#the horror of knowing what kind of monster you are capable of becoming paired with the knowledge that your soulmate has suffered bc of you

[luxaofhesperides]

Post-Apocalypse + Soulmate AU ; requested by @burr-burr!

When Danny was a kid, he used to imagine how the world would end. It was never a zombie apocalypse or the fallout of a nuclear war, but the death of the sun, the expansion of their star in death that would swallow their planet whole, leaving no survivors.

It would have been nicer than the post-apocalyptic world he stands in now, knowing that it’s his fault the world has ended. 

He’s still struggling to wrap his head around it. To understand that all of this is his fault because he cheated on one test, desperate to pass after being unable to study for it with how exhausting and time consuming fighting ghosts is. Everywhere he looks, there’s more destruction. His own home is rubble, with only the partially untouched Ops Center remaining to let him know that this is where he once lived.

The rest of Amity Park is in worse shape. Buildings are hollowed out, the skeletons of their foundations visible, if they still remain standing. Most homes have been burned to the ground, leaving blackened corners of walls and nothing else. The roads are cracked and difficult to walk through, as if an earthquake tore through the city. Cars are scattered along the road, overturned or left abandoned, doors still open.

Danny has yet to find any bodies. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or not. 

He’s only caught a few glimpses of his future self, the cause of all this, and can’t bring himself to chase after that monster. He feels sick to his stomach knowing what he’ll become. 

That monster has to be stopped. The world has already ended, but that doesn’t mean his future self can be allowed to go on like this. If there are any survivors, they need protection. They need to know they’ll be safe to try to start rebuilding, and that can only happen if his future self is dead.

Danny knows what he has to do; he has a responsibility to protect what little remains of Amity Park, and to do that, he needs to kill himself. 

But his head it spinning from the horror of the situation and his throat is tightening up the way it only does when he’s about to have a panic attack.

He needs to stop his future self, but he also can’t stay another second in the ruins of Amity Park without destroying himself.

The guilt sits heavy in his chest as he goes ghost and takes to the sky, flying blindly towards the setting sun. Danny doesn’t know where he’s going, and he doesn’t really care. He just needs to get away for a bit, until he can calm down and put together a plan of attack so he can take out his future self in one go.

He just…

He never thought he’d be a monster. But here they are.

Flying away from Amity Park reveals the truly harrowing extent to which this world has suffered under his future self’s hands. There are no intact cities or towns. Roads are broken beyond repair, highways littered with empty cars, most bridges crumbling into the rivers below them, and everything is covered in overgrowth. All signs of humanity’s careful cultivation of the world has been erased. The earth takes back what humans took from it, covering everything in green. 

There is no movement. No people. Barely any birds flying beneath him. 

What remains of the world is silence.

Danny is terrified that there’s no one left. That his future self has so thoroughly destroyed the earth that no human survivors remain. 

That gives his guidance, some idea of where to go: a big city. Any big city, really. 

He flies lower, searching for some sort of landmark, or a sign that will tell him where he’s going. A rusted over green sign farther down the road tells him that he’s 50 miles from Gotham.

Oh, Danny thinks, Maybe Batman can help me.

If anyone could survive the end of the world, it would be the superheroes, right? If anyone stands a chance at defeating his future self, it would be a superhero. Superman might have been a better choice, but Metropolis is the opposite direction and multiple states away; Danny’s not sure he can make it before his future self catches wind of him and hunts him down. 

Danny has no doubt about what would happen to him if he’s caught; there’s a reason he hasn’t seen any ghosts around, after all.

Gotham is a city of secrets and rumors. What little he’s heard of it is baffling and, frankly, insane. There’s no city in the country like it and Gothamites prefer it that way, stubbornly loving the home that will kill them. For all the manmade horrors they survive on the daily, they would be more prepared for the end of the world than anyone else. 

Gotham may be another casualty of his future self’s destruction, but it also offers him hope.

Danny follows the broken road towards Gotham, pushing himself to fly faster than he ever has before. What should have been a half hour flight is completed in fifteen minutes. 

As soon as the towering buildings of Gotham, dark and semi destroyed, come into view, Danny drops from the sky and returns to human form. The strain from pushing himself has exhausted him and he feels it like an ache in his chest, his heart twisting and trying to burst from how hard it’s beating. 

He collapses to his hands and knees and gasps for breath on the outskirts of Gotham. 

It takes a good few minutes to calm down and breathe normally, then another to gather his strength to stand up and begin walking. 

The world is eerily quiet as he enters the city, feeling the chill fall upon him as he is consumed by the shadows of tall buildings. It’s much more intact that Amity Park, but there’s no denying the destruction that still surrounds him. Buildings are empty and worn down, decaying and slowly being consumed by new growth. Burnt out husks of overturned cars fill the street, leaving Danny to carefully pick his way around them, unable to walk in a straight line. 

He feels like the only person in the world. He feels like he’s being watched by a hungry eyes. 

Danny shivers and walks faster. 

The deeper he goes into the city, the more he starts to hope that he’s not alone in this world. There’s small signs of life: the smell of smoke, recently burned, certain streets cleaned up, makeshift walls constructed from rubble to block access to certain areas of each block.

He swears he can see people move above his head, but anytime he looks up, the windows of every building are empty. 

“Batman,” he whispers to himself, “I just need to find Batman.”

He turns a corner and continues walking. Apartment buildings give way to stores and businesses, all with their windows broken and nothing on the shelves. Then the buildings end abruptly and he’s left staring at an overgrown park that resembles a jungle more than it does a part of the city.

The scent of something sweet lingers in the air. Fruit, perhaps, or flowers. 

If he was left in the aftermath of an apocalypse, he would go to where he could find growing food. If there’s anyone left in Gotham, he’s willing to bet they’re in here, surviving off of what food can be grown in the confines of the park. 

Danny crosses the road and takes three steps onto the grass before someone appears beside him and points an electrified baton at him.

“Who are you?” they demand, eyes hidden behind a cracked helmet, but the bottom half of their face is visible, revealing scars crossing on dark skin. 

Danny takes a step back, eyeing the electric baton warily, and lifts his hands to show he means no harm. “Danny. I came from out of town. I was hoping to find people here.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been traveling.”

His clothes are clean and intact and he has none of the world-weariness that weighs down this Gothamite. Danny winces, and says, “My situation is kinda complicated. But I did just get here. I’m looking for help, actually. Do you know where I could find Batman?”

There’s a long moment of tense silence, then he hears a quiet sigh and the helmet comes off. An exhausted looking man looks at him with one blind eye, turned a milky white, and his voice is low and stricken as he says, “Batman’s dead. But maybe I can help you.”

“Batman’s dead?!” Danny repeats, shocked.

“Yeah. Sacrificed himself in one of the last times Phantom attacked Gotham. Got me and Nightwing out of that encounter alive. We’re really the only heroes left in Gotham, not that there’s much need anymore with everyone trying to survive.”

Phantom killed Batman. His future self killed Batman. 

Danny feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh,” he manages to say. 

The man’s expression softens. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you as much as we can. Why don’t you come on in? Ivy can get you some food if you’re hungry.”

Danny nods numbly as he follows the man deeper into the park. He walks with ease, taking paths that only become visible when he walks them, leaving Danny to follow close behind. It takes some time before he realizes that the plants are moving out of their way just enough that they don’t trip, and when he looks back, the path is covered again, hidden from sight.

He’s taken to the heart of the forest, where the trees shift to the side to reveal a large encampment of survivors all living together. Beds are strung up as hammocks between trees and rope ladders dangle from branches to help people move up and down. The ground is full of small fire pits, a few in use to make make food, and sections in the back full of vegetable and herb patches, separated by berry bushes. 

The people here all look tired and worn down, but they still smile and speak in light voices, adjusted to a new life after surviving so much horror and destruction. He even spots a few people using powers, or just looking different, including one large man who looks like a crocodile. 

“Pick up another stray?” a raspy voice asks, humor lighting the tone. They both turn to see a woman with long red hair and a green tint to her skin be lowered to the ground by a vine. She’s also heavily scarred and her right arm is completely gone, replaced by a wooden limb covered in moss that moves as if it’s always been a part of her body.

“Hey Ivy,” the man greets, “I don’t think this one is staying. He came to Gotham looking for Batman.”

The words make Ivy’s gaze sharpen, and Danny feels a trickle of dread go down his spine. She’s dangerous and standing before her feels as if he’s in the mouth of a hungry beast.

“Is that so,” she says, voice flat. “How interesting. I’ll let you two talk somewhere more private.” Her gaze flicks to the side, and when Danny turns to look, he can see some of the people in the encampment observing them warily, bodies tense and poised to either flee or attack.

Ivy turns and the plants part for her. Danny waits for the man to begin walking before he follows, trying not to feel trapped as the plants close the path behind him. She takes them to a small pond full of water lilies, gives the man a careful look, then leaves, swallowed up by the plants.

“Is everything okay?” Danny asks hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Nah, you’re good,” the man replies, “It’s just that people don’t trust me much.”

“Why? You’ve been really nice.”

The man shrugs. “My soulmate is Phantom. He’s the one responsible for doing all this and killing almost everyone we love. I didn’t know until the first time I fought him, but they hate anything to do with Phantom, including me.”

Danny’s heart stutters in his chest. This is his soulmate.

Most people don’t subscribe to the belief that they’re meant to be with their soulmate. Meeting your soulmate is rare enough that most people don’t try, and plenty of people have spoken of how important it is to have a variety of relationships, to not close yourself off for the slightest chance of meeting your soulmate. 

Danny never looked for his; he didn’t want to subject them to his parents, and then he became a halfa and gave up on all dreams of having a normal life or any relationship with someone who didn’t know he was Phantom.

And now he’s here, in a ruined future, standing before his soulmate who understandably hates him for destroying the world. 

“You’re Phantom’s soulmate,” Danny breathes. His hands are shaking. He wants to cry.

The man sighs. “Yeah. I am. Not that it’s stopped him from trying to kill me. Don’t worry, kid, I’m not working with him. I swear.”

“He’s your soulmate and he hurt you.”

“He hurt everyone,” he says, then gestures at his blind eye. “This is barely a thing compared to what he did to other heroes.”

Danny can’t find the words to expression his horror at seeing the damage he did to his own soulmate. His future self is heartless and cruel and bloodthirsty. He has to be stopped.

He doesn’t want to kill his soulmate. 

“I came here for Batman,” Danny says, “Because I thought he could help me stop Phantom.”

“That’s rough, kid. Batman couldn’t beat Phantom. I don’t think anyone can. We’ve tried, but most heroes are dead and we can’t just go out there and risk the lives of everyone here. We gotta focus on survival, not revenge.”

“I have to stop Phantom.”

“Sorry kid, but that’s a terrible idea. Don’t go out there trying to be a hero. You can stay here, alright? Ivy will get you set up and the others will help you settle in.”

Danny takes a step back and shakes his head. “No. I have to stop him. It has to be me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m Phantom,” Danny whispers. 

The man immediately reaches for his electric batons again, taking a step back. “Not funny, kid,” he says with a tense voice. 

“I’m not joking. I am Phantom, just from the past. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You’re Phantom?” the man repeats. “You. You’re just a kid, and you’re going to destroy the world one day?”

“I don’t want this to happen! That’s why I need to go back, so I can stop the event that will set me down this path. And to go back, I need to defeat the Phantom that exists here.”

“He’ll kill you, kid.”

“That still solves the problem, doesn’t it? If I die here, then he’ll never live long enough to destroy the world. He’ll die too.”

The man stares at him with cold eyes, then turns away, dropping his hands away from the batons. “Don’t turn this into a suicide mission, kid,” he says. “The Phantom who’s here isn’t you. You don’t have to pay for his crimes. Just… stay here and I’ll go fight Phantom.”

“He already hurt you,” Danny says. 

“What’s a little more hurt? I can handle it.”

“No,” Danny says firmly. He shoves away the fear and hurt in his heart and finds his strength in determination. No more running away. No more hiding. 

The timeline should not exist. He can’t hesitate at the thought of erasing this version of his soulmate from existence; he’s tired and injured and an outcast in the only community that still exists in Gotham. He deserves better. Everyone here does.

And to give them a better life, Danny needs to stop this one from ever happening.

“This is my future. It’s my responsibility. I’ll stop it and make sure this never happens. And… I’m sorry for everything I did.”

“It’s not your fault, Danny. You’re not this version of Phantom.”

That’s not at all true, since Danny’s actions lead to the end of the world, but he’s not going to argue when he’s preparing to fight a stronger, more ruthless version of himself. He takes a deep breath, then goes ghost and floats into the air. 

“Before I go,” he begins, hesitantly, “What’s your name? Since you’re apparently my soulmate.”

The man smiles sadly and answers, “Duke. If we ever meet in your time, tell that version of me to look for my mom’s favorite book.”

It’s an odd request, but if it’s important enough to be asked for, then Danny will do it. “Your mom’s favorite book,” he repeats, “Got it.”

“Take care, Danny. Good luck out there.”

Danny nods and takes one last look at his soulmate, older and worn down, stubbornly getting through each long day, and swears to make things better.

Then he flies off, ready to fight his future self and make things right again. 

. . .

He thinks of his soulmate for years after he’s back in the present. The timeline where his future self exists is gone and the world is safe, but he still remembers the pain he caused Duke. 

When the time comes to apply to universities, Danny sets his sights on Gotham. His parents take him on a trip during spring break to tour the campus, and it’s after the tour, as he wanders around on his own, that he bumps into a student walking out of a building.

“Sorry,” they both say at the same time, reaching for each other to help each other keep their balance. 

As soon as their hands meet, it’s as if lightning runs through him. From the look on the other guy’s face, he felt it to. 

This is his soulmate.

“Duke,” Danny says, amazed and disbelieving all at once. And the request crosses his mind, something he wondered about almost every night since he returned to his time. “Look for your mom’s favorite book.”

“How—?”

“I met you in the future. You asked me to take back a message for the you that’s here. So: look for your mom’s favorite book. What does that mean, by the way? I never asked.”

Duke blinks, then slowly retracts his hands from Danny’s. “My mom’s favorite book was a hand bound journal from my dad. They were soulmates and he wrote about their first year in a relationship together. It’s full of pictures, and she loved it more than anything. That message is to remind me to have faith in soulmates, to believe that something good can happen to me.”

“Oh! That’s… wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into something so personal.”

Duke shrugs. “It’s fine. I needed the reminder. I would have already run away by now if you didn’t say that. You already know my name, but I think now’s a good time to introduce ourselves.”

“Right!” Danny says, flustered. He sticks his hand out, which Duke shakes with an amused smile. “I’m Danny. Fenton. I’m coming here next semester.”

“Duke Thomas. I’m a freshman here and I’d really love to get your number.”

He’s not hitting on Danny, not really, but it still makes him blush. The way Duke looks at him is full of light and laughter, so different from the exhausted and wary way he looked in the future now rewritten. 

This is what the future version of himself tried to kill. He doesn’t understand how anyone could ever hurt Duke when he’s so full of life. 

But he’s safe now. Everyone is; Danny changed the future and what lies ahead is wholly unknown to him.

The world is safe and full of promise. 

No matter what comes, Danny is sure he and Duke are going to be just fine.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #the horror of knowing what kind of monster you are capable of becoming paired with the knowledge that your soulmate has suffered bc of you #and reasonably wants you dead/taken out of the picture not just for revenge but for the sake of everyone's safety #but also from duke's pov he's found a teenager wandering into gotham's last refuge. he looks strangely untouched by the end of the world. #hes looking for batman who duke watched die. and then it turns out that hes a younger version of the monster that ruined your life #(and everyone elses life) and realizes that this is who his soulmate once was #and then knowing that he either has to kill this innocent version of his soulmate or let his existence be unwritten #there is no happy ending for post-apoc duke's story #but he and danny get a second chance in a new timeline where things are better #doesnt mean the nightmares ever leave danny lol #thanks for the prompt!!

[thekrows-nest]

Was mogeko asking whether having Vamp!Dove too would compete with Vamp!Krow's feeding, not leaving any/enough blood for him? 

he lost his humanity and sanity a long time ago. Honestly his time is almost up. He would likely be attracting... a bit of unwanted attention.

even other monsters don't like it when one of their own... makes a mess like you two would. And that's the kindest fate that would befall either of you.

+

They'd despise each other.

I was thinking this is what you meant by unwanted attention, that Eliyah's clan might try to put Krow down (and if turned, Dove) because he was blowing their cover and causing problems. Or that's the excuse. 

Everything else you've said since strengthens that impression. But now there's also a research facility? Hmmm…

they essentially go mad from their condition and become not much better than a rabid animal, facilitating the need to... put them down basically. And that's the... kindest thing that could happen.

Is putting down is the kindest? Is that what Vamp!Krow would want? (ie. Do you agree for it to happen? *teases another horror fic*)

Ps. I didn't guess what LT was. I'm thinking a fae or something I'm keeping secret for another time. Perhaps he's the one that wants to put Krow down and is the most capable of it.

Out of the box: Gabby is training to be a witch, so is LT a minor deity she is dedicated to? A fellow warlock? A sorceror? A djinn?

But also given how formidable and secretive he is, maybe LT runs the research facility.

I think I know what Naila is.

Oh that's another good question. If that's the case it would go... very very badly. dgfnjdfz You're not getting a fluffy cute au with vampire Krow y'all I'm sorry. 😔

Well it wouldn't just be Eliyah wishing to put down Krow (and Dove if they became a vampire too). Basically all other (saner, less outwardly monstrous) vampires would want to, for much reasons like you said. Krow (and Dove) would be making it too obvious to normal humankind that monsters exist, and vampire kind function a lot better when it is less obvious they exist. It's akin to a mob killing a rat once it's made known there is one.

But there's other reasons the pair would despise each other personally. Vampire Eliyah would come from not just a clan of vampires known for their elegance and even considered 'aristocracy' among other vampires, but also be descended from some kind of old money in Britain. And vampire Krow is Indian-Bengali. He would still very much remember how the British treated his homeland. That's a part of his human past he still remembers. So... it gets messy.

And research facility isn't exactly the right term. There would be groups of vampires seeking to transcend their condition. Not cure it, but basically find a way to get rid of all the negatives and keep the pros. There are also individual vampires who delight in research and gathering knowledge. Neither are exactly... moral or ethical in how they obtain this knowledge.

I would argue putting down vampire Krow is the kindest thing for him. He himself is not exactly in a place to really ask for it. The inner bestial instincts of a vampire drive him to keep going and consuming blood and not really stop to think of the consequences.

LT may or may not encounter Krow himself. But if he did, he would likely seek to put him down. As a means of protecting himself, Gabby, but also a sense of pity. He would view Krow as not much better than an animal in its death throes yet unable to expire and pass on.

LT is... (: LT is LT. (:

Oh? You think you know what Naila is? Naila is curious to know what you think they are.

#the krow's nest #krow asked and answered #eliyah asked and answered #gabby asked and answered #LT asked and answered #naila asked and answered #vampire krow #krow different skies (au's) #krowspiracy theories #winndy talks

[ioddgirl]

Do you guys pair the Slasher/Monster with the final girl?

As a horror fan, I did. And I've come to wonder if there's something wrong with me. Since ordinary people don't would do that, nor would that cross their minds

And the fact is that, at certain moments, there is a weird tension between the antagonist and the protagonist. Have you felt it too? Is that tension planned? Or do we only see it?

Well, I think I have the answer. The truth seems to me that the writers do it intentionally. I think they are inspired by gothic/dark romance

It's a modern way of narrating such stories. You know, the popular "beauty and the beast" concept

● But, What's dark/gothic romance?

Dark romance: Dark romance is a lot like how it sounds--romance novels with darker themes, with mature content for adult readers. Dark romance novels often come with content warnings, and they can explore BDSM, role playing, abduction, rape fantasies, and kidnapping and captivity

The "hero" is usually an inflicter of most if not all of that. There is a huge audience for it, but no matter how tortured or "justified" the "hero" is, I just can't get past it to see him as redeemable or loveable in any way.

Gothic romance: Characterized by a dark, foreboding atmosphere and outlandish, sometimes grotesque, characters and events, gothic fiction has flourished and branched off into many different subgenres in the centuries since its creation.

Female leads would come to dominate gothic romance, especially after the publication of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre in 1847. A young woman struggling to maintain her independence as she falls for a dark, brooding, handsome man

● How would the basic concepts be interpreted in slasher movies?.

"The Distressed Heroine: Typically, the lead of a Gothic Romance is a woman attempting to figure out what is right for her heart, and what society expects of her. She will usually have a force, often an overprotective father, standing between her and her love, though she, or someone else, will find a way around him. Regardless of whether the story is inp first or third person, we experience terror alongside her and are meant to empathize with her"

The Distressed Heroine would clearly be The Final Girl. She who at first seems to be an innocent and harmless girl to become an independent and strong girl, defeating the monster...

"The Byronic Hero: Named after the Romantic poet Lord Byron, the Byronic hero is what led to the creation of the antihero. There are aspects of the Byronic hero that aren’t positive, yet the characters are written in such a way as to make it impossible to hate them, even after they do something horrendous. Some qualities of the Byronic hero include: violent temper, seductive nature, cynical, sinister secret or desire, prideful, moody, and revengeful. On the flip side, they are often capable of deep, strong affection, have a tortured soul crying out for compassion, and are viewed as solitary, suffering beings wanting love. A good way to describe the Byronic hero is as a fallen angel"

The Byronic Hero would be the Slasher/Assassin/Monster. It's true that most don't want to be heroes on purpose, if they eliminate what they consider evil or impure, kill a meen boy or girl or an abusive person. In most cases they kill innocent people. But there is no denying that many of them were abused or bullied as children

"Secondary Love Interest: Often, there is another character complicating the situation, forming a love triangle with the heroine and hero. This secondary love interest can be for the heroine, often seen as a kind gentleman she has known since childhood, or for the hero, often seen as a sinister seductress"

There is not much to say, the typical guy who has an interest in the final girl. Or he will be a potential partner or couple. On many occasions, he helps the final girl defeat the monster, or ends up killed by him

▪ Also, [slashers] film presents us in startlingly direct terms with a world in which male and female are desperate odds... But in which, at the same time, masculinity and femininity are more states of mind than body. Whatever their souls are made of, she and he are the same...

What do you think?

#slasher community #slasher fandom #slashers community #slashers fandom #slashers #slasher #serial killer #monster #gothic romance #slasher romance #dark romance #creepy romance #final girl #final girl x slasher #brahms x greta #bubba x stretch #leslie vernon x taylor gentry #david x hannah #the other x natalie #candyman x helen #horror #psychological thriller #odd girl

[peachscribe]

peach’s summer book list

i had a lot of fun compiling the list of books i read during the 20-21 winter, so i decided i would do a summer one as well! i still have a lot of books i own but haven’t read, so im definitely not lacking in material

if you didn’t see my winter list, how my book list works is basically like this: i read a book that i own but have not previously read, write a short summary immediately after finishing the book, write down my thoughts on the book, and then provide a rating for the book. i also might include background info on why i read this particular book/feelings about the author, but that depends on the book. that’s how each entry works

without further ado, let’s get started!

1. Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith

okay so i absolutely adore another book by andrew smith (written after grasshopper jungle) called the alex crow. it’s one of my favorite books of all time, so naturally i wanted to see if grasshopper jungle would make me feel similarly. just like the alex crow, grasshopper jungle’s plot is. so fucking weird. it stars austin szerba, a teenage polish kid who lives in ealing, iowa, and is often sexually confused regarding his girlfriend shann and his best friend robby. and in ealing, iowa, austin and robby accidentally and unknowingly unleash an unstoppable army of huge six-foot-tall praying mantis bugs that only want to do two things: fuck and eat. and i just have to say: andrew smith’s got an absolutely dynamo writing style. alex crow is similar, where it’s a book about kind of everything all at once, framed in a moment centering around teenage boys. it’s fantastic, and it’s more than a little gross, and i love it. this book made me feel so many things, and i thought austin was such an amazing narrator and main character to identify with. this book has it all: shitty teenage boy humor, fucked up science experiments, and poetic imagery that will make you want to cry. and explicit lgbt characters.

412/10 andrew smith what do you put in your water i just want to know

2. Burn by Patrick Ness

patrick ness has written a plethora of some of my favorite books (such as a monster calls, the chaos walking trilogy, and the rest of us just live here) so when i saw this one in the store i knew it would be a great one. burn is an alternate history fantasy that takes place in 1957 frome, washington, during the height of the cold war, and it begins with a girl named sarah and her father hiring a dragon to help out on their farm. but there’s not just dragons, farm living, and cold war tensions; there’s also a really shitty small town cop, a cult of dragon worshippers and their deadly teenage assassin, a pair of fbi agents, and a prophecy that sarah’s newly hired dragon claims she’s a part of. i think eoin colfer’s highfire was on my winter list, which also featured a story that included dragons and shitty cops, so when i first began burn i thought it was funny to have two books that had both things. you know, if you had a nickel etc etc. but that’s really where the similarities end because burn is entirely it’s own monster (dragon). burn is entirely invested in its world, and its fascinating. not only that, i had no clue where the book would take me next. there were so many surprises and amazing twists that honestly just blew me away. this book also includes beautifully written complicated discussions on family, race, and love - it features interracial and queer romances as the two most prominent romance plots which was such a nice surprise from a book i wasn’t expecting to have that kind of representation. this book is witty, fast-paced, and a very heartening read - i absolutely adored it.

