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yunhsuanhuang · 8 months

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Blood Of My Blood | Y.H. Huang

All of a sudden you realise that you have been caught up in something ancient and vast and beyond your comprehension: far older than the stones of the house you grew up in or the roads the Romans laid through this land in their frail attempts to tame it.

A girl and a boy set out on a journey across the UK, searching for answers and a place to call home.

Inspired by Sweet William's Ghost (Child 77). A companion piece to Bone Of My Bone, inspired by Fair Margaret (Child 74) but can be read separately. Not very good, but kept up for archiving purposes.

He took her by the lily-white hand And bid him company, He took her by the middle so small Saying, “Follow, follow me.” She lifted her underskirts one by one Just about the knee, She went over the hills on a cold winter’s night In a dead man’s company.

Sweet William's Ghost, Lisa Null

As if the night can’t get any worse, even your Oyster card has turned against you. The screen of the turnstile blinks back accusingly as if it knows you don't belong here. White and red, white and red. Invalid. Invalid. Invalid.

You glance over to Arthur. He's having the same problem at his own gantry. The businesswoman behind him makes a point of staring at the clock. He gestures to you, and together you slip out of the queue.

You wind through the rush-hour crush until you find a corner where you don't have to scream to be heard. Arthur leans back against the dingy tiles and says, “I thought this would happen.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Tell me in advance the next time we wake up in a freezing alleyway drenched in blood.” You don't mean to snap. You're just stressed out of your mind. Cellphones stolen, the memory of a whole week gone, twenty tube stops away from home. (Not to mention that your breath isn't fogging the air, but you've got bigger problems to deal with right now). Who wouldn't be stressed?

Your older brother, apparently. “I wasn't referring to that. We've watched our share of horror films, and we know ghosts can't easily interact with the real world. Remember when you tried to hail that taxi just now?”

“There could be a million reasons why the taxi driver didn't see us. Besides, this isn't the time to talk about ghosts!” you gesture out at the station, your voice rising. “In case you haven't noticed, we're practically stranded in Whitechapel—”

You notice her scent before her voice: both warm and honey-tinged. “Not a ghost, love.” You spin, coming face-to-face with a young lady—or at least, you assume she is; you can't quite tell. The fine, aristocratic bones of her face and her emerald-green eyes remind you of those ancient oil paintings: the ones that, when you stare at them too long, seem as though they're staring back.

You tug at the worn edges of your coat and take a step back. “Who are you? Why were you listening to us?”

“You could call me anything you’d like, but I’d prefer Charlotte.” She has a pleasantly lilting accent; familiar, though you've no idea where you could have heard it before. “And as for the second question, I could have tasted you from Paris, really. Turned just last week, weren't you?”

When neither of you responds, Charlotte (a name that sits strangely on her—you wouldn't have guessed it at first) puts a gloved hand on yours. It feels like ice. Just the weather, you tell yourself. “Listen, love. Get yourself to Easter Head as soon as possible. That's the most important thing you could possibly do.”

You do a bit of mental geography. “But that's so far away from home,” you say, dumbly. “We can't just run off to the northernmost part of Scotland on a whim. Mum might be worried. Pa won't know where to find us. Why do we even need to go there, anyhow?” Arthur hovers over you, ready to wrench Charlotte's hand away. His face is pale. In a split second, he's turned from jokester into protective older brother. “If what you say is true—”

“You would be surprised how far from home you could get without ever leaving London.” She leans in, her pink lips almost brushing your ear. She lowers her voice to a whisper. "You're lucky to be alive, but the real hunger's still to come. Promise me you'll get yourself to Easter Head, won't you?"

Pressed up against the grimy tile wall, the only thing you can do is nod.

Charlotte pulls back and smiles. It's a sad sort of smile. Her teeth are sharp as knives and spotted with crimson. Before you've the time to be shocked, she's already gone, leaving only a tube ticket in your hand and the tiniest of pulls, low in your stomach.

The still air of the cramped train carriage smells vaguely sweet. Roses? Honeysuckle? You should know this. Once upon a time, you spent every Sunday afternoon squelching about in the vegetable patch, but now all your memories of your past life feel like hand-me-downs.

A stop passes. Then another. It's only at Islington that you realise the scent isn't coming from any kind of flower. A woman presses her cellphone between her ear and shoulder. In the ghostly yellow light, veins pulse beneath the pale curve of her throat. Bruises red as wine peek out the collar of a man's down jacket. A brown-skinned boy who can’t yet be in primary school clutches his father's leg, rainbow scarf hanging loose.

This isn’t supposed to happen yet, is it? This can’t happen to you. Something fierce burns in the pit of your stomach, working its way up to your throat and seizing your breath. In the middle of the divorce, you'd refused to eat for a week in the wild, childish hope that it would convince your father to stay. That week you thought you'd understood what hunger meant. You didn't, you couldn't. Everything pales in comparison to this.

In the back of your head, Charlotte grins and says the real hunger’s still to come.

Arthur looks over at you, eyes wide. He pats your back a few times, except it’s really more of a slap. It doesn't help much. You appreciate the effort, anyhow. “You okay there?”

You bury your face in his coat, and he ruffles your hair with a warm hand. You feel a bit silly, but at this point, you don't really care. “I don’t want to be a monster,” you say. You’re a person, you want to protest, you doodle in history lessons and dance to Adele on the radio when no one’s looking—but you know better than anyone that what you want isn’t necessarily what you get. The girl who did all that’s long gone. You’re not quite sure who’s taken over her body.

“You’ll never be one," he promises. It rings false, though, and he senses it, switching topics with ease. “To your left. Bloke in red. That's my book, isn't it?”

You sit up. Peering out into the dense crowd, you spot a man in a turban and eye-searing maroon trousers, paperback in one hand, and grab rail in another. From this distance, you can only see a sliver of the title, but you already know what it says. Margaret of the Roses, by A.R. Millwood. The man’s eyes are glued onto the page. "It's still such a strange feeling, isn't it?" Arthur whispers. "Maybe I'll spoil the second book for him."

You laugh, tension lifting off of your shoulders. "What, and let a stranger read it before your own sister?"

"I'll show you a chapter when we get back, I promise."

When we get back. It's a comforting thought. After this whole mess is over, you’ll take tea and scones with Mum and Pa and Arthur, laughing and talking about nothing at all. The afternoon sun will stream through the windows. The redness on your lips will just be cranberry jam, ripe and sweet from the bushes in your garden—cranberry jam, that's all there is.

There's something scribbled on the wall of the women’s restroom at Victoria Station. For a moment you’re sure you’ve forgotten how to read until you realise it’s written in reverse. You turn to the wall mirror, and there it is. Stark black cursive right where your reflection’s supposed to be. Eat and thou shalt be filled, it says. Genesis 4:9.

You're both terribly lapsed Catholics, but when you tell Arthur about this he cocks his head to the side. You try to ignore the curve of his throat. “I really don’t think that’s the original bible verse.” He searches his coat pockets for his phone, then curses under his breath when he remembers that it’s gone.

“There’s a bookshop near the station,” you offer. You'd seen it on the city map while you were looking for the ticket office. “We can go look it up.”

He glances outside at the bustling shops below. A person dressed in black holds on to their hat to stop it from flying away in the wind. “You sure? It’s just graffiti.”

“It seems as though it’s significant, don’t you think? Charlotte said something about hunger. Maybe they’re connected. You never know.”

He agrees, so you head up the worn brick steps into the cold night air. You really wish you had your trusty tube of lip balm, but you've got about ten shillings between you. (Arthur's bank cards don’t work; corpses can’t use credit, it seems.) you’re not sure what you'll have to do to get to Scotland. Will you have to sneak onto trains? Hide in baggage compartments? Hitch rides with strangers? It’s both thrilling and terrifying at once.

String lights hang above you like stars. Every shop window shouts winter sale, 10% off, come buy, come buy. They're all still too expensive for you, but you're not here to shop around. The pavement's packed with travellers, and after you dodge a laughing family walking ever so slowly you realise with a jolt that after you lost last week there are only three days left to Christmas. Thinking of Mum spending the holidays alone makes your heart— or the place where your heart used to be— squeeze a little. Nobody deserves that, despite what you may feel about her. You resolve to get back to Sutton by Monday.

As you enter the bookshop, Arthur's face lights up. You've never been much of a reader, always preferred real-life to made-up stories, but his happiness is infectious. He points you to the clearance bin, where you blow the dust off the first bible you see. Leather bound and decades old, it's heavier than you thought it would be.

When you crack it open (for a split second fire runs up your veins), a piece of paper flutters out. Arthur lunges to catch it and freezes. He blinks a few times, rubbing his eyes. “You bloody genius, it's a train ticket. A first-class cabin on the Caledonian Sleeper. Going to Glasgow!”

“For Christ's sake.” You slam the bible shut and toss it back into the bin. Under your gloves, your palms tingle.

“Christ indeed.” Arthur squints at the ticket. “It’s leaving in five. C’mon!”

You grab his hand and run.

Above the patchwork fields of Lancashire, the sky’s vast and edgeless, a far cry from the small pale square you only caught glimpses of between the council blocks. Snow blankets the rolling hills. You’ve never been this far away from London before.

Out here, you can finally catch your (metaphorical) breath, but as you turn over the events of the night in your head you're left with more questions than answers. What are you going to tell Mum? What's waiting for you at Easter Head? How'd they even know you would pick that exact bible out? (Who's they?)

Arthur must notice you're on edge because he sets his newspaper down and ruffles your dark curls. “I’m sure we’ll be fine, baby sis,” he says. “I'll tell you a story. Perhaps it'll calm your nerves.”

“A bedtime story? Arthur, I'm in the sixth form.”

“No one's too ever old for a good story. What do you want to hear?”

You look at him, face half-shadowed in the darkness. Outside the last stars must be fading away. Your stomach growls low and sharp; a beast rattling at the bars of its cage. What do you want? To eat, to go home, to keep your family close to your heart. “Tell me about Margaret.”

It’s an old question. An old ritual. Invented back when you were barely ten and hiding under your blanket as glass shattered downstairs, ages before Arthur set it down on paper for the world to read. But the book that was published isn’t the one you spun amongst yourselves during those endless nights. That tale’s yours, and yours alone.

You already know how it ends, of course. But will it hurt you to live in the story, just a little while more?

Arthur's voice slips into his old, South London-tinged cadence. It reminds you of the way a bard would have spoken, the audience huddling around the campfire and hanging off his every word. “There was once a fine lady named Margaret, and none in the land was braver than she. One summer day in the apple grove, she met a gentleman who she had never seen before. Both Margaret and the stranger were curious about the other. They stopped on their journeys to listen to each other speak, and this is what the stranger asked of her…”

Arthur found the Polaroid under a potted plant in a Costa Coffee. (You learnt the hard way that you couldn’t taste coffee anymore, which was honestly the most depressing thing that's happened so far.) The picture was so blurry and dark that you could barely make out the engraved words on the pub sign, fastened onto a soot-stained brick wall. Keeper & Tiller, c. 1113. The place didn’t seem to be on a single map, so you resorted to wandering aimlessly along the winding backstreets and hoping you would somehow stumble across it sooner or later.

With every step, it becomes more and more clear that you’ve made a terrible mistake. It’s begun to drizzle, and gaps between the cobblestones have filled up into miniature rivers. The stillness is only broken by the whine of a police siren or the sudden slam of a door. Your hunger sits back on its heels, waiting to pounce.

The city seems curiously abandoned for this time of day. No harried businessmen, no drunkards wrapped in blankets. There might as well be no one else in the world except for you and your brother. He hums All I Want For Christmas Is You as he walks, skipping around puddles. Moments like this, you almost forget he’s older.

This is when you notice the scent.

Sickly, cloying sweetness, thick as mist. The beast in your stomach roars, and without thinking, you take off in a run. Arthur shouts, but you don’t listen. Everything else has fallen away. The streets unfold in your mind like a spider’s web, and you know at once where you’re meant to be. There’s nothing you’ve ever been surer of. You turn a corner, slide to a stop. Rainwater splashes up behind you. There it is. Young and scrawny, half-moons under its eyes. Veins thrumming underneath its skin like the roots of an old oak tree.

Its bottle of pop hits the ground, sending shards every-which-way. You close in. Saliva pools in your mouth. Pressed up against the rough brick, the skin at the back of its neck scrapes off. The smallest drop of blood, red as cranberry jam, bubbles up. Its skinny wrist is fragile in your grasp. Once upon a time, you were never this strong, but things have changed, haven’t they?

It swears and aims a few half-hearted kicks at your chest. You barely notice. There's a ringing in your ears you can't escape. The air is filled with rain and honey, rain and honey. The rotting Victorian buildings tower around you and your prey: a ruin, a trap, a circle of cairns. Its neck, too high to reach, pulls and pulses. It’s neither logic nor morals but sheer overwhelming hunger that sinks your nails into its bony shoulder to pull it down to your level, that draws your teeth ever nearer to its skin, that—

(The figure has a familiar face. Perhaps it might even be your own.)

You wake to a sky full of stars and lips raw from biting. Midges have settled on your face. Long grass tickles the back of your neck, finds its way up between your toes. When you were young you used to lie in your garden just like this. From that angle you could almost imagine that you had slipped into a world of giant things, a world not meant for you. But this isn’t your garden, is it? You pull yourself upright and find your legs are numb beneath you. There’s dried blood on your sweater, but perhaps that was always there. Around you, there’s no trace of civilisation as far as the eye can see. The wind rushes through the bushes, making them cry out like new widows. For the moment it’s the stormy ocean, dark and wild under a weathered pier. Ready to surge up without warning and eat you whole. Where are you? How'd you get here? Last you remembered, you were passing through Lancashire—

the shops in Westminster—

somewhere once upon a time, in a land far, far, away—

“Breathe easy, baby sis.” Turning, you discover your brother next to you, and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. If Arthur's here, nothing can really hurt you, can it? He reaches over, brushing your curls away from your face. Wildflowers have been strung through his hair—bluebells and saxifrage—and leaves spill out of the sleeves of his coat. His fingers are ice-cold. “Are you ready to tell the story yet?”

You want to say I don't know what you mean by that, but the lie gets stuck in your throat. Finally, you cough, “I'm not a good storyteller, not like you are.”

Arthur laughs a little and runs a hand through your hair. “Try your best. The only thing that matters is that it's true.”

Time unspools in your hands like a ribbon. The stars and moors and winds all hold their breath, waiting for your tale.

So there I was, privately seething as I wandered through Sutton at half-past-one in the morning. It was far too cold and far too late for any sane person to be out, but I just had to get a breath of fresh air. I was planning to pace up and down the pavement for a bit, gather my thoughts, and then I would go back home to set the story straight with Arthur. I couldn't find it in myself to forgive him just yet, though.

