#actually I feel like biting something right now. am i going feral? perhaps I should make myself a dinner. maybe. yes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loserchildhotpants · 3 years

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Destiel prompt from Twitter; kissing each other to prove there’s nothing there, even though, it’s a lie, and the kiss proves it (from this prompt list)

“I’m just saying that I don’t think you’d get this defensive if there really wasn’t anything between you two -”

“There isn’t, and I’m not getting defensive!” Dean argues, decidedly defensively.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Sam offers with a shrug and a smirk.

Staring down into the open grave the boys are in, Castiel glances between the brothers and tilts his head, wondering if perhaps by a different angle, he may better understand what their expressions mean.

“We’re bonded or whatever - that’s it, man! There’s nothing else going on!”

“I’m not even saying there is anything ‘going on,’ I’m just saying there could be, and if that were something you wanted -”

“I’m not qu -”

“I know, I get it, I hear you, humor me for a second, okay? All I’m saying is just - if there were something between you two, and you wanted there to be something ‘going on,’ where there is currently nothing ‘going on,’ I just think you should, hypothetically go for something rather than settling for the nothing, because, personally, I think there is something there, and you could have a great thing going if that were what you wanted.”

“Even if - which I don’t - I’m not - listen, though, okay? I’m not, and I don’t want that - not that there’s anything wrong with it, or something, just - even if that were the case, Cas isn’t like that. He’s not a being that experiences shit like that -”

“I’m telling you you’re wrong, Dean! The way he stares at you -”

“He stares at everyone!”

“Do I?”

The Winchesters jump in unison, both with hands on their guns faster than should be possible. They both visibly relax again, though, when they realize it’s only Castiel interrupting.

“Oh, hey, Cas,” Dean greets, his voice markedly more gentle than it was with Sam only a moment before.

Castiel appreciates it.

“Hello, Dean.”

With a cheeky grin, Sam clears his throat, and says to Cas, “your timing couldn’t be better, actually, Cas - Dean and I have some questions -”

“No, no, we do not have questions,” Dean growls at Sam, eyes blazing dangerously.

“I am always available to you boys for whatever inquiries I can assist in. Is this pertaining to my staring? It’s academic in nature, I assure you - frankly, I am used to having a form that hosts many more eyes; being in this Earthly form can present obstacles, as my perceptions are more limited than I can remember them ever being. I promise I do not mean to insult anyone.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone’s thinking of it as an insult,” Sam intones; Dean shoves his elbow into Sam’s kidney to shut him up.

“This is you being defensive, by the way,” Sam wheezes, doubled over, but still smirking at Dean, “What’s the big deal if there’s nothing going on?”

Flushed, Dean scowls at Sam, drops his shovel, and tells him, “I’m not being defensive! There’s nothing to be defensive about! And I’ll prove it!”

Clambering out of the grave, Dean brushes the soil from his hands onto his dirtier jeans, and stomps more than walks up to Castiel.

“You’ve a cut,” Cas murmurs worriedly, spotting a knick Dean got on his cheek earlier in the day.

“It’s nothing. Listen, Cas -”

Before Dean can get anymore out, Castiel reaches for his left-side cheek, cups that side of his face, and spreads a cooling sensation that knits the skin back together neatly and cleanly.

“Uh - thanks, Cas,” Dean mutters gruffly as Cas takes his hand back.

“My pleasure, Dean.”

Uncharacteristically nervous, Dean glances down at the ground, his hands shoved in his jean pockets, then his eyes skim the ground until they happen upon Sam’s again, and whatever silent exchange they have works Dean up again.

“Cas,” Dean begins, looking into his eyes with determination, “We’re friends, you ‘n me, right?”

“Yes, Dean. You are my most cherished friend,” Castiel answers.

That gives Dean a moment’s pause where he seems to be searching Castiel’s face for some sign of sarcasm or deceit; there is none to be detected, of course.

“I - thanks, man. Uhm. Now - this is gonna sound like a weird question, but bear with me, ‘cause I’m not about to assume consent or something.”

“Okay,” Castiel says in confusion, tilting his head again.

“I’m tryin’a prove a point here to Sam, and to get it across - just - would you be okay with me kissing you? Like, just this once - I promise I won’t make it weird or anything, but I gotta ask, you know? I know you’re not into physical stuff like -”

“You’d like my permission to kiss?” Castiel intercepts neutrally, “Like people do?”

Something about that is funny - or startling? - to both Sam and Dean, and Castiel can’t tell which or for what reasons.

“Yeah. Just this one time,” Dean repeats.

Though he takes a respectable count of four seconds to seem as though he needs to consider his options, Castiel nods, and replies, “of course, Dean. Of all the favors you’ve asked of me before, I assure this is certainly the most convenient and pleasant of them.”

Sam snorts a laugh, Dean tosses a glare at him, and then settles gentle, if a little nervous, eyes back on Castiel.

“Okay…”

Dean steps closer into Cas’ space, bringing them toe-to-toe and he finds himself staring down; he’d not realized Cas was shorter than him. It’s not by much, not really enough to be remarked upon, even, but it means that Cas winds up looking up at him from under the cover of long, dark lashes, and even in the dark of the night, his eyes shine like twinkling gems.

Swallowing with some difficulty, Dean holds loosely onto the lapels of Cas’ trench coat, and he means to go in chaste, he really does, it’s just that he’s actually struggling to breathe a little, so his lips are just barely parted, and Cas - as far as Dean can tell, Cas takes that as a cue.

Because Cas’ full lips press in, but so does his tongue; before Dean can even secure his footing, Cas makes his loose hold on the lapels go tight, licking up into Dean’s mouth without hesitation or mercy.

Praying his shocked gasp wasn’t audible to Sam, Dean just tries to hold on while Cas turns his head, bites Dean’s heavy bottom lip, and then pushes Dean’s mouth more open with his own, and then he drags his hot tongue against Dean’s, coming in broad, and soft.

Dean hears himself make some kind of noise - he can’t tell what it is, because there’s too much blood rushing in his skull - there’s stubble. Stubble. There is stubble in this equation other than his own, and that’s new, and terrifying, and should be wholly unwelcome, but every synapse in his brain dedicated to pleasure is telling him otherwise.

One wide hand insinuates itself under the hem of Dean’s weathered flannel, calloused fingers pressing into his left hip possessively while the other hand glides over his pec, and shoulder to the back of his neck, pinky finger teasing the sensitive skin just under the back of his cotton collar, and thumb brushing the fine hairs at the base of Dean’s skull.

Dean thinks he may be swaying - he’s dizzy.

Cas is dragging him closer, pressing their hips and abdomens together, and Dean’s hands have somehow found better purchase on the front of Cas’ button-down dress shirt than his lapels.

Dean thinks he hears one of the buttons pop off with the strain of his hold, but neither of them seem inclined to do anything about it, so he figures it doesn’t matter; he tries to establish himself as a bit more dominant, thrown off his usual groove by the absolutely sinful way Cas apparently kisses.

To Dean’s simultaneous horror and delight, Cas doesn’t relinquish any control; he won’t be moved, his hands get tighter and hotter where they touch Dean’s skin, he only presses them harder together, and he kisses Dean like he wants to eat him alive.

He kisses Dean like he wants to crawl inside him, like he’s hungry - starved - like kissing is an act of carnage just as much as an act of love, like those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

He’d rather die than admit it to anyone, but Dean’s knees get a little weak, and Cas basically holds up his entire weight by just the grip he’s got on Dean’s waist.

Before he knows it’s happened, Dean’s hard enough to carve stone, and Cas readjusts how they’re slotted against one another to better accommodate Dean’s failing balance, and Cas feels it - he must. Even if he doesn’t feel how hard Dean is against him right away, the guttural moan Dean will deny having made til his dying breath clues him in.

What sounds like hundreds of cherry bombs going off has them stumbling away from each other, and frantically looking about.

The streetlights have exploded. There’s glass everywhere, and based on the echoes of car alarms and distant voices, it’s becoming more and more possible that Cas destroyed the windows and lights of several cars and nearby homes.

Even he and Sam’s flashlights are busted.

In the blanket of darkness that’s settled over the graveyard, Dean can still see clearly, because Cas’ eyes are high beams cutting through the fog of the night.

They’re both panting, Dean’s pretty certain that a resting heart rate isn’t meant to feel like this, and Cas is looking positively feral.

“Jesus fuck!” Sam curses, his arms crossed over his head where he still plucks a shard of glass from his hair.

Reminded of Sam’s presence, Castiel’s head swivels to him, the glow of his eyes dims down, and then he looks back at Dean, visibly frightened.

Dean takes no pleasure in Cas ever being scared, so he reaches out, takes a step back into Cas’ space, but that spooks him more, and in less than a blink of an eye, he’s gone.

Not cool, Cas, Dean thinks loudly, hoping it counts as a prayer that Cas will hear.

Reaching into the front of his jeans, Dean uses the near blackness of the power outage to his advantage, and readjusts himself to the best of his abilities.

It really doesn’t do much.

“Well,” Sam starts pointedly.

Dean, weak at the knees, lips criminally swollen, face flushed, hair mussed and harder than he’s ever been in his life, turns slowly to scowl at Sam.

“That was not nothing.”

Dean doesn’t see a way of winning the argument, so he kicks dirt into Sam’s hair, and leaves him to finish burying.

#destiel #deancas #drabble #kisses #my stuff #some spice tho #just for funsies

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language and violence Warnings: Choking (kinda) Summary: Local feral human makes a friend, tries to sleep next to local mean vampire, then gets a taste of their own medicine Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!

3: Haunt Me Dearly

What a lovely crimson mess I’ve made, you think, watching as the last of the bloody water drained from the bathtub. There were still several splashes of red along the sides, where you had leaned on or otherwise touched. Frowning, you considered whether or not to clean up after yourself. Surely it wouldn’t be one of your captors doing the cleaning? In that case, you think, I don’t want to make any enemies out of the servants. First you had to finish binding your wounds. Wouldn’t want to risk getting them dirty so soon after washing them, after all. Except you weren’t even sure that you could properly wrap them on your own, considering the positioning of your injuries.

“Ah, fucking hell…” You muttered, scowling a little. Then you remembered that Cassandra had sent a maid to wait outside the bathroom for you. Maybe they could help? Nodding to yourself, you threw on your new undergarments and pair of trousers, deciding to save the shoes for later. Once you were ‘decent’, you slowly opened the door, peeking out from behind it. Before long you were making eye contact with an unfamiliar woman, who looked very confused. “Any chance you could help me bandage my shoulder? I can’t do it without help, and something tells me Cassandra’s not going to lend me a hand.” With that said, you gave her a friendly smile, hoping to make up for the awkwardness of the situation.

“Of course! It is my honor to serve a guest of my Lady,” the maid- servant, maybe- said, giving a short curtsy. Admittedly you’re a little confused by her response. Still, you gladly welcome her assistance, moving back into the bathroom to grab the gauze. Although you intend to do as much as you can on your own, the woman is quick to take over completely. “Please, allow me,” she continued, carefully beginning to wrap your wounds.

“Are all the workers here so polite? I can’t imagine anyone actually enjoys working here, all things considered,” you mused, squinting at the middle distance. At that, the servant tenses up, clearly not expecting you to speak ill of her employers. Well, she had called you a guest. “Don’t be surprised, friend. Less than an hour ago I was fit to be consumed by ‘your Lady Cassandra’. Only reason I’m not dead right now is because of a stupid blood bond,” you explained, tone dripping with irritation. This time the servant doesn’t flinch at all, instead nodding slowly, taking a moment to let your words sink in. During this pause, you decide to introduce yourself, just in case the two of you might see each other frequently.

“I… see. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, no matter the circumstances of your presence here. You can call me Daphne, though I must warn you that I am not one for, ahem, gossip about my masters,” she replied, finishing her binding of your shoulder wound. Next she searched through the cabinet by the sink, looking for a medicinal salve of some sort. Once she found it she was right back to work. The substance stung a tad on your skin, but you could hardly complain, seeing as it would help fight off possible infections.

“You sure about no gossip? What if we call it ‘helping me get acclimated to my new situation’? I’m a fish outta water here, Daphne,” you suggested, turning your head to look her in the eyes. At first she ignored you, focusing on rubbing the medicine into your skin. Eventually she meets your gaze, briefly, and releases a quiet sigh.

“You are free to ask questions-” you start to celebrate, though not for long- “just as I am free to withhold answers. Though I may be more responsive if you can tell me one thing… Why was Lady Cassandra’s dress wet?” Daphne asked, making you freeze in place. Of course she wanted the one answer you didn’t feel confident about giving. She’s quick to notice this, though, and laughs to herself. “Well, I suppose some things must remain a mystery. Now let’s get your face cleaned up…”

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By the time you make it to Cassandra’s room, the sun is starting to rise, leaking in through the castle windows. Exhaustion weighs you down, making you want to fall immediately into the nearest bed. As it stands, that was none other than your soulmate’s, though it was currently occupied. For a moment you hover in her doorway, contemplating whether or not you should steal her blanket. Floor can’t be too bad, you think, right? Before you can decide you notice Cassandra stirring from her sleep.

“What took you so fucking long?” She asked groggily. Now she’s sitting up, blanket clinging loosely to her body, and you realize that she’s not wearing a shirt. Though a blush rishes up your cheeks, you’re certain it’s too dark for Cassandra to notice. Or at least you hope so. Wanting to think about something other than what she was (or was not) wearing, you focus your energy on responding.

“Isn’t it obvious? I got invited to a sick orgy on the way back, and I wasn’t about to turn that down, so…” You trailed off, gesturing idly with your hands. The movement stretches your shoulder more than you’d like, resulting in an ache that lasts several seconds. It distracts you to the point where you almost can’t catch the object Cassandra promptly throws at you. “What the hell…?” It’s a shoe, as far as you can tell, that definitely would have hurt, had it hit its intended target. “Such a lovely gift, babe. I will treasure it for the rest of my days, forever keeping it as a reminder that you-” your tone shifts from a false joy to deadpan- “are a piece of shit. Now, seriously, where am I supposed to sleep? Is there a walk-in closet I can camp in? Or do I get the bed, while you sleep in a fucking coffin or something?”

Before Cassandra has a chance to respond, you’re walking further into her room, wanting to take a quick look around. There’s a large dresser that you quickly toss her shoe inside, as well as a window sill with a built-in reading nook. Trading your tiredness for sheer dickery, you throw open the curtains, letting the light pour in (and nearly blind you in the process). Half of you expects your soulmate to screech in response. Maybe even turn to ash. Instead, you hear her moving, and you turn to find her laying back down, facing away from you.

“When you’re done fucking around, come over here and sleep. I will knock you out if I have to,” Cassandra muttered, still sounding half asleep. As much as you wanted to know if she’d go through with her threat, you are exhausted. Begrudgingly you approach the bed. It’s certainly large enough for two people, even having enough room for you to be completely separate from each other. When you start to climb in, you find yourself overwhelmed for a moment, surprised at the quality of the sheet fabric. Exactly how rich were these vampiric assholes? This room alone seemed to be worth more than you had ever known.

This was, perhaps, the one bright side to your situation: A comfortable state of existence. Well, as comfortable as one could get in a place like this. So lovely on the outside, a muse worthy of a thousand artists, yet hiding far darker horrors within… much like the woman you now found yourself laying beside. Why me? Why her? What could possibly bring the two of us together, you think, other than a cruel fate? There’s a pain in your chest, dishearteningly similar to heartache. Damning the universe, and your blood bond, and yourself, you think ‘fuck it’ before sliding closer to Cassandra. One arm drapes itself over her waist, while you slowly lean your head against her back.

In an instant she’s tense, not even breathing, waiting for you to reveal whatever trick hid up your sleeve. But no trick comes, just your hand meeting hers, squeezing softly. Suddenly the tension is gone. None remains, not even lingering in the air, and the two of you soon drift off to sleep...

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Shaking, body made a wreck through tremors, tears staining her cheeks. Breathing comes hard, each shift of her lungs bringing with it a mighty ache. Someone’s holding her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, fingers tracing circles against her back. But she’s lost in her dream, eyes clenched shut. Visions flash before her gaze like lightning in a storm. There’s no time to process, no opportunity to prepare for the thunder that follows. Every strike is a punch to the gut she can’t ignore. When release finally comes, it is not a gentle kiss to her forehead, or a reassuring hand on her own, but rather an intense surge of pain that jolts her awake.

Cassandra nearly screams as she sits up, hands reflexively going to hold her head. One of them stings, bad, and she notices what look like bite marks on the side. For a moment her confusion acts as a welcome distraction. Then she’s looking next to her, and the puzzle practically puts itself together. There you are, one hand in your mouth, an eyebrow raised as you stare at her. Ignoring the lingering memories of her dream, she turns all of her rage towards you. Quickly she grabs ahold of your arm, forcefully yanking your hand out of your mouth, even though it makes your teeth dig in a little deeper. It takes more willpower than she wants to admit to stop herself from strangling you right then and there.

“I didn’t know monsters could even have nightmares,” you taunted. Before you know what’s happening, Cassandra is lunging towards you, pressing her forearm against your throat. There’s just enough pressure to make talking difficult. Both of her yellow eyes are filled with hatred, aimed right at you, but you can’t help but laugh. “Ya know, I did try to wake you up nicely. I should have known you only respond to violence. Next time, though, I’ll remember to stay a safe distance away.”