9/10 dragons and becoming motivated by the power of love and friendship are so fucking cool

3. As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCann

i hate this book! as meat loves salt is a historical fiction novel which takes place in seventeenth century england, which is going through a grisly civil war. the protagonist, jacob cullen, is a servant for a wealthy household and is engaged to another servant in the house. but due to certain events that are almost entirely jacob’s fault, he flees the house and is separated from his wife. from there, he joins the royal army and meets a kind soldier, ferris, and the two become fast friends. jacob and ferris’s relationship begins to bridge past friendly, and jacob struggles with his homoerotic feelings as well as the growing obsession and violence inside him. also, they try to start a colony. listen, i don’t know how to describe the book because so much happens, but it basically just follows jacob and all the terrible decisions he makes because he is, truly, a terrible person. ferris is kind and good, and jacob is scum of the earth. he sucks so bad. the entire time i was reading this book (which took absolutely so long), all i wanted was for jacob to just get his ass handed to him. i wanted to see him suffer. and it’s not like i just personally don’t like him - i believe the book purposefully depicts him as unsympathetic even though he is the narrator. i did enjoy the very in depth and accurate portrayal of what life would’ve been like in seventeenth century england, and i think it was interesting to read a character that is just the absolute worst person you’ve ever encountered and see him try and justify his actions, so if you enjoy that kind of thorough writing, then this book would be perfect for you. however, i did not see that bitch ass motherfucker jacob cullen suffer enough. i’d kill him with my bare hands.

2/10 diversity win! the worst man on earth is mlm!

4. This Savage Song by Victoria Schwab

i know ive had a friend tell me how great one of schwab’s other book series is, but truthfully i bought this book because the cover is sick as hell and it was on a table in the store that advertised for buy two get one free, i think. something like that. anyway, this savage song takes place in a future in which monsters, for whatever reason, suddenly became real and out for blood in a mysterious event nicknamed the phenomenon. august flynn is one of these monsters, but he takes no pride in that fact and only wants to feel human. kate harker is the daughter of a ruthless man and is trying her hardest to be ruthless, too, but deep down she knows it’s just an act. their city, verity, stands divided, and kate and august stand on either side - but when august is sent on a mission to befriend kate in the hopes of stopping an all out war, the lines begin to blur. this book rules. august and kate are such interesting and dynamic characters, and the narrative is familiar while still being capable of twisting the story around and taking the feet out from under you in really compelling ways. this savage song is part of the monsters of verity duology, and i can’t wait to dive into how the story continues and finishes.

11/10 sometimes you can judge a book by it’s cover

4a. Our Dark Duet by Victorian Schwab

this is the sequel and finale for this savage song and i’d figure i’d update everyone: fantastic ending, beautiful, showstopping, painful.

12/10 loved it and will definitely be keeping an eye out for schwab’s other books

5. White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

oh boy. okay. white is for witching is about a house, and it is about the women who have lived inside of it. when her mother dies abroad, miranda silver begins to act strangely, and there’s nothing her father or her twin brother seem to be able to do about it. she develops an eating disorder and begins to hear voices in the silver family house, converted to a bed and breakfast by miranda’s dad; and she begins to lose herself in the house and the persistent presence of her family legacy. white is for witching switches perspective dizzingly and disorientingly between miranda, her twin eliot, miranda’s friend from school named ore, and the house itself. this story is a horror story as much as it as a tragedy as much as it is a romance as much as it is a bunch of other things. oyeyemi brings race, sexuality, nationality, and family into this story and forces you not to look away. this book is poetry.

(like i mentioned briefly, this book heavily deals with topics of race and closely follows miranda’s eating disorder. read responsibly, and take care of yourselves)

15/10 this book consumed me and i think i’ll have to read it another 10 more times to feel it properly

6. These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

okay. okay. strap in for a ride. these violent delights is a romeo and juliet style story, taking place in glittering 1920’s shanghai. the city stands divided - not only between the foreign powers encroaching on chinese land, but also between the scarlet gang and the white flowers, who are at the height of a generations-long blood feud. juliette cai, heir to the scarlets, has recently returned from four years abroad and is determined to prove herself ruthless enough to lead. roma montagov, heir to the white flowers, is standing strenuously on his place as next in line due to a slip up four years prior and is desperate to keep hold of his title. and in the midst of juliette and roma’s burning history with each other threatening to combust, an unnatural monster lurks in the waters of shanghai, loosing a madness on scarlets and white flowers alike. this book has it all - scorned ex lovers, political intrigue, deadly monsters, and all set on a glamorous backdrop of the roaring twenties. i absolutely was enraptured by this book and the way it plays around the story of romeo and juliet so well that it easily became it’s own monster, but with the punches and embraces of something classically shakespearan. gong does just an absolutely breathtaking job of fitting this fantastical story amid the larger world of shanghai and the real life historical events that had shaken the city to its core. completely immersive and outstandingly heart racing.

17/10 i was chewing on my fingernails for the last thirty pages and will continue to do so until the sequel is released (our violent ends, 16 nov 21)

7. The Antiques by Kris D’Agostino

you ever heard of the american dysfunctional family story? this is most definitely that. at the same time george westfall’s cancer takes a turn for the worse, a hurricane hits the east coast, and suddenly all at once the issues of his health, the hurricane, and all three of his children’s achingly dysfunctional adult lives are crashing into each other. reunited by george’s death, the westfall siblings have to face their grief, each other, and the problems in their own lives they attempted to put on hold while planning their father’s memorial. this is a nice story about grief and loss and love and somehow finding the humor amidst it all.

(this book does include a depiction of an autistic child who does experience several pretty bad meltdowns due to ignorant people around him not understanding how to cater to his needs. im not an authority on what depictions are or are not harmful, but i do believe this depiction is ultimately loving and well-intended.)

7/10 it made me laugh and cry and was generally one of those books that somehow hit you close to home

8. Fierce Fairytales by Nikita Gill

fierce fairytales is a poetry anthology that reimagines classic fairytales from a modern, feminist viewpoint, acknowledging that the line between hero and villain, monster and damsel, are not as clear cut as the classics try to make you believe. this book also includes illustrations done by the author herself, which i think is really cool. my personal favorite story reimagining was the story of peter pan and captain hook, called ‘boy lost’ which looked at how peter and hook’s relationship began and rotted. all in all, i think this collection of stories had a lot of important things to say and said them in frank, easy to understand poetry and prose.

7/10 beautiful message and pretty prose, but at times a little cliche

and that’s all from the summer! my fall semester starts tomorrow, and overall i feel very good about all the reading i did this summer. i even read four other books not on this list for work! so i definitely feel like i made the most out of my time, and im really glad i was able to read so many stories that made me feel a variety of different things

thanks so much for reading this list, and let me know if you read or have read any of these books and tell me what you think of them!

happy reading<3

#book recs #book rec #book rec list #grasshopper jungle #burn #as meat loves salt #this savage song #monsters of verity #white is for witching #these violent delights #the antiques #fierce fairytales #just like my winter list i did write ever review immediately after finishing the book and i think. #i think here you can really tell what my immediate reactions were based on how the review is written fbfjfjd

[amysteriousmessenger]

‘It’s A Dangerous Game’ - Saeran Choi x Reader (Nsfw)

It’s here!! I’ve spent the last three days entirely dedicated to this fic, I really really hope you guys enjoy it! It’s an absolute labour of love and I would really appreciate any likes and reblogs on it and kind words! I’m sorry for the slightly odd formatting, tumblr messes with it! - Violet 

If Day 9 of Saeran’s route ended a little differently. - A song fic inspired by the song ‘It’s a Dangerous Game’ from Jekyll and Hyde: A Gothic Musical, I really suggest listening to the song whilst reading this fic! 

Title: It’s a Dangerous Game

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Saeran Choi x Reader

 You were sat in your room, occasionally getting up to hear if you could make out any conversations on the other side of the door. It was rather muffled, but you heard Saeran’s name muttered a few times, your stomach starting to churn at the mention of him. You were so conflicted. You had loved Ray, that much was evident. You were still so drawn to Saeran, he was a horror at the start and had treated you with such irredeemable cruelty, but he was changing. His turmoil was so plain to see that even the believers couldn’t stop themselves from gossiping about it. You couldn’t bring yourself to hate Saeran, he was hurting you out of his own pain. He didn’t know what to do with his anguish, so he lashed it out on other people. He needed help, but you could only get him out if the two of you could first get to safety. You could tell he wasn’t ready for such an idea. You knew you needed to run far, far away from Magenta: but you wanted Saeran to come with you. Your cold fingertips grazed over the lovebite he had given you, and you felt an urge to see him. You knew it was wrong to feel like this, but you couldn’t help it. Saeran ignited something in you the same way that Ray had done. It felt different, but you couldn’t deny to yourself that it was there.

 Rika’s words had worried you, it was plain to see she blamed you for Saeran going missing and it was just as clear that she was vengeful because of it. But, to you, the fact that this had happened was evidence enough that he was changing, confused and scared. You checked your phone again, but there were no new messages from him. Instead, you read through the messages from Rika once again, lost in her accusations.

‘_____?’ A nameless voice from the back of your room asked. You knew that voice all too well.

        ‘Saeran?’ You whispered back, trying to keep your voice down to ensure that the believers guarding the outside of your room wouldn’t be alerted.

         ‘You recognized me right away. You weren’t waiting for me, were you?’ He moved closer, but still maintained a tentative distance. You sat up in bed and started to move when he stopped you, ‘No need to get out of bed. Relax. I’m not here to torture you…’ He continued. You had never seen him look so… melancholic. Not even Ray had appeared so beaten down and vulnerable in front of you, even when the two of you had encountered V in the garden.

Saeran held your gaze, ‘I will no longer torment you.’

         ‘How come?’ you found your voice from the back of your throat and questioned him, but he explained that it was something he could not summarise in one word. His mint eyes glanced towards the edge of your bed and you beckoned for him to sit down, sensing that he needed to speak.

‘____, you never gave up on me no matter how much I tormented you. You didn’t let my torture and your wounds crush you. I cursed you dozens of times that your eyes are disgusting because you looked like you know a world completely different from mine. And when I kept looking into your face, it felt like I was losing. I wanted to get closer to you, but I also wanted to avoid you. I wanted to know you better, but at the same time, I wanted to neglect you. Even after I tormented you… it didn’t feel like I beat you. That’s why I felt empty. I felt so empty. So, in the end, I got angrier, and I wanted to torment you even more. You’re gentle, but you never fall down. You rebel, but you don’t return your pain to me.’ His gaze dropped for a moment, ‘You avoided me, but you never gave up on me completely… Even now, you haven’t given up on me.’

Your eyes dropped to the hand that he had rested on top of your bedsheets and you tentatively moved your own towards it, gently placing it on top. He startled for a second, not expecting such intimacy. He was so unused to it, it had always been so denied to him.

‘My darkness is melting away, but you still remain the way you are… How can you stay the same?’

‘I thought you were hurting others because you had been so terribly wounded in the past. I stayed the same because you’re you, regardless of whether you’re Saeran or Ray. I care about you both.’

‘You understood me. I should… thank you for understanding me, shouldn’t I?’ He turned his hand slightly to wrap his fingers around yours, ‘Thank you… for understanding me. All those things I said about you, how you were weak and useless, they’re not true at all. I was the weak one. I said all those cruel things to you because I didn’t want people to know I was so weak. I didn’t want to get hurt.’

‘But you hurt yourself by saying such cruel things, you hurt yourself and Ray.’

‘No matter how hard you tried to guide me to the right path, your words couldn’t reach me. Even now, it’s so difficult to accept myself the way I am. I’m ruined beyond hope. It’s impossible for me to throw away my hatred against the world and start all over again in this little hell, but maybe it’s possible for Ray. Right now, he’s speaking inside me… that maybe, just maybe, if what V said is true, he might be able to see his brother again. And that, if he begs for your forgiveness, and if by any chance you’re able to forgive him, then he’ll make you as happy as best he can, with everything he has. I can hear him now, he’s praying in the corner of my heart that everything will work out well and that he’ll be happy one day. I know nothing but anger. I get angry because I’m scared my hope will turn to despair again-‘

‘I won’t let it, not your hope nor Ray’s. I’ll protect it.’ You cut him off. In the darkness, you heard him swallow and it sounded like he started to choke on his own words a little.

‘We already are one. It’s just that my voice is stronger right now. Both Ray and I are… in this body. The monster that had to torture you to hide how pathetic he’s become is me, and the persistent idiot that doesn’t lose hope no matter how much he’s tormented is also me. If I become good enough to keep you unharmed… we’ll naturally become completely one.’ Saeran turned to you, a tear falling from his eye and landing on the hand which sat between the two of you, ‘I must leave.’

‘Saeran, don’t go.’ You clutched at his hand tighter as he tried to flee. The frailness of his hand worried you, knowing that he never ate enough food. You knew all too well that he had strength in those hands, but also tenderness. Softness.

‘I didn’t want to tell you… that I’m sorry. It feels too late, but I should do it anyway. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you.’ He said, stern but sad.

‘I know you did, but it’s different. You’re different. I know you’re sorry. You’re not the same person who did this. You were so…heavily drugged. You aren’t going to do this again, we both know you aren’t.’

‘But I’m the same person who did that.’ Saeran glanced at your neck, at the lovebite. He used his free hand to touch his hand against the bruise. His pale hand stopped just slightly short of actually reaching your throat. He muttered an apology and began to retract his hand, but you caught it and pulled it to your neck so his fingertips couldn’t deny that the lovebite took place. However, there was still such a slight fear of his touch, given everything that had happened, that you gasped at the feeling of his hand on your neck. The chill of fear wasn’t the only reason for the gasp, but he didn’t realise that and attempted to pull his hand away. You held the cold hand against the warmth of your skin.

‘No, no! It’s okay. You’re okay.’ You assured him. It seemed to work as Saeran began to move his fingers up and down the soft skin of your neck, his eyes falling over your bare shoulders and arms.

‘Ray… said that he wanted to be bolder to you, but he’s too scared. I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing right now, but I have the capability of being bolder for him. Do you mind… if I try?’ Saeran didn’t move, but held the intense eye contact once again. You could have gotten lost in those eyes of his, but the racing of your heart and the burning in your gut kept you grounded. You wanted him to bolder, to touch you again, in the way that he’s supposed to.

I feel your fingers -

Cold on my shoulder -

Your chilling touch,

Watching your eyes

As they invade my soul -

‘Of course…’ You breathed out, meeting his gaze with a light dusting of red flushing your cheeks.

‘I can’t be tender in the way that Ray can…’ He trailed off.

‘That’s okay, you don’t need to be Ray for me. You can be Saeran.’ You replied and he seemed convinced by this and you felt as his fingers curled at the back of the neck slightly, bringing you closer to him. He pressed his chapped lips against yours for a moment and you were worried he was going to hear your heart beating so loudly at the contact. Saeran pulled away momentarily to gauge your reaction was a positive one, and then pushed his lips against yours once again with increased intensity. He was rough, that couldn’t be denied. But he wasn’t doing it to hurt you, Saeran just wasn’t as tamed as Ray. Your breath hitched in your throat as he crawled across the bed to be kneeling above you, refusing to break the kiss as he did so. Your arms slide around the back of his neck, working your fingers into his hair as one hand grabbed onto your thigh.

Forbidden pleasures

I'm afraid to make mine.

            He opened your mouth with his own and pushed his tongue inside, causing you to moan. It felt so dangerous, with the believers outside. You knew someone could open the door at any moment and Saeran knew it too. It still felt risky doing such a thing with Saeran after he had been so cruel to you, but you didn’t want to stop. It was so good and you could tell by the way he looked at you, by the way he touched you, that he wasn’t the same person that introduced himself a few days ago.

At the touch of your hand -

At the sound of your voice -

At the moment your eyes meet mine -

I am out of my mind -

I am out of control -

Full of feelings I can't define!

He broke off the kiss first, needing a second to catch his breath. He seemed to be wary of the door opening too and moved off the bed to listen for any voices on the other side of the door. He paused there for a moment, waiting. You missed the connection and the sensation of his body so close, the touch of his lips against yours. An idea popped into your head. You slipped out of bed to grab a chair and handed it to him to slide underneath the door handles so they couldn’t be opened. 

           You also stood with your ear to the door and closed your eyes to concentrate on any slight noise. You couldn’t hear anything except for the thud of your heart and the quiet shift of Saeran’s clothes, which was a relief. Once you were satisfied that no one was outside, you sighed and were about to turn around to look for Saeran. However, before you had the chance to do that, his arms had already snaked their way around your waist and had pulled you close to him with his torso pressing against your back. He muttered your name as he sighed against your ear, placing small kisses along the side of your neck. It took everything you had to not moan in that moment, since you were both so close to the door, and instead you let out a few shaky breaths as he kissed your neck and shoulder with more fervour. 

It's a sin with no name -

Like a hand in a flame -

And our senses proclaim

It's a dangerous game!

           You weren’t sure how far the two of you were going to go, but the heat pooling in your stomach indicated that you didn’t want to stop anytime soon. Evidently, neither did he. Saeran pulled you by the waist and moved you up against the wall so you were facing him once again. His eyes seemed darker, half lidded and needy. Within an instant, his mouth was on yours once again, kissing and pulling at your lips. He let out a very quiet groan as your hands worked their way up his body and onto his shoulders before moving them to grab onto his hair. His started kissing along your jawline and onto your neck again, pausing next to the lovebite he had previously given you and you knew it was bothering him.

           ‘It’s okay. You can keep going.’ You whispered back and the man attached his lips once more to your throat, leaving small purple bruises as he did. Your own hand reached up to smother the moans coming out of your mouth as you got more and more turned on. He kissed every bruise he left, including the original one to change the meaning of it. It was no longer a thing of anguish, he wanted it to be one of affection. 

A strange romance -

Out of a mystery tale -

The frightened princess

Doesn't know what to do!

‘Don’t cover your mouth, I want to hear you.’ Saeran whispered into your neck, giving you goosebumps at the sensation. As though to emphasise his point, he lifted your arms above your head, holding both of your wrists together as he went back into kissing you.

‘Ray wanted to do this to you too…’ He continued, sliding one of his legs between yours as you melted against him.

‘He can. I wouldn’t stop him.’ You practically moaned into his mouth and Saeran broke the kiss suddenly, conflict shadowing his face. You were confused, and a little scared for him for a moment. You were so worried that you had done or said something wrong and almost began to apologise. That was until you felt the source of his conflict pressing hard against your thigh. Saeran lent his head down so his forehead was pressing against your shoulder and sighed. He loosened the grip he had on your wrists in defeat.

‘I should go. This is too much for you.’ He muttered, cursing his body for such a reaction. It wasn’t as though it was entirely unprecedented given how the situation had escalated, but he didn’t want to push too much too soon. He knew he had to be considerate of you and considerate of his previous actions.

‘I don’t want you to go-’ You pleaded, using one hand to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss, ‘stay with me.’ He nodded, even if he seemed worried about imposing on you in such a way. He had you so painfully turned on and you were glad you had him feeling the same way. It wasn’t too much for you. In that moment, it was exactly what you wanted.

All I know is I'm lost -

And I'm counting the cost -

My emotions are in a spin!

And though no one’s to blame...

It's a crime and a shame!

 When he was on top of you, you could feel his growing erection pressed against his suit trousers. There was a sense of urgency, desperation, about this intimacy and Saeran pushed your dress up over your hips, exposing your dark underwear in the moonlight. You were inexperienced, and oh so willing to let him take the lead with this, but still a little embarrassed and squeaked at the sudden cool air to your thighs. You went to close them but Saeran held them open, moving himself to lodge his torso between them, a smirk you had never seen appearing on his face. 

but it's true all the same

It's a dangerous game!

You watched as his eyes darkened again at your consent and he guided you towards the bed, not being able to keep his hands off of you for even a single moment. They grabbed at your hips, your waist, your thighs. Your legs hit the back of the bed and you fell backwards onto the plush sheets with Saeran falling on top of you. He had taken to biting at your lips as one of his hands slipped underneath the hem of your black dress, squeezing at your upper thigh and making you shiver. You couldn’t help but moan each time he touched you somewhere new, and you nearly whined when his body left yours to take off his black blazer and tie. There was something about the way that he yanked his tie down to loosen it which made your legs shake slightly in anticipation. He didn’t take the time to fold them, instead leaving them discarded on the floor. They weren’t what was important right now.                        

‘Do you want to undo your dress? If I have to do it, I’d rather just rip it.’ He said, cocking an eyebrow. You complied and undid the zip down the side of the dress and pulled it off from above your head, wanting to spare the fabric. You hadn’t even thrown the dress on the floor before Saeran was grabbing for your chest with one hand and trying to undo his shirt with the other. His plan wasn’t exactly working, so you reached out your hands to unbutton his shirt for him. You felt so… naked under his intense gaze as he didn’t take his eyes off you as you undressed his pulling his shirt from his arms. His cold gaze followed your fingertips as they trace along the outline of his body, the weak body he hated so much, touching along the many scars he had. You couldn’t help but look in horror at the new ones from the ‘cleansing’ he was put through in order to destroy Ray. There were so many, they were so deep. Some of them had been bandaged haphazardly and disinfected, probably by Ray whilst others were barely starting to scab over. He must have seen your expression drop because he put his hand under your chin to make you meet his gaze.

‘You don’t need to worry about those. I’m okay now.’ He pulled you in to another kiss as he reached around to undo your bra, you were thankful that he decided to not rip it, and the lovebites began moving down your chest as he grabbed at your breasts. You gasped against him, unable to contain how good his hands were already making you feel. You didn’t need to find words to convey it, your body was already acting on its own. Wanting him, needing him. 

‘I’ll ask one more time, are you sure about this? I don’t think I can love you in the same way that Ray can. I won’t hurt you on purpose, but I can’t promise I can do wha-’ Saeran started.

           ‘I’m sure. You’ve already said that both you and Ray are one. You don’t need to love me in the same that Ray would, because you’re Saeran. I trust… Saeran too.’ You touched the side of his face and he planted rough kisses down your body, placing one into the hem of your underwear before he pulled them down and off your legs. He positioned himself between your thighs, his rough hands grabbing and kissing at them, adding the occasional bite. You couldn’t deny that you loved the teasing, but you needed something more, you craved to be touched properly. His mouth found itself on your hipbone, sucking hard to form another purple bruise before trailing his tongue across to between your thighs, finally giving you the sensation you desired. 

           ‘Sa-Saeran…’ Your breath choked in your throat as his tongue brushed against every intimate part of you. He hasn’t tentative, but bold and rough. He licked and sucked until he found out what made you moan the most, savouring the fact that he could make your thighs shake to such an extent that he had to hold them in a hard grip to keep them steady. His soft tongue was rough, but never forceful. It was eager, determined to please for both parties. You were embarrassed to look, but when you glanced your eyes down at him his powerful gaze was holding your own, deciphering every reaction you made. The intensity in his cool eyes caused the knot that had been slowly forming in your stomach to begin tightening more and more, to the point where his hands were the only thing keeping you from subconsciously squeezing your thighs around his head. You threw your hands into his bleached hair, unable to help yourself from needing something to hold onto.

              ‘Does the Princess like that?’ He asked, biting onto your thigh and catching his breath. All you could manage in response was a moan and a few whimpers, silently begging him.

 No one speaks -

Not one word -

But the words are in our eyes

Saeran was also getting painfully hard from watching the reaction he had on you, how good he could make you feel with his mouth. He had never liked his body, but he, at a base level, at least appreciated that he was capable of bringing you such pleasure, even if it had to come at the price of first causing you such pain. He felt the tip of his erection leaking pre-cum uncomfortably into his tight boxers and deprived you of his tongue in order to free himself from the now restrictive trousers. 

‘You’ll like this more.’ He knelt up on the bed, looming over you. The room was so dark, the moonlight providing the only illumination against his icy eyes and smirk. He wiped the wetness from his jaw and used the same hand to circle the head of his dick, spreading the pre-cum along his shaft. You clenched your thighs at the sight in absolute yearning. 

‘Tell me that you want it, Princess.’ He edged closer to you, moving all the way up so that he was practically in your face. He hovered above you on his hands and legs, and you felt his erection touch the side of your leg. You were so desperate to be close to him once again, you swallowed.

‘I want…it.’ You whispered and you blushed and averted your gaze from his in embarrassment.

At the touch of your hand -

‘Say it again.’ Once again, he moved your head so you couldn’t look away from him.

At the sound of your voice -

‘I want it… Saeran.’ Your voice trailed off as you felt him reach down to adjust himself, lining up his tip with your entrance. 

