands a careful squeeze, before continuing, “y/n, cara...well, there’s no better way for me to say this, but,” your heart burned with desire, trembling body nearly melting as narancia took you into his surprisingly strong embrace. 

“i love you, y/n. and i want to show you just how much i love you...how does tonight sound, carina?”

*what the hell is going on?

#jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #jojo part 5 #jojo vento aureo #vento aureo #narancia ghirga #narancia #narancia ghirga x reader #narancia x reader #bruno bucciarati #fem reader #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #fic #tomitara

[tobiosmilktea]

Hi is it ok if to ask a scenario on how y/n tamed the super energetic captain terushima? Like that would be super cute don't you think? Btw love your stories💖💖💖💖 soooo cute

figure 8s — terushima yuuji

2.5k words | genre/s: fluff | warning/s: mentions of blood, terushima’s kinda ooc?? | pairing: terushima x gn!reader

↪︎ in which your cold demeanor tamed johzenji’s infamous volleyball captain

a/n: this took so long to write! i’m getting over another bad case of writers block and i’m not sure if this was something you were looking for, def not my best work. i’m really sorry it took a while to get it posted, so enjoy!

you believed it was the way you had never thought of becoming friends with someone as juvenile as terushima yuuji that was the cause of your daily migraines. to his constant thunderous childlike behavior or how he would flirt with literally anyone if he was bored enough. terushima liked to think you and him were close—best friends even, but with the amount of times he had hit every nerve by flirting with you and teasing, you thought the complete opposite.

the two of you had gotten into a little argument again earlier this morning.

it was callow and stupidly unnecessary, anyone who knew of your usually quiet and aloof personality knew you wouldn’t even spare energy getting into one with terushima. you didn’t even want to think about it as granted, it was about his usual antics of flirting with a random first year the moment you two walked onto johzenji high. it was so unlike you to care so much about him flirting with someone other than yourself. perhaps it was the way a foreign feeling of raving moths that ravaged your gut when you watched him ask for that girl’s number like it was nothing. 

it’s not like he’s gonna call you anyway, you thought selfishly to yourself as the first year walked away.

and as icy cold as you were, you were always the type to still give a little too much effort and care into things that most wouldn’t (not to you anyway). and surely, you shouldn’t be worrying about not apologizing to a boy who started your verbal quarrel in the first place when you opted to giving the cold shoulder afterwards. you had nothing to apologize for anyway and yet there you were—resting on a far from comfortable chair in your classroom during lunch alone as you stare outside. 

you couldn’t think. well... you could, but all your could think about was remembering the ghosting sensation of having butterflies in your stomach early this morning. you couldn’t help but internally gag as your mind suddenly flickered towards the realization, jealousy?

no, it couldn’t be. how could you be jealous over terushima giving attention to someone else when you’ve been rejecting his advances the moment you two met in your first year?

your glare had left the cerulean skies of miyagi as it eventually fell back on a blank sheet of paper within your progressively numbed hand. it was cramped into the same position for eons as you gripped your pen within your hand. held tightly until your knuckles bled white and all your veins ached for blood flow, until the muscles in your hand ached in agony, until you felt your trimmed fingernails finally cut deep within your skin that bled crimson. the baby hairs that were obviously too short to stay tamed, tapered and framed down your face as you looked down upon the bloody stain on your paper.

feelings like this were far too foreign to you, far too dangerous as you even had the audacity to write a letter of your compiled forms of withering memoirs, serendipities you yearned to achieve, and even the surprising downpour of jealousy you wished you never felt. you assumed that writing them all down would suffice in ridding yourself of such feelings.

you dropped the pen as you bore holes into your hand with your hard gaze. crescent-shaped lacerations had divided your skin as even the lingering sting of wounded flesh didn’t really affect you. you cursed under your breath as you grabbed a tissue out of your bag to quickly wipe up the blood.

the padding of shoes against the floor of the loud classroom had gotten louder as if someone was approaching you, hitching a breathe within you as you swiftly shoved the slightly bloody paper under your english textbook. johzenji’s setter, takeharu come into view as he threw you a calm smile while you quickly hid your hands under your desk.

“hey, sorry to bother you (y/l/n), but are you okay?” the setter gently asked, yet it was laced with hesitance and caution as they were talking to you.

you shrug you shoulders, muttering through your teeth. “could be better, but i’m fine.”

“oh okay, that’s good.” takeharu response in the same awkward tone. could you tell you two hadn’t talked much? “you and terushima have been ignoring each other,” he then adds.

“really?” you scoffed, “i haven’t noticed.”

a soft chuckle left takeharu’s lips as he scratched the back of his head, “well, um, he’s been kinda annoying us lately. he’s been asking about you all day, but refuses to talk to you.”

your gaze flickers towards the setter, curiosity kindling within you. “why is he so stubborn about it?” you miffed.

“you tell me, (y/l/n).” there was something persuasive about his articulation, that even if takeharu was implying some sly arrangement, you couldn’t help but play along with it. “you two have petty arguments all the time that end up not being that serious, what happened this time?”

“the usual misunderstanding,” was all you could reveal, anything else and you would’ve landed yourself a one-way ticket towards absolute embarrassment.

takeharu scoffs, “of course it is. now, listen, terushima is acting weirdly and obviously that’s going to affect our volleyball practice, like i seriously don’t want extra drills just cause you keep ignoring him.” his thoughts lingered for a second, “i don’t know what you two argued about, but i think you two should talk and clarify some things and just become friends again.”

“we were barely friends to begin with, takeharu.” you asserted, your gaze finally turning to meet his in your usual deadpan expression.

“really?” he inquired, testing the waters he knew was perilous to trek on. “that’s not what i remembered when i saw you two skipping class that one day, or how you two are always with each other during lunches—”

a slight warm sensation reached your cheeks as you shook your head, “you’re looking to far into it. terushima’s the one who comes up to me and i just talk to him because i’m bored and have nothing else to do.”

“right, of course.”

a smirk melted upon takeharu’s visage and to what you would usually want to wipe that smug look off his face, you only turned away to hide the blush rising on your expression. “and that’s all it was,” you concluded. “besides, i’m pretty sure he has a massive crush on karasuno’s volleyball manager.”

“oh yeah, i think everybody knows that.” the setter laughs as if it were to lighten up the mood a bit more, but the look on your face when he said that made him recoil a bit. “b-but since he finally found someone he actually goes to school with and is actually his age, maybe—”

“maybe nothing,” you immediately cut him off, “are you forgetting how much of a fuckboy he is?”

“personally, i think he’s more of a playboy since he just flirts and doesn’t sleep around, but I get what you’re saying.” takeharu mutters matter-of-factly before continuing, “and obviously i’m not forgetting that fact, but based on how differently he acted today now that you were giving him the silent treatment, I think you actually have a shot.”

you brows furrow, “a shot at what?”

“taming the infamously untameable volleyball captain, terushima yuuji.”

you audibly scoff, feigning yourself from bursting out laughing at the idea. 

“think about it.” the setter starts again as you two look at each other attentively, “almost everyone here knows that you and terushima have a thing going, whether or not you two actually like each other. not that i’m saying you should live up to the peer pressure, but you two literally look like the epitome of opposites attract in a shoujo manga. what do you think would happen?”

“something unfortunate, that’s for sure.”

takeharu could only roll his eyes again, amusement lighting up his features as he shook his head at the notion. “i still think you should talk to him. lunch isn’t really over yet, either.”

you audibly groan as the setter suddenly forces you to get up out of your chair, “do i have to?”

“yes!” he exclaimed, “please, he’s being so annoying.”

the school’s crowded hallways surrounded you. you typically liked having your personal space, so having to be casually bumping shoulders with others as you walked through the hallway was literally your worst nightmare. perhaps it was the simmering and leftover fervor from your argument that your jungle-mind was too clouded with the thought of having even an inch of feelings for the volleyball captain. despite knowing where terushima’s classroom was, you weren’t even trying to find him anymore, instead, you wandered the labyrinthine corridors in self-indulgence until you managed to stumble upon the restrooms. they were right near terushima’s classroom.

you relieved yourself before cleansing your hands from the wet crimson that dried into a burnished brown. you didn’t have any bandages on you and you certainly weren’t in the mood to walk all the way to the nurses office, so you opted in wrapping your hand with two layers of toilet paper before trekking back out into the hallways.

a sigh escaped from your lips as you stepped into terushima’s classroom.

to your surprise, he was actually sitting at his desk for once and not walking around his classroom talking to others. rather, he did have others around him making conversation, but it wasn’t like terushima was active in their talkative endeavors in the first place, anyway.

“i’m here to make amends,” you announce, folding your arms over your chest as the students who surrounded the volleyball captain noticed your blinding presence and backed away slightly.

“did takeharu send you?” terushima questioned as he arched a brow at you.

“yeah,” you immediately answer only to be responded by the tilting confusion of terushima’s head in disbelief. “...but it was on my own accord as well.”

a chuckle emits from his lips as he nods, “okay then, you can continue.”

the hint of playfulness in terushima’s voice made it difficult for you to speak of your apology seriously. with the sense of lightness within the air, suddenly bringing up their past argument would surely eliminate the casual aura. “i...” you almost hesitates and you didn’t know why. fuck it, you thought. “i wanted to apologize for overreacting this morning. i honestly don’t even know why i got so affected by you flirting with others when i shouldn’t even care.”

the words spilled out of your mouth faster than anticipated and you immediately felt embarrassed. you weren’t used to apologizing despite certain faults in your past, you would never get used to it. you would certainly never get used to the hard gaze terushima’s expression fell into the moment you offered some form of remorse. and to what you assumed would be another form of reciprocated antagonizing of your character, a simple, yet small grin tugged at terushima’s lips as he looked at you. for a moment, you felt your heart stop.

how charming.

“it’s alright,” he replied positively, taking you aback. “it’s quite funny, though—how you acted. i was genuinely surprised, (y/n).”

you raised a brow at the boy before you, “really?”

“well, my feelings have always been a product of being played by you.” terushima slyly suggested a fact that you weren’t even aware of. he shifted his weight upon his chair as you remained speechless, “i always thought my feelings were obvious for you, (y/n).”

your eyebrows furrow into confusion as you noticed how everyone suddenly gave you and the volleyball captain space. “they were jokes, weren’t they?”

“and how would you know they were jokes?” he tested.

“you flirt with everyone.”

“only to get you jealous enough to like me back,” he fired back as you were found speechless once more.

your gaze that fell to the floor had flicked upon terushima, sighing as you shifted awkwardly from your stance in front of him, “i don’t get it.” you said when you leaned your weight against a desk behind you. “why me?”

terushima shrugs, “you were a challenge—a confusing one that is,” he confesses, “usually, people would either be too easy to win over or reject me straight up. meanwhile, you neither gotten easily won over or had rejected me, so i continued to be by your side until you noticed i was serious about my feelings for you.”

“you know i hate it when people aren’t being straight up with me, yuuji.” 

yuuji, the way your voice said his name was music to terushima’s ears as it kept repeating it in his head. he was so obviously wrapped around your finger, you didn’t even notice. you rarely called him this, but when you do, you were being serious. “i know, i just figured at some point you could’ve just completely told me to fuck off if you really wanted to... but you didn’t.”

you really didn’t. that was your complete downfall and realization that you possibly had feelings for johzenji’s volleyball captain. it filled you up with so much ichor, you assumed that maybe your feelings of annoyance for him was simply a facade. perhaps you hated the fact that you actually enjoyed terushima’s boisterous presence that you even felt you heart steadily quicken the more and more he poured his feelings out to you. god, you were a mess on the inside, but on your exterior, you visage was still as deadpanned as before.

“you’re right,” you finally spoke from a brief period of silence. “perhaps you’re not as annoying as i thought you were.”

“so you’re not mad at me?” he asks innocently.

you shake you head, “why would i? i was the one who got jealous in the first place.”

terushima could feel the corners of his lips tug into a smirk, “is this your way of confessing to me, (y/n)?”

“yes and that’s all you’re getting from me, yuuji.” at that point, you couldn’t help but put a small smile on your face as he offered his hand for you. graciously taking his calloused hands into you soft ones because you thought you two were doing your signature hand shake, terushima had actually pulled you into an embrace.

you two held each other for a good second, almost in awe as this was both out of your characters to be in each other’s arms, but it honestly felt nice. you and terushima had almost forgotten the tense air that was between you two the entire school day until it was interrupted by the loud ringing of the school bell.

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #terushima yuuji #terushima x reader #terushima fluff #terushima scenarios #terushima imagines #hq terushima

[deathonyourtongue]

Winter Passing | Chapter 10

Summary: After car accident leaves him at the base of a mountain with no sign of civilization for miles, a breakup is the least of Henry’s problems. Just as death’s icy fingers begin to coil around him, salvation presents itself in the form of an old cabin in a clearing. Despite years of being told fairy tales and ghost stories that warn against such things, he uses his last of his strength to reach the cottage. When he wakes, he finds not a demon, but an angel, long removed from the insanity of the modern world. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: None, for once. A/N : I think my tag list broke during the last update. Should be fixed now. Like what I do? Buy me a coffee!

I  II  III  IV V VI VII VIII IX _______________________________________________

Send me a PM me if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

@fumbling-fanfics @skiesfallithurts @pinkpenguin7 @madmedusa178 @fangoria @bluestarego @my--own--personal--paradise @tastingmellow @honeychicanawrites @angelicapriscilla @swiftyhowlz @schreiberpablo @pinkwatchblueshoes @kirasmomsstuff @prettypascal @playbucky @queen-of-the-kastle @cajunpeach @godlikeentity @captainsamwlsn @lilac-tea-time @katerka88 @melaninmimii @alienor-romanova @downtowndk @redhairedmoiraandtheliferuiners @agniavateira @henryfanfics101 @fatefuldestinies @iloveyouyen @justaboringadult @xxxxxerrorxxxxx @bloodyinspiredfuck @peakygroupie @stxphmxlls @trippedmetaldetector @radaofrivia @speakerforthedead0 @oddsnendsfanfics @snowbellexx @leilabeaux @cavillunraveled @woofgocows @andahugaroundtheneck @sofiebstar @kmhappybunny @mary-ann84 @cappot @cheyentjj @cavillhavoc @sleepy-moon-girl @princess-of-riviaa @peakyrogers @hell1129-blog @thethirstyarchive @worldicreate @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @henry-cavill-obsessed @rmtndew @elena-lawley @bichibibi @penwieldingdreamer @scoopitypoopbloop @flightofthefantasies @justrae9903 @raspberrydreamclouds @minton131 @hollydaisy23 @mizzzpink @omgkatinka @rn7rocks @elenas-fanficrecs @ohjules @writernerd23 @whatawildone @toss-some-coffee-to-your-witcher @modernscarlett @jasmindaughteroftheworld @badoopwoop @onlyhenrys @moderapoppins @flouncingxtart @ffreadings @captaingothgirl1996 @schmidten17 @alexakeyloveloki​ @asylummara​ @dearlybelovedluke​ @pinkzsugar​ @valkyrhys​ @ntlmundy​ @livingonmywishes​ @thotti3evans​ @whitewolfandthefox​ @madbaddic7ed​ @sausagefest1996​ @foxyjwls007​ @fuckoffbard​ @bethabear12​ @lovieebby​ @marswritings​ @mooniiieee​ @traceyaudette​ @pumpkinglory​ @keiva1000​ @my-rosegold-soul​ @geralt-of-baevia​ @luna-aestas​ @thereisa8ella​ @lovefreylove​ @littlefreya​ @designedacertainway​ @worshipping-skarsgard​ @aletheladyinred​ @sugarpenchant​ @evermcfearless​ @deep-in-my-thoughts13​ @wednesdaybraids @lyrafraiser​ @tumblnewby @pearlkitten33​ @initanap​ @lkay0307 @winchwm​ @wheretheriversrunintothesea​ @genuinedonnie​ @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair​ @sunnie91​

Foraging in the winter was a skill to be honed, and after finishing the morning work on the property, Henry followed Olivia out towards the wilds of the forest that took up the back end of her home. 