“You don’t know anything, dipshit. Anyone else would know better than to spout so much fucking ignorance, but nobody taught you how to behave, huh?” Cassandra growled, applying more pressure with her arm, leaving you unable to reply (for once). “You’re a goddamn mutt, aren’t you? Thrown to the street like the garbage you are, left to live in the gutter, feeding off of trash like a fucking cannibal. You should be honored to be allowed anywhere near me. You should be worshiping me, for fuck’s sake!” Black dots form in your vision, a dark halo edging into the corners of your eyes, as your lungs beg for air. But you’re grinning. You’re showing your teeth, bright and proud, knowing full well that you have won this round. As soon as realization dawns on Cassandra’s face she’s pulling herself off of you.

Still, you are left gasping, clutching at your neck as she hurriedly gets dressed for the day. By the time you can see properly again, she’s left without another word. Even as she stalks down the corridor, eagerly rushing away from you, she hears your laughter howling through the castle. It digs into her brain, taunting her. Soon enough you’ll stop, light headed, but she will still hear it echoing inside her mind. You’ll haunt her just as much as her wicked dreams. Hopefully more.

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #blunt teeth sharp tongue #cassandra gets a turn to be a dick #>=3

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thisisthehardestthing · 4 years

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Purple Pill - Shinso x fem!reader

18+, WAREHOUSE UNDERGOUND RAVE AU, DRUG USE

[edit:i am actually crying. thank you, Zo, @joyousandverywarlike, for making me this amazing banner. it’s so beautiful and it’s exactly what I imagined his eyes to be like]

I should make a banner for this but I’m lazy and honestly, 420 subscribers snuck up faster than I expected (cough thanks @lady-bakuhoe and @animewh0re)

WARNINGS: Hard drug use, unprotected sex, orgasm denial

Authors note: idk how many of you are in the underground techno scene like I am, but please, be safe. It’s easy to get sucked into this lifestyle. If you know anyone that has lost their way, or you feel like you are yourself, reach out to someone. As always, inspired by Myst Paris . They’ve always made me feel safe during these experiences. Here’s a spotify playlist if you want to listen while reading.

PURPLE PILL

You don’t like the colour purple. In fact, you absolutely despise it. You actively avoid it, yet you’re always surrounded by it. You like red. You enjoy blue. But not together. You can’t escape it, especially tonight, with him around. So you try to forget, push everything out of your mind and focus on the present, it’s why you’re here, after all. You want to be numb, feel nothing and everything at once, so devoid of thought that your body can’t help but be overstimulated.

There’s no denying it, the way you feel the bass thumping through you, controlling the speed at which your heart beats. It’s fast, throttling your muscles as your feet step, hips sway. Your hands move up your thighs, pinching the hem of your skirt, always a skirt, pulling it up until it slips from your grasp. You trail your hands along your waist, tugging at your skin before you cross them, finding a place on either end of your clavicles, chest expanding and contracting as you writhe for the beat conductor. Your head swings side to side, predatory, searching, snakelike, before your fingers crawl up your neck and past your ears, in the air, flying. It’s so fucking good, and with your chin up, eyes closed, there’s no purple.

There’s a siren in the music, trickling in, winding up a build as you stare at the ceiling. It’s brutalistic, chipping cement, a few skylights missing glass, hinting at the late night and early morning. It’s a waning moon, no longer full but emptying out into something new, transformative. You moan, pure ecstasy drifting with the music to join the cacophony of smouldering bodies surrounding you. It’s sweaty and delicious. You feel an empty cup crush beneath your boot, and you realize you’re still on the ground, not weightless. So you pretend, hands reaching sideways and down, brushing against moist shoulders briefly. They swipe yours in return, acknowledgement of souls trying to soar, before you’re alone, hugging yourself with only the sound as a blanket. The beat drops and you’re back to stomping, feral movements.

You’re so lost that you don’t see it. Lavender flames part the sea of bodies stomping to the beat, as though burning them, changing to mist. A wildfire is heading straight for you. Damn purple.

“Funny seeing you here,” his voice is deeper than the bass of the music, vibrating through your skin and into your bones, boiling your marrow. It peels your eyes open, dragging you back to earth. The lights strobe, flashing into your dilated pupils. You’re electric, buzzed. He’s blocking the view of the DJ, of the crowd, your lifeline. Everything is in focus and moving.

“Your hair is alive, Shinso,” you mumble, staring at the mess of purple on his head. “It’s making me sick.” He chuckles as you grab a fistful, dragging him to slouch. It’s soft, how disgusting, so you’re rough.

“Oh, kitten, what low-grade shit have you already taken?” he asks, eyes lilac, pupils narrow, sober. Unfortunate but expected; he doesn’t use when he deals.

You shrug. It was half a pill hours ago, remnants from last week's reverie found in your earplug holder. It’s four in the morning, but the night has just started. The bass flips, a new beat lifting the melody and you bounce, still fisting his hair. He grimaces, prying your grip from his locks to hold your palm, unburnt even though you’d just touched fire. His fingers massage and knead the flesh as you sway. The lights flash. Red, blue, red, blue, fucking purple, so your eyes shut, pulling his lithe body against yours, fingers dancing under his shirt and up his spine. He chuckles.

He smells like lavender and spice, and you wince, face contorting in pain at how it stabs your lungs, cutting through the fog of your fading high, unwanted purple. Still, you press him closer, needing touch, forehead rolling between the dip of his pectorals, before your lips rest on his shoulders, almost biting, looking past and pining for the DJ. He’s a deity controlling the bodies of everyone in the warehouse, yet you feel cut off, held captive by the man wrapped around you, a prisoner, safeguarded. You feel Shinso sigh, his breath cool against your sweating neck. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper into his field of flowers, you inhale poison.

“Want something a bit stronger, kitty?” he’s husky, like leaves rustling in autumn, auburn against a periwinkle sky. He knows you’re not where you want to be. He’ll help you get there.

“Mmmm,” you hum in response, the hands on his back pawing and pressing the fabric of his shirt. It’s a soft cotton, or perhaps hemp. It’s nice, white, a canvas to paint on. Your fingers trace over the hills and valleys of his muscles, hips grinding against his, digging your nails into his skin. You don’t see it, but you feel the blood, red, wondering if you can create some blue, digging harder. Then the beat drops and you begin to stomp, feeling a fresh sense of clarity, focus, drive with the music. Shinso hisses.

“Careful with the claws,” he muses, the hands on your hips releasing to unzip the body-bag sandwiched between your bodies. You press your palms flat, feeling his heart beat in his back, syncing with yours but not with the bass.

He moves stealthily, slowly, hand snaking against your bare chest and over your bralet, a tease. His knuckles brush your nipples as he pulls the zip down. You pull your head off his shoulder to stare into those dark eyes, they’re bored and calculating. You’d shiver if it wasn’t for how warm it is, heat trapped under his gaze, sweat glistening on your skin, dripping down his neck.

His sweat. It’s reflecting the lights, cyan and scarlet swirling together so quickly they morph into violet. You press the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth, running it up and down, you’re antsy, coming down. His body is ice cold beneath your touch, burning holes into your fingertips. He smiles lazily, his hand withdrawing completely and suddenly, there’s too much space between your bodies.

“You got water?” He asks, serious, no hint of a smirk. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, lifting a hand to your lips, a bottle already open and waiting and you open your mouth for him to pour it in. “Don’t swallow.” He says it almost too late so you push the liquid into your cheeks, right leg bouncing in an effort to stay still, the music calling you. You need to dance. There’s distortion and a steady beat as you stare at a rolling back to your left, mesmerised and longing to feel the silky skin, brown, not mauve.

Your gaze rips to the man in front of you when he crouches, ducking below eye level of the singular, mandatory bouncer, not that they would stop him. He’s got a syringe and small glass vial in his hands, and without looking at you, he pulls out a carefully measured amount, just a few milliliters, if that. He knows your tolerance so well. You remember the last time he gave you GHB, the euphoric mania that blossomed, and you grin with sealed lips. At least it’s not a purple pill. He crooks a finger and you bend forward, a moth to his lilac flames, letting all the water pool forward to avoid burning your mouth.

“Careful, kitten, remember what I told you?” he asks, steady hands waiting for your nod before he expels the acrid drug between your lips and you swallow quickly, making sure it’s the water that carries it, diluting it. In seconds, he’s packed it all away and passes you the water bottle. You chug it, extremely thirsty, suddenly on edge at expecting something to hit you at any moment.

There’s a howl to your right, a whine to your left, and you let out a moan as the music suddenly picks up double time. Your hands fly to the back of your neck, forearms pressed snugly to your ears, falling into the beat until sensations pull you back out. Shinso won’t let you go that easily, and you don’t want to leave him. He’s still kneeling, as though in prayer to your body and motion. It’s empowering to see him beneath you, amongst the dirt. He’s untouchable and yet here he is. His palms drag up the length of your calves as he places kisses along your thighs, fingers inching higher until they’re under your skirt, kneading the flesh of your ass, a thick index trailing along the crease of your underwear. You roll your hips, feeling his finger slide between your folds. Your teeth chatter, remnants of the previous pill, and you shudder against his hands. One of your hands finds refuge in his hair once more.

“Shinso, not now,” you whine, tugging him up. He stands, large palms splaying against your lower back again, arching it as you step together, rhythm flowing through your bodies. This time, he smells like smoke and geranium, a burning flower. His hips are pressed against yours, cock obviously hard, waiting, expectant. His lips come to your ear and he gives you a kiss before tasting the sweat near your hairline. It’s a threat, you’re inside him now, swallowed by purple.

“Hmm, did you just tell me to wait? After I gave you what you needed.” He’s tutting, his tone condescending, sending shockwaves through your ear canal, flipping a switch in your brain. You need to be alert, you’ve made the mistake before, tread carefully. You inhale, breathing in his fire, almost choking on ash.

“Dance with me,” you say, stretching more of your neck for him to reach, his lips soft and soothing. He’s sucking down on the skin, pulling red marks to the surface that will turn to blue then eggplant.

No, you pull away, head jerking out of his reach but he quickly resumes, fingers tangling behind your head to bring your face close to his. He doesn’t kiss you, not yet. He merely surveys your emotions with half-lidded eyes, calculating how long it’ll be before you’re floating away. You can’t stop bouncing, heightening the friction between your bodies. He’s starting to sweat now, you can see it beading in his hairline. You realise he must’ve been behind the DJ booth, where there’s restricted access, privacy. Something taps your lips and you open your mouth, compliant, thankful for something to suck on apart from your tongue.

“Kitten, you don’t tell me what to do,” his whisper makes you shudder. He’s planning something, lilac eyes becoming amethyst, bewitching. His fingers are bitter, sharp, like the green stalk of a flower, and you’re addicted. You curl your tongue up, swirling it around, feeling the bumps of your muscle curl against the miniscule grooves of his fingerprints. He pushes them in deeper, roughly, and if you were tighter, wound up, sober, you might’ve gagged. Instead, you feel the saliva begin to pool around your teeth, coating his knuckles and dribbling down your chin as he fucks your mouth with his hand. There’s no telling how long you’re sucking on them, time nonexistent, but the music slows, crashing periodically, like helicopter blades coming to a halt.

Then there’s quiet.

You hear the squelch in your mouth, the popping of spit. The pressure spreads from your throat down, and ice begins to frost in your gut, travelling up. Something is creeping. The contorting bodies begin to holler, whoop, moans of pain mixing with cries of pleasure as the next deity set’s up. You let your head fall back, his fingers slipping down your chin to grasp your throat, spit cold against moist flesh. He’s growling, you realise, the rumbles from his chest trembling in his fingertips. Has he been waiting for you all night?

It feels like an explosion behind your eyes, going off in your mind, sparking everywhere, and suddenly, you’re weightless once more. If it wasn’t for Shinso’s hand wrapped around you, who knows where you’d have floated to? The lights strobe again, faster, more urgent, the bass kicks off in a hurry, there’s a scream underneath the music, chilling your bones. Hardcore. You find yourself massaging his forearms, biceps, shoulders, fingers toying underneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re too clothed,” the statement leaves your lips, finding yourself dizzy with energy, talkative. He’s in hyperfocus, the flames of his hair sparking off purple, rising to join the stars above. You can see the glint in his normally dull eyes now, brought about by the onslaught of your new high. He grins, lips pulling like a cheshire cat, twisting his face, and you drag his neck down to meet your lips. There’s another shriek in the beat and you pull back, breathless. “I don’t like it, not this, let’s go get some air?” Words tumble around you as they pour from your mind incoherently, against his smiling lips. His nods, forehead rubbing yours.

“Of course, kitten. Follow me,” and your hand is wrapped with his as he tugs you sideways, the bodies weaving around his straight path to the side of the warehouse. He tugs you to the front when you turn to the back, thinking of catching your breath in the outdoor area reserved for those that might be getting overwhelmed, tripping badly or need a release. That’s not his plan. Another scream and you grip his wrist with a vice, feeling the bass throttle your bones as you walk closer to the music, violent, bruising. He pushes past the metal railing, and you cross the barrier from purgatory into hell, so close to the speakers you can feel yourself become the music, imagine the screams, until you can’t.

The door is shut, cutting off the cries and beat, only the thrum can be heard in the room, a never ending thump rattling your bones. You can’t stop moving, the music calling you to return now that you can no longer hear it. You’re bouncing as you walk, almost skipping when Shinso sits and pulls you on top of him in a straddle. His hands find the plush of your ass, kneading it between those sinful fingers. The room is dark, the shapes blending into each other, the lightbulb colouring the room as a monotone; violet, UV. You prefer red. You moan as his lips find yours once more, with no worry of interruption, and you grind your hips down on his cock beneath the rough fabric of his pants. He unclips his bag from his chest, not breaking the kiss, before unclasping the back of your bra, tugging the flimsy material down your arms and to the floor. You’re hungry for him, starving, and for the first time that night, you want to devour plum.

“Take this off,” fingers tug at his shirt, mumbling against his lips as you stare into his eyes, falling into the deep well, almost past the point of no return, your high slamming the back of your mind, desperate. Let it in, a voice whispers and you shiver when Shinso raises his eyebrows, following your command.

“Hm, I thought you told me to wait, kitten,” he muses, dropping his shirt on top of your discarded bra, his fingers going back to your ass before running over the bend of your hips, digging them into the fold. Your hips are making the smallest circles, rolling against his erection, feeling how he twitches beneath your folds and his zipper.

“Nuh-uh, fuck me.”

His chest is pressed against yours, nipples rubbing together, teasing, the friction almost too much to bear. Fuck, you need more. You pull him in close, fingers tangling in his hair, burning your palm but you don’t care, crashing your mouth against his to feel whole. It’s not enough.

Let me in.

The metal button is undone and you lift slightly to unzip, tugging at the fabric as he accommodates your movements, helping just enough so that his cock springs free. Your heart is in your throat, choking you with want, desire. He pulls the bottom of your thong to the side, grazing against your slick, groaning at how wet you are. You mewl, his nickname for you taking shape. Your hands rest on his shoulders, steadying your vibrating bones, the pounding in your mind almost peaking. Shinso places a steady hand on your hip, under your skirt, the other finger teasing your folds open, keeping your underwear to the side.

“Say please,” his voice is cool, detached, regarding your flushed face and wild eyes with a boredom in his own. It makes you breathless.

“Please, Shinso.”

He brings his face close to yours, lips spread ear to ear like the ones between your legs as you feel the silk of his cock tap your entrance. The blacklight distorts his features, turning them rabid, unholy, dangerous, magenta. You begin to lower, but he keeps pressure in his hands, slowing your descent painfully, torturously. You can feel your chest heave, toe curling in your boots, pussy throbbing at the stretch. You mumble a mmmmpf, from behind closed lips, pushing yourself down.

“Patience, kitten, you’ve been teasing me for a while now,” Shinso smirks, lopsided and disgustingly seductive, twitching his cock as he lets you fall another inch. You’re stir-crazy. Your fingers tap against the ultraviolet skin of his shoulders, toes furl and unfurling, lip caught between nibbling teeth and eyes rolling up, all in an attempt to stay still.

Let me in.

He let’s go and you drop. You land with a thud, feeling stretched out beyond belief, the high no longer slamming against the door but rather kicking it down. Each bang makes you tilt forward, rising your hips up slightly before forcing his tip to hit your cervix once more as you lower. You’re slow, riding him timidly, as you revel in feeling so full, heart leaping out of your throat and floating above your head. Then faster, as you feel the bass of the music vibrate through his skin, the wall behind his head shaking, and your very cells begin to rattle along with it.

“Fuck, yes, Shinso,” you’re moaning, feeling talkative as the GHB creeps into your veins, mumbling words of praise at the man beneath you. He regards you coolly, biding his time, waiting until the high takes over completely.

“Please, fuck me, Shinso, please, god, please move.” You’re begging him now. Why won’t he thrust up? You focus on his eyes, the way they drink in your bounce on his cock. Shinso ‘tsk’s’, and his hands still your movements, keeping you seated, grounded, whining. Your mouth doesn’t stop trembling, lower lip swollen from all the biting. Your ankles shake from the need to walk out, back to the souls ascending to heaven, leaving their bodies behind, leaving you at his mercy.

“Mm, kitten, you’re awfully chatty for someone that just wants to be fucked,” Shinso purrs at you, keeping one hand firmly on your hips, bruising you, marking you, hurting you blissfully. You gyrate, feeling how he swirls within you, poking the sides of your walls, so damn full. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re silenced, gagged and restrained. His fingers invade, and you suck, replacing the gnawing of your cheeks to focus on the intruder between your lips.

“There you go, that should shut you up, pretend it’s my cock,” his fingers are impossibly long, moving slower than before, when they were plunging. It’s a relief, having something to suck on, relieving pressure in your neck and ears and jaw and hair and oh, you moan. The hand on your hip slide to your ass.