At the moment your eyes meet mine -

            The both of you let out broken groans as he pushed himself into you.

‘Ah, you’re… fucking tight.’ You opened your eyes to see him with his eyes squeezed shut in a mixture of pleasure and concentration. For a moment, you were so lost in the feeling of being so utterly filled by him. He had already felt so good just going in that the idea of him finally moving inside you was nearly enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. He waited until you felt comfortable enough for him to move before setting a rough rhythm. This time, Saeran did have to muffle your mouth to smother your moans. Of course, he made sure not to hurt you in the process. It fuelled his confidence to know he was fucking you that good, but this was not the time to get caught by another believer. He kept his gaze on your face, watching as you closed your eyes and a new wave of pleasure washed over you with every hard thrust of his hips. Occasionally, he dipped his head to bite at your collarbones or groan out a curse in your ear.

I am out of control -

Fighting feelings I can't define!

 I am out of my mind -

It's a sin with no name -

No remorse and no shame -

      ��    Saeran continued to thrust into you, hitting you and new and deeper angles each couple of minutes so the sensations always felt different. His pace was merciless and you didn’t have an opportunity to think between every new snap of his hips. That knot in your stomach was almost unbearably tight and threatened to snap at any moment. Part of you didn’t want it to, because you didn’t want the moment to end. 

           Your arms grabbed along his back, unable to help but claw lightly at the damp skin. Even in your delirium, you made an effort to avoid any of his injuries. The last thing you wanted to cause Saeran was more pain. Eventually, he had to remove the hand from your mouth in order to support himself better. It was clear that he was also reaching his limit as he panted in the crook of your neck, his thrusts getting even rougher and more vigorous than they had been at the start.

And the angels proclaim

It's a dangerous game!

           Suddenly, and without enough time to warn Saeran, the knot snapped and you orgasmed within him still slamming into you.

‘God!’ you cried, and you truly could have thanked God for the man between your legs right now, ‘S-Saeran, a-ah!’ You choked out between slam, your mind numb to absolutely everything other than the overwhelming pleasure he had brought you. He couldn’t handle the feelings of your walls clenching so aggressively around his cock and almost immediately climaxed at the same time, with barely enough of thought to pull out before he ejaculated. He managed to do it, finishing down the side of your inner thigh rather than inside you. 

‘Fuck-!’ His arms were shaking and his eyes pressed tightly together. His panting and exhaustion were overt and you wanted nothing more than for him to collapse next to you, holding one another until you both passed out. When he opened his eyes again, they were so soft. The icy gaze seemed to have melted into pools of sweet oceans, holding infinite depths of tenderness and affection. No words were needed, you understood one another.

Saeran’s tiredness took over him and he collapsed on the bed next to you and you pressed small kisses against his temple, his cheek and eventually his lips. After a few moments, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. You couldn’t stop your heart racing, but it was okay, because you knew your hearts were racing in sync. By the time you had gotten ready for bed, Saeran had already gotten dressed and passed out on the side of the bed. You threw a blanket over him and got into the bed with your chest pressed up against his back, wrapping your arms around him in a silent promise to never let him go. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep and you were lulled into unconsciousness by the sound of his breathing and the quiet drum of his heartbeat. It was probably the best sleep you had had since you’d arrived at Magenta. 

When the morning came, you found you were alone in the bed and feared that Saeran had changed his mind about you. Your hands desperately clawed at his side of the bed. He had left a letter tucked into the bedding for you, with your phone next to it and a spam of messages from the RFA. You’d been reconnected! 

Opening the letter, it read:

            ‘Pack well, but lightly. Be ready, I’ll come and get you.

            Trust me.  - Saeran.’

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger x reader #mymes #mysmes #mystic messenger fanfiction #unknown mystic messenger #saeran choi #saeran choi x reader #mystic messenger hcs #mystic messenger headcanons #saeran ae

[heejinnien]

bts | roses epilogue

word count: 1.2k words

pairing: bts x reader

synopsis: y/n is a member of the seoul behavioral analysis unit. usually, she’s the cat in the typical game of cat and mouse played with the criminals they catch, but when a mysterious string of murders has her on edge, she discovers she’s caught the attention of one of a dangerous criminal — and he’s determined to make her pay for it.

or, not all attention is the good kind.

genre: horror, angst

warnings: yandere themes, descriptions of gore, descriptions of violence, murder, the reader carries a gun because they need to defend themself against bad guys, guns, manipulation, victim blaming, this is overall just a very dark fic

author’s note: this is the conclusion to my series, roses! it is important to note that this chapter is not written from the same perspective as my other chapters. when attempting to determine the mindset of an unsub, profilers will use “i” or “you.” while this chapter uses you and takes place in second person, it is important to note it is not from the reader’s perspective.

roses masterlist

Tap, tap.

You drum your fingers idly against the wooden surface of the cafe table, checking the display of your watch. He’s late, you note, although you’re sure he was probably distracted with Y/N. You decide to wait ten more minutes for him before leaving. You’re supposed to be dead, and it’s too risky to remain out in the public eye for long. At that thought, you shift in your seat, pulling the brim of your hat down further. The way you’re angled is away from the cafe’s security cameras, and the chilly spring weather provides a perfect excuse for your long coat and hat. It’s the first time in your life that you’re glad you have the ability to blend in, and no one notices you as they pass by.

“You’re here already.”

A familiar voice causes your head to snap up, fingers tightening around the drink you had bought when first arriving. You relax when you see it’s just Jungkook. Unlike you, he’s wearing casual attire, no urgent reason requiring him to hide like you have to.

“Our meeting time was ten minutes ago,” you say stiffly, staring at Jungkook as he pulls out the seat across from you and sits down. If he feels uncomfortable from the way you’re staring at him he makes no indication of it, merely pulling the sunglasses off of his eyes and folding them, hooking them on his shirt.

“Well, I got a bit sidetracked. You know how it is.” Jungkook’s eyes gleam predatorily. Though the topic of conversation is light and to any passerby would sound innocuous enough, the hidden meaning is all but thinly veiled.

You hum noncommittally as a waitress stops by your table and Jungkook orders a latte. She looks a lot like Y/N, you silently note, with dark hair and eyes. You quickly shut that train of thought down, growing uncomfortable if left thinking about your former teammate for too long.

As soon as the waitress leaves, Jungkook’s gaze shifts back to you. “You’ve healed up nicely,” he observes, no question in his tone.

“Well, I had plenty of time,” you respond dryly, mind flickering back to the past few months spent in hiding. This is the first time you’ve gone out in public after the NIS officially declared you “deceased.” For the first few days, you kept up with the news, wondering if the officials had somehow connected what had happened to you in any way, but after a while you decided you couldn’t stomach it anymore. Every mention of it brought you back to that moment, the feeling of your teammate’s life leaving him as your hands wrapped around his throat, eyes flashing with betrayal.

“You seem to be faring pretty well yourself,” you note, refusing to let your mind wander. The first few times you had been in contact with Jungkook after the event, he had said Y/N had attacked him, resulting in injuries to both parties. There’s no trace of that now, Jungkook’s features as perfectly proportioned as before. You shudder to think about what Jungkook has been doing to your former teammate. You know her and how spirited she is, and you vaguely wonder what she’s like now.

If she’s still the woman you once loved.

You silently scoff at yourself, at how cowardly you’ve become. Once, you swore to uphold the laws of your country. Now, you’ve betrayed your country and your unit, and youu’re in hiding for murder.

The murder of your former unit, more specifically.

The sound of a mug hitting the cafe table forces your thoughts to stop wandering. Jungkook smiles at the waitress as she pulls a sugar packet out of her apron, giving the man sitting across from you a gentle smile as she tells him to enjoy his drink and leaves. You watch as Jungkook rips open the pack, pouring it into his drink and then stirring the dark liquid.

“What’s your plan?” Jungkook asks, scarcely saving you a glance as he sips his beverage. You’re glad he isn’t looking at you; you’re not sure you can control your emotions if he looks at you for long. 

“Probably leave the country,” you admit. “I know someone who does fake IDs, and he can get me a passport.”

“Where would you go?” Jungkook’s gaze finally slides to yours, and you use all your years of profiling and behavioral analysis to appear unruffled, as if you’re merely talking about a vacation you plan to go on instead of the country you’re fleeing to after committing murder.

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe London.”

“I know you’ve always wanted to go there.” Jungkook flashes you a soft smile, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “You don’t have to leave, you know.”

“It’s better this way,” you say quickly, and you know it’s true. Maybe it’s further proof of what a coward you are, but after everything you can’t bring yourself to care.

Jungkook nods and sets his mug down, clearing his throat. “Well, I guess this is it then.”

“I guess it is.”

Jungkook stares at you, a glimmer of something in his dark orbs. You rip your eyes away before you can delude yourself into thinking that Jungkook is actually capable of loving someone, that the expression in his face is love and care for you, that he’s even capable of such emotions.

Psychology would tell you no. Sociopaths can’t feel true emotion. But you cling on to the desperate thought that Jungkook is capable of feelings, that he has a conscience, that maybe he wakes up at night in cold sweats like you because of what you’ve both done.

Once upon a time, you loved Y/N and Jungkook. You just loved one of them more.

“I should go, I can’t be out for too long with the face of a deceased person,” you joke, hoping that your words don’t sound as cringy as they do in your head.

“Even with the face of a deceased person you’re still handsome,” Jungkook says softly, and now you can’t ignore the way your heart wrenches, the way you’re undeniably, inexplicably in love with this man.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, throat suddenly clogged. You clear it loudly, ignoring the hurt that flashes across Jungkook’s face for a split second.

The familiar feeling of anxiety bubbles within you, an emotion that has been no stranger to you the past few months. You push back your chair and stand, the wooden seat scraping loudly against the floor. You see a few cafe patrons glance your way, and now the anxiety that has bubbled within you is quickly rising, ready to erupt like a vat of lava.

“I have to go,” you say quickly, gripping your hands tightly in front of you to hide the tremor that runs through them.

“Wait — ”

“Bye, Jungkook,” you murmur, cutting the younger man off. You give him a soft smile, sadness leaching through despite your best efforts to keep your emotions buried, and you know in your gut that this is the last time you’ll see him.

“Bye, mi amor,” Jungkook says softly, and for a second he’s no longer a serial killer or a psychopath. He’s the boy you once loved, the boy you still do love, the boy you wish you could spend the rest of your life with, the boy you committed murder for, the boy you threw away the rest of your life for, the boy you turned into a monster for.

And with that you turn, already thinking about how you’re going to forge the next chapter of your life.

tagging: @kassrole​, @hoebii​, @biaswreckme​, @taegularities​, @moccahobi​, @scarlet2007​, @deepdarkdelights​, @birbdae​, @mieohmy, @samros95​, @ggukkieland​, @glossiestrawberry​​

#roses #bangtanarmynet #btscreatorscorner #bts x reader #criminal minds au #yandere bts #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #seokjin x reader #bts jungkook #bts taehyung #bts jimin #bts namjoon #bts hoseok #bts yoongi #bts seokjin #horror #angst #thriller #yandere #bts #bts horror #bts angst #bts thriller #bts yandere #yandere bangtan

[whenisitenoughtrees]

to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 1/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn't know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he's glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he's been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can't figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn't trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: brief fear of strangulation (no actual strangulation occurs)

Chapter Word Count: 2,926

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 2) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

It starts with the snake in the sunshine.

Thomas supposes that’s not entirely right, because in order to be truly accurate, he would have to acknowledge that ‘it’ started a long, long time ago, when he was a kid, or perhaps even when he was a baby. He’s not certain; he’s never thought to ask any of the sides when, exactly, they developed. And he’s also not certain when they became… the way that they are, instead of just being regular, non-sentient parts of his personality like literally everyone else on the planet is made up of, when his heart became someone called Patton, his logic someone called Logan, and so on. But he doesn’t think that any of that is particularly relevant for this specific situation, so for all intents and purposes: it starts with the snake in the sunshine.

He spots it when he’s coming down the stairs, and promptly stops up short on the third to last step, because, snake. In his apartment. And he knows that things like this happen in Florida, knows that wildlife has a tendency to encroach on human settlements (and he has heard enough horror stories about alligators in people’s backyards to last a lifetime, thank you), but it’s never happened to him before, and he’s not sure what to do about it.

It’s lying in the sunlight slanting through the window, coiled tightly, unmoving. It is white, with dappled yellow patterns all across its back, though there appears to be some kind of black marking on its head. It’s fairly large, too, far larger than any snakes he’s seen outside of a zoo, and he briefly entertains the notion that this might be a zoo escapee, though he’s not certain of how that would have happened. Or of how it got into his apartment in the first place. He definitely would have noticed it sneaking through the door, right?

He manages to overcome his initial fear, carefully dismounting the last few steps and approaching cautiously, sure to stay out of striking range. He doesn’t know much about snakes, doesn’t know how to tell if this is a venomous one or not, and he’s not taking any chances. Though, isn’t it something to do with the shape of their heads? Don’t venomous snakes have pointed heads? That sounds right. And this snake’s head doesn’t look particularly angular, so perhaps he’s safe, though he still doesn’t want to get bitten, venomous or not. The next step should probably be to call animal control and let them handle this.

Something about it seems off, though. Something in its markings, perhaps, that particular shade of yellow, or that odd blot on its head—

Wait. That can’t be right.

He stops. Takes a few steps forward, squinting. Goes so far as to rub his eyes, because perhaps there is a spot in his vision, fooling him into seeing something that doesn’t exist.

But no, it’s still there.

The black spot on its head isn’t a natural marking at all. He’s still not entirely sure his eyes can be trusted, but for all the world, it appears as though there is a tiny black bowler hat perched between this snake’s eyes.

And just like that, everything clicks. All the fear rushes out of him at once, leaving him breathless with relief. He can’t say that there is no apprehension about this new set of circumstances, and a healthy dose of confusion is steadily building, but this is far better than there being an actual, real snake in his apartment.

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Slowly, the snake lifts its head, looking up at him with slightly glassy eyes. For a few seconds, they both participate in what has to be the strangest staring contest of Thomas’ life. Thomas loses, because the snake that is probably-almost-definitely-Janus doesn’t seem to blink.

Snakes don’t have facial expressions. Thomas is fairly certain of that. And yet, he gets the distinct impression that Janus is waiting for something; it’s in the gleam of his eyes, the slight tilt of his head, almost like he’s issuing a challenge.

“It’s totally cool if it is,” he clarifies, raising his hands. “Uh, you can feel free to stay there as long as you want. But uh, I just wanted to make sure that it was you and not some random snake.” He smiles, casting about in his mind for something to say. He’s not yet sure how to talk to Janus, not sure how to interact with him now that he’s offered up his acceptance, but he’s certainly going to try his best. He wants to get to know him, wants to understand him better. He deserves nothing less. “There’s only room for one snake in this apartment.”

Janus stares at him for a while longer, and then nods, a fluid, intelligent motion that is slightly disturbing coming from something that looks like an animal, but Thomas can deal. If his sides can shapeshift into his friends, and puppets, and giant frog monsters with abs, he can cope with his snake-like side becoming an actual snake. It’s hardly the weirdest thing he’s ever seen.

Janus returns to his coiled up position, apparently intent on taking a nap, and frankly, Thomas can’t blame him at all. A nap sounds great right about now. He’s not entirely sure why Janus has chosen to do so here, rather than in the mindscape; he’s certainly never seen any of the other sides sleep in his apartment. But he’s hardly about to make Janus leave, even if he’s bemused and a bit discomfited, so he wanders off to grab a snack and get back to editing, leaving Janus to sleep in the sunlight.

He’s gone by evening, and Thomas isn’t entirely sure when he left. It’s a few days before he shows up again, in the exact same spot, in the exact same sunbeam, and Thomas greets him but otherwise leaves him be.

From then on, it sort of becomes a thing. On cloudless days, Janus pops up as a snake to sun himself in the living room. Sometimes Thomas will chat with him, making idle conversation that he’s not sure is listened to, and sometimes he stays silent, content to do his own thing while Janus does his. It turns into a comfortable habit, on his end, at least, and he hopes that Janus is comfortable with it too. He thinks he is; at least, he never gives any indication otherwise.

He’s still not sure why exactly this is happening, but he hardly feels the need to complain.

But then, Thomas walks downstairs one day to find Janus staring directly at him.

He pauses, thrown by the change to their routine. Most of Janus’ body is curled in on itself, like usual, but his head is reared, and as Thomas watches, he sways back and forth slightly, a constant, seemingly automatic motion. His tongue flickers in the air, but he makes no sound, neither hissing nor speech, and though Thomas isn’t sure that he’s capable of talking while he’s like this, he’s heard him hiss a few times, so this silence is unnerving.

“Hey,” he says uneasily. He gives a half-hearted little wave, which he regrets almost instantly, feeling like an idiot. “Uh, is something the matter?”

Janus looks pointedly to the window behind him, and then back to Thomas again. It only takes Thomas a few seconds after that to realize what the issue is.

It’s raining.

And not a light rain, either, not the kind that casts grey shadows over the world and taps gentle, soothing rhythms against the windowpane. This is a storm, dark and furious, wind whipping and tearing into the trees and sending gust after gust of the torrential downpour against the glass. It is late afternoon, but it may as well be night for how dark the sky is. There is certainly no trace of sun poking through, and thus, no light for Janus to lie in.

He walks closer, though hesitantly. “I’m not sure what to tell you, buddy.” He winces as soon as he says it; ‘buddy’ doesn’t fit Janus at all, feels too presumptuous, like he’s assuming a closeness that doesn’t yet exist. He’ll keep trying. “I can’t control the weather.” He pauses, looking back to the snake, who has drawn up slightly, his head now almost level with Thomas’ waist. “Um, is there not anywhere in the mindscape that you could find some sun?”

Janus hisses, loud and sharp, opening his mouth to flash some fang. Instinctively, Thomas takes a step back.

He’ll take that as a no.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’m not sure what to do, then,” he says. “It’s supposed to be like this all day.”

Snakes cannot look disappointed. They cannot glare. They are literally incapable of those facial expressions. So how Janus is managing to convey angry dejection is absolutely beyond him. And he doesn’t know how to comfort him, doesn’t know if comfort would even be welcome; in a way, Janus is a lot like Virgil, not that he would ever dare to speak that opinion out loud. They present themselves entirely differently, but at their core, they are both proud, stubborn and guarded, if in varying ways. Thomas has learned Virgil fairly well by now, knows how to slip past his walls, but Janus is a different story.

But still, seeing him so disappointed doesn’t sit right with him. So he reaches out on instinct, running a finger down the scales just past his head in an attempt to offer comfort through touch, and he doesn’t realize that this may have been a mistake until Janus stiffens, going completely rigid and still. He pulls his hand back hastily.

“Sorry!” he says. “I should’ve asked first, I’m sorry.” He frowns, glancing from Janus to his finger and back again. “You’re really cold. Is that normal?”

Snakes are cold-blooded. He does know that much, knows that they rely on external factors in order to maintain their body temperatures. He just never thought that such a restriction would apply to Janus, considering that he is, in fact, an imaginary snake and not a real one. But if he’s wrong, if Janus truly does need an outside source of heat in order to stay warm himself, then that would explain his distress.

Janus hisses at him again and ducks back down, curling into himself until he resembles a convoluted knot, his head nowhere to be seen. It’s almost upsettingly cute, not that Thomas would risk voicing such a thought. He crouches down instead, considering his options. Would Janus accept his help, if he offered it?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Um, look, I can’t turn on the sun for you, but you look super uncomfortable, so if you wanted, you could… wrap around my arm, or something? Body heat would help, right?” He hesitates; Janus is fairly long, probably about five feet, possibly a bit longer, so the logistics might be a bit tricky. But he’s sure they could figure it out, if Janus would be amenable. Slowly, he stretches a hand out again, placing two fingers on Janus’ scales and stroking them with a feather-light touch. He really does feel cold.

Janus uncoils himself, hissing loudly, but he leans into the contact in a way that almost seems like desperation, like he’s trying to steal all the warmth he can from Thomas’ fingertips. And after a moment, the hissing stops, and he regards Thomas with an almost wild stare.

“Really,” he presses, unsure of what Janus is thinking. “I wouldn’t mind. Unless it’s not something you’re comfortable with, in which case, that’s fine, we could figure out something else. I… might have a heated blanket?” He casts back in his mind, trying to figure out if he does, in fact, possess a heated blanket, or if he just used to have one and is remembering incorrectly. If he doesn’t still have it, he’s not sure that he owns anything else that would help; snakes like heat lamps, he thinks, but he definitely doesn’t have one of those. Could he turn on the oven and set Janus in front of it? Would that work?

He is jolted out of his thoughts by the sensation of Janus’ head rubbing into his hand, like a cat seeking attention. He freezes, and so does Janus, and for a long moment, they have another one of those staring contests. Then, Janus sets his head primly on the back of his hand, still staring, as if asking for permission. Something bright and warm blooms in Thomas’ chest, and with his free hand, he gestures to his arm, trying to suppress the grin that wants to spread across his face.

Janus hesitates for a second longer. Then, he slithers up and around Thomas’ arm, and Thomas shivers at the sensation of frigid scales sliding across his skin. At first, it seems as though this won’t work, that Janus is simply too big to settle comfortably, but Thomas watches in fascination as Janus begins to shrink, landing on a much smaller size, perhaps two feet long, a length that can wrap around his arm with ease. Somehow, throughout the process, the tiny bowler hat remains perfectly balanced.

And just like that, there is a snake looped around Thomas’ arm.

“Alright,” he says, trying not to sound as giddy as he feels, because this is the closest he feels like he’s gotten to making a personal connection to Janus in months. “Okay, cool. Um, I was planning on getting some more editing done, so you can just hang out while I do that, I guess. Feel free to hiss at me or something if you get uncomfortable.”

Janus remains silent, which he will take as a good sign. In fact, he remains silent for the better part of an hour, lazily regarding the computer screen as Thomas attempts to wrangle his filmed material into something worth posting. He ends up doing most of the work with one arm so as to disturb Janus as little as possible, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. After a time, he almost forgets that Janus is there at all, becomes accustomed to the chilly weight of his scales on his arm, the slight movements as he shifts in place every now and again.

But then, those slight movements become bigger movements, and Thomas stills, tensing as Janus uncoils and begins to slither his way up his arm and under his shirtsleeve. His breath catches, and chills shoot down his spine; Janus is warmer than before, but still cool, and the sensation as Janus moves across his shoulder and emerges from his shirt’s collar is odd, unfamiliar. He exhales shakily as Janus continues to move, looping himself around his neck several times, just tight enough that Thomas is very aware of his presence, of the fact that there is a snake coiled around his neck, and as much as he knows that Janus will not physically harm him (and probably couldn’t, even if he tried), there is an element in his hindbrain that is gibbering at him, insisting that everything about this situation is a very bad idea, and that he needs to remove the threat.

God, he hopes Virgil isn’t paying attention to this. Except, judging from the way he’s feeling right now, judging from the almost audible oh god oh god get him off get him off, he definitely is, and Thomas is very surprised that he’s held back from showing up in person.

And then, Janus lets out a whistling breath and tucks his head between the coils and Thomas’ neck, and all the tension leaks from Thomas’ body as his rational thinking catches up to the situation. The way Janus is gripping him is nowhere near tight enough to cut off his airflow, and it never was, even though he seems to be pressing up as close to his skin as possible. But why--?

Was his arm not warm enough?

“You good there, Janus?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He receives no response, neither a hiss nor any additional motion, so he tries again. “Are you, uh, asleep?”

Again, no reply, so it’s probably safe to assume. He smiles, wide and unrestrained, and powers down his laptop. The storm outside has calmed to a softer rainfall, pattering against the windows, and other than that, the world seems quiet and still. It’s earlier than Thomas usually goes to bed, but he actually feels like he might manage to fall asleep if he tries, and a little bit of extra rest never hurt anyone. He’s been working in bed already, thankfully, so while he can’t lie all the way down without dislodging Janus in some way, Logan won’t lecture him too much if he falls asleep where he sits.

He reaches over to the lamp at his bedside and turns off the light.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he murmurs. Predictably, he receives no response, but Janus’ scales still press against him in the dark, a comforting presence as he drifts off.

------

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @ldavmp4 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @sammy-is-obsessed @imlovethomassanders

As a note, I am willing to have a separate taglist for this fic if you just want to be tagged for the other two chapters. So if you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask! But please do specify which taglist you would like to be added to.

#sanders sides #ts sides #platonic thomceit #character!thomas #janus sanders #ts janus #my fic #i'm not gonna lie this whole fic is an excuse to get c!thomas to hug janus

[jawritter]

The Art Of Letting Go

Summary: You though you were searching for Demon!Dean to help Sammy cure his brother. When you do find him, Dean shows you just exactly what you’ve been looking for.

Created for: @spndarkbingo

Square Field: Dub Con

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Smut, fingering, Demon!Dean (yes, he has his own warning), slight angst, dub con, language, spn level violence, I think that’s it...

A/N: This fic was beta’d by @deanwanddamons! Thanks hun! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one!