“I didn’t think anything grew in winter, especially out here,” he murmured, watching her intently, keen to learn and-as he tended to be more and more often with each passing day-in awe of how she moved, how she lived. 

“Technically nothing grows in winter, but there’s plenty to gather,” Olivia explained as she opened her hand, showing Henry a seed pod that resembled a dancing flame.

“The pancakes we had the other day? Were made with flour from these Hornbeam seeds. And here? These are delicious when you prepare them correctly,” Olivia explained, her other hand holding a few crabapples. 

Eyebrows up in amazement, Henry dutifully turned around, letting Olivia put more foraged goods into the backpack she’d strapped him into. “What about poisonous stuff? Or stuff that you can use for...You know…” He made a face and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh, cupping Henry’s cheek and reaching up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss as they continued their walk through the forest, protected from the elements by the thick overhead cover of the ancient trees. 

“That too. Holly and Mistletoe, though I personally have little use for them as nature intended,” Olivia nodded, her smile growing bigger as she felt Henry tuck her in under his arm, pulling her close as they fell in step with one another. 

“Tell me a story from when you were...Before you were a witch?” Henry asked, his voice soft and tinged with reticence, lest he say the wrong thing. 

“I was born a witch, sweetheart. It’s not like vampires. You don’t get turned into one at the peak of your life,” Olivia laughed sweetly, squeezing his waist with one hand while the other rubbed gently over his chest. “And before you ask, no vampires do not exist. Some of us do blood magic, which is pretty close, but none of us have fangs...That I know of.” Gazing up at him with amusement, she leaned into his strong form as they continued to walk.

“A story from when I was younger. Let’s see...When I first became aware of my powers, my favorite thing to do was hide things up in the trees. I started small; little bits of fur, some meat, one of my mother’s hair combs. No one noticed at first, of course, but then I started to get bolder. My father’s saddle was the first thing anyone really noticed, because, well, we only had one at the time. My crowning achievement though, was putting the family goat in the tallest tree of our village. It lasted all of an hour before the goat began to bleat, and a crowd formed. My parents were none too impressed. I’ll never forget my father having to climb up there, only to throw the poor thing down into an elk skin a few of our neighbors held out.”

“You were-”

“A little shit, yeah.” Olivia grinned proudly up at Henry, earning a laugh and a playful kiss, neither her nor Henry paying much attention to their surroundings, too wrapped up in the moment to care about what might be headed their way.

“Well, you turned out alright, that’s what matters, no?” Henry chuckled, giving her a warm squeeze and another kiss to the temple. 

Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more at peace and more elated. Looking up at him, she knew Henry was the root cause, but after centuries of solitude and suffering, Olivia refused to let the fear of the unknown take hold. What they had was all she’d ever wanted, and she wasn’t about to let it slip from between her fingers. 

The choice, however, didn’t seem to be hers. 

As they rounded the path into a smaller clearing just west of the cottage, the woods turned silent. Though it was winter, the forest still tended to be a cacophony of sounds, from bird calls to deer munching on berries. The silence was unnerving, and looking over her shoulder, Olivia’s unease grew into fear as she watched Gunnar go into a low crouch. Eyes fixed on the clearing, the husky bared his teeth and raised his hackles, on the defensive. 

Olivia had barely turned back around when she caught sight of the apparition. Despite the cloud-covered sunlight that streamed into the clearing, the creature still terrified her, as the light allowed her to see her mother’s visage in greater detail. 

Henry’s hold on her tightened instinctively, his eyes fixed on the ghostly image before him. “Liv, darling, what do we do?” He whispered, his concern growing when he felt Olivia begin to tremble. 

Hiding her face in his chest a moment, Olivia worked to get her breathing back under control, fighting off every urge to run, knowing that doing so would only aggravate the apparition. Instead, she felt an anger grow inside her, usurping the fear as she forced herself to remember that this land was hers. With a push away from Henry, she turned her full attention to the spirit, drawing it closer with her actions. 

“Gunnar, stay.” She commanded when she heard the husky stalk closer, a low rumble making it clear he was ready to attack at any moment. 

“You’re not welcome here. Leave. Now.” Olivia spoke firmly, taking off her gloves. Henry’s eyes went wide when he noticed the aquamarine waves entwining around Olivia’s fingers. Moving like the ocean itself, they crashed and flowed, gathering in strength and fury until they created a stormy swell between her hands. There was no doubt, even to Henry, that if she let go, whoever was on the receiving end of the rush of water, would be in for a terrible time.

“Last chance, wretch. Tell me who summoned you and from whence you came, or suffer even more than you already have.”

The water between her hands began to glow, and upon closer inspection, Henry realized there was fire beneath the waves and the true nature of Olivia’s threat became clear. Being hit with a jet of water was one thing, but if that water were hotter than an open flame, spurned by anger, it was something else entirely.

Frozen in place, Henry couldn’t stop his cry of fear as the apparition suddenly lunged forward, screeching when it was hit full on by Olivia’s fury. To his surprise, the thing began to disintegrate once more, although this time, the process seemed far more grotesque. Instead of fading, the water seemed to eat away at the apparition, like acid on metal. It turned his stomach, but he couldn’t look away, fascinated and appalled in equal measure. 

Just before its face melted away, the creature let out another ear-piercing wail, the singular word it spoke chilling Henry to the bone. 

TABITHA!!

Unable to keep from shivering, Henry only found himself able to move when Gunnar nuzzled at his thigh, the husky’s demeanor back to normal as he sat at Henry’s feet. 

“Tabitha? Who’s Tabitha?” Olivia asked as she shook off her own chill, the creature’s all-white stare one that would be burned into her memory for a very long time. Moving back to where Henry stood shell shocked, she rubbed his back, knowing full well this could be his breaking point. 

“T-Tabitha’s my ex-girlfriend’s name. I w-was leaving her the day you saved me.” 

Olivia could feel the chill in his body, the fear in his heart as he made the connection. Though she had no idea how long they’d been together, the betrayal and astonishment Henry felt coursed through every vein, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that Tabitha had kept her true nature a secret from her lover. 

Taking Henry’s hand in hers, Olivia turned them in the direction of home, hoping the hearth, some tea, and her thickest blanket would be enough to ease the pain she knew was imminent in Henry’s very tender heart. 

“What I don’t understand is...Why’d she have your mother’s face?” Henry mumbled long after his tea was gone, his gaze still despondent as he sat curled up on the couch, as close to the hearth as he could manage. 

“If she’s as strong as she seems, Tabitha will have seen me with you. It doesn’t take a lot of work to conjure up a family line, even one as old as mine. She’d have found my mother’s face in my thoughts without breaking much of a sweat.”

A visible shiver went through Henry and he shook his head, looking for all the world like he might cry at any moment. Frowning, Olivia curled up next to him, making sure he could feel her arms squeezing tightly around his torso, hoping the contact would ground him. 

“Am I cursed?” Henry’s question made Olivia’s laugh spill out before she could stop it. 

“I wouldn’t say that. After all, only one of us is sending threats, and from what little you’ve told me, it sounds like she wasn’t the most pleasant person to begin with.” Shifting easily with Henry, Olivia let him settle as they both laid out on the couch. With his head between her breasts, she finally felt Henry’s anxiety ease and his heart rate slow. 

The crash against the window sent them both flying off the couch, once more on high alert. 

“Oh my god, it’s just an owl. Christ, where’s Dyster when you need him?” Olivia muttered to herself as she moved to the window, opening it to let the bird in. Scrambling up the couch and as far away from the black-and-white-feathered creature as possible, Henry’s wide-eyed look matched the owl’s, the two staring at one another for a long moment before the bird turned its attention to Olivia.

“I come on behalf of--”

“Theofina, right? Yeah, I get it. I’m wanted in Rome. Since it seems I don’t have much of a choice, tell her to ready my apartments, and that I’ll be bringing a guest not of our order. How’s your beak? You hit pretty hard.” 

“It’s fine, ma’am. Just wasn’t paying attention as there was a mouse and, well, I’m hungry.” The difference between the two emissaries couldn’t have been more blatant, and not for the first time, Olivia wondered just how much had truly changed in her former home.

“Here, I have some rabbit to spare. Warm yourself by the fire. Are you pressed for time?” Olivia asked, doing her best to ignore Henry’s befuddled expression as she pulled some raw rabbit from the floor cooler, cutting it in half before meeting the bird by the hearth.

“What’s your name?” She asked, stroking over his head gently, surprised when she still felt a chill in his feathers.

“Atrix, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Atrix bowed his head for a moment before taking the offered meat and downing it in go. 

“Are you treated well?”

“I’m given a home, food, and responsibility, ma’am. That’s all I require.” Atrix nodded, his eyes closing in peaceful enjoyment of the food in his belly, the heat from the fire, and Olivia’s caring touch. 

“Good. Go when you’re ready. I’ll leave the window open.” Olivia spoke softly, feeding Atrix the second half of the rabbit before moving to wash her hands. 

“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been most kind. Is this the guest you intend to bring, in the typical way?” Atrix questioned, his eyes going as wide as saucers before he turned his head nearly all the way around to look at Henry. 

“Yes. It might be uncomfortable, but it’s the quickest way there, and I know he’s strong enough to endure it.”  

“Endure? Endure what?” Henry asked, eyes still fixed on the owl, unsure of what was being talked about, given he could only hear one half of the conversation. 

“How do you feel about a quick trip to Rome with me?”

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #henry cavill fic #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #winter passing

[tsuki-chibi]

Blueberry Peach (Adrien AUGreste) Part 23: Cat in the night

Or read it on AO3: Blueberry Peach

Also find the other parts of the series AO3: Fruitful verse

--------

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then Hawkmoth sank slowly to his knees, staring at the nightmare before him with wide eyes. He breathed out, "Émilie."

And in that one word, Chat Noir knew that it was the truth.

His father was Hawkmoth.

"Why?" Émilie asked. In the darkness of the night, her form was faded around the edges. But even that couldn't hide the anger on her pretty face. "How could you? You failed me, Gabriel! All of this, and for what? You couldn't even bring me back!"

"I'm trying!" Hawkmoth said, reaching out to her. But of course, his hand went right through her.

Because she was a ghost.

Because his mother was still dead.

Chat shuddered, taking a step back, and felt two hands slip into both of his. He didn't need to look to know Ladybug was on one side of him and Queen Bee was on the other, both girls bracketing him. Keeping from being nothing more than a lonely, lost cat in the night.

Still, he couldn't look away.

"You're trying," Émilie said in a disgusted tone that Chat had never heard her use before. "That's pathetic."

"Émilie!" Hawkmoth said.

Émilie shook her head, planting one hand on her hip. "If you really loved me, you would have figured out how to fix things before now. Instead you've been fumbling around doing all of this." She thrust out her free hand to indicate Sandboy. "You've failed me. You've failed me as a husband and as the father of our son."

"No!" Hawkmoth cried, leaning forward. The nightmare took a step back, this time not allowing him to reach for her.

"I hate you!" she hissed, her expression so cold that Chat jolted.

That was not his mother.

The realization sank deep into his bones, shattering the small bit of hope that had formed in his heart. His mother would never have looked at someone like that.

But that was his father.

His father the super villain.

His father the would-be thief of the miraculous.

Chat had thought to himself, once before, that Gabriel Agreste would have done anything to get his wife back. He didn't know why he hadn't put two and two together before, because it seemed blatantly obvious now that he was saying it play out in real time right in front of him. Of course Gabriel was Hawkmoth. Émilie was the only thing that his father had ever really loved.

"Now's our chance," he whispered numbly, and didn't need to look to know that Queen Bee and Ladybug were exchanging a loaded glance behind his back.

"Stay here," Ladybug said, squeezing his hand. Then she moved forward, her yoyo smoothly shooting out and winding rapidly around Hawkmoth's body. Hawkmoth jerked in surprise, but before he could even think about trying to get free Queen Bee was already there.

"Venom!" she cried, thrusting the point of her top into Hawkmoth's shoulder.

But Chat found himself unable to stand still - unable to keep looking at that ghostly visage of his dear mother, who stared so angrily at Hawkmoth -

(Because what if his mother really would've hated his father? Or worse, what if she would've supported him?)

- and instead he turned away, towards Sandboy.

The little akuma looked completely lost by this turn of events, probably because Hawkmoth was no longer a guiding voice in its ear. So it was hovering uncertainly several feet away. When it caught sight of Chat, it jerked and started to fly away.

"Shellter!" Carapace called out, and a glowing green shield formed over them to keep Sandboy from leaving.

"Cataclysm," Chat whispered. He kicked off a building to get the momentum needed to jump high enough and brush his hand across the bottom of Sandboy's pillow. It dissolved instantly, and Chat caught Sandboy as they fell towards the ground. The akuma fluttered free of the pillow.

Ladybug's yoyo snapped past them and effortlessly captured the akuma; by the time Chat hit the ground, he was holding a crying child to his chest as opposed to an akuma.

His heart felt heavy in his chest as he stared at the street. He was sure that the nightmare version of Émilie Agreste was gone - it had to be gone, because Sandboy no longer existed - but he still didn't want to look to see just in case.

"Um," a soft voice said, and he looked up at Rena Rouge.

"I can take him," Rena Rouge said uncertainly, arms outstretched. "Carapace and I can take him back to his parents."

"Okay," Chat said numbly, passing the child over. He probably should have asked about their miraculous, since they'd have to get the Fox and Turtle back, but that was too much thought. He sank to the ground and squeezed his eyes shut.

The bond slammed back into him a moment later as Ladybug cast her cure, with enough force that he might have fallen had he not been sitting already. The pain in his arm subsided instantly. He wished he could say the same thing for the pain in his chest.

‘Oh Chaton,’ Ladybug thought, love and affection and fear and worry flooding across the bond until he was drowning in it all.

But it was good. Too good. Hot tears rushed to his eyes.

Ladybug was beside him a second later, wrapping him up in a hug. He buried his face in her chest, trembling.

“What do we do with him?” Queen Bee asked. She sounded strained, probably because she was fighting the urge to beat Hawkmoth into the ground, knowing Chloé.

“We’re going to have to call the police,” Ladybug said. “Um – could you do it?”

“No,” Chat mumbled, forcing himself to let go. He wiped a hand across his face.

‘Chat,’ Ladybug thought, radiating worry.

‘You can’t leave Queen Bee to do that alone. It’s not fair,’ Chat thought, not looking at either Queen Bee or his – no, not his father. At Hawkmoth.

Ladybug bit her lip. ‘She would if we needed her to.’

‘I know she would, but you should be here too,’ Chat thought. ‘The police will believe you better.’

Her frustration intensified. ‘I want to stay with you.’

Chat had no cohesive thoughts for that, but he knew that she knew how badly he wanted that too.

But they were heroes, so sometimes they didn’t get what they wanted.

She helped him to stand, and by the time they were both on their feet Chat knew what he had to do. It would be best for everyone if Adrien Agreste was safely in bed when the news broke that Gabriel Agreste had been arrested. If anyone noticed he’d been missing, it wouldn’t look good.

So he made himself leave, trusting that Ladybug and Queen Bee would handle everything. He could hear everything that was going on and see it too if he wanted to. By the time he made it back to the mansion, Ladybug had secured the Butterfly miraculous and Queen Bee had called the police. The distant sound of sirens made Chat shudder as he slithered through his bedroom window.

“Claws in,” he whispered.

Plagg appeared in a flash of green light. “That took forever! I’m – Kid, what’s wrong?” His smile faded quickly as he took in Adrien’s appearance.

“We unmasked Hawkmoth,” Adrien said, the words tasting awful. “My father…”

“No,” Plagg whispered, horrified. “Shit. Shit. Adrien, I’m so sorry.”

Adrien just nodded, crossing the darkened room to his bed. He drew back the covers and climbed under without undressing, pulling the blankets over his head to hide.

