Short Story - Blog Posts

Short story incoming!

Alice in Gotham!

(Might change the title idk)

Anyway this is a short story I'm almost does writing. It's 5 chapters long right now, might get longer or not, I'm still in the writing phase but since I'm almost done I figured I should let you guys read the summary.

The Mad Hatter has a new Alice, one none of the bats haven't been able to catch or track down. She’s kicked their asses enough times that they think she's a meta. If only they could just pull off that headband and free her mind from Hatter's control. However they may find it's just not that simple.

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  Being homeless wasn't too bad for the ghost boy on the run. He had a pocket detention now, so he didn't have to worry about important things being stolen from his backpack. He made some cash by being a handyman for people in crime alley, and selling things He made from the scraps he frequently stole from the dump. That was until it started to storm. He found a wear house to take shelter for a while, and there he met a short man who looked like a fucking Leprechaun. What happened after he offered to get Danny a fresh set of clothes… well he's not too sure.

Summary: Sylus doesn't like you coming home injured Characters/Pairing: Sylus x GN!Reader Word Count: 391 Warnings: Mention of minor injury A/N: I'm trying a new way of formatting so pls bear with me lol

"Why didn't you call me?

"I didn't want to worry you..."

"What worries me is that you think I wouldn't drop everything in a heartbeat to help you, sweetie." Sylus' warm palm caressed your cheek before gripping your face between his fingers. With his gentle yet stern hold on your face, he carefully inspected every inch of your skin. The most damage he managed to find consisted of the cut that embedded itself in your brow with the swelling of your soon to be black eye to compliment it. You flinch and he takes careful note of how much pressure he should apply when taking care of your wounds.

It was nothing bad. A low-level wanderer had caught you off guard during your routine stroll around the area surrounding the man's safehouse in the N109 zone. You knew you should have told Sylus where you were going, but you simply assumed Mephisto would keep his watchful eye on you as he usually does. Besides, you had taken that path more than a hundred times (that was an exaggeration) and there was never a wanderer in sight, other than today of course.

"It's really nothing, Sy." The nickname flows of your tongue with a small sigh. It always ignited something within him, keeping Sylus on the edge of his seat. Your voice was the purest melody, blessing his ears like any angel would. His steady hands pulled your face close, slightly chapped lips brushing against yours before he rested cheek against yours. Although he seemed big and bad, Sylus was utterly wrapped around your fingers. He shook his head, and you swore his frown deepened just the slightest bit.

"It's not nothing... You are injured." He spoke sternly, "And you didn't think to come to me first." Your eyes widened and face fell into a pitiful frown. You trusted Sylus, but the thought of being a burden lingered in the back of your mind. Instead, you simply nodded and swallowed back your words as those crimson eyes stared deep into your eyes. You would never live down this feeling, the guilt that would bare its claws deep into your back. But for now, you shook the feeling away and let the older man tend to your stinging wounds, relishing in the warmth of his palms and the depth of his gruff voice.

Runway Model

Summary: Hobie was surprised when you asked him to model some of your own designs, but he was not going to pass up on the occasion. Characters/Pairings: Hobie x GN!Reader Word Count: 276 Warnings: minor mention of blood, fluff

Both of you were half asleep. Hobie's arm was drapes across your stomach, head resting into the crook of your neck when the words slipped past your lips.

"You should try my designs.. I mean, they're not too different from your style and I think they should fit.." you rambled. God, he loved it when you rambled. He'd silence you with a soft kiss to the neck, the cool metal of his lip ring sending soft shudders down your spine. He could practically hear your racing heart beat.

"would luv to, babes." He'd reply, that knowing grin on his face at the slight flutter within your chest.

The next morning comes with the smell of coffee and bleeding fingers. Perhaps caffeine and sewing needles wasn't a good combination at 6am? The only reason you were up was because you couldn't sleep to begin with.

By the time it was 7am the outfit, still half done but at least fitted to Hobie's height, was showing progress. And by the time it was complete, Hobie was amazed.

There was something about the fact that your literal blood, sweat and tears having been put into this singular outfit impressed him. It was probably the dedication that came with it. He tried it on as soon as possible.

Although he was stoic, he also had a knack for jokes. He'd strut down your shared hallway, flashing poses and mischievous grins that would entice giggles from your throat. It had his own stomach fluttering.

Hobie Brown would do anything for you.

I know this is an art account but I have an idea for a short story about krbk and I think it would be cute because I'm bad at comics hfufhe

it would involve these head cannons:

•Trans!Kirishima

•Deaf/Hard of hearing!Bakugo

Ughhhhhh I wanna write it first and then figure out comics later jdjdjsjs

Please let me know if this is something that would be of interest!!

Sending love ✨

Tap-

Tap-

Tap-

Tap-

Tap-

You could hear an ant whisper throughout the crowdless hallway. 

Tap-

Tap-

Tap-

The little taps echoed, bouncing off the tiles.

Aren hoisted the bag higher on his shoulder, the move proving useless as the strap slid down yet again. Unfazed, the boy halted in his tracks, sliding open the door.

Mornings in PK Academy were relatively calm and soothing compared to the shenanigans that typically happened during lunch. Per usual, it was nothing more than gentle murmurings from students and their friends. By this time, it was usually interrupted by–

“Put me down you big oaf!” A shrill shriek pierced the relatively calm atmosphere. 

And there they were–

“What’s wrong chibi? It’s not all that high,” Nendou teased. 

His friends!

Nendou was dangling Shun up in the air by the collar of his school jacket, causing Shun to hang several feet off the ground. The chuunibyou was scrambling rather comically mid-air, squawking incessantly as Saiki disinterestedly stared out the window. The pinkette’s eyes slid over to Aren’s, giving him a slow blink in recognition. Aren smiled, throwing up a friendly wave before plopping his bag down and sauntering to the trio.

“Morning boys,” he greeted, giving Nendou a pat on the back. Tilting up his head, he smiled at Shun, whose face was flushed cherry red. The bluenette’s devil red eyes lit up at the sight of his friend, then a sudden shift. Shun’s hand reached to cover his face, the shadow of his fluffy hair obscuring an eye, the crimson bandage on his hands trailing in an unseen breeze.

“Ah, Aren! The Dark Reunion struck again last night!” Shun announced, arms flailing out dramatically. His voice and tone had darkened by a smidge. Aren jerked his head up to motion for him to proceed, a grin decorating his face. It was quite comical to see the short boy attempting it act mysterious and intimidating despite the fact he was precariously hanging by his jacket, a foot or two off the ground.

“Last night, the Dark Reunion unleashed a beast from its depths to hound after me through the dark,” he whispered mysteriously, effect ruined by the rather audible voice crack that wormed its way out of his mouth. “With my all-powerful Black Beat, I vanquished it into the void!” the teen exclaimed.

Aren nodded encouragingly with a hum as he set down his bag in his seat. He glanced over to Saiki, whose pink eyebrows seemed to raise by the slightest at Shun’s fantasies, but said nothing. Aren must be overthinking it.

“C’mon now, give him to me, Nendou.” The purple-haired teen stretched out his arms to the scrappling boy held aloft in the air.

Nendou gave Aren a childish pout, turning his nose up in the air faux-haughtily. “Fine, but we gotta get ramen after school,” the thuggish-looking teen huffed in response, promptly releasing Shun’s jacket and dropping him into Aren’s arms.

The former-thug caught Shun by the armpits as he dropped.

Shun’s milky cheeks stained cherry pink, mouth agape in the midst of a surprised squeak, eyes flitting bewilderedly as he was abruptly dropped by Nendou, then was supported by Aren’s warm hands.

It may just… Maybe it was the way the soft morning rays hit Shun just right… illuminating him oh-so perfectly… Maybe it was the way Aren’s mind immediately likened Shun to a fuzzy little bunny, with his fluffy hair and all… It may have also been the way Shun's long, brush-like lashes batted to cast a hypnotising spell over him. It might have even been the way the devil red of Shun’s eyes looked so angelic as they widened by the slightest. Transfixed, was the word suitable to describe Aren in this situation…

“Aren… can I get down now?” Shun’s voice knocked Aren back to reality–

A reality where it was definitely not appropriate to hold your homie in your arms for a ridiculously long amount of time.

With a jerky nod, Aren stuttered out some unintelligible words and set his friend down. Said friend dusted himself off, eyes doing nothing but displaying relief of having finally made contact with the ground. If there was any show of embarrassment on Shun's part earlier, it immediately vanished the second his feet reunited with the tiles of the floor.

Just as the blue-haired boy was about to squawk out flustered words of thanks, their teacher entered the classroom, prompting them to slide back to their seats.

°•☆~¤~☆•°

Class was… class…

Shun was paying rapt attention to the lesson, right hand scribbling down notes in his notebook. Occasionally, his diligent note-taking would morph into snippets of the adventures of Jet Black Wings, then revert back to the words on the board. His left hand remained useless for this time period, fingers alternating between drumming on the desk and fiddling with his frayed bandages.

Speaking of which, he wanted to change them, his bandages couldn't hold against his Black Beat forever… Meaning he had to buy some bandages, preferably softer ones, and dye them to that one specific shade of red he liked and tear them up a little, or maybe he should try fingerless gloves for a change, though his mother might ask what the expenses were for.

His eyes flicked over to Aren–

‘Maybe I can ask Aren for some spare ones, he does use them when he rides on his bike…’

His gaze switched to Aren’s hands–

‘His hands are pretty large though, compared to mine…’

He looked down on his own bandage wrapped hands–

‘They probably might not fit… Maybe he has some from his younger days…’

He turned back to blatantly stare at Aren’s hands, his right hand now slack and unmoving–

‘His hands look rather worn don't they? If I squint I could probably see some faint scars and tan lines,” he mused.

‘I wonder what it would be like to hold them-’

He snapped his head up, his posture suddenly poker-straight, ruffled by his sudden thoughts.

It was weird to randomly think of holding someone's hand in the middle of class, let alone the hand of your best friend! Grimacing at himself, he zoned back in and found his right hand had continued writing, the contents, he didn't know.

Taking a peek at his writing on the pre-printed lines, his eyes widened rather comically–

Oh Lord, he'd written everything down!

He scribbled everything out, then deciding to rip the page out as the shame had festered for too long. Whatever, he could always copy off Saiki at break anyway.

Getting back into his studying mindset, he refocused on the lesson. His mind didn't trail off to Aren again… (it did…)

*°•*°•♡•°*•°*

Break was a normal affair if you didn't include Hairo and Nendou engaging in an arm wrestling competition. (Hairo got absolutely demolished after an impressive period of time, and all the while Nendou was picking his nose, typical)

The final classes were finished just as rain began to pelt down. The little group of friends decided to return home immediately instead of going for ramen (much to Nendou's dismay) as they usually do.

Saiki had already gone off into the heavy downpour, Nendou had already hunkered off somewhere after a minute or two of literally prodding at Shun's face, leaving Aren and Shun alone at the entrance.

Shun was thankful he had the foresight to pack an umbrella in the morning, smugly grinning to himself as he shook it out properly and opening it with a flourish. Meanwhile, Aren was slouching at the entrance with his bag lazily slung across his back, watching…

“I'm going to go now… Are you fine being here… alone?” Shun asked, looking up at Aren, head unconsciously tilted questioningly. Aren nodded slowly, casting a glance as the brutal pounding of the rain. Of all days, today was the day he decided to walk to school.

The purple-haired teen shrugged with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, “I s’pose I could wait it out, y'know?” He internally cursed himself for looking so stupid and unprepared before Shun. Who knows what the boy could be thinking of him now!