Want more? Check out my MASTERLIST! Still want more? BECOME A PATREON, and get exclusive fics and make request!! 

People are affected by things differently. No one processes trauma the same way. Some people close up completely. They refuse to talk about what they’ve been through, and shut themselves off to everyone around them. Some people chose therapy. They choose a professional stranger as a way to vent, or get it off their chest. Some people get violent and want to seek revenge for whatever happened to them, whether that be to a person, group of people, or just the universe in general. 

You’ve seen it all. This life, it had very few secrets left for people in your line of work. You’ve seen them cry, kill themselves, go bat shit crazy and murder everyone they were ever attached too. You’ve seen them lock themselves in the house and refuse to come outside again. 

You often wondered what had happened to that girl. She was such a good hunter. She had finally come across the one thing she couldn’t handle mentally. You were pretty sure it would happen to you one day as well. 

In all the things you’ve seen, in all the horrors you’ve experienced, in all the shit you’ve hunted, you’ve never seen anything that held a candle to Dean Winchester. He once was a damn good hunter,  a friend, but had now turned demon. You know it was the mark that had turned him, and what it was doing to him that made him who he was today, but to say he was handling the trauma from his past life as a human to now swimmingly was bullshit. He literally took all the trauma he’d been through in his life, channeled the anger, took on the fucking mark of Cain and died  and became a demon. You didn’t give a shit what Sam said. Dean had done it on purpose. 

At least he was creative? 

You and Dean  had never been very close, but in all fairness, Dean was only ever close to a handful full of people. You? Hell, you were just another hunter. Not someone he was ever attached too. Not that he had time to even really get to know you anyway. You grew up in one of the many hunting compounds, and you joined about a month before Dean became the beast you were currently hunting. 

You had always idolized Dean in a way. You had heard all the stories over the years growing up, and you always wanted to work with him, meet him. Now? Fuck, now you were hunting the very man you swore that one day, you’d work along side him to save the world. Funny how that shit turned out. 

Sam swore he could cure Dean. You remain unconvinced. Either way, the problem at the moment was finding the bastard. Years of hunting when he was human made Dean damn near impossible to find, and you were pretty sure he was leaving the pair of you a trail of breadcrumbs that literally had you going  around in circles. 

“What, Sam?” You growled in the phone that wouldn’t stop ringing on the seat next to you. It had been ringing almost non-stop for the past thirty minutes, and you didn’t know how to tell him that you still hadn’t found his brother, and  were pretty sure you were never going to find him. 

“Y/N, listen, I just got some video footage from a convenience store about 30 minutes north of where you are right now. Dean was seen there.He beat a man to death with a skin mag. Can you check the local bars and strip clubs, see if you can find him?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, thankful that Sam was unable to see it. This was a first. Dean in his demon form, decided to beat the poor ass hole to death with a fucking porn magazine. He had a knife that was very capable to do the job for him, but this just proved there may be more of the old Dean still in here than you wanted to admit out loud. It took all the self control you had left in you not to burst into hysterical laughter, or ask Sam to send you the footage so you can laugh, and not be judged for it later. 

“I’ll check it out Sam, but I’m starting to think we’re not going to see Dean again in person unless he wants to be found.” 

The resounding silence on the other end was hard to read. You couldn’t tell if you were actually getting through to him with reason alone, or if he was just as done  as you were looking for Dean. 

“Just… Just try, okay?” Sam pleaded, and you could literally hear the fucking puppy dog eyes in his voice through the phone, damn him. 

“Okay, there’s a bar about five miles from me. I’ll start there and If I find anything I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks Y/N, I really couldn’t do this without you,” he says, letting go the breath he was obviously holding. 

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it Winchester,” you tell him before hanging up on him. He’d said enough for tonight, and a few strip joints and bars were all you were willing to do before finding a place to crash for a while. Dean may be a demon, but you were still human and needed at least another four hours before continuing this wild goose chase. 

You couldn’t deny as you pulled up in front of the old dive bar, that it was just the kind of place the Dean you know would have chosen to hang out in. You could hear the crappy country music blaring even outside in the parking lot, and there were plenty of blondes walking around in cut off shorts to choses from, adding a nice Backwoods appeal to the place that would have drawn the elder Winchester in like flies to horseshit. 

Human Dean was predictable, and you missed that. The only question that remained  was just how much of the man was still inside the  monster. 

As soon as your boots hit the gravel outside your car, a cold chill shot down your spine, throwing your hunter instincts into high gear. You didn’t haven’t even have time to grab your angel blade before your body was pinned to the outside of your Mustang with enough force to knock the wind out of you. The smell of sulfur assaulted your senses, and a scent you knew all too well… Dean.

You could feel the cold steal of the first blade pressing into the thin fabric of your flannel, and you shivered involuntarily at the hot breath that smelled of  beer, sulfur, and spearmint gum fanning over your face, Dean’s strong calloused hand had a tight grip around your throat, while the other held your hands behind your back as if you were nothing more than a blowup doll. No form of shaking, kicking, or moving at all seemed to be able to break his inhuman hold. 

“You know sweetheart, you and my little brother are getting on my last fucking nerve. I told you both to let me go, and what do you do? You chase me across the country like a fucking bitch in heat, all at the request of Sammy.” 

You swallow around the lump that was in your throat as best you could with Dean’s hand holding your neck, tight enough to leave a bruise. You knew he’d been leaving a trail for you, you weren’t an idiot, but you didn’t expect him to be so… well, Dean. You expected a stupid demon, like the hundreds you’d sent back to hell before him. Boy, were you wrong. 

“Then why don’t you just fucking kill me, Dean?” You asked him, knowing that if he wanted you dead you’d already would be, especially if he knew you were tailing him. “If I’m that much of a fucking pest, why didn’t you just handle it three states back?”

An inhuman growl sounded close to your ear, and you felt his solid chest vibrate on your back, his hand tighten around your neck, cutting off most of your air supply. 

You could feel your body responding to his administration, even though you knew it was wrong. The sheer, raw power that seemed to be pouring from his grip on your hand had slick gathering in your underwear and there wasn’t shit you could do about it. 

“Why should I do you that favor hun, Y/N, when you and I could have so much fun together.” 

Dean’s hot breath fanned over the shell of your ear, closely followed by his teeth, sending a shiver of disgust down your spine, and to your horror, more arousal pooling between your legs. 

“Fuck off, Dean,” you gritted back at him, determined to fight against this senseless attraction to the very thing you were trained to hunt and kill from birth. 

This is wrong, this is wrong…

No matter how much you repeated it to yourself, the fast growing bulge in Dean’s jeans against your ass had your cunt squeezing around nothing, begging the fucking demon to fill you up, stretch you in a way you’d only fantasised  about. Knowing the human Dean was packing, and a god of man that seemed to drip sex on bowed legs? What woman with a pulse wouldn’t think about it? 

“See, your lips are saying fuck off, but that little pussy of yours? Well, it’s saying come to Daddy.” 

Dean’s hot tongue licked from the shell of your ear to your jawline, and you had to bite down hard on your lip to stifle the moan that was right on the edge of your lips. His hand that had been holding your throat slipped down your body, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping into your panties with ease, wasting no time in slipping two thick digits into your soaking folds, toying with your entrance. 

A deep chuckle ripped through his throat when he felt just how wet you were, and damn it if his fingers didn’t already have you on the edge of oblivion as they slipped into your cunt, pumping and curling slowly. You fought against the overwhelming urge to grind down against his hand to get the friction you needed from him.

This is wrong, this is wrong…

“Look at you,” the demon said, grinding his full denim covered erection against your ass as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, hitting your G-spot with terrifying precision. “So fucking wet and needy. How many times have imagined these dirty little fingers of yours were mine, baby? How many times have you cum moaning my name, like your doing right now? Better keep it down or you're going to get us caught, and you won't get to cum.”

You hadn’t realized all the noise you’d been making until he’d pointed it out, but here you were, all but saying his name like a prayer as your legs began to shake, the coil in your stomach winding painfully tight. 

“Dean, please,” you begged him, unsure if you wanted him to stop, because you knew this was so fucking wrong. You didn’t fuck demons, this wasn’t you, but be  fucked if it didn’t feel so fucking good. Dean was playing your body like a fiddle, and you were helplessly grinding down on his hands as he increased the speed of his fingers. 

“Please what, Y/N?” he said, chuckling as you did all you could not to fall over the edge he had you teetering on. “It’s all you sweetheart, all you gotta do is let go.” 

You shook your head no as he laughed again, sinking his teeth into your pulse point  hard enough to make you almost cum right there, but you refused to do it, you just couldn’t do it.

This is wrong, this is WRONG!

“You know what your problem is Y/N? You are always SO FUCKING TENSE! All the fucking time. You walk around like you got this big stick up your ass, and a chip on your shoulder. I did the same for a long fucking time, but you know what baby girl, I’m gonna do you a favor. I’m gonna teach you the art of letting go, and we’re gonna start right here in this parking lot. Now, cum.” 

Dean added his thumb against your throbbing clit, and as if on command from some invisible force, you came hard enough to blur your vision. The coil in your stomach snapped as your pussy clenched around his thick digits, your juices running down his hand and soaking your panties further. He worked you through your release until your body fell lax against the car, and your breath came out in short pants as you tried to stand on shaking legs. 

“Hope you're not too tired yet bitch, that was just lesson one.” Dean said, turning you around to meet cole black eyes, and a smirk carved by the devil himself. 

You knew this was wrong, but there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to get away from him now, so you might as well sit back and learn how to let go and enjoy the ride.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @idksupernatural​ @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl​ @love-jackles-37-blog​ @miraclesoflove​ @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth​ @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @hayleeharling​   @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​ @teresa-67​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​

#spndarkbingo #dean winchester #demon!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #demon!dean x reader #demon!dean winchester x reader #demon!dean winchester x you #demon!dean winchester smut #demon!dean smut #dean x reader #dean x you #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn smut #dean winchester one shots #demon!dean winchester one shots #jensen ackles #x reader inserts #jawritter #the art of letting go

[geraskierficrecs]

Could I possibly prompt some feral buffskier? Or inhuman Jaskier? :D Congrats on 3K!!!

Thanks for sending in a prompt!  I decided to explore some nonhuman Jaskier that’s fully feral.  I haven’t seen a whole lot of nonhuman Jaskier stories using Celtic mythology so I’m going to be a little self indulgent for this, but I hope you like it!  (Bonus points if you can guess what Jaskier is before it’s revealed!)

_____________________________

The sound of a fight stirs him from his slumber.

Even trickling through the still waters of his lake, the sound of flesh meeting flesh is unmistakable.  As is the soft, gritted noise of pain.

He shifts, body fluid and inky black as the waters around him.  The water parts like a lover before him and he revels in the familiar sensation of power and control.  These are his waters.  His home.  

So why was someone hunting in his territory?

Another sound--a scuffle and another grunt of effort--and Jaskier scents blood in the air, beginning to seep into the shallow waters on the shore.  He drifts closer, the predator inside of him writhed beneath his skin.  Eager.  His mouth opened to run the tastes over his tongue as the water passed through the gills at his neck.

At the surface, he was careful not to create any ripples that might give away his presence, but he needn’t have bothered.  

Two muscular forms were rolling across the ground at the shore sending mud flying and breaking the rushes that grew there.  His ears pricked, equine head rising up out of the waterline when he saw the flash of steel dart through the air to land among the bushes farther back.  Humanoid features twisted in a grimace of pain that matched the scream of triumph from the creature atop the warrior.

He didn’t need to scent the fire and ash in the air to know what beast was hunting so close to his home.  Caorthannach, his lips shaped on a subvocal growl.  A creature of heat and anguish that reveled in the agonies of others, relishing violence for violence’s sake.  It never tired.  All it knew was hunger and the desire to spread its own fury and pain into others.

Even worse, it had attracted a Witcher.

This, at least, was an exciting enough development to justify being disturbed from his sleep.  Jaskier had heard the legends of the humans who’d been experimented on by their own kind to become monsters of their own.  Faster, stronger than their kin and capable of standing against the darkest shadows that lurked in the night.  His mother--before she’d chased him away from her nest--had warned him often not to ever attract the attention of humans and their terrifying guardians.

Now there was one only a few yards away, struggling to avoid the claws and flames of the demon above him.  He should be afraid, angry even.  The Caorthannach’s presence has ensured his relative peace in this remote lake was in danger.  He should sink back into the depths and stay quiet until the Witcher left.  Instead, he found himself moving closer, breathing in air filled with the scent of blood and more enticing notes of leather and sweat.

Something primitive within him stirs at the strength lingering in each block and shift beneath pale skin.  It spoke of power, of promise.

Mate, his beast purred.  Mine.

The thought was enough to make him go still.  His kind weren’t known for their pairs except in rare occurrences.  They were too wild, too territorial to risk allowing their kind to get close.  Tales of true mates, of soul bonds and love, were just that--stories to cling to when the water’s cold seeped too far into your bones and your thoughts felt brittle enough to break under the strain.  

The Caorthannach shrieks and lunges forward, teeth jagged and eager.  The Witcher hisses out a breath full of pain, blood pooling in the dark mud.  That quickly, any hesitance Jaskier feels disappears beneath the roar that rips free from his throat.

He rushes forward, shedding water like he sheds his skin in favor of legs designed for running over the earth.  The demon has enough time to look up in surprise before Jaskier is on top of him.  He lashes out with sharp hooves, connecting bodily and throwing the other beast away.  He barely takes the time to glance back at his Witcher to ensure he was still breathing before he focuses on his prey.

It screams in rage at him, spitting a blast of fire like a wipe that burns the hide along his flank and adds to Jaskier’s fury.  He bugles like a stallion and rears up to lash out with his front hooves, herding the beast towards the water where the mud slows its movements.  The Caorthannach flounders, instinctively wanting to avoid the element that was so contrary to its own magic, but pinned by its furious attacker.

Jaskier is fierce with the knowledge that his mate is injured and still in danger only a few feet away.  He wants to draw out the battle to repay the blood debt, but he is eager to see for himself that his Witcher is alright.

So he uses his size to his advantage.  He kicks out, again and again, ignoring cuts and burns from when the demon strikes back.  He herds it back into the water until stumbling in the knee-high waters.  It flounders, trying to get back to shore, but it’s already too late.

Nothing can escape a Kelpie in its own waters.

The sounds of splashing slowly drown out the rush of fire and roar of the Caorthannach.  Then there was only silence.

Slowly, Jaskier pulls himself up out of the water and stand at his full height.  Water drips over dark hide and makes his muscles gleam in the moonlight.  He watches the Witcher’s eyes widen and preens.

Like all Kelpies, he shifts between forms at will based on his needs.   To his victims, he appears as a dark horse with a dripping mane with wild eyes.  He prefers to target the bandits that prey on unwitting travelers on the main road, only occasionally going into town to find men and women whose homes were filled with muffled screams and cries of pain from small voices.  He likes the stories that warn others to avoid the main roads at night.

When he’s bored, he appears as a lean man with dark hair and the same pale blue eyes that follow him between forms and visits the taverns.  He likes the humans and their quick laughter and cheerful songs.  It’s so different from his own lonely life, even if he feels like an outsider lurking among them.

Jaskier lets his human form step forward out of the water, uncaring that he steps out naked aside from the cuts left behind by his battle.  They’ll disappear within a few days and he relishes the proof that he’d protected his mate.

The Witcher sits up, his fingers pressed against his side where blood is darkening his armor and his golden eyes wary.  “Kelpie,” he murmurs quietly.

Jaskier tilts his head in acknowledgement.  “Witcher.”

His voice is hoarse from lack of use, but the Witcher seems to enjoy it judging by the way his pupils dilate.  He smiles and risks taking another step toward the man.  

“Are you going to kill me too?” his mate asks and Jaskier feels pride war with instinctive horror at the bravery displayed.

“I would never hurt you.”

The Witcher frowns at the obvious honesty and runs his eyes over Jaskier in a cursory sweep for weapons.  They both know he doesn’t need them, but Jaskier recognizes the habit for what it is.  “Why did you help me?”

“The Caorthannach was in my territory,” he says, dodging the truth easily, “I would have killed it even if you did not.”

“No one told me there was a Kelpie in this region.”

“I avoid humans whenever I can.”

“But you chose to help me,” the warrior frowns at him and Jaskier buries a smile, “Do you know what I am?”

Mate, his beast growls.

Mine.

“A Witcher,” he says instead.

His mate looks more confused by the answer.  His eyes flick to the silver sword Jaskier can smell in the bushes nearby. “I could kill you.”

Jaskier’s grin is quick with promise.  “You won’t.”  The Witcher shifts, wincing when the movement tugs at the wound he’s favoring along his side.  Jaskier takes another step toward him, hand outstretched in a placating gesture.  “I’m not going to hurt you either,” he promises.

“Why not?”

The derision is obvious in the man’s tone, but it’s the lingering weariness that makes something inside Jaskier want to reach out and wrap himself around the Witcher like a protective shield.  He knows the Witcher has no reason to trust him at this point.  

“The world has been unkind to you, Witcher,” Jaskier finally says, “but I have no quarrel with you.  You smell of death and heroics--not cruelty.”

“Hmm.”

He smiles at the disgruntled sound, daring to close the distance between them and take a closer look at the wound in the other man’s side.  “I’m Jaskier.”

For a moment, he thinks the Witcher will ignore the silent question in his eyes, but then:

“Geralt.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats, enjoying the way the syllables taste.  “Will you stay here?  At least until you’re healed?”

Geralt watches him for a long, lingering moment.  “I’ll stay.”

“Good.” The grin he gives him is near feral with excitement.  “When you’re feeling better, I’ll give you a ride you’ll never forget.”

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #6 Avatar

“What is that?” Alistair’s favourite words, or perhaps just the only ones he can think of when in current company. The large, red-headed Highlander was often the confused member of the group. Charlette wouldn’t say he was out of his depth, but sometimes she did think he needed a little extra time to catch-up. “It’s a statue, obviously. And I carved it myself.” her response was, maybe, a little more annoyed than it needed to be. Alistair balked, eyes going a little wide in the way they always did when he realised he crossed a line. Poor man was very afraid of causing offense.

“Oh! I, uh, I mean. I was not sure, but you know. My dads a Blacksmith, well you knew that since you’ve met him. But what I mean is, my mom is a baker, you’ve met her too so you knew that as well. But you see, because they’re both a blacksmith and a baker. Well not both, but as a pair they’re capable of doing both, separately, in their own learned skill sets-” Charlette had to stop him, he was going red in the face, and the whole thing was just a bit too bright and desperate for her to tolerate. “Get to the point Alistair.” “Right! Sorry, yes. I’m used to talking about blacksmithing and baking stuff, so carving is lost on me! Yeah? It’s great, just took me a little while to understand it because I’m, y’know, dumb.” Charlette flicked Alistair on the nose. “You aren’t dumb. You just act dumb.” turning back to her project, the one that had taken her most recent fancy, and sighed. “It’s a horror, isn’t it?” Alistair placed a heavy, thick-fingered hand on her shoulder. Gods, when did his arms get so hairy? “Just a bit. But maybe that’s a good thing?” Charlette did not look convinced by this optimistic take, which only encouraged the up-beat Hyur. “See, something you kind of learn by necessity when living with two crafters as parents is how to see things for what they are, not always what they were intended to be.” stepping forward, Alistair waves a hand beneath Charlette’s creation. Several ilms tall, and a few ilms thick, the shape she had been slowly chipping out of wood for the past two moons was rough. That’s the kindest she could be. She was proud of it though, her little Ishgardian knight on his horse with, uh, four legs? Five? From this angle it was playing with her mind a little. “I can see that you’ve attempted a griffon-riding paladin!” Charlette didn’t correct him. That’s what it was now. “And that’s pretty ambitious! Or, at least I bet it is because what do I know, I’m just the son of a baker and blacksmith.” walking around behind it, he pointed to the winged helmet atop the knight, ah, paladin’s head. “Look at the small details here! Those are feathers, right? You meant it to be a winged helm?” She nodded. “Well, I got that much at least, but you know what it really looks like? The feathered headdress of an Ixali warrior.” he was not wrong. “Huh, I do see that. And I suppose if he were an Ixali, the fact his shoulders are slumped over, and his waist is far too thin would suddenly make sense.” thump! A big, meaty hand slapped against Charlette’s back. Alistair was becoming more and more like his father. “Yes! See! This isn’t a Paladin of Ul’dah. It’s an Ixali Warrior, riding an Avatar of Horror! Like a, um, Yarzon crossed with a morbol via Shroud witchery?” Alistair had many more talents than he could see in himself, and one of them was his way of trying so very hard that Charlette simply cannot refuse his freckled face and it’s bright, hopeful grin. She dipped her head forward, slumped her shoulders gently, and with a huffed breath agreed. “Sure, why not. This is, in fact, my Shroud Witch Ixali Void Knight Warrior: The Avatar of Horror. I actually rather like it. I can’t imagine anything less terrifying for a Gridanian to see charging out of the undergrowth.” Alistair nodded, so quick and enthusiastic was it that his trimmed beard almost swayed. “Nope, I’d proper shite myself if that came tumbling out of the bushes and squealed about pecking at my guts like a crow.” Charlette placed a finger just under the base that her monstrosity stood upon, drawing a line along it as she spoke of a possible title for her piece. “Avatar of Horror. Proper shite yourself in it’s presence.” They looked at each other, then laughed. “Think you’ll grace us with more visions of the Shrouds most awful things that probably, maybe exist?” Alistair swept away the last of the wood-chippings from Charlette’s workspace. Just a small desk setup under a little thatch awning at the back of her family's home. Charrette herself put away the carving, and felt a little more in love with it at that moment. “You know, I was thinking I would just do the one, and quit after that. I’m not very good, but after our chat, I’m feeling perhaps I’m just not very good at the thing I wanted to do.” Alistair snapped his fingers and made a sound somewhere between a cough and grunt. But somehow, he had made it feel encouraging. “That’s the way to think about it! You didn’t fail, well in a way you did, but only at the one thing! You actually succeeded in another though! You’re a monster-maker Charlette, kids will love it I bet.” she took one look at her little horror, saw the faceless head and realized the lifted visor of her knight, turned paladin, turned Ixali, looked much more like a beak. Hello there, little Ixali. “I guess I am.” and she covered it up, keeping it safe for the moment she will unveil it once more. Maybe on All Saints. Right at that moment though, there was a slice of cherry pie and some ice tea with a certain friendly Hyur’s name on it. He’d earned it after all.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv rp #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv #ffxiv writing #duskwight #elezen

[inyourwildestdreamslove]

Tell Me No Secrets: Chapter 8

Pairing: Steve Harrington X Reader X Billy Hargrove

Begins in Season 2.

Summary: You thought you escaped the world of science experiments and torture when you walk out of that lab. However, high school has other plans, somehow you end up as unlikely friends and love interests to the two most desired boys in school. Not to mention monsters from another dimension and a little girl named El from your past that just won’t seem to leave you alone. Maybe that lab wasn’t as bad as you thought, at least there people left you alone.

Masterlist

The Complication

You could feel the agitation rolling off of you in waves. After explaining to everyone that you’ve been followed for the past few days by an agent everyone had thoroughly freaked out like you knew they would. The anger was unexplainable and seemed to come out of nowhere and the pacing is the only way to keep yourself under control. 

‘This is why I like to handle things myself,’ you think as you continue to pace. The room was still full of your friends as they argued about what the best course of action would be. It started with a guard detail and now Dustin is suggesting some kind of elaborate security device. 

You whip around to walk the other way when a sharp pain goes up your side. You cry out, startling everyone in the room as you sink to the floor half in surprise and half in actual pain. Another sharp pain follows quickly after and again and again, before you know it you are curled up on the floor attempting to protect yourself from the phantom assault. A sob wracks your body as you actually feel one of your ribs crack a sharp pain pierces your hand and your nose. A few minutes later the assault is done and you just lay in a heap, your body throbbing and everyone in the room in various stages of panic and chaos. 

You lay still and suddenly your vision is blurry and you are gazing at a living room you’ve never seen before. A man is casually leaning against the counter as you drag yourself up and shuffle to the bathroom. You lay your head against the door, the cool wood feels good against your forehead. You don’t pay attention to anyone, it’s not until Steve puts a hesitant hand on your arm that you are brought back to the room around you. You blink taking in the familiar couch and the familiar faces of your friends. You flinch away from him and he backs up hands in the air. 

“It’s okay…”

You shake your head and get unsteadily to your knees your hands go to your throbbing nose when you pull away you expect to see blood but there is nothing there. You blink in surprise before you press on your rib expecting pain, but there isn’t anything there other than a phantom throbbing. 

“What happened?” you ask shakily.

“We were kinda hoping you could tell us that…” Steve says hesitantly. 

“I don’t know…”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” questions Hopper’s tight voice. 

You gaze down at the floor before you glance up at Max, “What does your living room look like?”

“Huh? Why?”

“Just… what does it look like?” you ask again as you put your hand to your head attempting to soothe your throbbing head.