‘I love you,’ Ladybug thought helplessly as, through her eyes, Adrien watched as Gabriel Agreste was arrested.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #chloe bourgeois #adrienaugreste #hawkmoth #gabriel agreste #emilie agreste #blueberry peach

[chiseler]

Stolen Faces

Cinema is an art of faces, almost a religion of faces: on screen they loom above us, vast as a mother’s face must appear to an infant. We can get lost in them. The deepest thrill the movies offer may be the opportunity to gaze at human faces longer and with more unabashed, lover-like intimacy than real life regularly allows. Most often, of course, we gaze at beautiful faces, though cinema has its share of beloved gargoyles, mugs with “character” rather than symmetry. But the uncanny power of faces onscreen also anchors films about disfigurement and facial transformations, about masks and scars and plastic surgery. These stories summon all the fears and taboos, desires and unresolved questions swirling around the human face. Do faces reveal or conceal a person’s true nature? Can changing someone’s face change their soul?

Deformity is a staple of horror films, of course, from classics such as Phantom of the Opera and The Raven (in which the hideously afflicted man played by Boris Karloff muses, “Maybe if a man looks ugly, he does ugly things”) to surgical shockers such as Eyes Without a Face. But plot twists involving faces that are damaged or corrected, masked or changed, turn up with surprising frequency in film noir as well, where they are related to themes of identity theft, amnesia, desperate attempts to shed the past or recover the past. One of the grim proverbs of noir is that you can’t escape yourself. There are no fresh starts, no second chances. But noir also demonstrates the instability of identity, the way character can be corrupted, and stories about facial transformations harbor a nebulous fear that there is in the end no fixed self. If noir is pessimistic about the possibility of change, it is at the same time haunted by fear of change—fear of looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger.

The Truth of Masks

Two films about men who literally lose their faces take the full measure of the resulting ostracism and crushing isolation—and what men will do to escape it. Hiroshi Teshigahara’s The Face of Another (Tanin no Kao, 1966) is based on a Kobo Abe novel about a scientist named Okuyama who has been literally defaced by a chemical accident. We never see what he used to look like; he spends half the film swaddled in bandages like Claude Rains in The Invisible Man, ferocious black eyes glinting through slits. Obsessed with people’s reactions to his appearance, he lashes out bitterly, insisting that all his social ties have been severed, including his conjugal ties with his wife. She tries to convince him that it’s all in his head and that her feelings haven’t changed, but her revulsion when he makes an abrupt sexual advance convinces him that she’s lying.

Okuyama believes that a life-like mask will restore his relationship with his wife and his connection to society. He has evidently not seen The Face Behind the Mask (1941), a terrific B noir in which Peter Lorre stars as Johnny Szabo, who is hideously scarred in a fire. This tragedy and the ensuing cruelty of strangers transform him from a sweet, Chaplin-esque immigrant to a bitter criminal mastermind, even after he dons a powder-white mask that gives him a sad, creepy ghost of his former face—more Lorre than Lorre.  The mask is merely a flimsy patch on the horrible visage that spiritually scars Johnny, and though it enables him to marry a sweet and loving (and perhaps near-sighted) woman, it can’t reverse the corrosion of his character.  

The doctor who makes a far more sophisticated mask for Okuyama does so because the project fascinates him as a psychological and philosophical experiment. He speculates about what the world would be like if everyone wore a mask: morality would not exist, he argues, since people would feel no responsibility for the actions of their alternate identities. (His theory seems to be borne out by the consequences of internet anonymity.) Unlike the one Johnny Szabo wears, here the mask bears no resemblance to Okuyama’s original looks, and the doctor believes the new face will change his patient’s personality, turning him into someone else.

When the mask is fitted, it turns out to be the face of Tatsuya Nakadai, one of the most striking and plastic pans in cinema history. With only a little help from a fake mole, dark glasses, and a bizarre fringe of beard, Nakadai succeeds in making his own features look eerily synthetic, as though they don’t belong to him. Sitting in a crowded beer hall on his first masked outing in public, he creates a palpable sense of unease, keeping his features unnaturally still as though unsure of their mobility, touching his skin gingerly to explore its alien surface. As he gradually grows more comfortable and revels in the freedom of his new face, the doctor tells him, “It’s not the beer that’s made you drunk, it’s the mask.”

Abe’s novel contains a scene in which the protagonist goes to an exhibit of Noh masks, highly stylized crystallizations of stock characters and emotions. In Noh, as in other traditional forms of theater that use masks, the actor is present on stage but vanishes into another physical being—men play women, young men play old men, gods, and ghosts. In cinema, actors impersonate other characters using their own faces—usually without even the heavy layer of makeup worn on western stages. Movie actors are pretending to be people they’re not, yet if we judge their performances good it means we believe what we see in their faces. When an actor’s real face plays the part of a mask, like Lorre’s or Nakadai’s, this strange inversion—the real impersonating the artificial—has a uniquely disconcerting effect.

At the heart of this disturbing film lurks a horror that changing the skin can indeed change the soul. Okuyama tries to hold onto his identity, insisting, “I am who I am, I can’t change,” but the doctor insists he is “a new man,” with “no records, no past.” In covering his scar tissue with a smooth, artificial skin he eradicates his own experience, and with it his humanity. The doctor turns out to be right when he predicts that the mask will have a mind of its own. Suddenly endowed with sleek good looks, Okuyama buys flashy suits and sets out to seduce his own wife. When he succeeds easily, he is outraged, only to have her reveal that she knew who he was all along. After she leaves him in disgust he descends into madness and random violence. He has become the opposite of the Invisible Man: a visible shell with nothing inside

Okuyama’s story is interwoven with a subplot about a radiation-scarred girl from Nagasaki, whose social isolation drives her to incest and suicide. Lovely from one side, repellent from the other, she looks very much like the protagonist of A Woman’s  Face. Ingrid Bergman starred in the Swedish original, but Joan Crawford is ideally cast in the 1941 Hollywood remake directed by George Cukor. Half beautiful and half grotesque, half hard-boiled and half vulnerable, Anna Holm spells out what was usually inchoate in Crawford’s paradoxical presence. A childhood fire has left her with a gnarled scar on one side of her face, like a black diseased root growing across her cheek and distorting her eye and mouth. Crawford makes us feel Anna’s agonizing humiliation when people look at her, which spurs her compulsive mannerisms of turning her head aside, lifting her hand to her cheek, or pulling her hair down.

Also perfectly cast is Conrad Veidt as the elegant, sinister Torsten Baring. Veidt went from German Expressionist horror—playing the goth heartthrob Cesar in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and the grotesquely disfigured yet weirdly alluring hero of The Man Who Laughs—to an unexpected late-career run as a sexy leading man in cloak-and-dagger films such as The Spy in Black and Contraband. When Anna turns her head defiantly to reveal her scar, Torsten gazes at her with a gleam of excitement, even of perverse attraction. She is confused and touched by his kindness and gallantry, helplessly trying to hide her sensitivity beneath a tough façade. Her broken-up, uncertain expressions when he gives her flowers or kisses her hand count as some of the most delicate acting Crawford ever did. Anna assumes that Torsten, the penniless scion of a rich family, must want her to do some dirty work, and she turns out to be right, but he also genuinely appreciates the proud, bitter, lonely woman who faces down her miserable lot through sheer strength of will.

People are horrible to Anna, nastily mocking her wounded vanity and her attempts to look nice. “The world was against me,” she says, “All right, I’d be against it.” She has found the perfect outlet, blackmailing pretty women who commit adultery. In one of the film’s best scenes, the spoiled and kittenish wife she is threatening retaliates by shining a lamp in Anna’s face and laughing at her. Anna leaps at the woman and starts hitting her over and over, forehand and backhand, in an ecstasy of hatred. This savagely satisfying moment is derailed by the film’s first grossly contrived plot twist, as the encounter is interrupted by the woman’s husband, who happens to be a plastic surgeon specializing in correcting facial scars. He offers to operate on Anna, and once the bandages are removed, in a scene orchestrated for maximum suspense, an absurdly flawless face is revealed.

The doctor (Melvyn Douglas) calls her both his Galatea and his Frankenstein: he views her as his creation, but isn’t sure if she’s an ideal woman or an unholy monster, “a beautiful face with no heart.” Her dilemma is ultimately which man to please, whose approval to seek: the doctor who believes her character should be corrected now that her face is, or Torsten, who wants her to kill the young nephew who stands between him and the family estate. This overwrought turn is never plausible; it is always obvious that Anna is no child murderer. What is believable is her erotic thrall to Torsten, the first man who has ever shown an interest in her. Crawford is at her most unguarded in these moments of trembling desire; Cukor remarked on how “the nearer the camera, the more tender and yielding she became.” He speculated that the camera was her true lover.

Anna undergoes months of pain and uncertainty for the chance of being beautiful for Torsten, and there is a marvelous shot of her gazing at herself in a mirror as she prepares to surprise him with her new face, brimming with hard proud joy. But he winds up lamenting the surgery that has turned her into “a mere woman, soft and warm and full of love,” he sneers. “I thought you were something different—strong, exciting, not dull, mediocre, safe.” In this same speech, Torsten reveals himself as a cartoonish fascist megalomaniac, which fits in with the film’s slide into silly, flimsily scripted melodrama, but sadly obscures the radical spark of what he’s saying. Anna’s character is shaped by the way she looks, or rather by the way she is looked at by men; the disappointingly conventional ending sides with the man who equates flawless beauty with moral goodness, and against the one man who was able to see something fine—a “hard, shining brightness,” in a woman’s damaged and imperfect face.

A Stolen Face (1952) follows a similar premise, much less effectively, and reaches the opposite conclusion. Paul Henreid plays a plastic surgeon who operates on female criminals with disfiguring scars, convinced that once they look normal they will become contented law-abiding citizens. He gets carried away, however, sculpting one patient into a dead ringer for his lost love (Lizabeth Scott plays both the original and the copy) and marrying her. His attempt to play Pygmalion backfires, since the vulgar, mean-spirited and untrustworthy ex-con is unchanged by her new appearance: she is indeed “a beautiful face without a heart.” That is a succinct definition of the femme fatale, a type Lizabeth Scott often played and one that embodies a fascination with the deceptiveness of feminine beauty. In The Big Heat (1953), it is only when Debbie (Glora Grahame) has her pretty face rearranged by a pot of scalding coffee that she abandons her cynical self-interest to become an avenging angel, fearlessly punishing the corrupt who hide their greed behind a genteel façade. She has nothing left to lose; pulling a gun from her mink coat and plugging the woman she recognizes as her evil “sister,” the disfigured Debbie asserts her freedom: “I never felt better in my life.”

Blessings in Disguise

Sometimes, people are only too happy to lose their faces. Dr. Richard Talbot (Kent Smith), the protagonist of the superb, underappreciated drama Nora Prentiss (1947), sees the bright side when his face is horribly burned in a car crash. He has already faked his own death, sending another man’s corpse over a cliff in a burning car. In a neat bit of poetic irony, by crashing his own car he has completed the process of destroying his identity, and no longer needs to fear he’ll be recognized. Losing his face is a blessing in disguise—or rather, a blessing of disguise. But the disfigurement is also a visual representation of the corruption of his character: his face changes to reflect his downward metamorphosis with almost Dorian Gray-like precision.

Car crashes are a kind of refrain in the film. The doctor’s routine existence veers off course when a taxi knocks down a nightclub singer, Nora Prentiss (Anne Sheridan), across the street from his San Francisco office. Talk about a happy accident: the nice guy trapped in an ice-cold marriage to a rigid, nagging martinet suddenly has a gorgeous, good-humored young woman stretched out on his examining table. Nora may sing for a living, but her real vocation is dishing out wisecracks (her first words on coming to are, “There must be an easier way to get a taxi.”) When the doctor mentions a paper he’s writing on “ailments of the heart,” the canary, her eyelids dropping under the weight of knowingness, quips, “A paper? I could write a book.”

It’s hard to imagine a more sympathetic pair of adulterers, but the doctor is so daunted by the prospect of asking his wife for a divorce that it seems simpler to use the convenient death of a patient in his office to stage his own demise and flee to New York with Nora. It’s soon clear, though, that some part of him did die in San Francisco. Cooped up in a New York hotel room, terrified of going out lest someone spot him, the formerly gentle man becomes an irascible, rude, nervous wreck. When the faithful and incredibly patient Nora goes back to singing for Phil Dinardo (Robert Alda), the handsome nightclub owner who loves her, Talbot becomes hysterically jealous. Unshaven and hollow-eyed, he slaps Nora and almost kills Dinardo before fleeing the police and heading into that fiery crash. He becomes, as the film’s evocative French title has it, L’Amant sans Visage, “the lover without a face.”

When his bandages are removed, he is unrecognizable, wizened and scarred, his face a creased and calloused mask. His own wife doesn’t know him, and when Nora visits him in prison his damaged face, shot through a tight wire mesh, looks like something decaying, dissolving. He’s in prison because, in an even neater bit of irony, he has been charged with his own murder. He decides to take the rap, recognizing the justice of the mistake: he did kill Richard Talbot.

This same ironic plot twist appears in Strange Impersonation (1946), albeit less convincingly. This deliriously far-fetched tale, directed at a breakneck pace by Anthony Mann, stars Brenda Marshall as Nora Goodrich, a pretty scientist whose glasses signal that she is both brainy and emotionally myopic. She is harshly punished for caring more about work than marriage: her female lab assistant, who wants to steal Nora’s fiancé, tampers with an experiment so that it explodes, burning Nora’s face to a crisp. Embittered, she retreats from the world, and when another woman, who is trying to blackmail her over a car accident, falls from the window and is mistakenly identified as Nora, she seizes the opportunity to disappear, have plastic surgery that miraculously eliminates her scars, and return posing as the blackmailer, to seek revenge. She goes to work for her former fiancé, who strangely fails to recognize her voice or her striking resemblance to his lost love.

The plot plays out as, and turns out to be, a fever dream, but this last credibility stretcher is too common to dismiss as merely the flaw of one potboiler. Plots involving impersonation and identity theft rely not only on unrealistic visions of what plastic surgery can achieve, but on the assumption that people are deeply unobservant and tone-deaf in recognizing loved ones. A film that underlines this blindness with droll irony is The Scar (a.k.a. Hollow Triumph and The Man Who Murdered Himself, 1948), a convoluted but hugely entertaining little B noir in which Paul Henreid plays dual roles as a crook on the run and a psychologist who happens to look just like him. John Muller, pursued by hit men sent by a casino owner he robbed, stumbles across his doppelganger and decides to kill him and take his place. All he needs to do is give himself a facial scar to match the doctor’s. Only as he is dumping the body does he notice that he has put the scar on the wrong cheek—the consequence of an accidentally reversed photograph. But the irony quickly doubles back: Muller decides to brazen it out, and in fact no one notices that the doctor’s scar has apparently moved from one side of his face to the other—not even his lover. (Joan Bennett glides through this awkward part in a world-weary trance, giving a dry-martini reading to the script’s most famous lines: “It’s a bitter little world, full of sad surprises.”) The assumption that people pay little attention to the way others look or sound seems directly at odds with the power that faces and voices wield on film, and the intimate specificity with which we experience them. But noir stories often turn on how easily people are deceived, and how poorly they really know one another—or even themselves.

In The Long Wait (1954), perhaps the most extreme case of confused identity, a man with amnesia searches for a woman who has had plastic surgery. Not only does he not know what she looks like now, he can’t even remember what she used to look like. Since the movie is based on a Mickey Spillane story, he proceeds methodically by grabbing every woman he sees, in hopes that something will jog his memory. The film is fun in its pulpy, trashy way, provided you enjoy watching Anthony Quinn kiss women as though his aim were to throttle the life out of them. Quinn plays a man badly injured in a car wreck that erases both his memory and his fingerprints. This is lucky when he wanders into his old town and discovers he is wanted for a bank robbery—without fingerprints, they can’t arrest him. Figuring he must be innocent, he goes in search of the girlfriend who may or may not have grabbed the money and gone under the knife. It’s an intriguing premise, but the ultimate revelation of the right woman feels arbitrary, and the implications of all this confusion of identities are left resolutely unexamined. Nonetheless, there is something in the film’s searing, inarticulate desperation that glints like a shattered mirror.