We had been catching up over a cup of tea in the kitchen—he had only just returned from uni for Christmas, and I was pleased as punch to see him again. While I was busy gloating about how I'd once bought a week's worth of groceries with five pounds, he had interrupted to suggest that I move in with him until I turned eighteen. I was meant for bigger things, he had told me, not for cleaning up mum's sick and working dead-end jobs to pay for her vodka.

At first, I couldn't believe my ears. My brother's always been collected, mind you, but he was never cruel. Not like this, anyhow. Of course, I had protested and made it clear that I wouldn't abandon Mum, not for anything. Family was forever, after all, and it wasn't as if I had much to look forward to when I left school. We couldn't all be geniuses. He still didn't understand, and that was when I lost my temper.

'I want to keep this family together,' I said, very slowly, 'but it seems I'm the only one here who cares about that.'

Arthur looked as if he'd been slapped. I fled the house.

I was angry, and I was cold, and I hadn't eaten a decent meal for the better part of a month. The dole really doesn't pay for much, you know. Naturally, the girl carrying the crate of fruit caught my eye. She was tucked away in a sleepy side street, far from where the crowds were, but I didn't much care. I went to her anyhow. Something in that crate called to me, the way a story pulls you in and doesn’t let you go until it’s done.

The girl was tall and elfin, skin pale as the moon. I wondered how she'd come by such fresh fruit in the dead of winter. She only smiled—no, smirked, her teeth all gleaming white— and offered me a crabapple. I raised an eyebrow. The fruit seemed perfect, gold and glistening in the dimness. Too good to be true. ‘It's laced with cyanide, isn't it?'

She tossed the crabapple up and caught it. ‘If I was going to kill you, you would have a knife in your stomach by now.’

We both laughed. ‘You're a sceptic.' The girl leaned forward, strands of hair obscuring her face. She couldn't have been much older than I was. ‘I appreciate that. What's your name, poisoner?’

I'd never been one for romance novels, but at that moment I could have sworn there was a flutter in my chest, just like the old cliché. ‘I'm Charlotte.’

‘Charlotte,’ she repeated. When she said my name it felt as though the word was invented ju st for her to speak. ‘What brings you here tonight?’

‘Just wanted to get away from home for a while. Brother's being a right tosser, he is.’

The girl frowned. ‘I don't really understand. What brought you here? To this alleyway, to my fruits.’

All of a sudden my throat had turned dry. The flutter in my heart was morphing into something stranger. Even the air was sluggish and slow, like the air in a dream. ‘Hunger,’ I said, and I knew it was true.

I hadn't even noticed that I'd offered her my hand until I found myself holding the crabapple. It was heavier than I'd expected it to be. I wrapped my fingers around its glossy skin, bringing it up to the sliver of light that spilled towards us from the faraway main road.

The girl covered my hand with her own. It felt as though I had plunged my arm into ice, numb and cold, as she raised the crabapple all the way to my lips. I had had crabapples before, and I wasn't sure how in the world I could have misremembered their scent—rich and sweet as honeysuckle.

‘Eat and thou shalt be filled.’ I could see my reflection in her emerald eyes. ‘Eat, Charlotte.’

I tilted my head up and ate.

“That’s it,” you say.

Your brother only shakes his head. Through him, you can see stars dotted across the Scottish night sky, stars you could never have seen back in Sutton. You pull out some blades of grass and watch them scatter in the chilly breeze. The lines on your palms are stained with red.

But they’re not yours anymore, are they?

All of a sudden, you realise that you have been caught up in something ancient and vast and beyond your comprehension, far older than the stones of the house you grew up in or the roads the Romans laid through this land in their frail attempts to tame it. The story has been out of your control for a very long time. “You already know how it goes," you say. "Why hear it again?”

Arthur smiles. Pa always said that he had the smile of a hero, someone who would be immortalised in marble someday. Perfect, glimmering, spotted with blood. “To bring it back to life.”

I knew, then, that I had to go to Whitechapel. At the time I wasn’t sure why, except there was a tug low in my stomach that was pulling me there, past the traffic and the people down into the very heart of London. The thing about London is that it’s a city ruled by the dead. Every other pathway crosses over someone’s grave. Countless bodies lie in the night-black water of the Thames, threatening to rise to the surface. Even the sturdy walls of the old manor homes were built upon the bones of the coolies and slaves that gave this nation its great wealth.

Which is a long-winded way to say that the London I passed through after I’d been turned wasn’t the London that I’d always known. The electric lamps flickered and cast green light. Shadows pooled in street corners, vanishing when I got too close. The crowds seemed to be a mass of bones and flesh, a many-headed thing. I paid no attention to most of these, walking through the city in something close to a stupor. I couldn’t have told you my name, or the date, or much of anything.

When I finally arrived in Whitechapel, I found myself staring up at the sticker-covered glass of a curry house. Inside, groups gathered around still-steaming bowls, laughing and chattering away as if they’d nothing to worry about in the whole world. Next to the window, a family of four was devouring oversized portions of chicken tikka masala. The younger son, who couldn’t have been more than eight, was gesturing wildly as he spoke, his mouth still full of food. He must have choked on something halfway through because he stopped and began to splutter. His grinning older sister hit him on the back far more violently than she should have.

I kept standing there after they left, watching the neon sign turn from blue to green to blue again, long after the lights went off. The whole time no one had noticed me. I might have waited there until I froze if it wasn’t for the shout.

When I turned, I didn’t have a moment to react before the stranger tackled me. It might have been that I was weak, or he was strong, but either way I stumbled, nearly falling to my knees. The stranger pulled back, and for the first time, I recognised his face.

“I was so worried.” Lately, even his accent had lost its familiar storytelling tone. “Where in the world have you been?”

“I’m not home,” I replied. It was the only thing I knew to be true. I felt very young and very small. “Want to go home.”

He muttered something about going back to Sutton, but I didn’t want Sutton. Where would I be returning to? A small and dreary house on a street surrounded by other small and dreary houses. A little-used kitchen, filled with rubbish, stinking of vodka. A mum who wasn’t who she used to be, and a father who’d never come home. A garden that had been killed by the cold. My brother wasn’t looking at me, but ahead at what must have been the comforting mundanity of colourful shop windows. He couldn’t have seen what I had: blood thrumming through warm bodies, trickling through the dirt underneath our feet, setting every cell in my body alight.

Once upon a time, the two of us had huddled so tightly together under a ragged quilt that we seemed to merge into one. Our arms had been intertwined, my head pressed against his shoulder. In the orange glow of the flashlight, you couldn’t have told the two of us apart. We had been the sole inhabitants of a secret universe- at least until the sun began to rise. Now there was a chasm between us, widening moment by moment. He was a genius, I was not. He went away, I stayed behind. He was alive, and I was dead.

I tugged him closer to me, the fog of honey so dense you could slice it. For a brief and terrible moment, my brother smiled. Pa was wrong this whole time, you see. It wasn't a hero's smile. It was just my brother's, and that was all I needed.

I smiled back, and my teeth sank into his skin. He tasted of cranberry jam.

There's nothing more to tell.

You killed him. You killed him—you, you, you, all along only always you alone—god, you’re a monster. You never wanted to be like your mother, destroying her family for her desires, but here you are anyway. You know better than anyone that what you want isn't necessarily what you get. It’s so ironic you could scream.

It's then that the verse comes back to you, pulled out from under layers of dust and years. Genesis 4:9. Where is your brother Abel?

You crumple. The long grass comes up to meet you, but it's softer than you'd expect, softer than what you deserve— Don't say that, love. You deserve softness. You're not a monster, understand? the skylarks sing. This time it doesn't ring false.

You loved him. He's always been part of you, just as you've always been part of him. You were born with the same blood, after all.

“Will I ever go home again?” you ask them, but you already know the answer. The Earth only sings it back to you, in your voice, Arthur's voice, and a thousand others besides. Your home's nestled between your ribs and written in the stars. No matter where you wander, there will always be someone to guide your path.

You realise, then, that the howling in your stomach has stopped. You doubt it'll ever start again.

Stumbling to your feet, the Highlands spread out in your mind like a spider's web. The pathway in front of you is as endless as the midnight sky. Smoke drifts up towards the sky from a village that's still nothing but pinpricks of light.

The wind ruffles your hair as you begin to walk. You don't look back.

#child ballads #beasts of blood and bone #writing #writeblr

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dear-mrs-otome · 3 years

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Gute Besserung - IkeVamp (Faust)

'Tis a silly ficlet that's being rattling around in my head ever since that PV came out...and I'm a sucker for 'taking care of the sick'. 1500 words of Faust self-indulgence. Thank you to @mikotomizuki and @ambrosiallkiss for letting me scream about this!

She woke slowly. Swimming up through thick sleep that clung to her limbs and consciousness enviously, as if loathe to surrender her. Eyes too heavy to open still as she took stock - of the odd weight of her body, of what she could only imagine was the warmth of sunlight basking one half of her face, of the dry rhythmic scratch of nib on paper somewhere nearby.

Faust.

She knew without even needing to see for herself, recognized that omnipresent sound. Only he ever wrote thus, in a frantic scathing scribble, as if his thoughts were always tumbling faster than his hand. As if he were always racing time, trying to outpace something.

Ironic, given how much of it he had, she supposed.

Her own thoughts were sluggish, too-warm and chasing themselves in nonsensical circles, like withered leaves in the last heated gasps of an autumn wind. Her mouth dry with that patina so particular to a long convalescence.

She managed to crack her eyes open just as the writing stopped. Greeted by arched ceilings, stonework and heavy wooden paneling, walls lined with shelves that groaned beneath the weight of countless books. The faint astringent waft of chemicals framing a sharp counterpoint to the softness of the featherbed she reclined on. She needed no more than a passing glance to realize she was in Faust’s room...but why?

The ensuing silence was only broken by the slight tick of Faust’s glasses on the desk as she watched him set them aside, one hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose and over his eyes before raking through his hair, mussing the midnight strands with a sigh. His usual jacket had been cast off somewhere, leaving him in naught but rolled up shirtsleeves, looking altogether far more rumpled than she had ever seen. His broad shoulders bent as if beneath some burden, and in her daze she wondered what sort of weight could ever possibly bow his Atlas frame.

Her lips were parched as she sought her voice, finding only the barest ghost of it. “Faust?”

He jerked, snapping to attention, blinking owlishly in her direction for a moment before snatching up his glasses. They settled back on his face at the same moment his customary smile settled on his lips. Sardonically charming, effortlessly wicked.

She’d often thought the Serpent must have smiled at Eve much like that, from amongst the verdant fig leaves. More the fool she was then she knew, for recognizing it as such and still letting herself be seduced.

"Still among the living, then?" It was delivered in his usual droll style, the hint of a laugh always threatening to break through it seemed, as if ever ready to have a joke at her expense...but there was something taut about the inscrutable gaze he leveled at her. A wariness, almost. That of a breath long held, not yet released.

She sighed her indignance as best she could, offering him a kitten-weak glare even as an answering smile tried to tug at her lips. "Feel too terrible to be dead."

He hummed his assent, the sound rippling into a chuckle as he scooted his chair closer beside the bed, reaching for a pitcher and glass upon the nearby table and pouring a small measure out. Swift deft movements helped her to sit up against the pile of pillows and held the cup to her lips, letting her have her fill of water.

“What happened?” she managed, when her tongue no longer felt bone-dry and cleaved to the roof of her mouth.

“You fainted dead away in the midst of the soup course, four days ago. I was unaware that you found broccoli so repugnant.”

“Hah,” she huffed, and he seemed to relent.

“It would appear you came down with an illness of some sort. You’ve had a fever, some delirium, these past three nights. Influenza, or scarlet fever perhaps, though I see no sign of you presenting with a rash…” He trailed off, speculation creasing his brows as he lay a hand on her forehead, gauging her temperature. "The fever only broke this morning."

She sifted through the shards of memories his words unearthed, trying to puzzle them back into something whole. Snatches of long hot spells, of strange dreams and visions and feeling utterly wrung-out. A voice speaking often, low and sonorous, syllables broad with the brunt of German. And amidst all that, blissfully cool touches much like the fingers still settled on her brow.

She didn’t even realize she had been nuzzling into the reprieve of them until she felt them lingering on her cheek, their slight chill a welcome comfort - pausing just a heartbeat past propriety before withdrawing, pulled back so that his fingers could twitch into a tight knot on his lap.

“You've been here the entire time?” She framed it as a question, but they both knew it wasn't.

It was an attempt to avoid, perhaps, that had him turn towards the notes on his desk and shuffle them. “Was I to pass up an opportunity to observe the course of an illness up close? To see how a modern constitution fares against diseases of the past? A vampire’s physiology requires little in the way of rest.”

A wry smile did manage to find its way onto her lips them. “You could have just said yes.”

Faust sniffed. “It was either that or leave you to that jackleg Charles, and that was not going to happen. You needed proper medicating. I administered antipyretics first, though they seem only to have taken the edge off your fever. Phenazone, then phenacetin -"

He had taken on an all too-familiar tone, and she attempted to head him off before he got lost in his suppositions. "Faust."

"Although again with little effect. I thought perhaps simply an analgesic would at least allow you rest but opioids are for hacks. Not to mention that a soporific was the last thing you needed, given our attempts at getting you to -"

"Faust."

He rolled on over the top of her interruptions, almost rambling...but this was no mere animated lecture. It was the first time she'd ever seen him anything other than poised, and her attention came to rest once more on the dark circles carved beneath his eyes, those self-imposed bruises poorly masked by the disheveled tangle of his hair. "-regain sense enough to drink. Dehydration was certainly a concern, and your -"

She reached a hand out from beneath the covers and set it carefully on his knee. "Johann."

The muscles of his leg beneath her fingertips flinched, then seized, his words dying in a slight intake of breath. She saw him swallow thickly before he continued.

“You called for your mother. Crying like a lost child.”

His abrupt bald statement startled her, both the unexpectedness of it and the morose implication. Wondering just how closely she had flirted with death after all.

“You called out for me as well. In the throes of your fever.” He spoke to the grip she still had on his knee at first, before his stare shifted to pin her. A hoarseness running through his words, faint but unmistakable. One lone snagged thread in the dark-silk weft of his voice. “And there was nothing I -”

His jaw clenched down on the rest of that sentence and the silence drew taut, like a bowstring poised to devastate.

She didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know what to do with the green gaze that searched hers, questions sparking through it like sunlight off jade. And so she sidestepped it, let the elephant in the room settle into safe, uneasy repose.

“Thank you,” she told him at last, earnest in her gratitude. “I know I couldn’t have been in better hands.”

The ghost of his usual confidence haunted the lopsided smile he offered her. “You’re welcome.” He adjusted the blankets around her once more, hesitating the barest of moments before taking her hand in his and cradling it in his lap, fingertips pressed to her wrist. “Your pulse seems to be stable.”