She begins to describe the beige walls and the TV in the corner. The window that opens up to the kitchen. You gaze unseeingly at the carpet as you recall every detail about what just happened to you. 

“I see…” you say before you stumble to your feet with Steve and Melanie on either side to steady you before you walk wordlessly to your bedroom. 

“Okay… what just happened here?” questions Hopper as he gazes at where you just were. 

“We don’t know…” sigh Melanie, “She did that the other night.”

“When?” questions Elle. 

“A few nights ago… I-I don’t remember exactly when…”

You can still feel the residual pain aching in your muscles as the water from the shower beats down on you. You don’t feel like dealing with anyone as you ponder what you think is happening. You inhale a shaky breath as you picture the living room and man leaning casually against the wall watching you get up. There is no emotion, dead eyes watch you as you make your way towards the bathroom. A moment later water is scalding your skin as you gaze around at the green tiles surrounding you, with a blink you are back in your own shower. Groaning you force yourself from the shower and into bed hoping against hope that you are able to get a good night’s sleep. You have a feeling you are going to need it for tomorrow. 

The next morning dawns and before you can even think of riding your bike to school Steve is in your driveway and much to your surprise so is Dustin.

“Why are you here?” You ask in confusion as you lock the door behind you.

“I’m taking you to school, it’s too dangerous for you to ride your bike there,” says Steve as he crosses his arms. 

“He’s right! You need protection,” interjects Dustin.

You furrow your brow at the duo in confusion, “Okay…” Mostly because you know that attempting to argue with them at seven o’clock in the morning is far more hassle than it’s worth. Also, you decide not to mention that you are more than capable of dealing with anyone that comes your way, but they enjoy being heroes and who are you to take that from them? Plus you simply don’t feel like riding your bike today. 

When you pull into the parking lot at school you don’t think much of the fact that Steve gave you a ride until you get out of his car. You feel eyes on you instantly as whispers flare up all around you. A particular pair of blue eyes catch yours though. 

“What do you think she’s doing with Steve?”

“Wasn’t she with Billy last week?”

“What are they doing with the freak?”

“What do they see in her?”

“It has to be a bet! You know they’ve been competing for King status…”

“Has to be a bet.”

“Hey! Don’t listen to them okay?” You hear Steve’s voice in your ear suddenly. 

You whip your head around to face him and notice the way his hand is on the small of your back and the way he guides you into the school. 

You blink attempting to refocus yourself as you try to block everyone out. You don’t have time for their rumors, you have more important things to do. You wave Steve off when you get to your locker insisting that you would be okay. 

“Are you sure?” he asks in concern as he leans against your locker door, his eyes searching yours. You are beginning to understand why so many females like Steve. He has the uncanny ability to make himself look like a puppy and is quite endearing if not a little slow. 

“I’m fine, Steve, I’ve somehow managed to survive without you my entire life up until now. I think I can handle first period.”

“I just…”

“Go!” you shoo him away much to the scandal of the female population that was trying not to be obvious they were eavesdropping and even more so for the ones who didn’t care if you knew they were. 

You don’t see Steve again until lunch when he plops himself down in the chair next to you. 

“So… How are you doing?” asks Steve as he pours little packets of hot sauce on his burrito.

You roll your eyes, “I’m fine Steve…”

He doesn’t look convinced as he regards you with concern, “Yesterday was pretty intense…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say coldly. 

Steve has become rather bold rather quickly because he doesn’t seem to care whether or not you want to talk about it, “Maybe you should though! You should talk about it!”

“What good would that do?” you ask seriously as you attempt to concentrate on your math homework. 

“You were scared… Hell, I was scared! You just started to scream and writhing in pain for NO REASON.”

“Would you keep your voice down!” You ask in an angry whisper, “Everyone at this school already thinks I’m some kind of freak, I would rather possession not be added to the rumor mill, especially when it involves both you and Billy.”

“Sorry! Geeze! I’m just trying to help!” he hisses back at you. 

You fix him with an angry stare, “Perhaps in private would be better, you never know who is listening.”

“Ah… right…” he looks thoroughly chastised as the two of you make your way out of the cafeteria and to your science class. 

“We still need to work on our project…” Steve grumbles as you both pile yourselves into the classroom. 

“We can finish it up tomorrow after school,” you say decisively.

“Tomorrow? Why not tonight?”

“I have things to take care of tonight.”

“What things?” He asks almost defensively.

“Things that don’t concern you,” you mutter emotionlessly.

“Hey! You aren’t going after any more-” he asks, clearly offended.

“Steve!” You growl.

He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans in, “-any more of those guys are you?”

“No… this has nothing to do with that…”

“You know friends trust one another right?” he asks in annoyance. 

“Then you should trust me,” you say calmly as you look towards the front of the classroom as your teacher enters the room. 

You hear him scoff from beside you, but you decide to ignore him, mostly because you know it annoys him when you do. 

***

You can feel Billy’s gaze on you as you read the assigned material for your English class. Agaitiation rolls off of him in waves as you attempt to ignore him, but how can you when you know what you know?

It’s when the bell rings that a message floats between the two of you, landing softly in his mind, “Meet me behind the school.”

His eyes widen as he gazes at you like you are out of some horror movie, but you ignore the way the shock travels up his body and ricochets through his mind. A few minutes later you are standing before him as he leans against the wall.

“What’s this about?” he asks confidently, his voice doesn’t reflect the fear in his mind. 

“Lift up your shirt,” you say while crossing your arms. 

“Sweetheart if this is what you wanted all along…”

“No. Now lift up your shirt,” you say emotionlessly.

He rolls his shoulder and his jaw before he straightens, “What if I don’t want to.”

You tilt your head to the side, “What happened last night?”

He leans his head back and regards you with narrowed eyes, “That’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business when I’m a crumpled heap on the floor of my own house,” his eyes widen at your statement, “Now, lift up your shirt,” you say forcefully.

He holds your gaze as he angrily untucks his shirt from his too-tight jeans and pulls it up to reveal black and blue ribs. His side is all manner of colors some bruises are almost healed while others are fresh. 

Shame sets you on fire as you regard him and it takes you a moment to realize that shame doesn’t belong to you. 

You merely nod at him, “Thank you.”

He drops his shirt back down and refuses to look at you. His shame is replaced with anger, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. 

“Oh yeah! And what’s that gonna do huh?! You think you can fix this shit?! Fix my fuckin life?!”

“You would be surprised at what I can do…”

He snaps his head up to look at you his breath catching in his throat. 

“Let’s go,” you say as you breeze past him into the school.

“Where?” he asks bewildered.

“To take care of this.”

His whips around as the door goes to slam in his face, he catches it at the last second as he attempts to tuck his shirt back in before following you down the hallway. 

The ride to Billy’s house is silent as he chain-smokes cigarettes, the smoke flying out the open window. The ride is loose and fast and despite the fact that he wants you scared, you know better than to actually be. He pulls into the driveway and the two of you make your way up to the front door. You look around at the perfectly manicured yard before you enter the living room you were in last night. 

“He uh… won’t be home for a couple of hours…”

“It’s fine, I can wait,” you say calmly while you pull out the book your class is reading for English. 

“So you can really do it huh?” he asks as he sits down next to you on the couch. His elbows are on his knees and his hands have formed a fist under his chin. He’s wound as tightly as a wire about to snap. 

You regard him quietly for a moment before you answer, “Yes, I can.”

“How?” his voice is rough as if he is holding back tears.

“You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t actually want answers to.”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes before he gets up and lights another cigarette taking a long drag. 

“You should do the reading,” you murmur softly.

“What? Why?” He asks, almost outraged you would suggest such a thing. 

“It would be best if he thought us to be working on an assignment.”

He nods absentmindedly before he puts the cigarette out and reaches for his bag. He pulls the book out and settles down to read it, but even though his eyes are moving he isn’t comprehending anything. After staring at the same page for several minutes he closes the book harshly and slams it down next to him on the couch. He runs his hands through his hair messing it up before he inhales a large breath then exhales. You watch him while he does all this in mild confusion. 

“Do you doubt me?” You ask calmly.

He lets out a forced laugh as he shakes his head, “I don’t know what to think sweetheart.”

He looks up at you and his eyes lock with yours. They are a deep blue and remind you of the turbulent sea in a hurricane, this time though you think you can see a little bit of sun hidden in the depths. As if for once he has hope.  

The door opens almost violently and if you hadn’t felt the waves of anger rolling off of the male before he made his way into the house you would have been startled. 

“What’s going on here?” Billy’s father asks, you see right through his forced cheery facade and see for what it is a very dangerous question. 

“We were just uhh…” Billy stalls in shock, clearly not expecting him yet. 

“Working on an English assignment, we were paired up in class,” you finish easily for Billy regarding the man before you carefully. 

“Right…” Billy trails off looking anywhere but at his father. 

“I see… Will she be staying for dinner?” He asks, completely ignoring you. 

“No, our assignment shouldn’t take that long,” you say calmly before you dutifully go back to your book. 

‘Assignment my ass… Like I’m going to believe this isn’t his next whore…’ The thought flits across your mind, but you just keep your face blank giving nothing away. 

Billy catches your eye looking nauseous. You merely nod your head towards the book before you go back to your own. 

You hear the heavy boots of his father as he walks into the kitchen but you make no move to do anything. 

Billy’s leg begins to bounce with his nerves. 

Abruptly you stand and regard the man as he returns from changing from his work clothes. He stalls in the hall and just looks down at you in confusion. 

“You’re going to stop hurting Billy. You will not hurt anyone in this family,” you say seriously, the order hanging in the air. “If I find out you’ve hurt any of them there will be consequences. Now you are going to forget this conversation ever happened.”

His eyes are blank and unseeing as you turn back to a bewildered Billy. 

“That’s it?” He asks in bewilderment. 

“Yes,” you say calmly, “I would like to go home now.”

He blinks up at in confusion.

“You have to take me there,” you supply in place of his obvious confusion.

“How do I know this worked?!” he asks in bewilderment. 

“You don’t… yet. Also, don’t say anything to anyone,” he blinks at the order vaguely wondering if you used your power on him. 

With that, you turn and walk out the door with a very confused Billy following dutifully after you. 

***

The next morning, before you even step out of your front door, you can hear the arguing. 

You roll your eyes as you gaze between Steve and Billy with Dustin and Max standing off to either side, both looking equally exasperated by their ride to school. 

“Why are you both here?” you ask in annoyance regarding them both with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. 

“I”m taking you to school!” They chorus before they return their glares back to one another.

“This is becoming excessive…” you murmur more so to yourself than the group surrounding you.

“Look, you don’t need to be riding your bike to school with…” Steve trails off looking imploringly at Billy.

“What? What’s going on?!” asks Billy in obvious annoyance around the cigarette between his lips. 

“Nothing that concerns you…” you say regarding Billy calmly. 

“You heard her! Nothing that concerns you!” Steve echos tauntingly. 

“Enough, Steve,” you reprimand. 

Billy scoffs from your other side, “You heard her Harrington, enough,” he says with a triumphant smirk. 

Steve whips around in a fighting stance to regard Billy.

“ENOUGH! Both of you!” you exclaim in annoyance, “I don’t know what’s gotten into either of you, but I can take care of myself just fine. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

“Yeah,  but that doesn’t answer the question of who’s taking you to school, sweetheart?” Billy interjects indicating the two cars before you. 

“Who was here first?” you ask in annoyance. 

“I was!” They both chorus and you just cross your arms with a sigh.

You look to Max and Dustin for the answer and Max raises her hand, “We were here first.”

You nod decisively, “Billy can take me to school, Steve, you can take me home, okay?”

Billy smirks triumphantly and Steve just regards you in surprised betrayal. 

“But it’s Hargrove! What if his bad driving kills you?!” Steve yells in annoyance. 

“Billy has been giving me many rides to and from school, I’ll be fine.”

“He has?!” Steve asks following you to the passenger door of Billy’s car.

“Yes Steve, he has, long before you did,” you say patiently. 

Steve just squeaks in indignation as you shut the door effectively ending the conversation. 

Flying down the road towards school Billy has a Cheshire grin on his face, “You know you could have just told Harrington you wanted me to take you…”

You glance at Billy out of the corner of your eye, “I honestly didn’t care either way.”

“Sure sweetheart… Sure…” he says with confidence dripping from his voice. 

Max scoffs in the back seat, “You know she’s too smart for you right?”

“What did you say?” he growls back. 

As the siblings begin to bicker back and forth you notice it, the buzzing.

“Quiet both of you!” you exclaim shutting them both up momentarily.

“Don’t tell-”

“Hush!” you exclaim the order hanging in the air as you turn your head this way and that trying to get a read on the buzzing in your head. 

Your eyes widen as it starts getting stronger and there you see a vehicle sitting at the intersection not fifty feet away clearly waiting for someone. You narrow your eyes as you regard the car. 

“Billy,” you murmur turning to look him in the eyes, “Floor it, if they catch us we might as well be dead.”

He just nods, the barest hint of fear in his eyes as he lays his foot down on the gas pedal, his car roaring to life.

Notes: I know it’s been forever and day actually since I updated this but I love it very much! Please drop some love and tell me what you think. Also, I intend to redo the taglist for this story since it’s been so long. So if you would like to be tagged please send me an ask! 

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargove x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harington imagine #steve harrington x reader x billy hargrove #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things series #stranger things fandom

[fairyartlover-writes]

Fanfic: I’ve never seen such Perfection

Hello! Long time no see. Forgive me for that. I’ve already posted this on AO3 but i forgot to post it here...Oops, sorry. I’m afraid i have to say this isn’t a Loki fic (i know, shocking) but in fact, this a Phantom of the Opera fic, more specifically the 1990 series version with Charles Dance. To those who’ve seen the series, THAT scene made me absolutely furious and i wanted to cry at the injustice at poor Erik. So, of course, i re-wrote it. FWI, this starts quite abruptly because i was just so mad and i had to fix it, but i kinda like it. Let me know what you think

To those who have stuck around through that very large introduction, thank you. I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera (1990)

Pairings: Christine Daae/Phantom-Erik

Summary: Re-write of the picnic scene in the POTO 1990 series starring Charles Dance

Raiting: Teen and up (to be safe)

Words: 2,950

“Let me look at your face” He stilled, tense. Christine held her hands tightly in her lap, wanting to touch him and erase his fear but knowing it would only frighten him further. He slowly lowered his arms and looked at her, pained.

“I’m afraid you’ve asked the one thing I cannot give you. Please don’t ask again” He looked away and avoided her gaze, taking the food out of the basket at a much quicker pace. He hurt as he said those words but tried to hide it from her. She, of course, saw through it. She hated to be the cause of his pain, but she told herself she had a reason for doing so. She wanted now more than ever to reach out, but again, she held herself.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I thought I wasn’t capable of handling it. I have seen your heart; I have seen your eyes. Why should your face matter after all the good I’ve seen?”

“If it does not matter why ask me to take my mask off?” He said angrily. He still avoided her gaze, even as she searched for his. His hands had balled into fists by his side, knuckles white. She placed her hand in the middle of the picnic blanket, trying to bridge the immense gap that she’d created

“Because I want the last barrier gone between us.” His posture melted from anger to shame. Christine moved closer, trying to do something, anything, to erase his shame, for he should not feel any but stopped when he grew tense. She continued talking, trying to make him see. “You know all my secrets, the shameful and the joyous ones. You have seen me at my best and at my worst and have stayed through it all. You have helped me in every way possible. Maestro, please, let me do the same for you.” He stayed quiet, still as stone, but his breaths were shallow as if he could not breath. She breached the last inches that separated them and placed her hand on top of his. His head shot up and the look in his eyes broke her heart. He was ashamed, scared, terrified, but the hope in his eyes shone through it all. She squeezed his hand and smiled at him, as reassuringly as she could. The quiet seemed to go on for minutes until he spoke, barely above a whisper.

“It is not a face, it is hardly a semblance of a face. I cannot bare to burden you to such a thing.” Christine couldn’t help the tears that came to her eyes. This man, this wonderful, beautiful, broken man. How she wished to hold him and keep every bad thing away from him. How she wished to make every insecurity and dark thought disappear. Instead, she held his hand in both of hers and brought it to her lips. Even held within her hands, his still dwarfed hers. He gasped, astonished, as she gave a gentle kiss to each of his fingertips. She passed her thumb over the back of his hand and ran her finger over each callus, trying to memorize every detail that she could. His breathing become ragged and she looked up to meet his eyes. Tears were swimming in them and an emotion she couldn’t identify mixed in with the tears. Slowly, she brought his hand to her cheek and closed her eyes at its warmth. A choked gasp came from him, but his hand immediately cupped her face and his thumb hesitantly stroked her cheek.

“Do you know how I know I will not be repulsed by your face?” She asked him. She did not wait for an answer. “Because it belongs to you. As much as your hands, that teach so patiently and hold me so gently.” She nuzzled into his hand before opening her eyes and grabbing the other one and bringing it to the opposite side of her face. She met his gaze and smiled. “Because in that face are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen, eyes that captivate me and always make me smile. Eyes that hold so much warmth and so much passion” Both his thumbs were gently passing over her cheeks, his touch as light as a butterfly’s. “Because that face belongs to the best man I have ever known. A man who saw me, a woman with nothing to offer and still decided to help her, expecting nothing in return. A man so gentle, so passionate, so loving that I cannot do anything but love him, all of him” Tear streamed down both their faces. She smiled at him, willing him to see the truth in her words. To the see the love she had for him and knowing that nothing will ever change that.

“Christine…” He choked. His eyes held a storm of emotions, each one passing too quickly for her to identify, but she saw clearly that he held so much hope for her words to be true, but everything in him telling him to ignore what was said and run. She did the only thing she could.

“Erik, I love you. Please let me love all of you.” Christine grasped at his hands that still cupped her face, her eyes never straying from his.

He was in turmoil. Every experience he had had with showing his face only ended in disaster. He did not want this to end in disaster. How he wanted the words to be true, how he hoped. Seeing her determination and her love for him clearly in her eyes made the air escape his lungs. How could such an angel love a monster like him? But the love was there in her eyes, clear for anyone to see. He passed his thumbs one last time over her cheeks before removing his hands from the sides of her face.

Christine slowly let go of him, prolonging their touch, not wanting to break the contact. She held her hands over her heart, willing for it not to run out of her chest. Erik looked down, again avoiding her gaze, and began untying the knot at the back of his head. His other hand kept the mask in place and when the knot was untied, he hesitated. Christine was patient, not hurrying him, knowing that that would do no good. He slowly took the mask off his face and closed his eyes. He didn’t dare lift his head and show Christine the horror of his face. He did not want to hear her screams, he did not want her to look at him in disgust or, worse, fear. He never wanted her to fear him. Willing himself to get on with it and without opening his eyes, he lifted his head

For a few moments there was silence, which terrified him more than he thought possible. There were no expected screams, cries of horror or the sound of Christine running away. There was only quiet, which was worse than all the screams he’d endured. His hands began to shake but then the most unexpected thing happened. Gentle, small hands, hands that could belong to no other, held his face and erased the tears that he didn’t know were running down his cheeks. His eyes snapped open in surprise. Christine was in front of him, smiling. She was smiling and touching his face. Without fear or disgust. He desperately held on to the hands that touched his face with so much kindness and love.

“Hello there Erik.” She had tears in her eyes but did not let them fall. She rubbed her thumb over his cheeks, in much the same way he did. Tears streamed steadily down his face and no matter how much she tried, some fell onto the blanket they were still sitting on. The utter relief and awe that flooded his face was reassuring as it was heart breaking. How many people had run away from him? How many times had people screamed at the sight of his face? How many times had it happened for him to think it was the expected outcome? Without thinking twice about her actions, she pressed small, butterfly light kisses all over his face, which only made more tears come.

“Does it hurt?” She asked quietly, afraid to break the spell around them, her forehead resting lightly on his. He shook his head and she pressed one last kiss on his brow. She wasn’t surprised when he fell into her arms and buried his face into her neck, silent tears hitting her bare shoulder. She knew she shouldn’t let any man be this close to her or to be touching her in such a way, but this was her Maestro, her Erik, and she would do anything she could to bring him comfort. She passed her hand through his hair, feeling its softness against her fingers, happy she finally knew how it felt after all the time she dreamt about it. They stayed like that for quite some time, picnic forgotten.

“How?” He whispered, his voice cracking on the one simple word, never taking his face from her neck, not daring to look at her face for fear she would push him away and scream in delayed horror.

“How what?” She said confused, just as quietly as him.

“How could you look at my face and not run away? Hold me like you do and not scream or be disgusted? Even Gerard cannot bare it.” Christine heart broke for Erik. How could someone live the way he did and continue to be kind? How could someone be so cruel and heartless to the man most deserving of love she had ever met? She hugged him closer, willing all his tears to go away and all the broken pieces to mend together by the sheer force of her embrace.

“Because it’s yours. Because that face it’s attached to your mesmerizing eyes, to your warm and gentle hands, to your voice that always makes me feel at home, to your lips that I always wondered what would feel like against mine.” She felt him gasp against her skin and his hands tightening against the fabric on her back. “I am not repulsed by your face because it is yours. And you are beautiful, face and all.”

“Do not say such preposterous things Christine” He tensed in her arms. How could a voice sound so angry and yet so sad?

“What have I said that is preposterous? All the words I’ve said are said in truth” He abruptly left her arms and sat up, avoiding her gaze. She could feel his anger rolling off of him in waves. He frantically searched for his mask. She tried to make him stop by laying a hand on his arm, but he shook it off angrily.

“Erik? What’s happened? What have I said to make you think that what I’m saying is untrue?” He turned around, furious, the anger and betrayal overflowing from his eyes. Christine tried not to flinch at his anger and tried to remain calm.

“Untrue? You’ve outright lied Christine!” He screamed without raising his voice.

“All that I’ve said is true.”

“True? True? How can you tell me you my face is beautiful and tell me it’s the truth? I may be a fool, but I am not blind” He turned away from her and began packing the forgotten picnic.

“I never said your face was beautiful.” He stopped, his back still turned to her. She hesitatingly put a hand to his back and immediately felt it relax under her touch. She pressed her forehead to the back of his shoulder. “I said you’re beautiful.” He didn’t turn towards her, but his anger left, replaced with the heavy weight of tiredness.

“You are not making any sense Christine”

“I am making perfect sense, Maestro.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, turning her face towards his. He still hadn’t put his mask on and was staring straight ahead. She tired bringing a smile to his face with her mischievous remark, but he remained impassive.

“Tell me Maestro, would you still love me if I had no hair?” He didn’t turn towards her, but she saw the way his brow furrowed and the downturn of his lips.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Answer it. Please?” She rested her cheek on his shoulder, still not taking her eyes from his face. Her hand, without meaning to, began rubbing circles unto his back, feather light. Immediately his shoulder relaxed and, slowly, achingly hesitant, his face turned to her. Fear and a small trace of anger were still in them, but the utter fondness she found in them brought a smile to her face.

“Of course. Without a question” He answered. It was not a question he thought he would ever have to respond, but the answer was obvious and clear to him, in the same way the sky was blue and that the sun would rise.

“Would you love me if I had warts all over my face? If I had green skin and hairy feet?” He raised his eyebrow, but his answer was as sure as the first one.

“Of course. But, Christine, what on earth are you trying to solve with these confounding questions?” The hand that was not on his back, slowly, as to not make him uncomfortable, came up to his face.

“If you could still love me, with no hair, warts, green skin, and hairy feet: why is it so difficult to believe that I could love you, despite of your face?” She was met with silence. At first there was anger, as if those two things could ever be the same. Then the shock settled in that, yes, those two things were somewhat the same.

“But that is different Christine, you know that”

“How are they different?”

“Because you would still be lovely. You would still be Christine. I,” He couldn’t seem to want to finish his thought. Her other hand came to the other side of his face. He went to pull away, but her hands remained steadfast on his face. His eyes dropped down to the blanket. She noticed that his hands were balled into fists, but their shaking was still evident. One of her hands reached down to his clenched hands and held it.

“You are still my Maestro, you are still the kindest man I’ve ever met, your heart is still your heart, your eyes are still your eyes. What I’ve seen doesn’t change that. Nothing will ever change the way I see you.” She paused for a moment, thinking if what she wanted to say would help or worsen the situation. In the end, she needed to let her feelings out. “I’ve never seen such perfection.” She knew her love and adoration were clear on her face when she said those words, his words. She wanted him to see that nothing would change between them. That his face would not deter her. His shock at hearing his words repeated back to him made her want to laugh, but she knew now was not the time nor the place. She gently brushed her thumb over his sharp cheekbone and, slowly as to give him time to pull away, she leaned in.

With her hands still cupping his face, she kissed him. And he kissed her.

The kiss was everything she had dreamed, and not, all at once. She found that his lack of nose did not deter from the perfection of the kiss, nor their tears wetting both their lips. His trembling hands steadied as they found purchase on her waist and hair. They gripped tightly onto her; afraid that she would vanish into thin air if he didn’t hold her tight enough. Afraid this was all a dream. That was fine by her, she would still be here when he realized this was real, and for now, she will hold him just as tightly. Her hand tightened on his jaw while the other travelled to the hair at the back of his neck, wanting to feel the smooth strands between her fingers.