Under the Knife

The promise of plastic surgery is a new and better self, the erasure of years and the traces of life. Taken to extremes, it is the opportunity to become a different person. Probably the best known plastic surgery noir is Dark Passage (1947), in which Humphrey Bogart plays Vincent Parry, who visits a back alley doctor after escaping from San Quentin. Parry was framed for killing his wife, so the face plastered across newspapers with the label of murderer has become a false face that betrays him. A friendly cabby who spots him recommends a surgeon who is he promises is “no quack.” Houseley Stevenson’s gleeful turn as the back-alley doctor is unforgettable, as he sharpens a straight razor while philosophizing about how all human life is rooted in fear of pain and death. He can’t resist scaring Parry, chortling over what he could do to a patient he didn’t like: make him look like a bulldog, or a monkey. But he reassures Parry that he’ll make him look good: “I’ll make you look as if you’ve lived.”

During the operation, Parry’s drugged consciousness becomes a kaleidoscope of faces, all the people who have threatened or helped him swirling around. His face is being re-shaped, as his life has already been shaped by others: the bad woman who framed him and the good woman who rescues and protects him, the small-time crook who menaces him and the kind cabby who helps him. Faceless for much of the movie, mute for part of it (he spends a long time in constraining bandages), Vincent Parry is among the most passive and cipher-like of noir protagonists. When the bandages finally come off after surgery, he looks like Humphrey Bogart, and the idea that this famously beat-up, lived-in face could be the creation of plastic surgery is perhaps the film’s biggest joke. But Vincent Parry remains an oddly blank, undefined character, and he seems unchanged by his new face and name. In a sense the doctor is right: he only looks as though he’s lived.

The fullest cinematic exploration of the problems inherent in trying to make a new life through plastic surgery is Seconds (1966), John Frankenheimer’s flesh-creeping sci-fi drama about a mysterious company that offers clients second lives. For a substantial fee, they will fake your death, make you over completely—including new fingerprints, teeth, and vocal cords—and create an entirely new identity for you. There is never a moment in the movie when this seems like a good idea. The Saul Bass credits, in which human features are stretched and distorted in extreme close-up, instills a horror of plasticity, and disorienting camera-work creates an immediate feeling of unease and dislocation, a physical discomfort at being in the wrong place.

Arthur, a businessman from Scarsdale, is the personification of disappointed middle age, afflicted by profound anomie that goes beyond a dull routine and a tired marriage. When the Company finishes its work—the process is shown in gruesome detail, to the extent that Frankenheimer’s cameraman fainted while shooting a real rhinoplasty—the formerly nondescript and greying Arthur looks like Rock Hudson, and has a new life as a playboy painter in Malibu. He’s told that he is free, “alone in the world, absolved of all responsibility.” He has “what every middle-aged man in America wants: freedom.”

At first, however, his life proves as empty and meaningless in this new setting as it was in the old; even when the Frankenstein scars have healed, he remains nervous and joyless as before. After he meets and falls for a beautiful blonde neighbor, who introduces him to a very 1960s California lifestyle, he begins to revel in youth and sensual freedom. Yet something is still not right; at a cocktail party he gets drunk and starts talking about his former existence—a taboo. He discovers that his lover, indeed almost everyone he knows, is an employee of the company or a fellow “reborn,” hired to create a fake life for him, and to keep him under surveillance. His “freedom” is a construct, tightly controlled.

Arthur rebels, making a forbidden trip to visit his wife, who of course does not recognize him. Talking to her about her supposedly deceased husband, for the first time he begins to understand himself: the depth of his alienation and confusion, the fact that he never really knew what he wanted, and so wanted the things he had been told he should want. Seconds is a scathing attack on the American ideal of a successful life, a portrait of how corporations sell fantasies of youth, beauty, happiness, love; buying into these commercial dreams, no one is really free to know what they want, or even who they are. Will Geer, as the folksy, sinister founder of the Company, talks wistfully about how he simply wanted to make people happy.

There is a deep sadness in the scenes where Arthur revisits his old home and confronts the failure of his attempt at rebirth—beautifully embodied by Rock Hudson in a performance suffused with the melancholy of a man who has spent his life hiding his real identity behind a mask. Yet Arthur still imagines that if he can have another new start, a third face and identity, he will get it right. Instead, he learns the macabre secret of how the Company goes about swapping out people’s identities. Seconds contrasts the surgical precision with which faces, bodies, and the trappings of life can be remade, and the impossibility of determining or predicting how or if the inner self will be changed. For that there are no charts or diagrams, and no knife that can cut deep enough.

by Imogen Sara Smith

#Imogen Sara Smith #The Chiseler #stolen faces #joan crawford #noir #secondrock hudson #lauren bacall

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Memories - Bruno Buccellati x Fem!Reader

"Hey, everyone, it's so nice to see you! This is Giorno Giovanna, our newest team member...Well, more like our new little brother, anyway. So please, treat him well since he's one of us now." I smile kindly at the 4 boys seated at our usual round table at the restaurant, as I help the blond boy in a protective side hug. "Mr. Buccellati, Miss Fiore, there's an old lady looking for you." the waiter got our attention. "Thank you for telling us, Mr. Lorenzo! Now, boys, please play nice and make sure you don't make trouble for anyone, okay? Also, Fugo, dear, thank you for having the patience to help Narancia with his homework, I really appreciate you doing it in my stead!" I clap my hands together in appreciation and hook my hand to Bruno's arm, going outside.

~~~

"Man...I don't get how she can be so kind to everyone." Mista sighed, leaning on the table. "She's always been like that, right? I mean, has anyone seen her angry? At all? Even a bit?" Narancia asked, ruffling his hair. "You can't tell when she's angry, can you? I mean, she hides it incredibly well...But I gotta tell you, the ones who hide their anger so well are actually the scariest. And yeah, I mean scarier than Fugo when he has one of his episodes." Abbacchio shrugged, looking away from the new kid. "I...I don't think I want to see Miss Katrina angry again. Remember that day, Abbacchio? I can't even remember why she was so angry, but she destroyed the whole house." Fugo could feel a drop of sweat run down his face, remembering that time. “Or the time when someone hurt Bruno so badly that she thought he died, and went berserk and burnt the whole forest?” Mista shuddered softly, remembering that accident. “Or the time when she was super tired and we wouldn’t shut up and she started throwing knives at us...Urgh, that really hurt.” Narancia bit his lip, looking down. "If you want to find something out, either ask her directly, or Buccellati, though I doubt he'd actually disclose any personal information on her. They've been together for a long time. They're very protective of each other...And it doesn't help that they act like everyone's parents." Abbacchio rolled his eyes, but the ghost of a smile betrayed his true feelings. "Come to think of it, Buccellati mentioned that she is very fragile, right? And to be careful when around her, so we won’t hurt her, right? Something to do with her past and how unstable she used to be. Well...It's not like I can say anything about that, considering how I am. Or the fact that she's always been patient with me despite everything." Fugo put his hand to his face, pondering. "Yeah...Same here...Hey, why don't we ask Bruno tonight? I mean, we’ve got a new kid here, we can just say that he wants to find out more about us, right?” Narancia got up from his chair with a victorious fist-pump. “That’s...Actually not the worst idea you’ve had so far, Narancia. What do you guy say?” Mista snapped his fingers in realisation. “Hmm...I suppose it could work. Well then, new kid, this will be our first mission as a team. Are you in?” Abbacchio smirked at Giorno, who merely nodded. “If it won’t hurt anyone from the team, then I’m in, yes.” he declared simply. “Then, it’s settled! And even better, we have a team gathering tonight anyway. This should go well!” Mista smirked in victory.

~~~

“Can you believe it, Bruno? Hitting your own mother...Honestly...I’d have killed him with my own hands if that were my child. Poor woman...” I sighed, looking down, sad at what I had witnessed. “It’s all because of drugs...Honestly...It just never ends...” Bruno’s distress was obvious on his face. “Bruno...Look at me.” I stop abruptly, putting my hands on his tanned visage, making him look down at me. “We WILL do the right thing. Give it time, I’m sure things will turn out the way we want them to, okay? I promise.” I kiss his lips softly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “Yeah...We will...Thank you, amore. I was blinded by rage for a second, but you have opened my eyes. Let’s go to the others, we need to have a meeting tonight at our base.” he put his arm around my waist, kissing my temple before we went inside the restaurant, where surprisingly, everyone was behaving...Normally. “Hope we didn’t make you wait for too long. Come on, we should head to the base. Hope you enjoyed the food here.” I smiled at the gently, signing for them to follow us.

It didn’t take long for us to get to the headquarters and make ourselves at home in the living room, everyone taking the spot they were so used to, except for Giorno, who was rather awkward. “Giorno, dear, why don’t you stay in the armchair there? It’s pretty comfy, I promise.” I pat his shoulder, offering him my spot. “I’ll go make some tea and coffee, okay? You go on without me, I promise I won’t be too long!” I winked at them, before going to the kitchen and making everything.

~~~

“I can sense that you’re restless, for some reason. Did anything happen?” Bruno asked, intertwining his fingers together, putting them under his chin. “Well...You see, Buccellati...The new kid said he kinda wants to know more about us, since Kat keeps saying we’re a family and all, and he says he wants to be part of it. Y’know, since she acts so much like everyone’s mum, I guess it’s no surprise. We were all like that, huh?” Mista was the first one to speak, putting poor Giorno ahead to take the blame. “Hmmm...I see...Well, I guess it can’t be helped. It is what she would want, after all. What do you want to know?” Bruno asked, leaning back on his armchair. “That’s...Actually quite the question, Buccellati. We don’t know anything about her, do we? She’s the only one who kept evading the question.” Abbacchio pointed out, making the brunet man sigh. “...Under normal circumstances, I’d say that it’s her story to tell, not mine. However, there are some particular things that you all should be aware of when dealing with her, so we don’t end up with another burnt-base situation. This is especially for you, Giorno, who has only witnessed her mother-like side. The only reason I’m aware of everything is because I’ve known her for a very long time and I’ve witnessed things.” Bruno cleared his throat, looking behind him, making sure the red haired girl wasn’t anywhere near hearing-length. “This already sounds pretty serious.” Giorno commented, looking at his superior attentively. ~~~

“Buccellati, you’re going to be assigned a partner for your future missions. She is a new recruit, her name is Katrina Fiore, but goes by La Volpina. You will see why once you set your eyes on her, but don’t let yourself be charmed. She hardly ever speaks and she’s very reserved, so you shouldn’t have any problem with her. She’s incredibly efficient, but make sure she understand what truly means to be part of our group.” the capo instructed Buccellati firmly, as he went to a door, opening it, letting a girl walk through. “You must be Katrina Fiore, our new member. My name is Bruno Buccellati, your new partner. It’s nice to meet you, miss.” Bruno tried his best to be court with the girl in front of him, who seemed about the same age. “I know.” he voice was low and firm, yet held the same emotionless vibe as her jade eyes did. “Now, now, Katrina, be a good girl and follow Buccellati’s instructions for the next missions. I’m sure I’ll only hear praises, anyway.” the capo’s easy going chuckle irritated the girl, but she said nothing, her eyes boring into his sapphire ones. “Let’s go.” she muttered, walking past him, out of the building, as if she owned the place. “Where are you going?” he asked, rushing after her. “Kill.” she answered, not bothering to walk any slower. “The target is in the opposite direction.” he informed, yet she merely shook her head. “Not anymore.” her voice turned even darker, as she strode towards the brothel nearby. “What are you doing?!” he whisper-yelled, his eyes widening in shock. “Watch and learn.” she crouched and waited behind a wall, until she noticed the target get out of the brothel.

She kept following him for a few blocks, until he went to walk through a shadowy alley, where she was able to easily pounce on him like a cheetah, plunging her knife into his neck, while keeping her hand over his mouth so there will be no commotion.  By the end of it, she carried him to the docks nearby, throwing him in the lake, with a heavy rock attacked to his leg.

“How did you know he was here, and not at his home, as we were informed?” Burno asked, completely bewildered. “Magic.” she cleaned her knife in the ocean, before putting it back in his sleeve and walking away nonchalantly. “May I escort you home?” he asked, not sure what to say anymore, completely shocked at what he had just witnessed. “No.” she looked at him with a deadpan expression, before taking off and getting lost in the shadows.

~~~

“I found out later on that she went home, only to get food and go feed a mother dog with her pups. She’d been doing that daily, as she says.” Bruno chuckled softly, remembering the shock he felt at that time. “No way...! Kat? That cold? No way!” Narancia gasped dramatically in shock, getting up from the ground. “That’s...Quite a radical change of behaviour, if you ask me.” Fugo tapped the side of his face, looking curiously at Bruno. “I believe there’s more to this story than that, correct, Buccellati?” Giorno asked, completely absorbed by the brunet’s story. “It’s only a month later that I found out that she isn’t as heartless as she wanted to make me, and everyone else around her, believe...But her violence was no joke.” Bruno continued his story.

~~~

“If the map is correct, we have to go through this alley to the left, and then straight ahead, and we’ll be close to the enemy’s house.” Buccellati informed, looking at the map. “...We’ll take a shortcut.” Katrina muttered, looking away from her partner. “Hm? But it says this is the shortest route.” Bruno raised his eyebrow in confusion, not realising first how he angered the girl. “SHORTCUT!” she yelled at him, her eye twitching, before she heard the yelp of pain from a dog, which made her widen her eyes and run to the alley Bruno was talking about. “Katrina, wait!” he ran after her, only to find her trembling on the ground, with a littler of puppies and a small dog-mother in her arms, standing over them protectively. “You...You...You fucking monster...What have these poor animals done to you to deserve this...? They are innocent from this world...They’ve done nothing wrong...So...Why...?” her voice was, by this time, much softer and dripping with hurt and sorrow, not lifting her head from the ground. “To hurt you, La Volpina! You think I don’t know that you killed my boss?! A whore like you, with red hair like that, doesn’t realise how easily noticeable she is?! You think I didn’t realise how you’d come here every day, taking care of those mutts? Honestly, when I realised my boss was killed, I thought it was some ugly brute, full of muscles and whatever...But it was just some frail bitch! Haahahaha! How ridiculous!” the bastard who kicked the puppies laughed at her condescendingly, making her growl in annoyance. “Buccellati...I know you’re there...Get out here right now.” her voice became harsher gradually, as she slowly got up, looking back at her partner. “Make sure I don’t accidentally hurt them while I kill this fuckass, got it?” she sneered, whipping her head forward, her long, red hair, like a bloody ocean, waving around her. “You?! Kill ME?! Are you insane, woman?! Pahahaha! As if you could!” the man spoke patronising to her, not even taking out his weapon, which made her smirk in victory. “Die.” she muttered, as she raised her hands towards him.

Before he could blink another time, the whole alley was engulfed in a raging inferno of fire, shocking both her partner and the enemy, who screamed bloody murder, cursing with no stopping, feeling his flesh being melted from his bones, yet having nowhere to run to save himself.

Soon, the Hell stopped, and walking towards him, she took the humerus, femur, radius, ulna and tibia bones, waved them around a bit, so they wouldn’t be scorching hot, and crouched next to the dogs, giving them the bones to chew on them.

“You’re so cute...You’re all okay...Here, let me heal you. Yes, baby, you’re okay now, don’t worry...It’s okay, nothing’s gonna hurt you while I’m around...I promise...” she cooed at them, with a soft a soft smile on her pale face, as the puppies kept climbing all over her, licking her face, while the mother was licking her hand, as a thank you for saving them. “That was a nice thing you did there for the dogs.” a forgotten voice called out in a gentle voice, which made the girl turn stiff with shock. “I-I-I...W-Well...I-It’s nothing.” her cheeks flared up from embarrassment, not being used to letting her vulnerable side to be seen by others. “You are a good person, Katrina. You shouldn’t have to hide that from the world.” he crouched down next to her, petting the mother dog, smiling at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” the girl looked away from her partner, much too embarrassed to say anything anymore. “I’m glad to see I’m not the only Stand User around. You are very powerful, Katrina.” he patted her shoulder gently, but the girl whipped around, catching his wrist and clenched her hand around it tightly, making his widen his eyes in confusion. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” this threat, however, she made without looking at him in the eyes.