Without the slightest acknowledgement to the rosy blush on Aren’s cheeks, Shun jerkily tilted his umbrella to him.

“I-I mean,” a nervous chuckle slipped, “I- You- We could always share the umbrella, it's b-big enough…” Shun’s voice trailed off to a whisper at the end of his sentence.

No one needed to know of the leap Shun’s heart made when the headlights of a passing car lit up Aren's sharp features all too finely; and not a soul should even hear wind of how Shun's eyes greedily followed Aren's hair as he ran it through his hair; and not a person should be aware of how Shun felt like he was struck by lighting a million times over when his best friend's eyes pierced his.

Silence blared within the small area as Aren weighed the pros and cons of joining Shun, torn between wanting to spend time with his friend, yet not wanting to hinder the small teen.

Shun was knew all too well that Aren was overthinking it, and he knew just as well the remedy to it–

“I promise you I don't mind it at all, you know? We always drop you off first anyway,” the bluenette added in a unsure whisper.

There they stood for a few moments, lost to the world just for those fleeting seconds. Shun looked all too ethereal standing under his umbrella, the rain framing him in such a way that it more or less matched up to Teruhashi’s glow, but with such a simplicity. Aren brought a sullen, captivating, all-encompassing quality to them, yet not in a way that made you want to cower, but in the way of how the night sky seems so dark and picturesque. Rain danced around Shun; wind waltzed around Aren; the contrast was oh-so simple.

In an unplanned, daring move, Shun entwined Aren's hand in his and yanked the latter along with him under his umbrella. The purple-haired teen let out a yelp at the sudden jerk. His arm tensed up in reflex, his head instinctively telling him to hit, but he refrained. Thankfully, nothing was picked up by his friend.

Aren was a shave away from directly colliding with Shun due to the force of the pull, ending up with both of them bare inches away from each other, Shun's smaller, colder hand just barely curled around Aren's larger, warmer one.

Too intense, too magnetic, too electrifying… Too much to just describe an accident between two friends; best friends in fact. Each bit of skin contact, every intake and release of breath amplified, so much so that Shun barely noticed his slackening grip on the umbrella, the crystal bullets of rain dripping on his bag.

Devil red falling into plum purple; plum purple falling into devil red; heavy pants synchronising; grips tightening–

Should I continue this?

I have to write this short story About a world set in the future In the year 2119, a hundred years in the future After global warming has set its mark on the earth After the now poisonous sea has risen The melting of glaciers and ice sheets Warming of the ocean surface The sick earth.

Anonymous, 2019

Photo courtesy of New York Times

Moving

          “Isn’t it boring here, Noah?” Elijah complained.

          “Patience Elijah. Soon enough, a huge wind is going to blow us away from here.” Noah reassured him for the umpteenth time with an exasperated sigh.

          Both Elijah and Noah had been in Antarctica for many years, standing in the great vast of water, only moving a little by the winds that could have knocked any human down. Due to their great size, they haven’t been moving a lot recently. Elijah had been very impatient. He was just a bit smaller than Noah, he really wanted to explore the world.

But the winds weren’t cooperating.

          “Seriously Elijah? It’s better here. We can survive here before those dreaded humans come and destroy us.” Peppy piped up indignantly. She was the smallest ice berg there was. She was always annoyed with Elijah, for all he kept talking about was to explore the world and complain how boring Antarctica was.

          “I don’t think all humans are that bad! And I hate all the boring white here...” Elijah continued on and on and on. Peppy and Noah sighed in defeat.

          One day, Elijah and Noah were just chatting about their day. It was one of those rare days where Elijah wasn’t complaining the ice off about how boring Antarctica was.

That was when the howling started.

          It wasn’t audible at first, the wind wasn’t too strong, nor was the water current. But slowly, is started picking up faster and faster. It was like a blizzard, Noah and Elijah could barely see anything. Then they started moving little by little. They saw Peppy speeding past them, screaming as she went. Elijah and Noah started moving faster and faster. It was the biggest storm they ever had.

Then all light had disappeared.

          “Elijah! Wake up! Look where we have arrived!” Elijah groaned and woke up to bright light and warmth. It was really unlike Antarctica. Elijah gasped upon finding out where they were.

          They were floating in warmer waters next to colourful land! Well, not really colourful, but it wasn’t white! At last! Something other than blue and white! Elijah stared in awe. A red house stood further away, and another white house peeked from behind. What humans called ‘cars’ were standing around on the land. Human were looking at us and talking muffled words. “I think they’re talking about us!!” Elijah exclaimed excitedly. Noah didn’t say anything.

          They floated in the warm waters, not moving. Soon, night came and all the human went home. Elijah and Noah stood floating in the waters all alone. “Hey Elijah, I think I’m starting to melt...” Elijah looked over in a panic just in time to see a small chunk of ice falling down from Noah. It dropped own and splashed loudly in the sea.

Both looked at each other in horror.

Photo courtesy of New York Times

The dream

          I had the same dream over and over again. My sister would always be there to wake me up. She said that I was sweating and sometimes screaming. And yet in the dream I never scream at all. Every morning I would wake up to my sister’s calling, and the dream still fresh in my mind. But when I try to tell anyone about my dream. It would disappear, and I wouldn’t have anything to say. I could tell no one.

          It all happened after my mother’s death. She died in a car crash, a tragic death. I was still sullen months after her death, I could not move on, her death haunted me. She was the only person, besides my sister, who truly loved me and cared for me. She was the best mother, but now she was gone....forever.....

Except my dreams...

          I would go to sleep and wake up in an unknown place and the sky would be pink, which always reminded me of my mother, since it was her favourite colour. I would be standing on a wooden bridge that led somewhere. I would also find myself wearing my mother’s jacket, I took it from her to remember her. But instead of a pink jacket, it turned red. I would walk and walk and walk till my sister called me up and pull me back to reality. It was the same, strange dream every night. 

I didn’t know what was going on...

          One night, my sister was away to attend a party hosted by her friends. I was left all alone in the house. I had lots of work to be done and went to bed real late. But my sister still hadn’t come back home. I figured that she had fell asleep in her friend’s house. I lay awake, thoughts all on my mother. I missed her terribly, I really wished to give her one last hug. To feel her warm embrace. Her presence. My eyelids grew heavily, and I was pulled into the web of unconsciousness.

          I woke up. Again on the same wooden bridge and pink sky with pink and white clouds. With my mother’s once pink now red jacket. I stood up and once again waked towards the end. The only thing different was that now no one was there to wake me up. 

I reached a dead end.

          I found a beautiful mirror at the end. Unknown light glinted of the surface of the glass. I saw my face looking right back at me from the mirror. I picked up the mirror and sat at the end of the wooden bridge. I stared at it, uninterested. When the image of my face changed. It turned into my mother’s loving face! We looked very alike, I just needed long hair and blue eyes to look like her. She stared unblinking at me, frown curling up into a smile. I was shocked. It was a dream, but with my mother. I grabbed the mirror and shouted, “Mom! Can you hear me! Where are you? Mom! Mom?” I stared at the mirror. Mom’s face was just there, smile frozen in place.

“Henry, dear?” A soothing voice piped up.

          I whipped my head up and tears ran down my cheeks. “MOM! Oh my god mom I miss you so much!” I put the mirror down and got up. Mum was floating with beautiful white wings, about two metres away. “I know we haven’t talked in a while. Come to me.” She head her arms outstretched. I ran towards her, but she changed in a split second, to bloody eyes, shirt and wings... Everything became red around me. And after that split second, I fell into the red abyss, and darkness whisked me away...

Mother’s P.O.V?:

I looked down and couldn’t see him anymore. I smiled. That was another one who took something from the dead. I stared at the pink jacket o the bridge.

Who will be next I wonder?

Inspired by a Korean Urban legend made by ‘707′

Photo courtesy of New York Times

Another Chance

          My mom passed away right after I was born. My father was devastated, but he didn’t tell me anything about her death. I was too young and innocent. But of course, I found out sooner or later. I wasn’t that sad though, to be honest, I did not see my mom at all except in photos. Didn’t mean I was all that jolly either.

          I respected my dad. He wasn’t abusive or anything. He was nice, though he was a bit distant. It broke my heart to see him so depressed and sad, when he looked at pictures of mom. But I couldn’t help him. I tried, and it went horribly wrong. I told him it was alright and that mom was in a better place. He practically screamed in my face and threw a vase at me. It might’d flew an inch from my face. I felt the wind of it go by. Let say I didn’t say anything after that.

          It might be somewhat fine in the household, but high school, was hell.      

          I was 15, starting a second new year of the same school, with same people. I walked through the packed hallways with my head down and hood up. The kids there know me by a lot of names. ‘Emo Freak’, ‘Loser’, ‘Quiet Freak’, ‘Idiot’. You name it. I was the quiet kid of the school who barely had any friends. You think I should had speak up or something, right? I did, in fact. But it also went horribly wrong.  I tried speaking to some people, and tried to make friends but it just got me more enemies. I didn’t know why they hate me so much. But I could guess the suspect to be my eyes. Their purple, and they think is the sign of death. Which is stupid. I tried telling teachers, but they won’t do anything.

          Then on the 20th of October. Something life changing happened.

          Dad’s mental health must had gotten worse without me knowing. I come home to find dad...                                                                                                                                 ....in a pool of blood.

          News spread like bush-fire. Soon nearly the whole school knew that the ‘Emo Freak’s’ father had committed suicide. And what was disgusting is that they find it funny! The bullying got worse day by day. I got more depressed each day by each day. The demon and taken over my head and there was no more angels singing in my head. I grew colder and colder. Till the point where I started to think that grabbing a knife and killing everyone was better off. 

          I got up from bed and walked to the kitchen. Then something had happened, but it was a blur before I fell into darkness.

          I woke up in a bed. It wasn’t mine though. All around me was blue. Peaceful blue. I stood up and caught a door in my sight. It was blue except for the doorknob, which was sparkling gold. I timidly tip-toed towards to the door and opened it. I was immediately blinded by bright light.

          I shot up from my bed. The covers flew of my body. I was sweating profusely. It was all just a dream. I ran a hand through my hair and heard a familiar voice calling for breakfast. “MUM! DAD! Oh my god I’m so glad you’re alive!” Both gave confused and amused laugh and glances. “I had this dream and... Nevermind, It’s not important.” I smiled and ate my pancakes with my loving family. Then a voice sounded in my head, 

“You’re not hopeless Mandy. Don’t listen to others. Purple can represent anything. For you it would be hope. I’ll give you another chance to live. To change.”

Photo courtesy of New York Times

Hope

                   I met Hope in the rescue center for dogs. He was placed in a cage between two well groomed and beautiful dogs. He was very different from them. When I first saw him, I was shocked! He barely had any hair and he was skinny to the bone. While other dogs pressed their pretty faces onto their cage doors. He sat in a corner, away from the light. So I had to take a second look at the cage.

         When I first looked at him, I felt pity. I thought that the reason he stayed at a corner is that he had no hope on people adopting him. That was why I adopted him. And that was why I named him ‘Hope’.

         Hope was skeptical of me at first. He avoided me for the first few days. But I gave him space and time. Slowly, he warmed up to me after a week. He started to sit on my lap and lick my face. I gave him the adequate amount of food he needed, and if he wanted more I would give him. He was a sweet dog overall. But more time passed, and his hair or size didn’t seem to grow. The veterinarian said that it was harmless and he would be fine.