But he didn’t relinquish it, long after she knew he must have counted out the heartbeats necessary...and she let the languid sweep of his thumb along her skin lull her back towards the exhaustion that welcomed her with open arms. “You’ll put me to sleep doing that,” she mumbled on a smile, eyes already closed.

“Rest then. You need it still.” His own words were no more than a low murmur now, almost more felt than heard. A soothing rumble that traipsed up her arm and seemed to make itself at home inside her chest. “Schlaf gut.”

And she wondered if she was asleep already, perhaps dreaming, when she felt the careful press of lips against the fingers curled around his - as if to seal that sentiment in place.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp faust #my writing #ahhdkslfj what is writing even anymore #sobbing

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imagineabrighterworld · 3 years

Text

A/N: I fought tooth and nail for this prompt so I hope you like it anon 👀

—

Dabi had left the Nightscape for several reasons.

For better scenery, for less screaming, for.. for a third reason, and to escape his crazy as fuck ex girlfriend who never seemed to get the point that they were done. She was a phase, she wasn’t the endgame.

Did she get that as he tossed her ass out of his apartment? No, she just came back with a lighter to set his home ablaze. But the woman didn't realize he controlled flames as easily as he did breathing.

So he left. He packed a few things, clothes and whatever currency the humans were using nowadays and went up to the world beyond. His father was one of the lords of the Nightscape, but he didn't need to worry about slipping past him, Dabi was thought to be dead for ages.

More like “Touya” had been dead for ages, but that was a clusterfuck of different issues he didn't care to unfold.

Living above ground had added perks beyond escaping a crazy ex and not being surrounded by shades and wraiths on the daily. He could take on the form of a true human, not the horned and fanged form he usually wore. His tail was gone, and his scars and staples were replaced with tattoos and piercings, but he grew used to his new form very quickly.

In the human world, humans had long since developed quirks, so his flames were not an oddity. He was thankful for them when he was questioned about how he got his scars, scars that would occasionally show through his glamour. It was an easy answer, his body couldn't handle his “quirk”. People gave him sad eyes and let him go.

Easy.

What he did struggle with was the occasional demon hunter nearly tracking him down, but he always managed to turn their eye the other way. Was it testing the line choosing to live so close to a school that trained demon hunters? Yes, but he was always good at magic, a simple glamour always did the trick.

When he scored a job at a coffee shop, he was pleased to see it was a simple transaction kind of job. No one would be able to ask him why his eyes were constantly rivaling the blue of his flames or why a phantom tail would lash out and occasionally spill the row of cups behind him.

He pegged it as a ghost haunting the shop, and so it became a little inside joke within the workers ranks and some of the shop's patrons.

Opening on a rainy Wednesday, he looks around the room before lighting the candles at the tables with a flame on his pinkie finger. Setting up the tables and scooting in the chairs, he walks back to the counter and sets up the machines when the door rings, signalling someone had entered.

“Welcome.” He rolls out in a soft purr, a habit from years of toying with his playthings as an incubus. Eventually he would get rid of the habit. “What can I get for you today?” He turns around.

You were soaking wet with a satchel above your head, you were shivering and looking at the coffee machines as if they were god sent.

You looked adorable.

He leans on the counter with a growing smile. “Wet out there isn't it?”

Your gaze snaps to him. Your eyes were a soft mahogany color, reminding him of a tree. It wasn't the most romantic thing he could come up with, but trees were also very rare to find in the Nightscape, so he supposed it was based on your point of view. “C-Coffee. Please.”

“Sure thing babe, what kind?”

“A mocha cappuccino with three shots of espresso.”

He quirks a brow as he types in your order. “Three?”

“I usually get five but my doctor told me I need to cut down.”

“How about you aim for two?”

“I don't think I’d survive that loss sir.”

He chuckles. “Sir?” He asks as he tells you the price of your drink, accepting your soggy wad of cash and giving you your change once the transaction was complete. “Well madam, your drink will be out shortly, take some napkins to dry up, they’re by the sugar.”

He spots a small blush on your face as you go to the condiments counter. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He prepares your drink as he hears you pluck a plethora of napkins out of their container. Small curses are all he hears as you open your bag, he hears the clicking of latches and the zipping of zippers. You scuttle past the counter and stop in front of the register again.

“Do you have a bathroom? My bag is drenched..”

He brings you your drink and tilts his head as he debates your question. A bathroom wouldn't solve the water issue, you just thought it would.

Dabi places your drink on the counter and holds his hand out. “I can dry your bag.”

You smile, adjusting your glasses in the mean time. “You have a wind quirk?”

“I'm not a blowdryer.” He grins. “But I can still dry it for you.”

You debate his words, looking down at your soggy satchel that was only getting worse as time passed. You hand him the bag with an accepting sigh. “Please.”

He takes your bag and lights his hands on fire. You nearly scream before he speaks up. “I can control my fire, this one won’t burn anything, it's just warm.”

“Oh.” You shut your mouth with a sheepish bow of your head. “Sorry.”

“It's alright.” He turns the bag in his hold, looking at the patches and bad attempts at embroidery on its edges. It was cute. The sad little attempts seemed to get better as they reached the top, which led him to believe this was your first attempt at embroidery.

What would you do if he had burnt it to ash?

His flames were highly destructive, and sometimes even he couldn't handle them.

Maybe he was being risky to test his powers like this. It had been ages since he last used his flames for something more than lighting a silly candle or a cigarette.

“So..”

Oh right, you were still there.

He looks at you and rotates the bag in his hold. “Yes?”

“Is it always this empty?”

“Only when you're here.” He winks.

“Rude.”

“Rude, sir.”

You laugh, and from that point on he's hooked to the sound.

Dabi used to like his job, now it was turning into something akin to gratitude. It allowed him to see you on most days.

He had learned quite a few things about you ever since that rainy day.

You were a teacher in training, specifically the nearby high school. You were aiming for Shiketsu and had a foot in the door with the vice principal taking notice of you during their mock trials. He didn't peg you for a demon hunter, but everyone had a hidden side to them. Hah. You had two pet birds named Sweet Pea and Darlington, you had a snake named Petra and were looking into getting a newt.

You loved coffee but hated it black, it needed sugar or chocolate of some kind because you couldn't stand bitter food. You loved spicy food even if you couldn't tolerate it, and you adored sour candies.

While you looked book smart, you were also street smart, and he was beginning to believe you might be vying for a spot as a demon slayer teacher. He just didn't know what your quirk was yet.

“Hey Dabi.” You chime in unison with the doorbell as you walk inside, this time with an umbrella to keep yourself out of the rain.

He leans on the counter with a grin. “Hey babe. What is it today? The usual?”

“Just a shot of espresso this time.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you sick?”

“Nope.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking back and forth on your heels with a huge smile on your face. “I got news.”

“Do tell.” He says as he starts preparing your shot.

“I got the job!” You squeal in excitement, arms coming out of hiding so you can clasp them in front of you. “Starting in the spring I’m going to be the new first year homeroom teacher!”

He genuinely smiles. So you wanted to ruin your happiness with a shot of liquid bitter? He didn't understand you sometimes. “I thought your celebration drink would be a sakura latte, not a shot of espresso.”

You wave your hand dismissively, already removing your wallet from your pocket. “I'll come back for one.”

“Two visits in one day? Is that a gift for you or for me?” He chuckles and hands you your espresso, taking your yen and entering it into the register.

You adjust the glasses on your face. "I figured I would grace your presence because you've been so humble as to fuel my caffeine addiction."

"It's my duty to make sure you don't kill some other sorry bastard with a coffee maker."

Your eyes flash green for a split second, and in that moment he has to keep from reeling back. Did he really see that?

The cups behind him tumble to the ground.

His tail had appeared in his brief moment of shock.

You cock your head to the side. "What happened?"

He kneels and collects the cups. "The shop's ghost. Don't mind it."

"I thought I saw a-"

"How about I give you the latte now? On me." He interrupts you mid sentence, standing up with the cups in his arms.

The blush on your face was one of his favorite sights in the human world.

"You don't have to Dabi."

"It's just a drink." He waves you along to one of the booths. "Sit, it'll be ready soon."

You take your shot of espresso and go to the booth he had motioned you to.

The way you scrunched your nose in disgust as you drank your shot was also one of his new favorite sights.

Maybe it was just you.

After you had gotten your job at Shiketsu, you were around every morning to prepare for the day. Sometimes you would come by for lunch, unfortunately he clocked out on those days, but sometimes he would make sure he was in the area just to catch you off-guard. Those days he spent his lunch with you, and you got to tell him stories about your students.

It was one of your lunch breaks when hell came to toll.

His eyes were trained on you as you spoke, you were talking about a girl who wielded fire similar to him when the bell of the cafe rang.

The sound resonated through him, and in that moment he knew who was at the door.

What was at the door.

His glamour of his new human form nearly drops as he hears a woman's voice ask from the counter of the cafe.

“Is Dabi here?” She croons in a sickly sweet voice he hadn't heard in nearly a year. He doesn't hear his coworkers' response but he feels the air fill with the flowery scent of her. He grits his teeth to keep his fangs from showing through as he hears her heels click against the ground.

You had stopped your explanation and looked behind him, adjusting your glasses as you did so. “You're looking for Dabi?”

“I am, what a sweet peach you've got here Dabi~ I didn't know you still had it in you to snag such a cutie, your charms must still be working even in this sad form.” He feels her hand on his shoulder, her fingernails drumming along the stitching of his jacket. “Did you catch her, or did she come crawling to you?”

He knows he has to speak up, before she says another word, but his fangs were already piercing the inside of his lip as his glamour slipped.

He looks at you with the most apologetic gaze he can muster. Grabbing his coffee, he lifts it to his mouth to hide his fangs and he speaks. “Excuse me.” He stands up and slams the cup on the table, grabbing the wrist of the woman behind him and dragging her out of the shop and into the closest alleyway.

He slams her against the wall with her arm pinned above her head. His glamour drops completely, his scars and horns bared for the world to see as he growls with rage. “You!”

The succubus in front of him smiles coyly, dragging a finger across his scars and the staples holding his mouth together. “Aren't you happy to see me? To see one of your own again?”

“No. What do you want?”

She plays at pulling on one of the staples but is stopped as he pins her other hand up as well. The succubus sighs and turns her head, “I come see you and all I get is this. And seeing you with a little human.” She peers at him with violet eyes. “Don't tell me you've gone soft Dabi. She’s human, she’ll die just like a human too.”

He hadn't let that thought slip into his mind and wasn't planning on starting to. He tightens his grip on her wrists. “We broke up, I made that clear.” A feral grin forms on his face, pulling at the staples on his face. “I told you, if you try me again, I’ll kill you.”

“I heard you had a human now. We all heard.” She whispers, her eyes glowing in the dark of the alley. “They know Dabi.”

His grip falters.

Shit.

Shit. Shit Shit-

He lets go of her wrists and he paces in the alleyway, flames licking at his face as his emotions spiralled.

“They need your power, but you’re squandering it here with a girl who will die before you know it. While you're full of youth, she will be an old crone with nothing but a coffin awaiting her.” She didn't sound bothered at all as she rubs her wrists. “Honestly Dabi, you were the one that taught me never to fall for a human. They’re too brittle, their life essence too weak.”

He did teach her. He taught her to keep her heart shut and to leave it open only for him. He taught her a little too well, as she now believed she had rights to him.

But he never taught himself as well as he did her.

He fell for you bad, and you were mortal.

“Anyway, I was told one of two things. Either bring you back with me, or expose you so you have no other choice but to return.”

He looks back at her, his rage quelled only by the dread that was now spiralling in him. “You will do no such thing!” He roars, his flames igniting and setting him ablaze. “If you dare go near her-”

The succubus’s body transforms into mist starting from her feet then rising to her waist. She puts a finger to her lips. “I’ll be back in three days. If you don't do it, I will.”

She was gone. Leaving him alone in the alley with nothing but flames that wouldn't stop burning.

Dabi spent the next two days trying to find ways to tell you, but with each scenario came the same question.

What would you do if you knew he was a demon? You worked at a school that trained demon slayers- what other option for you would there be if not to turn him in? It was your duty to turn in any demon that showed up at your door, and here you were having coffee with him.

He couldn't do it.

On the third day, it was raining, just like the day he met you.

He hated the mist that had surrounded the shop, reminding him of the succubus and her promise.

Three days.

He had to tell you.

But why was it so damn hard to do? He used to be cold and calculated, having his fun toying with human emotions and killing without regret. He had no empathy, no sympathy for the lives he ruined.

But you were kind. So incredibly kind.

He rests his head on the counter as the door opens. He scents you in the air before you even step through, the smell of milk and honey wafting in the air as you approach the counter.

He had to tell you.

“Morning Dabi!” You cheer as you fold up your umbrella. “A mocha cappuccino with two shots of espresso please!”

He looks up and smiles crookedly. “Finally down to two?”

“I figured I would finally listen to you.”

“That's my girl.” He chuckles as he grabs a cup and prepares your drink. His hands were shaking, but he knew what he had to do.

When your drink was ready and paid for, Dabi keeps his hand on the cup as you take it from him, your hand overlapping his. You look at him with curious eyes behind your wide rimmed glasses. “Dabi? What’s wrong?”

“If I told you I was a bad man, what would you do?”

You narrow your eyes, but keep your hand over his. “Stealing a croissant from the place you work at isn't evil Dabi-”

“Not that.” He laughs but it's noticeably strained. “Not that.” He looks you in the eyes, greedily taking in the sight of you, for perhaps the last time. “What if I told you I was a bad man, who did horrible things. Whose caused terrible things.”

Your hand tightens around his, he feels the tremors in your body before you still.

“I would tell you I know better than to judge you for what you've done, and tell you that I judge you for who you are now. Does that forgive you of what you've done or what you've caused? No. But I judge what I see. And I see a good man.”

He lets out a shaky breath as his glamor drops, revealing his true form of scars and fangs and horns. His flames curl around him as he whispers. “What if I'm not a man?”

You jump back, hands flying to your glasses before they could tumble off of your face. You stare at him with your jaw hanging.

He looks at the coffee still in his grasp. At the scars covering his body.

He knew it.

He puts down the cup.

He knew it.

Clapping comes from the corner of the room where the succubus has taken form, her body still halfway between corporal and mist. She smiles, showing off her sharpened canines. “Bravo Dabi, I almost thought I’d have to do it myself.”

You shut your mouth and look at the succubus. “You're from before-”

“I am.” She purrs. “And I’m here to take Dabi home. Shigaraki will be happy to see his lieutenant again.”

Dabi burns away his apron, leaving him in his normal attire, the stitches of his black coat catching his eye. Memories of your embroidered bag slip through his mind, though are soon flushed out entirely when he hears the shattering of tables as a high pitched shriek comes from the mist succubus.