~~~

“Aha! I knew it! She’s always been motherly!” Narancia fist-pumped the air, but was quickly shushed by the rest. “Shut up, you dead-brain fuckass! If you yell any louder, she’ll hear you, and we won’t hear anything anymore!” Fugo scolded the boy, shaking him violently. “You’re no better either, Fugo...” Abbacchio facepalmed in annoyance. “The good thing is that she’s not done with the beverages, at least.” Mista pointed out, earning a nod from everyone. “The next part is a bit more delicate. It happened about half a year after everything I just told you about. I have to point out that by that time, she almost broke my arm a few times for having this habit of patting her shoulder or back.” Bruno chuckled in amusement, remembering how hostile she’d be. “That sounds so hard to imagine now that you’re together, you know?” Mista smirked slightly, leaning back on the couch. “It won’t be so hard to believe anymore.” he proceeded with the next story.

~~~

“Great, another successful mission. The Capo sure rewarded us nicely, don’t you think?” Bruno tried to create a conversation, but it was obvious that the girl was thinking far away. “Are you okay, Katrina?” he asked, in a gentler voice. “Hmm? Did you say something?” she asked absent-minded, still not paying attention. “Nothing important, I was jus-” he began, but a muffled scream seemed to disturb the quiet of the road. “What...?” the red haired girl rushed to the place where she heard the scream, only to see a man chocking a woman that he pinned on the wall, her clothes disheveled, her face smeared with make up from crying. “You, godamn brute...!” she growled in anger, striding towards him and socking him right in the jaw, the sound of something breaking crackling through the alley, not sure if it was her fingers or his mandible. “What the fuck...?! A woman?! Wha’ the hell?!” the man spoke in a drunken voice, barely keeping his balance. “Get away from that woman. Right. Now.” her jade eyes were sparkling with abyssal rage. “No way! Get yo’ own bitch!” the drunkard was walking towards her, but the girl crouched low on the ground, kicking her leg out to swipe him off his feet, then straddled his torso, punching him in the face repeatedly. “You! Don’t! Fucking! Touch! Women! Like! That!” she kept punching left and right, until his face was bloody and broken, which is when she got off and slammed his head on the stone pavement, finally managing to bash his skull in, killing him. “Godamn it...Men are so godamn disgusting...” she muttered, as she got up and went to keen in front of the woman. “Katrina, are you okay?!” Bruno called out as he stepped closer, but the girl stopped him. “Buccellati, get out of this alley for now. This woman is scared after what happened.” she instructed, and with one look at the trembling woman, he gulped and nodded his head. “I’ll be keeping watch outside.” he spoke, letting the girls by themselves, while listening in. “It’s okay, darling, he’s dead now. I’m sorry that I let you see something so gruesome...I was very angry...I know what you’ve been through, but I’m glad I managed to stop it before things got worse.” the fox girl spoke in a soft voice, letting the woman cry in her shoulder, stroking her hair gently. “I-I-I was so scared! I just got home from work, and went to buy some food for my husband to cook at home, and this...This hobo jumped me into the alley! Th-Thank you so much for saving me...My God, I can’t stop shaking, I can’t believe something like that happened to me...!” she sobbed desperately, as the girl kept trying to coo at her softly. “Hey, your shirt is damaged. Here, take my blouse. I know we’re not the same body type, but it should look okay on you until I get you home.” Katrina took off her blouse, helping the girl discard the damaged shirt, and they exchanged tops. “B-But what about you...? Won’t it be risky for you to walk like this?!” her voice, shaky and concerned, as she gripped the red haired girl’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about me. As you can see, I can manage myself. Besides...I’m...Not alone.” despite all her embarrassment, the fox girl managed to admit that. “Was that man your boyfriend? He seemed very gentle...I hope he’s treating you right, like my husband is treating me.” the girl finally managed to give her saviour a tearful smile, while the red haired girl could only gasp and stutter, her face becoming redder than her hair. “We-We-We’re not t-t-t-together! We’re just working together! B-But that’s besides the point! Uh....Can you walk?! Here, let me help you!” Katrina helped her up, but noticed that her legs were wobbly - not because of the trembling, but because her heel got broken.  “Oh no, it seems I broke my heel in all the commotion...I’ll just have to walk barefoot.” she sighed, but Katrina merely shook her head. “No. Take my shoes. They’re sneakers, so I think they’ll fit you well enough.” the girl took off her shoes, handing them to the victim. “N-No! I-I couldn’t possibly let you walk without shoes on!” the blonde girl tried to protest, but it was in vain, and by the time she realised, she already had sneakers on. “Come on, let’s get you home. Guide the way.” Kat helped her up, her arm protectively around her, and walked her out of the alley, where she stole a quick glance at he partner, but didn’t dare share eye contact, because of the shameful situation she was in. “It’s very close! Down the road, to the right, and my house will be up ahead.” the blonde guided the red haired girl, and soon enough, they arrived in front of a cozy looking small house, and through the window, she could see the husband preparing a romantic dinner for the two of them. “Well then, take care of yourself...And treasure the wonderful man that you found. It’s...Rare to find men like him. Believe me, I would know.” she chuckled dryly, patting her head. “Why don’t you come in? I need to give you a change of clothes and thank you properly and-” the woman’s eyes widened as she was refused. “Enjoy your romantic dinner. You won’t see me again anyway...But I’m glad you’re okay. Go on, don’t shy out.” Katrina pushed her inside the house, before shutting close the door and listening closely to the couple.

Inside, the woman jumped into the man’s arms, and told him everything that happened. The man, in turn, was angry that something so horrible had to happen to his wife, but held her tightly and reassured her, trying his best to make sure she’s okay now. The scene melted the fox girl’s heart, and taking a leaf from the tree nearby, she carved a smile and sent it from the gap under the door, so the girl would know she had no reason to be scared anymore.

“You truly are an angel...” a voice startled her, letting out a surprised yelp, turning towards the voice, guarding her torso with her arms. “Oh, it was just you...Honestly, don’t scare me like that.” she muttered, quickly adverting her gaze away from him. “Here, take this. I couldn’t possibly let a woman walk like this.” he said, taking off his top and putting it on the girl, who stood petrified, looking at him. “Wh-Why...?” she was barely able to ask. “Why? Because I respect women, and more, I respect you. Good people aren’t as often found...And yet...Here you are, in front of me. Your kind heart moved me, Katrina.” he spoke, as he gently kissed her forehead. “D-D-Don’t d-do that...” her voice, barely above a whisper, called out, like a little mouse. “Do you hate me, Katrina?” Bruno asked, putting his fingers under her chin, raising her head up to look at him. “N-No...Not that...” she bit her lip, looking away, feeling her heart beat a thousand miles per minute. “Then what is it? Why can’t you look at me?” Bruno spoke in an even gentler voice. “Because...Because...Because...I’m afraid that I will fall in love with you...” her voice trembled, as she hid her face with her hands, hanging her head down.

~~~

“Why did you stop?! What happened after?! I want to know!” Narancia’s voice was loud and obnoxious. “He hugged me and we became a couple, that’s what happened.” my voice called out as I was leaning on the doorframe, holding the tray. “A-Amore...!” Bruno gulped, not daring to look back at his beloved, who heard him tell some of her story. “Honestly...Did you really think I wouldn’t hear you from the kitchen?” I chuckled, shaking my head and putting the tray on the table. “W-Well...You see...” Bruno was left speechless, and he was, for some reason only known to him, more afraid now than when he fought anyone before. “Please forgive us, Katrina. We merely wanted to know more about you. I wanted to become part of your family.” Giorno tried to rescue the gang. “Aww...Giorno, you’re adorable. You blended in so well already...But don’t let these suckers use you for their schemes, okay? You’re too pure and kind for their idiocy.” I chuckled, leaning on the arm rest on Bruno’s armchair, patting Giorno’s head. “Do you forgive us, Kat? Please? Please?” Narancia pleaded, doing his famous puppy eyes. “I have nothing to forgive. I’m not mad, idiots. But maybe next time just ask me, okay? Now then, what else would you like to know?”  I asked, looking at them with an amusement smirk. “How did you and Buccellati get to have such a strong bond?” Fugo asked, looking at us with curiosity. “Hmmm...Was it that time where you almost died and I lost control, then used all my energy to heal you, and I wouldn’t wake up?” I blinked down at my paramour, who smiled and intertwined his fingers with mine. “I think yes, that time is when we truly started trusting each other. We were one, not two different people anymore.” he kissed the back of my hand, which made me chuckle. “So? What happened?” Abbacchio cleared his throat, raising his eyebrow. “I can’t remember who exactly we were fighting, but he was a very powerful Stand User. I was alone and I started fighting him, but before I knew, Bruno came and told me to complete the mission, while he would stall him. By the time I came back, he was on the floor and he wasn’t breathing anymore. Next thing I know, the whole place was on fire, the enemy was dead, and I held him in my arms as I used my Healing Water to cure his wounds. After that...I can’t remember much, actually.” I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You fainted from using your energy too much, so I got you home and tended to you wounds. You were in a coma for about a week or so. You have no idea how panicked I was.” Bruno sweatdropped, sighing at the memory. “Oh yes, the best sleep I’ve ever had.” I laughed, raking my fingers through my hair. “And after that, I remember that I could barely move, but I kept cursing that my hair was super sticky with blood, right? And I cursed you until you agreed to help me wash it.” my chuckles carried on with the story. “I’ve...Heard more curses at that time than I’ve heard in my entire life, and I still stand by that.” he smirked, shaking his head in amusement. “Uhm, hello?! Do you KNOW how awful it is to have your LONG hair super gross and sticky?! Come on, Abbacchio, back me up here, I’m sure you know how annoying it is! Fugo? Giorno? Don’t leave me alone here!” I gasped dramatically, looking at all of them. “Well, Buccellati, La Volpina is right here. So? What did you do?” Leone smirked in amusement, resting his jaw on his fist. “Found a way to wash only her hair, so her wounds won’t get infected or hurt from the shampoo. I put her in the bath tub, with her hair draping down where you’d hold your head, and I’d wash it...You liked it so much that you fell asleep.” the brunet man sighed, looking dead inside, while the others laughed at the sight. “Can you blame me? It was super relaxing! And my hair was so soft after that!” I grinned at him brightly. “Yeah...So much that you made me wash your hair all the time after that.” he shrugged, yet he was still smiling. “You’re still doing that?!” Mista gasped in shock. “Why do you think my hair looks so great? I can relax, have nice little scented candles around, listen to music and sing, while he washes my hair for me. It’s really nice, you know? You should get someone to do that for you. It’s SO much better than any saloon treatment! And while at it, a little facial massage is always welcomed!” I winked at the boys in front of me, who were looking at me in shock. “Well...Now I kinda want that, to be fair...” Fugo muttered with a sigh.

That night, we continued gossiping about random things, until night came and we all went to sleep. While at it, I and Bruno lay cuddled in bed, him stroking my hair soothingly.

“Do you remember what I said, that time? In the bath tub?” I asked, in a soft voice. “If I recall correctly, you said my eyes were beautiful, correct?” Bruno asked, a tender smile on his face. “Yeah...And then you blushed and couldn’t stop looking in my eyes. And then you said the same about mine, and I looked away, because I used to hate them for so long. But then...I said that I loved you.” my grip on his hand tightened slightly. “I remember. And you put your hands on my face and put me down in a kiss. I was rather surprised, but it was a lovely surprise, to be fair.” he chuckled, kissing my forehead. “It was my dad.” I say my answer which confused him. “Hmm? What do you mean?” he leaned on his arm, looking down at me. “I have the same eyes as my dad. When I was 7, he left us, which made mum heart broken. After that, she couldn’t look at me anymore...She managed to survive 2 more years, before she took her own life, saying that she can’t live with the same person that reminds her of the one who broke her. That’s why...I’ve always hated my green eyes. I and my dad...We both became thieves. We both looked like foxes. Traitors. Deceivers. Liars. Foxes were always seen as nothing good...And yet...When I met you...I managed to change how I see myself. And it’s all thanks to you, Bruno. I was so afraid that I’d end up like him, that I didn’t allow myself to feel anything. So...Thank you. For making me realise that I’m not my father.” I confess my heart out to him, after so many years of keeping that to myself. “I see...So this is what managed to darken your heart so much. But, amore, you are my everything, and I promise you, I will never let you walk down that dark and lonely road again. You have me, and I will stay by your side forever. I promise. I love you, Katrina. I love your emerald eyes, and your red hair like a beautiful bed of Dahlias and Azaleas. Your golden heart that shines brighter than the Sun is what made me fall in love with you, but you are beautiful inside and outside, my dear.” he brushed my cheek with his hand softly, before leaning down and kissing me tenderly, making my heart beat faster than ever. “And you always know how to make me feel alive, caro mio.” I kiss him back with just as much passion, holding him close to me.

#jojo imagine #jojo x reader #jojo #bruno buccellati #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno buccellati imagine #leone abbacchio #narancia ghirga #fugo pannacotta #giorno giovanna #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizzare adventure stardust crusaders #jojo's bizzare adventure diamond is unbreakable #jojo's bizzare adventure part 2 #jojo's bizarre adventure part 3 #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure imagine

[darkrccm]

tag drop because i was mia too long and tumblr ate the tags !

queen of no identity ✖ musing

if you talk enough sense then you’ll lose your mind; talk some sense to me ✖ manicpower verse

obsessed with the camera lights ✖ aesthetic

you don’t want to hurt me; but see how deep the bullet lies ✖ nathan & rachel

little pieces of time ✖ visage

what terrifying final sights put out your beating heart ✖ post dark room verse

this is what makes us girls ✖ dana & rachel

princess of blackwell ✖ before the storm verse

the pretty lies & the ugly truth ✖ main verse

follow me home; pretend you found somebody to mend you ✖ chloe & rachel

an everyday hero ✖ max

pop cultural connoisseur ✖ warren

chasing angels ✖ victoria & rachel

maybe together we can get somewhere ✖ frank & rachel

it’s lonely at the top ✖ victoria

the photographer ✖ mark jefferson

i’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck ✖ mark & rachel

a ghost at the edge of my memory ✖ sera

the only mother i’ve ever known ✖ rose amber

ain’t youth meant to be beautiful? ✖ childhood verse

just another a devotee ✖ au verse

i was an angel living in the garden of evil ✖ dark room verse

take these broken wings and learn to fly ✖ au verse

the wires got the best of him ✖ nathan

i’m the image of deception ✖ headcanon

cause you & i were born to die ✖ chloe

i can be anyone ✖ closet

rachel songs ✖ playlist

curiosity killed the cat ✖ ask meme

dirty old town ✖ arcadia bay

#queen of no identity ✖ musing #if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind; talk some sense to me ✖ manicpower verse #obsessed with the camera lights ✖ aesthetic #you don't want to hurt me; but see how deep the bullet lies ✖ nathan & rachel #little pieces of time ✖ visage #what terrifying final sights put out your beating heart ✖ post dark room verse #this is what makes us girls ✖ dana & rachel #princess of blackwell ✖ before the storm verse #the pretty lies & the ugly truth ✖ main verse #follow me home; pretend you found somebody to mend you ✖ chloe & rachel #an everyday hero ✖ max #pop cultural connoisseur ✖ warren #chasing angels ✖ victoria & rachel #maybe together we can get somewhere ✖ frank & rachel #it's lonely at the top ✖ victoria #the photographer ✖ mark jefferson #i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck ✖ mark & rachel #a ghost at the edge of my memory ✖ sera #the only mother i've ever known ✖ rose amber #ain't youth meant to be beautiful? ✖ childhood verse #just another la devotee ✖ au verse #i was an angel living in the garden of evil ✖ dark room verse #take these broken wings and learn to fly ✖ au verse #the wires got the best of him ✖ nathan #i'm the image of deception ✖ headcanon #cause you & i were born to die ✖ chloe #i can be anyone ✖ closet #rachel songs ✖ playlist #curiosity killed the cat ✖ ask meme #dirty old town ✖ arcadia bay

[yunaffie]

Second Life

Exchange fic for @trucywright as part of @fyeahghosttrick‘s Ghost Swap fanworks exchange.