         Hope was a sweet dog. On bad days, he would snuggle at my neck and lick my tears away. On rare days, where I wanted to be alone in my room, Hope would wait outside the door till I got better. He was a patient dog and would be there to help me when I got hurt. Like a time where I fell and broke my leg and couldn’t move. Fortunately, Hope was there. Even for his small size, he managed to bark loudly enough to get my neighbor’s attention to get help. So I consider him my savior and comforter.

         Most of my friends favored him despite his appearance. Of course some still despised him. But still, I hosted a party at my house and sent invitations to all my friends. I smiled after I sent the last invite. This is going to change on how some would view my dear Hope. I then started getting ready for the party.

         When my friends arrived, I could tell by their faces that I’d succeeded. I had placed paper moon and stars all around the living room. The walls were covered with wallpaper that were black and starry. Like a night sky or space. There, sitting at a table, was Hope wearing a small but majestic cape, sitting behind a sparkling crescent with the words: There is hope in every living creature.  I then turned to my gawking visitors and calmly said, “I don’t think I got into the origin on why I named Hope, ‘Hope’. He looked so helpless at the center. Like many people had rejected and made fun of him. I gave him hope when he had none left. I gave him food and shelter and love. And hope.” I took a deep breath. “Give him a chance. He may not be beautiful. But he needs love and hope. So give him a chance. Hope.”

         My friends all stared at me with tear-filled eyes...

A Reaver's Fate

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

Clang, creak. Clang, creak. Clang, creeeak. Clang!

The sound of the rusted iron door of my cell opening and closing with the howling wind woke me once more. Blearily, I rubbed my eyes open. The glow from the ever-burning torches faintly illuminated the cell that I’ve called home for—Gods, I don’t even know how long at this point. I sat up on the slab of stone that constituted for my bed, rubbing the remaining sleep from my eyes. I swung my legs around to the open side of the ‘bed’, raising my arms behind my head to stretch. 

Crack!

The familiar sound of my joints cracking brought a small smile to my face. If there’s anything that I’ve learned in my indefinite stay here, it’s to appreciate the small things. The scratchy pillow that the last guard to watch over my cell had given me from his own bedding; The fresh, albeit cold, air that swirled and howled throughout the halls; The—now filled—paper and empty quill another guard had gifted me after I mentioned how I used to make blueprints of weaponry for His Majesty’s army; Even the uncomfy but fitting clothes I’d been given so I wouldn’t freeze. 

A sigh escaped my lips, my cracked goggles fogging up in the chilly air of my cell. Cracking my neck, I got off my bed. Standing up fully, I did my morning stretches. Nightly stretches? Midday stretches? I wasn’t quite sure what time it was anymore. I used to be able to tell what time of day it was by who was guarding my cell. Jenford in the morn, Aylex during midday, and Merrin during the night. Or was it Merrin in the morn, Jenford during midday, and Aylex during the night? I don’t know anymore, it’s been so long since I’ve seen any of them—or anyone for that matter. 

I shook my head, clearing those confusing thoughts from my mind. After completing my stretches, I walked through my cell, inspecting everything. It was a ritual at this point. Go to the door and inspect the rust covering it. More seems to have covered the sliding mechanism where the guards used to slide my food through. I tried moving it slightly with my fingers, but it refused to budge. 

“Must be rusted shut.” I mused to no one in particular. 

After studying the door, I headed over to the wall with what I think is my most recent marking of the number of days I’ve been here. I grabbed the small pebble and added another vertical slash onto the wall, marking the new day.

Next, I head back to my ‘bed’ and fix my pillow, fluffing up so it’s slightly more comfortable during the night. The pillow was the only thing that separated me from the stone while sleeping. The scent of Reeves’ cologne had long since faded with time, though the memory of his kindness still clung to me like a child would to their blanky. 

“I, uh.” Reeves cleared his throat, trying to hide something from me behind his back. “I noticed that you, uh. You tend ta have bruises an’ cuts on your face afta’ sleepin’. So I, uh.” He looked away in embarrassment, his cheeks flushing red as the blood rushed to his face and screwing his eyes shut. He looked slightly like a tomato from the market stalls in King’s Square. 

“Takemypillow,it’lldoyousomegood.” He slurred while shoving a well-worn travel pillow towards me. I blinked for a few awkward seconds, unmoving as I stared at the pillow. He nervously opened one eye, both of us glued to our positions, unsure what to do. 

“Do—do you not want it?” He asked, his lip quivering like a wet dog in the cold. 

His question brought me out of my stupor. I blinked a few more times before responding. “I—I don't know what to say. Thank you, Reeves.” My voice was barely above a whisper and yet it felt like the loudest sound I had ever heard, louder than the bang and explosions of artillery in the cacophony of battle. 

I shook my head, chasing those far off memories away before I broke down again. 

“There’s no use in dwelling on the past, it just makes us weak and liable to ignore the future.” My old Master used to say. 

Master… Gods, I haven’t thought about him in years. Decades? I truly can’t tell how long I have been here for anymore. Still, I miss that sly old man and his strangely useful wisdom. I miss the way he used to braid my hair when it got too long and how he used to sneak confidential scrolls that were far too out of my league into my room to study. 

I chuckled sadly, sniffling as I felt tears prickle at the corner of my eyes. Ah, shit. I’m already breaking down again. I wiped my tears away with my sleeve, only to feel more coming. The tears rolled down my face as my chest heaved for a comforting presence that I knew I would never feel again for as long as I lived. For what felt like days I stood there, hovering over my ‘bed’, sobbing silently and longing for the warmth of the man who raised me. 

When I had finally come to my senses, my body ached. There was also a dull throb in my head that was particularly vexing. Wanting to retain some sense of normalcy, I dragged my uncooperative feet to the pile of paper covered in various diagrams I would draw in my youth. I attempted to sit down, only for my body to collapse in exhaustion. 

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

“This place gives me the creeps.” 

“Oh, quit being such a wimp, Gunar.” 

“I am not a wimp! You just clearly lack any self-preservation! If you hadn’t taken this stupid job, we could’ve been in Varmoss drinking right now!”

Davi scowled at the Lizard-folk, she’d had enough of his whining and moaning about their current job. “Shut up, Gunar! I don't ‘lack self-preservation’, you’re just a coward with a drinking problem. Besides, it’s just a clear-cut exploration mission. ‘Explore the ruins beyond the borders of the ancient kingdom of Hemonar. Find out what’s there and if there’s anything of value for Her Majesty’s Archives.’ It’s a simple job.” 

Gunar scoffed, “Yeah, and what are we going to do if we found any Reavers?”

Davi gave him a scathing glare. “I highly doubt that we’d run into any Reavers.” She barely managed to suppress the urge to shudder at the mention of those foul creatures. 

You could never trust a Reaver, no matter how harmless they try to convince you that they are. They brought about only pain and destruction. She had to learn that lesson the hard way. 

As the two continued exploring the ruins, they came across a hallway that led to a thick, rusted iron door that seemed to open ever so slightly and then slam shut in a consistent rhythm. The door had an openable slot that was likely used to feed whatever prisoner was stuck in there, but it appeared to be rusted shut. 

The two shared a look. Gunar shook his head, trembling slightly. Davi rolled her eyes and gestured to his Scimitar. He gulped nervously while unsheathing the weapon. Davi grabbed the handle of the door, which was curiously unlocked, and turned it to the right. The door shuddered and groaned as it opened, having clearly not been opened for centuries. 

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

Clank! Clank, click, clank! 

Footsteps? Who in the Reagent’s name is here? The sound of armoured footsteps grew louder, loud enough for me to discern that there were two sets of footsteps coming towards my cell. I sat still, praying that they’d turn around and come back another time, preferably when I wasn’t stuck reliving the bittersweet memories of my imprisonment at the hand of Ser Nightcolt’s forces. 

I waited with baited breath, staring at the door to my cell. For a few tense moments, the door remained closed. Despite the now silent halls, I could still feel my heart hammering in my chest. The sound of it was so deafening that I almost felt like I was back in The Forges. With the sweet sound of hammers hitting steel and fires roaring as I shoveled more coal into the furnaces. 

NO! Now’s not the time to be longing for the familiar ash and soot scented halls I owned. Get your head in the game, Duskroar! There are people outside your cell! They could be bandits that will force you to create all manner of terrible things for them! 

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind and refocus on the present. 

“Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the now. Leave your thoughts be, let them come and go, like a leaf in the wind. Breathe in, breathe out.” I could hear Master Drust’s voice walking me through the familiar breathing exercise from my childhood, almost as if his spirit was still here guiding me, even in death. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Don’t dwell on your intrusive thoughts, let them be and focus on your senses.

Five objects near me: The diagrams, my quill, the empty jar of ink, the clothes on my back, and my pillow. 

Four sounds I can hear: The howling wind, my chest heaving as I try to slow my breaths, the silence of my door..

Shit! My cell door is never quiet! I could feel my heartrate picking up tremendously, its drumming drowning out the sound of the cell door opening. 

As the door opened, I saw two figures rush inside. Both had their weapons drawn. One was a stout Dwarf that was carrying a battle axe of some sort, one clearly far less advanced than what my wife used to make in The Forges. The other was a trembling Lizard-kin holding a not very well taken care of Scimitar out towards me. His—her?—grip was shaky, as if they were going to drop it and flee at any moment. 

The dwarf’s face went pale, as if they’d seen a Ghoul. Their eyes were wide with fear, but they held their axe steady. “Cò thu? Dè tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo?” They shouted in, what was, a language similar to Dwarvish but clearly more than just a newer dialect. 

“Is mise Duskroar, cé tusa?” Gods, I really need to brush up on my Dwarvish.

The two looked at me in surprise, not expecting me to speak Dwarvish. The Dwarf narrowed their eyes at me. Their eyes were a piercing green, one that made it seem like they were looking into my soul, judging my very existence. They turned to the Lizard-kin, careful to keep me in their sights before speaking in a tongue I couldn’t recognise. The two conversed for a bit before the Dwarf turned back to me. 

“Hva vet du om dette stedet? Ah, shit. That’s not Common….” The Lizard-kin muttered. They cleared their throat before speaking again, “Ak-hem. What are you doing here? What can you tell us about this place?”

Common? Huh, it’s not quite how I remember it but I can work with it. 

“This is—or was—a fortress that Ser Nightcolt’s forces used to keep high profile prisoners.” The two seemed quite shocked, sharing a look of surprise. 

“So you are, er, were a prisoner here?” 

“Indeed. I got captured during the Battle of Mistband and transported here. I do hope my wife is okay, it’s been…” I started counting on my fingers, “One, two, three, four, eight, eleven… I don’t know how many years since I’ve seen her.” 

“Why did Ser Nightcolt’s forces capture you?”

“I am an Artificer. I work for King Vollert of Hemonar. I studied under Grand Wizard Drust of His Majesty’s Court.”

The two shared another look, this one bordering on a mixture of pity and skepticism.

“Should we…?”

“Should you what?” I asked, perplexed. What are they trying to hide from me? 

“Go on. Tell them, Gunar.” The Dwarf made a gesture for the Lizard-kin—Gunar, I presume—to continue.

“Are you sure, Davi? Are you sure that this is a good idea?”

The Dwarf, Davi, glared at Gunar. “Just do it, I’ll buy you a drink later.”

Gunar gave them a sharp-toothed grin before turning their focus back on me. “I’m not sure how exactly to tell you this, but… King Vollert of Hemonar has been dead for about half a millennia. His kingdom fell about five hundred and fifteen years ago.”

“And what of Ser Nightcolt’s forces?” This can’t be right. Has it really been over 500 years since I got sent here? They're joking, right?