Smack!

Let me in.

It’s him. Amythest and Byzantium, lavender and lilac, fucking purple. He wants to be inside you, controlling you. You’re so empty, chest hollow with cheeks and cunt stuffed, so you suck, gyrate, pulse, all together, all at once. Impatient as ever, you feel the tip of his cock graze your most tender spot. With the hand that is not dominating your mouth, he holds your hips down with a vice. You crave him enough to defy him, ecstasy rolling through your core with his roll of your pelvis. You can’t see him, eyes staring into your mind in euphoria, at a galaxy, but he’s there, standing behind the entrance and exit, waiting.

“Do you want me that badly?" he asks. Shit, he's cornered you. He won't give you what you want unless you answer him, but the moment you do, you will be under his control. He'll only make you wait longer for the release you so desperately need. The alarm bells are ringing, don’t fall for the trap. His questions are dangerous.

You nod your head, shocked at how you can contain your words when you're so vocal, high off your mind, incoherent thoughts refraining from babbling out. Shinso smirks, releasing your hips, letting you fuck yourself on his cock, whining and moaning and writhing, hands gripping his hair, the cushions of the couch behind him, running through your own locks before looking at the ceiling and humming, tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes. You gag on his fingers as they slip in deeper. It's too much, feeling so full, so empty, needing more, so much more.

Shinso's hand releases you, tongue lolling out of your now empty mouth, searching for warmth. There’s bruises on your hip bones, the pressure like a ghost over your skin, still apparent. You whine, biting your tongue before sucking it to stay quiet, swallowing your words as you press up against his chest. You're sweating, and thirsty, for water, his sweat, his mouth, fingers, cum, anything. The sheen of your bodies reflect violet in the blacklight, and he’s glowing. You’re a moth to his purple flame.

"If you want me to touch you, all you've got to do is ask." He whispers against your ear, breath teasing your skin, teeth blinding, eyes dark.

Let him in.

“Yes,” your consent is apparent, simple, all consuming, and Shinso grins, stands, flips you like a rag doll. Your body is his to use how he wishes. You’re floating, completely euphoric, manic, body tensing and relaxing. You need more. You’re watching your body get fucked from above, soul vibrating on a higher plane of existence. He feels good, so, so good.

Drool drips down your chin, smearing against the backrest of the couch. The weave of the fabric leaves more marks against your cheek, red indents turning to magenta, sangria, wine, perfect companions to the bruises on your hips. Your body is filled with mist, clouds, swirling around as Shinso thrusts into you from behind. They leave your mouth in gusts as you moan, loudly, taking over the muffled thrum from the bass. His large palm splays against your lower back, pressing down as he angles his hips up, wrecking you.

“That’s right, kitten,” his voice is thunder, rumbling in the room, against your skin, pricking up goosebumps. “I’m the only one that can make you feel this good.”

His fingers are lightning, burning like ice as they reach around for your clit, slick with sweat, adding a delicious friction as he circles the nerves. More fog slips from between your lips as you whine, moan, mewl, plead. The fabric of the sofa cushions bite into your knees, you feel how the static creeps down your calf and into your toes, each ricochet of Shinso’s hips sending an oscillating wave of pins and needles down your leg. Your fingers grip what they can, coming to rest beneath you to try and peel your face from the backrest like velcro.

You can see yourself convulsing around his cock, walls clenching rhythmically, winding you tighter and tighter. He’s thrusting deeper, harder. You’re going to cum, the release lying in his next thrust, and then it’s gone. Shinso pulls out, fingers flying from your clit to pinch the skin of your ass as his length comes to rest in the middle, his balls bobbing against the folds of your sex. You’re crashing, a wave collapsing in on itself as your orgasm is ruined by his touch, or lack of. Tears stream out of your eyes, shoulders shaking as you sob at his denial.

“Shinso, please, don’t stop, why’d you stop?” His cock slides against the crease of your ass, you can feel the warmth fading, cooling against your skin. You roll your hips to try and trap his length between your folds again, but he turns, slapping your throbbing pussy with four fingers, making you cry out.

“I need to hear you say it,” he commands, making you turn your head, peering over your shoulder at his sadistic smirk, fisting his cock just out of reach of your sopping cunt. You whine at the image; he’s bathed in glorious, royal purple. You’re frozen, unable to move and grab him. Your soul sucks back into your body, trapped under his gaze, nails digging into the sponge beneath. He spanks you, muscle trembling, the shock pushing you forward as you collapse with your face pressed into fabric. You can’t breathe.

“Say what?” you ask, voice muffled as you roll your forehead side to side, your need for touch insatiable, “I’ll say anything if you’ll just fuck me.” Your inner thighs tense up, trying to relieve the aching pressure in your core.

“Hmm, kitten, so desperate, aren’t you?” his cockhead is at the entrance of your slit, teasing up along it, daring you to lean back and swallow it. You moan, and then a sting blooms as his palm comes down on your tender skin. “Answer me.”

“Yes, I’m desperate, please,” you’ve let him in, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to clutch on to your high with twisted fingers, they’d have to pry it from you. Lavender invades every inhale, burning your lungs, acid taking over your senses. He bends over you, across your back, and whispers into your ear, cool breath fanning the heated flesh.

“Would you like to cum?” he asks, the tip of his cock slipping between your folds. You can feel the edge of his head, the curve, as your lips wrap around it greedily, throbbing, sucking him in as he keeps it at bay. You nod your head furiously, dragging it against the sofa, tears darkening the fabric, tasting the sweet salt on your lips.

“Well, too bad, kitten,” he says, your pussy cold as he withdraws, falling down next to you. His large palms wrap around your cheeks, thumbs wiping at the streaks beneath your eyes, like miniscule cuts beneath your skin. Your heart drops to your stomach, lips back between your teeth as you chew, metal flooding your tastebuds. “Come sit on my lap instead.”

So, you clamber onto him, eagerly lining up your entrance once more to sink down and feel full, satisfied. You’ve always hated the colour purple, but you’re addicted.

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

I wanted to put this at the top, but it was getting long, but I appreciate you guys so much.

Thank you @joyousandverywarlike for being my light in the darkness and @hisoknen for making sure I’m properly tagged. @whats-her-quirk for always hyping me up, i love you soul mate. @league-of-thots ;)

This was lowkey inspired by a thirst Zo and I did in the Harem discord after reading Snack Run by @lookslikeleese so go check that out!

#purple #purple pill #shinso x reader #shinso #shinsou #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso #bnha #bnha fanfics #mine #my writing #follower celebration #fan ficiton #shinso hitoshi #boku no hero #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #anime #claudia writes

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ukulelecal · 3 years

Text

Bloom - Part One

The story of flowers.

Pairing: Poet!Luke Hemmings x Female!OC

Warnings: angst!!!! implied smut. perhaps a swear or two. mostly angst

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: can yall believe that this video sent me so feral that i wrote this whole lil mini series in like five days?? i'm not surprised tbh. ANYWAY omg i really am excited for y'all to read this!!! i hope you love it!!! i would love your feedback, and please please remember that reblogs mean the absolute world to creators!

series masterlist

masterlist // posted on ao3

Devon would never forget the first poem Luke wrote for her.

He was a blushing mess as he handed her the folded piece of paper, insisting she read it later because he didn’t want to see her reaction. He had a lip ring then, blond hair spiked up and a wardrobe full of band t-shirts and black skinny jeans. He certainly didn’t look like how anyone would imagine a poet, but one look at his work would tell anyone that he had the mind for the craft.

Luke’s way with words was unmatched. Devon always called it a superpower; the way he was able to capture readers with words strung together so beautifully and paint a picture in the brain. He made people feel something. He had a gift, no doubt.

All of his poems were breathtaking, and he wrote many for her. The first would always be her favorite.

It was called The Orchids. The poem compared a woman to a field of orchids, delicate and lush. It was simple but sweet. Devon vividly remembered the rush of giddiness she felt as she read it, knowing it was written just for her. She remembered calling Luke after reading it over and over again, gushing about how much she loved it. He explained to her later that he chose orchids because the color of the shirt she was wearing the day they met reminded him of them.

They were only freshmen in college then. First time away from home, getting their first taste of real independence. Of adulthood. They met in a seminar class that every first year student had to take. One that everyone else hated but Luke and Devon loved, just because they got to see each other. A couple of coffee dates lead to The Orchids, which lead to a loving relationship and many, many more poems.

College was just about to come to an end now. Graduation was coming up fast, and that brought the simultaneously exciting and dreadful question: what next?

The future was something that used to delight Luke and Devon. Countless nights, they talked about marriage, a house, a dog, children. Luke would be a renowned poet, Devon a respected social worker. They had it all planned out. Even if their white picket fence dreams fell through, they would be happy so long as they had each other.

With graduation creeping closer and closer, Devon wasn’t so sure about their plans.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want it anymore. She still loved Luke with all of her heart. She wanted everything they had talked about, a future with him. Some deeper thinking into her career led her heart elsewhere.

It came out at dinner one evening, sat at the table of Devon and Luke’s shared apartment that they had moved into junior year.

“I’ve been thinking about going to grad school,” she blurted out. She twisted her spaghetti on her fork to distract herself. His face lit up, but Devon didn’t quite share his excitement. She knew this was something she wanted, but she was about to make a huge sacrifice that she had been trying to convince herself that she was ready for.

“Yeah? That’s great, Dev!” Luke cheered. “Here?”

The proud smile on his face quickly dropped when he saw the look of dread on hers. Graduate school was certainly a good thing, but if she wasn’t thrilled, Luke knew there must be a catch.

“Not here?” Devon shook her head. “Then where?”

The name of the school that she mumbled under her breath made Luke’s heart sink. It was far away. Very far.

“Oh.”

Luke wanted to kick himself for being disappointed. It was selfish, so selfish. He should have been proud that Devon wanted to further her education, and he was. He couldn’t fathom trying to take that away from her, but the thought of his girl being so far away was gut wrenching.

He wiped the frown off his face as quickly as it came. He reminded himself that he needed to be supportive, even if it hurt.

“That’s awesome, baby. I’m really proud of you.”

Devon knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was proud of her, but she could tell he wasn’t as excited as he was trying to seem.

“You don’t have to act happy about this, Lu,” she murmured, still pushing her pasta around. “I know what you’re thinking.”

He sighed and dropped his fork on his plate. Of course she saw through him. She always did. After four years of being together, Devon knew Luke better than anyone.

“I really am proud of you for doing this, honey. Don’t think that I’m not. It’s just…” he trailed off, unable to think of a way to put what he wanted to say without sounding selfish. “It’s so far away.”

Devon swallowed the lump in her throat. She was headstrong, and she knew that she needed to put her career and her own desires first. That didn’t mean it hurt any less to move so far away from the love of her life.

“I know, bubs,” she whispered. “But this is something I really want for myself. For my future.”

“Oh, honey, I know,” Luke sighed, not wanting her to feel bad. “I want you to do this. But the distance...I know it’s selfish of me-”

“It’s not selfish, Luke,” she interrupted, shaking her head softly. “It’s not easy for me either. But this school has the best graduate program for social work. Besides, I haven’t finished my application yet and I’m applying to some other places too. I might not even get in.”

Perhaps the most selfish thing of all was that a tiny part of him hoped she wouldn’t get in. It would break her heart if she didn’t, but maybe she wouldn’t be so far. Luke hated himself for the thought even crossing his mind for a split second.

Devon could see how this was affecting him. She understood; she knew he was planning on proposing shortly after graduation, though they were in no hurry to actually get married until they both had secure jobs. Moving hundreds of miles away for two years undoubtedly threw a wrench in the plans.

She had gone back and forth for a while as she searched for grad schools. As much as she wanted to stay close, her future career was something that she valued greatly. Devon was a first generation college student, and she wanted nothing more than to make her family proud. However, Luke was important too. The distance wouldn’t be easy, but she tried to be optimistic. She could only hope that he would want to try too.

“Don’t think like that, Dev,” Luke mumbled. He let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. His desire for Devon to succeed and his desire to keep her close were battling each other, and it only frustrated him.

He thought about his words for a few moments, but couldn’t find the right thing to say.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Devon gave a silent nod. She needed to let him feel this out, and honestly, she needed to do the same. Thinking about it was one thing, but actually telling Luke was another. She had been stressing over it for a while, and now that it was finally out, her and Luke had to actually deal with it together.

The couple finished their dinner in silence, the only sounds to be heard being the slight scraping of forks against plates and the occasional sighs.

Devon couldn’t help but feel guilty. Over the years, she had conditioned herself to put her own aspirations first. She had sacrificed a lot for others in her lifetime, but many people had made sacrifices for her as well. She felt she had found a balance between taking care of herself and taking care of the people around her. She knew that moving away for a while for her own benefit would have an effect on her relationship, but she didn’t feel as if she had to choose one or the other. If Luke was willing to try to make things work, then so was she.

Luke took his last bite of spaghetti and stood up from the table. He silently made his way to the sink to wash his plate before turning back to Devon.

“I’m going to write for a bit, okay?” He mumbled, slowly making his way towards the spare bedroom that doubled as his workspace. No doubt a poem was going to come out of everything he was feeling at the moment. Devon nodded and her brown eyes watched as Luke turned on his heel to walk away.

“Luke?” She called out before he got too far. He turned around with a hum of acknowledgement. “I love you.”

Despite the anxiety and dread he was feeling, he smiled.

He walked back over to where Devon still sat at the table. With her face cradled lovingly in his hands, he bent down to press a soft yet meaningful kiss to her lips. The kiss said that even if things were uncertain, this wasn’t over.

“I love you too.”

…

Devon’s breath caught in her throat when an email from her top choice grad school came through.

She had poured over her personal statement and fretted over her interview. No matter how much everyone assured her, she couldn’t help the anxiety that ate her away.

With a deep breath, she opened the email.

Accepted with a scholarship.

“Luke! Bubs, I got in! I got in!”

She ran into the spare bedroom where Luke was hunched over one of his many poetry notebooks. His head whipped up at his girlfriend’s yells, his brain taking a moment to process her words after being in the writing zone.

For a moment, neither of them were thinking about the distance. All that mattered was Devon’s amazing achievement.

Luke stood up to meet her. Devon practically tackled him in a hug and he easily held her close.

“Congratulations, honey,” he mumbled into her hair. “Fuck, I’m so proud of you.”

He held her for a few minutes, neither of them able to wipe the smiles off their faces. This meant a lot to Devon, and Luke knew it. He knew from the moment he met her that she was going to do great things in life. She was motivated, intelligent, passionate. Anyone could see it. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

Luke pulled away in favor of cupping her cheeks in his hands. Devon flushed under his adoring gaze, eyes falling downwards.

“You’re incredible, Devon Murphy.”

She kissed him as a form of thanks, melting into each other’s touch. Their eyes met when they pulled away, bright blue and warm brown. Devon wasn’t the wordsmith that Luke was, but she didn’t have to be. Her eyes and her actions told him and everyone else everything that they needed to know. Devon was in love with him, and Luke, her.

Even with Luke’s way with words, Devon could read his eyes too. They were just as expressive as his poetry. As they gazed at each other, she could see the flash of sorrow as his mind travelled elsewhere. She didn’t need to ask to know what he was thinking about.

“Luke…” she whispered with a softened gaze. The guilt was returning, although she knew she had nothing to feel guilty about. She had always struggled with her determination to put herself first. It wasn’t Luke’s fault either, however; his feelings about her leaving were completely valid.

“No. None of that right now,” he stated, shaking his head. “This is a huge accomplishment, Dev. We’re not going to be sad tonight.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Devon’s lips as Luke pulled away, grabbing his phone from the desk and sticking it in his pocket. He placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to the door of the bedroom.

“I think you deserve a celebratory dinner, honey, yeah?” He offered, handing trailing to the side to hold her waist. She chuckled and leaned into him.

“You could throw in a frozen pizza and I’d be happy, bubs.”

“Hell no,” he scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. “You just got into grad school! I’m taking you out for dinner. If you want pizza, we can get pizza, but not a frozen one.”

Devon couldn’t help but throw her arms around him again, burying her face into his chest. He tilted his head down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She knew this wasn’t easy, and she was beyond grateful that he was being supportive.

“Thank you, bubs. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. So are we getting pizza, or do you want to go somewhere else? It’s up to you.”

“Pizza sounds good. Can we go to the place with the good garlic knots?”

Luke laughed as he slipped on his shoes.

“Of course we can.”

Devon slipped on her own shoes and grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door before the couple made their way downstairs. Luke’s beat up Prius came into view as they stepped into the parking lot. Devon had named the car Bertha; she was old and a little rusty, but she got the job done.

Luke drove to the small pizzeria not far from their apartment complex. Once inside, they were seated quickly and ordered garlic knots and a pizza to share.

“We haven’t talked much about your writing lately,” Devon said once the waitress walked away. “What have you been working on?”

Luke shrugged and sipped his water.

“Not much. I haven’t really gotten anything good out.”

Truthfully, he had written a lot of poems about Devon leaving. He wasn’t going to tell her that at their celebratory dinner, though.

“In a slump?” She queried sincerely.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Maybe next weekend we can go out, go to the park. You always get inspired there.”

Luke grinned and reached across the table for her hand.

“I’d love that, Dev.”

The rest of dinner flew by, conversation getting lost in buttery garlic knots and savory pizza. Luke offered dessert, but Devon was too full to even think about it. A sly joke about having her for dessert at home had the giggling couple paying the check and driving home at record speed where Luke certainly made good on his promise.