Prompt: “free spot for any and all Alma content”

Happy Ghost Swap, dear recipient! Hope it’s to your liking!

Crossposted to AO3 here.

A shrill ring cuts through the cacophony of a babbling toddler and the thumps of her plastic bowl. Snapping her book shut, Alma follows the sound, anticipating her husband on the other end of the phone. A fierce growl emanates from her stomach, spurred on by the aroma of curry. 

"Hey, baby, it's me."

"Cabanela? Let me guess, Jowd's going to be late, right?"

"Well, that's not quite it. You see, things got pretty crazy today and now I'm callin' from the hospital-"

The word 'hospital' rings in Alma's ears, provoking a sharp intake of breath. Curling her fingers around the receiver, she utters a single whisper. "No."

"Whoah, it's okay, baby, it's nothin' serious. Just a leg wound, that's all. I think you should come down here though, not sure he's in any condition to drive."

Alma feels the thrums of her heart beneath her palm. "You had me scared for a moment. I'll be right over." Bundling Kamila onto the car, she takes off, keeping the speed limit in mind as she weaves through traffic. Jowd is putting his life on the line every day as an officer of the law but even knowing that, a little thing like him getting hurt is enough to steal away her breath. Swallowing, she blinks away the sudden onset of tears and focuses solely on reaching her destination. 

"Hey." Cabanela is right there. Alma seeks comfort in his warm chest, holding Kamila to one side. "Gods, what a day this has been." When he steps back, she notices how his usual vibrant energy has faded, leaving him with slumped shoulders and a haggard expression. "And it was all because of me. I'm sorry, baby. I screwed up, and Jowd got hurt."

"Don't be ridiculous." Alma's tone is stern. "Was he shot? Even if he was, that was in no way your fault. He knew what he was getting into when he joined the force."

Cabanela's head sways from side to side. "I'll explain it to you on the way."

Alma absorbs every detail with keen interest: an interrogation gone wrong, the suspect fleeing with gun in hand, Jowd in pursuit, a hostage situation, the meteorite impact out of the blue.

"A meteorite fragment? Are you serious?"

"Sure am. Jowd got to see a meteorite fallin' close up. Must have been an amazin' view. Sure wish I could have seen it."

"So he wasn't shot then."

"Oh, no. Thank the gods for that. I don't think I could live with myself if it was my own gun that hurt him."

"And what of the little girl? What happened to the man?"

"The little girl's fine. Jowd says the criminal peeled himself off a lamppost and threw the girl to safety while his own legs turned to jelly under a fallin' rock. Look, I don't understand it anymore than you do, baby."

"Wow." Alma bounces Kamila around in her arms. "You weren't kidding about things getting crazy."

"Nooope, I sure wasn't." Cabanela opens the door and gestures for her to enter.

Jowd is sitting on the bed, his leg swathed in bandages, with his folded coat beside him. Alma lets out a quiet gasp and Jowd's eyes meet hers. For a long second, husband and wife are caught in each other's stares, neither uttering a word. Alma breaks the spell, his name slipping from her lips as she thrusts Kamila into Cabanela's arms. Flying to Jowd's chest, she sinks into his comforting embrace.

"Alma... oh, gods... you're alive. You're okay."

Alma pulls back with a quizzical frown, finding herself the subject of an intense stare. His eyes are coated with a glistening sheen. "Jowd, are you alright?"

Fluttering his eyelids, Jowd takes in a breath and releases it. "I'm just so happy to see you, that's all."

Doubt radiates from her eyes. Those words had been heavy and loaded with meaning, spoken by a man deep in the throes of his emotions. "I can't believe you got hit by a meteorite." His facial hair is rough and tickly against her palm. "Just what are the chances of that?"

"I wonder. Probably less than being hit by lightning. Not that I ever got the chance to discover what that feels like." Jowd's chuckle rings hollow in her ears. The flash of mirth in his expression goes out like a light. His next words are directed at Cabanela. "Hand me my daughter, would you?"

"Heeere you go, baby."

"Daddy," Kamila burbles, stretching her tiny arms. Jowd holds her aloft under intense scrutiny before taking her into his embrace, bringing his lips to her head.

"Kamila. You're going to be alright now. I won't leave you ever again." 

His words are like a faint breeze flowing past Alma's ears. It might be she wasn't meant to catch them at all. 

Once he's in the foyer of his home, Jowd transforms into a statue, resting on his crutches. Alma peers at his face, mystified by the dazed look in his eyes.

"So I'll just hang this up, shall I?" Cabanela is already placing Jowd's coat on a hook.

"Hm?" Jowd's head twists toward his voice. "Oh. Yes, that's right. Cabanela, check my coat pockets, would you?"

"Sure. Huh?" Cabanela holds aloft a bundle of black fur. "What's thiiis?"

"Meet the newest member of our family. His name is Sissel."

A rush of protests flow forth from Alma's lips at the unexpected news. How could Jowd not tell them to buy the necessities for a cat on the way home, she asks. Jowd's response is not to worry about it but Alma isn't convinced. At the very least, she has to put out a bowl of water and a plate of leftover chicken, as well as some newspaper in a cardboard box. How can Jowd expect a kitten to go without food, water, or somewhere to do his business for an entire night?

They sit down to dinner, hearing Kamila's excited cries from the next room as she gets to know their newest family member.

Jowd lifts the spoon to his mouth, blowing on the curry before taking his first mouthful. "Ahh. This curry. It's just as I remember."

Eyes meet across the table, flashes of concern striking in midair. It was only a week ago that curry was last eaten in this house. Jowd brings one spoonful after another to his mouth with gusto.

"Calm down." A small laugh bubbles through Alma's lips. "You'll choke if you keep eating that fast."

Jowd takes a sip of water. "It's just so good." Capturing Alma and Cabanela in his intense stare, he continues. "I'm so glad. Being at home with my family, seeing you all happy, it's such a wonderful thing. I'm so thankful to have you all in my life."

"Jowd." Alma's hand covers his.  "Are you okay?"

"I nearly killed a man with my own hands and then got struck by a meteorite. On the plus side, I adopted a kitten so I guess it wasn't that bad a day." Jowd lifts his shoulders, his lips curving in a smile that fails to reach his eyes. "It could have been a lot worse."

Alma draws back her hand, lines furrowing her brow. 

When the time comes for Cabanela to return to his home, Alma follows him outside.

"Somethin' sure is straaange about Jowd, huh?" Cabanela rests a hand on his hip. "I don't know what's going on, but he does seem a bit off."

"I don't understand." Alma pinches her lower lip between her teeth. "That way he looked at me in the hospital and what he said. Did you see how he kind of froze up when we got home? Then the stuff with the curry. I think something happened in that park and it changed him."

"His near death experience might have sooomething to do with it. Whatever it is, I'm sure he'll tell us eventually. If not, we're just gonna have to coax it out of him, baby. No way we'll just let him suffer in silence."

"You're right. We're here for him." Rubbing her arms, Alma adds, "Tonight could have been so different."

"Well, fortunately, it wasn't." Cabanela grips his forehead. "Gods, I still can't believe I messed up like that."

"You made a mistake. It happens." Alma's words are like a gentle tide striving to wash away his guilt. "Don't beat yourself up over it too much, okay? Just learn from your mistakes and move on. That's all you can do."

"Right. I'll do my best to make up for it. Goodnight, Alma." Cabanela plants a kiss on her cheek before whisking away in a flurry of white fabric. 

Retreating inside, Alma discovers Kamila nodding off as she nestles in her father's arms. Sissel perches behind Jowd, looking over his shoulder as if taking an interest in this spectacle himself.

"I'll take her to bed." Alma extracts their sleepy toddler. After sending Kamila into slumber, she comes to Jowd's side. "So. Anything you would like to do tonight?"

Jowd tilts his head while several seconds tick by. "Music. Put on one of your favourite artists."

"Alright, music it is." 

As the music flows, Alma nestles against Jowd's warm bulk. His broad and gentle arm encircles her, filling her with overflowing love and comfort. Closing her eyes, she commits herself to the flowing melody. A splash of moisture against her skin draws her attention to Jowd. Two glistening trails are streaking down his cheeks.

"It's okay, sweetie." Alma presses her hand to his damp skin. Jowd's searching gaze ensnares her, pulling her into its twin wells of sadness. "I'm here, you know."

"You're really here. Alma." Jowd's words land heavily, laden by the weight of his emotions. 

"Mmm." Eyes lingering on her husband's visage, Alma traces the sharp contours of his well defined cheeks with her fingertips. In the corner of her eye, she catches the twitch of a tail and extends her hand. Sissel's dark fur is soft to the touch. Scratching the base of his ears, she offers him an invitation.

With a meow, Sissel stretches his legs, light rippling over his taut form before he hops gracefully into Alma's lap. As she strokes him, the vibration emanating from his body grows even louder.

"What a sweet little kitten. So, what made you decide to name him Sissel?"

"Hm. I suppose it just popped into my head."

"You know Sissel is usually a girl's name, right?"

"I don't think he really cares."

"Fair enough." The kitten has taken to lying across her lap. Alma's stroking continues, a purely mechanical motion kept up even as she drifts into her thoughts. So many things are off. Someday Jowd will surely tell her and she'll wait until then.

Silence falls over them with the music's end, a cue for them to turn in. Before the light goes off, Jowd takes Alma in his arms, "Goodnight, Alma." His warm breath caresses her face as he brushes his lips over hers. "I love you."

"I love you too," Alma says, with another kiss. "Goodnight."

During the days that pass by, Alma watches. She notices all the little things. Stares pinning her a beat too long. Eyes hazing as he drifts away on the tide of thoughts. Recollections beyond his grasp, as though no longer fresh but tainted by time that shouldn't exist. Her name passes his lips more often as do his declarations of love. His slightly cynical side seems to have amplified over time. The retorts he let loose are often darkly humorous in nature. Alma and Cabanela have many tales to share of Jowd's bizarre words and actions. 

Alma is frequently roused from slumber by Jowd's fitful mutters or the bed rocking in tune with his tosses and turns. Her name is spoken many times, infused with pain. She pulls him out of the nightmares and he clutches her like she's his salvation in the midst of a storm, soothed by her reassuring words. 

A painting has taken the place of the antique gun that was on display. Jowd's explanation is short and simple. He fancied a change. Nothing is said about what prompted him to make the change in the first place.

The sight of Kamila dangling Sissel and twirling one day provokes a gasp of horror from Alma, who immediately retrieves the kitten, issuing gentle admonishments. Sissel seems fine in spite of it all, not having made a peep as one would expect of a kitten at the mercy of a small child. It occurs to Alma that he has never scratched anyone. The house remains clear of his fur. His litter box is perpetually clean. Even his food and water bowls are never touched. 

There are times Alma will catch sight of Jowd and Sissel lost in each other's stares. Once, as they remained oblivious to her presence, she saw for herself how her husband's face changed or how Sissel would twitch various body parts. If she didn't know any better, she would swear they were having a conversation.

The mystery only deepens with the awareness that Sissel isn't growing over the months he has been with them. 

A year has elapsed since the park incident. Jowd has a grave look on his face as he announces that he has something important to tell Alma and Cabanela. Once Kamila is asleep, the three gather round the table. Sissel watches from the sill.

"So." Jowd puts his hands together. "Where should I begin?"

"The day in the park, right?" Cabanela's expression is grim. "Ever since that day, sooomething's been off about you, baby. Alma and I have been worried about you all this time."

"I know." Jowd's breath billows forth in a heavy gust. "I never had any intention of hiding this from you forever. Sissel wouldn't have allowed it either."

"Huh?" Alma shoots a glance at the kitten. "Wait, so you really have been talking to the cat?"

"It might be easier if I just get this out of the way first. Sissel, perform a trick, would you?"

Sissel collapses like a puppet with its strings cut. The soft hum of the overhead fan picks up, its guttural whine filling the room as it rotates faster, stirring the air and turning it into a strong breeze that wafts over them, ruffling their hair and clothes. 

"Ye gods."

"H-how..." Alma brings trembling fingers to her mouth. 

"That's Sissel's power. A ghost trick, a power of the dead."

It suddenly makes sense. The random noises heard around the house. Objects moved or transformed without explanation. It was the work of this supposedly dead kitten.

"But, but..." Alma struggles to call the words forth. "When? How did he die?"

"The meteorite. The fragment that pierced my leg is inside Sissel's body."

"But this makes no sense! How can he move around and stuff? Why isn't he, like, rottin'?"

"That's the meteorite's power. His body is immortal. Nothing can damage him. I could put him in the microwave for five minutes and he would come out of it completely fine."

Alma kneads her forehead. In the span of five minutes, she's learned the cat is dead and her husband has joked about microwaving him. She is tempted by the siren call of another glass of wine but quickly dismisses it. This is too important a conversation to be lost to the blurring effects of alcohol on the memory.

"That meteorite grants powers of the dead, even to those who merely die within its radiation. And now that you know all about it, it's time to tell you the story of an alternate version of events that went down in the park."

The man Jowd faced in the park was killed by the meteorite, a fact that drains all the colour from Cabanela's face. Sharp, spiky pain pierces Alma's chest, brought forth by the knowledge that Jowd blamed himself. How must it have felt, being consumed by that guilt?

It gets worse. Four years into the future, on Alma's birthday, Kamila made a surprise contraption and it was instrumental in her mother's death. Or rather, her murder, carried out by that man with the powers of the dead. Jowd is still speaking, his words growing increasingly tinny and distant. Alma cradles her head in her hands, her ears filling with a dull roar.

She was murdered by a man she had never met, his actions spurred by the desire to make Jowd feel pain. Heat and cold twist together in a fierce maelstrom, churning inside of her trembling body.

"Why?" Her voice quivers like a leaf caught in the wind. A veil of moisture sweeps over her eyes, transforming everything into a blur. "Why me? I didn't do anything. Why did I have to die? Jowd didn't mean to... he didn't put that man in the meteorite's path on purpose!"

"How could he?" Cabanela's words lash out, sharp as a whip. The table judders from the impact of his fist. "Taking Alma's life like that, making it look like that poor little girl's fault!"

"Alma, are you alright?" The weight of Jowd's hand settles upon her shoulder. "Should we stop here?"

"No." Alma dashes the back of her hand across her eyes. "Keep going. I'm okay." It's a lie, constructed for the sake of keeping this conversation going. No way will she put this off after waiting so long.

Jowd's next revelation hits like a punch to the gut. Claiming credit for Alma's murder, Jowd turned his back on their daughter, leaving her to someone else's care. By this point, Alma is completely numb. Jowd's agony radiates from every crevice of his face, simmering away in the hollow pools of his eyes. She sees all those moments she found Jowd standing over Kamila's crib in a whole new light.

Five years later, Jowd was to be executed. A saviour came to his cell; a ghost with the man's face in search of his lost memory. Said ghost would go on to become their beloved family pet. Alma watches Cabanela's face change as he hears detail after detail, ending in a look of relief over the revelation he was working to save Jowd all along. 

"But of course I was, baby. I would never, ever doubt you. Still, five years and me not even visitin' you once? What's up with that?"