“The Nightbourne Empire fell roughly two hundred years after the Kingdom of Hemonar.”

“So it’s true… If they’re all dead… Why am I still alive? Why did I live and they die? Why must the Gods be so cruel?” I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and my hands clamming up. My breaths became raggard, my lungs struggling to take in any air. It felt as though my throat was being crushed by my Uncle’s hands, like when I was a child.

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

Translations:

Cò thu? Dè tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo?: Who are you? What are you doing here? in Scottish Gaelic

Is mise Duskroar, cé tusa?: I’m Duskroar, who are you? in Irish

Hva vet du om dette stedet?: What do you know about this place? in Norwegian

(All Translations are from Word Hippo)

You have been imprisoned for so long that you have completely lost track of time. You are not even sure whether those who imprisoned you are still alive. When finally someone came to check on you they were surprised to find you, claiming that the dungeon has been unused for centuries.

Wrath

The screams and yells of her parents are muffled. Kore’s green eyes are glazed as she sits pretending to listen to her family’s scolds and barbs. Her skin is pale enough to sparkle under the moonlight most days, but it is sallow today. Her legs are crossed under her plain, black, calf-length skirt, back slouched as it crumples her white dress shirt. Her dark blonde hair is perfectly kept, pulled into a tight bun. She sits at the dining room table, silently, dainty hands placed in her lap. To most she would seem like a perfect daughter, listening quietly. However, to her parents, she is an insolent child that cannot do anything correct. Her mother’s shrill voice cuts through the layer of dissociation she placed. “Kore?! Are you listening, you ungrateful brat?!”, her own mother shrieks. Kore lets out a slight sigh, “Yes, Mother. Are you done scolding me?”. Her father yells, voice booming, “Don’t give your mother attitude, you leach!”. Kore stares silently at their disheveled appearance. She can see the features of her parents that match her own. Her mother’s hair, her father’s skin, it goes on. Yet, she fails to understand how they can be so angry and hateful, all the time. She is a perfect student, receiving perfect grades and is always on the honor roll. She is never in trouble with her teachers. At home, she is invisible, never leaving a trace. Her parents treat her like the perfect daughter when others are watching. Yet, the moment she is left alone with her parents, they are vicious with their berating. They practically foam at the mouth as they rave at her about mistakes she has not committed. Her eyes narrow and she scowls. Her mother snipes at her, “What are you scowling at, parasite?”. Kore looks at her mother and plainly says, “You. Both of you.”. Kore rises from her seat, watching her parents sputter and their faces contort into confusion. Kore’s face is calm, as a storm rages inside. She says calmly as she moves to leave to her room in the attic, “I have no desire to listen to your griping of falsity. You lack the constitution of real parents, so please, screech at each other about your own mistakes if you must. Good evening.”. Her parents faces contort into unbridled rage. Her father’s hand comes down upon Kore, a resounding crack echoing in the air. Kore falls, something inside her cracking like the sound of her father’s hand upon her face. She does not hear her parent’s berating, blood rushing in her ear. Kore feels and hears more cracks, but they do not come from her parents. They come from her body, as the dam inside her bones breaks. The storm that has long been festering inside, comes rushing out. Her bones shift and change under her skin. They become larger and longer, stretching her skin taut. Her fingernails lengthen, blackening with her own rage. Spines erupt from her skin on her back and joints. They are black, like her nails. Her parents have gone silent by now, not that she can hear them. Her lips split, reaching her eyes and revealing her teeth that have lengthened, sharpened to a point. The skin of her extremities turns black, like the spines and claws. Glowing green veins snake up her limbs. Her eyes are the last to change, filling with ink. A ring of glowing green is all that is left. Such eyes snap to those that were her parents, malice and wrath apparent in them. The former parents are frozen in place, horror having long replaced their own rage. They turn pale when a guttural snarl escapes the former girl’s throat. She lunges and their screams can be heard from down the street as every ounce of wrath they put out, turns to devour them.

-Lucian Shade

The Little Girl & The Shadows

There was one a little girl who, like most children, played and danced with glee and carelessness. She, like most children was afraid of the shadows and what lied in them. She hid from them and was fearful of them. However, as time grew on, she found that she did not need to fear them. She needed to fear the monster that hid in the light. The monster that looked like everyone else and pretended to act like everyone else. So, she hid from the monsters in the light. She hid from them by dwelling in the shadows with the little monsters from her childhood. Those monsters became her friends and she became theirs. They sheltered her from the monsters of the light and cared for her. They cared for her more than anyone had ever cared. They cared more than her mother, father, siblings, and friends. They, unlike all the others, never left her. In the end, she died, and the shadows wept. The shadows had finally found someone to love them and they slipped away with the sands of time. They vowed to find her again. And they did. They found her again and again. She loved them every time and as did they. The End.

The Train Station

(Also posted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38088436)

An older woman stands on an old and overgrown wooden station platform, waiting for a train to round the bend into the station. It’s foggy out, so foggy she finds herself unable to see anything past the platform and the bend where the tracks come from. In the corner of her mind is the faint memory of drifting onto the foggy platform and exchanging some coins for a one-way fare at the ticket booth.

She’s not alone in waiting, but she ignores all others in favor of looking at her watch. The hands don’t appear to be moving but she feels a strong anxiety in looking at the watch face.

“The train is late.” She mutters to herself, trying to explain away her stab of anxiety. “I don’t need to take a late train.”

She looks again at the watch with a frown. Making up her mind, she turns and walks through the crowd to the ticket booth. The young man stationed there has his feet up on the counter, leaned back with his hat over his eyes. Soft snores rise up every few seconds from under the hat. The woman huffs a sigh and rasps loudly on the window, startling him awake.

“Excuse me,” she said, but her tone held no politeness. “The train is late. I don’t even need to take this train, and I would like a refund on my ticket.” The man sits up, rubbing sleep out of his pale eyes and readjusting his hat. He takes a moment to look out over the station before leaning back into his chair.

“The train will be coming along soon, ma’am.” He mumbled sleepily.

She scoffed. “But I don’t need to take the train! I’m not sure why I wanted to take it in the first place, but I changed my mind. I don’t want to take the train. I would like my refund. Please.” She emphasized the last word like it was all she needed to get her way. The man just shrugged.

“Train’s coming. You got a ticket; you get on board. Look there.” He pointed down the tracks into the fog. She turned to see a bright headlight, a train following close behind. It emerged from the fog to come around the bend, breaks squealing as it slowed to a stop at the platform. Its cars were completely empty.

The woman resisted the childish urge to stomp her foot out of irritation at the whole situation. She wasn’t going to admit she was wrong.

“Fine!” she snapped. “I’ll take the damn train. Your customer service is terrible! You lazy kids nowadays. I should report you.” The man looked unbothered and slumped back into his chair to resume his nap. The sight only further irritated the woman, and she stomped off to join the others boarding the train.

She stood in the line as the conductor took tickets from the passengers. The conductor wore so much black that in the foggy station they looked almost like a shadow. People around her seemed to drift in and out of line with no real organization. She refused to look them in the face, their bodies like ghosts out of the corners of her eyes. She shoved past a few, who made no noise of objection as she did so.

“This train is late!” she exclaimed loudly to the conductor. “I came here to take the train, I expected it to be on time. This is unacceptable.”

The conductor offered her an apologetic look that looked out of place on their bony face. “There were more passengers today than normal ma’am.” They said in a soft tone.

The woman huffed. “That’s not an excuse. The train is empty! And this is your job, you do it every day! Shouldn’t you be able to do your job right?”

The conductor simply tilted their head and offered a small smile. “Apologies ma’am. Are you ready to board? I understand you are upset, but you are holding up the line I’m afraid.”

The woman scoffed. “I don’t know, are you going to do your job and get me where I need to go? You need to run a tighter schedule. This is ridiculous.”

The conductor sighed and shook their head. “This sort of attitude isn’t going to get you anywhere ma’am.” They said in that same soft tone. “If you aren’t ready to board, I suggest you wait a bit longer on the platform. But right now, you are disrupting the other passengers who are just trying to get on board.”

The woman glanced around at the people in line behind her. Her eyes slid off their faces like water off a duck’s back but seeing that no one else was making a deal out of the lateness of the train she felt a bit embarrassed at making a scene. She turned back to the conductor, who was waiting patiently.

“I have old eyes and waiting for so long on this foggy platform didn’t help. Now you get here late and embarrass me. I have rights as a customer! You should do a better job to make your customers happy.” She said with an air of entitlement.

The conductor didn’t rise to any bait. “Alright ma’am. Would you like to board now then? I can show you to a seat.”

“Well can’t I get some sort of compensation for being made to wait? Some decent customer service?”

The conductor shook her head. “We don’t do anything like that ma’am. Either you get on or you don’t, but everyone paid the same fee to board.”

The woman though for a few seconds before trying again. “Can I get a refund then? There are other trains, I could just take my business elsewhere. Just fix this.”

The conductor leaned against the door to the train car. “Good luck with that. This is a train station ma’am, I’m not sure what you would have me do. If you don’t get on this train, you’ll have to wait for the next. Or you can hand me your ticket and hop on the train and be on your way.” They said, soft and slow like they were taking to a wild animal.

“That’s not good enough.” The woman said crossing her arms across her chest. “I’ve been waiting for so long and I have places to be. Can’t you just do something for me? What about customer satisfaction?”

The conductor opened their mouth to speak but was cut off by the woman’s rambling.

“I’ve been so stressed out and I just want to get where I’m going. Can’t you just find me a seat away from others or something? I’ve never been on a train, but I don’t trust people on trains. I want to sit by myself. Can you do that? Do something?”

While she rambled, the conductor had started taking tickets from other passengers as they slipped past her into the train car. She attempted to glare at them, but they were gone before she could get a good look at their faces.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. This train will be leaving soon, with or without you. That’s a choice only you can make, ma’am.”

The lady’s anger drained out of her body as frustrated tears filled her eyes.

“I’ve been waiting so long.” She choked out, trying to hold back tears. “I’ve been here in the fog on this falling apart platform, and no one is helping me! I just want to be on time and now I’m going to be late!” a few traitorous tears fell from her eyes. “Don’t you understand? I can’t be late! I can’t be!” she broke down in sobs as the conductor gestured to the few left in line to wait a moment. Carefully they circled their bone arms around her and gently coaxed her into the train car, slipping the ticket out of her hand and into the handful of others they had collected.

“Hush now, it’s okay. You’ll still be on time no matter what.” The conductor pressed a handkerchief into her hands as they lowered the woman into a seat by the window. With one final smile, the conductor slipped away to get the other passengers boarded onto the train.

The woman slowly stopped crying at rested her head on the cool glass of the train window. A few more passengers boarded the train before she heard the voice of the conductor ring though the car. “Now leaving the station. Thank you for riding today.”

As the train slowly started to pull away from the station, the woman saw that some people had stayed behind, although her view of them was quickly blocked as the train turned the conner into the fog. Suddenly she was aware of a figure sitting next to her. Turning, she met the eyes of one of the passengers who had taken the seat next to her. He seemed pale, no just skin but his whole person, like all the colors of him had been dulled.

“Hello.” He said, in a voice that struck a chord of familiarity in her.

“Hello.” She responded, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “Have we met before?” she asked. “You seem familiar.”

His face took on a thoughtful expression as a hand pushed his hair out of his face. She noted the wrinkles on his face and figured they must be around a similar age.

The passenger gave a shrug. “I can’t say I’ve seen you in the station before. I’ve been waiting around for a bit. I’ve never gotten on the train before today.” The woman studied him, the familiarity he carried making her heart ache with fond memories she couldn’t quite remember.