Devon and Luke laid in bed that night where whispered I love you’s and gentle kisses put them to sleep. Not a negative thought in either of their minds. They were content, but the future still loomed menacingly ahead.

…

The apartment was once a place of solace. It was a place where Luke and Devon could get away from the stress of college life and simply be together. It was safe and comforting. A place they knew they were always welcome.

As time went on, the apartment slowly shifted from a place of joy to a place of dread.

Graduation day was coming up, and both Devon and Luke knew what that meant.

They busied themselves with assignments and exams, Devon simultaneously preparing herself for grad school. She didn’t say much about it to Luke; whenever it came up, the tension between them only got stronger. It led to them bickering about other things to avoid the conversation.

Before they knew it, graduation had come and passed. Devon and Luke officially had their bachelor’s degrees, Luke in creative writing and Devon in social work. The days leading up to it were a good distraction, celebrations with friends and family taking their minds off the move. But it was over. Devon needed to get to her new city soon to set up her new apartment and get her bearings before school started. It was time to face the music.

“Luke?” Devon mumbled as he came out of the spare bedroom. She had been waiting for him to finish so they could talk.

He sighed and sat down next to her on the couch, knowing exactly what this was about. They both had been dreading the conversation, but he knew just as well as her that they needed to discuss it before it was too late.

“Are you ready for this?” She whispered, glancing at him with sad eyes. He didn’t return her gaze.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to be away from you for this long, honey.”

Luke could feel his guard coming down. He wanted this for Devon, but he was struggling to keep his want for her to stay close suppressed.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not considering you in this,” she began, reaching for his hand in his lap. “Leaving won’t be easy for me either.”

“I know.”

He was too scared to say much else.

The couple was silent for a moment. They racked their brains for something to say that would make the situation easier on either of them.

“Maybe you could come with.”

Devon regretted it as soon as it came out of her mouth.

Luke huffed and sent her a look.

“You know I can’t do that.”

She did know. If he could do that, he would have jumped on the opportunity immediately. Luke couldn’t afford to move. He was working on fulfilling his lifelong dream of releasing a poetry book. He was getting so close. Publishers were starting to take interest in him, and he nearly had enough money saved to cover the costs. It was difficult to save money when his part time job at a local bookstore didn’t pay much in the first place and he still needed to pay for school as well as his share of the rent and groceries, among other necessary things. Devon was a little luckier. Neither of their families had much to contribute, and she needed to pay for the same things as him, but her part time job paid better than his and she had money saved from when she managed to land a paid internship first semester. It was covering the costs of her move and grad school.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She watched him for another moment, trying to fight back the tears that were welling in her eyes.

“Please say something, Luke,” she whimpered. All she wanted was for him to affirm what she so desperately wanted; for them to be okay.

He finally looked at her, both sets of eyes red rimmed. Devon squeezed his hand.

“Do you really have to go, Dev?”

The break in his voice sent the first tear gliding down Devon’s cheek.

“You know how much this means to me, Lu. I really think we can make this work.”

“Can we? Can we really?” Luke’s tone turned frustrated. Devon’s mouth dropped open slightly. Did he not believe they could last?

“What are you saying?” She whispered, voice shaking.

He sighed and roughly stood up, dropping Devon’s hand in the process.

“We’ll never talk. We’ll both be so busy. You’ll have school, I’ll be working. And you know neither of us have the money to be visiting each other often. There will hardly be anything,” he rambled, pacing around the living room. Maybe his selfish side was coming out, but he felt he was just being realistic.

Luke always aimed for realism, particularly in his poetry. He wrote largely about real life experiences and channeled his emotions into beautiful, flowing rhymes. His best work came from personal connection.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but write about what he wished he had.

His idealistic poems were never about Devon; his relationship with her was practically perfect. But this was something that no idealistic poem could fix. No words could change what was happening to them.

“I’ll make time for you, Luke. Won’t you do the same?” She questioned, growing frustrated as well. She had wanted him to share her optimism, but clearly he didn’t. A part of her knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to back down.

“Of course I’ll make time. But will it be enough? No matter how much we try, will it be enough to keep what we have going? Look at what it’s doing to us now! You haven’t even left yet and we can barely keep it together.”

“Do you really have that little faith in us, Luke?” Her voice was calm, despite how she felt on the inside. She narrowed her eyes at him. “No one said it would be easy. But we’ve been together for four years. I believe in us.”

Luke took another breath, trying his best to keep his emotions and tears at bay.

“I want to believe in us, Devon. I really do.” He turned to look at her. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and it only made his heart ache more. “I still want a future with you. I want the house and the dog and the kids we’ve always talked about. But I have a bad feeling. We’ve never been away from each other for more than a few weeks. I just...the distance is going to break us.”

Luke’s own words cut him like a knife. As much as he wanted to believe they could last, his own insecurities caused him doubt. He wasn’t sure if he truly believed that or if he just wanted to save himself the heartbreak of being away from Devon for so long.

Devon let his words sink in. Even if it did break them before she finished her degree, she was willing to try until they couldn’t anymore. Maybe he was right. Maybe the distance would break them eventually. But it hurt her that he didn’t have any faith at all. Still, she understood where he was coming from.

There was no winner in this situation.

She thought for a moment, and finally came to the conclusion that they were both thinking about.

“Fine.” She slowly stood up from the couch and looked him in the eye. They were both shattered. Hearts were breaking into a million pieces simultaneously. Devon put on the most stoic face she could muster with tears still leaking from her eyes. “We obviously want different things right now. I have school, you have your book, and clearly we can’t handle both at the same time. Maybe there shouldn’t be an us.”

Although he had essentially been the one to suggest it, her words felt like a punch in the gut.

This wasn’t what either of them wanted. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But the truth was becoming more and more apparent. They couldn’t do this. Not now.

However, Luke mimicked Devon’s actions and put on a blank face.

“Maybe there shouldn’t.”

They stared at each other for another few moments. Reality was setting in. This was the end of Luke and Devon. All of the coffee dates, the love poems, living off Ramen and questionable dining hall food together, walks in the park, kisses, I love you’s, the late night talks of the future, everything gone down the drain.

Devon shut herself in the bedroom before Luke could see her break.

…

The next month before Devon moved was painful. Her and Luke hardly said a word to each other. They ate their meals separately, not bothering to cook together like they used to or order food to share. They both spent time with friends before everyone went off to their new adult lives. When they weren’t out, Devon locked herself in the bedroom while Luke did the same in the spare. They hadn’t slept in the same bed since before their fight.

Devon spent a lot of free time packing. She went through all of her belongings, creating piles of things to keep, things to donate, and things to throw away.

She soon came across something that made all of her emotions about the breakup resurface.

It was the shoebox that she kept all of the poems Luke had written for her in. She kept every single one.

With a quivering lip, she opened the box and gazed at its contents. Piles of folded papers were neatly tucked inside, his declarations of love all written out in one place. They were her most prized possessions. She went back and reread them often, and the feeling of having someone love her like Luke did was the best feeling in the world.

Devon choked out a sob, burying her face into her hands in hopes that he wouldn’t hear her through the thin walls. The fact that he was right next door hurt her even more. The caring, gentle boy that made her swoon with his charming smile and romantic poetry. He made her fall in love with him all over again every day. He was everything, and she lost him.

She slowly read through each poem. Instead of joy and adoration, all she felt was anguish and heartache. She never thought she would feel this way about Luke.

When she got to the bottom, she pulled out the last poem, and her heart completely broke in her chest.

The Orchids.

Devon couldn’t keep her sobs at bay. She clutched the paper to her chest, every bit of pain coming out in tears.

Luke could hear her through the wall.

His heart told him to run in and comfort her. His brain told him it would only make things worse for both of them.

He plugged his ears, trying to block out the dreadful sound. He was in just as much pain as her, but the sound of the love of his life’s sorrow only made his own worse.

Glancing down at the open notebook in front of him, he reread the poem he was writing, and soon he found himself joining Devon in tears.

It was called Wilted. Their relationship that had once been a beautiful flower, an orchid, lost its sunlight and its water, and now it had wilted. Dead, grey, dried up.

Luke dropped his pen and folded his arms on the desk, burying his head into them. He cried.

The broken couple, only separated by a thin wall, might as well have already been miles apart. They cried together, but there was no sense of unity between them. Their pain was past what any poem could portray.

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 140

And here we have the last chapter of the Food Festival! This is one part I was pretty excited to write - The Closing Costume Party. I wouldn’t have been able to get this one squared away without @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog... Both of you caught a few things I didn’t that kept it from making sense from a reader perspective. So thank you both, very much.

I growled softly to myself as I twisted my arms behind my back to pull on my costume. Normally, I was more than flexible enough, but the amount of leverage I needed right now just wasn’t happening unless I was willing to seriously dislocate something. Dropping my hands, I frowned as I jiggled my arms a little to work feeling back into my elbows.

“You really should have fitted this sooner than now,” Conor laughed against the back of my head as he pulled the laces tight on the blood-red corset. Getting one made while laying low and avoiding Hannah had been a nightmare, but it was going to be worth it. I just knew it.

“You just wanted to see me try this entire costume on sooner,” I joked as I felt everything fit snugly - but not too tightly - into place.

Maverick flicked a lock of my hair over my shoulder and positioned it just-so. “It’s not his fault that you couldn’t fit this over your scrubs and have it work for tonight.”

“Who wants to see a corset over scrubs?” I scrunched my nose at the thought while smoothing my sleeves and adjusting my collar. “So far so good?” I asked, slightly louder.

As a credit to their maturity regarding the matter, both men looked me over earnestly before glancing at each other. Conor finally broke the silence. “Aren’t the slits in the skirt a bit… high?” Maverick whispered in his ear, and an expression of utter comprehension glowed on his face. “Oh! That’s… Love, that’s clever.”

I grinned hard enough to cramp my jaw. “Thank you.” Despite how daring the outfit looked, there was exactly zero chance of any wardrobe malfunctions more serious than a hole in my stockings - a near-indestructible nude bodysuit under everything made sure of that.

“Your turn, now,” Maverick insisted, eliciting a groan from Conor, who he had turned toward while brandishing eyeliner.

“Isn’t it bad enough I let the two of you do this?” He gestured at his hair, which was styled within an inch of his life and would sustain an EF4 tornado with minimal loss of glitter.

“Nope,” I popped, still smiling as I sat down to put on my boots. Parvati and Hannah had envisioned tonight to be a sort of return-to-our-roots in a very feral, primitive way, complete with costumes. “We’ve been imagining since before we could cook,” Hannah had pointed out. Between that and the multiple hints that I wasn’t capable of costuming myself, I had gone a bit more over the top than I had originally planned. Hence the corset, the boots, Conor’s hair… although the leather pants the guys were wearing had been decidedly Maverick’s idea and I resisted the need to fall at his feet in gratitude.

Once we were finally costumed, we managed to arrive just-fashionably late to the last hurrah of the Festival. I don’t know who gaped harder - us at the party, or the people who managed to recognize me when they saw me leading the men in. Parvati’s incredible, winding mural was noticeably weathered and patchy, giving the overall atmosphere a post-apocalyptic feel. The only noticeable lighting came from the braziers, and deep, almost subsonic music thumped in my chest, driving my adrenaline just high enough to overwhelm my anxiety.

My nose led us over to the first stall of the night, the smell of charring meat fitting the tone. Per a previous discussion around our costumes, I did not reach for anything but instead Conor took my portion and fed it to me - his idea, this time, though Maverick had readily agreed. It was just enough to set off a few murmurs before I heard a familiar laugh cut through the air.

“Councillor Reid!” Jokul’s voice crowed, turning our heads his direction. Warmly, he clasped my hands when offered, trembling with the laughter he was trying to suppress. “This is an unexpected but pleasant surprise.”

I took a moment to take in his fur trousers and tunic, with rough metal covering vital areas. “The dirt is a nice touch,” I offered, squeezing his hands in greeting. “And Ivan! Well done, sir!”

Ivan rubbed the freshly-buzzed back of his head and grinned. “He actually already had the furs, I just made the armored parts.”

“I meant all of it,” I admonished softly, waving at his work throughout the event.

“Antique, yeah?” Conor asked, gesturing to the furs both of them were wearing.

To his credit, Jokul scoffed. “Absolutely not. Quality synthetic.”

“Don’t let Hannah find out.”

A silver brow arched high enough to impress even Tyche. “Who do you think I commissioned?”

“Clever boy.” I winked at Ivan, eliciting a grin.

In response, Ivan did a runway-twirl, his fur kilt flaring just slightly. “What do you think, Councillor? Can I pull it off?”

With the cheekiest grin my soul could ever manifest, I stared him down. “I think I am the wrong person to ask that.” Even in the dim light, I could see Jokul’s face turn bright red.

“I smell goat,” Maverick interrupted, entirely off topic and completely unabashed.

Ivan’s nose twitched. “Oh, you’re right!” Sniff, sniff. “And it’s on a spit! Let’s find it before it’s gone!”

With that, he snagged Jokul’s wrist and dragged him less like he was an easily two-hundred pound man and more like he was a kite. When I snickered, my former enemy leaned over and murmured “I like the chains, very nice touch.”

I shook the wrist that connected to Conor’s belt and whispered conspiratorially. “Your idea, really. You were so convinced I was leading the entire Ark like this…”

He had the decency to snort. “Seeing it in reality, I was a complete idiot. But it’s quite poetic, and I like it.”

“Poetic?” I asked as I tried to keep pace in the six-inch heels I had elected to wear.

“Are they chaining you down, or are you leading them by their gonads? Or, perhaps, are they saving you from yourself?” He gave a very pointed look at the delicate chains going from the shackles on my wrists to the links attached just above Maverick’s and Conor’s hips.

“Saving me, definitely.” My confession was unashamed and completely sober, the result of the primal music and smells surrounding me.

“Gods agree, someone needs to.”

I didn’t have time to argue before we arrived at the source of the enticing smell - a Jamaican barbecue vendor, who had oxtails, saltfish, and…

“Grilled goat!” Ivan crowed triumphantly. As he started handing out portions from the dancing, grinning vendor, he raised an eyebrow when he noticed that the portion he tried to hand to me was intercepted by Maverick first, and then fed to me rather than feeding myself.

“Not my idea,” I managed around an insanely delicious bite. “Swear.”

“Kink tomato,” he insisted, holding up his hands.

Conor almost choked laughing. “Not our kink either, mate. Just set dressing for the Queen over here.” Taking another bite, he winked at me.

“Ah, Conor’s idea then,” Jokul nodded sagely before erupting in the closest thing to a girlish squeal I could imagine coming from him. “Miss Harper, we’ve been looking for you!”

Shit, I thought to myself. I hadn’t thought of what Charly would say when I discussed this idea with Conor and Maverick, and I was just realizing it was a monumental oversight. Plastering a smile on my face, I turned in the direction Jokul had shouted -

Only to be confronted with what looked like a fox with antlers, a rakish Anansi, the Queen of the Dead, a blind healer, and… a walking shrine? I wasn’t sure what exactly Arthur was dressed as, but I could clearly identify a shabby tweed suit, his sword, a tome that I hoped was faux-moldy, breastplate, shin guards, along with various tchotchkes that looked like they came from high-schoolers and were a bit too beat up to be faked.

“Arthur, what are you?” I asked. Where anyone else would find it rude, I knew my bluntness would be either appreciated or ignored entirely.

“The Ghost of Classes Past.” He swept into a near-Shakespearen bow, gesturing at the bits and bobs that adorned him. “Humans protect, and we mourn those we could not to ensure they live on in memory.” The thump of the music did not change, but his costume gave it a sepulchral tone, like a dying heartbeat.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, the antlered fox bounced familiarly before looking at the Queen of the Dead. “You did a fantastic job on their costumes! They look amazing!” Her antlers were, of course, somehow illuminated from below, but damn me if I could figure out how.

Despite the fact that I knew damned well that Tyche wanted to erupt into laughter at the suggestion, she managed to, quite impressively, tamp it down to a savage smile of silver fangs and blood-red lips. Flapping a hand at myself, Conor, and Maverick, she gave her bell-like fake-laugh, fully in character. “Oh, I had nothing to do with this. Darling Sophia and her merry toys conceived it all on their own. This is the first time I’ve even seen it, darling.” She turned to me, tipping her chin down in respect. “Well done, dearest sister.” Tyche was on peak display, with kohl lining her glowing grey eyes, a black bodysuit covering her from collar to feet, fitted vest and cardigan vest, all partnered with a skirt that could be ten inches thick or ten miles of ribbon - who knew with all the darting and layers? Not me, but I was surely impressed with what looked like ten miles of black feathers flowing from her waist to her hips.

“Why, thank you, Your Majesty.” I swept my leg back in a daring curtsy, forcing Conor and Maverick to smother their laughter at Jokul and Ivan’s faces.

“Ma’am! Ma’am ma’am ma’am!” Charly demanded as she pulled me upright. “You blushed at the concept of kink night, and here I find you leading your men around by their hips!”

I tossed my hair and winked at Jokul. “They aren’t being led, they are saving me from myself.” To Charly’s credit, I did look one deep breath from embarrassment - a black dress with red trim, sliced from floor to ribs and collar to navel, over what appeared to be just fishnet stockings and cavalier boots. The only thing, visibly, retaining any sort of deceny was the corset sealing me in the dress. To go with it, I sported chunky, silver cuffs chained to both Maverick and Conor. Ducking in, I whispered, “I probably will have to be cut out of this bodysuit, no worries on me flashing anyone.”