"I'm so glad. You had people who believed in you, fighting for your sake." Tears spill forth, coursing down Alma's cheeks. "Thank goodness."

"Yes. No matter how much I insisted, they refused to listen, and I'm so very grateful. Thank you, Cabanela."

"No need to thank me, baby. You're one of my best friends in the whooole world and I would never give up on you."

"So, what happened next? What happened to Kamila?"

Jowd launches into the next part of the tale, detailing how his and Lynne's pursuit of the manipulator went horribly wrong. Alma covers her mouth, horror constricting her chest in its tightening band. Kamila sinking into oblivion within the freezing confines of a destroyed submarine. Jowd gunned down, also lost to the depths of the sea. Even with the odds against them all, they found the ray of hope in the darkness and it was down that path of light that they found salvation in the form of a whole new ten years.

"And so, here we are." Jowd's shoulders sag. "Any questions?"

"Gods." Cabanela rubs his forehead. "I don't even know where to begin."

Alma drags her gaze to the clock, observing the time. On cue, her mouth opens in a yawn. Despite the tiredness weighing her down, she doubts she'll sleep tonight. Bringing her eyes back to Jowd, a fresh pang pierces her chest. For a whole year, he held in all this pain, all these secrets. Embracing him from behind, she buries her face in the crook of his neck. "Oh, Jowd."

Cabanela comes to her side, joining her in embracing Jowd. "I'm glaaad you finally told us, baby. You did the right thing." 

Countless minutes tick by while they hold on, lingering in each other's presence. When they break away, Alma turns to the kitten and pulls him to her chest. "Thank you, Sissel. You saved us all. Thank you so much." Her gratitude is acknowledged with a mew.

The lateness of the night draws them all to bed. Jowd and Alma lie beneath the sheets under the cover of darkness, silence hanging over them like a heavy weight.

"You shouldn't have left her."

"I know."

"You should have been there for her. She needed you."

"I'll never abandon her ever again, I promise you."

"I believe you." Alma's chest rises sharply and falls, her breath rushing out in a great sigh. "To think I was just murdered, out of the blue, leaving you two well before my time, it's so awful. How could he do that? I know, you told me everything, and I do feel sorry for him, but I can't just ignore what he did."

"I understand."

"Gods. I wondered what you were hiding for so long, but I never imagined it would be anything like this. I don't know how you managed to keep quiet for a whole year."

"Having a therapy cat helped."

"Right, you had Sissel to talk to." Alma scoots closer, draping her arm over his chest. "Well, now we all know, so that's a load off our minds, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's a relief really, having it all out in the open at last." Jowd kisses the top of Alma's head. "I'm so lucky to have all this back. When you died, I just fell to pieces. I missed you so much. Sometimes I still can't quite believe it. I'll wake up in the morning and see you lying next to me and I just feel so incredibly relieved."

"Oh, Jowd." Alma seeks out his face, stroking her fingers along his stubbled cheek. A deep ache wells in her chest. It's okay, she assures herself, she won't die. Nobody is going to suffer from her loss. Their happy family life will continue beyond four years from now.

Dipping in and out of sleep, Alma emerges from a gruelling nightmare involving her being six feet under. Seeking out the clock display, she learns that it's five in the morning. 

"Forget it." Throwing on a bathrobe, Alma slouches downstairs.

Cabanela sits at the table. Little white wisps rise from the mug in front of him. "Hey, baby. Sleep well?"

"What do you think?" Alma peers at him through lowered lids, speaking in a voice as thick as syrup. 

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Cabanela stretches his arms over his head. "Didn't sleeeep so hot either. I just couldn't stop thinkin' about it. Anyhoot, I just boiled the kettle, so help yourself."

"Thanks." Alma pours herself coffee and joins Cabanela. The warmth of the mug seeps into her hands. Gazing deep into the murky brown depths within, she speaks.  "It's all so crazy, isn't it? To think all this stuff happened in another timeline. A different ten years. And I was dead for five of them."

A breath, heavy as lead, slips past Cabanela's lips, while he shakes his head. "I can't imagine how it must have felt. Your dying and Jowd's imprisonment. You two are the most important people in my life and I can't bear the thought of you both not being there anymore."

Alma takes small sips of the coffee. The searing liquid is as bitter as her thoughts. How could a man murder her on her birthday and leave her child motherless, with a lifetime of guilt in her place? Bile gushes up from her churning stomach, filling her throat. No use dwelling, she tells herself, best to put it out of her mind. "At least I got my life back." Meeting Cabanela's gaze, she offers him a weak smile. "I should be thankful for that. I've got a second chance."

"That's riiight, baby." Cabanela responds with a smile of his own. "So let's stay positive, shall we? Maybe we should think of something nice to do today, take our mind off things. Just get out there and enjoy life."

With another long sip, Alma dwells in silent contemplation. "Yes. I should think of it as an opportunity to do all the things I wanted to do. Better be realistic though, I don't think we could afford a luxury cruise to Hawaii."

"Probably not, but we can find other things to do. Maybe we can teach Jowd to dance."

"I said realistic."

Their exchanged laugh is accompanied by the heavy falls of Jowd's feet. "Hm? Did someone mention my name just now?"

"Hey, baby. So nice of you to join us. Ahh, the early hours of the morning, nooothin' like it."

"Definitely something easier to appreciate once you've had a cup of coffee," Jowd mutters, making his way into the kitchen. Brandishing his own mug, he joins them at the table. "Well, what a night that was, eh?"

"Thank you for finally telling us," says Alma. "We were so worried."

"I know." Jowd's smile does little to banish the sadness hanging over him. "Sorry for troubling you so much. It does feel better to finally have it out in the open."

"From now on, just tell us whatever you're feelin', baby. We're always here for you, you know that."

"Yes. I appreciate you both being so patient and understanding."

"Now, why don't we have a good looong chat about all the things we're going to do with our new lives?"

Their conversation continues through the long hours ahead, interrupted only by trips for more coffee. The presence of a fourth person approaches, signalled by the patter of tiny feet. Kamila rubs her eyes as she stumbles forwards, followed by a little black kitten. 

"Good morning, sweetheart," says Jowd. "How are you this morning?"

"I want juice. And I'm hungry."

Alma's swallows do little to banish the lump filling her throat. Emotion flows over her in a crashing wave, spurring her to lunge for her daughter and clasp that tiny body to her bosom in a fierce yet gentle embrace.

"Kamila. Oh, Kamila!" Alma's weeping voice gushes forth, flowing with relief. "Oh, my sweet little girl."

Kamila's tiny arms loop around Alma's neck. Hearing loud sniffles, her eyes fill with concern. "Are you crying, Mommy?"

"Huh?" Alma brings her fingers to her cheeks, finding drops of moisture clinging to her skin. 

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm just happy to see you." Alma rubs a thumb over one of Kamila's round, soft cheeks. "I love you so very much, Kamila, you know that, don't you?"

"Mmhmm." Kamila's head bobs, a smile spreading over her beaming face. "And I love you too."

Alma wipes her eyes, momentarily lost in the radiance of her daughter's innocent smile. Keeping her voice steady, she poses a question. "Juice and something to eat, then?"

"Yeah." 

"Here, why don't you come and sit in Daddy's lap?" Jowd pats his leg and Kamila scampers over. Alma's gaze lingers over them, renewed emotion blossoming in her chest, while she goes to fulfil Kamila's request. As she gets the juice and food, a  smile comes to her face, conjured by the thought of how they will live as happily as they can in the future granted to them by a miracle. 

Telling the truth has only partially erased Jowd's troubles. At least Alma and Cabanela now share his burden, ready to lend an ear even as they deal with the issues the truth has brought to them.

Two years have gone by since the reveal. Alma stands outside the prison building, trepidation churning within her. Jowd has been here to see that man several times. The two of them share a deep understanding, having been through so much. Alma knows the man isn't bad anymore and she wouldn't dream of judging Jowd for staying in touch

Sometimes she wonders, does she dare see him? Why hesitate, there's nothing to be afraid of, but no, it's too soon, She isn't ready.

A woman flies out of the building with her head bowed. Alma stumbles back, knocked off balance by the resulting collision. The woman's purse falls to the ground, scattering its contents over the sidewalk. 

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry." Alma kneels, assisting the woman in gathering everything up. "I didn't see you."

"No, it's alright, I'm the one who should be sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." The woman punctuates her sentence with an awkward laugh.

Alma's gaze is drawn to a bundle of scattered cards as she collects them into a neat pile. "Sissel?"

"Hm? Oh, my business cards." The woman takes them from Alma's outstretched hand.

It's no coincidence. This is her, the love of that man's life, the catalyst who drove him to cause Jowd the same pain.

"Thank you." During Alma's momentary daze, Sissel has got everything together and now she stands. "I really am so sorry about that. What a klutz I am."

"Please don't worry about it." Alma rises. "So, er, what is it you do?"

"I play the piano and sometimes I even sing. I get gigs here and there. Haven't managed to make it big just yet, but who knows, maybe one day."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Thanks." Sissel's gaze lingers on her briefly, diverted by a twist of her head toward the prison. "Are you visiting someone?"

"Oh. Oh no, I was just... er... I suppose I was just standing here lost in my thoughts."

"Oh?" Sissel tilts her head, a corner of her lip curving upward. "I see. So, was there something interesting about my name? You sounded pretty surprised."

"I've..." Alma pauses. "I've heard the name before." Meeting this woman came like a bolt out of the blue and now she has no idea what to do next. Go on her merry way or satisfy her curiosity? Settling on the latter, she speaks again. "Um, I hope you don't think this is a strange request, but would you like to talk some more? There's a cafe just down the street we could go to."

"I suppose it's better than standing around in the street waiting for more people to come bumping into us." Sissel laughs. "Sure, why not, it's not like I have anything else to do right now."

Finding an empty table at the café, they promptly order two cups of coffee. Sissel rests her chin in one hand. "Right, you know my name and job, so I suppose it's time I learned yours."

"I'm Alma. It's nice to meet you."

Sissel shakes the offered hand. "Nice to meet you too."

"As for what I do, I work in a library. The one at the courthouse."

"Ooh, I see. A courthouse, then? Are you interested in law?"

"I've read quite a few books and studied it a bit. Law, criminal psychology, that sort of thing. Actually, my husband is a detective"

"Huh." Sissel lowers her gaze.

"Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no, it's just..." Sitting back, Sissel folds her arms. "I'm sure you must be wondering who I was visiting and why they were in prison."

Alma keeps her expression neutral. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's alright." Sissel's eyes wander over the centre of the table where a meny sits. When they snap back to focus on Alma's, a sudden intensity burns within. "He's not a bad man."

Not now, no. Alma finds herself mentally replaying the excruciating details gleaned from Jowd as she has done so many times before. 

"He's really good at computers. They had him on a huge project, but then the police thought he might be a spy. He was brought in for interrogation. Then this fool detective-" Sissel's words are broken off by the arrival of their coffee. She takes a sip before continuing. "He pushed him so hard, even though he was innocent, made him lose hope, and then even worse, that fool left his gun in the room. Can you believe it?"

"It was careless." Alma rests the rim of her mug against her lips, inhaling the aroma before taking a sip. "And then your loved one escaped. Another detective chased him down to a park where he took a child hostage."

"Oh, you've read about the case."

"Not quite." Alma's mouth twists. "That man who left his gun? My friend. The second man? My husband." Pinned to the spot by Sissel's stare, she tunes in to the hustle and bustle surrounding them. After a minute or so, the awkward feeling prompts her to speak again. "If you want to tell me exactly what you think of them or me and leave, I understand."

"Huh. What a coincidence."

Not quite, but 'I'm considering meeting your fiancé, who murdered me in another timeline' isn't going to go down terribly well, so Alma keeps her mouth shut on that particular subject. "They both went too far, and they really do feel a lot of remorse."

"I know, they were only doing their jobs. Yomiel's not holding it against them. Anyway, they spoke in his favour during the trial and I think that got him a lesser sentence, so I should be grateful, really." Her eyes flare with a deep sadness as she smiles. "Just a shame things turned out the way they did."

Alma's throat bobs.

Sissel brings the mug to her lips, taking another sip before setting it down with a dull thud. "All I can do is accept it. Yomiel wouldn't want me to be blaming anyone. At least he's alive, and he'll be out eventually."

"You must love him very much."

"Oh, yes, I do." Sissel's face transforms, lighting up with a radiant glow. "Yomiel is everything to me. He's so sweet, so thoughtful and caring. That day, he was so out of it, desperate, panicking. They made him think his life was over."

"I know."

"I just don't want anyone having the wrong idea about him. I visit him every day. It's hard, but I'm doing my best. Things could have turned out so much worse."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault." Leaning forward, Sissel rests her chin in her hands. "So, anything to tell me about yourself? I know you're married to a detective. Anything else?"

"Hm, well, we have a young daughter, and a cat." Realizing her error too late, Alma sends a prayer to the heavens, pleading for Sissel to not inquire about the cat's name. 

"Oh, you have a little girl? How lovely. What's she like?"

Alma stops herself from expressing her relief just in time. "Kamila is so precious. She's quiet as a mouse and she just loves making things, all these toys and contraptions. I never know what she's going to make next."

"She really sounds like a delight. How about your husband, what's he like?"

"Well, he's a wonderful man, though his sense of humour is a little twisted and his personality can rub people the wrong way. Jowd and Cabanela make such a pair together. Ah, Cabanela's the other guy. He's like a part of our family too."

"The ruthless interrogator?"

"He was trying too hard." Alma shakes her head. "He had just gotten admitted to the Special Investigation Unit and thought he would try to impress them."

"By interrogating an innocent man?" Sissel's lip curls as she lets out a derisive snort. "Ah, sorry, I-"

"Oh, no, no, be as honest as you like. Still, I wouldn't call him ruthless. I don't know what image you have of him, but if you saw the real Cabanela, that image would be quickly shattered. He's really unique, in a sense. He's easygoing, laid back, always dancing."

"Dancing?" One of Sissel's slender eyebrows shoots upwards.

"You have to see it to believe it. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm trying to defend them. I just want you to know they aren't necessarily the ruthless men you might think they are."

Sissel flashes a reassuring smile at her. "Really, it's okay. I get it." Draining the last of her coffee, she sets down the mug and stares into it, a cloud passing over her eyes. "I'm glad. It doesn't seem like you're judging my fiancé."

"No, I'm really not."

"Some of our friends didn't want anything to do with him anymore, or me when I defended him. They didn't even try to understand why he took that child hostage. There must have been so many people judging him and thinking he was a terrible person when it was in the news."

"I'm so sorry to hear it."

"Oh, well. I guess I learned who my real friends were at least."

"You have people you can still talk to, don't you? I'm sure it must be hard."

"I have some friends left. Anyway, it's enough that Yomiel is alive. I hate having to say goodbye but I know he'll be out one day. He was so badly injured back then." Sissel shudders. "I could have lost him. I don't know what I would do without him."

Alma averts her gaze, pushing back the lump in her throat. "Well, that's good that you have some support then." Checking the time on her watch, she adds. "Is that the time already?"

"I guess you should be going then? I'd better get off too, get some shopping done on my way home."

Outside the cafe, Sissel takes a card from her purse and holds it out to Alma. "Here you go. If you want to talk or meet up again, here's my number."

"Really? I almost thought you might not be interested."

"Well, I don't see any reason not to." Sissel tilts her head. "I almost feel like us meeting might not have been a total coincidence."

"Hmm. You know what, I don't think it was either."

"It was very nice to meet you. Well, then, hope to see you another time." Sissel walks away with a wave. Alma watches her blend into the distant crowd with a smile, slipping the card into her own purse.

At a later date, Alma gets in touch with Sissel. Their next meeting is at a restaurant where Sissel is performing. Alma is impressed by how well she can play the piano and sing. Their meetings continue well beyond that and they talk about all sorts of things, the subject of their loved ones in particular.