She leaned towards him. “What changed this time?” She whispered.

He frowned and said, “I don’t know. I was waiting for a while at the station. The train came and went a few times, but I just wasn’t ready to get on yet. Today I felt I had to.” Then his face broke out in a smile. “Glad I did, or I wouldn’t have met you.”

The woman smiled back before her face fell. “Where are we going?” she asked, suddenly worried when she realized she didn’t know the destination of the train. The passenger turned his whole body to face her in the seat and slipped his hand in to hers. When she looked down, she saw her hands too had that pale, dull tone. Looking back at the passenger’s face the woman noticed that he looked nervous as well.

“I don’t know.” He said honestly. “Does it matter?”

The woman pulled back. “Of course it matters! We got one-way tickets!”

The passenger’s smile returned, but it was sadder. “I don’t think the destination is important. In the end, we are just moving on. And that’s okay. The train won’t be late, and neither will we. We got on the train today, so it must be our time to move on.”

The woman again smiled back, a smile his eyes had seen many times before, although he didn’t know it.

“Well,” she started, “Your right. It doesn’t matter where we are going, only that we are going together. It feels right.”

As a blinding white light began to fill the train car, the woman stayed calm and for the second time in their intertwined existences, the last thing the two passengers were concerned about was seeing each other’s smiles one more time.

And somehow, that was enough.

The warmth of his flesh (re worked)

CW: Cannibalism (no gore actually described, just.. subtle descriptions? Probably could make you queezy idk) This is my first time writing a fic, so critique is welcome! :)

NOT A KINK/FETISH!! (i'm not weird trust)

I specifically wrote this for school in like 1 hour after the submission time so it's rushed... uh yeah that's it from me! :))

Summary:

Hyacinth can't help herself, she really can't! She wants to consume her lovers' flesh and she hates herself for it. What was she think of course he's going to say no! He's going to be so disgusted, what if he reports he- What? He said yes? He said he'd be honoured to?

Oh...oh.How very lovely.

Continue reading!

“I’m rather disgusting aren’t I? I must reek of death.” He didn’t flinch, he didn’t look surprised. He just stared. “I will never be able to get the feeling of death off of me.” He just sat there. He didn’t say a word. “Especially after becoming one with it.” Hyacinth paused, waiting for a change in his expression. She gripped the fabric of his dress, waiting for the worst to come. 

“What an odd name you have, how come I've just noticed?” He ignored her, continuing with his ramble. “Hyacinth, Hyacinth, Hyacinth… surely you know what it means? He laughed. “What am I saying? Of course you know. A desire for forgiveness. Is that why you’ve come to meet me, at this hour?”

He looked back at her, her body tensed, her hands curled into his fists. “I’ve.. consumed flesh before.” 

“How many times?”

“Three times- it’s a horrible feeling though, it's honestly quite disgusting-”

“Then why do you do it?”

“I…” She sighed, pushing her hair back with her hands. Her mind was racing. What a stupid, stupid idea. Why did she think this would’ve worked? She should’ve just kept it in. But she couldn’t. The thought was consuming her every moment of the day. Every glance at him would make it even worse. She tried to rub the feeling off, taking hour long baths, scrubbing her skin till the water turned brown. She was disgusting, thoroughly disgusting. What a disgusting, terrible human she was. Was she even human?

What kind of human would have thoughts of consuming their own lover? Her wretched flesh had to be punished, for thinking in such ways. She’d scratch her skin, days on end, attempting to rip it out, to pay for the terrible things she’d done, yet she just couldn't stop. She never threw the meat out of her cellar, she never stopped using it. And now she keeps on going, now with her fourth lover. But this time felt different. He was different. He provided her comfort like no one else could. To have that comfort within forever, would be an ultimate bliss. 

He snapped his fingers. “You okay love? You seem disoriented.” Even now, after hearing what she’s done he still cares for her. His care disgusts her and comforts her at the same time.

“Did you hear me? I said i-”

“Yes, yes, you’ve cannibalized your lovers before, what else?” 

Her blood ran cold, her eyes wide. How did he know about that? She never told him that detail.

“How did you know?”

“You forget I've known you long before we were even together darling. Of course I noticed when my friends went missing, it’s just now I know why.” He chuckled.

“You don’t care? You’re not mad?”

“How could I be? I haven’t done anything remarkable in my entire existence, except being with you. Now you’ve done something that people wretch at the thought of. How wonderful.”

She scoffed at him, angered by his unexpected acceptance. “You know what I’m going to ask you then, right?”

“Of course, I recognize your patterns, and I graciously accept.” He bowed dramatically, unable to hide his laugh.

“Don’t mock me!” She looked at him, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “It’s not like I want to! hate the very thought of parting with you!” It was true, she really hated herself for wanting to do such a thing.

“Now why are you crying? I didn’t yell at you did I? Even better, I accepted!” He sighed, putting his back against the wall.

“But why?” She was confused, concerned, scared, but another feeling was creeping up her back. Glee. A lover becoming a part of you is one thing, but when they accept and are willing? Now their souls really would be intertwined. It would be her perfect happy ending to her love story.

“Because all I am is yours. I’ve never done much in my life, and I don't think I will. All I want at this point is to please you. My death will be meaningless. But if I offer myself to you, perhaps..” He paused, refusing to continue further. He decides to go on, realizing that this would be the perfect to let out his inner most feelings. "All my life, I've just, been there. I'm not good at anything other than being with you. You're all I am. I've dedicated my time to being yours, yours to control, to give you everything you've ever wanted. That's my only purpose."

He stopped to lower on to his knees, holding her hands while staring right into her widened eyes.

"Who even am I if I can't make you happy?

She looked at him, unsure of what to do. Thank him? Cry? Hyacinth froze, unable to respond.

“I ask for one thing from you though.”

“And that is?”

“Time. Time spent with you.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

At 6:00 in the afternoon, Hyacinth dragged her lover to her house, or rather her mansion. They rarely spent time there together so he often forgot about his darling’s lavish lifestyle. He’d rather go somewhere else, somewhere less stuffy, somewhere less… uncomfortable. It wasn’t her peculiar diet that made him feel uneasy, nor was it the way her wide eyes bore into his soul. It was that wretched mansion. The entire estate was gloomy, adapting a color palette only a ghost could enjoy. It was painted a dark grey, the roof an even darker shade. The windows loomed over him, reaching the ceiling. The entire mansion was surrounded by long, thin trees. Oh how he hated her place, but whatever would make her happy.

At 7:00 pm they were sitting in the living room, the fireplace warming up the entire room. Hyacinth was laughing at a dumb joke he made, one that he didn’t even find funny. They were laying on the wooden floor, talking about the most trivial things in existence. She played with his hair while he went on about his day, before he saw her, which instantly brightened his day. 

At 9:00 pm he attempted to fancy up the dining room, with much disapproval from Hyacinth. “I’m just preparing the dining room for your meal”, he joked. She didn’t find it very amusing. He stuffed random flowers such as lilies and hydrangeas into the closest vases and pots he could find. He lit candles all across the room, turning off the chandelier, making the entire room illuminated by the melting candles.

At 9:30 they sat down on opposite sides, discussing the most random topics they could think of. She laughed at all of his poorly thought out jokes, cracking a smile that could light up an entire room. “You know I love you right?” He smiled at her, resting his head on his hand. “I’m aware.”

“I’m doing this because I love you.”

“Yeah.”

“You provide me with a comfort that I want to be engulfed in forever.”

“Then I'll give you that.”

“I really do love you, I really do. I can’t help myself.” She started to cry.

“And here comes the waterworks.” 

“I hate myself for doing this to you.”

“I don't mind.”

“I love you.”

“...”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

At 2:30 am Hyacinth’s full course meal was prepared. There was everything he could ever ask for. She grabbed her knife and fork hesitantly, staring at her meal for a while. She told herself to stop staring and start eating. If she didn’t start soon, the food would probably go bad, then it would all be for nothing. She slowly picked up her fork, stabbing the meat, slowly carving into it with her fork. She opened her mouth, her lip quivering. She took her first bite.

At 3:15 am the entire dining room was a mess. There was food scattered across the long table. She had long forgotten about her utensils, instead opting for her hands. She was probably eating her entire stock in one sitting. She had never done that before, but this time it was worth it. Every bite she took provided more and more comfort, her insides melting from the chewy texture. She just couldn’t stop herself. She grabbed at more meat, her face stuffed to the brim with the meat, the remnants spilling on her white, floor length frock. She tried to make herself throw up, but she just couldn’t. Her face was stained with tears. She sobbed through each bite. “I’m really sorry, I really am! I just couldn’t help myself! You just taste too good!” She shoved her face with more bites. “I’m so disgusting, aren’t i?”

The warmth of his flesh

CW: Cannibalism (no gore actually described, just.. subtle descriptions? Probably could make you queezy idk) This is my first time writing a fic, so critique is welcome! :)

NOT A KINK/FETISH!! (i'm not weird trust)

I specifically wrote this for school in like 1 hour after the submission time so it's rushed... uh yeah that's it from me! :))

Summary:

Hyacinth can't help herself, she really can't! She wants to consume her lovers' flesh and she hates herself for it. What was she think of course he's going to say no! He's going to be so disgusted, what if he reports he- What? He said yes? He said he'd be honoured to?

How very lovely.

Continue reading!

“I’m rather disgusting aren’t I? I must reek of death.” He didn’t flinch, he didn’t look surprised. He just stared. “I will never be able to get the feeling of death off of me.” He just sat there. He didn’t say a word. “Especially after becoming one with it.” Hyacinth paused, waiting for a change in his expression. She gripped the fabric of his dress, waiting for the worst to come. 

“What an odd name you have, how come I've just noticed?” He ignored her, continuing with his ramble. “Hyacinth, Hyacinth, Hyacinth… surely you know what it means? He laughed. “What am I saying? Of course you know. A desire for forgiveness. Is that why you’ve come to meet me, at this hour?”

He looked back at her, her body tensed, her hands curled into his fists. “I’ve.. consumed flesh before.” 

“How many times?”

“Three times- it’s a horrible feeling though, it's honestly quite disgusting-”

“Then why do you do it?”

“I…” She sighed, pushing her hair back with her hands. Her mind was racing. What a stupid, stupid idea. Why did she think this would’ve worked? She should’ve just kept it in. But she couldn’t. The thought was consuming her every moment of the day. Every glance at him would make it even worse. She tried to rub the feeling off, taking hour long baths, scrubbing her skin till the water turned brown. She was disgusting, thoroughly disgusting. What a disgusting, terrible human she was. Was she even human?

What kind of human would have thoughts of consuming their own lover? Her wretched flesh had to be punished, for thinking in such ways. She’d scratch her flesh, days on end, attempting to rip her own skin out, to pay for the terrible things she’d done, yet she just couldn't stop. She never threw the meat out of her cellar. And now she keeps on going, now with her fourth lover. But this time felt different. He was different. He provided her comfort like no one else could. To have that comfort within forever, would be an ultimate bliss. 

He snapped his fingers. “You okay love? You seem disoriented.” Even now, after hearing what she’s done he still cares for her. His care disgusts her and comforts her at the same time.

“Did you hear me? I said i-”

“Yes, yes, you’ve cannibalized your lovers before, what else?” 

Her blood ran cold, her eyes wide. How did he know about that? She never told him that detail.

“How did you know?”

“You forget I've known you long before we were even together darling. Of course I noticed when my friends went missing, it’s just now I know why.” He chuckled.