“Ooooo… well played, madam, well played,” she cheered, twirling me around, forcing both men to pivot with me, laughing, before giving me a very concerned look. “How fucking tall are those?” This was clearly directed at my heels, which she was staring at like a shark presented with a steak.

“Six,” I admitted. “But I did pointe ballet for a little while, so… This isn’t that bad.”

Maverick ducked into the center of the circle we formed. “They’re a full size too big to allow for swelling and she has the toe boxes lined with impact foam.”

“How the hell else am I supposed to wear these things?” I asked with a glare that had him standing ramrod straight and barely restraining a laugh.

Tyche, to her credit, patted my shoulder. “While sitting. Or, if you have to stand, with a platform in the toe.”

“No shit,” I hissed, setting the mummified healer doubling over in laughter. “But I’ve done enough damage to my feet, thank you, so… there may be foot braces involved.” One of which was currently digging in just in front of my heel, which I made a mental note to pass on to the development team.

A thick, French accent set me shaking my head when it came from the very-not-French looking mummy. “Well played, Sophia. The sling and calf brace design I saw recently get approved by medical?”

I groaned as I realized that of course this was Antoine. Life and Death, forever partnered. “Yesssss,” I hissed. “Grey created the design.” I unzipped one boot down far enough to roll it below my knee, exposing braces above and below the kneecap before running further down. “The weight is distributed throughout the leg, before terminating across the front and back of the arch of the foot, to even out the pressure.”

I could almost see numbers whirling beneath the six-foot-plus candy-pink bowler hat. “That… sounds like it might actually be comfortable,” Coffey intoned. I couldn’t help but grin at the tilt of his hat and the feather arching behind him.

“More comfy than actual heels, yes,” I admitted before deflecting attention as far from me as possible. Which, considering how much weight was normally put on the ball of the foot in heels like this, wasn’t a lie…. “But we aren’t here for this! We’re here for food!”

Cheers erupted, and we set off dragging each other to what bits we had discovered. The theme of the night was firmly set around protein, grilled if possible, with wicks of smoke dancing through the flickering light along with the thump of the music. Some were spicy, others unexpectedly sweet. As I laughed, and ate, and sweated, and danced, I could freely admit that there was exactly zero percent chance that I would have imagined this in my wildest dreams. And even better? I could enjoy every second, every smell, every beat of the music. I made a point to wink at each camera I could spot, to the point that, first Tyche, and then everyone else felt the need to comically push down my thumbs-up and cover my face.

Clearly, Parvati and Hannah, who I hadn’t seen all night, were monitoring what they would later discover to be a flying pass on their final exam.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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cottoncandyjester · 3 years

Note

Which of your ocs would go to therapy for or with their darling? How much effort would they actually put into it?

This is like tricking your dog into going to the vet.. y'all are evil

This story contains: them talking about their dark past, incest(twins), talk of sex

Theodore

Absolutely not.

He's a doctor so he would argue that he would know his own body pretty well

"i don't need therapy sweetie, I'm mentally healthy"

This is the same man who flinches at the sight of a butcher knife and has so much mental trauma he still gets scared touching you

If you beg he'll do it though..of course he'll be passive aggressive but he'll go.

Tries to out logic the damn therapist

"so theodore, describe your childhood"

Theodore pushed his glasses up and clears his throat, this was definitely not going to be good. "I'm well aware that a person's childhood shapes their mental state but I assure you this is a waste of time."

"theo, let them help y-" you shuddered at the sharp glance theodore gave you. You've never seen him so aggressive before but it was clear he wasnt having fun. He hated the thought of someone analyzing his every movements and play with his head since it's something he does to you so having it done to him is less fun. "I assure you, I'm mentally sound..nothing is wrong with me"

"alright well, how about we talk about your childhood anyways just chatting nothing serious?"

Theodore scowled before glancing your way, you were doing this cause you loved him..so he should go along with this right?

Hikaru

You have to trick him

You brought it up once and he lashed out at you so badly he actually hurt you pretty bad

You told him you wanted to shopping but when he saw you two were infront of a building that definitely wasn't a mall he was PISSED

He was about two seconds away from hitting you but he saw how much you wanted to help him so he gave it a shock

Aggressive as all hell

He couldn't believe he was here, a group therapy session for victims of sexual abuse. The male sat there in his expensive clothes with his diamond encrusted shades on a scowl on his face.

"so, would you like to introduce yourself and tell us why you're here?" You flinched lightly at the single question the therapist asked before glancing at hikaru who in his legs and pushed his shades up his blue eyes flickering with rage.

"I'm here cause my bitch of a soulmate decided to drag me here instead of a shopping trip like they promised, I could be at home getting my dick sucked but no in here surrounded by idiots" hikaru was definitely in a fiery mood.

"well hikaru, y/n brought you here bec-"

Hikaru huffed in anger cutting the doctor off his anger being never ending. "they brought me here cause they think they are so smart. Their job is to please me in anyway I see fit, in return I spoil them once in a while and I am NOT pleased." With that Hikaru got up before shooting you a dirty look.

"you have ten minutes to meet me in the car or you're walking home" he snapped before walking out the room. You apologized for hikaru before going to join him.

Axis

The first one willing to go

He thinks it will make a great date

Tells his therapist EVERYTHING

Honestly he sounds so chipper about it they look so worried for him

Like sir are you okay?!

Clams up when it comes to insecurities

Like nope.

He only goes once though cause in his eyes therapy is a going once event

"- then my brother salem poured bleach in my eyes! I know it was bad but I of course forgive him cause all siblings fight right? He's really great though! Like one time we were playing hide and seek and he couldn't find me for six hours haha!"

you nervously glanced at the horror stricken expression the therapist had, they were so shocked they werent even taking notes. "Your brother sounds extremely toxic and incredibly dangerous" they stated and axis paused with a light pout clearly offended.

"salem wouldn't hurt a fly!" He huffs out and you weren't sure this was helping too much..though you were glad he decided to go.

Salem

So his therapist had to see a therapist

The first three minutes he had to wear a muzzle cause he tried to eat his therapist and not in the fun way

He is so feral he just speaks in slurring words and barks

You have to put a collar and leash on him

He did leave with a mouth full of blood though cause he bit a huge chunk off his therapist.

"s-s-so, salem w-what do you think c-caused you to be this way?" The doctor spoke while standing on their desk as you tried to pull the leash hard to pull salem away. "Bad boy! Stop it!" You snapped out at salem who got his muzzle off and was attempting to devour the poor therapist. "I-im sorry he's usually much calmer than this, strangers make him hungry" you explained before seeing salem bite the therapist on the leg.

"salem! No! You don't bite people!" You scolded as you tried to pull the male off and once you did you decided it was time to go home now. "W-well thanks doctor this has been fun, let's go salem!" You dragged him away while shaking your head.

"y/nnnnnnn~"

"...yes salem?"

"I love you!"

You glanced at him seeing he was docile once more and you sighed "I love you too babe" you mumbled out not sure what to do.

Rin

His therapist quit.

He trolled them so hard they gave up

Spoke in meme quotes the whole time.

"rin, would you say you were a happy child?"

"yeet."

You face palmed at your boyfriend who was hellbent on annoying the therapist to death. This session has already been thirty minutes and while rin was holding back his laughter the doctor looked like they wanted to snap their clipboard.

"please rin, work with me here..."

Rin beckoned the therapist to come closer and when they leaned in feeling excited thay they made progress rin's eyes sparkled widely. "Big...chungus"

You and rin walked out the office after being kicked out since the therapist had an absolute mental breakdown. "You're an asshole.." you mumbled and rin wrapped an arm around your shoulder with a wicked grin. "I'm your asshole, babynow how about we dress you up then have clown sex? I say that's equal payment for this"

Yuki

He hated it

He was quiet the entire time

Like the entire time

He wouldn't answer a question or nothing

He legit fell asleep with his head in your lap and now sees therapy as a place to nap

He doesn't like strangers so there was no way in hell he's speaking to a stranger.

You sighed at the tense silence in the room as yuki buried his face into your stomach his head in your lap. The moment he got here he took a nap not really caring about the doctor or his questions..it's been this way for a full hour. Slowly yuki opened his eyes and sat up with a low hum, he leaned in to kiss you feeling really clingy until he heard the shuffling of another person.

yuki tensed up suddenly wrapping his arms around you his chin rested on your shoulder. "Y/n, home?" He questions with a grumpy pout. You ran your fingers through his hair with a loud sigh.

"yeah yuki, we can go home.."

prince

He sees himself too cool for that stuff

"I'm not going, therapy isn't my vision of a fun date. Foreplay and sex is a good date"

He doesn't like the idea of sitting in a room and talking about his feelings.

If you promise to let him finger you during the car ride he is totally In though

He doesn't take it seriously at all

Avoids all the questions

Ends up just boasting about his sex life for an hour

"y/n moaned louder that night than ever before, it was so fucking awesome" prince cheered out his eyes lit up. You were covering your face with your hands feeling nothing but embarrassment as prince went all and on.

"t-the question was what makes you happy" the doctor stated and prince gave a confused look. "Yeah, and I said sex I mean wasn't that clear?"

"prince could you perhaps be a nymphomaniac?"

"shit, maybe? If I don't bang at least twice a day I get all grumpy...speaking of bang on the car ride here it was fucking great y/n let me-" you covered his mouth not being able to handle anymore of this. "We'll be going now!" You snapped out now dragging prince away.

"you're sexy when embarrassed"

"shut the hell up"

Rocket

He is literally the least dangerous yandere

He thinks he's fine

But he goes and actually speaks about his life

Everything about his life seems so cheerful and good...until..it isnt

Like axis he speaks as if it's okay

He's a dumbass so therapy doesn't really help him

He just uses it as a way to spend time with you

"so what was your childhood like?"

"well, I grew up in a small village we owned a pretty big farm. My mother and father kinda liked to spoil me.."

You've never heard about his childhood so you were very engaged in this story..it sounded pretty nice. Rocket paused to think when suddenly his eyes lit up

"I ended up being chosen to be the village pet! It was such an honor!" He cheers out with a happy hum. Instantly you knew this wasn't going to be good but you let him explain.

"the village pet is like...hmm a handyman, they do basically anything the villagers don't wanna do it's hard work but it's good work." He explained

"what were some of the things you had to do?"

"well...solves disputes, help out on there people's farms, help procreate, honestly anything! Only way to leave the village as a pet is to choose a new pet. It was hard to pick someone..but I'm glad I did"

The room got very very silent...very fast.

Rocket gazed at the time before getting up. "Hey y/n we should go yeah? You promised we could go get ice cream if I do this with you"

Yuuji& yuuta

Lord...these two got so much fucking baggage

They go, but they see it as entertainment

A fun little joke

Until it's not

The therapist manages to make them fight

And that NEVER happens

Like never.

It gets super damn intense

You're over there like "damn okay."

You watched the two boys argue clearly upset with each other. The question was that if yuuta found yuuji attractive..and yuuta hesitated.

"so you don't think I'm cute or anything?"

"I never said that! I just think, you're not my type."

"how the hell could I be not your type?! I know exactly what you like and don't like! I please you all the damn time!"

You cleared your throat awkwardly, not sure if going to couples therapy was a good idea anymore.

"I'm just saying! You sometimes..don't hit it quite right I mean..it's fine everyone has their ups and downs"

"OH so I'm bad at sex now?! You're such a liar cause on the drive here you were screaming like a little whore!"

"anyone can fucking scream yuuji! Doesn't take damn rocket science! Y'know I'm starting to see why ushio fucking hates you! You think you're so damn high and mighty! This is why we can't have normal relationships with our siblings!"

The room got silent as the two panted softly the screaming working them up and yuuji turned his head away eyes glimmering with tears. You honestly..felt like you were watching a drama show and was totally into it. "I-i didn't mean that- I'm sorry I just-"yuuta mumbled out and yuuji sniffled.

"do you..hate me?"

"wha-"

"ever since we came out when we were younger, you've been trying to be such a tough guy..you don't even say you love me as much. So, do you hate me?" Yuuji explained and you watched as the two hugged.

"of course not! I-i just didn't want anyone to still see me as that girl who was scared of her own shadow" yuuta whimpers out and yuuji smiled at him "you're not her, you're a strong guy.. our strong guy and we love you so much me and y/n" yuuji whispers out planting a kiss on the boy's cheek.

As the three of you left you suddenly felt an arm link with yours on either side. "Enjoy the show dollface?" Yuuta chimed before yuuji giggled "it was very fun!"

"you two were faking it?!" You huffed out seeing them both nod. They were totally lying but they didn't want you to know that, after all they were twins..fighting was basically illegal to them.

Scarlett

Another person who isn't happy with therapy

Straight out refuses

Like nope.

Never.

It takes A LOT of convincing til she agrees

Another member of the "has a bad childhood but sees it as normal" group

Hers is downright horrifying

But she giggles it off

"my childhood? Hmm..well my father was a doctor, I was his little nurse" she said softly in thought and you immediately didn't like this.

"he taught me all about plants, poisons and human biology. He was studying human mutations he wanted to know if it was possible to have humans evolve animal like traits, by replacing their body parts for animal ones of course" she cheers out and interlaced her fingers together.

"such an interesting study, some of them works in some ways..though it seems the human body can't handle some things..we are such fragile creatures are we not?"

Scarlett had this creepy dangerous vibe about her and the session was instantly cut short due to your therapist feeling unsafe. As you two walked out you couldn't help but gaze her way.

"who were his victims?" You asked out softly before feeling her hold your hand with a smile. "Well, children from my school. Then..me" she stated softly causing the haira on the back of your neck to stand.

"what animal part did he give you? Did it work?"

"it worked.."

That was all she stated and you didn't hear anything about it ever again so you were left to wonder about it.

#yandere imagines #yandere #yandere ocs

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dailybeastarsthings · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4 - Can This Day Get Any Worse? 4.2. Dark Desires

The two bodies were unescapably intertwined. Haru couldn’t even move a finger in the strong embrace of Legoshi and yet, she was completely calm.

“I’m… I’m still alive!” she thought. “But why aren’t you eating me? Do you know who I am? Are you disgusted of me?”

But things were far more complicated than that. Legoshi couldn’t escape the thought that he just captured a small animal. And of all small animals, a rabbit. Fulfilment, guilt, pleasure, sorrow. Those were just some of the emotions Legoshi felt. His feral mode was broken by the sound of a heartbeat.

“This sound…” he thought. “Is it me or perhaps… is it you?”

The sound got quicker and quicker with each passing second. To some, it would have been a symphony of victory, but for Legoshi, it was a confusing melody. What should he do? The more time passed, the stronger he held onto Haru.

“It feels like you’re becoming a part of me” he thought. “I can feel your body melt into mine… Your body is so warm… and so small…”

Haru’s body was twitching with anxiety. Her breath was rapid and she was on the verge of crying. While she seemed to be completely untouched by the events, she was violently screaming on the inside, hoping that somebody would actually hear her. Legoshi took notice of Haru’s behavior.

“You move a lot… Your breath is making my arm moist. Do I hurt you now?”

A warm summer breeze mixed up the air around the beasts, playing an ominous melody on the dark emerald leaves of the trees. The silver drops of the fountain sounded like battle drums calling to war. And yet, inside their heads it was complete silence.

“Your smell is driving me crazy” Legoshi thought. “The warm body under you clothes is… so… appetizing…”

Legoshi was surprised at his own thoughts. Did he just actually think about eating another animal after the other incident in school? Would he do the memory of Tem this dirty? He was ashamed of himself, trying his best to stop the dark desire to get ahold of him. But all was in vain… His teeth and fangs were aggressively shining in the moonlight, while his grasp became more firm on the fragile prey.

“My body… It’s like I’m losing all control of it… What’s happening to me?”

“That’s just fine” a distorted voice answered Legoshi.

Legoshi looked around. He saw nothing but darkness lying over the mist. Yet, he was completely sure he heard someone talk to him. Did the small rabbit hear it, too? As he was pacing the surroundings for the origin of the voice, a little dark figure took form in front of him, near the arches. Its body was completely black, with only two piercing white eyes on its head.

“Don’t pretend you can’t see me” the creature said.

Legoshi was shocked. He couldn’t figure out whether the creature was actually there or not. He felt like he was under some strange spell. Or was it his hallucinations because of the mist? Or perhaps his mind playing tricks on him after getting a bit more sober from his feral mode. But he heard the voice again…

“I know exactly how you feel. You can’t hold it in anymore” the figure said while taking small steps towards Legoshi.

“No! Don’t come any closer!” Legoshi yelled at the figure. His muscles became tense. He was afraid.

Haru felt the wolf’s body holding onto hers stronger, yet, she couldn’t make a sense of it. She was only glad that she was still alive – even if in a dangerous situation.

The dark figure was getting closer and closer with each step. It looked like it was softly smiling.

“You’ve been holding yourself back ever since you were a pup, living quietly in the shadows, avoiding attention, trying to lay low. How sad, honestly. Never aiming to reach your full potential. What wasted talent. I bet you never expected this to happen, did you?”

The little figure came face to face with Legoshi and stared deeply into his eyes.

“Are you sad? Or perhaps you’re frustrated?”

“Stay away from me!” Legoshi yelled in fear.

“You’re neither, right? You’re actually happy from the bottom of your heart!” the figure laughed. “Look at yourself, don’t avert your eyes. Look, it’s getting bigger and bigger!”

“No!” Legoshi struggled “I won’t look, go away!”

Haru didn’t know anything about the inner battle of Legoshi, though she knew something was off.

“Why is he taking so long? What is even going on? He’s holding me really tight, I can’t even move a tiny bit but we’ve been frozen like this for a good few minutes now.”