Five years past the meteorite's fall, Alma's birthday rolls around. Jowd announces that he's made plans for dinner, and even bought crafts to keep Kamila occupied. "If we can try and get off work early, that would be good too. Sissel's going to be around, so Kamila won't be lonely either. I want this day to be different."

"I understand." Alma doesn't feel ready to see the contraption in action either. They go to work as usual and come home with Cabanela, discovering Kamila deeply absorbed in craftwork under Sissel's watchful gaze. The evening is spent dining at Alma's favourite restaurant and they all have a wonderful time. When it's all over, Jowd and Alma fall asleep in their bed, snug in each other's embraces.

The years fly by. Alma enjoys her life with considerable vigor as does Cabanela. They remain conscious of how precious their time is, never forgetting for a single moment. Alma continues meeting Sissel and even makes a new friend in the Justice Minister's wife, who she introduces to Sissel. It doesn't take long before Emma is inspired to write a romance novel involving a jailbird. Seeing how well they get along, Alma is glad to have brought another person into Sissel's life. It's hard for Sissel, being separated from her loved one by prison walls, and Alma will do whatever she can to ease Sissel's pain, even if it's just a little bit.

Alma's birthday comes round, ten years after that fateful day. Coming home from work, Alma is the first to go inside. Greeted with a dark room, she reaches for the light switch only to freeze. Kamila has finally brought the contraption into existence, hasn't she? Alma wouldn't dream of spoiling her daughter's birthday surprise. Time to see it in action. 

"Here we go." Steeling herself, Alma flips the switch and light floods the room. The contraption plays out before her eyes. Cupid's arrow takes flight, its fiery tip striking the party poppers. Loud pops fill the air as streamers fly. She covers her mouth. Jowd's stories couldn't have prepared her for this. It's incredible what Kamila was capable of even five years ago.

Kamila bursts out of the cupboard and runs over to Alma with the kitten in hot pursuit. "Did I surprise you, Mom?"

"Oh. Oh, yes, wow. You really made that yourself?"

"Of course!" Kamila beams, throwing her arms around Alma's waist. "Happy birthday, Mom."

Embracing her daughter, Alma strokes her hair. "Thank you, Kamila. That was a lovely surprise." Behind her, the door opens. Jowd's puzzled expression quickly fades, a knowing smile taking its place.

Some time later, Alma gets a call from Sissel. Joining her husband on the sofa, she clears her throat. "Sissel's fiancé, er, Yomiel is out of prison."

"Yes, he was released a couple of days ago."

"I see." Alma's head tilts.

"Is there something on your mind?"

"I used to go to the prison and think about seeing him myself. Then I met Sissel and she told me all about him instead. If I keep seeing her, I might bump into him at some point."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose that's a possibility. Is it a problem?"

"The thing is, if I meet him for the first time, I want it to be with you, Jowd. I think I'm ready."

"Alright, I'll arrange something."

The next day, Jowd and Alma head to a bar that evening. They quickly spot Yomiel sitting alone in the far corner. It was decided that bringing his fiancée was too risky.

"Hello, Yomiel."

Yomiel stands up, responding with a curt nod. "Hello, Detective. It's good to see you."

"Yes, it's good to see you too. How's life treating you out of prison?"

"It's not easy, but I've got help." Yomiel turns his head slightly. "And you are..."

"Ah, yes, I do believe you already know my wife, don't you?"

"Uh..."

Ever since they came up to him, Alma has been lost in a trance, her thoughts tumbling around in a frantic whirlwind. Thick mud clogs her throat. Swallowing, she wipes her palms over her skirt before thrusting out a hand. "I'm Alma. It's nice to meet you."

Her words cut like a blade through the tension holding Yomiel in place. Shaking her hand, he responds, "Nice to meet you too. I'm Yomiel."

"So, I finally got to meet the man himself," Alma says, as they sit down. Her repeated swallows do little to moisten her mouth. It's really him, that man who took her life and hurt her family, but he isn't that man anymore. That twisted creature who sought to hurt and even kill others is long gone. "I've heard a lot about you from Jowd, and Sissel. I mean, your fiancée. Not the cat."

"I see."

"Well, I suppose I should get drinks for us. Is that okay with you, Alma?" 

Seeing a hint of concern in Jowd's eyes, Alma responds with a smile. "Of course it is. A glass of white wine for me, please. Would you mind giving us a few minutes to speak alone?"

"Sure." Jowd's hand lingers on her shoulder before he walks away.

"You know everything, don't you." A statement, not a question.

"I do. Jowd told me about all of it. I know what you went through."

"Right." Yomiel clears his throat. "I really am so sorry for what I did to you and to everybody else. What I did was completely inexcusable."

Alma studies her interlaced fingers as they lay in her lap. "I know you're not that person anymore. What you went through was hell, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I was consumed by loneliness, by the desire for revenge. It transformed me. I could no longer see people for who they were. You and your little girl? Just tools for causing Jowd pain." Yomiel releases his breath in a soft whoosh. "I don't expect you to forgive me. If you want to tell me you hate me, well, I know I deserve it."

The laughter and animated chatter coming from the other tables provide such a sharp contrast to their serious conversation. While Alma's gaze roams over the other customers, she speaks. "I might have despised you for a while. The truth made me sick. I was hurt and angry, I tried to understand why you would have done it, and then I met your fiancée."

"You've been a good friend to Sissel. I was surprised to hear she had become friends with you."

Alma turns her full attention back to Yomiel. "I didn't seek her out on purpose. We bumped into each other outside the prison and I learned her name. I wanted to get to know her, maybe even hear more about you. I wasn't using her or anything. She's a fantastic woman and I can see why you love her so much."

"Yes, I really do."

"You're lucky to have each other. I hope you'll have a happy future together."

"Thank you."

"Anyway." Alma rests her chin in one hand. "I wanted to meet you in person. I think... I wanted to dispel that image of a murderous monster. To see you for the person you are now."

Yomiel's cheek twitches, his gaze remaining level with hers.

"I know you're not that monster anymore and you will never hurt my family again. I don't bear a grudge against you and I don't hate you either."

"I see." Yomiel bows his head, the words oozing from his lips like thick syrup. "You really are a very kind woman."

Amidst the conversation's lull, the rowdy noises filling the pub become painstakingly clear. "Well then, might as well get Jowd back over here." Alma seeks out Jowd, signalling to him with a wave.

Jowd joins them, setting down the drinks. "Well then, how did it go?"

"We had a pleasant conversation. I told him I have no hard feelings."

"That's good to hear. You were a bit nervous, weren't you, Yomiel?"

"Yes." Yomiel's head moves in an almost imperceptible nod. "I'm not sure I deserve so much kindness." Shifting his gaze to Alma, he continues. "I'm so grateful that you were there for Sissel also. My imprisonment was hard on her but now it's all over and we can look forward to our future together." 

"Well then." Jowd raises his glass. "Here's to us all not being dead or in prison."

With a roll of her eyes, Alma lifts her glass as does Yomiel, their glasses meeting in midair with a soft clink. They engage in conversation, the words falling from their lips ever so casually. Any resulting moments of discomfort are entirely on Jowd. Before they realise it, the glasses are empty and it's time to go. Bidding farewell, they set off back to their respective homes.

"Well, how did that feel?" Jowd asks on the way home.

"It was alright." Alma is relaxed, her body filling the contours of the car seat. "I was so nervous about meeting him but in the end, it all went fine. I can finally let go of all those feelings. It's like a huge weight off my mind."

"Is that so? I'm glad. The ten years are all behind us at last."

"Yeah."

Pulling the car into the driveway of their home, Jowd cuts the engine. Alma leaves the car and goes round to meet Jowd. Snaking her arms around his waist, she sinks against his chest, clasped in his strong embrace.

"I really do love you so much." Alma turns her head up.

Jowd kisses her on the lips. "And I love you too."

As they approach their front door, it swings open, revealing their smiling daughter. Sissel weaves around her legs, mewing. "Welcome back, Mom, Dad." With those words, Kamila steps aside, allowing them to enter together.

#ghost trick #ghost swap

[shintorikhazumi]

Prompt 12, choose you the ship!

A/N: You know, anon (I feel like I know who you are...or not), the hardest part about this isn’t the prompt, but choosing the ship. I’m torn between a classic ship I’m accustomed to writing, and trying characters I haven’t yet. GAAHHHHH. Okayokay. With how the prompt goes, I’m choosing between RWBY’s whiterose (coz this is canon for bumblebee), YagaKimi’s YuuxTouko, revue’s MayaKuro, Love Live’s HonoUmi, Assault lily’s Yujia x Shenlin, or my guilty pleasure ship that is YuuxSayaka from bloom into you. Each pairing has its own unique dynamic and I’m excited and stumped by the endless possibilities of how this could go. Okay, for now, I suppose I’ll extend my repertoire on MayaKuro soooo Enjoy? ~Shintori Khazumi

Prompt 12: “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself” 

It was just a small, silly little accident. Redundant as that may sound, she really didn’t want anyone to make such a fuss about it. Never in a million years did she imagine that she would make such an amateur-ish mistake. She was the embodiment of perfection and professionalism. She was the top star, she was, in her own sense, a prima donna, she was-

“TENDOU MAYA!”

Ah, yes. That’s right. That’s who she was. And this perfect Tendou Maya was simply just-

“Just what were you doing? What on earth, or in that mind of yours, is going on for this to happen?” Maya felt her lips part, an explanation lost on her lips. “What could distract you as to allow you to twist your ankle and fall over on the simplest maneuver of our whole routine?!”

Ah, Saijou Claudine. Ever the wonderful existence, and her yelling that was almost the best way to get Maya’s morning started.

In a matter of seconds, the said girl was by her side, knelt down and looking over the reddened spot that was definitely swelling now.

“You... You insufferable- how could you let this happen? We have a show in two days!” Her hands frantically moved back and forth all over Maya’s leg, moving to check her face and arms to see if the brunette had gotten hurt elsewhere; not quite touching her, simply surveying the damage.

“Now, now, Kuro-chan, why don’t we calm down?” Nana, ever the voice of calmness and reason came close, with Junna right at her tail, with a face towel to wipe Maya’s perspiration that was partially due to the physical exertion from dance class, and partly from the pain that was slowly making its presence known.

“How could I possibly calm down?! Ma Maya is hu- I m-mean, the performance is in two days, might I repeat to you all.” Her brows were tightly knit together in that frustrated expression Maya loved to coax out of her pretty little French girl. “A-and maybe T-Tendou Maya’s state and health is... is also... of my...concern” Claudine’s voice noticeably went smaller and quieter as the statement was completed.

And there was the blush that Maya adored even more.

As an icepack came in via Karen and Hikari, who handed it to Claudine who was now wrapping it in another cloth to prepare it for use, Maya decided she didn’t exactly like being the center of attention in this manner.

So, against her better judgment (and common sense), she stood up. Quickly.

Or at least tried to.

“Maya!” Claudine’s distressed screech registered in her ears as her visage told her that she was, once more, falling down, and possibly backwards, with her head in danger of smashing against the hard wood floor.

Only that the floor was surprisingly soft and smelled like her favorite person.

“I swear, what am I supposed to do with you?!” Claudine groaned, having moved just in time to catch Maya, her head and neck supported by Claudine’s left arm, while the right was just under Maya’s thighs, nearing her knees. The brunette found herself securely nestled into Claudine’s bosom, and that was a place she honestly enjoyed being in. Something she would only say to fluster the hot-tempered woman. The ice pack had flown across the floor to free Claudine’s hands of anything but Maya. “You are simply, truly-“ Before Claudine could burst into another tirade, Maya tried to cut off the explosion waiting to happen.

“Saijou Claudine.” She addressed; the girl’s attention completely offered to her. She quite liked that. “As you can see, I attempted to stand as I’m completely alright.” She gave her winning smile: one she had perfected as an actress.

Only that it didn’t work on all audiences, it seemed. Claudine merely scoffed. “Of course, you are. That’s why you can’t even stand on your own right now.” She spoke with a brow lifted, shaking her head in reprimand. “And that is why I shall be accompanying you to the nurse’s office.”

Without so much as a grunt to indicate any difficulty (only a yelp from Maya at the suddenness), Claudine lifted the injured girl smoothly; quickly, yet so gentle that Maya felt like she had just floated up into the air. As if practiced, Maya’s arms naturally found themselves resting around Claudine’s fairly broad shoulders. The half-Japanese girl’s strength was no secret to anyone at this point, so no one was surprised by the ease at which she was able to walk towards the room’s exit with Maya in her arms.

Yes, Maya was not surprised at all. Surprise, no. Embarrassment?

…Maybe just a little.

Adding to that rare embarrassment she felt, the travel to the infirmary was unexpectedly quiet. Unbearably so for Maya. Claudine had not uttered a word since they left the others. Maya felt she preferred the sharp scolding to this cold, agitated silence.

In an attempt to lessen the tension surrounding them, Maya cleared her throat and tapped Claudine’s shoulder for her attention as her eyes had been solely fixated on the path she was taking to the infirmary.

“What.” She spat, tone piercing, eyes staying focused in front of her. Maya contemplated for a moment, hesitating about her next words. Now that she had practiced it in her head, with how Claudine was at the moment, it didn’t look like it would be received well.

Still. She could try?

And so, she tried.

“Saijou Claudine, you know you don’t have to do this. Carrying me all the way there, it might exhaust you. Maybe I could try walking once more?” She began, voice not as confident-sounding as she would have liked. This version of the blonde woman clearly unnerved Maya. Pressing on, clearing her throat a second time, she stated, “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself.” 

They came to a halt. Claudine had stopped in her tracks in the middle of the hallway, eyes now wide and staring at Maya owlishly.

“M-ma Claudine?” Maybe Maya should’ve tried a different way of appeasing the other girl. She felt like looking away, her companion’s gaze burning deep into her soul. She awaited with bated breath, bracing herself for any response with the bravest neutral expression she could muster.

Nothing.

Claudine broke her stare, said nothing and continued walking.

Upon reaching the infirmary, Maya found herself laid carefully on the bed while Claudine went to rummage around the cabinets as the nurse was found to be out.

Upon her return, Claudine sat on the bed in front of her, beginning to treat Maya’s swollen ankle, and wincing as she heard the quiet hiss of the girl at something Claudine must have accidentally done to elicit pain. After a pause and a check to see if Maya was now alright to continue, Claudine finished up her bandaging and handed Maya the icepack to gently place on her injured foot.

It was silent. Only the ticking of the room’s clock could be heard.

Until it no longer was.

“I know.” The first words Claudine had spoken after her long silence were, “I know.” She repeated, sighing as she clasped both of Maya’s hands in hers, resting her forehead on their joined hands, face hidden from Maya’s view.

“You know…?” Maya prompted her to continue.

“I know that you are capable of taking care of yourself.” She breathed, lifting her head slightly so that her eyes were now fixed on Maya, lips ghosting over Maya’s hands. A soft kiss was placed on a knuckle each, and Claudine breathed deep. “I just… worry.” Her eyes had this tinge of pain that made Maya’s heart clench. They were so warm and passionate, and so… sad.

Maya felt her face heat up at the most adorable thing that happened next, heart nearly stopping, unable to take it.

Claudine tilted her head slightly to the side, eyes looking up at her from where the French girl was, the tiniest frown on her face. “Is that so wrong… Ma Maya?” Her quiet question released a cage of butterflies inside Maya as she could not help the uncharacteristically large grin from plastering itself on her face.

Maya giggled, and laughed, and smiled, intertwining her fingers with that of the one she loved so dearly.

“I suppose not.” She smiled, leaning in for a sweet kiss, before planting one over Claudine’s forehead. Everything was so warm, calming and sweet.

-Until that teasing light in Maya’s eyes returned.

“Not if I get to have you all over me like this.” She grinned. “I should consider getting into a few more “accidents” in the future if this is what it results in, Ma Claudine. A bashful, sweet-“

 “Méchante va, TENDOU MAYA!”

  A/N: Aight, I got carried away... cheers?

~Shintori Khazumi