“You don’t care? You’re not mad?”

“How could I be? I haven’t done anything remarkable in my entire existence, except being with you. Now you’ve done something that people wretch at the thought of. How wonderful.”

She scoffed at him, angered by his unexpected acceptance. “You know what I’m going to ask you then, right?”

“Of course, I recognize your pattern, and I graciously accept.” He bowed dramatically, unable to hide his laugh.

“Don’t mock me!” She looked at him, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “It’s not like I want to! hate the very thought of parting with you!” It was true, she really hated herself for wanting to do such a thing.

“Now why are you crying? I didn’t yell at you did I? Even better, I accepted!” He sighed, putting his back against the wall.

“But why?” She was confused, concerned, scared,but another feeling was creeping up her back. Glee. A lover becoming a part of you is one thing, but when they accept and are willing? Now their souls really would be intertwined.

“Because all I am is yours. I’ve never done much in my life, and I don't think I will. All I want at this point is to please you. My death will be meaningless. But if I offer myself to you, perhaps..” He paused, refusing to continue further.

She looked at him, unsure of what to do. Thank him? Cry? Hyacinth froze, unable to respond.

“I ask for one thing from you though.”

“And that is?”

“Time. Time spent with you.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

At 6:00 in the afternoon, Hyacinth dragged her lover to her house, or rather her mansion. They rarely spent time there together so he often forgot about his darling’s lavish lifestyle. He’d rather go somewhere else, somewhere less stuffy, somewhere less… uncomfortable. It wasn’t her peculiar diet that made him feel uneasy, nor was it the way her wide eyes bore into his soul. It was that wretched mansion. The entire estate was gloomy, adapting a color palette only a ghost could enjoy. It was painted a dark grey, the roof an even darker shade. The windows loomed over him, reaching the ceiling. The entire mansion was surrounded by long, thin trees. Oh how he hated her place, but whatever would make her happy.

At 7:00 pm they were sitting in the living room, the fireplace warming up the entire room. Hyacinth was laughing at a dumb joke he made, one that he didn’t even find funny. They were laying on the wooden floor, talking about the most trivial things in existence. She played with his hair while he went on about his day, before he saw her, which instantly brightened his day. 

At 9:00 pm he attempted to fancy up the dining room, with much disapproval from Hyacinth. “I’m just preparing the dining room for your meal”, he joked. She didn’t find it very amusing. He stuffed random flowers such as lilies and hydrangeas into the closest vases and pots he could find. He lit candles all across the room, turning off the chandelier, making the entire room illuminated by the melting candles.

At 9:30 they sat down on opposite sides, discussing the most random topics they could think of. She laughed at all of his poorly thought out jokes, cracking a smile that could light up an entire room. “You know I love you right?” He smiled at her, resting his head on his hand. “I’m aware.”

“I’m doing this because I love you.”

“Yeah.”

“You provide me with a comfort that I want to be engulfed in forever.”

“Then I'll give you that.”

“I really do love you, I really do. I can’t help myself.” She started to cry.

“And here comes the waterworks.” 

“I hate myself for doing this to you.”

“I don't mind.”

“I love you.”

“...”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

At 2:30 am Hyacinth’s full course meal was prepared. There was everything he could ever ask for. She grabbed her knife and fork hesitantly, staring at her meal for a while. She told herself to stop staring and start eating. If she didn’t start soon, the food would probably go bad, then it would all be for nothing. She slowly picked up her fork, stabbing the meat, slowly carving into it with her fork. She opened her mouth, her lip quivering. She took her first bite.

At 3:15 am the entire dining room was a mess. There was food scattered across the long table. She had long forgotten about her utensils, instead opting for her hands. She was probably eating her entire stock in one sitting. She had never done that before, but this time it was worth it. Every bite she took provided more and more comfort, her insides melting from the chewy texture. She just couldn’t stop herself. She grabbed at more meat, her face stuffed to the brim with the meat, the remnants spilling on her white, floor length frock. She tried to make herself throw up, but she just couldn’t. Her face was stained with tears. She sobbed through each bite. “I’m really sorry, I really am! I just couldn’t help myself! You just taste too good!” She shoved her face with more bites. “I’m so disgusting, aren’t i?”

Afternoon Joy ┈─★

Sidney had finally left his room, unaware of the late afternoon time. He spent most of his day asleep, playing the same game for hours. Upon reaching the kitchen, he scavenges in the cupboards, finding his box of hot coco packets. Swiftly taking one and setting it on the counter for him to get back to. Now he just had to find a coffee mug… Deadpool or Cat mug? Deadpool. He sat the Deadpool mug next to the coco packet, and went to the fridge, grabbing the gallon of milk. Adding that to his pile, putting the milk and packet into the mug. Popping the concoction into the microwave, the microwave making an audible “BEEP!” when it was opened. How he hated that beep… so loud yet so short for him to even process it. He settled for 90 Seconds. Sanding there lazily as the mug spined in the microwave. Little did he know someone was stalking him from the doorframe, Tiffany. Sidney jumped when she caught his waist, the side of her head jabbing into his back. “Whatcha makin’ Love?” She said with a tired smile, still in her pajamas. Sidney grumbled “Just some hot coco…” Tiffany let out an audible “Mmh…” sound, before kissing his shoulder blade. “I hope you slept well, it's 5P.M!” She teased, “I slept until 3P.M so I can't complain…” Sidney hummed in response, smiling.

The first part of The Happy, The Gay, and The Terrifying AU has been written and posted! Consider giving it a read! The Happy, The Gay, and The Terrifying PART 1: Magic Flooding - Rough_TimeST0RIES - The Owl House (Cartoon) [Archive of Our Own]

Trust me (actually, don't... I have tendency to move onto random projects left and right.), this Crossover universe is going to be EPIC.

thank you

I was once in a place where no one could hear my screams. My screams were loud once, loud and demanding and begging to be set free.

But they grew weak, growing weaker as my hope to be heard was lost. I was trapped, I didn't know where I was, time did not exist, and I was alone.

My children... my little twins... would they even remember me?

...

There is a small crack beneath my fingers. It feels rough, the first texture I've felt in so long. There is no feeling in the darkness, nothing to cling onto, nothing to cry into.

The crack grows and grows. I see flashes of violet and swirls of red-orange that highlight my palms, the first light in hundreds, thousands of years maybe.

The crack becomes so large that it breaks and two hands reach out in the darkness as the familiar burn of lightning and flames crackle on my skin, illuminating the shadows.

I take them and my screams are released; a small, weary, liberated cry is among them:

"Thank you."

An illustration for a short story I’ve been working on. 🌀✴️

“Hi.”

Cause that was the only thing you could say. Really, you didn’t have a right to say anything. But you needed to. You needed to be here, back in this empty world again. “I know it’s been a... a really long time. You’re probably really angry. I don’t blame you. But I’m here now. I want to do something...I want-“

You want to help?

The sharp chill of the words made you shiver. But it didn’t surprise you. Why should it?

You want to do something...now?

Every emotion in those words is what started the tears. The accusation. The betrayal. The disgust. The despair. Nothing but the emotions of a person long forgotten and left to die. The person you once were.

“I’m sorry-“

You’re SORRY?

Black dust and curtains of dark matter whirled to life around you. You felt the anger in the sudden action. The hurt.

Why have you decided to come back? You left me for them. You abandoned me. You chose to become something you weren’t for them. And you dare to show your face to me again? Wanting to HELP?

The darkness suddenly lashed out and you went flying across the great, empty expanse. Your head hit the ground hard, but you felt nothing. Nothing could be felt in this place. That was the point.

The black winds swirled around you once again, striking wildly, unable and unwilling to stop. The fury within uncontainable.

“Please...” You began.

No.

They made themselves known, a black figure with glowing eyes appearing from the dark storm like a car appearing from a fog. Eyes that were dimmer than you remembered. Much dimmer.

Do not beg for mercy. You know how pathetic it is.

“Yea,” you coughed. “But I wasn’t.” The figure tilted its head.

Then you saw it. The light.

The light in their chest, trapped behind a thousand dark chains. It was barely flickering. The chains were cracked in some places, some were simply hanging from being broken long ago. But many were brand new. Shiny, harsh, and black as the darkness that was you.

“I’m sorry I left.” And that was it. That was all you said. All you could do as you lay there, weak and pathetic in front of the shadow that was once you. The real you. The person you forsook to please the ones you thought were more important than yourself.

The tears came down harder.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice wobbled. “I will never forgive myself for leaving you.”

You began to lift yourself to your feet.

“I will never forgive myself for thinking that I needed others’s approval to be whole.”

The figure began to back away.

“And I will never forget what makes me happy.” You stopped in front of them, shaking and humble, their eyes wide.

What makes you happy?

“Being you.”

...

“Being...

Being me.

Slowly. So slowly, the chains began to shake.

And began to break.

Speechless Girls

Genre: Contemporary dark fairy tale

Words: 4.1k

Summary: Girls who speak diamonds, girls who speak toads. A young girl finds herself in the woods and is given a task to complete to earn a boon from a strange fae creature.

Keep reading

Shattered Echoes -

{Erasermic angst} TW: Death

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.

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In the desolate aftermath of a catastrophic battle, Aizawa Shouta trudged through the debris, his soul weighed down by the heavy burden of grief. The once-vibrant city now lay in ruins, mirroring the shattered pieces of Aizawa's heart.

Amidst the wreckage, he discovered Mic's lifeless form, a stark contrast to the dynamic hero who once filled their lives with laughter. Aizawa cradled Mic's cold body, his anguished sobs echoing through the desolation as he clung to the remnants of a love lost in the chaos of heroism.

The days that followed were a numb blur for Aizawa. He moved through life like a ghost, haunted by the absence of Mic's infectious energy. UA High felt empty without the sound of his partner's laughter reverberating through the hallways.

Aizawa's erasure quirk, once a symbol of control, now served as a bitter reminder of his inability to erase the pain within. The hero known for his stoicism found himself crumbling under the weight of sorrow, unable to escape the suffocating darkness that enveloped him.

As the city began to rebuild, Aizawa remained a solitary figure, a silent guardian haunted by the specter of loss. The world moved on, but Aizawa existed in a perpetual state of mourning, forever tethered to the memories of a love that once illuminated his life but was now extinguished in the relentless march of tragedy.

The Bakery Witch

She doesn’t even know she’s a witch, she just lives her happy life with her three cats and her bakery, selling the best bread and pastries in town.

She loves singing as she works, a bit of rock, a bit of opera and a bit of everything. The music infuses her pastries with power. People know to buy something from her bakery when they need a little nudge in the right direction in their life, they don’t know why but it seems her bread and pastry can boost one’s day.

There’s the anxious student stopping by the morning of an important exam to buy a chocolate croissant, and the witch sends them away with a kind smile and words of encouragement. They have the best grades of the promotion. Today, the witch was singing ‘We are the Champions’ while baking

There’s the lonely old man across the street wishing he could mend his relationship with his family. The witch always takes time to chat with him when he comes to buy bread. One day he comes in accompanied by a younger woman and two children and introduces them as his daughters and grandchildren. When she bakes mixed seeds bread, the old man’s favourite, the witch always hums songs about family and forgiveness.

After she closes her shop for the night, the witch always gives part of the leftovers to the homeless woman across the street and the rest to a shelter for abused women. When they bit into a cream pastry or a bun, they all feel loved and safe, and all of them end up building a new life for themselves quickly, a life full of hope and laughter. One day, the homeless woman across the street enters the bakery with a bright smile and tells the witch she found a job and a home.