Legoshi’s inner demon finally took form from the nonfigurative blob it used to be and transformed into a terrifying wolf demon snarling at him, showing his pearl white canines. The demon was huge, towering over Legoshi and Haru. It could easily crush both of them with just a single hit.

“I think you’re ready now… This is where the fun begins” its voice resonated from around.

Legoshi looked up and came face to face with his demon. He was terrified by the view.

“Damn! This can’t be happening! No!”

“You’ve been yearning this for 17 years… To finally have a taste… Take a bite!”

Legoshi was defeated by the command. His eyes turned bright red. He was snarling, while he sunk his claws into Haru’s arm. Her bright red blood started to run out of her veins in a thin but notable line. The irony smell of the ruby red liquid sent Legoshi into a haze.

“Enough of this! Let me be free… Give it to me!” he thought while he was sinking his claws even deeper.

Haru felt such fear she never felt before. Her arm hurt and she could feel the freezing touch of death on her face. She wanted to scream but no voice came out of her throat.

“I’ll eat you” Legoshi said with a distorted, feral voice. “I’ll eat you!”

“My arm’s hot, I can feel my blood flowing on my arm. I’m going to die… I’m really going to die” Haru thought.

Legoshi opened his mouth wide open, ready to swallow his prey in whole, his eyes bloodshot and red. Tiny drops of tears began to roll down on Haru’s face. She was scared. She didn’t know what was going to happen. But suddenly, a loud scream broke both of them out of this madness.

“Hey!”

It was Zoe, screaming for help from the entrance of the gym.

Legoshi finally returned to reality from his feral frenzy. His arms loosened up a bit around Haru. She didn’t hesitate. She broke out from Legoshi’s arms and ran away as fast as she could, crying her eyes out. She was finally free from this hellish nightmare.

Legoshi was still dizzy after the events. He was confused. He wished this would never happen ever again.

Thank you for reading! I'll post Chapter 4.3. next Friday! :)

#beastars #beastars fanfiction

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

To The Dead

AO3

...

“No, Joan… Listen, I’ll call you back, no, it’s fine, I’ve just started unpacking, you can come by later…” Logan watched warily as the new human shuffled boxes around, speaking ceaselessly to someone on his phone, occasionally laughing, reassuring the person that he was fine, the drive had gone well, making idle chatter.

It hadn’t been all that long. Merely three months, but he wasn’t all that surprised the house went so fast, to a first-time owner, as well, judging by the looks of the young man. No doubt at an insanely low price, thanks to the laws dictating they disclose any deaths on the property, Virgil’s having been so recent, as well. He was sure Virgil was lurking somewhere, watching all of this, or perhaps he was hiding somewhere.

They’d caught glimpses of him, here and there. Nothing much, just a flicker of shadows, a tinge of darkness, always out of the corner of the eye, always gone before they could say a single word, and it was driving all of them a bit mad.

Patton and Janus had tried everything, to get him to come out, to get him to come back, but to no avail. They still often spoke out loud, when doing things, now, holding conversations with the air, just in case Virgil was nearby, listening, reassuring him that they were there, if he needed anything, wanted anything, they were there for him. To his frustration, Logan had also started doing it, not noticing until someone called him out on it.

And Roman. Roman was worse off than the rest of them. He was miserable, he was apologizing endlessly, trying at every turn to seek him out, but if anything, that seemed to drive Virgil farther away, the sense of his presence dwindling, the paint on his door fading and chipping off, a sign that he hadn’t been in it at all, maybe since the last time they’d all seen him, which meant he wasn’t getting the rest he needed, either.

With a sigh, Logan shook himself out of his thoughts, swapping back over to the spirit plane.

“Well?” Roman asked, laying upside down on the couch.

“Young adult, thirty, brown hair, brown eyes, named Thomas. Seems nice enough.” He reported. “Didn’t seem to notice me at all, no mentions of cold spots, hearing my voice when I spoke, seems just as oblivious as the rest of them.” He commented, noticing the tenseness fading out of Patton and Janus’s shoulders, Remus’s grin growing feral.

“Good. I like a challenge.” He sighed, ignoring Remus’s commentary.

“And… any sign?” Patton asked hesitantly. He shook his head, eyes clouding with worry for a moment.

“No. I would have expected… something, but there was no hint of his presence. I don’t know… I hate not knowing things.” He muttered, falling onto the far end of the couch.

“I know, Lo, but we’ll figure this out.” Patton answered, though his own voice was tinged with disappointment.

There were some cases, rare cases, where humans could see ghosts, speak to them, as if they were just normal, still alive people. None of them had ever met someone like that, the most they got were amateur ghost hunters, in years the house sat empty, when it had still been an old plantation house, and even they weren’t very perceptive. Some humans were more sensitive, catching glimpses of things, picking up on words here or there, cold spots, hot spots, that was more common. They’d have to wait and see, if this one could pick up on any of that.

…

In hindsight, they maybe should have been more worried, when the human, Thomas’s, friend showed up, with a bottle of wine, a cactus as a housewarming gift, and a Ouija board.

But most of that stuff was just hocus pocus, as Logan said, which set Roman off, quoting what was apparently a Disney movie.

“Roman, I am begging you to shut up.” Janus moaned. “I am trying to watch these idiots.” Roman scowled, but ceased, watching the two humans laugh as they lit candles around the board, turning off the lights, to add to the atmosphere.

“What do they think candles are gonna do?” Remus asked, continuously blowing out the small flame as they tried to light the final one.

“Probably supposed to symbolize a portal to the afterlife, or something similarly ridiculous.” Logan scoffed, still watching their actions with interest.

“Ok, who should we try and talk to?” Thomas asked.

“Uhhh, Abraham Lincoln!” Joan responded, earning a startled laugh from Thomas.

“What? Why was that your go to?”

“I don’t know, it was the first famous dead person that came to mind! What was your plan, then?” Joan asked indignantly, though they were smirking too. Thomas shrugged.

“Um. Hey. Anyone here who’s friendly and not, like, gonna go all Amityville horror on us, feel free to communicate with us, using this board.”

“Dude, they’re ghosts. How are they gonna know what Amityville horror is? Since when do ghosts watch movies?”

“I don’t know! You were trying to talk to good ‘ol Abe, I feel like you don’t have room to lecture here.” They both froze as the planchet moved. Not much, not far, but it had definitely moved.

“Did that just…”

“Hoooolly shiiit.” Joan whispered, wide eyes meeting Thomas’s. Neither of them had even had their hands near the board, much less touching the planchet.

In the ghostly realm, everyone’s eyes locked on Roman, who stood frozen, mouth agape, staring at the planchet he’d bumped against while leaning in to examine the board, as easily moved as anything he summoned himself.

“Oops?” He said, shushing Logan as the two humans started speaking again.

“Ok, um, ok, that’s normal! We probably just bumped the table! Um, is… is anyone here, with us?” Thomas asked. Immediately the planchet started moving again, landing on ‘yes’.

“ROMAN! What do you think you’re doing?!” Janus hissed, and he wrung his hands.

“I-I don’t know! They asked! It seemed rude not to answer? I haven’t exactly been in this situation before, Jan!” He fired back, their own panicking mirroring the panic going on between Thomas and Joan.

“What do we have to lose?” Patton asked softly, getting everyone’s attention.

“I am unclear what you mean, Patton.” Logan said, gaze turning to him, where he sat, biting his lip, fiddling with his cardigan.

“I mean… by answering them. What do we have to lose? We’re all stuck here, anyway. It’s not like they can hurt us. And… we live here too! Shouldn’t we get to know our new roommates?” He asked, voice getting higher in pitch with each word, until he squeaked out his question.

“Who are you?” Came the question from the humans, from the board, and Roman hesitated, looking back at everybody, asking what he should do, the question evident in his eyes.

“Fine. Go ahead. Patton’s right, I suppose, there’s not much they can do, besides leave. But I will not be involved in this.” Janus sighed from the couch, retreating to his room, to avoid whatever action was coming next. Logan nodded.

“I second Janus’s sentiments. Pardon me.” With that, it was Roman, Patton and Remus, who tried to swipe the planchet, but failed, swiping right through it, letting out an annoyed squawk.

“What?! Why!?” He screeched, Roman grinning like an idiot.

“Their opening. They said…” He broke off laughing, “They said anyone who wasn’t gonna Amityville them, Ree you’re literally a poltergeist, that stupid line is keeping you from doing shit!” He laughed harder at Remus’s indignant expression, eyes flashing with ire.

“OH, they’re gonna regret that bullshit. Imma haunt them so hard it’s gonna feel like a-“

“Thank you, Remus, that’s enough!” Patton interrupted, not wanting to know the end of that sentence, and Remus vanished with a scowl and puff of black smoke. Roman rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the board, spelling out his name.

“R-o-m-a-n. Roman. Like, a Roman soldier? What would they be doing here?” Thomas asked.

“What would they be doing speaking English?” Joan piped in.

“Good lord, these two are slow.” Roman muttered, moving the planchet once more, Patton giggling at his remark.

“My name is Roman, you idiots.” He spelled out, “And I am not a roman.” The two humans stared at each other for a moment, before bursting into only slightly hysterical laughter.

“We just got called idiots… by a ghost! What even… how is this happening?” Thomas wheezed, trying to pull himself together, devolving into giggles every time he and Joan looked at each other.

“I mean, they’re not wrong!” Joan shot back, once they got their breathing back under control.

“How did you die?” Blurted Thomas, and Roman rolled his eyes.

“Oh my god, you can’t just ask people how they died!” Roman replied, enjoying the befuddlement on the two human’s faces.

“I’m… I might be wrong, but did it just make a mean girls reference?” Joan asked.

“Yes. And I use He/Him, thank you. If you must know, I was a civil war soldier. Fighting for the North, y’know, the right team? But my family were assholes and lived here so… here I am!” He answered.

“Oh, good. He’s anti-slavery and not a homophobe. Cool, cool, cool.”

“Is there anyone else, with you?” Joan asked, and Roman bit his lip, turning to Patton, who eagerly grabbed the planchet.

“Hey kiddos! I’m Patton!” His answer was met with instant bursts of laughter.

“Wow. Straight from civil war action to dad mode. Um. Hello, Patton. It’s… nice to meet the both of you? We’ve never really spoken to ghosts before. Uh, you guys…live here?” Thomas asked a bit nervously.

“Yuppers! But we’re all pretty friendly. Mostly. None of us are violent, or anything, though some can be a bit… startling at times.”

“That’s only a bit worrying. Oh god, now I’m gonna hear every noise and think it’s a ghost. Because it could be a literal ghost.” Thomas mumbles, shoving back his hair, Joan chuckling nervously.

“Yeah, good luck with that one, Thomas.” Joan answers, getting to their feet. “It’s late. I should probably be going.”

“What? No, uh uh, after this, you do not get to ditch me on my first night in a new house in a new town that you made me learn is actually haunted, though the ghosts do seem polite, no offense, guys, just a liiittle freaky.” Thomas said, gaze shifting to the board for a moment, and Patton laughed.

“He’s worried about us! That’s sweet!”

“He’s worried we’ll haunt his nightmares.” Roman muttered back, watching the humans argue back and forth, before finally agreeing.

“Alright. Uh, we’re gonna go to bed and try and sleep. So… talk to you later, I guess?”

“Yes please! This is fun!” Thomas chuckled a bit at that.

“I’m guessing that was Patton. Good night, Pat. Good night, Roman, who is not an actual Roman. Uhhh, you’re dismissed?”

“Are you a school teacher? ‘you’re dismissed. Get some style. Farewell, my fellow brother in arms, may your gay heart guide you true!” Roman replied, making them both break down into a giggling fit yet again, as they blew out the candles, setting aside the board as they got up to get ready to sleep, Patton and Roman returning to their own living room in the spirit world.

“Well, that was… interesting.” Roman said slowly.

“It was… a bit nice. Talking. To other live people.” Patton said softly, and Roman stopped, pulling Patton into a hug, which he easily melted into.

“yeah. It was. But it did still take quite a bit of energy. We should get some rest, as well.”

“I’m gonna stay out here for a little bit. Just… just in case.” Roman sighed softly, but nodded, stepping away.

“Alright. Rest well, Pat.”

…

He had been asleep for a few hours, when he blinked open his eyes at a small movement. All he caught was a deep shadow, tucking a blanket tight around him.

“Virg?” He asked softly, the shadow freezing, the room dropping in temperature with his fear, and he moved to hide away. “s okay, bud. I love you kiddo, okay? Jus want you to know.” He mumbled, smiling as his eyes drifted closed, pulling the blanket tighter with a soft sigh. “you can come talk to me, anytime. I won tell. Promise.” He felt a soft pat against his hand, then the shadow slipped away, though Patton was sure he felt a little better than before.

@fortheloveofjanus

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ranmaru-fr · 3 years

Text

Lore Draft: “I stand at the edge”

E essa noite não tem fim Já não sei o que será de mim Essa estrada mostra a direção Eu mais pareço estar em contramão

“O Sol de Lá” - Canto dos Malditos na Terra do Nunca

Not-so-small snippet featuring Amora and Corvo. Started as a vent writing piece, became a lore draft of sorts? Check reblogs for author notes.

(TW: suicide TW: self-harm TW: violence)

I stand at the edge.

Did you know it’s a dragon’s instinct to open its wing during free fall? It cannot control it, even if it tries. Just before it hits the ground, its wings open and it soars upwards. Unless the wings are damaged, or the dragon’s conscience is impaired, it cannot die from plunging towards the ground. The folklore says it’s a gift from the gods, that dragons are forever bound to the sky - but in reality, it’s merely a remnant of the survival instincts imprinted into every dragon’s DNA, dating from when they were simply feral, untamed creatures.

That’s why I took the care to tie mine down, after shredding them apart as a precaution. I never planned on surviving the fall; quite the contrary, actually. Obviously, the pain would be unbearable if I still could feel anything in my body. There’s nothing, no sensation, no feeling - only a numbness that very lightly tingles through my entire being. I should be feeling the adrenaline, but its effect too had been numbed by the void that consumed me. There was nothing.

I stared at the bottom of the precipice.

No, there was no way I could survive. There are several thousand feet between me and the ground. I will die if I fall.

Good, I think. This is what I want.

Is it what I want? Maybe it’s that last survival instinct kicking in, realising I am no longer bound to my wings, but I hesitate for a second. I think about life, about what I’ll miss if I take another step… I feel a sting in my heart, but I don’t waver. This is the only option left for me. It’s what’s right. My way out, after all these years.

Still, I cry. I don’t mind wiping away those stray tears. I simply smile. This pain is familiar, and in an odd way, even comforting. I’ve known it for as long as I can remember, my oldest friend. Never letting go, feeding off of me but keeping me alive. Following me like my shadow, breaking me down like a parasite. Comforting me like a mother, lashing out at me like a scared animal. My friend.

I stand at the edge.

I close my eyes. I take another step. And I fall.

-x-x-

It takes me a while to snap back into reality. I feel the wind on my wings, the cold biting at my still somewhat fresh wounds. I’m not at the ground. I’m not exactly at the edge, either. I’m just there, standing mid-air, still staring at the ground like I’m longing for it.

My momentary confusion clears when I hear a low grunt and a sharp pain in my arm.

Blinking, I turn to face my back and find something… Unexpected. Gripping very tightly to me to the point their claws are sinking into my flesh, stands a dark Spiral. I can feel him trying to bring me back to the safety of the ledge, but his body is far too stretched to provide any sort of traction strength. If I were to guess, his own hind legs would be moments away from slipping away, a victim of my weight and gravity itself.

There’s no way for him to bring me back to the ledge, I conclude. His survival instinct would kick in soon enough, and he’d let go of me in order to not fall over with me. All I had to do was wait.

But so far nothing had gone as planned - why would this be any different?

The Spiral let out a light growl and jumped off the edge, still gripping my arm. Free fall. Before I’m able to embrace the comfort of gravity doing its thing, I feel a hard tug and my whole body is lifted off. I feel the warmth of a body wrapping around me, and shortly after I feel the two of us hitting solid ground.

It was too soon to be my desired destination, and I can hear the Spiral gasp for air. We’re both alive.

“Gods,” I hear through a cracking voice. “That would’ve been quite a fall.”

My mind is racing, trying to process what had just happened. It takes me about a minute to fully come back to my senses, and I feel absolutely enraged. My plans, ruined by a stranger. The only option I had left… And it failed because of someone else. If there’s a god, they’re surely to be amused.

“Why the fuck did you save me?” I ask.

The Spiral stares blankly at me before laughing. “Ha, wouldn’t you want to know?”

He tries to quickly recompose himself, but I can tell he’s somewhat shaken up from whatever he just did in order to save me. I should feel gratitude, I suppose; still, there’s only anger.

“You should’ve let me fall.”

“Sure,” he replies. “But I didn’t, now, did I? Though, if you want to be smashed into a thousand little pieces, the ledge is still there. I won’t save you twice.”

Hesitation. That’s the first time I’ve felt it in a while. I feel the Spiral’s gaze on me, watching me closely as I stand there.

“Hmm, I see,” he hums. Slowly, he walks toward me, gaze fixed on mine, watching me like a hunter watches its prey. “So that’s why I felt compelled to be here.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snap, walking a couple steps backward. “Fucking weirdo.”

He quickened his pace, circling around me. His long body twists and turns like a snake, cutting off my path towards the ledge. I try to escape the other way, but his tail twitches (from what I can only guess is amusement) in front of me. Staring back at him, I see a pair of blood-red eyes staring right into me.