He phases through the counter in a wall of heatless flame as he sees you covering your ears.

The shriek had destroyed the tables and windows turning them into scrap, and had shattered your glasses. Blood was running down your ears from between your hands.

He stands between you and the succubus, his arms lit with powerful blue flames. “This wasn't part of the deal!”

“Not our deal. Shigaraki doesn't want you to have any temptations for returning to the human world. We need your girl gone for good.” She grins fiendishly. “She will never grow old, isn't that the best gift you could receive?”

“Dabi-” You call out from behind him.

“Stay back!” He yells at you. “Get out of here!” But he knew if you went into the rain outside, you would be done for. The succubus would be able to drown you where you stood.

Her body turns to pure water as she rushes at him. With her power boosted by the rain that washed in through the broken windows, all he could do was send wave after wave of fire to evaporate the water.

But what was evaporation if not mist?

He was fighting a losing battle as he backed up until he finally reached you. He covers you with his body as he puts up a wall of flame.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers to you as his flames are soon put out. “I’m sorry.”

You lift your hands to his face, eyes still closed, and pull him in, pressing your forehead against his.

“Don't be sorry for the things you can't control.” You whisper in return.

The succubus’s body turns corporal from the waist up. She coos. “How sweet, one last goodbye.”

You press a kiss to his lips.

“Don't open your eyes.” You murmur against his lips before letting go of his face and turning around to look at the succubus.

He closes his eyes, prepared to hear you scream in pain, prepared to hear your body drop to the ground.

But all he hears is the loud boom of thunder from outside and the crackle of rock breaking.

Rock?

He opens his eyes and sees you on your knees in front of a marble statue of the succubus.

His eyes widen as he sees you stand up. From the reflection of the marble, he can see your eyes flashing green.

“Did I ever tell you my mother was a demon?” You ask as you kneel and pick up your eyeglass frames from the floor. “She called herself Medusa. Silly, huh? My dad was human though, and well, as you know, they had me..” You turn around, your eyes now closed. “I guess you can say my quirk is having a very strange lineage.”

Dabi gets to his feet and runs at you, barreling into you with his arms swiftly wrapping around you.

You return the hug, your face nuzzled into his chest.

“So.. you're not mortal?” He says quietly, as if the good luck that had been shone upon the both of you would wither out.

“I'm not. It's my hundred and twenty-fourth this year.” You look up from his hold, he could see the faint glow of green from under your eyelashes. “Will you be there?”

He tightens his hold and presses his lips against yours.

“As if I'd ever leave.”

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha dabi #boku no hero academia dabi #bnha dabi x reader #mha dabi x reader #my hero academia dabi x reader #dabi x reader #touya x reader #- Luca #I snatched this prompt and I will fistfight Jesus all over again #- beta Andro #wHo aPParEntly cAnt ReAd

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headinthestaticsky · 3 years

Text

NEW! The Fire of the Innocent Sun: Jasper Hale x Fleur Hale, Chapter 5

Authors note: Again some elements of the movie and book have been changed. Remember when this song was popular?

"I keep going to the river to pray 'Cause I need something that can wash out the pain And at most I'm sleeping all these demons away But your ghost, the ghost of you It keeps me awake."

Ghost by, Ella Henderson

I hadn't been down to the reservation in a while it's lush trees and plants were turning orange and yellow and its grass was still damp and slippery. It was as if it was frozen in time, being dormant in constant rain and coldness. Before I knew it I was at Billy Black's house, an uneasiness was nestled within my stomach. I didn't know how Jacob would react or how much he had changed. I knew he was still hurt after all the manipulation Bella had put him through and I didn't know how he would treat me. Would it be was cheerfulness and joy or would his heart freeze over and reject my plea immediately? I didn't have much time to ponder over my choices as the door had swung open. A smile greeted me at the door, Billy Black hadn't changed much... it gave me a sense of comfort.

"Fleur, it is so nice to see you again...Sam told me the situation you're in... I hope you make it out okay." Billy said, moving aside for me to come in.

"Thank you, I hope we do too... Did dad show you pictures of Ezra?"

Billy chuckled before answering me.

"You know he did, he looks a lot like you two... same black hair and brown eyes."

"He doesn't have my personality that's for sure."

"What's he like?"

"He's a lot like Jasper... calm and collected the only thing he got from me was my love for the Earth. He is obsessed with plants, water, and he is absolutely fascinated by space it's adorable." I smiled at the thought of my son... I never knew how much love I could feel someone until I had him. I loved Jasper to death of course but having a child just opens your eyes that much more.

"Not that I'm complaining that you visited but, there is a reason you're here I'm sure."

I looked at him, guilt replaced my joy.

"Yeah, there is... I need to talk to Jacob, is he here?"

"He might be down at the beach, if he's not there he's in the barn house."

"Thank you, Billy. It's so nice seeing you again." I said, I bent down to hug him.

I then turned around walking toward the front door, I walked down to La Push. The nerves had set in again and if I could, my palms would probably be sweaty. The wet gravel crunched beneath my feet and the wind howled loudly. I had stopped and looked around, the ocean looked grey matching the sky perfectly.

"What are you doing here?" I sternly voiced asked from behind me.

I slowly turned around and saw Jacob staring at me. The disdain was riddled in his eyes.

"Hey, Jacob..."

"What are you doing here?" He asked again he sounded angrier.

"I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important... I think you know everything that is going on right now."

"I know some of it but that's not my problem. I left Sam's pack."

My eyes widened, shock replaced my apprehensiveness.

"What? Why?"

"I didn't feel the need to be there anymore... and before you even ask you know why."

"It is Bella?"

"Ding ding ding."

"I'm sorry Jacob... I know my sister really hurt you."

"Not like you care."

I walked up to him looking him dead in the eye.

"Of course I do! Jake, I've known you since I was a little girl... you were one of my best friends. I know you can't stand what am I but I am always going to care about you."

His eyes filled with sadness but relief began to shine through. I took a chance and pulled him in for a hug, he reciprocated it. I could feel hot droplets of water fall onto my clothes.

"She really fucking hurt me."

Venom leaked from my eyes and my face scrunched up.

"She hurt me too."

I didn't know how long I was standing there with him but suddenly the sun filled my vision. It was like our walls built with coldness and ice were beginning to thaw. I hadn't really talked much about any of this with Jasper or the others. No matter how much she screwed me over she was still my sister. As much as I didn't want to I loved her and I always would. Jacob and I pulled apart, I could see the relief on his face. He must've been holding all of this in too, all of that pain stuffed into a bottle that was about ready to burst.

"So... what did you need?" He asked, a small smile was on his face.

"You know I had a son?"

"Yeah, I do... Billy tells me all the time about the photos your dad shows him."

"Well... Bella and Edward told the Volturi about him and now they're coming after all of us."

"Wow... So that's where she went."

"Yeah... Leah told me that a lot more people are turning because of the vampires we found to help us out."

"So you're asked me to help the wolves out."

"Damn didn't even have to finish my statement."

Jacob laughed before answering.

"I'm in... you're going to need all the help you can get."

"Thank you so much Jacob you do not know how much I appreciate this."

Timeskip: 2 hours later

Jacob and I drove back down to the Cullens' house, I wondered how they would react. When I pulled into the driveway I saw Jasper and Rosalie waiting for me.

"Oh boy..." I muttered to myself. Jacob and I got out of the car and approached them.

"Fleur where were you?" Jasper asked.

"I had to find a little bit more help," I said, gesturing toward Jacob.

"Jacob, nice to see you again." Jasper greeted, I could tell he was tense.

"Don't worry I'm not gonna try anything on you guys... even if blondie tries to poison me."

"Don't push your luck." Rosalie threatened, her eyes took on a deadly look and her finger was pointed at him.

"Okay you two settle down and get in the house," I said, trying to breaking the tension. Before we could however I could he the sound of two people running. Their speed wasn't one of a human Rosalie, Jasper, and Jacob would all hear it too.

"Rosalie get Carlisle now!" I said.

Rosalie quickly ran into the house.

Before I knew it two men were standing in front of me... both were unfamiliar.

"Who are you?"

The door behind me swung open and Carlisle called out toward the two people. Kate, Rosalie, and Emmett were right behind him.

"Vladimir, Stefan, you're a long way from home."

"What are they doing here?" I heard Kate inquire.

"We heard the Volturi were moving against you. But that you would not stand alone." Vladimir answered.

"We didn't do what we were accused of," I stated.

"We do not care what you did."

"We have been waiting a millennium for the Italian scum to be challenged," Stefan said in eagerness.

"It's not our plan to fight the Volturi," Carlisle said quickly.

"Shame. Aro's witnesses will be so disappointed."

"They enjoy a good fight."

"Aro's witnesses?" I asked.

"Aww. Still, hoping they'll listen?" Vladimir said to me mockingly.

"When Aro wants someone from a coven it's never long before evidence turns up proving that coven committed some crime."

"So he's done this before?" I said, anger leaked in my voice and I quickly whipped my head around to look at Carlisle.

"It happens so rarely, I never realized it was a pattern," Carlisle replied.

"How in the hell do you not remember that he's done this before you've lived for hundreds of years!"

"I can't really tell you Fleur... I just know he always pardons one person whose thoughts he claims are repentant. This person always has an ability. And they're always given a place with the Guard."

"It has to be about Alice. He has no one like her!" I started.

"Which is why she left." Jasper finished for me.

"Why does he need witnesses?" Emmett asked.

"To spread the word that justice has been served. After he slaughters an entire coven." Vladimir answered.

"Come on inside, we need to tell everyone else the news," Carlisle said.

You could imagine the faces of everyone when they revealed the pattern of the Volturi. Horror and shocked were all anyone could feel in the room.

"Benjamin, Tia, we're leaving. NOW!" Amun demanded.

I quickly jumped up blocking his way toward the exit.

"And where will you go? What makes you think they'll be satisfied with Alice? What's to stop them from going after Benjamin next? Or Zafrina or Kate, Bree, or anyone else with a gift?" I started, I looked toward Jasper for support.

"They will try to get anyone they want. Their goal isn't punishment, it's power. It's acquisition. Carlisle might not ask you to fight, but Fleur and I will. For the sake of my family. But also for yours. And for the way you want to live." Jasper added. Jacob and Leah looked at each other before nodding slightly toward one another.

"The pack will fight. We've never been afraid of vampires."

"We will fight," Kate said, Tanya, Elezar, and Carmen nodded in agreement.

"This won't be the first time I fought a king's rule." Garrett added.

"We'll join you." Benjamin said, smiling at me."

"No, we will not!"

"I will do the right thing, Amun. You may do as you please." Benjamin said dismissing Amun.

"We will stand with you."

"So will we."

I looked at everyone before thanking them.

"We're going to take down these bastards once and for all."

#twilight imagine #twilight saga #twilight #jasper whitlock x oc #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x oc #jasper whitlock #jasper cullen #jasper hale #emmett cullen #esme cullen #edward cullen #carlisle cullen #alice cullen #rosalie hale #bella swan

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lichfucker · 2 years

Note

plz share all the which monster are you quiz results i love the way u write 🖤🖤🖤🖤

🥺🥺 omg thank you that's so sweet

vampire

you are a king among serfs, hidden in their ranks. you're the infiltrator, the parasite; you take what you need, and by the time anyone even realizes you're there it's too late. you endure. what hunts you but sunrise? mortals with squirt bottles full of holy water? that's cute. they want what you have. your coldness and your refinement and your power: they want it all. how can you be so like them, yet so unlike them? were you not as they were, once? oh, it's been too long to remember. you've got revelry to make. you've got worlds to conquer. you've got nothing but time.

werewolf

the wolf waits at the end of your patience. the wolf prowls at the borderline, ready for someone to cross it. the wolf says enough is enough. the wolf releases all the tension you hold in your body, like a chiropractor cracking your bones. the wolf is the rawness inside you. the wolf holds no pretensions, no illusions: the wolf pulls out all the things you've been told you cannot be, shows you what it's like to wear them plain. the wolf is the guard dog. the wolf is the house.

ghost

you're what happens when things are left incomplete. this place won't let you go-- or perhaps you won't let it go. you're aching for change but it doesn't come naturally to you. you can't be anything other than yourself. you can't even be dead; you were alive once, and so alive you shall remain. you're the proof that nothing is ever untouched: you've left your indelible mark. the walls, the wind, they've seen you. when will anyone see you? when will you see yourself? a call unechoed. a palimpsest unfilled. you've gone ignored for too long. you'll find a way to scream around the silence.

zombie

the stories about you never really seem to be about YOU. you're just one among the throng. how can you hold onto your individuality while feeding collective action? how can you reclaim a selfhood that's been stripped from you? your mind is gone and your body's on its way but there's some third essential part of you that's still here, still fighting. they can't take it from you. you won't go down easy. you won't go down without dragging them all down with you. you've gone away and come back different, and now you've forgotten how to do anything except chase down your hunger, get what you need.

hag

people think they know you. they've heard all the rumors. they've heard you'll cheat and swindle. they haven't heard how hungry you are. people walk away from a negotiation with you all the time (you never take more than you're offered; it's not your fault nobody seems to realize just WHAT they've offered). nobody walks away from the dinner table. how can a person be a pit? how will you ever be filled? you've built your hovel at the juncture of greed and glut. old folktales would decry you as the wicked perversion of the maternal-- but you can't feed anyone else until you've fed yourself. it's not your fault you'll never be fed. you'll scour the fraying edges of magic itself, grind it into dust, use it to season your stew. all things in service of a good meal.

#anonymous #bluh bluh #long post #monstrosity quiz

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spencers-dria · 3 years

Text

Meet Me in the Woods

Someone To Stay Ch. 7

Spencer x fem reader

After dinner, the guys and girls split up into their separate rooms, taking turns in the showers. After you finished washing up, you put on some red, plaid pajama pants, a black tank top, and a pair of slippers that looked like bear paws. You made your way into the kitchen, where Rossi was cleaning up.

"You didn't happen to bring marshmallows, did you?" You ask, eyebrows raised.

"You read my mind, kid." Rossi gives you a wink as he hands you a bag, already full of everything you need.

While he finishes, cleaning you make your way outside. All you can hear is the sound of crickets and the wind in the trees. It's like music to your ears, so peaceful. You walk across the back patio that overlooks the lake, heading towards the fire pit. Sitting on one of the log benches, you start to pull out all the supplies you need. After gathering some kindling, you start a fire in the stone fire pit, giving it a poke here and there to help get it going. Within a few minutes, the fire has grown to a decent size, and you can feel it's warmth from your seat.

It's not long before the doors open and the rest of the group joins you, gathering around the fire. Everyone grabs a skewer and starts roasting their marshmallows. Derek gets a little over eager with the fire and keeps burning his, so JJ has to help him out. The chocolate Rossi brought to use isn't plain Hershey's, but instead it's Ghirardli chocolate with different fillings like caramel or raspberry! These have to be some of the best s'mores you've ever tasted.