The witch’s reputation spreads without her knowing and, one day just before the closure a man in a smart suit comes in and asks if she can help him break the curse on him. He’sHe was a businessman cursed to age thrice as quickly as normal and die if he doesn’t find love. He’s already tried everything and seen more pseudo-wizard and other sorcerers and he’s heard of the witch’s bakery and how her spells really work. Everyone in town assured him of it. Yet, the witch tells him she doesn’t know about breaking curses and isn’t interested in romance either but she could use some help with the bakery.

Having nothing to lose, the man accepts and becomes her apprentice. She teaches him how to make the bread rise to exact fluffiness, and bake pie crusts to perfection. And all along, she keeps humming and singing, telling her apprentice it’s half the fun of making bread. The man isn’t a very good singer but he picks the habit and makes up for his lack of skill by singing with wild enthusiasm. He’s never had so much fun in his life as he had kneading dough while singing cheesy pop songs or icing cinnamon rolls as he tries to keep up with an opera singer on the radio.

The customers are a bit surprised by the new assistant baker but quickly take a liking to him because if the witch works with him, he can only be a good man, right?

And, two years into his apprenticeship, the cursed man realises he has stopped aging. He’s even starting de-aging now. He doesn’t understand why, he hasn’t found love in all the time he has spent at the witch’s bakery. It’s only when he tells the witch about it that he understand, because she loo at him with raised eyebrows and asks: don’t you love baking? Singing? Making people’s day just a little better with a smile and a kind word?

And the man realises that he has, indeed, found love. He has a job that makes people and himself happy, he knows all regulars of the bakery by name and chats with them, the witch is his dearest friend and he has found a hobby in song (he’s still not great at it but it makes him happy so why stop?) His life is full of love, he just didn’t see it. And maybe, he’s a bit of a witch himself too, because his pastries seem to give people just what they need that day.

Years passes for the witch and her assistant, and their bakery is as popular as always. The anxious student graduated and is in a PhD program (they come before each important milestone to buy a chocolate croissant for the confidence boost), the old man from across the street comes once a week with his daughter and grandchildren, the formerly homeless woman comes to introduce her wife to the witch.

And maybe, one day, the man will meet someone and fall head over heels for them. And they will marry and have children or cats or even a lizard pet because why not. But in the meanwhile he’s in love with his job and lives with his best friend and her cats and, together, they are the bakery’s witches.

I’m currently in the process of writing the next part to Warfare so it might take a bit longer for me to get Part 8 out, just a heads up. :) also I'm trying out a new signature to sign my art!

But in the meantime have a little comic that was based off of a dream I had! (I have really vivid dreams guys, sometimes it's scary but I'll leave more context of what entailed below :D) ↓

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The night breeze felt great on Donnie's skin. He wasn't sure why he wanted some fresh air alone without his brothers but he was thankful for the peace and quiet. Well, save for the usual New York hustle and bustle. Car horns blaring and the usual chatter between others. Even though it was 4 am it seemed like it was midday with all the people. It is said that this is the city that never sleeps.

Donnie sighs, taking in the moon and the faint stars above. He couldn't help but smile a little; to disconnect for a little while. Between his family and his tech, although he'd never admit it out loud, he was glad to be alone. It was rare for him, but sometimes doing nothing...could be absolute bliss.

Feeling a bit antsy not working on something though he decided that he'd go for a little walk. He had his black mask to cover his mouth, his hoodie, and wore some black jeans, so as long as he kept his hood up he wouldn't get any weird looks. It occurred to him that he left his battle shell at home, but he wasn't going far, just a little jaunt, so he shrugged and hopped down into the alley that was below him. He has S.H.E.L.D.O.N. on standby anyway, in case something did happen, no matter how highly unlikely that was.

After securing his mask to the sewed on buttons on his bandana, he pulled his hoodie up and tucked his hands into his hoodie pocket. He looked around the corner so as to not bump into anyone before he joined the crowd of people, blending in. Sometimes it felt nice to blend in...to be a part of the societal norms. Donnie relaxed a bit more and pulled out his phone, scrolling through it as he walked.

CRASH!!

It came from the alley Donnie just left. And of course no one reacted to the disturbing sound and shuffles coming from the darkness. Donnie kept walking, assuming it must have been a cat or something of the sort.

"HELP!"

Donnie heard the desperate cry and faltered his next step and bumped into someone.

"Hey, watch it!" the man spit but kept on walking.

Donnie didn't give him a response and also kept walking, slowly now though. He put his phone back in his pocket.

Come on, Donnie. Just leave...

"PLEASE!!"

Donnie stops in his tracks as goosebumps spread across his skin. They sounded like they were in pain. Like they were desperate...Donnie pulls his hood down more, thinking.

Arrgh! I can't just leave!

He knew what he had to do before his mind even made up the decision. Donnie turned and ran back to the alley, easily weaving around people, his hood flying back at his speed.

I can't believe I'm doing this...

He turns the corner and sees someone on the ground, slash marks across their forearm, no doubt to try and block the attacker. Blood was dripping down onto the dirty alley floor, mixing with old newspapers and trash. It didn't escape Donnie that he didn't have his battle shell, but he didn't have to necessarily fight. He just needed to get them out of there.

He hurriedly grabbed their arm, taking advantage of the fact that the attacker hadn't noticed him yet, and pulled them up, ready to jet out of there into the crowd where they could take cover.

"LET GO!!"

They pulled their arm back and fell against the wall roughly. His moment of surprise was gone and the attacker was aware of him now.

"Hey! I'm trying to help you!" Donnie growls under his breath. The person lying on the ground looked up in surprise.

The attacker didn't say a word as he backhanded Donnie in the face with so much power and force that he flew to the brick wall behind him, and without his battle shell, the impact was excruciating. Donnie let out a rough yell and fell to the ground. He immediately pulled up his sleeve and called for S.H.E.L.D.O.N. to alert his brothers and to send him his battle shell.

He stood up and held his hand out to the person, standing up but wincing at the pain that came from his shell and the dull ache on his cheek. He couldn't tell how bad the damage was to his shell, but the pain was manageable for now.

"If you're done wasting my time, I suggest we RUN!"

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And that was the end of my dream you guys (⁠T⁠T⁠)

The whole thing was from a third person perspective which was weird. Usually my dreams are first person. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little snippet of the comic and dream. I appreciate you all and I hope you have a blessed day! ✝️

A small bowl of fruit and some chocolate milk, with some story writing? Sounds like a good start to a day.

Let's see if it is!

Make me scream ! - Kento Nanami !

Warnings: mating press, jealousy, Satoru and you playing around.

Kento’s really needy, you won’t help him:(/🌽 link

Kento Nanami

Kento was gentle with you during sex, he found no reason to go rough, even if you asked him, he’d say no. He thought that going rough was unnecessary, and he could possibly hurt you.

But if you were to ask him to, he’d probably say yes with enough begging. But his response to your questions of him being rough is always no. So you decide to take matters into your own hands.

You and Gojo were just hanging out, it was more of a patrol, but you two were with each other. And Kento didn’t enjoy how much Gojo was touching on you, or how much you were encouraging his foolish behavior.

Kento will just have to deal with your bratty ass when you get home, so he can fuck you into a mean mating press, and force you to tell him that you only love him and not that stupid idiot Satoru.

You wanted him to fuck you mean, and even if he really doesn’t want to because he thinks he’ll hurt you, he can’t ever say no to his pretty baby. So he’ll fuck you mean and stupid.

When you had gotten home, you originally thought Kento wasn't home because you had been calling his name for the past ten or so minutes and he wasn't answering you at all.

You walk up to your shared bedroom, pushing open the door. You go to turn on the lights that’s when you don’t even get the chance to and get pushed onto the bed.

You feel hands tugging on your pants and brand new panties, you feel your knees being brought up to your chest. You can’t even tell if this is Kento or not.

“You wanted me to be rough, so I’ll be rough with you.” He muttered, as he positioned himself at your entrance, pushing himself inside roughly but slowly, just to not hurt you.

I’ll let you imagine it from there !! Let me know who else I should do <3

Love and Nature

Osdea, the god of love, fell hopelessly in love with the god of nature, Ezella. Osdea tried everything she could to have the indifferent god acknowledge her, but Ezella never gave her the time of day. Osdea tried helping the flora and fauna, hoping to appeal to the god of nature through kindness. She tried befriending the different nature spirits, attempting to learn anything about Ezella. She tried just being in the same area as Ezella often, so maybe they'd take an interest in her, like she had in them.

Finally, when Osdea had given up hope in all else, she brought Ezella a small bouquet of flowers, ones she had seen them care for, and tried talking to the god. Ezella curtly turned Osdea down, but Osdea saw this as progress, for she had finally gotten Ezella to acknowledge her! And so Osdea brought another bouquet of flowers the next day, with the same result. She continued bringing flowers every day, each time with the same result.

On the fourth day, Ezella, growing steadily losing what little patience they had left from the frequent irritations said, "Every day you cut and bring me flowers that I have grown. Every day I turn you down, but that still does not seem to dissuade you. Your young naivety seems to know no bounds, so let me put this as plainly as possible. For as long as you continue bothering me and cutting the flowers I have grown and calling it a gift, I will never return your affections."

Osdea, stunned, watched as the god of nature swiftly turned and walked away, her eyes never lingering from their back, not even when her face grew warm or when the world in front of her clouded too an unrecognizable blur of colours. Only when Ezella was long out of sight was Osdea able to move, collapsing to her knees, and crushing the flowers.

She didn't even remember dropping them.

Hastily, she tried straightening the broken stems and rightening the misplaced petals, but the tears and her shaking hands only worsened the damage until her lap was covered in flower petals and leaves. She held the broken and baren flower stems to her chest, head in her lap and arms wrapped around her trembling body.

Gradually, slowly, her tears sprouted new flowers, wrapping first around the edges of her feet, then her dress and legs, her torso, her arms, her neck, her hair, her head. Oh so gradually, the suffocating pain in her chest took on a new shape; a shape that made more sense. Oh so slowly, her tears did dry, and the flowers clinging to her form began to bloom.

The forest nymphs were the first to find her. The rising sun painted her skin a brilliant golden colour through the shadows of towering trees and their vibrant green leaves. The delicate white of fresh blooms sparsely covering her form seemed to sing at their first sight of light. The god's chest rose and fell slowly as she laid sprawled across the forest floor, as if asleep. The nymphs, simply relieved that the poor god was no longer weeping, left her to sleep.

Osdea was not asleep. How could she sleep with the ceaseless, creeping pain inside her chest?

As the nymphs left, tears escaped and trickled down their familiar path over her skin and in between the delicate flowers.

The nymphs returned at sundown, the god's chest still steadily rising and falling, eyes closed to the world. The white flowers from before now more thoroughly covering her, and new flowers blooming at the edges of her face, there was very little of the god that was left untouched now. Small pin-pricks of blood scattered across her body where the flowers weaved their way through her skin.

Still, the nymphs left Osdea to her slumber. Still, Osdea was not asleep. She was paralyzed, as if the flowers had taken root in her muscles, rendering them completely useless. If nothing else, the whites and greens of the flowers and their stems, set against the dimming light of the falling sun brought some small glimmer of happiness to the sorrowful god.

'Perhaps,' thought the god 'this is the true nature of life; holding onto the smallest glimmer of hope and joy, no matter the cost.' Tears welled along her eyes once again, now hidden beneath a thin layer of foliage.

The petite white flowers weaving and sprouting through her skin were not what troubled Osdea. What troubled her was the feeling of small, sharp barbs being dragged through the inner linings of her being. Treacherously slowly, the talons clawed their way up her chest and into her throat. Every tentative rise and fall of her chest, every movement, no matter how small, pressed the stabbing blades in further.

Osdea learned what she could and could not do quite quicky. Movement was strictly forbidden. The god was still allowed to breathe, but gradually even that privileged had been restricted until her breaths were slow and shallow and her head grew light. She was not allowed to speak. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to croak out even a single word. But she was fine with that. She had no one to listen to her words anyways.

The stars above shone so brightly. Somehow, they seemed brighter than usual, almost as if they wept for the god, their small lights ever so slightly growing before trembling and shrinking again. The stars and their weeping slowly began to fade away as dawn drew near, and clouds covered the sky like a heavy blanket. Osdea could feel the plants blanketing her body still in anticipation. The world around her seemed to hold it's breath as she swam in and out of consciousness. She could still breathe. She didn't know why she was struggling. Her head felt so heavy.

The clouds were painted a brilliant ruby red, painting the forest in hues of pink. Osdea had never seen a sky quite like that, and she knew she never would again. A faint smile spread across her lips. This much she was still allowed.

She couldn't breathe.

The world fluttered in and out of existence, as if a butterfly were sat on her nose.

She was okay.

The sun began to crest its head over the horizon, vibrant scarlet to match the clouds above. The birds did not sing, nor did the deer begin to stir. The nymphs would not visit this morning.

She would be okay.

In and out, the world faded and re-ignited repeatedly. Dark crimson shadows fell over the forest. White flowers were painted pink.

It would be okay.

The world of reds and dark shadows swam in front of Osdea's eyes. From the darkness, her eyes landed on one figure, slowly approaching. The darkness encroached and consumed her vision. She pried her eyelids open, even if only once more. She would not let herself be robbed of her sight. Not yet.

She was out of time. She was not okay. She didn't want to die.

Light returned to the god. A soft face filled with love and sorrow stared down at her. For a moment, Osdea forgot about the tearing thorns in her chest, about the flowers covering her body, about the air missing from her lungs. For a moment, Osdea felt like she was dancing through the forest again, wanting nothing more than for Ezella to turn their attention to her.

Osdea watched as Ezella's lips moved, but no sound ever reached her ears. Why couldn't she hear the god? Why couldn't she hear the one person who's voice had rung through her head for days now?

Osdea opened her mouth, but the words she wanted to say were torn apart by the thorns within before they ever knew the breath of life. The scene before her clouded to a blur of reds again with only Ezella remaining in focus.

Ezella leaned down, filling Osdea's vision. Soft lips found her forehead, as if the flowers had parted specially for them. A drop of water rolled down her temple. It was warm. It was cold.

The clouds faded from her vision, and the thorns in her lungs disappeared. The god of love no longer felt the pinpricks of flowers weaving through her skin.

The god of nature rose with the rising sun, and began their daily care for the earth and its creatures.

The sun rose on the second morning. Where had previously laid Osdea, the god of love, now laid a beautiful flower bed, alive with dusty blues and pure whites. Sat in the center of the bed was a bush of roses, petals and thorns dyed the same blood-red colour.

Love and Nature (Pt. 2)

The forest nymphs were the first to find her. The rising sun painting her skin a brilliant, deep gold underneath the vibrant greens of the stems and leaves, and delicate white of fresh blooms sparsely covering her form. The god's chest rose and fell slowly as she laid sprawled across the forest floor, as if asleep. The nymphs, simply relieved that the poor god was no longer weeping, left her to sleep. Osdea was not asleep. How could she sleep with the ceaseless, creeping pain inside her chest? As the nymphs left, tears escaped and trickled down their familiar path over her skin and in between the new flowers. The nymphs returned at sundown, and still Osdea appeared to be sleeping. The white flowers from before now more thoroughly covering her, and new flowers blooming at the edges of her face, there was very little of the god that was left untouched now. Small pin-pricks of blood scattered across her body where the flowers weaved their way through her skin. Still, the nymphs left Osdea to her slumber. Still, Osdea was not asleep. She was paralyzed, as if the flowers had taken root in her muscles, rendering them completely useless. If nothing else, the whites and greens of the flowers and their stems, set against the dimming light of the falling sun brought some small glimmer of happiness to the sorrowful god. 'Perhaps,' thought the god 'this is the true nature of life; holding onto the smallest glimmer of hope and joy, no matter the cost.' Tears welled along her eyes once again, now hidden beneath a thin layer of foliage.

This is my first ever short story! It’s based off of a real clown who beat a child to death in the street. I hope anyone reading gets a kick out of it!

“Punchy the Clown”

Jonathan Griswald had been the butt of the joke for most of his life, but the important thing is that it wasn't his fault.

"Look at Jonny's crooked nose! He looks like a dumb old crow!"

"Y'know Jon, you've been getting a little round lately... it's a wonder your bum leg hasn't given out! HA!"

"Dad, that man has funny eyes. Why is one so big? Did he steal them?"

Yeah, yeah. He was SO funny to all the morons, all his "friends", every little damn brat on the street.

But it couldn't get any worse than that. At least, that's what Jonathan thought. His school life had been hell; why wouldn't it have been? No one cared to hear a word that came out of his mouth. They all took him for a fool. An idiot! Because they thought he looked funny! Jonathan was no idiot. He was a GENIUS. He knew it. He had to be. His parents were smart, his father was rich. He was destined for greatness.

Or he would be.

It didn't matter that he nearly was flunked out of school. It didn't matter that he couldn't write clearly, or couldn't read. And it wasn't HIS fault no one knew how smart he was. No, better to save his breath, and his ideas. Oh, the ideas Jonathan had. He'd take the world by storm, show those idiots what was so funny when he had them shining his shoes! He'd decided that he was to be a great scientist. One day. Even a genius like him didn't know everything, and how was he expected to pay much attention in school when everybody was laughing so hard? It didn't matter what subject; he knew he'd pick up anything that was ACTUALLY important with ease. They'd be tripping over themselves to sway him to be a biologist, or a chemist, or some other science branch where he belonged. All he had to do was get into a university! He had just the one in mind, a prestigious academy in the capital. But even a genius like him knew to temper his expectations; the top university might not be ready for him right out the gate. It was probably reserved for graduate level students, already on the verge of becoming masters, and naturally with an unfair advantage over him, just a few years out of high school. He applied anyway, as well as to the rest of the top ten universities around the surrounding cities. It would just be five or so years he'd have to coast along to get to greatness. He would be rich. Maybe even famous! But he paced himself, for he was nothing if not modest. It was one spring morning when his offers finally came pouring in.

"Dear Mr. Griswald,

After reviewing your application, it is with some displeasure that we cannot accept you as a student at our university..."

"Jonathan Griswald,

Our university receives thousands of applications a year, and we regret to tell you you did not make the cut..."

"Mr. Jonathan Griswald,

Unfortunately, your transcripts are not up to the standards we set for our prospective students..."

"J Griswald - REJECTED."

His life was over before it even began.

He wasn't good enough for even the least popular of the many universities he'd applied to.

They thought he was an idiot.

That he wasn't worth their time.

He could hear them laughing at him.

But he couldn't give up; not yet. If he had a flaw, he knew it would be his writing. Why else would they ALL reject him? Something must have gotten lost along the way. They didn't feel his passion. They didn't know just how smart he could be. He sat, surrounded by torn envelopes and crumpled letters.

That's it!

If his problem was his writing, then he'd best go do the talking himself! It was a mistake to think anyone would even read his essays in the first place. His apartment was just a few blocks across the city from the best of the best. Surely, they'd let him speak and show how incredible he truly was! He hobbled over to his cane, put on his coat and hat, and fled out the door into a bright and beautiful morning. Yes, he would make them understand. Today would be a good day.

Some twenty minutes later, panting and cramping like hell, Jonathan found himself in front of an office of the university. Inside, there was a billboard with news clippings and fliers on it; academic fairs, a research grant opportunity, and a calendar graced it, as well as frivolous things like an advertisement for a new automobile. There was even a poster for a circus that would be arriving soon. One day, HE would be on a billboard. He'd be on them all! No scholar would go a day without knowing of Jonathan Griswald, a genius of great renown! All he had to do was secure his place as a student. He limped through the hall to a set of double doors at the end, in which some less important meeting was happening, took a deep, shaking breath, and burst in.

"Excuse me, I am Jonathan Griswald. I have applied to be a student at this academy, but I believe I was rejected by mistake. I have what it takes to be a genius, and I beg you to allow me to be a scholar!"

He glanced around him, at the smart-looking men circled around the room. Any moment now, one would speak up, shoot to their feet, and as he spoke he could feel himself gain confidence. Jonathan went over some of his best ideas, his most ambitious projects, that he was sure could work if only he got the chance! He talked.

And talked.

And talked.

Until he was done.

Until finally, gasping for air, he gazed upon the men in the room.

And one spoke.

"Excuse me sir, but I believe you have the wrong building. You see, we are an institute of science, and we teach students. Of those, we do not accept people of your sort. I must admit, your getup is impressive. Perhaps you will find your place as a 'genius' with the circus." He smiled.

It was a wicked thing.

"I am no clown," Jonathan vehemently denied, "I am a genius! You MUST accept me, I implore you - "

But he could not get out another word. His ears suddenly filled with a thunderous sound. It was so deafening, it reverberated in his bones.

Laughter.

They were LAUGHING at him. All of them! All these scientists and professors, sat around their little table, surrounding him with their laughter.

These idiots. Stupid, idiotic fools. A clown, was he? He hurt in his chest, his heart alight with rage. There was a pounding noise now. Blood in his ears.

"Hah! Look at his red face! Now you REALLY look the part!" Another spoke up.

"You know, he could be this generation's next great clown like that!"

"A scholarly clown! What a joke..."

Jonathan couldn't take it anymore. He lifted up his cane, determined to march out the doors. Instead, he nearly fell, barely catching himself on the knob.

Another surge of laughter, battering him like waves in a storm.

He pried open the door and threw himself into the hall, down to the building's entrance, and out into the street.

They barely gave him a chance! He came to them in person! He had every right to be there among those men! Those beasts. They cackled wolfishly in his mind. He could still hear the peals of laughter through open windows.

He hated them. Just because he looked strange, because his work wasn't given the respect it deserved, that HE deserved, he couldn't be a scholar.

They were the worst of mankind, truly. Scum. Vermin. Morons who probably got by just because they LOOKED like scientists. They were probably rich too. They must've paid someone for their status. They must've felt threatened by him! By his ideas! He ought to go back in there and give them a real piece of his mind!

He could feel the blood in his cheeks now.

Jonathan Griswald fled the academy building like a crooked, crazed storm. His arms thrashed out at nothing as he tried in vain to savagely beat the air before him. He could barely hear himself think, let alone anything else on the street that morning. Except for one thing.

A little girl, standing by her mother.

"Mommy, look! It's Punchy the Clown!"

It wasn't his fault.

Who could blame him? A genius like him, a clown? It seemed everyone thought so these days. He didn't belong in a circus, damn it!

It wasn't his fault. She was practically asking for it.

He slammed his cane down. Down into her pretty, young face. Again and again, he swung down at the girl, lying in the street, as her mother sobbed and screamed for help. her face was a mess of blood and bone.

It wasn't his fault.

There was blood on his face.

No one was laughing now.

JONATHAN GRISWALD - SENTENCED TO DEATH BY ELECTRIC CHAIR FOR MURDER OF A CHILD

✨the end✨