“Lady luck just smiled at me, I see,” he says, laughing briefly. “Well, not that I mind it that much. I needed a distraction anyhow.”

“Let me go,” I bark at him. He just stares in amusement.

“You crave it, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Death,” he replies. “You crave it. Desire can be fed by greed - and I understand greed all too well.”

“So what? Get out of my way,” I try to jump over his slender body, but he coils around me. A snake, teasing its prey before heading in for the kill.

“Tell you what, comrade: I’ll give you what you so dearly wish for: death, final, no one around to save you - if you give me something in exchange, of course.”

I say nothing. I’m intrigued; more than that, I feel compelled to comply with his request. There is no logic, just my gut telling me to accept his proposal. Weird.

“All I need from you is a little distraction. Not too long, just enough to get me back in the game,” he says. “After that, I’ll make sure you die once and for all, if that’s what will feed your greed.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m a demon of my word,” he smiles, uncoiling from around me. “And your soul seems like it’ll provide me the boost I very desperately need.”

Demon.

That’s it. Creatures that feed off the souls of other mortals in order to survive. They’d usually be able to survive without consuming souls, but they’re pure, condensed magical energy; they’re a demon’s favorite snack, even if their survival isn’t on the line.

But it’s true, demons are bound to their contracts. If this Spiral says he’ll kill me, I can be certain that he will. It’s a guarantee that I’ll die, rather than the mere hope of the probability my suicide attempt will work.

“What sort of distraction do you need from me?” I ask. I’m already willing to accept, but… I would rather not stay around for longer than needed.

“Oh, this and that,” he says. “Nothing dirty, of course! Just allow me to watch you squirm as life has its way with you. That’s more than enough to amuse me.”

“How long?”

“‘I don’t want to be around for much longer’ is what you’re thinking, isn’t it? Ah, I can basically touch this desire of yours. Wonderful!”

He coils around himself, humming as he muses.

“Maybe a month? That should be enough for me to forget my own problems,” he replies. “I can guess you’d rather have a… shorter-term contract with me, but I need something good out of this too.”

“And you get your kicks from watching other people suffer? Like a damn sadist?”

The demon laughs. “You could say that, yes. I find mortal life stupid, and quite frankly, boring. Watching people struggle is entertaining.”

I let out a huh.

Life is already meaningless for me anyway. I have nothing else to lose, and if he can guarantee I won’t be coming back from death, well… Might as well.

“Sure,” I reply. “I’ll do it, if you can kill me once I’m done parading like a clown to amuse you.”

“If that’s what your greed demands at the end of our contract, so be it.”

He sticks out his hand. I hesitate for maybe a seconds before reaching out and shaking it.

The Spiral smiles widely.

I feel a sharp, burning pain in my chest. Instinctively, I pull the shirt I was wearing to look at the pain I just felt - and I’m surprised to find the intricate design of a rose deep-burned onto me.

“The mark of my contract,” the demon replies before I can ask. “My family’s crest. The sign of our contract.”

No reply from me. I just stare at it.

“Well, we should get along for the next month, hm?” I can see him standing up, already ready to leave. “Name’s Corvo, at your service. You are?”

“Fuck you,” I reply, walking away first.

-x-x-

Corvo smiles.

If there was one thing he learned well from his mother, it was how to perfectly charm his prey. It’s true, luck had led him there at first. When he felt the unmistakable presence of desire and despair, he blindly followed it until he found the Skydancer staring into the void below. At first, the demon wanted to merely watch and be amused by the pain that consumed the dragon in front of him. But then…

Then he felt, once again, the urge to jump in, to feed off that delicious negative energy. It was an impulse stronger than him, rooted deeply into his very being. He had to feed off that dragon’s desire. He had to claim his soul.

Getting the one-month deal? A mere bonus. The entertainment was much needed, and he figured he’d get a decent, stable source of magical energy to leech off of.

He could feel his eye twitch, perhaps a sign of his conflicted mind and soul. The feelings he buried deep inside, the desires he could not control, all fighting to take over. But he would not let either of them win.

I will not show weakness. I will not succumb to my own mortality. I am a predator - and I shall not waver, even at my lowest.

His contract bond allowed him to sense the Skydancer’s presence, wherever he was. Corvo knew the dragon stood a second too long near the ledge, and he knew he couldn’t leave him alone, lest he flirted with death once more.

No. He wouldn’t let that mortal die naturally. He’d die by his hand - and they’d both savor every moment of it. Ah, the anticipation. It sent shivers down Corvo’s spine. It would be a delicious meal, of course…

He snorted.

I’m sorry Ace. Old habits die hard, my love. I can’t be the man you thought you’d seen in me.

The demon stared towards the dome, glittering in the far distance, a true jewel among the sandy dunes.

But I can finish what we started.

I will reign eternal, and I will destroy the remnants of this broken world the Regents have created. No sin will be left unaccounted for. Mortals and immortals alike will pay for their crimes, now.

And I shall show you, love, that our true salvation comes with death, as She taught us all.

#lore #oc: corvo #oc: amora #tw: suicide #tw: self-harm #tw: violence #cw: cursing #haah feels good to post something #please excuse the... heavy themes

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flutteringphalanges · 4 years

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Summary: “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: A little shorter than usual. I think I have a stomach bug, but I wanted to give you guys something! Thank you for all of your support! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! If you ever want an explanation about something after you read a chapter, my author’s notes at the end in my AO3 and FFN docs tend to have them! Hope you enjoy! -Jen

Chapter Eight

Agatha was bitten by a snake once. Searching for eggs in the chicken coop, no older than six. When she slid her hand under her favorite hen, something clamped down. Sharp, needle like teeth burying themselves into her skin. It burned. Ached. And she screamed so loud one might even go as far to claim the entire town heard.

But in reality, it had mostly startled her. The bite nonvenomous. A black snake. The young girl watched as the tiny droplets of blood oozed from the bite marks. Such a curious sight to behold. A wound on flesh from mouth. As she watched it slither away, too quick for her father to catch, she couldn't help but wonder if it'd remember her taste. Liked the scent of her blood. Agatha, of course, would never know.

Agatha's eyes widened in shock as she felt Dracula's fangs dig into the sensitive flesh of her neck. Fueled off an adrenaline rush, she kicked herself back, slamming against the headboard as the vampire eyed her in a mixed expression of confusion and lust. Blood glistened off of his teeth. Coated his lips. Her blood. He'd bitten her. The bastard had actually bitten her!

"Agatha?" The Count began before she rammed her feet against his chest. It did nothing. "You seem upset."

"Upset?!" She panted holding a hand to her throat. "You BIT me!"

Dracula was silent for a minute, watching the fuming nun with keen interest. He then sat back almost as if nothing troubling had occurred. This only seemed to fuel Agatha's rage further. Not only was he acting so passively about this, but his lack of acknowledging the situation entirely was frustrating. Furiously so.

"If you are concerned about turning, Agatha, I can assure you that isn't going to happen." He spoke as if those words meant something. "If I wanted to change you, you'd have been dead long ago."

Her fingers ran down the indents in her neck. The pain had faded away leaving a cool, almost numbing feeling. It was almost...pleasant. Despite this, she frowned. Angry at him. And maybe, maybe just a little bit disappointed she made him stop. But she didn't want him to know this. Why had he done it? What were his intentions? She remembered Jonathan Harker. His former "brides" in their boxes below. Why hadn't he killed her too?

"Are you in pain?" And there was genuine concern in his tone.

"No…" What was that about not letting him know? "No, it...it doesn't hurt. Not anymore." Agatha looked at him, her eyes no longer holding malice. Only interest. Needing. "Why?"

"Because I didn't want it to." Dracula answered simply, reaching for the hand that covered the mark. "My plan isn't to make you suffer, Agatha." There was a quick flicker of a smirk on his face. "Most of the time."

Before she could react further, he leaned forward and licked the spot where his fangs had struck. Smooth, with purpose, a shiver ran down Agatha's spine as he drew back. She began to feel that familiar ache stemming from her core. Heat rising in her like the night fevers she vaguely remembered upon her arrival to the castle those many weeks ago. Ignoring them, she quickly slid out of the bed.

"I should wash up." Agatha told him quietly, knowing that if she didn't, she'd regret it later.

There was a bassin of cool water along with a cloth in the bathroom. Agatha didn't bother to warm it over the fire as she began to scrap the gore from her body. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, the icy liquid dripping against her skin. But it was something. Something other than the almost feral emotions she felt back in her bedroom. She couldn't help but wonder if he was still in there. Waiting for her. Or perhaps watching her from the shadows. Was it so wrong to think that she wouldn't much mind if he was?

The former nun gazed down at the murky liquid. With the lack of mirrors in the castle-courtesy of Dracula, it was hard to capture sight of her reflection. Maybe if she asked he'd give her one. It'd be the least he could do. Exhaling heavily, she dropped the soiled rag into the bucket and ran her fingers through her hair.

As she took a few steps outside of the room, she was surprised to find a nightgown nicely folded at her feet. Peering around, Agatha picked it up somewhat unsure. Was the Count being genuinely caring at this moment or did he have an ulterior motive? Slipping it on, she made her way back to the bedroom. Fresh sheets. No sign of the slime or mess from their actions. It was almost irritating how he fluctuated with generosity.

"You sure do think about Abraham Van Helsing don't you?"

Agatha stiffened at the name as she turned to see Dracula standing, now dressed, in the doorway. He was eyeing her in slight amusement as he stepped inside, his gaze not breaking from hers as he moved in close.

"The first time I tasted you, I can't say I really gave your backstory as much thought as I did." He smiled, but the former nun didn't return the favor. "When you cut your finger?" Dangerous territory. "He was rather hard on you."

"Don't bring him up." Her voice was cold.

"I'm truly not trying to start something. But after what we just did. That tiny mouthful of blood. I finally see where it comes from. What makes you you." And he was grinning. Smiling as if he just learned the best news in the world. "I think I'm finally beginning to figure you out, Agatha Van Helsing."

Confusion. Almost hurt. Anger. After what they did. What he did. What she gave him. Together. Now such an intimate moment was turning into this vampire's delight of a discovery?! Christ, she'd begun to trust him. Like an imbecile. Gave way into her emotions. A fool. An absolute fool.

"So this was all it ever was to you?" She asked in a low voice. "A game?" Hadn't it always? "Nothing more than a chess board where we knock each other's pieces off?"

His laughing began to fade. "I certainly didn't imply any of that." Dracula's voice was cool. "I was merely bringing up the fact that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Wrong response. Terrible answer. "I knew Abraham Van Helsing, and though he raised you to do what he couldn't, something in you changed." When he reached towards her, she recoiled instantly. "Agatha Van Helsing, I think you might have feelings for me." And once more the smile reappeared. "In a good way."

"Fuck you."

A strong word. A hateful sentence. After they literally had sex-or nearly until he bit her, things were fine. They were co-existing and she'd begun to accept that. Accept everything. But now suddenly, out of the blue he brought up her grandfather. The man who hounded her for years to be the vampire hunter that he was. A task she'd failed. That she'd pushed aside. And he had the audacity to remind her of it. And play with her emotions. It was true. It had always been true. Count Dracula was nothing more than a monster.

"Burn in Hell." The bite mark began to sting on her neck as she said it. "You should've let the fever kill me when you had the chance."

"Agatha…" But she ignored him. The sound of her name on his tongue bitter. "Agatha, don't be foolish."

She was storming out of the room with purpose, blocking out the sound of his voice. Why was she so upset? Christ, she was acting like a little school girl. Heart broken. Betrayed. Abraham was right. He was always right. The bruises from training. The endless nights of identifying what was needed to ward off vampires. Her childhood taken from her. All of these years and she'd thrown them away by sleeping with a vampire. Not once. Twice. Letting him devour any integrity she had built up as a nun.

"It's raining," Dracula called after her. "I am quite sure you don't wish to be struck by lightning." When she still didn't reply, he huffed. "I apologize for ruining the mood. Again. But how about we discuss things without you being swept away by a flash flood?"

"Oh, I'm not going out of the castle." She snapped back. "I'm going to go sit on the balcony. The sun will be rising soon and seeing as you will burn into a crisp, I can be alone." At least, she certainly hoped it'd stop raining by then and the clouds would dissipate. "And then I'm leaving for good." Before killing him first.

"You keep saying that and it has yet to happen," he countered. There was a pause before he quickly added. "If you need anything, I'll be in my study for a few hours before the morning." She shouldn't have given him the last word. Wasn't that how fights worked? "Agatha?"

But she had already thrust the heavy doors to the balcony open. Almost instantly a heavy spray of water hit her directly in the face. She coughed, the liquid burning her nose and throat from swallowing it wrong. With a grunt, she slammed them behind her and took a seat on the ground. Agatha pulled her knees up to her chest, just barely covered by the outcrop of the roof above.

How in a matter of minutes had passion turned to fury? Agatha inhaled and watched the water run through the crevices of the stone. She'd failed her mission. Time after time again. Failed her grandfather. The late nuns of St. Mary's Convent. Jonathan Harker. And Mina. Dear, sweet Mina who had relied on her all along. Glancing towards the sky, she made a promise to herself. It was time to push it aside. Everything aside. And do what she was bred from a young age to do. Kill Count Dracula.

Thunder rolled overhead and the vampire slayer eyed her healed hand, studying her now functioning knuckles. She thought about the stake she had handled just hours earlier sitting down the steps on the table below. Agatha smiled, her brain and her heart competing on what was the truly right decision. In her head Abraham Van Helsing's dying words repeated in her mind.

"...Finish what I couldn't…"

#Dracula #Dragatha #Dracula 2020 #Agatha Van Helsing #Dracula x Agatha #Bad Moon Rising

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luminousbeansarewe · 4 years

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wandering stars

ch 5: well met

pairings: none || rating: teen || characters: original characters, anakin skywalker, cal kestis

tags: bullying again

chapter list

*************************************************

Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 25BBY

As it turned out, Mace Windu was not the first Jedi to hold a conversation with Sol Tannor.

Hunger had driven her back to consciousness, stomach demanding her attention. She was still in her armor on the bed, but it was night outside and now the lights that cast their rays through the transparisteel window were wan and artificial. Drawing herself upright as if out of a pit of mud, Sol peered around the room until she found the door and went towards it. Her hand fumbled at the control, but it was clear after a moment which button opened it. The halls outside were gently illuminated with warm light, and she wandered out feeling like a ghost.

“Whoa, there,” came a voice from behind, and she spun adder-quick towards the source. A young man in Jedi robes, his hair short with a tiny braid hanging over his shoulder, was approaching her. His gait pretended to be calm, but she saw his urgency and confusion. “What are you doing here with those?” His eyes cut down to the blasters at her hip. At no point had Mace asked her to part with them. She frowned.

“They’re mine,” she said.

“Yes, but most people aside from Jedi don’t carry weapons inside the temple,” he informed her. “I think you should at least put those away while you’re walking around. What are you doing here, anyway? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m looking for food.” Her voice was still a little strained from weeping. “I… slept.”

“How did you—”

“Mace Windu brought me here,” she cut him off, defensive.

“Oh.” The young man seemed suddenly to understand. Apparently word had gotten around about her arrival. It felt strange that anybody would talk about her when she was not there. “I guess that’s why you’re wearing armor and carrying blasters.” She made no reply, stood very still. “You said you’re looking for something to eat?” he asked finally.

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re going the opposite way of the kitchens,” he said with a chuckle. “Follow me, I can show you.” He turned, gestured; she followed, relieved he seemed to have either forgotten or disregarded her weapons. Parting with them was not at all interesting to her.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked when the silence became more than he could bear, which was not very much later.

“Sol Tannor,” she replied.

“Sol. I’m Anakin Skywalker. It’s nice to meet you. I heard about what happened to your father. I’m very sorry. I haven’t seen my mother in a very long time, and my father I never knew.” She heard his tone go a little dark, then. But a pang in her heart appreciated his effort.

“I am sorry for you, too, then” she said quietly.

“It’s alright. Did Mace tell you what you’d be doing while you’re here?”

“No.”

“But you can use the Force, can’t you?” Anakin was full of questions, but walking along the halls with him was less unnerving than the round room had been.

“Apparently,” she said. “Didn’t know that was what I was doing.”

“Most of us don’t at first, but it’s okay,” he assured her. “You’re in the best place in the galaxy to learn how to use it properly.”

For whatever reason, this did make her feel a little better; the coil in her center seemed to loosen a bit. “Mace Windu says I’m too old to become a Jedi.”

“Well, that doesn't mean they can’t help you control it anyway. What do you want to do if you’re not gonna be a Jedi?” he asked. She blinked, momentarily puzzled.

“I… don’t know.”

“Oh.” Anakin seemed as puzzled as she was by that. “Well, that’s alright. I’m sure you’ll find your way.”

They arrived at a larger set of doors which slid open to reveal a busy kitchen, full of steam and noise and scents. “It’s past dinner, but there’s sure to be leftovers,” he told her. “The younglings are likely still in the dining hall, if you want to make friends.”

Make friends?

“Um,” she murmured.

“Here.” And he was guiding her along, taking a plate for her and filling it generously. He was cheerful in a way she barely believed. Handing her the food, he nodded to another set of doors and led her through them.

The large chamber held a few long tables, and one was still populated with a handful of younglings. Actual children, she thought. They couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old. Anakin walked right up to them before she could find it in her throat to protest.

“Cal,” he said, addressing a human boy with short auburn hair and freckles on his cheeks. “Can my friend Sol sit with you to have dinner?” Evidently a short walk and a handful of questions meant she and this Anakin were friends.

The boy, Cal, turned wide eyes to the older member of his order, then to Sol. The other younglings who had noticed what was going on watched, curious.

“Um, sure,” he said. “You can sit here.” He reached his small arm over the table, tapping it with a finger pointed across from him.

“See? Perfect,” Anakin said, pleased with himself.

“Vor’e,” she told him before taking her seat. “It means thank you.”

“Of course. Welcome to the Jedi Temple, Sol.” As he turned away, fear leapt into her chest suddenly.

“Wait!” He stalled at her call, turned back to look at her. “How will I get back to my room?” She hadn’t taken in a single detail of their path here, so far was she from the world with hunger and grief.

“It’s on the hall where I found you?” he asked. She nodded. “Cal, when you’re done, can you show Sol back to the fourth Padawan’s hall where her room is?”

Again, the boy looked at him almost in wonder. “Yes, Master Skywalker.”

“Thank you.” Smiling again, he nodded once more to the girl. “I must return to my studies. But I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Then he exited in a flourish of brown cloth, leaving Sol alone with a gaggle of younglings who only looked at her while she began to eat. She realized belatedly that she was shoveling food into her mouth rather crudely and suddenly slowed, self conscious.

“What language did you say to Master Skywalker just now?” Cal asked, canting his head.

“Mando’a,” Sol said.

“Is that what the Mandalorians speak?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a Mandalorian?”

“No.”

“But you’re wearing armor,” he pointed out.

“More than just Mandos wear armor, ad,” she frowned. “Just as more than Jetti wear robes.”

“Well, I guess that’s true,” Cal said, unfazed. “Are you a Padawan?” His eyes were bright as they regarded her.

“No,” she said between bites. The food was vanishing fast.

“Oh.” Now the child seemed almost disappointed, glancing away from her. Sol ate, quick but less feral this time, and drank water from a glass Anakin had brought with them from the kitchen. The calm that settled over her as she did was a profound relief, though it did not soothe away the sadness or nervousness entirely. And the pain, as always, was there too.

“I can take your plate,” Cal offered, sliding off the bench seat to his feet. A few of the other younglings had wandered off, apparently too shy to volley their own inquiries at the stranger. Before she could protest, the boy took her empty plate— not even crumbs left— and water glass and marched to the kitchen. Standing a little awkwardly to shuffle behind him, Sol was relieved to depart the gaggle of children. The last time she had seen a child of that age she had been looking at herself in the mirror, and that felt lifetimes ago.

“C’mon,” Cal prodded her with youthful energy, waving her out the door she’d come in by. As he strode ahead, it seemed his interest in her had waned. As in awe of the older boy— Anakin— as he’d been, perhaps people who were not going to become Jedi held less glamour for him. He drew finally down a hall she almost recognized, and walked right past her room.

“This is it,” she called, and he spun around.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s alright. Vor’e, Cal.” She nodded at him, which was very like a Mandalorian, and he bowed to her, which was very like a Jedi. Then he turned and scampered off down the hall to whatever end such a youngling could make after dinner in this place. Golden eyes watched him go for a moment, then turned to open the door and slink back into retreat.

#sw tcw #star wars fanfic #swtcw fanfic #cal kestis #anakin skywalker #my fic #my ocs #cronos squad

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zwritestuff · 5 years

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sink your teeth into my flesh [branjie] - one-shot

a/n: yesterday i said that if a post about i made about a dream i had got one (1) like, i’d write a fic about it. it got two (2) likes, and here i am keeping my word. happy spooky season!

tw: bloody stuff, since it’s a vampire themed one-shot.

summary: brooke is vanessa’s host, but she doesn’t have her possession mark.

“You haven’t been feeding yourself well,” Vanessa said with a firm voice. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and in matter of a second a million excuses ran through Brooke’s mind. “Is there something wrong?”

The blonde forced a smile, looking up from her plate.

“I just haven’t been very hungry lately,” she replied, her voice betraying her and sounding lower and shakier than she meant.

Vanessa cocked a brow, staring at her from the other side of the table.

“Bull,” she scoffed, “You’re my host. I feed off of you three times a day, remember? You have to be hungry, it’s how this works.” She tapped her fingers on the surface of the table, getting impatient. She couldn’t dive her fangs into the blonde’s neck if she hadn’t eaten anything; not only it was risky for Brooke, but Vanessa wouldn’t get any nutrients like she was supposed to.

Brooke clenched her fist under the table, and with her free hand she forced a spoon of mashed potato down her throat. Vanessa smiled pleased, unaware of Brooke’s real feelings.

The blonde knew the moment she turned twenty-one she’d inevitably turn into one of the Mateo’s hostess for as long as she lived, all thanks to her very lovely mom, a broke witch who sold her newborn baby to the Mateo family to pay a debt with the clan. The Mateos were an uncommon clan in The Underground, still using the ancient tradition of “hosts”; they’d feed off exclusively from one person as long as they lived. As the centuries passed, the other vampire clans stopped using this practice, preferring to go hunt their own food in the human world.

While growing up, the reality of the situation never really hit Brooke, being otherwise really good friends with some of the younger members of the clan, and ignoring the danger of her position in the clan. But when the clock hit midnight and it finally was March ten, she was awoken by the Matriarch of the clan dragging her off her bed repeating again and again, “It’s time to face your destiny”, while she tried to break free from her and ran away.

If Brooke thought about it, ending up with Vanessa wasn’t all that bad. Out of all the Mateos, she was one of the nicest and polite vampires she’d ever met — as far as Brooke was concerned, she could’ve ended up in Cousin Alistair, and that was a much worse destiny. His hosts never lasted more than mere months.

But despite how nice Vanessa was, only five months had passed since she was her hostess, and she couldn’t take it anymore. Being isolated, in the dark and with the constant fear of being assaulted by some other vampires from the clan wasn’t the life she wanted. When she was under the Matriarch’s care, nobody dared to touch her, since it would be a severe offense. She had to remain pure and unbitten for her future master and their possession mark.

But Vanessa hadn’t yet given her mark to Brooke, making her vulnerable to an attack at any moment. As a result she had been eating less than she should, fearing the smell of her blood would attract unwanted company.

“I’m done,” Brooke informed in an almost inaudible whisper, but she knew Vanessa would listen, she always did. It was a vampire thing, she supposed.

Within a second there were a pair of hands gently stroking her shoulders, as the blonde revealed her neck for her master, waiting for the so familiar pain that’d come next.

But when Vanessa placed her head in the crook of her neck and her lips were in contact with her milky white skin, the bite never arrived. Instead, she placed a soft kiss, leaving Brooke confused.

“I think I know why you’ve been rejecting Olga’s food, Brooke,” the vampire said, and a chill ran down Brooke’s back.

“I don’t know what you—” Vanessa cut her off.

“Don’t try to lie to me, darling, ‘cause you know you’re terrible at it.” Brooke clenched her jaw, slightly irritated.

“Oh? Is that so? Then tell me, master, why I rather starve than be healthy for you,” the blonde snarled, so done with whatever game Vanessa was trying to play.

As a response, Vanessa simply took the knife Brooke had been previously using and did a cut in her own left palm. Soon the black blood started pouring, the witch gagged a little; the smell of vampire blood was putrid and it weirdly reminded her of death.

“What are you…?” She couldn’t finish her sentence when Vanessa took her right hand and as deadpan as before did a quick cut in it. Brooke hissed at the feeling, but it was nothing she wasn’t used to.

“A little raven told me someone is angry for not having my possession mark,” Vanessa commented, holding tight Brooke’s hand. The witch’s eyes grew wide, feeling her hand burn. “In my defense, I was waiting for some sign that this certain someone didn’t really hate me.”

The blonde looked up at her master surprised to say the least, as far as she was aware, she’d always been cordial with Vanessa, never rejecting her when she tried to bite her outside of her usual eating hours; sometimes the vampire would come at her during the day, unable to sleep, and Brooke would read her a bedtime story.

So Brooke had no idea where such a thought came from, and was honestly offended Vanessa would ever think that.

“I never hated you,” she replied without missing a beat. “I— I actually consider you a friend, not that I interact with anyone else, but— You get what I’m trying to say.” The vampire cooed at her hostess rant.

“You cute little shit.” With her free hand, Vanessa softly traced Brooke’s jawline, a little smile appearing on her lips. The blonde realized it was the first sincere smile she’d ever seen on Vanessa since she was her hostess. “I hope this helps you sleep tonight.” Little by little, Vanessa withdrew her hand, and Brooke contemplated the drawing in her palm made by her blood and Vanessa’s.

She was in disbelief at how pretty it was, and a feeling of relief sat in her chest as she realized she’d now be free to leave the west side of the Mateo castle, or even better: leave altogether the Mateo castle, so long as she came back, of course.

Brooke looked up to her master, with a smile blossoming in her face, but she was surprised when she didn’t see Vanessa standing there. She suddenly felt sad, but soon remembered how master and host weren’t allowed to be near each other for the first twenty four hours after the possession mark was given; it was a rule as ancient as the practice, made to prevent any possible conversions. If the hosts were given any more vampire blood, they’d turn into a half-vampire creature, consequently going feral.

That night she laid in her bed, staring at her palm and detailing every trace of the possession mark with her index finger, and fell asleep thinking that, perhaps, the Matriarch knew what she was doing when she left her in Vanessa’s hands.

#branjie #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #rpdr fanfiction #my fanfiction #vampyr au

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vexing-imogen · 5 years

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bones, hearts, and other broken things

The Lady of Whitestone’s scream echoes through the foyer as Sylas sinks his fangs into her neck. Her blood warms his throat as he feeds, temporarily sating his ever present thirst. She cries out in pain as she struggles against him ineffectually, her shoulder wrenching out of socket, the bones of her wrist snapping in his iron grasp.

Good he thinks, snarling with satisfaction. Let her suffer. Let her suffer as Delilah was made to suffer.

“Please,” she whimpers, voice already weak. It’s pathetic. She’s pathetic. Weak. It is the greatest injustice that Whitestone is being ruled by this mewling kitten instead of his strong, proud Delilah. His Delilah, who never once lowered herself to beg for anything, not even her life.

He removes his mouth from her to growl in her ear. “Please what?” he snaps. “Are you asking me for mercy?” He tightens his grip on her and she shrieks. “I will grant you the same measure of mercy that you granted my wife when you murdered her.”

He sinks his teeth back into her flesh, drinking more slowly this time. “If you’re going to kill me, fucking do it already,” she says, struggling to break his grip.

Sylas laughs at that. “I don’t think so,” he says, bringing a hand up to caress her cheek. I think I’ll wait for your darling husband to arrive home, so he can watch me tear your throat out. That way he’ll know how it feels to watch the love of his life be slaughtered in front of him and be powerless to stop it.” He laughs again, softer this time, as he kisses her neck, fangs scraping her jugular. “I suppose I am granting you a small bit of mercy, killing you first. You’ll never know how it feels to live without him.”

She’s trembling against him, her heartbeat sounding quick and panicked in his ears. There’s something more there, too. Twin flutters. Soft and impossibly fast. His booming laugh echoes through the hall when the answer dawns on him. His free hand slips from her neck to rest on her abdomen. She stiffens against him, whispers a soft, “No.”

He strokes his hand over her stomach gently. “So, this is why they left you behind. Why they left you alone and unprotected. They thought you’d be safer at home.” He laughs. “They were wrong.”

He pauses to drink from her again. “Perhaps this changes things,” he muses. “Maybe I won’t wait to kill you after all. Maybe he’ll come home to find you in your bed. Pale. Lifeless. Belly torn open and your innards strewn across the sheets.” He hums thoughtfully. “Or perhaps he’ll find you laid out on the altar of your brother’s temple.” He kisses her neck again. “Did you know you taste like him?” he whispers before sinking his fangs in and drinking deep.

The cry she lets out is feral, primal, anger replacing the fear and the pain. She whispers something, and he’s suddenly blinded, reeling back from her, his mouth burning as if he’d drunk acid.

When his eyes adjust, she’s standing before him, emitting brilliant, divine light. Her eyes burn white with the intensity of the sun. She smirks. “Champion of Pelor, bitch,” she says, lunging at him.

She manages to jump onto his back, wrapping arms and legs around his neck and torso. He howls in agony at her touch as he tries and fails to wrest her off of him.

“Sylas!”

A voice rings out across the foyer, and he turns to find Cassandra de Rolo, in her dressing gown, rapier in hand. She charges him, and he just barely manages to draw his own sword in time to parry her first strike.

Even with a radiant half-elf clinging to his back, Sylas is stronger than Cassandra, and he disarms the girl quickly. He strikes hard with his sword, cleaving open her chest, and Vex’ahlia’s grip on him slackens as she screams Cassandra’s name.

He gets a grip on her bad shoulder and tears her off of him, hurling her across the room. Her skull hits the wall with a sickening crack, and she falls limp, the glow dimming but not fully extinguished. He’s looming over Cassandra, raising his sword to strike her down, when an explosion sounds behind him and something impacts his hand, nearly causing him to drop his sword.

He spins around to see Percival standing in the open doorway, gun trained on him, black smoke rolling off of him in waves. He smirks, eyes burning with cold hatred as the rest of Vox Machina steps into view behind him. “Hello, Sylas.”

The pup foolishly puts his gun away and pulls out a sword, charging Sylas with a roar echoed by the goliath that bounds in after him. Sylas parries the goliath’s axe, and swings at Percival, almost catching him across the ribs. He roars in frustration and goes to strike again, but he’s caught off guard by a voice ringing out from behind him.

“Oi, your mama’s so ugly, even Vecna wouldn’t take her on a date!”

The goliath’s axe sinks into his shoulder, and then again into the left side of his chest. He manages to land two hits on Percival, slicing open his cheek and slashing across his thigh. Thunder booms above him, producing a bolt of lightning that nearly forces him to his knees.

A radiant blast hits him square in the chest, and he should run, but Percival is right in front of him, bleeding. He lunges for the pup, intending to rip out his throat, but something strikes him in the back. An arrow, he realizes as thorny brambles erupt around him, and he falls to the floor prone.

He catches a glimpse of Vex’ahlia, propped against her bear, a bow clattering to the ground beside her. A shadow falls over him, and he looks up to meet Percival’s eyes.

The pup has his gun out again, and he’s contemplating Sylas. “Would you like to do the honors, Cass?” he asks as his sister steps into view, her rapier in hand.

She ponders for a moment. “Together, I think, brother.”

Percival nods, cocking his gun as Cassandra rests her rapier at his neck. “Give our best to Delilah,” he says, and pulls the trigger.

Percy doesn’t even bother to watch Keyleth and Pike unleash their Holy Bag of Dicks on the dust that was Sylas Briarwood. He’s dropping his gun and racing to Vex’s side as soon as the trigger’s pulled. She’s conscious, but just barely, the radiant glow emanating from her flickering like a dying candle.

He pulls her into his lap, apologizing profusely when she cries out in pain. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He peppers her face with gentle kisses, and he can see the deep brown of her eyes through the blinding white that overtakes them when she invokes Pelor’s blessing. She’s deathly pale, her breath shallow, throat torn open with multiple bite wounds. “Pike!”

He hears the clank of armor as the gnome rushes to them. “Okay, okay,” she says, laying her hands on Vex. “It’s gonna be okay, Percy. She’ll be okay.” Golden white light bursts from her hands, washing over Vex and Percy. He feels his own wounds seal up as he watches the healing magic work over his wife. Her breath evens out, color returning to her cheeks, the marks on her neck now barely visible scars.

She stares up at him, gives him a weak smile. “Hi.”

Percy stares at her for a moment before he crushes her to his chest, sobs overtaking him. “I’m sorry.” He repeats it like a mantra. “I’m so sorry, darling. I’m sorry I left. I should have been here to protect you.”

She clutches him just as tight, hushing him gently. “How could you have known?” she murmurs. “None of us had any idea he was watching us. We all thought I’d be safest here.” She takes his face in her hands, forces him to look at her. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Say it enough, and I might actually start to believe you,” he mutters, pressing his forehead against hers.

She sighs, and he closes his eyes against her scowl. “That’s the best I’m getting for a while, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” he says, starts combing his fingers through her hair. “How are you feeling?” he asks, catching her wince when she shrugs. He only has to glance at Pike and she’s quietly pouring more healing into Vex. He swallows hard, preparing for the question he doesn’t want to ask. “Is the...is the baby...”

He sees tears start to well up in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice catching. “Percy, I don’t...”

He hugs her close again. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’ll be alright.”

Pike clears her throat softly. “I think I can help,” she offers.

Vex turns to her hopefully. “You can?”

“I know a spell,” she says, shuffling closer. “It should only take a couple of minutes.”

They wait as patiently as they can as Pike casts the spell, but they’re both fidgeting by the time the two minute, and then the five minute mark passes. After ten minutes have gone by, Pike beams up at them. “Well, do you guys want the good news first, or the better news?”

Vex sags against Percy, and he can feel tears starting to soak his shirt. Percy lets out the breath he’s been holding. “The baby’s fine then?” he confirms.

Pike grins. “Yeah. They’re both a-okay.”

Percy’s heart skips a beat, and Vex’s grip tightens on his arm. “Both?” they ask in unison.

“Yeah,” Pike nods. “Congratulations, it’s twins.”

Vex’s hands go to her belly, and she’s smiling through tears when she finally looks at Percy. “We’re having twins,” she says, disbelieving.

“Apparently so,” he says with a laugh that’s only slightly maniacal.

Their delighted laughter echoes through Whitestone Castle as the first rays of sunlight peek over the mountains.

#critical role #critfic #vox machina #sylas briarwood #vex'ahlia #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #cw gore #cw violence

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