At last, after what seemed like eternity but was still not enough, their kiss ended. They did not stray far from each other, their foreheads resting against each other. Their breath mixed with the others in the small space between them, their smile not leaving their faces, not that either wanted it to. They looked into each other’s eyes, captivated.

Erik couldn’t believe what had just happened. Christine had kissed him. His heart was trying to beat itself out of his chest and his brain couldn’t fully comprehend what had happened, but the look in Christine’s eyes as he looked at him, without a mask, made all of the voices in his head stop for a moment. All his thought were consumed by Christine. She had seen his face and she had kissed him! He could die right at this moment and he would be the happiest man on earth. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, marveling at the softness of her skin.

“Christine” He whispered. The way he said her name sounded like a prayer, spoken only for them to hear.

“Erik” She said in much the same way.

They stayed like that, in each other’s arms, for an instant that stretched into eternity, not a worry on their minds. Nothing mattered but them and that moment, everything else came second and could wait. As long as they had each other and they could wrap their arms around one another, everything would be fine.

--------

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed! Below are my AO3 and Fanfiction account, if you want to check them out.

AO3: FairyArtLover

FF: WhiteLunaNight

#poto #phantom of the opera #poto 1990 #charles dance #cherik #yeston and kopit #christine daae #phantom #erik #christine x erik #fanfic #fanfiction #phanfiction #phanfic #my phanfic #hurt/comfort #hurt comfort #THAT scene #picnic #dreamery #ive never seen such perfection #emotional hurt comfort #light angst #unmasking #canon rewrite #canon divergence #fluff

[miraclesnail]

1000 Ways and I Can Name You One

A thousand ways to tell the Stoll brothers apart and I can name you one. Travis and Connor centric oneshots featuring characters from PJO/HOO.

Chapter 32: Michael - Food 

Plus the whole 9.7k fic under the read more but with funky formatting 

Michael — Food

Michael (14) — Travis (13) — Connor (13)

Early June 2007

Pre Sea of Monsters

[8:07 AM]

The whole drive to Camp, Lee has been saying the weirdest things. 

‘This camp is special.’

‘This camp is for children of Greek gods and goddesses.’

‘This camp helps the said children harness the godly gifts inherited from said gods and goddesses.’

‘This camp is top secret and no matter what, you cannot tell your mother about Camp Half Blood. Not a word. Not a complaint. Not even a compliment. Michael? Are you listening? Ar—are you laughing?! Michael, I’m not joking around. This is not a joke.’

Did Michael take Lee seriously? Not at all. Not even to humor him. What does Lee take him for? An idiot? Like, he doesn’t really have many friends at school (none actually) but even he knows when someone is trying to pull a prank on him. Lee typically goes for jump scares, but it’s good to see him broaden his horizon and try new things. 

Yeah. 

Michael wholeheartedly believes Lee is 100% kidding around. 

It’s kind of a shock when he walks through the camp and sees flowers being grown in someone’s palms, men with hooves and horns trotting around, a goddamn girl rising from the lake like some kind of b-grade horror movie but minus the sunken eyes and gray skin and tattered white dress. 

It’s a big shock. Kinda earth-shattering actually. Very disorientating. It’s taking all his mental capability to process the fact that the Greek gods are real , that the Greek myths are real , that his atheist beliefs are all wrong and holy fuck?? God is real . 

It’s probably why when that SOB Shermie or Sherlock or whatever his name is picked a fight, he welcomed the easy distraction and picked one right back. 

In hindsight, he should have maybe exhibited more self-control. 

“He shoved me.”

The utter stare of incredulity has Michael quickly rephrasing his initial statement, fiddling with a loose string on his t-shirt. 

“He shoved me first. ”

“And so you decided to turn it into a slugfest?” Lee says, arms crossing as they stand on Cabin 11’s porch. 

“To be fair, to be fair,” Michael says, scrambling for excuses as his eyes dart from cabin to cabin, “to be really fair, that Sherm-guy started it.”

Lee didn’t buy it, not that Michael expected him too. 

“You promised me, Michael,” Lee says, disappointed, and Michael looks away with guilt. 

He did promise Lee. Right before they left the apartment complex, Lee explicitly said, “Promise me, Michael, that you’ll be on your best behavior?” And he said he will. 

“Mike, I don’t want any phone calls from the head honcho again, okay?” his mom said, exasperated. He said there wouldn’t be any.

“Mikey, please tell us all the fights you’ll get into!” his four little siblings — Leo, Raphie, Carly, and Sam — screamed together with cheeky, smug, knowing grins as he got into the car with Lee. He said ‘in your dreams.’ 

Not even one full hour and he failed two out of three. Possibly all three if Travis and Connor decide to hand his ass to the director. 

“I’m really sorry, Lee,” Michael says, head lowering, “I promise for real this time. I won’t get into any more fights. I swear.” 

Like clockwork, the frown and crossed arms drop for a bright smile and a hair ruffling, like he actually believed Michael can do it. Lee’s weird like that. He believes in people and their lies despite what their actions are saying, believes in him even with the 14 years of experience that Michael cannot follow through on that promise. 

It’s that same idealistic, stupid belief that has Lee clinging to the hope his birth mom will one day want to actually be a mom. 

Michael slinks back into the cabin as quietly as he can. Miranda catches his eye and waves him over, patting the empty spot next to her. Michael hesitates (still remembers the way she tosses a boy a whole head taller than her like nothing) but thought better of it. 

The promise, he thinks. Remember your promise. 

He sees Sherman sitting on Miranda’s other side. As he slides down to sit cross-legged, he’s mentally preparing himself for a jeer. But Sherman is just staring at Miranda, wide-eyed and star-struck and totally ignoring him which is perfectly fine with Michael. 

Miranda angles her body towards him, a slight smile on her face as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just want to warn you that you’re in Connor’s bad book right now.”

“Should I be worried?” Michael says, glancing at the brothers talking on one of the upper bunk beds.

To which Miranda smiles sweetly. “You should keep your head down. I heard he gets a bit prank-crazy with people he doesn’t like.”

A sharp whistle brings his attention upfront. 

“Okay, so hey, everybody! Exciting first day, I know. Welcome to Camp Half Blood,” one of the pair says with a big grin, standing on top of the upper bunk bed. The other sits at the edge, feet swinging over. “We’re already late for breakfast so I’ll make this super-duper quick. My name is Travis Stoll. I am one of your head counselors. This is Connor, my little brother.” 

Connor waves, his smile matching Travis’s.

“I’m also your counselor. Any problems you guys have whether it be life problems, camp problems, prank problems, you can come to us. Lucky for you guys, you have two of us. Most cabins just have one,” Connor says. 

“Where’s Luke?” someone in the back yells. 

“Luke is gone now. If you see him, either in person or in a dream, tell us right away. Please come talk to me after this meeting if you want more details,” Connor answers, still cheerful but Michael kinda feels like his words are too curt. There’s definitely bad blood between this Luke person and them.

“Moving on,” Travis follows after, “the beds are all taken. Any more fighting over them will result in the instigator getting a timeout. For everybody else, sleeping bags are available and we will make room. Your stuff can be placed in the closet or tucked in your sleeping bag. I know this cabin’s patron is the god of thievery, but please show respect and decency towards your fellow cabinmates and don’t steal from each other. Steal from other cabins instead. Apollo’s kids are the easiest to steal from. So are Aphrodite’s if you want to practice before moving onto the big leagues. Athena’s and Hephaestus’s cabins are where the real challenge is.”

“What about the claiming rate? Someone said the gods would claim us more now,” a girl asks, standing from her sitting position with a bounce, hope in her eyes. 

“Uh, um...” Travis falters, looking down at Connor for guidance. It’s hard to notice but Connor bites his cheeks and just barely shakes his head.

“Claiming, yeah. I’m not too sure about that. I’ll talk with Chi — Tantalus about that. Tantalus is the activity director now in case you all don’t know,” Travis answers. 

There’s a chorus of groans. 

Someone grumbles, “It’s been years.”

“What happened to Chiron?” another asks.

“Temporarily relieved of duty due to, uh, an investigation of his effectiveness on the job. Which, if you ask me, Chiron has been doing a fantastic job of and we should all write a very strongly worded letter to Zeus to get him back on his job.”

A boy in front of Michael shoots his hand up. 

“I heard Luke went all ‘Anakin Skywalker’ on us and joined Kr—”

Connor blows an air horn and interrupts the boy before he could finish. Travis’s smile is strained as he says, “Okay, first rule on Camp Half Blood for the foreseeable future! No mentioning any of the bad guys by name. Names have power. Instead we will refer to him by initials. The evil titan guy will be called K.T. K for his first letter and T because he controls time.” 

“Can we change it to K.K. Slider?” the same boy says.

Beside him, a girl socks the boy in the arm. “No! How dare you sully K.K.’s name like this?”

But Travis is already jumping down his bed, landing with grace. “K.K. Slider it is. That’s all for the morning announcements. Now everybody gets in a straight line. We’re going to the pavilion for breakfast and it is the best thing ever. You can literally get whatever you want. All you need is the power of imagination. Well, imagination and common sense. Don't imagine something you won’t eat. It’s not a contest to create the grossest food.” 

Connor follows down after his brother with a grin and shrugs. “But if it was, I would win.”

Growing up, Michael is what everybody called a ‘problem child.’ Absolutely zero friends not helped by him picking and starting fights for the ‘smallest’ reasons. No remarkable talent except for his athleticism. Mediocre to poor grades due to inability to focus (and it doesn’t help that he’s dyslexic and that his teachers all hate him and that he has a homing device for all the school’s bullies). 

The teachers blamed his mother for his attitude and academic abilities. But they don’t know shit. His mother helps him with his homework after coming back from work. His mother searches for ways to help him manage his ADHD and dyslexia. His mother is raising five kids all by herself with zero help from his deadbeat dad. Going to their extracurricular activities, funding their education, making time to have game and movie nights. His mother is literally Superman for finding time to do all that across five children. No. Make that six. Mom always attends Lee’s band performances and includes him with all their activities and outings and supports him the way Lee’s own mom should be doing. 

Michael’s pretty sure his mom isn't the problem.

Besides his four younger siblings are literal angels. Clearly, the problem is him. Not his mother. 

That’s why going into high school he had every intention of becoming a better son, a better brother, and a better student. Set a better reputation for his family, you know?

Unfortunately, this whole mess with him being half-god kinda put a pause on his plans. 

And put every weird thing Lee ever did into perspective. 

That one time Lee slapped his brand new Nokia cellphone out of his hands and ended his cell’s short life by stomping the hell out of it? Those dozens of times Lee lectured him about not using technology with his stupid excuse of ‘it rots your brain, Michael. Don’t touch it,’ despite Lee himself using a phone and a laptop on a daily basis?? Those hundreds of times Lee excused himself from dinner, movies, and the middle of game nights to ‘use the bathroom’ and coming back with a thin layer of gold dust??? Those weird dreams he gets of standing on top of a broken, tethering bridge and falling thousands of meters to his death in a ravine and Lee saying, ‘it’s just a dream. Don’t worry about it’ with a high-pitched, forced laugh that says he should be worrying????

Now he sees what it was all about. Obviously a metaphor for the earth-shattering revelation of his heritage. 

He’s half- god . A demigod. Some part of him came from an immortal being.

It makes him see his dad in a whole new light. 

Like, Michael always knows his dad is an asshole, leaving his mom and whatnot. 

But now? Knowing his dad is a literal god in the Greek myths he read back in 6th grade? Those freaky assholes with their crazy sex adventures and ego-driven tantrums?

At least the fantasy asshole dad he had in mind didn’t commit mass genocide or is an egotistical, narcissistic jerk or had sex with their siblings, parents, animals, and who knows what else freaky shit the gods like to stick their dick in to. 

And the most bizarre thing is that he’s expected to honor them by throwing the best parts of his meal into the fire. 

Well, he’s not gonna.

“Throw your food into the fire, Mike,” one of his counselors says beside him as he tosses a bag of M&M into the flames. 

“Why should I?”

“So the gods don’t get angry,” says the other counselor, throwing half of his strawberries — Michael stares at the plate. It’s just strawberries. Nothing else. That’s not healthy — into the fire before turning to help the others. 

“They’re gonna threaten us if we don’t worship them? Sounds like a pretty unhealthy parent-child relationship,” Michael says. 

The one that tossed the M&Ms shrugs. “Just toss something in. It can be anything. Even something you ha— don’t care about. That’s what I do. I don’t think Hermes minds.” 

But what Michael hears is that this Hermes fella doesn’t give a shit. 

A small boy with round glasses wedges in between them, frowning, and tosses in a sausage link. “Don’t listen to Connor. You’re never going to be claimed if you listen to him.” 

Connor shrugs again. “Hermes hasn’t disowned me yet.”

“That’s because Hermes is busy with other things. The other gods don’t have a child plotting to usurp—” the kid starts to say but at Connor’s harsh nudging and loud cough and not so subtle nod towards the others in the pavilion and (kind of scary) glare, he shuts up. A second passes before the boy says to him, “Everybody likes to feel appreciated, Michael. Even gods. It’s good to remind them we’re here for them. Now more than ever.”

Michael frowns at the exchange. Child? Usurp? Usurp who? The gods? Yeah. Like that is even possible. 

“What were you trying to say—”

“So I see you got over your embarrassing loss,” Connor interrupts with this infuriating smug grin. “Man, I would have hidden my face for like a year after the way I kicked your ass.” 

And just like that, Michael forgets everything but that day back in March when he met the brothers. It’s an obvious bait and Michael just lunges for it like the dumb fish he is. 

“No, I kicked your ass. Kicked it all the way down the stairs,” Michael huffs at Connor’s heel as they walk to the table. Connor slides into the first open spot he sees and Michael sits down across from him, elbow to elbow to his cabinmates. They need a bigger picnic table. 

“Ass?” Besides Connor, Miranda’s head swivels to face them, her smile innocent but Michael knows better now. Behind that sweet smile is a demon. “Who kicked whose ass? ” 

“We met Michael back in March when we hopped in Lee’s car and we’re not using that language, Mikey,” Travis says, sitting down beside Connor slurping a mouthful of cereal. 

“So? Who won?” Miranda asks, leaning over to slide scrambled eggs onto Travis’s plate and picking off 75% of Travis’s many, many strawberries from his plate. 

Travis stares at the egg with disdain. “Connor won, of course. And I don’t want that. Take it back.” 

“Will said you need something more than just strawberries in the morning. Doctor’s orders. Disobey and you’ll feel his wrath,” Miranda says. 

For half-a-second, Michael thinks Travis is going to fight but he turns back in his seat and just grabs his fork. 

“There’s nothing wrong with just strawberries for breakfast,” Travis grumbles, stabbing his fork into the scrambled eggs. “Right? Nothing wrong with strawberries.”

“I think that depends on the quantity but don’t worry, Travis. I totally got you,” Connor says, pulling out a basket of strawberries and ducking from Miranda’s sudden lunge for it. With ease, Connor holds Miranda back while Travis indulges in his unhealthy obsession with a satisfied, blissed smile. 

Michael thinks of the half Travis threw into the fire and before he knows it, he’s saying, “You really love strawberries, don’t you?” 

Travis nods, mouth full. “Favorite food in the world.”

“Then you must like your—” 

But Travis’s eyes shoot to a girl entering the pavilion, heading straight towards the table with the plant-speaking kid, and Michael knows his words are falling on deaf ears. Travis nudges Connor and whispers into his ear, a shit-eating grin sprouting on Connor’s face as he looks over his shoulder. 

Miranda catches their grins and stands, yelling, “Katie, wait!”

But Katie sits down and Michael hears what is probably the world’s loudest, strongest whoopee cushion rip through the pavilion. Travis and Connor laugh as Katie stands back up, cushion in hand and face flushed tomato red.

“Welcome back, Miss Tattletale!” Travis yells. 

“That was months ago, you pieces of — of — fertilizers! Give me a break!” Katie roars. The ground rumbles as a tree sprouts beside the table, hooking Travis and Connor up by the back of their shirts. They’re way too calm as they’re dangling several feet in the air. In unison, both brothers pull out squirt guns and aim them at Katie. 

And it is definitely not water judging by the smell. 

[9 AM, Sword Fighting]

Lee said he was a demigod. That monsters are real. And that they sometimes must fight off the monsters that come to eat them. 

Michael never really thought about what it entailed. What they’re supposed to fight the monsters with. 

Dimly, he’s aware of his counselors talking. Something about introduction to swordsmanship and the bare basics plus safety today, then tomorrow they will be training with Ares? Apollo? ‘Some god with the letter A’ cabin and learning a few techniques. He isn’t really paying attention to them as he stares at the blade in his hands. 

It’s real. It’s a real, metal blade. And by the looks of it, everyone has one. Even the little 9-year-old. What the fuck? That’s how old the twins, Sam and Carly, are and holy shit. The thought of them with a real sword? The thought of them having to use it to battle some mythical monster? It's enough to make him vomit. 

“Michael? Michael, hey.” Someone is snapping their fingers in front of his eyes and he knocks the hand away, glaring at … at … well, it’s either Travis or Connor, staring at him blankly, but he can’t tell who’s who yet. They should have worn nametags. 

“What?”

“Have you ever used a sword before?”

Michael kinda felt it should have been obvious, but he shakes his head. 

“Okay, well imagine you’re holding a kitchen knife and you’re cutting some veggies for a veggie soup but instead of a broccoli, it’s a monster and instead of small dainty cuts, you’re making big, wide, full power slashes. So nothing like what I told you to imagine. Forget I said that. You want to grip it like this with both hands—” Connor (or Travis?) demonstrates and Michael mimics the action, “—for the most control. You can try one-handed but the strikes tend to be flimsy at best unless you’re gifted like Clarisse or Percy. You want to kill the monsters as fast and in one go as you can while still being safe. Here’s—” he is walked over to a hand-made, hand-stuffed dummy with straws sticking out its seams. A happy face on a yellow sticky note stuck to where it’s head is. “—a practice dummy for you. Give it a few swings and get a feel for the weapon. I’ll be right back with more pointers after helping everyone. You good to be by yourself a bit?”

Then Travis (Connor?) is leaving after Michael hesitates to say ‘no, I’m not good’, taking off with a thumbs up and a crooked grin.

Michael almost called him back, but they’re a big cabin.  Only a quarter of them have been gotten too, the other three-fourths goofing around while waiting their turn. Michael has never been to a summer camp before, nevermind one as strange as this, but he guesses they’re on a tight schedule. 

So he looks down, readjusts his grip, and swings, missing spectacularly, losing his balance, and nearly taking his eye out. 

[10:00 AM, Archery]

Michael didn’t need much help here.

The bow feels right in his hands. His body knows what to do, his arms pull back the bow like it has done this a million times and his first shot lands dead center in the bullseye. 

The next five shots are the same.

“Woah,” his counselor mutters, face scrunched in thought before it lightens up, blue eyes shining with a gleam. “You’re a natural. Hey, you wanna be the archery tutor? I’ve never seen anyone aim so well and had such perfect form. Not even Annabeth.”

Michael lowers the bow and tries to figure out how he did what he just did despite never once using a bow before in his life. 

[11:00 AM, Greek Mythology]

Michael knew Lee was a decent teacher, tutoring him in both English and Math, so it’s no surprise he’s decent at teaching Greek mythology too. All the campers are in the amphitheater with hand made wooden desks courtesy of the girl from breakfast. Lee is in the center with an overhead projector just having the time of his life explaining what each of the 12 Olympians plus Hades represents with a mind map. 

He tries to pay attention. He really did. He gets through listening to Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, and part of Demeter’s history before his attention is pulled away by Travis and Connor. They’re far away from the group, beside the cabins,  hunched over a … birdbath? It looks like they’re arguing to the birdbath, but Michael squints and with his perfect vision sees that there is a person. On the surface of the birdbath. A girl with blonde hair. There’s a girl in the water of the birdbath. 

There’s a girl. In the water. Of a birdbath. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. Food pops into existence with a thought. A girl can grow fullass trees without blinking an eye. Miranda can toss a boy almost twice her weight over her shoulder.

So what if the camp has a Moaning Myrtle?

Before he knows it, Lee is done, Michael misses the other 8 Olympian’s tales, and everybody is packing up their notes to head back to their respective cabins.

They’re ending early to have enough time for a tour of the camp. Which is kind of telling where their priorities are when they hold training first over the tour. 

It’s kind of even more telling what the camp’s view of safety is when there’s a climbing wall that spews lava and when asked about why there’s lava, Travis and Connor say cheerfully in unison,  ‘it’s more exciting that way.’

“Hey, Travis,” a kid starts, tugging on one of the brother’s sleeves. 

“I’m Connor, but yeah?” Connor corrects, turning to face the camper.

“Um, I heard from someone in the Ares Cabin that because of us, we’re in war with Kro—K.K. Is that true?”

Connor smiles and shakes his head. “No. We didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t refute the war part though. 

And as if Connor hears his thoughts, he addresses the cabin, “You don’t have to fight if you don’t want to. But monsters are still a thing so you still have to go to the morning training. No way out of those. Sorry.”

[12:30, Lunch]

Michael is starting to think Travis is some kind of strawberry fanatic and that’s putting it lightly. 

There’s another concerning amount of strawberries on his plate coupled with a grilled cheese sandwich and a salad, yes, but that’s way too many strawberries for one day.

“No such thing,” Travis says, scraping half of his ungodly amount into the fire. 

“I think there is a limit though.” Connor shrugs, tossing a bag of M&M right after.

Michael follows them to the table, even more cramped now. Five new campers, unclaimed, arrived late because of road traffic. He tucks himself into the first opening he sees, shoulder to shoulder and elbow to elbow. Many inches too close in his opinion. 

“Travis,” Michael starts, thinking back to breakfast, “You’re claimed, right? You know who your godly parent is?”

“Yup, Hermes. God of Pranksters,” Travis says, stabbing his fork into a lettuce and turning to wave it at Lee’s table which is much more roomier. Lee catches the action and nudges a boy beside him with an elbow, snickering. The boy turns and rolls his eyes at Travis. 

“You like your dad, right?” Michael asks. 

A quarter of the cabin immediately stops talking and not really subtly turns to them. He’s pretty sure he’s breaking some sort of taboo. Not that it bothers Michael all that much. 

“Yeah, of course I do. He’s pretty cool,” Travis responds, rolling a cherry tomato around with a fork and not looking him in the eye. 

“Why?” It feels like everyone in the cabin is staring at them now, but even then Michael can’t stop.

“‘Why?’” Travis repeats, twirling the fork. Michael can’t help but notice Connor gripping his fork tighter and he has a vivid image of the boy stabbing it into him. Connor seems like the type. “He’s my dad. I think I’m supposed to like him.”

“But he never talked with you though, right? He has never been there for you. How could you possibly like him?”

Travis shrugs. “He’s a god. He’s probably busy.”

Michael frowns. His mom is busy too. Granted, busy with normal things like a job but she still finds the time to tuck his siblings to bed. Still finds the time to cook breakfast and dinner for them. Still finds the time to make movie nights. Still tell them every day, without fail, that she loves them. Is still there for him and his siblings. 

“So it doesn’t bother you? The way your relationship is with him right now?” Michael pushes. 

Travis fidgets with his strawberries, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like French. 

“What was—” Michael starts to say, but Connor glares, hard. Michael thinks he can see the promise of pain and suffering Connor will inflict upon him. Guess he’d just written his name in Connor’s bad book in Sharpie. 

“Look, Michael, it’s the social norm around here to not talk about our godly parents. Especially in ways that demean them.”

Social norm? Like he cares about something as trivial as that. 

“I just want—”

“Drop it, Michael. Travis’s relationship with our dad is none of your business,” Connor snaps. 

Travis is quiet, a hand resting on a cheek as he stabs into a strawberry, red juices spattering over lettuce and grilled cheese. 

“I want his approval. He’s my dad. What kid doesn’t want their parent’s approval?” 

Lee pulls him aside as lunch wraps up, leading them a bit away from the others.

“Michael, can you chill with the public grilling for a bit?”

“I just don’t get the worship around here for them though,” he argues. 

Lee falters, thinking about his words. “Michael, for some of us, our godly parent is the only one that cares.”

“Wait, are you saying your dad talks to you here?” Michael says. He doesn’t really know what the whole deal is going on with Lee and his mom, but he knows enough to know that Ms. Fletcher deserves the worst mom of the century award. 

Lee frowns a bit and shakes his head. “We talked once when I was claimed but other than that, no. Not really. And none of my half-siblings said anything to me about him either. But he’s already doing so much more than the other gods.”

“Really? Like what?” 

And Lee answers without hesitating, “He claims us as his.”

Michael recalls the talk before breakfast and the questions. About claiming. About waiting. About giving up. The bitterness in their voices. The longing. The yearning. And a sinking feeling grows in the pit of his stomach. 