Once everyone is snacking on their s'mores, you hear Spencer speak up. "Alright! Who wants to hear a ghost story?"

The group lets out some claps and cheers for him.

You watch as his face changes and he lets the group get quiet as he sets the mood for the story. He pulls a candle out from somewhere behind his seat and lights it in the fire. He holds it in front of his face as he begins to speak, but stops when he hears a snicker. He turns and gives you a serious look.

"I'm so sorry!" You and JJ both giggle, trying to pull yourselves together. "It's just really funny watching you take this so seriously."

He rolls his eyes at you, but you swear you almost see a smile. He tries to get back in character before starting.

"In Fredericksburg, Virginia...there is a hospital that would seem completely normal to most people. But to anyone who has been a patient on the 4th floor, they know better." He uses overly dramatic inflection in his voice, which only makes it more humorous.

"Really Spencer...the hospital where I work?"

He stops again, turning to you. "You know what ghosts really hate? People who interrupt. That's right! And they're coming for you next." He gives you a shove, and neither of you can keep a straight face anymore. You're both laughing, trying to catch your breath.

"Hey! I want to hear the rest of the story!" Penelope pipes up.

"Oh please he's just making it up as he goes along. It's not even that scary." You joke, playfully.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that, but I think we all know who did hear it..." he says in his spookiest voice. "Anyways! Like I said, the 4th floor is haunted. Patients who stay in rooms 26 and 27 have reported seeing a young boy and young girl. They say the girl always asks them if they want to play with her ball. Other patients have said they can hear a ball bouncing in the hallway in the latest hours of the night."

You shift, a bit uneasy in your seat. This was starting to sound familiar. It reminded you of stories you had heard from coworkers...but how would he know about this? You normally aren't spooked easily, but as Spencer continues, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

He continues the story. "They say the only people they really go after are the staff. They wait until their guard is down, the sneak up behind them, and..."

"GOTCHA!" You jump up from your seat as someone grabs you from behind.

You look down to see Derek Morgan, bent over with laughter, tears in his eyes. Spencer is laughing just as hard, if not harder. The rest of the team joins in, and after your nerves settle, so do you.

"You planned this didn't you?!" You yell at the two of them, trying to stifle a laugh and be serious.

The pair of them still laughing too hard to even speak. You have your answer.

"Well that's enough fun for me. I'm headed to bed, anyone else?" Rossi gets up and everyone else joins him, heading inside.

When you step inside, you grab your green, plaid, wool blanket off the couch and carry it back out to the patio. Everyone is already getting ready for bed, so no one notices. You spread it out on the deck and turn off the porch light. You finally lay down on your back, looking straight up at the night sky. You could see a few stars from where you live, but out here there are more than you could ever count. It looks like pixie dust, spread across a deep abyss of black. You take a deep breath in, smelling the forest. For you, it doesn't get any better than this.

You soon hear the patio door open and close, followed by footsteps. You see Spencer standing over you, looking down at you with curiosity. He's changed into purple PJ pants and a Star Wars shirt.

"Whatcha doin?"

"Taking it all in." You smile up at him.

"Mind if I join?"

You scoot over, making extra room as you pat the spot next to you on the blanket.

You let out a long sigh, feeling completely content and relaxed. "I don't know what it is, about space, the stars, the galaxy...but I have always been so mesmerized by all of it. Part of me just appreciates how beautiful it is and part of me appreciates how it is all so much bigger than me. It's beyond what I can ever wrap my head around. There's nothing I wouldn't do to one day take a trip up there."

"Do you know the story of Perseus?" Spencer asks before explaining. He's learned not to underestimate your random knowledge as well.

"Believe it or not, I do actually."

Spencer smiles to himself. "I'm not surprised. Anyways, so there is Cephus at the top, Cassiopeia below him to the right, then Andromeda, and finally Perseus at the bottom left."

Your face twist in confusion. You don't see any of it, but you're too embarrassed to admit this, so you nod as if you see them. You sometimes forget what Spencer does for his job. He scoots closer to you to share your line of vision. He then looks at you and smiles before grabbing your hand and directing your pointer finger along the path of each constellation.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" You ask him.

"What is?"

"All of it. The stars, the trees, the sounds, the smells...it's perfect." You close your eyes feeling completely at peace in this moment.

You don't see Spencer roll his head to look at you.

"Yeah, really beautiful." He responds.

You feel your body relaxing and slipping away from the moment as you fall closer towards sleep. The next thing you know you feel arms slipping underneath you and lifting you from the ground. Mostly asleep, you absent-mindedly wrap your arms around the figure carrying you. You feel your body being carried up and then tucked underneath you bed comforter. Your eyes flit open for only a moment. Through the thick darkness you barely make out Spencer's outline climbing back down the ladder and quietly slipping out of the room. This is the last thing you see before you are awoken by the scent of smokey bacon.

You open your eyes and look around the room to see all three other ladies are still fast asleep. Sunlight is dripping into the room from between the curtains. You carefully make your way down from your top bunk and tip toe out of the room, trying to avoid any squeaky wooden floorboards.

When you finally reach the kitchen, you are surprised to see Hotch cooking breakfast. He's smiling and flipping pancakes at the stove. You haven't known him very long, but this is still not something you would have expected from him.

"Goodmorning" you yawn, rubbing your eyes and adjusting to the sunlight flooding in from the large kitchen windows.

"Morning!" he beamed. "Care for some pancakes?"

"Pancakes sound wonderful, thanks! Need any help?"

"You can set the table if you don't mind."

"Not at all! Happy to help," You give him a smile as you start to pull place settings out from the cabinets.

"So, pancakes from scratch...where did you learn that?"

He lets out a small chuckle. "Rossi's not the only one who can cook ya know. Truthfull though, I learned a lot from my wife Haley. She was a great mom, and a wonderful cook." He smiles as he seems to get caught up in a memory, but you can here the sadness lacing his tone.

You can't help but inquire. "Was?"

He looks down at the bacon he is now grilling, avoiding eye contact as he continues.

"She was my ex wife for only a little while before she was killed. It was a serial killer that the team should have...that I should have caught." He has stopped cooking and is now gripping the counter infant of him, as though he was trying to keep himself from falling over.

You may not know him well, but your job had made you fairly comfortable with talking to people dealing with situations such as this, so you decide to approach him. You place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, that you and your son have had to go through that. No one should ever be put through that much trauma. But I can tell its made you really strong. And your son, he's lucky to have a dad who cares so much about him and keeps him safe."

Hotch takes a deep breath before continuing his cooking as he flips a few pieces of bacon and pours another pancake. He then turns to you and gives a warm genuine smile.

"Thank you, Y/N. I really appreciate it, truly. We have all been through a lot. And I'm not the only one who's lost someone because of this job..."

He trails off when you expected him to continue. There was something about the way he said that last part that made you believe he wanted to say more. Could he be talking about Spencer? Who did he lose? What happened to them? When did it happen?

Questions start to flood your mind but are quickly pushed to the back as the rest of the team starts to make their way into the kitchen for breakfast.

Everyone is talking about their plans for the day. So you turn to Spencer.

"I have something fun planned, if you're willing to trust me."

He raises his eyebrows, intrigued.

"Well I trusted you yesterday and I turned out okay" he laughs.

"Well it's definitely more laid back, even relaxing. If you want you can even bring a book."

He puts his elbows on the table and leans forward on his hands. You've clearly peaked his interest.

"Ok you've won me over. What is it?"

"A surprise." You smile as you grab both of your empty plates and bring them to the sink to wash them off.

"Well can you at least tell me what I need to wear for this?"

You take a minute to think.

"Definitely sun screen and probably something can get a little bit wet or dirty and also some sturdy shoes."

You both make your way to your rooms to get ready. You find the other three ladies already getting dressed and packed for their planned activities.

Alex is getting ready to go on a hike with Rossi and Hotch. JJ and Morgan are taking some rental jet skis out on the lake. Penny will be relaxing on her float again.

You put on a grey tank with an open, oversized navy flannel, some grey khaki shorts, and chacos . You grab your north face backpack and head to the kitchen to sort through the snacks. The backpack gets filled with granola bars, fresh fruit, cashews, and water bottles.

As you are finishing up, Spencer makes his way out of his room. He's in a half zip grey long sleeve, khaki shorts and tennis shoes. It doesn't look ah all like something he'd usually wear.

"Nice outfit" you smile at him.

"Oh uhh thanks, I borrowed the shirt from Hotch and the shorts aren't something I usually wear, but I brought them on the trip just in case." He seems to be blushing a bit. You feel bad, thinking you've must have embarrassed him.

"No really though, the outdoors look, it works for you." You elbow him as you giggle. The blush on his face turns a dark shade of red. Maybe he's really not used to getting told he looks good. This seems a bit crazy to you. He's ridiculously attractive. So much so that you brushed off any possibility of anything happening the night you met him. Spencer was just a friend, and that's exactly what you needed.

You throw on your back pack and lead the two of you out the glass doors and down the patio steps. You make your way further away from the cabin until the only thing left surrounding the two of you are trees.

The two of you walk for a couple minutes in a comfortable silence. You take in the sound of leaves crunching under your feet, wind in the trees, birds chirping. You look up to see sunlight streaming through the leaves of the trees above you. The path is covered by a canopy of green and gold. It's almost magical. You finally look over to see Spencer with a big smile on his face. He's looking around in awe. You have a feeling he doesn't do this sort of thing often.

"Wow" he breathes out. "It's so beautiful and calm. It's almost a bit..."

"Magical?" You interject. He looks down at you in surprise to see you smiling back up at him. He just smiles and nods.

You finally make your way to dock at the edge of the lake. You toss your back back into a red canoe tied up on the dock.

"We're going out on the lake?" He questions.

"Yeah is that okay?"

"Yeah that's ok. I've never actually been in a canoe before, I'm not sure how much help I'll be rowing."

"That's ok, Spencer. We're just here to relax and have fun" you reassure him.

You motion for him to step in first. You untie the boat from the dock push it off into the water as you jump in at the other end. You instruct him to turn around and face the front and hand him one paddle. You call out instructions to help him with pace and directions. After a couple minutes, he starts to get the hang of it. I mean, he has a PhD in engineering, you're not surprised.

Eventually, the boat is fairly far from shore and you both put down your paddles as he turns to face you. You reach into your backpack and pull out blankets to lay across the seats. Then you pull out the snacks and the water.

"A picnic on the lake, huh?" He gives a slight chuckle.

"Yeah" you shrug. "A bit cheesy, I know."

"It's perfect." He glances up at you with a genuine toothy grin on his face. He looks really happy. When you see this you can't help the ever growing smile on your face.

"What gave you this idea?" he asks as he starts munching on some cashews and grapes.

"Well, I love hiking, I love the water, and you already know I love food. So why not combine all three? Plus, there's just something really therapeutic about being in a boat out on the water, rowing, the only sound is your paddle in the water."

"Well I hope you don't mind, I brought something. I didn't know what we'd be doing, but I thought it might come in handy. Um it's not mine and Derek had to show me how to set it up. It's probably stupid anyways."

"I wanna see!" You give him a light shove on the shoulder.

He reaches into the backpack he brought and pulls out a Bluetooth speaker. Next he pulls out his phone and you hear the beep as it connects. You're incredibly intrigued at this point. The next thing you know, you hear the hear the gentle harmonica and acoustic guitar as "Ghost on the Shore" by Lord Huron fills the air around you.

You lean back on your hands, tears threaten to fill the brims of your eyes.

"Spencer... this is really, really sweet. How did you even find this song?"

"I noticed you looking at some of their music in that coffee shop with the music store. I listened to a little bit, and I really liked this song. I figured you would too."

"It's one of my favorites."

The two of you spend more time listening to music,

snacking, and just taking in the beauty of the nature around you. Way off in the distance you hear laughter and can see JJ and Derek racing around on their jet skis. You decide to head back and join the others, music still sounding from the speaker tucked into a side pocket of his backpack. "Meet Me in the Woods" echoes through the trees as you hike back towards the cabin together. Today had turned out even better than you ever could have planned.

#Spotify

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obsessionsposts · 4 years

Text

Tw: toxic relationship / emotional manipulation at the end / non-con use of drugs.

In the harsh forests of Siberia, there lays a forlorned man kneeling in the ground ; as he observed his sole friend being eaten by the serrated teeth of the snow.

He didn't know which is worse the icy winds that threatens to graze his skin, or the empty void that keeps on growing gradually to enrapture him in a spectral of sorrow; leaving him without a light and any shred of hope.

Not that it mattered anyways, Vladimir was born alone; lived his life alone and probably will die alone.

When the hamster drowned completely ; the man grumbled and stood up to make away to his estranged family whom visits him scarcely in his shack of solitude.

●◉◎◈◎◉●

" приве́т, брат. как дела? ", a familiar care-free voice echoed through the Siberian larch shack.

" Здравствуйте, младшая сестра.Я в поря́дке", replied Vladimir in a monotone tone.

A few minutes have passed, yet the situation kept on getting awkward between the estranged siblings. Until, Dunya abruptly disturbed the silence with her sugary voice.

" Brother, l may not visit you frequently. However, I fret alot about how negligent you've recently become not only toward us, but also toward yourself. So, I have an idea to remedy your desolation. ," the Belarusian suggeted awaiting the response of the reticent male.

"What that may be ? It won't work. No matter any attempt I've conducted to burn the memory. At best it haunts me, at worst, it depletes me.", came the cynical voice of the large man who is huddled beside the fireplace.

"Please understand that I give you my word that this time you'll- , she was cut off by Vladimir.

"No! You lack understandment. If you did understand me back then, why did abandon me? Now, don't try to manipulate me with your sugar-coated words,dear sister", his voice filled with loathe and disregard toward his traitor of a sister. Not that she was of his own blood, which proves his point people are discrenibly not to be trusted.

At one point, they'll take what they want from you; and then they will abandon you at any chance they get. He wont let it happen to him again. Never again.

As he ignored the wailing of his pathetic sister to stay and consider ; he left his shack and decided to go to the nearest town to meet one of the few people he came to trust. (Y/n).

His beloved snowflake.

His latest hope, that he'll make sure to persevere this time.

It's his turn to be selfish and take his reward for all the years of agony and loneliness.

●◉◎◈◎◉●

A jingle was heard notifying you that a customer came. Only to be pleasantly surprised, that it was the the russian regular customer; Vladimir.

Well,at first he intimidated you; with his structure,lack of expression,and his nihilistic attitude. With time, as you got to know him better he is such a fascinating and kind man despite the rumors spread about him.

The enormous brunette approached you with a stoic expression decorating his visage, however you knew better that he was glum.