“How long did it take for you to be claimed?” he asks. 

“I was claimed the second I stepped onto Camp. Apollo tends to be rather fast when it comes to claiming his children. The longest he ever went without claiming is one week. Demeter claims fast during the fall and winter months when Persephone is away. Hephaestus takes on average a month or so to claim.”

“And the slowest god at claiming?” 

Lee’s eyes narrow in thought. “Let’s see… Ares, Athena, Aphrodite, and Hermes seem to be the slowest.”

“How slow?”

“Slow as in… months, years.”

“Why?”

Lee looks away in discomfort. “Who knows? We shouldn’t speculate though. That’s just asking for a curse.”

He catches up to his cabin gathering for the next event and when he asks around about the claiming rate, he gets a mixture of answers. 

“Because we’re not their favorites,” Miranda says cheerfully, while arm-wrestling (and clearly winning) with a flushed Sherman. 

“Because we have to prove ourselves first,” the kid with the glasses states, eyes fixed on his shoes.

“Because they forgot we existed,” others say. 

“Because they want something from us.”

“Because they don’t want the responsibilities of a parent.”

“Because they don’t care.”

“Because they don’t think we’re worth it.”

“It’s because they suck ass,” one of the older campers says with dead serious eyes as Travis chokes on his strawberry, tossing the rest of the fruits into the fire, plate and all. 

“Shh! Celise, you’re gonna get cursed! Everybody, no bad-mouthing the gods or you’ll be turned into a snail and as cute as snails are, I like you all as humans.” 

The camper shrugs and whispers, it’s true . 

Trust me, they whisper next as they’re pulled aside by Travis’s frantic tugging.

They don’t care.

All of this is truly making him appreciate the gods more. 

Connor whistles for everybody’s attention, standing on top of a rock with a piece of paper. 

“It’s free choice from now until 3:30. Each counselor is hosting a different event. Travis and I are doing canoeing. Silena will be hosting horseback — that needs to be changed to pegasi — riding. Malcolm, you will take over for Annabeth since she isn’t here yet for the intro to Origami. Katie will be watching over the wall climbing. Lee, intro to guitar and lyres. Beckendorf, intro to welding. Pollux will be taking over Clarisse’s place at the arena for additional sword and archery lessons. And Castor will be teaching DIY soda. Here’s a map for each of you where everything is. Any questions? Yes, you, in the back. Hao, right?”

Michael takes the map, finds Lee’s name, finds the corresponding location, and then crumples the flimsy paper in his hands. 

But before he can walk away, Miranda is there in front of him and tugging him by the arm with a beaming smile. 

“Follow me for a sec? I want to show you something. It will be quick, I promise.” 

 [1:30 PM, Free Choice]

“Everybody gets a celestial weapon,” Miranda explains as they walk to the armory, “It KOs the monster and turns them into gold dust if it nicks them in the flesh just enough.”

Gold dust… like the gold dust Lee comes back sometimes covered in? 

She leads him to an unassuming building beside one of the cabins, opening the door and revealing shelves stocked full of weapons. Miranda strides to the back without a double-take. Like it’s normal for a summer camp with children to have a stockpile meant for war. 

“Do you have a preference?”

“I… uh…”

“Want some help? Based on what I saw in training, I think you’re better suited with something long-range. You looked uncomfortable with a sword. Aha! What about this?“

Then Miranda pulls out a rifle from one of the boxes. 

Michael stares at it for a full second, wondering if he’s imagining it, wondering if Miranda is kidding, wondering if this whole day is just one big funny dream. But, no, Miranda remains standing there with a big ol’ grin and rifle in hand and waiting for them to say something.

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“First of all, it’s a gun. Second of all, I share a room with two of my siblings who get into my shit all the time. Third, my mom would literally kill me if she sees me holding a rifle. And fourth, it’s a fucking gun .”

”It’s okay. This is a magic rifle. If you engage the safety and remove the magazine clip, it turns into a telescope.” Miranda demonstrates it for him and would you look at that. It actually became a telescope. “See? No problem. Mom won’t find out and plus! It actually works as a telescope! You can go stargazing with this thing and also kick any monster-butt.”

“What happens if it goes off and a bullet hits someone?”

“That’s okay too. The bullets are made of celestial metal. It can’t harm mortals.”

“But it’s a gun. And I don’t have a license.”

Miranda shrugs. “You can’t kill a mortal though. I don’t think you need a license if you seriously can’t hurt anyone. But if you don’t want a gun, then we can get you a bow. Apollo’s cabin is full of them. Come on.”

And as Michael follows Miranda out, he mutters under his breath, “Why are you all like this?”

Miranda laughs, spinning around her heels to face him. 

“And you’re like a completely normal kid. If you didn’t pass the barrier, I would have thought Lee brought someone fully human.” 

[2:20 PM, Free Choice]

“What is that?”

Lee does only a cursory glance at where Michael is pointing before going back to tuning his guitar engraved with his name and last initial on the Big House’s porch. “It’s Thalia’s Pine. Someone poisoned it unfortunately. A couple years ago a girl sacrificed herself to save her friends. Her father turned her dying body into a magic tree that protects all of camp. We’re trying to fix it, but it’s kinda slow-going right now.”

“That’s cool. That’s cool, but I’m talking about that .” 

And Lee really looks at where Michael is pointing at. A … well, he doesn’t want to say robotic because there’s no way a robot can move that fluidly, but fine. A metallic bull the size of an elephant is charging towards them, running full speed but going nowhere. It’s like an invisible wall is holding it back. Just a bit aways are five people in a line in full bronze armor and a variety of weapons with two more people running towards them. A girl with a gruff voice is ordering to get into position. 

“Is this some sort of play?” Michael asks, waiting for Lee’s answers but when there’s none, he turns to face him. “Lee?” 

Lee is pale. His guitar falls out of his hands as he stands. 

Michael tenses, alarmed. “Lee?” 

“Shit,” Lee curses for the first time ever. “Fuck.”

Now Michael is really worried. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” 

Lee whirs to face him and Michael doesn’t like the fear, the panic he sees in Lee’s usually calm eyes. 

“Michael, Beckendorf is in the forge. Get him first. Tell him there is a Colchis Bull at Half Blood Hill. Then go get Travis and Connor next — Hey? Michael, are you there?”

A second bull crashes into the invisible wall and they break through. They’re breathing fire. People are being set on fire. People are having their armor melted off. People are being burned. People are being trampled on. People are— 

“Michael!” Lee shakes him hard by the shoulder. “Don’t look at it. Just go run and get Beckendorf.”

Then he’s forcibly turned around and pushed away to the sound of terrified screams and dying cries.  

[3:00 PM, Free Choice]

So that’s a monster. 

And he’s expected to fight one of them? 

The guy who took out the first bull —Percy he thinks is the name — Percy did it with a little help with a flame-resistant man and Percy is about the same age as him. And Clarisse took out the second bull all by herself. So it’s definitely possible. With training and maybe a bow instead of a sword, Michael can do it. 

He can do it. 

…

Just because it’s possible, doesn’t mean it’s right. Doesn‘t mean it’s normal and fuck. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

How can anyone not see how messed up this whole thing is? Monsters exist and they eat twerps like him? They’ll hunt him for as long as he lives? He’s always going to have to watch his back? He’s always going to have a weapon on him? This is what his day will be like every day? This is normal?  This is what being a demigod means? 

From the porch of the Big House, Michael watches Travis and Connor, amongst a few others with just as many beads on their necklaces, triaging the injured. Passing around nectar bottles and ambrosia brownies, helping them stand, checking their wounds all with an air of professionalism.

They were trained for this. They prepared for this. 

Michael doesn’t like that little fact. 

And speaking of little facts he doesn’t like, one just sits down next to him. When he’s not standing around like a dumbass, he goes to get more nectar bottles from the infirmary where a team of two people is running around tending to the patients. One is Lee. The other, and the clear leader, is the boy in blue scrubs and yellow flip flops. The kid barked orders left and right, telling people where to go, where to place the patients, how to treat the minor wounds until he can get there, basically keeping everything orderly and efficient, all with this air of confidence and calmness. It would have been very reassuring if the kid himself wasn’t this little, baby-faced 11-year-old.

And said 11-year-old is now sitting down beside him, downing a bottle of water then downing half a bottle of red Gatorade. 

Michael is starting to see why Lee doesn’t want his mom to know where Camp Half Blood is. If she ever visited and saw how the camp is being run primarily by pre-teens and teens… well… she’ll probably lose it. 

“Hey,” the kid says.

“Hey,” Michael replies, cautiously. 

Then, silence.

The most awkward silence he has ever experienced as they just sit side by side. 

The kid takes another sip from the Gatorade. 

“You’re Michael, right? You’re Lee’s upstairs friend?”

Michael bristles at the words. “How did you—“

“When the cabins burned down, we stayed at Lee’s apartment for a couple days,” the kid explains, staring at Travis and Connor milling about the battlegrounds. He fidgets with a bandaid on the back of his hand. “This is going to sound really weird, but I thought I heard his voice and your last names match so it might not be my imagination. But do you have a younger brother named Raphael?”

“Yeah, I do. How do you know that?” Michael says, trying and failing to tone back the defensiveness in his voice. God please don’t let Raphie be a demigod like him. 

The kid breaks into a big smile and it really makes him look like the child he is. “We used to be in a class together with Mrs. Rem. How is he by the way? Is he still watching Ninja Turtles? What did he think of the newest episode?”

Distantly, from a dinner chat a long time ago, Raphael mentioned a ‘Will’ who left class because of a stomach ache and was never seen again. He remembered Raphael being really worried. He remembered Raphael even saying that ‘Will doesn’t ever get sick’ and he remembered dismissively saying, “Don’t worry. The kid’s probably fine.” 

There’s no way the kid next to him is that Will. It has to be a coincidence. It got to be. Forget how this kid knows Raphael is a fan of Ninja Turtles. It’s a popular show right now. Somewhere, in this 6.6 billion populated planet, there’s got to be a Will and a Raphael who both go to the same school with a 5th-grade teacher named Mrs. Rem and both watch Ninja Turtles and both love Raphael the sai-welding turtle.

“You went to Hodgkins Elementary School?”

“Yeah.” 

There’s still a chance this is all a coincidence. 

“Your favorite turtle is Raph?”

“Well, it’s Leo now but I used to like Raph.”

Still a coincidence.

“And your name’s Will?”

“It is.”

Just one big coincidence. 

“And you left the classroom—” Michael wracks his brain — when, when did Raphael talked about the kid? — “Because of a stomach ache back in October?” 

For a minute, Will is silent. A minute filled with nothing but the whistle of the wind and commanding yells of campers. Will chuckles, low, as the plastic bottle crinkles in his hands. But when Will speaks, his voice is carefully blank, devoid of emotion. “Not exactly, no. I saw something strange at school that nobody could see and I called my mom, er, my aunt. But she raised me so I considered her my mom. She said to get out, even if I have to lie. So I did. A stomach ache was the easiest to fake. She picked me up from school. I think she was going to take me to camp. But on the drive here… a cyclops showed up and totaled the car. We ran. She told me to go ahead and get help. And I did. Without looking back. I found Lee and he took care of the cyclops but mom… ” 

The kid’s voice is still blank. Emotionless. 

��She died because of me.”

A bitter smile. 

“Because I was too weak. Because I was too scared.”

The bottle bursts in his hand, the red dripping off his hand and staining his scrubs. 

“No one is ever going to die because of me. Not again. Not ever.”

The kid leaves, running back inside when someone screams bloody murder and another voice yells, “Solace!” 

(“Will’s last name was on our vocab lists,” Raphael had said a long time ago. “Solace. It means comfort. That’s so cool. No way can I forget that.”)

Michael continues to sit there, watching the battlefield empty out one camper at a time until everyone injured has been attended to. 

(“She died. Because of me. Weak. Scared.”)

Weak. He understands. Too scared. He understands that too. He experienced all that today with the bulls. 

If it had been at home with his family, at school with his classmates, even at the park with random strangers, what would have happened? He would have fought, right? Adrenaline would have kicked in and he would do something. Or would he have frozen? Just like he did today? Just stood there, watching his family be stomped and kicked and lit on fire until someone kicked him into gear? (“Run, Michael. Don’t look back.”)

No. 

No. Fuck no. Three months. He has three months of this summer camp / orphanage / ‘let’s-all-become-child-soldiers-together!’ hellhole.  He has three months to kick this stupid deer in the headlights reaction. 

(“She died because of me.”)

He’s not going to let anyone die.

[5:00 PM, Free Time]

He finds them in the cabin, one slumped on the bed with an arm over his eyes and the other sitting at the foot with a sketch of the cabin in one hand and a pencil in the other. 

They’re talking about something secret because as soon as Michael slams the cabin door open, their conversation stops. He catches the last sentence though. Are the nightmares getting worse? And god, if these two are okay with everything that just happened today, just handled it all with a face that says this is nothing, then Michael doesn’t want to know what kind of nightmares are troubling them. 

“What’s up?” Connor or Travis, the one on his back, asks, trying and failing to get upright. The arm moves and tired eyes peek at him from underneath. 

“Is it Lee? Does he need us again?” the other asks, tossing the drawing under the bed. 

“You said, whatever problems we have, we can come to you two,” Michael starts. 

They nod together in sync. 

“Then I want you guys to train me until I drop dead. Now until the end of summer.”

[6:00 PM, Dinner]

He barely has his food on the plate when a bright light shines over his head. Flashy. Illuminating. Almost eye-blinding. Michael looks up, squints, and sees the sun with 21 arrows surrounding it, representing the sun’s rays. 

Distantly, he’s aware of a bored voice proclaiming him as a child of Apollo. But all he’s really focused on is his cabin’s, ex-cabin now he guesses, reactions. He can see all their faces down the line. Most are happy. They smile and cheer for him, patting on him on the back and congratulating him. But he can see it, beneath their grins, beneath the genuine elation, is frustration, jealousy, longing. 

(“It's been years.”)

Travis, with his pile of strawberries, bumps him in the shoulder with his own. “Hey, congratulations. Apollo cabin is a lot roomier than ours so you get to actually sleep on a bed.”

Connor nods, tossing an M&M bag into the flames. “Too bad you’re gonna miss the experience of being crammed like sardines on the floor. It’s actually pretty cozy.”

Michael frowns as he conjures up a PB and J sandwich exactly how Mom would make it, cuts it into halves, and toss it in . “Are you guys still going—”

“We’ll still help you,” Travis interrupts, but his smile is impish, borderline devilish.  “But—”

“It comes with a price now.” Connor follows with a just as sordid grin. “Two conditions. One, you have to help us with archery. We’re not bad but we’re not good either and could use a bit more work. Annabeth and I have this sparring contest every week to see who is more proficient in what weapon. She beats me every single time when it comes to archery, but that’s ending this year. And two, you have to be our inside man.”

“Inside man?” Michael asks, already kind of knowing what that means.

“Let us into your cabin. Help us set up pranks in your cabin. Tell us everything we want to know about your cabin. You know. That sort of thing,” Travis says flippantly. 

And before Michael can reject, accept, do literally anything, Travis turns around and walks to the table with this unbearably cheerful hum. “Will is going to regret ever messing with my diet.”

Connor falls in step with a fond smile. “But seriously, Will has a point. You need to balance your meals a bit more.”

For such nice people , Michael thinks as he’s corralled towards the Apollo table by an ecstatic Lee , they can be such dicks. 

[7:00 PM, Volleyball]

“Hey, Lee, when did the monsters start coming for me?” Michael asks as he twirls the volleyball in his hands once, twice and tosses it to Lee. In the background, Michael can hear the yells and cheers of the far more serious, far more competitive match going on. Apparently, there’s a tournament between the cabins and the winner gets bragging rights and no cabin inspection next month. 

Lee isn’t participating. “Our cabin is always clean and orderly,” he had said with pride, though that didn’t stop his half-siblings ( my half-siblings) from making a team and participating. 

“Eh? The monsters? Uh, l-last year,” Lee says, fumbling the ball just like he’s fumbling the lie. 

So it’s been more than a year. 

Michael bites his cheeks as he bends his knees and extends his arms to bounce the ball back.

“And you’ve been taking care of them all this time?” 

“Well, not all of them,” Lee admits, catching the ball with both hands. “A lot of them went away on their own.”

Liar , sings his guts. He’s lying . 

Because Lee is way too nice. Way too selfless. Way too noble to tell the truth that would most definitely hurt. 

“Why? Why didn’t you take me to camp earlier? When the monster started coming? Why now?” he bites out, just barely holding back the snarl. You could have saved yourself years of pain, years of trouble. 

“Because…” Lee looks over to the courts, to where Travis and Connor are arguing with Annabeth (the moaning myrtle girl, Michael realizes). Something about which team Percy should be on. 

(“Your dad is the god of Athletes. Your cabin already have an advantage.”)

(“Okay, but consider this, only Travis and I are claimed. Everyone else on the team could be anyone’s child. And your team is completely made up of god-tier and gifted strategists.”)

(“Your #4 is literally speaking ten languages. He’s got to be a son of Hermes.”)

(“That is a stereotype. Abraham could just be remarkably smart.”)

Lee’s eyes go back to him. “Because I wanted you to have a normal life, to know that there’s more to life than just this. Besides, I’ve been watching you for years. You learn how to do something like it’s nothing after a few minutes. It’s kind of ridiculous and I am lowkey jealous. But if you feel like you’re not ready, I can always—”

“Shut up, idiot. You’re not dropping out of school for me,” Michael grumbles, Lee’s stupid chuckle not at all comforting. 

“I heard you guys are in a war,” Michael says, “Are you fighting in it?”

Lee serves the ball over, high and easy to hit. “Yeah. It feels wrong not to.”

And Michael spikes it back as hard as he can. “But you’re going to college in a few months.”

Lee shrugs, easily leaning forward and kicking it back high into the air for another easy hit. “Julliard is close enough to camp.” 

Michael catches it, tucking it under an arm. “That’s not what I meant. What’s the point of going to college if you might lose an arm or leg fighting in this stupid war? You should just focus on school.”

Lee laughs of all things. “That’s nothing. Will fixed worse.”

Michael bristles at Lee's casualness. “Well, if you’re gonna fight, then I am going too.”

Lee laughs again, tenser this time. “You think your mom is gonna let you?”

“She lets you!”

“Because she doesn’t know what I’m doing. And I’m not the one living with her. Besides, do you even know what we are fighting for?”

“Of course, I do! The enemy is K—” Crap. He never got the full name or title of the bad guy. And somehow he feels like saying Cabin 11’s made up name isn’t going to make Lee take him any more seriously. “I’ll learn more about it. Besides, you’re a great guy. I’m sure you’re fighting for the good guys.”

“Michael, your faith in me is nice but getting involved without knowing the full story is dumb. You’re not fighting.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I —”

Lee’s face hardened the way it does when he’s mad or worried or dead serious. Like that one time Leo microwaved a spoon. Like when Raphael tried to jump down a flight of stairs for a dare. Like when Carly and Sam ran onto the streets without looking. And crap. Michael is 14, practically an adult. He shouldn’t be cowing under Lee’s hard stare anymore. But he is and he’s (slightly, only just slightly) scared. 

“No, you’re not,” Lee says, “Because I don’t want you to fight when you have so little experience. Because your mom will literally kill me if something, anything happens to you. Because something bad will happen to you if you do join this fight. So no. You’re not going to fight. You’re not going to participate. You’re only here to train and enjoy camp life.”

“Fine. Fine. I won’t,” Michael grumbles, ducking his head. “Sheesh, you make it sound like if I join, the camp is done for.”

The hard stare melts back into that familiar, soft, (almost) carefree aura with a shrug and small smile. “I just have a feeling. It’s good to trust your instincts.”

And my instincts are telling me right now that you need to quit. But Michael is pretty sure Lee won’t appreciate it and moves the conversation to the climbing wall and why it’s on fire. 

[9:00 PM, Campfire Song]

“Mom,” Michael says, the phone pressed against his ears. He looks out the window, watching the vibrant flame of the bonfire climb high into the starry skies and the circles of cheerful campers surrounding it. 

“Michael, I was wondering when you would call. How’s camp? Do you like it?” 

“Camp is…Camp is great. Lots of activity. Really unique. I—” I like it dies on his tongue. He doesn’t like it. He might have if there was a bit less training. Luckily his mother didn’t catch that pause.  

“That’s great! Made any new — Carly Yew, are those markers I see in your hands? You better not draw on the walls. Get some paper, baby, okay? Made any new friends?”

“A few.”

“You should invite them over! We can have a nice little movie night together.” 

Michael frowns as he recalls someone, somewhere, saying not to gather in more than threes outside the barrier. It attracts the monsters apparently and Michael isn’t about to test that. “They can't. They’re busy. They’re like—um—they’re head counselors, you see, and have a lot of duties.” Like practically running the camp but he doesn’t think Mom would appreciate knowing that. 

“Well, it’s nice to see you make friends even if they’re a bit older.”

Are Travis and Connor older than him? Possibly. They exude confidence that no normal teen has. Or maybe they have just been here for a long time. And that is all kinds of sad. 

His mom asks him about his day, what he did, if he has something he really likes, and for the next hour, Michael goes into a heavily censored, G-rated, parent-safe tale of his first day at Camp Half Blood. It could have been worse. On his way to the Big House to use the phone, he overheard an older boy telling a couple newbies how a kid fought a Minotaur on his first day here and a girl having to sacrifice herself for her friends. 

Wow, it would suck to be them. 

[11:00 PM]

He meets dad in his dreams. 

Michael doesn’t know why, but he thought Apollo to be a refined god. A serious god. A graceful god. 

Instead he sees a teenager sporting pilot shades and leaning on a flaming red sports car in the dingy parking lot of Camp Half Blood with the early morning sun just breaking the horizon. 

“Dad?” Michael says, (who else could it be?) but still not really sure. “Uh, Apollo?”

And the teen waves, flashing a smile that nearly blinds him. “Michael! It’s so good to finally meet you.”

Before Michael could react, the teen — Apollo — dad — pulls him into a crushing hug that knocks all the air out of his lungs.

Apollo is strangely… warm. But not overbearingly warm. Warm like first snuggling into bed under the covers. Plus he smells like laurel leaves, sweet and bright. And Michael has a vivid flashback of his mom — younger, much much younger —  in the hospital bed smiling at a man in his mid-twenties with a bundle of sheets in his arm.

Michael blinks as Apollo pulls away, holding him at arm's length and looking him up and down with a musing stare. 

“You resemble your mom more than me,” Apollo says with a nod, “Most of my children tend to take after my looks, but you’re different, Mike. I have to say, I like it! I can’t stay long. Godly matters I have to attend to, you know? Here, I got you a gift for making it so far in life. Tell Audrey I miss her and think sweetly about the time we spent together.” 

Apollo is pressing a guitar into his hands with his name engraved in the body and stepping back to get into his car. It’s exactly the same as the guitar Lee has except for the engraving. So not unique by any means. But it is a gift. And mom would kill him for rejecting a gift. It’s rude she says, but Michael doesn’t care about Apollo enough yet to give a fuck. Besides if Lee’s experience is anything to go by, this is probably the last time he’ll ever talk to his dad. He needs to make this moment count for something. 

“Wait.”

Apollo pauses just as the engine roars to life, purring sweetly and the window rolled down. 

“I want to ask for something else.”

Apollo blinks and Michael can see the inkling of annoyance in the young face, but Apollo nods and says without a lick of irritation in his voice, “Sure, shoot.” 

“I want you to spend more time with Lee.” Then Michael has a realization. “You know who Lee is, right? The oldest one in the cabin? About to go to Julliard? Want to become a teacher?”

Now Apollo is definitely irked, a telltale wrinkle in his brow. Michael can now add ‘gods’ to the list of people he can make pissed off. “Of course I know Lee, my little music enthusiast child. How could I not? But I’m a God, Michael. There’s only so much free time I have.”

“Then just a few minutes a week, or even a month. So he knows you care.”

Again a slight scowl, but it lingers for a few seconds more. 

“I do care but okay. Okay, I will.” Apollo shifts the car into drive still a little annoyed. Michael thought that was it. Any minute now he’s going to wake up and start the day, but Apollo sighs, leans back in the leather seat, and hangs an elbow out the window. “Michael, you’re so much like your mother. Caring. Gutsy. Compassionate. It’s crazy how much you resemble her. You’re going to do great things. You’re—” The annoyance drops and for a brief second, Apollo looks grief-stricken. And once again, Michael dreams of falling, of a bridge, of a boat wafting through a chasm of fire. But Apollo smiles that blinding smile, fond, and shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry so much about your family. They’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.”

Michael wakes up just as the car drives off, his gut itching. 

Apollo is lying to you.

#fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #my writing #travis stoll #connor stoll #michael yew #lee fletcher #will solace #miranda gardiner #pjo #percy jackson

[adrrianraines]

can’t speak the language that you need • adrian x mc

sensory prompt #37: the tender ache when you press against bruises.   song inspiration: if i—ross copperman

disclaimer: i wanted angst in that controlled love interest scene. where is it??? where??? so here it is! here’s how i imagined it would have been!! deadass just kidding im crying

YOU STARED BLANKLY up ahead as you zoomed like a phantom of the night in the streets of new york. the sinister look of rheya mouthing confidently that she’ll see you again kept playing inside your head like a badly orchestrated taunt from a cliched horror flick villain on repeat in a broken dvd player.

your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as the unsuspecting city lights finally came to view. the illuminations and shadows the buildings emanated, the chatter and laughter of citizens going about their day, oblivious and ignorant to everything that’s happening felt nothing short of like a punch in the gut. it was too much that whenever your mind reels back towards the incident, you can feel your chest tighten, stomach churning and bile forming, the raw taste flooding your mouth.

you felt faint. you loathed how the trepidation just won’t go away. you wanted to cry out your frustration for the dire turn of the situation, wanting to desperately pin the blame on someone for the all the anger, fear, hopelessness and disappointment. whenever you blink, vivid images flashes, making you remember how rheya controlled your friends and commanded them against their will—the look of blood lust aimed right at you as bright as a neon paint being splattered on an empty canvas.

then after the rage, you felt nothing but exhaustion, hurt and apprehension as one face particularly struck you the most: adrian.

torment only consumed you further as you came to the most painful realization above everything else:

adrian almost killed you. without hesitation nor remorse.

you recall how terrifying it was to look at the face who showed you nothing but kindness slowly turn to a monster out for your demise. you recall how you stared into his eyes and not recognize the person who owns it. how he looked empty and hallow, like a puppet following its master’s strings. you recall the loss of hope that left a bitter pang when you tried calling out to him, trying to reason with the adrian that you knew, only for it to turn into a futile attempt of puny redemption.

the feeling of panic was lingering, wrapping your well-being like a blanket of breeze on a cold winter night. you blink and you remember the murderous look on his face, the way he bared his fangs at you, the way his hands wrapped around your neck, the sheer desire and craving to hurt you—of wanting your death.

you swallowed hard, millions of thoughts running rampant all at once as you trained your eyes on the road, shoulders tense and shaking. you quickly glanced towards your friends, all worn out and certainly out of it. realizing you drove far enough to be followed, you make a turn towards a dark and decrepit alley, parking the car on a curb. with the look of things, it was ideal to stop and collect yourselves first before proceeding blindly.

when the engine of the car died, you let out a sigh you realized you’ve been holding. you jumped in surprise when you felt someone’s hand on your thigh, the sensation goading a pleasantly unwelcome electric tingle on your skin. you turn to see adrian looking at you with regret and worry, mouth opening and closing at the same time, unable to find the right words to say. the visible flinch you showed because of his touch only made him remove his hand as quickly as it came, as if he just touched a burning flame.

realizing that you can’t look at him directly without remembering his murderous trance, you moved to get out of the vehicle for fresh air. maybe, just maybe, distancing yourself for a bit might be the most ideal thing to do that moment.

with a heavy heart, you marched towards the opposite side of the street as you unconsciously looked for anything to lean on, gaze frantic and unfocused. your breathing hitches and wild flashbacks of the day you died came back to haunt. it was the same amount of fear, a similar sensation, and yet entirely different at the same time.

you barely noticed your surroundings when your legs gave out, your sudden loss of momentum causing you to wobble. the world seemed to stop when you didn’t feel the hard concrete but instead a pair of strong arms wrapped around you, preventing your fall by catching you before you even hit the ground.

a familiar, calming scent wafted your senses which clouded your better judgment. the alluring lull of fierce security felt like loose threads tying itself again. you let out a shaky breath, feeling weak and drained to even struggle against his hold. adrian steadies you in front of him, arms holding you tight, the warmth of his presence both inviting and alarming.

you avoided his gaze as he tries to catch yours, the desperation on his features unparalleled. he remained quiet, as if he’s trying to assess things first before speaking. however, it didn’t take long until he finally got the answer that he was looking for. his eyes trailed your movement when you unconsciously touched your neck, precisely at the part where you felt his vice grip slowly snatching the life out of you.

you grunted at the tender ache that you felt, and he notices it—rather, he sees it vividly, the very product of his weakness. it was like watching a mirror slowly fall down and break to tiny pieces, each glass shattering to a thousand more. you did nothing but watch at how the weight of realization knocked the winds out of his sails with sheer terror washing over his countenance. the sadness and desperation on his face then turned to guilt and rage—not to you, but to himself, to what he did, to what he couldn’t do and to what he realized he was capable of doing. adrian couldn’t believe the depth of violence he caused.

his arms falls flat to his side, going limp and useless. he immediately took a step back, all signs of hope drifting further faster than a raging waterfall. yet under the faint glow of the streetlights, he still looked divine. if this was a normal situation, you would have laughed at yourself with how you’re still capable of such thoughts. however, you can’t even find your voice to speak, let alone bring yourself close to him. you wanted to badly touch him, to comfort him, to tell him it’s going to be okay. but you knew you’d be lying. you froze in place, unable to move, unable to do anything—your own fear becoming the burden you’re carrying.

“adrian... please...” you croaked out, wincing at how your voice was shaking. he shifted to his feet so he can step closer, his unsure movements an indication of his inner battles. his hands hang dead in the air, trying to reach you with words left unsaid. but he stopped midway when you instinctively took a step back. you didn’t know why, or how, but your body just moved. it’s as if it was protecting you from harm, as if it was on instinct, as if it recognized adrian as a threat.

“i did that... didn’t i?” his voice was quiet yet certain. he locked gazes with you before his eyes roamed to your cheeks, your lips, your jaw... and finally, towards your neck. and it was then that you witnessed how this was breaking him as much as it was breaking you as well. your chest clenched at how devastated he looked, how resignation reigned in his features. the color of life finally draining from his orbs—as if all of his nightmares finally came to life.

it shatters you to see how tired adrian looked and how exhausted he seemed, as if his age has finally caught up with him. he looked exposed. lost. vulnerable. helpless. like an empty shell of a man who touched many wars and took many lives. a warrior who was finally drowning from all the sins he committed in his entire lifetime.

“do i still deserve it? your heart...” he pauses and shakes his head. he let out a bitter laugh as his voice proceeds to quiver, then immediately breaks. “no... i... don’t... not anymore.”

and for the first time ever since you’ve met him, he looked defeated.

suffer with me laid ease!! @isabella-choices @dadrianraines @violinet

#playchoices #bloodbound #adrian raines #adrian x mc #writings #im salty and want some angst.... pb please....

[cryysiswritesthings]

Ash and Dust || A KogKag Oneshot

Series: Inuyasha Rating: Mature Warnings: Non-graphic description of rape, violence, burning victims Status: Complete Pairing: KogKag Summary:

All they could hear were screams.

The knights behind her cut the rope at her wrists, and the young woman fell to her knees. The open flesh of her back had drenched the snow with her blood. Now it soaked her woolen skirt, staining it forever.

She hadn’t stopped screaming.

Find it On: AO3

Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #inuyasha #oneshot

All they could hear were screams.

The knights behind her cut the rope at her wrists, and the young woman fell to her knees. The open flesh of her back had drenched the snow with her blood. Now it soaked her woolen skirt, staining it forever.

She hadn’t stopped screaming.

Above her, an elder woman stood bound to a stake upon the flaming pyre. Much of her skin had already been burnt away, turning the bone beneath it black. The air was drenched with the putrid smells of burning death: iron and sulfur, foul liver and cooked fat. Something musky, and sweet.

It hung so thickly in the air she could almost taste it. She would never be rid of the smell.

The tears she shed were dried before they formed, so close was she to the fire. Her poor mother had smiled as long as she could, until she was so consumed by pain she could not see her daughter’s weeping face.

The knights were silent behind her, but not their leader. He stood on stone not far from her, preaching the evils of magic and sorcery. Condemning her mother to hellfire and torment.

A calloused hand landed on her shoulder when her voice broke, unable to continue her cries. Dark gray eyes looked upon her with regret and sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, Kagome,” a kind voice says to her, mindful of her injured skin. “But you have to understand… it had to be done.”

The girl froze, her face turning pale as the snow. It hurt when she spoke. “I… I don’t… understand…”

The man becomes desperate, in a rush to explain. “Your mother, she… you were in so much pain, and she needed to answer for her crimes. She’d sold you to the Wolf, Kagome! I know how much you loved her, but I had to do what was best for you!”

Horror spread through her veins, warming her blood. She couldn’t look away from the flames. “You did this. You turned her in too these… these barbarians, these strangers to our ways, to our lands.”

The young man swallowed, and bowed his head. “I had to protect you.”

There was no sound beyond the leader’s preaches and the crackle of flame. Then there rose a lone howl, startling all but the young woman still drenched in blood.

“Hojo?”

The young man looked to her, hopeful and afraid. “Yes, Kagome?”

She clawed out his eyes.

A cow's disgruntled bray woke the sleeping woman from her memory-dream. Tired eyes blinked slowly to find the sky covered in clouds darkening into gray. But the sun shone beyond the large body of the bull next to her, a telling sign for those who knew to look. These clouds weren’t the start of a storm.

Visitors were coming. Dangerous ones.

In the distance, ravens cawed against the winds that had begun to churn. A large shadow flies over head, and circles around to see her.

The hag sat astride the branch of a dead tree, taller in length then she was in body. Her raven clutched at one of the antlers protruding from the fish-pale flesh of her head, its roots hidden by wild strands of hair.

The raven cawed once and dove from its perch until it landed on the woven handle of her basket. Around its neck hung a thin leather cord, it’s pendant a familiar claw.

Kagome smiled at the sight, taking the gift from around its neck and cradling it to her chest. “Will you give him my thanks for me? And tell him… tell him I look forward to the day of our meeting.”

The raven cawed and spread its wings, returning to its masters side. The hag stared at her a moment longer, before she and her companion disappeared into the forest.

The danger came not long after. And it burned to look upon it.

The zealot and his metallic knights. They gleamed in the light, the sun's reflection blinding all who saw them. But not her.

No. To her, their armor would forever be tarnished with soot and ash.

The men either did not notice her presence, or did not know who she was. But then perhaps they did and cared not. She didn't know. 

They made their intentions clear: through the courage of a member of their village, they had learned of a monster who plagued the forest. Their mission, the zealot told them, was to cleanse their land of evils taint once and for all.

No cheers greeted this news, only hushed whispers and uneasy glances in the witch-child's direction. But there was only one whose presence she focused on. 

Hojo sat in a wooden chair under the awning of his home, blind as the day she’d taken his eyes from him. Next to him stood Rose, the girl child who wished to call him her own. Her glare was a brush of cold wind, but Kagome held little care. Sympathy was all she was capable of for her now.

Poor Hojo. Even after she’d blinded him, he still held her close to his heart. His clan thought she'd cast a spell on his heart and bonded him to her life. But she had no use for a blind man, least of all one who meddled in affairs of which he didn’t belong. No, Hojo's only curse was to have been born with a terrible, innocent kind of love. The kind that forgave every imagined sin of whomever his heart was set upon, no matter the wickedness of their transgression.

He would love her until the stars fell from the sky.

Here, beyond the edge of the forest, the meadows grew wild with flowers and herbs she could find all manner of use for. There were no trees to guard her from the sun’s effervescent rays, and so no way for sound to travel. It was why she had not heard the encroaching metal men, but now they were close enough for even her weak ears to sense.

They passed her in pairs and groups of three, stomping carelessly over what had once been undisturbed ground. The smell of broken stems filled her nose, flowery and sweet. It only served to remind her of her mothers screams.

A shadow fell over her, a foolish knight who broke from his ranks to inspect her. She could not see his face, not even the color of his eyes. The slit in his helmet was too small for it.

“Girl, who are you? Your face stands out to me, though I do not recall ever knowing you.”

Her stare was blank, telling nothing with her silence. The knight seemed not to care, only raised the sword in his hand, it’s point catching the leather cord around her throat.

"Speak, woman, or I will slit your throat and feed these plants with your life's blood."

Surprisingly, her lips twitched in a smile. They would probably thank him for it.

The sword rose higher, ready to swing down. If she did not answer him, she would pay for it with her life.

In the back of her mind, she could sense him, reacting to the unspoken threat. He had never revealed himself, keeping to his promise. But to defend her life, he would interfere. She needed only to speak, and the knight before her would be dead in moments.

He had no idea who it was he threatened. She wanted to keep it that way.

“I am no one, sir,” she told him finally. His sword lowered by an inch. “Only a simple village girl. I have never traveled beyond our forest, but if you have passed through before, you might have come upon me.”

The sword fell to his side. “You’re lying, somehow. I do not know in what way, but what you speak is falsehood.”

If only he knew. 

“Will you take me then?” Her stare bored into him, piercing through armor. “Will you drag me back to the village, listen to me beg for my release?”

His smile turned vile, though she could not see it. “Learn some respect, or I will not give you the chance.”

She hummed her understanding and bowed her head. “As you say, sir. I will do so.”

The hulking metal turned from her to rejoin his rank. But he stopped, and before she knew what happened, he had turned once more and backhanded her across the face.

Her gasp of pain was silent, but her thud against the ground was not. Her fingers hovered over the bloody welts on her cheek, and the other men of his regiment laughed.

Pleased with himself, the knight left her there, sealing his fate.

Kagome stepped into the tavern, its usual soft chatter replaced with the roar of laughter found in the drunkest of men. The knights, it seemed, had taken over the majority of their tables, leaving the amassed villagers to huddle in darker corners. 

Ayumi, a sweet thing married to the village apothecary, brought a warm mug of cider to her table. She promised to return with a warm plate of dinner, and Kagome offered her a quiet thanks before she walked away. 

She paid little attention to the going ons around her, focused more on the drink warming her hands. Normally, one or two of the villagers would join her, asking about the things only she could see. Now she sat alone, though it was with little surprise.

The zealot’s eyes flicked back and forth between her and his men. She knew he was trying to place her, much the same as the knight from earlier. Should he recognize her, the scars on her back would be joined with newer marks.

But it was not the zealot she needed to be concerned with. No, it was Rose. Rose and her desire to break Hojo of his heart’s bond.

Rose was the one to whisper in a knights ear who she was. The same knight, conveniently, with whom she’d had her altercation earlier. It was this knight who eyed her now, though she did not recognize him. He knew her history, her reputation, what she was said to be capable of.

A slow smile spread across his face.

It seemed he had a reason to teach her respect after all.

He found her later that night, after following her from the tavern.

Beneath his fists, fresh bruises bloomed on her skin. His hands pulled at her hair, pain singing across her scalp. Rock and debris carved new patterns into her clothes. His teeth cut her lips and his thighs danced between hers, tinting her skin red and white and red.

She did not cry. She did not scream. She did not beg.

But she remembered.

Not a sound was heard through the village that night.

At sunrise, they found him in pieces. Rose’s head lay beside him.

The knights ravaged the forest, and Kagome’s body healed. She drank the tea her mother used to give to the girls who wanted to enjoy pleasure without the risk of childbirth. Nothing changed, save for the thick pelts of soft fur that found their way to her doorstep. A reminder that even if she did not see him, he still was with her always.

Summer turned to fall, and the passing of the season brought with it winter’s snow. Still, the knights occupied their small village, though fewer and fewer now remained.

Slowly, the men had started to disappear. The zealot had cursed them as deserters, condemning them in their afterlives and this one. One by one, this continued, until only a handful remained. More knights had been sent for, but none so far had reached them.

Then the bodies turned up, corpses rotting in their metal encasements, piled high in the village center.

The zealot became a mad man. He ordered his men to drag every woman and child from their home, intending to use them as bait. But the villagers would not stand for this mintreatment, and drove he and his knighted remnants to the edge of the forest.

They were not heard from again.

Days turned to weeks, and life settled in the village. Kagome took up practice as the village healer, and would often spend her afternoons foraging in the woods.

It was at the end of such an excursion that she came upon the zealot and the last of his knights. They cowered behind a tent of hay; skin, bone, and rusted armor all that remained of once proud men.

Their eyes met hers, and in them she saw a terrible kind of need burn its way forward. In moments they would be upon her, and she would die beneath their hands.

A scatter of birds frightened calls preceded his presence. His deep, dark rumble stilled them in their tracks.

Beyond the tents he stood, a furred beast on two legs. His muzzle was long and filled with fangs, and he towered over the snowy plains.

It was the first time she’d ever seen him, and she had not the words to describe his beauty.

Shaking metal drew her eyes from him, her gaze landing on the hidden men. The zealot desperately shook his head, holding a finger to his lips. If the Wolf caught them, they would die as the rest of their scattered forces had.

But they would leave her to die in an instant if he attacked her, though she knew he never would.

Kagome shifted her basket from one hand to the other, letting one hang free. Without a word, she mimicked the actions of the knight who once attacked her, raising her arm and pointing to the cowards hidden in the haystacks.

She watched the long muzzle pull back, fangs dripping with saliva. It was a beasts smile. The Wolf’s smile.

Good girl.

The zealot screamed and cursed her existence as he died. Witch, he called her. Devil’s whore. Consort of beasts and monsters.

The Wolf’s muzzle was wet with warm blood, the now dead bodies steaming in the fallen snow. Slowly it stalked forward, intent upon her.

Her smile was beatific, and when he fell to all fours in front of her, she reached out to card her fingers through his fur.

“Hello, Kouga.”

#kogkag #inuyahsa #oneshot

[josephthropp]

Steven Universe Future episodes, listed in order of least to most Steven Trauma featured

20. Why So Blue?

Glory be, there was actually an ENTIRE episode where Steven’s trauma pretty much didn’t manifest in any notable way. This episode was nice enough to let his trauma play second fiddle to Lapis’ trauma, since no other episode was gonna step up to the plate and let him enjoy himself. Astounding. All he has to do is be a little sad that the Lapises all gotta fight. Cake walk compared to the rest of these.

19. Guidance

There’s definitely a bit of the old trauma starting to brew here, with feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty about his future starting to crop up in Steven. There’s one pink moment, but it’s used in a very superpower way, and not in an anxiety way. Overall, it’s mostly wacky hi-jinx, with the tough stuff still being pretty light compared to the rest of the season.

18. A Very Special Episode

This one’s kind of hard to quantify the trauma in, since you could argue it really is just about Steven overbooking his schedule. On the other hand, you could look at that as him starting to overexert himself in an effort to please everyone in his life and feel needed. Also, this episode might not be canon, or was just a pre-recorded PSA. Either way, let’s just put it here.

17.  The Future

This one is also kind of hard to quantify, since it’s the only one that takes place after Steven has actually acknowledged and begun to work on his trauma. He’s working through it now, and better as managing the anxiety and other symptoms that result from it. The effects of it are definitely still present, though. From here on out, though, the trauma gets a LOT more easily identifiable.

16. Bismuth Casual

No pink moments, no tears shed, but trauma is definitely here. Steven is bad at talking to humans, to the extent that he worries that his best friend doesn’t really like him anymore. The poor little lad even fails so badly at small talk he tries to refer back to a huge point of his trauma as a funny, relatable moment. How do you do, fellow teens? I too am torn into, literally. There’s at least a happy ending, but there’s some bumps along the way.

15. Snow Day

Have you ever felt that you couldn’t measure up to a younger, more innocent version of yourself from two years ago that your guardians seem to miss and like more? Steven has! Luckily, he has a full time job he can redirect all his attention to that is fully capable of distracting him from these problems he should probably examine. Doesn’t every 16 year old? Another happy ending, but you gotta cringe and wince at some stuff to get there.

14. Little Homeschool

We got the series starting off strong with Steven immediately getting back to his roots of expending himself in the efforts to help other people at the cost of his own mental health. Jasper won’t go to Little Homeschool. Amethyst tells Steven that he’s not responsible for her shortcomings. Steven reaches out anyway, even when it results in a physical fight that leads to him going pink for the first time while Jasper derides him. This early on, though, that part is still just his cool new superpower.

13. Bluebird

Strange that the only episode with an outside force that is explicitly trying to murder Steven is this low on the list, but here we are. More Steven roots, with a new gem that wants him dead. He knows it from the start, but is convinced to give Bluebird a chance. Things go well, until Bluebird tries to murder him. There’s a surprise guest appearance from Greg’s trauma, with the loss of his hair disappointing everyone involved. All in all, nothing like two of the same people that contributed to you CPTSD showing back up to really augment the stress it causes.

12. Rose Buds

If ever there was an episode that just exuded an absolute feeling of second-hand embarrassment, this would be it. This is most definitely not the worst case of Rose/Pink trauma from Future, but that doesn’t make it any less painful to witness. Like a horrible car crash you keep watching, in awe of the horror of it all. “I’m dying, I’m dying, I am dead, I am dead Rose Quartz!” Indeed. That’s the same way I felt watching Steven keep accommodating each and every Increasingly Bad Idea.

11. Prickly Pair

Remember when the Future intro was revealed, and everyone assumed the Cactus Steven was gonna be some low-tier villain accidentally caused by Steven’s powers? Gee, did we get suckered. Turns out the real villain was introspection all along! If that poor little cactus did anything wrong, it was doing whatever was taught to it by the only person who gave it any guidance; Steven Universe, Noted Trauma Victim.

10. Little Graduation

It was a bit of a toss-up between Little Graduation and Prickly Pair for which one had more trauma. Prickly Pair had no pink outbursts, but it also didn’t have much in the way of even the meager reassurance Steven gets in Little Graduation that things will be okay. One thing Little Graduation does have, though, is the low point of Steven losing his direction. The job he thought might’ve been his purpose only leads to him being sad when old faces move on. Just like his friends. Plus there’s the whole issue of being unable to process change that he himself didn’t bear witness to. When he’s pulling off to the side of the road with a half eaten pizza just to look at the stars, you just know Steven is going through it.

9. In Dreams

How do you be friends with someone when you’re not preventing the end of a world? What do friends do? The answer that Steven and Peridot come to is roasting bad television, but not until Steven’s damaged psyche is literally projected for Peridot to witness. If he can’t do what his friends want him to, Steven’s first instinct is to beg them not to leave him, even if he doesn’t have anything to offer them. He’s naught but a cute little problem-solving machine, after all.

8. Together Forever

When you plan a wedding at the age of 14 in the immediate aftermath of finding out your rebel mother was actually the same tyrant she rebelled against, you might start to look at marriage as a quick band-aid for serious problems. Worried that you, a 16 year old without a plan for the future, will be inexorably separated from your 14 year old girlfriend when she seeks early admission to a college across the country? Just propose, and live as a fusion once she accepts! If she doesn’t, that’s cool too. You can just have an immediate and sharp depressive spiral.

7. Volleyball

Remember when I said Rose Buds wasn’t the peak of Rose/Pink Trauma? Good news, we just arrived at that peak! If learning about the selfish things your mother did had a negative impact on you before, then getting another one thrown onto the pile while you’re already volatile is probably not great. Steven’s pink side is finally shown as a destructive force instead of the superpower its been thus far. That “scream that could crack the walls” that Volleyball mentioned is second only to a stomp that can damage the entire Reef.

6. Mr. Universe

Steven Universe has always been very upfront about showing Steven’s dual heritage as an integral part of him. Steven Universe Future continues this trend by portraying his human trauma in conjunction with his gem trauma. If life with the gems and your diamond powers is getting you down and out, Steven, fret now. Mr. Universe is here to show you that your trauma will have the same consequences in your interpersonal relationships with human family and friends, too! 

5. Growing Pains

Okay, let’s say you’d willfully ignored the trauma for the entirety of the 13 episodes that came before this one. If that’s true, then you’re Steven, and Dr. Maheswaran is here to spell it out for you. Steven experienced trauma. This revelation leads to more trauma. You could make a case for this episode being number one on this list with the amount of traumatic incidents shown in the background during the diagnosis. Those are flashbacks, though. Traumatic flashbacks, but flashbacks nonetheless.

4. Homeworld Bound

Ooh, this traumatic venture has it all. Intrusive thoughts about murder, being faced with a reflection of what you’ve become, and hanging out with four people who all wanted you dead at some point. Double trauma when those same four people all seem to to be doing way better now, doing community service and living their best lives after you helped them out. Bonus round is rejecting the same life-changing advice you gave to one of them once upon a time.

3. Fragments

Jeez. A few years back, the Steven’s Knife episode jokes were just that jokes. Haha, he’s a funny kid that eats ice cream and only has a shield and bubble for defense. Wouldn’t it be funny if there was a joke where we pretended that he kept murdering people with a knife, since that’s obviously not a thing that would ever happen in the show? Ha.

2.  Everything’s Fine

Honestly I don’t even know why I put this one on the list. It’s the only episode without trauma. Steven is fine. It’s fine. He’s fine. This is fine. The title literally provides us with the information that this is fine. I love that comic of the cartoon dog having breakfast in the burning house.

1. I Am My Monster

Slight error here. Regular Steven Universe Future episode contains an amount of Steven Trauma that ranges from average to severe. I Am My Monster contains nothing except Steven Trauma from start to finish. Therefore, it is a statistical anomaly, and should not have been counted.

#steven universe #steven universe future