"What seems to trouble you,Vlad? You appear to be out of it today, more than the usual?", you asked concerned about him; considering Vlad repress his emotion which isn't a healthy outlet as of you red about.

Another thing, he cherishes about you that your concerns and frets are genuine. Alongside, your intellect that sparked both his mind and heart alike.

" Нет, just stressed. I want to talk to you,if you're not busy.", he huffed as he inserted his large hands inside the pockets of his overcoat.

" No, not all. Considering I am about to close the shop now. I don't mind accompany you. Just give me a momento~ and I'll be ready.", as you left to close the shop; you didn't notice the ghost of a smile contorting through the face of the brunette russian.

●◉◎◈◎◉●

"So, what are up to,Vlady? and care to share why were you upset? I don't want to be pushy, but If you'd like to share then I am all ears", you remarked and poked the towering man inflicting a warm feeling inside his heart. Just like the sun he rarely saw.

Sighing, as he began to retell about what happened a month ago along with recent happenings.

The way, he spoke about his best friend passing hurt your heart- reflecting your true nature as an empath- and the cold anger of his when he spoke about his family.

You wondered what happened to represent such hate. No matter, what matters now is to bring Vladimir spirits up.

"Say, what would you like me to do to bring your hopes up? Anything you'd like!", as you encircled your arms around his waist or in your case below his stomach.

The warmth of your bodice and it softness clashed against his rough and cold ones made him realize, how much of an important factor you represent in his wretched life with his wretched family and wretched luck.

In addition, if anyone did what you did he will forcefully push them aside. But, you! you are his everything as much as he will be your everything soon enough.

Now, the door of opportunities had granted him this chance to enrapture you in his grasp forevermore; thus he will take it with an iron firm hands.

"да,please. Follow me to my lodge,маленький", offering his hands to you.

Grasping his hands, you began to walk aside him to his abode.

●◉◎◈◎◉●

Nothing,but the howling of the wind was heard ; as the both of you strolled toward his domicile. Vladimir reached his pockets to grab the keys and open the inky door.

"Such an interesting and intricate place you got,Vlad. Did you buy it?", stepping inside of the well-decorated abode. Said abode, was built upon black wood, and everything here are made of either wood or rarely metal.

Yet, it captured your interest as you are a fan of vintage architecture such as this.

"Glad you like it. However, I hadn't bought it. If, anything I built from scratch as I have an interest in building structures."

"My, that's amazing!,Vlad. You're such a talented man", you complimented his craftsmanship as you laid your hand at a woman in bridal clothes made from various type of wood.

Meanwhile, as you were immersed in the details of the house ; Vladimir brewed some tea for both him and his wife-to-be.

' It seems that you took my den to your liking. Good, adapt. Because, from on you'll be living here ;you'll become one with me and won't have the chance to leave me.'

" (Y/n)? May you come and chatter with me over a cup of tea?", Vladimir beckoned you as he sat in an umber chair; which is in front of a circular chocolate brown table.

"Sure thing.", trotting toward him with a sparkle of interest residing in your eyes. On the other hand, your guts is telling you otherwise. However, you ignored it. That was the last strike, before your fall down.

" Remember our first meeting? Nostalgic as it may be,but it always have a special place in my dormant heart", the brunette sipped his tea as he awaited your response.

" Indeed, I do !. Infact, I do too cherished and it is very sweet of you to say that. Considering, you're a grumpy bear usually", you remarked playfully,sipped your tea, and watched him glare at you halfheartedly.

" V-vlady, what's happening all of sudden. Why is everything so dizzy?", you spoke as you watch the world around you swirl and black spots began hazing your mind. Before you plummeted to the ground, a large arms had caught you in their arms. It wasn't warm this time,it was deathly cold similar to the embrace of death himself.

The last thing you saw were; Vlad's bloody irises and a cold smile gracing his visage.

●◉◎◈◎◉●

Once you awakened from your stupor, you were met directly with the bloody orbs of the person whom took advantage of you.

" Ah! маленький. You've awaken; its seems the drug didn't last long. No matter, what truly matters is that you're with me now." ,Vladmir crawled closer to you. Thus, you started to take a step from your former friend.

"Why are you doing this Vladimir? Why? after all we've been through; you do this", your eyes began to drip in tears as you screamed at your fr- No! at the strange man that possessed your friend.

"Because, you are the only one who cares authentically about me and isn't afraid of me. You painted my grey world with your light. You're the sunshine that I never had, this why I have to keep you away. So, no one would taint you. Can't you see I am a merely broken man shunned and forsakened by his own family?. Yet, you want to take away my chance of happiness,маленький?", Vladimir remarked bitterly,staring intently through your eyes with desolate engraved in his cold dead eyes.

"Just give into me,love. If you won't I might do something we both will regret."

Finally, in the end he have gotten something good out of this pointless life! and he'll will ensure her safety with him as he'll drown her with the love that he never had.

This is a story of man who lost everything,yet he gained something better than everything; eternal love.

●◉◎◈◎◉●

A/n: Hope you like it. Sorry if it took so long and thank you for requesting!

Translations:

приве́т, брат. как дела? - Hello,brother. How are you?

Здравствуйте, младшая сестра.Я в поря́дке. - Hello, little sister. I'm fine.

да - Yes.

маленький - little one.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere hetalia #yandere hetalia x reader #yandere #yandere fandoms #yandere imagines

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madphantom · 5 years

Text

The Sound of Life - Chapter 4

The next morning they were eating breakfast. Phoenix was still wearing her pajamas.

"Phoenix," Winslow suddenly said.

"Yeah?"

Winslow looked as shy as he had on the day Phoenix had seen him for the first time. "Ahum... Phinny..."

"Yeah?"

"Phinny... on Friday it's my sister Lucy's birthday. I...I think it's about time you meet my family."

For a second she was very quiet. Then: "Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh."

Dunphy looked just like it had when Winslow had left to look for fame. A soft summer wind was blowing over the yellow fields and playing with his hair. The sky was blue. First golden leaves were sailing across the streets, but most trees were still green. Some people passed them. Not everyone recognized Winslow. Those who did looked surprised or shocked. And they whispered.

"Look!"

"It's him! It's Winslow!"

"Harry's kid!"

"The Leach boy! The one who ran off to New York!"

"The musical one, who got lessons from Carmine!"

"My God, what happened to his face?"

"And who's the girl?"

"Yes, who's the girl?"

Before he rang the doorbell Winslow realized that Phoenix deserved a warning. "Phoenix...I have five talkative sisters."

She laughed. "Good company for me. Let's go."

He pressed the bell.

For a few seconds nothing happened. Then the door opened. The fragile elderly woman in the doorway had fluffy hair and was wearing thick glasses. She hadn't changed a bit.

"Winslow!", Joan Leach yelped and pulled him into a long hug.

"Winslow?" Suddenly a tall lanky girl with equally thick glasses and a ponytail appeared in the corridor. "Winslow, bro!" She sprinted over and joined her mother in hugging the lost son.

"Whatcha sayin... Wins'!!!"

"The lost son has returned!"

"Bro! Bro! Bro!"

"Winsy! I knew you'd come back!"

"Sonny, don't you ever dare scare your poor old dad like that again!"

In the end, four siblings and the father had joined the group hug. Phoenix was awkwardly standing next to them.

Finally Momma Leach chased her children off. "Dear God, we're gonna suffocate the lost sheeple. Emmy, Jenny...Jenny! Sandy! Ellie! Harry, don't smother your son like that, I want him to live another day. Winslow, for God's sake, what kind of trouble did you get in in New York?"

He laughed shyly. "I'm gonna tell you later, first of all-" He reached out for Phoenix and pulled her to his side. "- I want you to meet Phoenix, my girlfriend."

"We've lived to see the day, my wee lil bro got himself a girlfriend," Emmy commented.

"Emmy!", Joan hissed. The girl shrugged her shoulders. Winslow laughed.

"Why are we standing in the doorway?", Jenny suddenly asked. "Come in! Let's get in the living room!"

They sat down at the table. The twins, Sandy and Ellie, brought two extra chairs.

"Winslow, we want you to tell us everything," Poppa Leach said. "And Phoenix...if he exaggerates stop him from doing that."

She laughed. "I will."

"First things first: What the hell happened to your visage?", Emmy asked.

"Emmy!"

"What? He was ugly already when he left, but it was definitely not the pollution in NYC that made him even uglier."

"Emmy!"

"No, no, she's right," Winslow laughed. "Gosh, Emmy, I missed your salty comments."

"See, mum?" She grinned triumphantly.

"Anyway," Winslow continued. "I got my head caught in a record press."

Poppa Leach looked over to Phoenix. "I asked you to prevent him from exaggerating."

"In fact he's understating,' Phoenix mumbled.

"Gosh, Winslow you've always been one clumsy individual, but this just takes the cake."

"Emmy!"

"How is it even possible to do that?"

"Right, how do you get your head caught in a fucking record press, Winslow?"

"Sandy! Language!"

"I tried to destroy all copies of Faust Death Records printed," Winslow tried to explain.

"Oh yeah, I heard those bastards play your stuff on the radio...!"

"Ellie! Language!" Everyone laughed.

"And your voice?", Joan asked.

"Same thing."

"I've told you, son, New York is no good," Harry murmured.

"But how did you two meet, I'm curious!", Jenny burst out. Everyone else was quick to beg Winslow to tell the story. He laughed. "Well, I heard her sing Faust and..."

"Dot dot dot? Ey yo, you're not usually that type," Emmy remarked.

"Emmy!"

"Sorry momma."

"We kind of lost contact after we first met and then later Winslow found me again and we had a chat - I didn't recognize him then, because-" - Phoenix gesticulated at Winslow - "-Face. Then the next day Winslow saved me from being shot and got wounded himself and while he was in hospital we started talking and, well, became a couple."

"Awwwww," Jenny commented. "Hey, Phoenix, you're his first girlfriend, just so you know."

"Really?" Phoenix looked over to Winslow. "You didn't tell me!"

He blushed. Everyone laughed.

"Lucy is gonna marry soon too!", Ellie burst out.

"Really?" Winslow raised his eyebrows. "What'd I miss?"

Sandy grinned mischievously. "His name is Oskar. He's a historian from Germany. He's divorced and has a kid."

"They met in the grocery store!", Ellie yelled.

"I wanna know more!"

"She bumped into him..."

"...more or less deliberately."

"Less, according to her! Apparently it was an accident!"

"Sure."

"When is she coming?"

"Should arrive any minute, Winslow. Get ready for confused German mumbling!"

Everyone laughed.

"I left the cake in the oven!", Joan yelled and rushed into the kitchen. She returned with a warm oven-fresh cherry pie. A wonderful smell filled the living room. Winslow felt truly at home. The doorbell rang.

"That's them!", one of the twins yelled and sped off to open the door.

"She's gonna go flippin' when she sees you, Winsy," Jenny whispered.

"I hope she doesn't get a heart attack from your visage, bro," Emmy joked.

"Emmy!", Joan hissed. Winslow quickly combed his hair over his bad eye.

"That's not necessary, you know," Phoenix remarked.

"I was just joking," Emmy agreed.

"I know, I just thought I really shouldn't shock Lucy more than necessary right away." Winslow grinned.

A short woman of around forty with wild dark blonde hair and thick glasses walked into the kitchen, only to freeze as soon as she spotted her long lost brother. She stared at him in pure shock.

"Winslow?!"

"Hi." He grinned like a young shark.

Behind Lucy a lanky redhead of forty and a little girl with pigtails appeared.

"Hey, Lucy, what's wrong?", Oskar asked.

She pointed at Winslow, her face as pale as if she'd seen a ghost. "Tha-tha-that's my brother...and he's dead!"

"Happy Birthday," Winslow replied.

Lucy looked like she'd just been forced to swallow a rolled up newspaper. "H-h-how this possible?"

She was so shocked she'd literally forgotten grammar.

The Leaches looked at each other and collectively burst out laughing at Lucy's puzzled expression. Finally Winslow got up and walked over to her.

"Jesus was resurrected," Emmy commented.

"Emmy! No jokes about God!"

"Sure, mum."

Lucy blinked five times. Then she reached out and touched Winslow to convince herself that he was, in fact, real and standing in front of her. Then her eyes widened. "I'm not dreaming!"

"Nope."

And suddenly she launched herself forward and gave him a hug. Winslow laughed. "It's nice to see you too, Sis." Over his sister's shoulder he greeted Oskar, who looked quite baffled. "Hi, you must be Oskar. My sisters told me about you..."

"Ja," Oskar replied in confusion, then realized he was speaking the wrong language. "Ich...I mean - yes, I'm Oskar."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Winslow Leach." They shook hands and Lucy let Winslow go. She reached behind herself and took the little girl's hand. "Maite, c'mon. Winslow, this is Maite... Oskar's daughter. Maite, this is Winslow - your uncle."

Maite tilted her head curiously. "Mr Winslow, why do you have silver teeth?"

"What?", Lucy asked in confusion, followed by a "Holy shit!"

She looked absolutely helpless. "Oh my God...oh my God...I... I...I need a chair."

Sandy brought her one and Lucy plummeted onto the seat. She was still staring at Winslow like he was a ghost. Joan served the cake. "Lucy, will you drop the plate if I give it to you?"

"Wha - no." She took it. She was still staring at Winslow.

"Her eyes are going to pop out any second," Harry commented.

"H-how come you're here?!", Lucy asked Winslow.

He laughed. "Ah well... it's a long story. But first of all, I want you to meet Phoenix - my girlfriend."

"Hi." Phoenix waved. "It's nice to meet you."

"Okay, I must be dreaming," Lucy slowly and serenely uttered. "Winslow's back, he got a makeover and he has a girlfriend. I'm asleep and my brain is playing tricks on me."

Winslow and Emmy collectively rolled their eyes.

"Now you're overreacting," Jenny said.

"No, I'm not." Lucy finally managed a shaky laugh. "Alright. Winsly - you have a lot to explain." She frowned. "Hey, what's that with your eye?"

Winslow wiped away his hair and Lucy visibly paled. "Alright, the tabloids weren't lying."

"Nope," Phoenix agreed. And then Winslow started telling the wild story that had happened to him. Joan gave everyone pieces of cake. Occasionally Winslow was interrupted by gasps, either from Lucy or Jenny or Joan. The twins admired Winslow's makeover. Harry asked him whether metal teeth were more useful than usual ones. Phoenix and Emmy soon appeared to get along greatly. Ellie slid off and returned with Winslow's long-lost copy of Goethe's Faust - she'd borrowed it. It was a wonderful afternoon.

When it got dark Lucy and her new family left to drive back to Oskar's home. The twins were sent to bed, but of course they didn't even bother to go.

"It is crazy to get you back, bro," Emmy at some point commented. "Specially with that Goth upgrade you got."

Winslow chuckled. "Thanks."

"Still," Jenny added. "I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up tomorrow and it would've just been a particularly nice dream."

"Me neither," Winslow laughed.

Joan checked her watch. "It's getting late. Did you take the train?"

"Yes." Phoenix nodded.

"The last train goes at midnight," Emmy said. "Will you take it?"

"Probably," Winslow replied.

"Then you oughta hurry. It's eleven thirty," Joan said. She sighed. "Winslow, I don't want to sound like a stereotypical country mum, but I hate to see you leave."

He chuckled. "I'll come back."

"You promised that last time."

"And I kept my promise, didn't I?"

"You were a year late."

"But I came."

"I have an idea," Phoenix suddenly said. "I can just leave our phone number. And y'all can call. Whenever you feel like it."

And so they did. Phoenix scribbled down her number. Then they left. When Winslow turned around for the last time he saw his family standing in the doorway and waving.

He smiled and waved back.

#you can find the other chapters under the tag the sound of life on my blog #sound of Life #phantom of paradise #phantom of paradise swan #phantom of paradise beef #phantom of paradise phoenix #phantom of paradise winslow #fanfic #madphantom #phantom of the paradise winslow #winslow leech #winslow leach #because like speaking in terms of the story hell of it is probably in winslows pov #winslow goth

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mama-ghostie-61542 · 3 years

Text

A Thousand Lifetimes

Rated M++ for language and themes

If you recognize it, IT AIN'T MINE.

Sorry for the OOC-ness

Chapter 4

Wolf--

"If I hear the word 'Mom' anytime in the next five minutes, you are, all three, gonna lose grandparent privilege's! Enough with the fighting. 'Kala, you need to get over there and do your homework."

"But, Mom," my younger son shouted. "I can't do it alone."

"Yes, you can, dear. All you have to do is write the words in the blanks."

Mornings here were always crazy. This year, they got worse, with all three kids home all day and me working three jobs from home, while taking a few classes to keep up my certification. But what would do my head in were the constant conflicts of scheduling the boys services around project deadlines. Especially when my childless brother was my boss...One of them.

A text came through ~'Hey, Bry, do you have those reports ready? I have to submit them to the bank this afternoon.'

Loveland Demolition was well known in the Midwest, and had been doing well before the pandemic, but now, we were expanding again. I dug around in my ever expanding pile of outgoing paperwork for the fax copy of the expense reports my brother wanted. Why everything with this end of the family business went through me, I would never know. Maybe it was because he had named me our VP of NE Operations. Like I didn't have a decent job already. I mean, I didn't get my Doctorate for it to look pretty on my wall.

Speaking of, I have a class in 15 minutes. Botany of Common Herbs.

I sent off a quick message, ~ I faxed them yesterday. Did you not get them before the boys did?~

My brothers pit bulls were notorious for grabbing the pages as they fell out of the fax machine and shredding them.

A few minutes later, he replied, ~Dammit, Pita! The Pain got 'em. Already in transit?~

~Yep. UPS grabbed it yesterday. Email?~

~Ok. No. Need hard copy. Will reschedule with the bank. Do good in class today!~

About that time I got a plastic cup thrown in my general direction with my oldest son yelling, "More water! Please, Mommy."

Thankfully, my Botany Professor understands me being a little late, as she has a Downie of her own.

I get his water, and as I am standing at the sink for a few seconds extra to breathe, I feel a cold spot on one hip and the pressure of a thumb on my cheek.

'You are amazing, my Queen. You've got this.'

I smile as the feeling, and the ghost of his smiling eyes fades. How does he always know when the stress is getting to me and just what to say; just what to do. It's like I don't have to say a word, he just knows.

Great....Now I am gonna be all giggly the rest of the day. Probably gonna get an email from my Professor, too; nosy old bat.

Kihyun PoV

It was almost 22:00 when I felt the wobble in thin silver thread that connected us. As I reached for it, I felt her stress and frustration start to bleed through and somehow, instinctively knew what to do. It bothers me when she gets this stressed, because she forgets to take care of herself. And then the tension lodges in her back, manifesting as a knot just to the left of her spine.

Settling myself into my meditation, I could almost see her standing at the sink, working on something. Always working, this girl; whether it's on her actual job, her side hustle, an Etsy store where she sells knit caps, or the boys' homework. She ALWAYS has something going on. Her brothers hare-brained decision to expand the family business does not help in the slightest.

As I settle in, I can hear the din of the kids yelling, a timer going off on something, and from some where, another louder ding. She is amazing, how she can just take it all in stride. Some how, I know, she just needs a second to breathe, so I imagine my hand on her hip; stopping her right where she stands.

I visualize my hand cupping her cheek, and whispering to her, 'You are amazing, my Queen. You've got this.' I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I see her smile. That soft, sweet smile, that just borders on the verge of blushing. I send how I feel seeing her smile down that thread and, some how, just know that she will be smiling all day now.

Awakening from my meditation, I glance at the clock. Hmm. Time for bed. But first, I am curious about the next chapter. How in the hell, with everything else she has on her plate, did she find the time to write this.

I set back on my bed, my pillows piled up behind me, and start reading.

Still Joey

I couldn't sleep so I got up at sunrise and made coffee. Sis woke up a little while later. I heard her alarm go off and then, I heard her sniffle a little. As she stumbled to the kitchen for her morning coffee, her whole bearing was like all the wind had been sucked out of her.

My heart went out to her.

"Sis. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Joey. Just my own brain. Think I am going crazy. That's all."

I'm right there with you.

"Explain," I said.

Rather than use actual words, she put on 'Comatose' by Too Close To Touch. "This says it better than I ever could."

I set aside the story and brought up the song. As I sat there listening, I could almost feel how hurt she was. How she thought she was going crazy. I wanted, so much, to fly to her, where ever she was.

"Sissie," I sighed, "What is the matter?"

"I think I am losing my mind, Joey. I just don't want to remember, if remembering is always going to hurt. I'm afraid that it will cost me the one of the two things I am most afraid to lose; my kids or my mind."

"You aren't going crazy, Sis. Who told you that you were crazy for feeling like that?"

"Mom. According to her, I am. Apparently, it is all just a construct of my own mind. Can't be real because it's all in my head, but it is all that I could ever dream of. It makes me want to sleep until it is real. I want to forget the way his voice sounds, cause it hurts too much to hear it when I am alone. I want to forget the color of his eyes, but I see it everyday in my coffee. I want to forget it all, so it doesn't hurt anymore. There is no way he can be real. No way his smell can be real. The more I remembered, I guess, the more I want to forget."

"Bryn, tell me about him?"

"What does it matter? He is no more than a fantasy my own mind created," she said as she dug in a cabinet and added a more than generous amount of Jack Daniels to her coffee.

"Bry! Really??"

"What," she groused as she sipped on her coffee flavored whiskey.

"It is barely sun rise and you are already drinking. What would he say if he caught you?"

"Doesn't matter," she grumbled as her bottom lip pulled in a little and blinked rapidly, a sure sign she was fighting back her own tears. I could see her start to fold in around herself.

'No, my dear, I am very real. And very disappointed.'

"Bullshit," I yelled. "It does matter! I will prove you wrong. I'll prove to you that he is very real," I growled in my own temper, as I leaned over the table at her, "and I know him. He would be so disappointed in you, right now. Instead of working with the connection, you were trying to drown the memories in whis-," I came to a dead stop as I realized what was actually happening. "How long have you been fighting them? The memories, I mean."

'Told ya. Wait. What!? She'd been wrestling with our memories? Oh, my stubborn Wolf, you were never meant to carry them all yourself.'

She deflated and slid the mug away from her. Resting her head on her arms, she whispered, "I was 14 the first time I remembered anything. At the time it was no more than a whisper, a cold spot when I was upset or hurting. Which, lets be honest, was a lot of the time back then. When I was 16, I finally worked up the courage to talk to someone about my dreams. My mistake was telling Ma."

I cringed. I had heard nasty stories about her mom, but sat still and let her continue.

Is her mother really that bad? How much of this had she been keeping from me.

"She went off and let loose a litany of my supposed short-comings. I still remember it, to this day. 'You are so stupid. Why would any man, especially one like THAT, want anyone like you. Anyone else would be better than YOU; you stupid, worthless, ignorant, ugly, child.' After that, I went back to keeping it all to myself. This one," she said as she brought up Forest Blakk's 'Find Me', "Says it all."

I put on the song and knew how it had hurt her for years. My anger burned when the artist spoke of being told you were crazy. 'I want her, you Crazy Bitch. Good Mother, Please,' I started, before thinking better of the prayer that had been on my tongue a moment ago. 'Please watch over her, Grandmother.'

Hearing her own mother call her those things, was tough to listen to. But I could tell she still wasn't finished yet. I let her go, she had years of this pain to offload.

"As I got older, it changed. I was almost 26 when the burn of a kiss landed on my cheek. My ex-husband, at the time, saw the blister it left and went ballistic. Woke me up by kicking the end of the bed. 'I want a divorce. I don't know who he is, but I plan on making you pay for it. Now, get your stuff and get out.' And I paid for it, alright. Didn't even bother to ask if I had it the night before, just assumed I was sneaking out. I never did. Looking back now, maybe I should have left the first time accused me. The ink wasn't dry on the divorce papers when he got remarried. Literally, got them both done in half an hour."

"Are you kidding me? He wanted to accuse you, but he...," I will admit that I was finally starting to see just how messed up her life had been. "Did you love him?"

'Messed up,' I thought, 'No, Sir. Her life has been a craptastic shitshow of epic fucking proportions. Honestly, I would like to know what fucking moronic bastard ordered this shitastical fuckfest for my Queen! I'd like to fucking throat punch him.'

She shook her head. "No. My mother sat it all up. Literally walked into the house Friday afternoon and said, 'You are getting married on Monday at 9.' He was getting deployed and she thought he would be a good fit for me, that she would get grands out of the deal. She didn't find out he was fixed until he was already gone. That is where I learned to keep my hair really short. He used to drag me around by it and scream about all of the things I did. The next day he would scream and drag me around by it to yell about all the stuff I didn't get done."

"So it was more or less arranged?"

"Yeah. After that, I met the asshole. The day he left, I had just buried a brother, and I had lost my job; all on my birthday. After all that, I fell into a deep depression. To the point where I would wonder sometimes why I was still breathing. It was in that place that I saw him. It was no more than his eyes, the exact shade of my coffee, and that voice, but still; if not for him..." she trailed off, a haunted look in her eyes.

After a few minutes of her staring off into space, I prodded, "If not for him?"

She turned and looked at me, "I wouldn't be here. I would have cut ties with this world and willingly walked right into that darkness. I can remember him telling me once, 'Don't you give up. Don't you dare give up. Get up, keep moving.' It was those eyes though, watching them seem to burn in the darkness. They stayed with me so much that I drew them at least a thousand times."

"Really?"

"Yep. Dark eyes that burn," she chuckled. "Got called crazy for that one, too. 'Why do you always draw the exact same thing, ya crazy bitch? How about a tree or a nice mountain. Why is it always those damned eyes, Not that a worthless bitch like you can draw anyway.' So yeah, there's that."

"Hold it. She actually called you worthless?"

Bryn just nodded. "Multiple times, and ugly quite a few times. At the end with the ex, she told me, 'I hate that when I, and she stressed the 'I', put a block in your path, you seem to dance around it and go off into the woods and still end up on the other side. That you whip off of the beaten path, going God knows where, on some barely visible game trail, and somehow still come out on the other side, just where you meant to be'. She said nothing pissed her off more than my ability to adapt."

'That's my Ghostie,' I thought as I smiled proudly. 'Her ability to see things others miss, explodes lower minds.'

Now, I have seen pictures of her mom and old photos of Bryn when she was younger. Let me tell you, when she was young, Bryn was coltishly pretty before becoming ethereal. Not that you could tell it now. Now, she jokes that she traded looks for brains about the time she got her doctorate.

"So, how did you end up with Clark?"

"He was there and I was getting tired of waiting, tired of my Auntie's trying to set me up with whatever boy they could find. One tried to set me up with her ex-nephew. That was nothing but awkward. We are still good friends, almost family. He has said before, 'I love you to bits, but that is icky, you are like a sister to me. Now, please, go throw on a skirt, you have amazing legs and should show them off.' That boy can turn up the girlfriend vibe in 3 seconds...flat.

I know someone who can do that. Weird.

"In the end, I got tired of the pitying looks I would get at the family things. Truth be told, when I told him to either commit or get out, I thoroughly expected him to take off at a run, like he couldn't get away fast enough. Before I knew what had happened, he told everyone I had proposed and picked a Saturday. After that, it was a whirlwind and I almost took off."

"Took off? Eloped?"

She snickered. "No. Ran away. Far away."

"Oh. So you almost pulled a runner?"

"Oh yeah. Had my bestie stand up with me because I knew that if Haka showed up and objected, he would have knocked Clark to the floor to give me time to run."

'I very nearly did show up.'

I thought back to what I said when he finally left.

"What did I say?" I stood there, leaning on the doorway, arms crossed over my chest, fingers tapping on my bicep. The look on my face was thoroughly parental.

"That it would never work."

"And....."

"You were right, I was wrong, I am sorry."

"You gonna listen to me from now on?" My face was passive, but there if she had looked she would have seen the anger in my eyes. I wasn't mad at her, I was more than a little upset with him, though.

"Yes, Dear."

"Good Girl. I'll be home as soon as I can." I cupped her face, kissed her forehead, and said, "Don't do it again. Next time you won't get away with it, my stubborn Wolf."

"Next time?"

I was turning to head back to my body, "First one doesn't count. It was arranged. This one, you got swept up in. Don't do it again. Now, go to sleep."

I had to breathe a minute against the anger building in my chest. Then, I went back to the story.

"You call him 'Haka'? That's cute."

"Yeah, he's Heyhaka, the Elk. Haka, for short. Then there is Sweet Pea, and the occasional Assbag."

"And is he often a jerk?"

"Nah. Only when he is making promises he has no intentions to keep."

'Listen here, Lady! I fully intend to keep them when they are made, Woman!'

"I really don't think he would make them if he didn't intend on keeping them, Sissie. Sometimes, circumstance gets in the way, and then they don't get the focus they deserve. How does he phrase it?"

"All he says is 'Soon'."

I laughed. "The word 'soon' is not a promise. It's an open guarantee."

"What?"

"It's a half promise. He can't put a time on it so he just says soon. You know, sometimes you can be kind of dense."

'Exactly. You are kind of thick sometimes, Darling.'

Bryn's cheeks pinked. "Aww, shut the fuck up," She laughed.

"You've got a potty mouth!"

My jaw dropped. 'Naughty.'

"Like you didn't know or don't have one of your own. Has he not told you the extent of my sailor's mouth?"

"He doesn't know that I know you. I get to hear about everything from both sides. Kinda makes me wanna poke my ear drums out sometimes."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You two are fuckin' perfect for each other."

'I guess we are, huh?'

About that time, the kids started waking up. Davidd was first, followed by Mattie, and then Darryn. I was sitting on the couch, getting the walkthrough of how to turn on the cartoon channels when Mattie climbed up next to me and curled up in my side.

"Morning, Munchkin," I said cheerfully.

She sagged against me and whispered, "Morning, Uncle Joey. Can I have some new milk?"

I was taken aback by the simplicity of the request. "Shouldn't you be asking your mom for that?"

"I would but Daddy called and him and mama got into another fight."

'And that just cashed out my good night.', I thought as I could have sworn I heard a knock at my door.

A-N:) Please don't shoot the messenger. Spirit put up some of the tags. Lol.

#my writing #original writing #past life #twin flames #soul connection #yin and yang #twin souls #soul mates #soul mate #soulmates #soulmate #monsta x fic #kihyun fic #fanfic #fan fiction

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ghost1643 · 4 years

Text

Hogwash-idea

(So since JK Rowling is asking like a trash again, I figured I’d posted the Hogwarts story idea I wrote when I was in middle school baed off of a tumblr idea about a few ideas a read on tumblr, mainly one about a Muslim student at Hogwarts, which happens to be Alma but, I never learned enough about the religion to feel like I could write it even remotely correctly.)

And pleas let me say that I also had plans to add two gay couples (one was two boys, one from Spanish boy from Slithern named Cole and one was from Raven claw, was an African American named Jack) (other couple was to girls, one named Oliva and was from raven claw and one was Abbigail who comes uo later in this rant part) a bisexual boy named Eric from hufflepuff puff ti the group and a trans griffindor girl, name Abbigal, who was supposed to have freckles and always wear pink just b/c she likes it.)

Year one, day zero

It was a normal day at platform 9 3/4. Wizard and muggle parents were hugging their children goodbye before they left. One family had a young eleven year old who was trying to escape his mother's grip.

Graham's mother was hugging him to death while giving him kisses. Each time she would kiss his blushing cheeks red lip stick stain in her lips place. Meanwhile behind his mother, his father was holding back a stiff laugh while his little sister hugged his legs tightly. Meanwhile his grandfather just watched from a distance with a look of disgust on his face as he saw muggles walk by. Each one of these family members had bright blond hair so, it was easy to tell who was related.

"Ma, stop it. You're embarrassing me!" Graham complained. His mother kept hugging him to death. Like always her long blond hair flew in the wind with ever move she took. As for her black dress, it went to the floor, covered her arms completely and had a red belt to it. She also had a grey cape over her back.

Meanwhile his little sister Tulip whipped her running nose on his black pant leg. She was wearing the same perfect red puff dress as always. Her hair was always in perfect curls too. The young six year old girl always found a way to look as cute as possible. Even while crying her eyes out.

"Melissa, we have to let him go. Even his owl is getting impatient." His father chuckled. Graham's mother let another snuffle escape her mouth as she let go of her baby boy. Tulip copied her mother but, ended up hugging her mom's legs instead.

"I know but, I can't help it. It feels like just yesterday I was holding him in my arms and now he's off to Hogwarts." Melissa sobbed looking at her young son. Her dark brown eyes were filled with almost as much tears that were in her daughter's brown eyes. She pushed her hands through her son's blond hair with a sad smile. Graham reached up and held his mothers hand.

"Mom, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. I'm gonna be just fine." Graham smiled. His mother gave him another sad smile before she walked over to her husband. She some how had escaped her daughter's grip. Which was probably why she was back to hugging his legs while crying.

"Tulip, I gotta go." Graham smiled as he messed with his sister's perfect hair. She looked up with big tears in her eyes.

"Don't forget about me." She begged as she finally let go.

"How can I forget my favourite flower?" Graham asked as he put his left hand back on his suit cases. Meanwhile the snowy owl that had been walking back in forth on it's cage was now trying to find a way out. The cage began rocking back and forth while sitting on top of his suit cases.

Graham just sighed as he began to walk into a large train that had just pulled up to the station. Meanwhile his crying mother and sister were hugging his father to death. Yet, his grandfather raced over and pulled him into a hug. Graham froze before hugged him back. His grandfather usually was never like this. Not even at his great uncles funeral.

"Stay away from mudbloods. They don't deserve to be with us today." His grandfather whispered in his ear. Graham sighed. Wizards born by normal non magic users were known as his grandfather's worst enemy. In fact, there were rumours going around his home that he killed two muggle children at a beach and was never charged.

Graham preyed that those weren't true. Yet, he knew there was a chance that this happened. After all his grandfather talked about being a death eater at house parties at their place. Were they true? Only his grandfather knew.

"I will." Graham lied. His grandfather pulled away with a Saturn smile on his face.

"Good." His grandfather stated as a loud whistle rung out from the train behind them. Quickly he turned his back and hurried into the train. A few more children ran in after him. You could hear them laughing an stalking with each other. Then everyone ran to the windows as the train began moving.

Graham hung out an opened window. His little sister, mother and father were waving goodbye from where they stood. That is until his sister as well as his mother chased the train with tear running down their faces. He waved goodbye whole yelling,

"See you all this Christmas!"

The he turned around to see six children staring at him. Quickly they all turned around but, he knew why they were staring.

(Sorry text is stuck like this for some reason now)

He was apparently related to a death eater. It was like a sort of disease at this school. Everyone hated them. They did kill a lot of people though. Like thousands of non-magic users and magic users. Thousands of families were ripped apart before the dark lords defeat in 1999. Yet, it was 2017 and no was one was over it. No one would ever be over it. There were even rumours of the dark lords child being around. So, every child was ready to turn on a slitherin or others if needed.

Graham quickly ran down a hallway looking for an open compartment. The first one he saw was full of ravenclaw second years. As for the second one, it was full of fifth slitherins. Now the third was full of fourth year griffindors. Then as you could guess, the fifth was full of third year hufflepuffs. After that when ever he would look in a compartment someone would close the door quickly. That is until, he entered a compartment with a brown haired girl in current world muggle clothing.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked. The young girl's bright brown eyes drifted from the window to him. Looking in them made him think of the best hot chocolate ever. Her eyes also made his heart speed up a bit.

"Nope. It probably won't be either unless you sit in it." She stated. Her voice was high pitched but, had a sort of tone that made it sound like she was singing a beautiful medley. It also lacked the same accent that everyone around him spoke. This some how made her more unique in his eye.

Graham sat down next to the strange girl. She was wearing a weird hoodie that was rainbow coloured with a symbols that read "nike". Graham assumed that 'Nike' was some sort of secret muggle club. She also appeared to be wearing long blue pants with rips in them. Which also look a little weird to him. There was also a golden heart necklace around her neck.

"I'm Graham by the way." He smiled as he extended his hand. A tiny cute smile spread across her large pink lips.

"I'm Melody. And if you don't mind me asking, what the fresh heck are you wearing?" She asked looking at his outfit. Graham was wearing a green fancy robe that had a black gem stone right under his neck. He kinda looked like he was a vampire or something. Or at least to Melody it did. Maybe she should stop watching monster movies with her family.

"It's a robe. A very fancy expensive one. Plus, I wanted to know what are you wearing?" He asked.

"This is common non-mag, I mean muggle clothes. What? Never seen a muggle born before?" Melody asked with a smirk. Wait, this girl was a muggle born? He had never seen one this up close before. Especially one who knew about the wizarding world.

"Your a muggle born? What's life like for you? No wait, is it true you have some sort of machine to wash dishes for you that can't use magic? Is it also true you have a machine to wash clothes? Is it true that ghost can talk to muggle too? What's your house like? I bet it's tiny! Oh do you have a pet? Not like a magic pet but, a normal pet that cane be handled by muggles. Is it true that you can adopt a large dog and have it be a hard dog for you? What's this LGBTQ I heard about?" Graham asked over 21 questions after these. Melody just felt her face heat up a bit until he stopped talking. After words a tiny bit of laughter filled the room. It was one of the prettiest things Graham had ever heard.

"You've never meet a muggle or muggle born before have you?" She asked. Graham shook his head no. With a smile she began to explain all of these things as the train continued down the track.

Eventually the two twelve year olds bought candies. Oka, Graham went to guy the candies then heard Melody stomach rumble. Then he found out she didn't have any money, just a couple sandwiches. Which she searched for and couldn't find. So he bought candies for them to split. What kinds? Well he got chocolate frogs, jelly slugs, Bertie Bott's every flavour jelly beans, acid pops, ice mice and fizzing whizbees. All of which Melody loved.

The two began joking around while, eating wizard candy until Graham put a single yellow jelly in his mouth. Then he had a look of disgust fell across his face. Quickly he stuck his younger out and tried to look for a place to spit it out. He raced around their art until a laughing Melody opened a window. He spit that out the window before she could say anything.

"W-what flavour was that?" Melody asked through a lot of laughter. Graham whipped his tongue on his hand once. Then he realized that the taste was still there. So he did it again. And again. And again. He ended up doing this 15 times before the taste was gone. While he did this Melody continued to laugh her butt off.

"Vomit. It was vomit flavoured." Graham stated. Melody laughed before saying one thing.

"This is going to be the best school ever."

~time skip~

The large sorting hat was placed on top of Melody's long brown hair. She looked as nervous as everyone else did. Yet, she didn't whisper which house she wanted to be in or not be in like everyone else now a days. Nope. She just kept whispering,

"Please let me have friends where ever I go for once."

She just kept repeating it over again and again. That is until five seconds later when everyone heard it say something. Which was...

"Hufflepuff."

Graham felt his face fall from where he was sitting. He had kinds hoped that Melody got sorted into Slytherin with him. Not so she could be the fist muggle born in there. Nope. So he could be friends with a non rich kid. Yet, this didn't mean they still couldn't talk.

Soon Graham found him self sleepily walking to the dungeon to the Slytherin dorm room. He rubbed the sleep out of his blue eyes as the people around him were laughing and talking. They had tried to avoid him. These kids seemed to hate him too. Who knows why!

"This year the password is mudblood." The perfect let out a crew smiled. Graham felt his face fall. He wasn't going to say that word daily just to go in his room. Nope! He would rather sleep in the hallway. So would two other Slytherin. Which they would end up doing in exact two days.

~~~~~~~…~💜~~~~~

Year one, day one

Character based on this head canon.

Graham could feel his eyes bulge out of his head as he saw a fimilar brunette race across the room to the ravenclaw dining table. Students were supposed to sit with their houses while eating. Not other houses. Yet, he soon realized she was talking to a girl with olive skin wearing a blue scarf over her head. The young girl she was talking to was sitting all alone at the end of the table. Which was probably why Melody was able to get to that seat quickly.

The two girl's laughed a bit as the scarf girl ate vegetables. Which seemed to be the only thing on her plate. The scarf girl's brown eyes seemed to be filled with as much joy as ever as she seemed to tell a joke. He only assumed it was a joke since it made Melody laugh so hard she snorted.

Then they seemed to talk about something else. Something Melody said made the scarf girl look that way. Her dark brown eyes were confused before she turned to Melody. Graham's face heated up as he saw this scarf girl saying something to her while pointing her long olive fingers at him. Melody's brown eyes flew over to him. A large smile spread across her face as she waved him over. Meanwhile scarf girl giggled a bit.

Graham looked to his left. Then his right. Afterwords the large table where the teachers ate. Luckily the teachers were all to gust talking to notice the hufflepuff sitting with a ravenclaw. Then there was also the fact that no one at this table would ever listen to him. He was really bored at this table anyways.

So he made a mad dash over to that table. Somehow he got over to the seat in front of the two girl's without being seen. Both girl's giggled a bit seeing the look of fear on his face. Plus his hair was a mess. Quickly he ran his hand through his hair before smiling back. Hopefully it was back to normal.

"Hi. I'm Graham." He smiled. The scarf girl giggled the same time Melody laughed. They both had large smiles on their face.

"Graham this is my friend, Almas." Melody smiled. Graham smiled as he extended a hand to her.

"It's nice to meet you Graham. Melody talks about you a lot." Alma smiled. She had a accent he had heard before. It was a nice accent. A beautiful one but, not as beautiful as Melody's voice all together.

"Nice go meet you Almas." Graham smiled. Almas looked at him for a moment before a large smile spread across her face.

"You know, you are unlike any other Slytherin I meet here so far." Almas stated as she ate a fork of vegetables. Graham sighed. That would make sense. Other Slitherns weren't exactly the make friends kind of people. They preferred to stay together like a wolf pack so that no one would judge them. It seemed to be the only thing anyone did any more.

"I know, I am the most handsome boy in the house." Graham smiled leaning back in his seat and holding his leg in the air in a bit. All while making something called 'duck lips' that Melody said models in the muggle world used. Both girl's giggled while looking at each other.

"I don't know about that." Almas smiled. Graham sat up straight before putting on a a fake pouting look on his face. This just made both girl's giggle again. Which in Graham's defence was his plan.

"but, you're the only one who has actually talked to me in your house and mine." Almas sighed. Graham could feel his face scrunch up. No one had talked to her? Why? She looked like any other kid here. So, why had no one talked to her yet?

"Like I said Almas, if you want I could always make them talk to you." Melody stated looking at her. Almas sighed.

"I know you can but, I still I just want one person in this house to talk to me on their own will. Not because they're forced to be my potions partner." Almas stated again.

"How many times do I have to tell you, that's not the reasons I talked to you for." Melody sighed. Graham looked at Almas again. Why would no one talk to her?

"If it helps, Melody talks to everyone. She likes everyone." Graham explained. Almas's eyes lit up as a tiny smile spread across her face. Meanwhile Graham was now frowning. Did she really think Melody didn't like her?

"I would never have suspected that." Almas smirked as she ate another bite of her supper. Melody rolled her eyes.

"I told you. Now, let's get back to the topic we were talking about before hand. Graham?" Melody asked. Graham jumped a bit hearing Melody say his name. Almas now had a larger smile on her face. Almost as if she knew something was there. Something that Melody wouldn't admit was ever there.

"Yeah?" Graham asked.

"Would you tell Almas that anime isn't all blood and guts! She's only heard of one and now she think all anime are bloody!" Melody complained throwing her hands up in the air. Graham stared at her for a moment.

"What the bloody hell is anime?" Graham asked. Melody's jaw dropped.

"You both have much to learn my apprentices. So much to learn." Melody explained.

#reblogs welcome #hogwarts #harrypotter verse #gay right #writing prompt #my writing #moregaypeopleshouldbeinhowarts #everyoneshiuldbeinhogwarts #dont matter who you are #we are all magic here #writing

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spencers-dria · 3 years

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Someone To Stay

Original story by fairytales1896

Spencer x fem reader

7. Meet Me In The Woods

Y/N POV: