#and now shes a hollow shell

[charletto]

I miss her (og f1-75)

#someone take me back to bahrain rn #them running to the podium together is forever imprinted in my brain #what a great day #and now shes a hollow shell #still sexy on the outside but bleh on the inside #getting very poetic about a car today #f1-75 #ferrari

[evie-doesnt-write]

Hanging tree but it's about Byler in the apocalypse...

#will byers #mike wheeler #byler #stranger things #forever bitter they changed it in the movie like the entire point is that katniss has been wondering that life may not be worth living #not with peeta first being tortured by the capital ans then being so damaged beyond repair after his brainwashing #and Katniss feeling like a hollow shell of who she once was and suffering from chronic depression (whilst also having to be the mockingjay) #she spent the last two books keep trying to save peeta but now she wonders if it's better if she ans peeta would die so they wouldn't- #-have to suffer anymore #now is this peeta!will who's been taken to the upd again and comes back changed beyond repair? #while mike who is tired of continuous living like this worrying about if his loved ones will live another day #or a vecna-plagued mike (in an attempt to hurt will) comes back changed while will gains his powers and a more active player #and maybe mike's also been brainwashed to some degree like peeta and hates will #while will wishes he were dead and maybe that it would be better for mike if he were too

[codenamesazanka]

I always thought this was Toga (disguised as Camie) simply talking about her ‘disappearing’ technique, but I realize - this could be applied to her life pre-crime.

Hiding herself - her true self - from everyone. Stop thinking for herself, think of nothing at all, just move on automatic, obeying without thought. The whole “not thinking” is the hard part - we have brains for a reason. We have a mind and heart unique to ourselves, thinking our private thoughts - but now you need to shut that away.

When people stop breathing, they die. If Toga ‘stops breathing’, she dies. Toga Himiko dies, then there’s no longer a ‘Toga Himiko’, no longer a self.

Be empty and dead inside, and you can blend in with the crowd. Have no sense of self, and you can be whoever people want you to be. Had Toga stop being herself, then her parents will stop yelling at her, people will accept her.

She can live a ‘normal’ life, but only if she’s a hollow shell.

#Toga Himiko #It’s fun how Spinner joins the League because he felt empty #While Toga joins the League because she knows what that emptiness is like and never wants to go back to it #Stop breathing stop thinking - rules for survival #Toga made herself visible and lost her family and friends and security and stability #Spinner became an empty shell and managed to get by as a hikikomori which while not ideal #at least allowed him to have family and home #a place on the social order that is low low rung but not thrown away altogether like villains #If Tenko had just stop thinking about Heroes then he would not be rejected #then during the walk #people refused to look or hear him #making him ‘disappear’ and turn into that hollow shell #Twice simply could not stop being himself and he got killed for it #Endeavor refused to look at Touya and Touya refused to disappear or let the past die so now he’s Dabi #Mr. Compress who are you #nalslastworkingbraincell #not saying Toga is 100% correct #just pointing out this observation

[daydreamerdrew]

Tales of Suspense (1959) #92

#I like the perspective that Captain America is the one that’s really alive because he has a purpose #whereas Steve is a ‘hollow shell’ because he lacks a ‘real life’ or purpose #the specification that Steve lacks of wife really stands out #I think because I’m used to that being left as just being referred to vaguely as ‘loved ones’ or similar #though the order of the sentence- ‘/other/ men have friends- wives- /loved ones!/- really puts the emphasis on the general term #referring to Steve’s all-encompassing lack #at first I thought maybe Steve’s account here was unreliable #and that he does have people who would spend time with him- as shown in the previously posted panels #but it really doesn’t seem that even now that they spend time together outside of Avengers work and training #of course during the first team I was really struck by how much the Avengers didn’t come across as friends #which was compounded by that they strictly maintained their secret identities and weren’t allowed to ask each other personal questions #with Steve standing out because they all knew who he was while he didn’t know who they were #they’re not maintaining that for this team but they’re still not hanging out outside of being Avengers #also the phrasing that Sharon is ‘like my first love- as though she had been- reborn’ is making me think for the first time #beyond the physical similarities #because at first Steve really did not know her so that’s all he had to go by #but now they’ve interacted a little bit more #so he could be thinking (or imagining) that their demeanors are similar too #and the end of this story Nick talks about how he knows how much Steve cares about Sharon #while jokingly referring to her as Steve’s ‘girl friend’ #that Steve talks around referring to her by name is awkward but it’s because he doesn’t know it #that Nick talks around it is weird because he has to know it so it’s like he’s purposely keeping that knowledge from Steve #though he’s using Steve’s feelings for Sharon to recruit him for a mission to help her #marvel #steve rogers #my posts #comic panels

[dreaming-medium]

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

—————————————————————

No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process. 

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None. 

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse. 

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward. 

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star. 

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did. 

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party. 

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t. 

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle. 

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know. 

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup. 

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup? 

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible. 

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup. 

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing. 

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out. 

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn… 

He never got to see you. 

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped. 

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair. 

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.  

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now. 

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly. 

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort. 

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him. 

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them. 

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift. 

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to. 

Mice would get to it before you did. 

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin. 

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved. 

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces. 

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time. 

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of. 

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together. 

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his. 

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM. 

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return. 

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much. 

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now? 

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before. 

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago. 

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you. 

To him too. 

It’s the library where he first met you. 

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now. 

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside. 

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working. 

Absolutely not. 

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful. 

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet. 

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were. 

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves. 

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it. 

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face. 

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option. 

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head. 

Your eyes met. He was a goner. 

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you. 

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today? 

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere. 

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway. 

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. 

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time. 

Empty. 

You-less. 

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks. 

What a moment. 

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio. 

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone. 

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch. 

His throat immediately tightens. 

There you are. You. Beautiful you. 

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger. 

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something. 

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin. 

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows. 

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug. 

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please. 

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly. 

You turn around with a curious look. 

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it. 

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics. 

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months. 

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies. 

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you. 

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day. 

Y/N, please. 

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book. 

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back. 

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower. 

From foot to foot, your weight shifts. 

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you. 

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them. 

Y/N, please. 

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself. 

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck! 

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world. 

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite. 

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks. 

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow. 

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it. 

He knows everything. 

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained. 

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes. 

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out. 

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments. 

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper. 

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you. 

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him. 

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in. 

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly. 

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him. 

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth. 

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus. 

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day. 

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going. 

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him. 

And the worst part? You said yes. 

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date. 

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how. 

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings. 

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother. 

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything. 

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone. 

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous. 

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth. 

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never. 

“It’s with me,” he blurts. 

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth. 

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you. 

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself. 

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused. 

She’s right. What if you don’t? 

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table. 

Yes, you have. 

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water. 

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu. 

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town. 

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late. 

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu. 

He’s more nervous now than on the first date. 

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile. 

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite. 

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu. 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops. 

You stop. 

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy. 

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something. 

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before. 

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.  

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe. 

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you. 

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks. 

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully. 

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused? 

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you? 

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick. 

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth. 

Your phone rings. 

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest. 

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock. 

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet. 

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance. 

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park. 

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have. 

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket. 

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have. 

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation. 

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it. 

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side. 

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings. 

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours. 

The brightest smile stretches over your face. 

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk. 

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now. 

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you. 

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you. 

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe. 

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago. 

He wants to kiss you so bad. 

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop. 

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin. 

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident. 

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago. 

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features. 

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch. 

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up. 

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that. 

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea? 

Is kissing you the best option? 

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop. 

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety. 

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach. 

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers. 

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t. 

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips. 

But he is. 

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss. 

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers. 

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again. 

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose. 

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good. 

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer. 

He immediately stops. 

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression. 

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused. 

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears. 

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused. 

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window. 

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob. 

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident. 

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please. 

Slowly, your hand falls from his. 

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own. 

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time. 

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore. 

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“ 

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him. 

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie. 

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation. 

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs. 

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over. 

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you. 

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared. 

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming. 

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.” 

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him. 

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off. 

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest. 

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow. 

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest. 

Him. You’re talking about him. 

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying. 

Nothing has ever hurt this bad. 

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him. 

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it. 

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest. 

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter. 

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling. 

A sob tears from his throat. 

You grip his hand tighter. 

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat. 

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks. 

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm. 

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you. 

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist. 

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.  

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out. 

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline. 

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it. 

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you. 

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” 

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat. 

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs. 

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face. 

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair. 

You’re still crying. Both of you are. 

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest. 

All he can do is cry. 

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night. 

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over. 

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong. 

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently. 

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you. 

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws. 

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it. 

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle 

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz x y/n #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #bangchan fanfic #bangchan x reader

[merakiui]

100%

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, captivity, very vague and slight implications of codependency, angst note - your mobile phone was at 100% when he took you away. with time, the percentage has diminished. so, too, does your hope for a brighter future.

The windowpane is spattered with rain.

Sitting cozy in a cushioned alcove, you watch the droplets slide down in regal rivulets, consolidating to form single streaks. The scenery beyond the window is bleak and dreary—a despondent landscape of gnarled, leafless trees and scratchy brambles stretching towards a dark, dismal sky. Sometimes you liken the rain to tears, wondering if Mother Nature weeps for all creatures or simply for you and your situation. Rare are the days in which the sun shines upon the craggy stone façade of your captor’s castle, and she is as benevolent as she is cruel.

For all of its sumptuous splendor, generational wealth filling the interior with priceless heirlooms and relics, it is an empty, cold structure. You’ve taken to enveloping yourself in thick furs, if only because these furs do not speak like the monster who so humbly offers his embrace. Though you’ve always considered yourself of strong, sturdy mind, your restraint is thinning. As the days pass and you shed clothing sizes like they’re second skins, you find yourself drawn to warmth.

Which is, ironically enough, contradictory to your current temperament. The windows, frigid like the grave, provide solace you cannot find anywhere else—for it is only tender warmth you receive from him. Had he not been so merciful, perhaps it would have been easier to shrink away and truly loathe him with every ounce of your being.

And yet, in order to escape the warmth which enshrouds, you seek the cold, bitter windows and their rain-weary countenance.

Lying beside you on the pillows, snoozing the afternoon away, a calico cat snores idly. She was a gift from him. You were neglectful of your mental health and thus, as per his guard’s suggestion, he sought to find a cat to cure your loneliness and inspire some form of happiness. You appreciate Silver—genuinely, you do—but the good luck a calico brings is not nearly enough to rescue you from captivity.

She was a stray, a scrawny thing with a limp and one bad eye. You took to her right away, scooping her up in your arms and lovingly naming her Cotton. Similarly, she returned your affections, rubbing her head against your palm and purring pleasantly.

Now she likes to nudge the dome that is your stomach, a great, round thing at only six months. Sometimes you think she’s more motherly than you are. You’ve never been able to care for much of anything. Plants wither under your touch, recipes spoil even when you follow them to the letter, and your electronics crack.

Your phone, more fractured than your very heart, is cold in your hands. The screen is blank; it’s dying. It was at 100% before. Now it’s been reduced to a sad 7%. There is no reception or connection to be had in Briar Valley. Your phone, once so powerful and all-knowing, is but a hollow shell. Useless. A digital photo album will expire at its final hour, and there’s no charger. He offered to use his magic to charge it, but he has never known his own strength and you couldn’t risk losing the treasured memories stored within.

Sometimes you’d return to old message logs and read through them. Now you can’t do that, lest you drain the battery quicker than intended.

“So this is where you’ve retreated,” Malleus notes, poking his head around the corner of a towering bookcase. Concern settles on his features. “Are you well? Sebek tells me you were absent for breakfast.” “I wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, watching his reflection through the stormy glass.

Malleus glances at Cotton and then at your phone as it rests in your clasp. “May I trouble you to eat just a little, if only some fruit?”

“I’m not hungry.” He nods, stalling. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“If I must.”

A small smile lifts his lips. “Are you cold? It can’t be very comfortable to sit there for such a long time. You’ll catch your death.”

“I hope.”

He tuts in disapproval and shrugs out of his cloak, draping it over you even though you’re already wearing a fleece robe. Malleus assesses you with a fleeting once-over.

“It doesn’t hurt to layer. You must understand where I’m coming from, dearest. Extreme temperatures serve to weaken those who are already so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you snap, turning to scowl.

He doesn’t flinch at the heat smoldering in your eyes. “You’re human.”

“How many times did you have to practice that to come to terms with it?”

Malleus’s verdant stare narrows; his frown tightens. “It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d confront it.”

“I must if I’m to understand…” He exhales through his nose, deflating somewhat. “You’re in fine health. The physician tells me so. There’s no need to worry ourselves with ineffectual what-ifs.”

You turn your gaze on the sprawling forest next, unwilling to discuss the report and its subsequent conclusion: If she remains in good health and follows the recommended diet for an expecting mother, she’ll carry to term.

“My phone is dying, Malleus.”

“Is that not life? Lilia once said so.”

“My pictures… My everything is stored in this phone. It means so much to me.”

“Truly? Is there not a way to make physical copies of these photographs?”

“Unless Briar Valley has the technology to do so…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Malleus takes a daring step closer, endeavoring to comfort you. Cotton cracks her good eye open to peer at him. She hisses low in her throat, a protector standing small against something so tall. Pouting, clearly disheartened, Malleus heeds her warning and chooses to linger just within the bounds she deems acceptable.

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

You heave a dejected sigh, your shoulders drooping. Seeking to cleanse your visual palate, you power the device on. 5% blinks back at you, an insignificant number sitting in a corner that you normally wouldn’t have paid much mind to. Now it weighs heavy, a reminder that the end is encroaching.

“I would’ve liked to keep these photos forever,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. Malleus hums his acknowledgement; you think he knows the feeling—or some variant of it, at least. “If I lose these pictures…”

“Do you not have memories?”

“I do, but it isn’t the same. One day I’ll grow old and my memory will be frail. I won’t remember nearly as much as I do now. Those memories will become ghosts and eventually I’ll—”

“You will not.” There’s a finality to the declaration—you won’t leave me; you won’t drain or die like this mobile device.

You rest your head against the window. The cool glass soothes your soul. I wonder what the others are up to right now… You place your hand upon your belly. I wonder if they’d have any good ideas for a name. I’m terrible at naming things. I can never pick something that feels right.

“I’d like to have a funeral for my phone.”

But maybe there is no right thing.

“Of course,” he agrees, perfectly serious. You will have that phone funeral, just as you will have every other request you make—however patently absurd it may seem. (Every other request except for freedom, of course.) “Materials may not have the same worth as a loved one, but the experiences they provide are just as valuable. Surely, no? Otherwise I would not feel so troubled when Roaring Drago…” Pausing to search for the placeholder, Malleus glances at your phone. “Perhaps there is no greater tragedy than existence itself.”

“It’s the most bittersweet burden,” you echo, scrolling through each picture with wistful remembrance. “But then I’d rather know the fleeting frivolity of life than endure hundreds of years of solitude. It makes me appreciate everything that much more.”

You stop at a picture of you and Malleus, a photo snapped by Lilia himself. Part of you often wonders why he chose you—why he adores you to such a degree when you, like everyone else, will inevitably perish. But therein lies the allure: That which is unobtainable is even more tempting. And because there is only one of you, a human destined to one day return to her home world, your very presence is more fleeting than a dream.

To Malleus, who has always dreamt, fond and fervent, of the unobtainable mundanity of normal life, you are a sweet, tangible blessing.

“Horns, do you think I’ll ever get another chance to have my phone at 100%?”

He softens under the nickname. It means more to him than his lofty station. “Would you like to know that joy?”

“It would be nice, yes, but then I’d just get sad when it reaches zero. I guess I should be grateful it’s stayed alive for this long. Sorry, it’s a stupid question. Just forget it.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.” He reaches to touch your cheek, but Cotton hisses again and so he refrains. She stands on unsteady legs and climbs into your lap, perching awkwardly in spite of your rounded belly. The sight draws a deep chuckle from him. “Your feline friend is quite taken with you.”

“It’s probably because I’m warm. She likes my belly a lot.”

“As do I.”

You roll your eyes.

“Your beauty is most beguiling. There’s a certain radiance to your person. It’s very charming. Do you not agree?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere—definitely not in Cotton’s good graces.”

“I’m simply voicing a fact.”

Your hand slides down from your stomach to pat Cotton. She purrs under your touch, and a weak approximation of a smile tugs at your lips. Amidst all of this sorrow, she is a glimmer of hope. In a way, she’s like you—a stray without a place in this world, snatched from the cobbles she once wandered and confined in a cage of royal opulence. Your similarities are striking, if not immensely devastating.

“Fact or not, I don’t care if I look pretty. It means nothing to me.”

“To be impartial towards appearances… Quite a noble mindset.”

I never once thought you were scary or strange, Horns. Even now.

You look at your phone once more. 3% flickers back.

You’re just lost, and in being lost you found me. But I was also lost. I never even belonged in this world to begin with…

“I’m not going to be a good mother.”

“You can’t know that.” 

“I can’t even take care of myself.”

“I shall care for you when you find yourself unable to.”

“I’d rather you not.”

With Cotton having curled on your lap, slumbering peacefully, Malleus chances to close the gap. His broad frame leans to make up for the difference in height, and he runs cold fingers along your cheek. He brushes away the tears you weren’t even aware you were shedding.

You grip your phone in shaky hands, your shoulders hunched. There’s a piercing ache in your chest, pain stabbing all the way through to your heart. It persists when you power it off, unable to delight in pictorial reminiscence for a moment longer. Silent like death, you sob; seismic dismay shudders through you in waves. Distantly, in a forgotten corner of your brain, you suspect this may be the last time you’ll ever use your phone. The last time you’ll ever look upon the photos you’ve amassed. Photos of friends, class notes, food. Photos snapped by mistake, blurry and unfocused. Photos taken when Ace and Grim stole your phone. Precious memories are preserved within the permanence of a photo album—an album that only remains everlasting so long as you keep your phone charged.

Your final shred of the world beyond Briar Valley vanishes in a blip, leaving you with the dark void that is an empty screen. Brutal is the agony, contorting your face, and you bawl like you’ve just witnessed the end of a life.

In a way, you have. You held it in the palm of your hands, and you watched it wither. Watched the percentages drop through numbers, double digits easing into singles. Watched every week and tried to spare your beloved phone of its fate. Watched and attempted to stall the impossible—a foolish undertaking. This was inevitable; you knew this, and yet you’re still mourning.

Perhaps that is the most tragic facet of existence. From the moment one is born, they are mourning. Humans mourn losing time—of allowing it to slip through their fingers when they should have put it to better use. Humans mourn aging even though it is celebrated yearly. Humans mourn for things that are inhuman—for robots stuck in an endless cycle of some menial task while gears grow rusted and systems shut down or trapped on a distant planet, never to return home. For the fruit that falls from trees and rots, trampled and forgotten. For the endings, good and bad, of novels. For art that will never see the light of day because it has been destroyed or stolen or silenced. For the friends they meet, have met, and will meet.

You mourn because you know it’s impending, and you spend all of your life coming to terms with it, only to break down when it finally happens because the truth of the matter is that you will never be prepared no matter how much you prepare yourself. You mourn because you’re a complex human with complex emotions, surviving in a complex world with millions of intricacies, and the only way to weather misery is to mourn.

To the little life cradled in your womb, who knows not of these difficulties yet, they cannot fathom the anguish that accompanies loss. And right now that is all you can hope for—a life without loss.

But that is impossible because loss is true to everyone’s experience. It is part of existence, and existence is inescapable.

Malleus does not gather you in his arms. He will do so if you ask, and he knows you want to ask, which is precisely why he waits. But you’re stubborn and you refuse to give in to the temptation, let alone grant him the satisfaction. It doesn’t offend him.

The windowpane is spattered with rain. So, too, is your phone, spotted with tears and snot.

Briefly, you wonder if you still look beautiful to Malleus.

Even at your ugliest, he would still cherish you. Desperately, as if he might lose you.

Knowing this does not soften the gutting grief.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus

[comradekatara]

aang and sokka have by far the most underrated dynamic in atla. they’re very cute and silly together, but they’re also insane. like, aang’s central tension concerns refusing to let his values be shaped by war and the imperialist logic of his oppressors, whereas sokka’s entire value system has been defined by war, by his experience as a colonized subject. in many ways, the ultimate tragedy of aang’s character, that he may become too cynical to appreciate his cultural values of joy, friendship, freedom, harmony, and peace, is the tragedy that he might someday become what sokka already is.

if aang is a force for good in sokka’s life, showing him how to play, to appreciate living in the moment and connecting with others, then sokka is quite literally a corrupting influence. “there, that’s how it’s done,” he says, and you know he’s not just posturing, because you’ve already seen him kill people before without remorse. sokka is aang’s big brother, his friend, his protector. he plays his games, makes him laugh, shows him kindness and undying loyalty. but he is also everything that aang must constantly strive to never become. he is a ruthless tactician, a hyperlogical cynic, a killer.

sokka would do anything to survive and protect his loved ones against the cruelty of the world. so he chastises aang for refusing to kill, for being soft and idealistic. he in fact almost kills aang after he accidentally hurts katara. while aang can never let himself sink into despair, to adopt the colonial mindset of his oppressors, to close off his heart to hope and feeling, sokka already has. yes, aang shows him joy and friendship and the potential for freedom, but in truth, it’s too late for him. and perhaps if katara cannot retrieve her brother’s humanity, his very soul, from the hollow shell of who he has since become, she has a second chance now, with aang.

#i have an even longer post about this in my drafts if you can believe it #but like. they’re so crazzyyyy #real ones know the best aang&sokka episodes are the deserter the siege of the north the serpents pass (!!!!!!!!) and sozins comet #aang&sokka #aang #sokka #katara&sokka #aang&katara #analysis #god 😭😭 #the way aang represents who she wishes sokka COULD be just breaks my heart #SHE JUST WANTS A FRIEND SHE CAN PLAY WITH!!!!!! #fucicuccuucucjkkkk !!!

[stormhearty]

Parings: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 2k+

Triggers: angst, mentions of war and death

Summary: The after-effects of your death hit Prythian hard, the loss of your light indefinitely, leaving the world less bright, and the loss of your power echoed throughout the land. Azriel now has to cope with the loss of his mate — the hollow feeling of the mating bond leaving him nothing but a shell of his previous self. The Inner Circle have to rebuild the trust they had with the other courts along Prythian — especially concerning Day Court. Helion, acting as your father, has to bury your body within the warm soils of Day Court as his people pay tribute to the loss of the Seer of Prythian.

Note: The epilogue to “Pushed to the Edge”! I am very happy to be ending this one-shot-turned-series! Thank you guys so much for supporting this!! This epilogue also included a little insight on the reader’s POV of the last section of part 3. I hope it sheds some light on why she decided to do what she did. Also, I am always happy to write more about Seer!Reader if anyone would like more. But please do enjoy the epilogue.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

The dark wind bellowed through your hair, a deathly chill running down your spine as you watched the shadows guide Azriel through the streets of Valeris. You stood on the hill that you had winnowed to, watching him wreak destruction against the Death-God’s army. Feeling a slither of shadow against your arm, you looked down and gave a tiny smile — a rare one that tugged on your lips after your resurrection — as you brought it to your lips and pressed a kiss against the flutter of shadow, “Take me to him… It’s time…”

You had known of your connection to the Death-God the moment you had been resurrected from Death. The feeling of the ancient, tattered cord that connected your two beings — one that was hollow and empty. You were unaware of what that bond meant, whether it connected your souls to eternal servitude or something else, you kept that bond a secret — weaving shadow and darkness around that cord, hiding it from the Death-God.

The only time you realized the importance of the connection was during a vision — the only vision you ever had since your revival.

One that would take not only your life but the very life of the Death-God — one that was by the hands of the person that had broken you.

You kept that vision close to your heart, hiding it within shadows from the Death-God, using it as an arsenal against him. You watched as destruction and death seeped through Prythian and you felt the distress bite your very soul.

This isn’t what you had wanted, you never wanted Prythian to be destroyed — all you wanted was revenge against those who struck against you — those who had betrayed you. Not all this loss of life.

Not against Helion, or Thesan, or Tarquin… not against the rest of the High Lords.

No… you had to put an end to this.

You had used the bargain with Azriel to your advantage, using him to fight for you — the vision you kept so close to your heart started to sing alive as if you were walking down the correct path to end this destruction.

And so when the shadows winnowed you to where Azriel stood, the shadows cloaking his body, the Truth-Teller rightfully in his hands, another smile tugged on your features.

This had been it. The vision that came to pass — that last vision — of you and Azriel, finally ending the rein of darkness that Kosechi planned to coat your world in.

You had stepped closer to him, watching his body stiffen, his Spymaster instincts taking over his form. You heard the whispers of the shadows in his ear and you couldn’t help but look down at your chest, the shadows finally unraveling themselves from the last piece of light in your soul — the final mark where Azriel would strike.

Lifting your head, you watched the Shadowsinger lunge for you, the Truth-Teller stabbing you in your light, the shadows around it shrieking in agony, pain, and sadness. A gasp escaped your lips at a vision passed behind your eyes — the same pain rushing down the now open bond between you and Kosechi, the same wound inflicted on his immortal body.

It has been done.

Your knees buckled and you felt the shadows slip from Azriel to your own body, feeling the whisps chill on your skin. Eyes looked up at Azriel, seeing the disbelief and agony in his features. It was satisfying to see… to see him in so much pain.

Everything passed in a blur, not knowing that the Death-God had come and gone. All you can focus on is your mate — former mate. You felt his hot tears on your cooling body and you just stared up at him, pouring all your emotions out — inflicting as much pain as you could with your final breaths.

It was done. It has ended. And your time as Prythian’s Seer, its unknown Seer, has finally come to pass.

Your duty is done.

Helion felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He felt as if his whole world was being taken away from his very eyes as he watched the Spymaster hold your dead body, howling at your loss. The Day High Lord felt his body shake as he took a step forward, looking around at the piles of corpses — of Kosechi’s followers on the ground — before focusing back on you.

He heard the winnowing of Rhysand and the rest of the High Lords, as they surrounded the breaking Spymaster.

“… Azriel…” Rhysand’s voice cracked, trying to call his brother out of the agony he was feeling.

The Spymaster looked up, seeing all the High Lords before going to his knees, continuing to clutch your body close to him, “Please… I beg all of you. Please bring her back… the kernel of life…” He begged, tears dried on his cheeks, determination in his hazel eyes.

Rhysand’s face pinched with pain at the request and Helion’s hardened.

“How dare you, Azriel…” Helion’s was hard as steel, the Spymaster’s body flinching, “To plead to bring her back to life when you had been the one to break and hurt her… Forcing her hand to kill herself…”

Azriel shook his head, pressing his forehead against your own, your body cool, devoid of life, “I know… I know. Give me a chance… give me a chance to do everything again. To make things right with her. Give her a chance to live again. That’s all I ask. I’d do anything, give anything for her to be alive again.”

He wailed, pleaded, and whispered against your skin, hoping that the High Lords would listen to his request. All he wanted was to feel your heartbeat again, bask in your light, to hold you in his arms again. To love you again. He knew it was possible, the High Lords have done it twice — with Feyre Under the Mountain, and with Rhysand after Hybern. Using that kernel of life to bring you back from the dead — to bring you back home, bring you back to him.

Azriel waited, but all he heard was silence, the blow of the wind loud in his ears. He heard footsteps towards him and he looked up to see Rhysand, his features pained as he kneeled to his brother.

“We can’t… Azriel…” he confessed, his voice pained as he saw the light dim in Azriel’s features, “She has already been resurrected once… Twice is against Mother’s will. There’s… nothing we could do…”

“No… that can’t be. Please, Rhysand!” he looked up at his High Lord, “I’d do anything… anything to bring her back…. Take mine! Take my life, to give to her! A life for a life…! That will work right?” He was frantic, thinking of anything… any way to bring you back to living.

“Stop, Shadowsinger…” Helion’s voice ordered, the command echoed through every fae in that spot. Rhysand closed his eyes, fighting back every urge to follow that command. The High Lord of Night stood up and stepped back, feeling Helion’s presence behind him.

Azriel growled and looked up at Helion, instinctively wrapping his arms tighter around your body.

“You had multiple chances to make it up to her. You watched as she begged you to listen, to listen to your mate. But you ignored it, you pissed off your chances for her. You do not get another shot, not in this life… and probably not in any other lifetime you will have with her.”

With a snap of his fingers, your body was winnowed from Azriel’s arms to his own, Helion gently holding you in his arms as he looked down at you with so much sadness and regret.

The Shadowsinger tried to scramble back up, to want to fight the High Lord, only to be held down by Cassian and Rhysand, “Don’t…” Rhysand commanded him, “…We have no right to her anymore. Not after everything we have done…”

“What did you do?” Azriel snarled at his High Lord.

“Your High Lord made a bargain…” Helion disclosed as he turned his heels, stepping back from the Inner Circle, “You and the rest of Night Court have no claims over her body, not when (Y/N) was originally from Day Court. Her body will be buried in Day soil, where she rightfully belongs. And you, Shadowsinger, are banned from entering my Court. And so will the rest of your family… The only person that I will allow to visit her body will be your High Lady. As Night Court’s emissary…”

Azriel felt his heart drop to the ground. No. He already lost you, and now he cannot visit your grave, to mourn for you.

“I will have no bargaining with you, Shadowsinger. Not when your High Lord was the one who allowed it,” Helion looked over his shoulder at the three brothers, “No matter what you do, this bargain will be the last with the Night Court. You have lost all my trust with this matter…”

And with that, Helion winnowed away — with your body in his arms.

Azriel stared at the spot that Helion winnowed away from as he felt hands come off his body. He collapsed, pressing scarred hands into the dirt. He felt his whole body continue to shake, the sadness, the anger not leaving him — he felt as if his anger was never-ending; anger at Helion for taking your body from him, anger at him for banning him from Day Court; anger at his High Lord for creating the bargain in the first place; anger at you for dying in his arms, forcing him to be the one to take your life.

“Azriel…” Rhysand called his name before he stepped back away from his brother when a growl escaped Azriel’s chest.

“Why… Why would you make that bargain, Rhysand…” he murmured, tilting his head up to look at his High Lord with a glare, hazel eyes blazing with that anger he felt throughout his body.

Rhysand sighed and knelt once more to be eye-to-eye with his brother, “I had to, Azriel. I couldn’t argue with Helion, not after everything we did to (Y/N)… She was originally from Day Court, she is tied to Helion’s Court — - “

“But she’s been with us for five hundred years, Rhysand… She had a home with us… She was my mate…” Azriel tried to reason with his High Lord, hazel eyes shifting from anger to absolute despair.

“— - You have no right to claim her as your mate… Not anymore. Not after cheating on her with Elain…” Rhysand reprimanded his brother, “I have no claim to her to be under my Court after I had failed to protect her. We have lost her, Azriel. We lost her the moment we had failed as a family to notice her pain… We had failed her entirely. I regret immensely on how we have treated her the last moments of her life… I regret every moment since her death on how I treated her as her High Lord, as her friend, as her family…”

There was so much pain in Rhysand’s voice and Azriel let out a painful cry, one that echoed so deep in his soul.

“I let Helion take her body to let her body be at peace in her home, her real home, Azriel. A place where she is not in pain, one where she isn’t surrounded by those who had betrayed her. Your banishment from Day Court was part of that bargain — I didn’t want to do that to you, brother — -” he placed a hand against Azriel’s trembling shoulder, “— - I didn’t want to separate you from her, but I had to… For her.”

Another sob escaped Azriel’s lips as he dropped his head, his forehead resting against the cool ground, “How can I continue to live?” he whispered, “My whole soul is breaking, Rhysand… The echo of that bond hurts so much. I never knew how much it would hurt… If I knew, if I knew this would be the outcome of my infidelity towards her, I would never have done it. If I knew my infidelity would cause her to die in my arms, I would have never done it.”

Rhysand sighed and looked up to Cassian, the General looking at his brother with so much sorrow. The two looked at one another before reaching toward Azriel to heave him off the ground. All Azriel wanted to do was collapse, but he knew he couldn’t — he didn’t have any right to do so. He was the cause of this, he was at fault.

“You will continue to live…” Rhysand urged, “You will continue to live and mourn and regret. We all will. That’s all we can do for (Y/N)…”

Azriel looked at Rhysand, before glancing at Cassian, who nodded, “We all will continue to live with our betrayal. Live and regret.”

And all Azriel could do was tilt his head back, looking up at the gray sky as raindrops fell — as if the universe knew how he felt at that very moment.

Feyre stood in the back of the ceremony, watching as Helion lowered your body into the ground — one decorated so beautifully, in a simple white tule dress and on top of your head a halo that mimicked the sun. You looked gorgeous, lying in the casket as if you were just sleeping.

The High Lady listened to Helion’s speech — the love and admiration evident in every word he spoke about you; on how he had found you, protected you — he told your story, every happy moment but also every sad and devastating moment.

She could see how Helion held back so much anger when he brought up your time at Night Court and Feyre couldn’t help but pang of pain in her chest. She regretted every moment of listening to it all over again — Feyre knew she could have made a difference. She tried to help you, tried to reach out to you — but her effort wasn’t big enough. She could have tried harder, to fight for you — but she failed at that.

Everything was a blur after the speech, people had slowly filtered out after they had paid respect to the loss of your light, the loss of your life. Feyre felt her feet bring her to your grave. She looked at the statue that stood at the head of your grave, one was a mirror of your body that was now in the ground. That same dress, that same crown on top of your head.

You were like a goddess that glowed under Day Court’s sun.

Feyre felt a figure next to her, turning her head to look at Helion who looked up at that statue with sadness.

“… That was a wonderful speech, Helion,” Feyre complimented, her gaze returning up at the statue.

The Day High Lord did not say anything back to the High Lady.

And Feyre continued, “… — - I know that no matter how many times we apologize, you will never forgive us. And I understand… (Y/N)… was the best thing that you had given us, the best thing that Azriel had in his life — “ Feyre watched from the corner of her eye that Helion’s hand fisted tightly against his side at the mention of the Shadowsinger, “— - We will do our very best, to gain your trust again. We will mourn for centuries for what we had done to her, we will continue to regret.”

Helion let out a broken chuckle and shook his head, “… I don’t think I can trust any of you again, Feyre… Not when you had taken her away from me. This child was the best thing that has happened to me, besides knowing that Lucien is my son… (Y/N) was my daughter, I raised her as my daughter… And it hurts, knowing that she passed before I did. You… never want to bury your children… And that’s what I had to do today. And I will never forget how that feels…”

He turned his head towards Feyre, “… Be glad you were able to be part of this ceremony, High Lady of Night Court… It was for (Y/N), she would have wanted you to be part of her burial. If it was me, I would never let you in my Court again, but this is all for her.”

Feyre nodded her head, “And I am, and forever will be, thankful for your kindness…”

Helion gave a stiff nod of his head before looking back up at the statue for a moment before turning on his heels and walking away.

The High Lady sighed and looked up at the statue as well, “I hope you are at peace, (Y/N)…” she whispered a prayer one more time before turning as well, walking out of the wards of Day Court before winnowing away, the echo of a sad lament for you singing through the lands.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar angst #azriel x reader #( .one shot : pushed to the edge ) #azriel angst #azriel

[violetsrxse]

Just How I Remember - Azriel x Rhysand's Sister!Reader

Summary: After 50 years of being trapped Under the Mountain you, your brother and Prythian are finally free of Amarantha's rule. After all the suffering, you finally get to return to not only your home, but also your mate.

Warnings: Mentions of UTM, just some angsty fluff ig.

Word Count: 1,442

A/N: This is my first ever piece that I have ever posted and the first thing I've written in a while, so I'm a bit nervous. I'm thinking of making this into a series though and tbh this is more of a prologue than anything. It's a bit shorter than I would've liked but I'm still getting back into the feel of writing.

Amarantha’s reign was over, she was dead. 

It was a lingering thought as you walked through the halls of what was once Prythian’s sacred mountain, now a hollow shell, the walls imbued with the agonised screams of Amarantha’s victims. 

Your mind wandered to the time before this mess had occurred. Before you and so many others had been deceived and caged like animals, reduced to cattle under a sadistic monster's rule.

After walking for some time you reached a spiral staircase, venturing upwards, closer and closer to the light that filtered through an opening in the rock. You reached the top, being met with a doorway carved into the stone, leading to a balcony overlooking the forest surrounding the mountain. 

Amarantha hadn’t let you leave, not even once. For fifty years you hadn’t been anywhere but under the tons of rock.

Walking through the door, you took a deep breath of the fresh air, your eyes stinging slightly at the brightness.

You couldn’t remember the last time you saw the sun. The sweet warmth of its rays on your skin, the leathery membrane of your wings. Couldn’t remember the feel of the wind as it brushed the hair over your neck, your shoulders.

You gazed in the direction of Velaris, though so far away, you could almost see it. The distant memory of the beautiful snow capped mountains, the bustling streets of the city that you and your brother gave everything to protect. You’d be returning soon, you’d be home.

You hadn’t yet worked up the courage to tug on the bond in your chest, the nerves had gotten the best of you. You knew it was irrational to be nervous, knew he’d be happy with just knowing you were okay. Alive. It had been so long since you closed down the bond, shutting him out. Not only for his safety, but also your sanity, not wanting him to know the horrors you had been subject to.

What you had been made to do to others.

It wouldn’t be long before Rhysand was finished meeting with the other High Lords and you would both winnow home at last. 

Your mind spun, recalling all that had happened in the past three months. The arrival of the human girl, her undying determination to save her love. Your brother’s growing interest in her, the way he’d tried to protect her. He hadn’t yet told you anything about why he’d done it.

But you had a good idea of what it was.

He was your twin after all, he was basically an open book.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Rhysand appeared at your side, looking to you before furrowing his brows in concern. Taking your face in his hands, your brother wiped tears you hadn’t even realised were falling from your cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” he said softly, pulling you into his chest. “It’s over now, we’re going home.”

Sniffling, you wrapped your arms around him, willing your tears to cease. 

“I know, it's just been so long since I’ve been outside,” pulling away you trained your attention back on the scenery before you. “I’d forgotten how good the sun feels.”

He stayed silent, tucking you into his side. For several moments, you simply watched the clouds go by.

Rhys broke the silence, “Let’s go home.” His words were rushed as if he couldn’t stand one more moment away from home, from your family. You couldn’t either.

Nodding, you took his hand before night swirled around you, jarring but familiar. 

And before you knew it, you were home.

𓆩♡𓆪

Velaris was as beautiful as you remembered. 

When the darknesses whorled away and your sight was no longer blocked, you got an undisrupted view of the city you had missed so much. The sounds around you faded away as you beheld the people walking the streets, free to live safely. Untouched.

With your gaze fixed on the rainbow, the Sidra. You didn’t sense the presence of several people entering the room before a warm hand was pressed to your shoulder. 

Released from your stupor you whipped around, a set of hazel eyes meeting your own violet ones. There were tears there, primed to fall down his tanned cheeks. 

Without a moment's hesitation, you were flinging yourself into his arms, gripping tightly to him as heart wrenching sobs tore their way from deep in your chest. Arms wrapped tightly around you, supporting your weight as your knees gave out under you.

His soft voice broke through the onslaught of your cries, a hand brushing over your back. You only gripped him tighter. 

It seemed like forever before you finally gathered the strength to pull your face from his chest, meeting his eyes once more. Your lip trembled as those gentle, scarred thumbs brushed the tears from your cheeks. 

Words escaped you as his eyes scanned over your face, taking note of every new scar. The flicker of rage in his eyes was short lived as you brought your own hands to his face, smoothing over his skin. He was the first to speak, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. 

“My love.” Was all he said before tugging you back into his chest, brushing his nose against your hair, inhaling your scent. 

“I missed you so much,” you finally managed to choke out, “I thought I’d never see you again.” The sentence ended with a hiccup of a sob, it only made him wrap his arms tighter around you. 

Up until this point, the others had given you the privacy to reunite with your mate, leaving the room with Rhys in tow. You hadn’t even noticed.

Pulling away slightly, you looked up at him again. His eyes first, then his lips. He understood immediately, leaning closer slowly before pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. Brows pinching together with the effort of keeping your tears at bay you kissed him back, fingers drifting into the hair at his nape. 

You held him, relishing in the closeness you were deprived of for half a century. Never wanting to pull away you kept kissing him, but he kept it soft as if he were scared to break you. 

After what felt like several minutes you finally pulled away, regaining your ability to speak. 

“Azriel.” You whispered, near unbelieving that he stood before you. 

“Y/N.” He answered with a small smile on his face you hadn’t seen apart from in your dreams in such a long time. 

You can’t help but smile back at him and though it is small, it makes him beam nonetheless. Finally pulling away from each other you remember the rest of your friends- your family. 

“Where is everyone?” You inquire, scanning over the space around you. The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth, the faelight spread throughout the room creating a warm atmosphere, the couches situated in a crescent shape for weekly game nights. It was the exact same as you remembered, as if it hadn’t been touched since you left. 

Perhaps it hadn’t.

Watching you closely as you take in your surroundings, Azriel answers “They wanted to give us a moment alone,” A pause “they didn’t want to overwhelm you. Rhys went with them.”

Nodding, you just now acknowledge the low voices flowing from the other side of the door, leading to the kitchen. You smile fondly at the slightly louder voice, it was Cassian.

Walking over to the door you open it, smiling as you take in your family. Mor in her usual red, Amren in her grey set and Cassian clad in the Illyrian leathers that may as well be moulded to his skin at this point. 

It’s Mor who reaches you first, pulling you into a bone crushing hug that you quickly reciprocate. Followed by Cassian, picking you right up off the ground in a bone crushing embrace. Even Amren hugs you briefly, the only sign of her relief. 

Azriel stands close to you, a fond smile on his face and a barely there pinch to his eyebrows that most would miss with a glance. It concerns you, but you understand the guilt that he and the rest of the Inner Circle must feel. Over what you and Rhys had done to protect them, what you would’ve done until your last breath as long as it meant that they were safe. 

Rhys waits until you part before a serious expression washes over his face, his eyes hollow. You know that he’s going to say something to sour the mood, and that he’s feeling guilty to have to do so. 

You understand though, because it isn’t over.

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #just as I remember #azriel angst #azriel fluff

[alrtyhoney]

The rundown: You looked like someone Miguel terribly misses– his daughter. (FIRST PART)

Content: Miguel x Daughter!Reader (wc: 1359)

“Have you thought about it already?” 

The girl remains focused on her drawings, doodling away. “About what?” She mumbles a reply, without turning her gaze, still engrossed in her drawings. She knew what he was going to say anyway.

Miguel reaches forward and tenderly tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Your quinceanera, Gab.” He remarks warmly. 

She only laughs in return, shaking her head. It's silly, she thinks to herself. "I'm not even near being fifteen yet!" she protests in between fits of giggles. It occurred to Gabriella that his father had an ulterior motive from the sudden pique of interest in her hobbies and likes; he wasn’t particularly chatty, so the past few weeks had pushed her to finally ask him what he was trying to do. 

She didn’t understand at first. Miguel, very patiently, explained that a quinceanera was a special once-in-a-lifetime event for every girl. It was more than just a birthday celebration, it was an important milestone in her life. But she quickly discouraged the idea, not wanting to think about it so early. They had all of the time in the world, she thought, there was no reason to rush.

“I just want it to be special.” He says, “Your mother would’ve wanted that.” 

“No te preocupes, papá.” She reassures her with a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll make it special.” 

The clip ended, the screen slowly fading until only his reflection remained in the empty frame. All he could see now was a hollow shell of a man looking back at him; his expression blank and unflinching. Miguel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. That scene had etched itself into his mind, burning– mockingly so. 

Nothing could ever fill the hole that his daughter had left in his heart - like when he first held her in his arms so many years ago; her presence still obvious on his chest where her memories had imprinted themselves, a permanent reminder of the loss of a child. He trudged through life with heavy feet and an even heavier heart. 

He wonders if things could’ve been different or if he would always be incapable of keeping people in his life, always slipping from his fingers and out of his grasp.

“You’re watching it again,” Lyla appears on his shoulder, sitting there with her legs crossed. 

“What about it?” 

"That's the fourth time today," She says, her voice laced with a trace of worry that she was quick to try and disguise as part of her normal banter. It had become increasingly clear to her that something was amiss and although she was programmed to know anything, Lyla did not know much about Miguel. 

“What do you want?” 

“An anomaly is spotted in earth-829, a renaissance-like hawk wreaking havoc in a modern museum– yikes.” Lyla briefs him, “Jessica is already on standby.” 

Miguel shakes his head, sighing. “Shouldn’t she be on maternity leave already?” He asks, his suit already appearing and opening a file regarding the mission. A hologram opens in front of him, filling in the details. Vulture. “Tell her to go home. I’ll handle this one.” 

“I think you shouldn’t,” Lyla squeaks with a nervous smile on her face. “Think you really shouldn’t.”

Miguel taunts with an arrogant tilt of his head, matter-of-factly declaring, "And who's the one taking orders here?" His mask then slides firmly into place, and a portal opens beneath his feet as he steps through. Lyla knows too well by now that there isn't any room for negotiation. 

As he stepped into the unfamiliar environment, a chorus of cries and screams greeted him from the running crowd. They pushed each other to safety, a few staying to watch spider-man in action. Miguel sighs, cracking his neck as he prepares himself to step in.

However, he slightly flinches as the said hero narrowly avoids him, crashing into the wall behind him with a loud thud. She quickly scrambled back to her feet, dusting the bits of rubble from her suit. “Hello? Mascot-man? I’m kinda in the middle of something here–” 

“I’ll take it from here, kid.” If it wasn’t for the mask covering his face, his nonchalant tone would betray his expression. It was no surprise to him that someone as young as her had been bitten by a spider like so many others before her, but he knows damn well what awaits for her and that is what troubled him every time. 

“And who are you exactly?” She shouts, running towards the anomaly again. 

Miguel quickly binds the vulture's wings with his webs, allowing you to throw in a few punches before the bird regains its footing and takes off into flight. “I’m from another dimension.”

You audibly gasp, the eyes on your mask widening as you swing around, “I knew dimensions were real!” Completely unfocused, the anomaly narrows his eyes before charging towards you– before you could react to your senses tingling, you were sent tumbling to the ground, near the broken pile of rocks and other rubble. 

Miguel loudly groans, getting a hold of the enemy. “Kid, focus!” He barks out, and you immediately snap back to what you were doing, swinging enthusiastically towards him. 

“How did you do it? I mean– I tried to prove it all my life!” 

“Aren’t you 12?” He scoffs at your statement, clearly not a fan of exaggeration.

“14 – and that’s not the point, mascot-man!” 

The fight went on with you chatting and talking his ear off. Miguel had answered in dismissive grunts and his usual ‘it’s classified.’ remark, but he just couldn’t discourage your eagerness in any way. You had tired him out, more than the anomaly did.

Spider-society, magic watch, many more of you– you’ve basically summed up. 

“You should definitely let me join,” You offered cheerfully, cocking your head and wiggling your foot. The battle had finally come to a close, thanks in part to the arrival of a couple more spider-men who lent an extra hand. You had caught up to Miguel, basically begging him to let you in. “We made a great team back there old man!” 

“Old man?” 

“Okay, sensitive,” You muttered under your breath. “But seriously– I could learn more from you!” 

“Kid, listen–” 

You had cut him off again, seemingly not taking no as an answer as you tried to persuade him again. You continued to babble, not leaving any room for him to interrupt. Miguel rubbed a hand over his face, hidden beneath the fabric of his mask, as he groaned in frustration for what felt like the hundredth time today. His eyebrows furrowed as he listened to you rambling on and on– patience nipping on itself from your lack of understanding with regards to the matter at hand. 

“First off, I did most of the work back there. If it weren’t for me calling for back-up, you could’ve been injured badly. This society isn’t some school club you can just sign yourself in,” He explained, already itching to return and leaving you in the dust. A liability is the last thing he needed. “You don’t have what it takes.”

You throw your head back, groaning. You take your mask off, revealing a busted lip and a frown. “Whatever, your club sounds stupid anyway.” You mumble under your breath, suddenly feeling worn out yourself. Of course what he said had stung– it had taken so much effort to learn how to control your powers over the past two months since you were bitten by that spider. It wasn’t like there was a manual or a book written for freaks that happened to have superhero powers under such circumstances. You had to learn on your own. 

Turning your back on him, you had fully expected him to disappear as well– but, to your surprise, he was totally motionless; a statue in solidarity unable to shift an inch. His stillness made the atmosphere unbearably tense and although you could not bring yourself to look back at him (well, you did call his club stupid.), you sensed his gaze upon you like a heavy weight pushing down on your shoulders. 

“Gabriella?” 

#alrighty honey ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara atsv #miguel o'hara x daughter!reader #miguel o'hara angst

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | iii.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

"Where the hell were you last night?"

You gasp as Chad slams Ethan against a tree harshly. 

"I-I had a family emergency," the brunette stammers, chestnut eyes rounding as they bounce between Chad and the group. "You can check the hospital’s visitor’s log. That’s where I was."

Chad’s jaw clenches, his grip on Ethan’s lapels tightening. "Bullshit, man," he rumbles. "You disappear and my friend gets hurt."

You heave out a weary sigh, rubbing your aching eyes. You didn’t sleep a wink last night. Still, there’s one thing you’re clear-minded about. 

The emergency meeting Mindy called outdoors wasn’t supposed to be about turning on each other. 

A frown carves your brow as you rise from the bench and make your way to your friend. You put a hand on Chad’s shoulder. Despite still having Ethan in half a chokehold, he eases under your touch.

"Chad, come on," you coax him, your tone soft. "Ethan wouldn’t." You turn to the rest of your group. 

Tara’s expression is skeptical. Quinn looks puzzled. Anika carries an air of caution. 

And Mindy…her gaze is narrowed in suspicion as she gauges Ethan from her spot a few feet away. You lick your lips and argue, "Besides, you said you guys vetted both him and Quinn, right?"

Chad gives Ethan one long harsh stare before releasing him. 

"True," he says. 

Ethan staggers back, a careful eye trained on his roommate. 

The breath confined in your lungs flows out in relief. 

Mindy hums, her expression unchanged as she crosses her arms over her chest. 

"Doesn’t matter. Everyone’s a suspect," she maintains. When Ethan brushes past her, she shoves him away.  "Get your Ghostface ass away from me, Ghostface."

A dejected Ethan finds a seat on the bench opposite Tara and Chad. You go sit near him. As your fingers graze his arm in an attempt to comfort him, Ethan startles, his eyes enlarging at your actions. 

"I’m sorry about this," you mumble. In the background, Mindy gets engulfed in an impassioned spiel regarding how to survive horror films. It’s almost like she’s waited her entire life for this moment. You only grant her half an ear, your mind still plagued by the horror of last night. If it weren’t for Mindy dragging you out of bed this morning, you’re convinced it’s where you’d still be…nestled in the safety of your blankets and stuffed animals. "We’re all a little on edge."

Ethan gives a lopsided, bashful smile.

"It’s okay. I’m new to the friend group." His thick dark brows collide into each other as hesitation flutters on his boyish face. He points at himself and stutters, "A-Am I in the friend group?"

A bright smile unfurls on your face with ease. You squeeze his arm in reassurance as his bewildered gaze remains glued to you. 

"Yes you are, Ethan."

The memorial held in Connor's honor flies by in a blur, as you're too shell-shocked to register most of what's going on. 

After a mere few minutes of attendance, you flee back to your dorm, discomfort stirring in your gut beneath the suspicious glares of other students. 

Not very many people encounter one of the infamous killer's incarnations and live to tell the tale. 

It's pandemonium on campus, panic permeating the air now that Ghostface has returned…and not even in Woodsboro, but right here at Blackmore university. 

The rest of the week is worse, hollow and strange. You find yourself questioning the reality of the gruesome scene you witnessed. 

And each time you close your eyes, you relive it. Each time you're transported back to that night. You're shivering on the cold cobblestones, still damp from the afternoon rain, face warm with splatters of Connor's blood. 

Prey awaiting your fate. 

If it weren't for Mindy and the others, you might have gone insane. 

While the dean advised you to go to counseling, you can't bring yourself to do it. At least not yet. All of it is too fresh. Talking about it terrifies you, so you burrow yourself in denial.

And there's also the guilt gnawing at you everyday. You did nothing. 

You cowered, weak and pathetic, while a boy got murdered a few feet away from you. 

It doesn't matter how many times Tara tries to cheer you up about it, reassuring you that you reacted as best you could, a scalding, immovable layer of shame coats your insides.

Still, you try to move on, reclaim a modicum of normalcy. 

Connor’s dead. No amount of tears and what-ifs will bring him back. 

It’s how you wind up in front of your vanity on Friday night, putting the finishing touches to your hair and makeup before you go out to meet with the cheer squad. 

While you’re not too keen on going out, Alana, the team captain, insisted that you need to participate in the trust-building exercises she has planned for the night. 

So you wiped your tears, rose from bed and picked one of your cutest outfits in order to comply with her wishes. 

Besides, Alana has a point. A big match is around the corner and you’d resent yourself if you disturbed the pyramid, or even the synchronicity of the squad’s dance routine…all because you’re too distracted. 

Cheerleading might be silly to some but to you it’s a huge part of your life, one you’re proud of. You like being part of a team. You like being surrounded by friends. You like boosting morale during matches.

You’ll never be the smartest girl in the room but you’re a damn good cheerleader at least. 

As you gauge your reflection, satisfaction blooms inside you. You artfully concealed every sign of sleep deprivation.

You want to display a resilient, happy facade. 

The onset of a smile unfans on your lips but the unexpected buzzing of your phone yanks your focus. 

You pick it up from above the sink.

As you check your phone, your brows crumple in dismay. The number calling is unknown. 

Still, you don’t mull over the weirdness and respond right away, curious who could be trying to reach you at such a late hour. 

"Hello?" you greet, your tone airy.

"Hey, princess. Wanna play a game?" A guttural voice teases on the other side of the phone. 

The breath stumbles in your throat. Your pulse goes haywire.

"I-It’s you," you croak, the room swirling around you as you wobble out of the bathroom.

Your clammy hand clutches the phone. Quickly you remove it from your ear, intent on calling 911 but the stranger tuts you, disapproval dripping from his gravelly timbre.  "Ah, don’t even try calling the police…or I’m going to get upset. Very upset." You freeze. A raucous chuckle vibrates against your cheek.  "And I don’t need to tell you the kind of things I do when I’m upset, pretty girl."

Fear echoes through your trembling voice. 

"What…What do you want from me?"

He laughs again, and it’s raspier this time, playful almost.

"What do I want from you? God, you really are the sweetest thing, you know that? All soft and innocent and just clueless as fuck."

You don’t know why but his words are like a punch in the gut. You feel small, stupid. Tears bead under your lashes. 

"Like, I said, princess…I want to play a game."

"I don’t want to play any game, please," you whimper, shaking your head. 

He hums lowly as the clamor of your wild heartbeats fills your ears. 

"Take a look at what I just sent, princess."

Dread spreads down the length of your spine. Stomach tight, you follow his instructions. You gasp. There’s a notification from an app you don’t even remember downloading at the very top of your screen. 

Your quivering thumb taps the message. 

A new window opens and a video starts playing.

Your hand flies to your mouth, an errant tear streaming down your face. 

"They make such a cute couple, don’t they?" the killer chimes, waving his knife in front of the camera he’s using to film Mindy and Anika from afar. "Would be tragic if something was to rip them apart." 

A shudder rushes through your frame, bile leaping to your throat as it seems like you might throw up any second. 

Clearly he’s standing outside the window of their shared apartment, close enough to cause them harm, and taunting you with that fact. 

"Please, don’t hurt them," you sob, more tears skipping down your cheeks. 

He snorts. "But I don’t have to…as long as you play my little game. Or I can just end it now if you prefer."

"No! I’ll play. I’ll play, I promise."

Your swift reply draws another amused sound from him. 

"Good girl," he lauds. 

For a reason you can’t fathom, his tone elicits a strange tickle somewhere in your center. 

His inflection deepens. "Just do everything I say and it’ll all be fine."

You nod frenetically, forgetting that he can’t see you. 

"Now, lock the door and get on your bed." He pauses as if he just remembered something. "Hm, it’s great that your roommate is spending the night at her boyfriend’s, right? Gives you and I the chance for some quality time with each other, princess."

Feet shaking, you teeter to your bed, shocked that he would even know something like this.

Suddenly, you don’t feel safe in your own room anymore. 

Your chest tightens. 

"You see that teddy bear next to your pillow?" Your mouth drops, your gaze traveling to your stuffed bear. It’s like he’s right there with you, breath ghosting over the back of your neck. "It’s your favorite, right? I know it is because I’ve watched you for so long. You hold it close to your heart whenever you’re sad." Your shock grows, a surge of unease swelling within you. Your hand squeezes around your mouth, more tears spilling. 

Calmly, the killer orders, "I need you to put Teddy at the end of the bed."

"Why?" you squeak, brows knitting in confusion. 

"Because I want to get a good view of your pretty little pussy when you show it to me, silly," he sings.

Heat gathers in your cheeks. "W-What?"

"Just do as I say and don’t worry your pretty head about it," he rasps, voice softer than before. 

You heed his command, collecting your bear to place it at the end of your bed. 

Ice scatters in your veins. It’s probably stupid but the beady black eyes of the bear you’ve had for years, usually a source of comfort, drill holes into your skin today. 

As if he were peering right into your soul…which is silly, so you discard the thought. 

"Don’t hurt my friends, please."

"I won’t if you give me no reason to."

"I promise. I’ll be so good..."

A throaty sound between a moan and a sigh oozing satisfaction ripples in your ear. "That’s what I like to hear," he croons. "See, everything will be fine as long as you listen to me, princess. No need to try and think. Just be a doll and do exactly what I tell you."

Silence stretches as you shiver on your duvet. 

His next words draw a tearful gasp from you. 

"Lift your skirt and remove your panties."

Weeping, you do what he asks. Your fingers quake at the edge of your panties as you pull them down your legs. 

"Yes. Such a good girl." His timbre is hoarse with lust. "What a cute pair, did you wear this for me, pretty girl?"

"I…" Your sentence trails off in a strangled sob as you’re unsure what answer he desires from you. You don’t want to end up blurting out the wrong thing and endangering your friends. 

So you play along. 

"Lie back on the bed and open your legs for me, princess."

Despite being alone in your room with only your stuffed animal as witness, you feel vulnerable as you part your thighs and expose your slit. Your center tingles as cool air hits it.

"Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Wider." Embarrassment surges within you as your lower lips are spread, displaying your wet folds. "Hm, even wider. Don’t be shy, show me everything. I want to picture what being inside you will feel like, princess."

~

#ethan landry #dark!ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x bimbo!reader #ethan landry x you #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #scream vi fanfic

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 23)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Part 22

Y/N is just about to sleep when she hears it.

“We have to move now! They’ve released the mutts!” Peeta warns, calling the rest of the squad to action.

Down the tunnel, damp at their feet. Creeping quietly as not to attract unwanted attention. The space before them is dark, gut wrenchingly so and the howls of muttations draw closer.

Gale fires one of the incendiary arrows into the walkway ahead, there’s nothing there.

Cashmere is behind Y/N, gripping her hand firmly. Don’t you dare let go.

The flashlights help, they keep moving, trudging through the water, through a crawl space and onward. Jackson is about to come through, she’s the last of them; the mutts get her instead. Fighting their way into the crawl space.

Katniss fires an explosive arrow, the force of it throwing her back into Castor.

“Pollux, get us out of here!” He yells over the chaos.

Y/N and Cashmere separate.

“Katniss,” Y/N says, hauling her to her feet.

“I’m ok,” a little shell shocked, but Katniss marches on.

“Peeta?”

“We’ve got him, come on,” Finnick replies.

They’re getting out of this, all of them, together. They’d suffered enough. They’ve earned it.

Down the pipeline farther, running faster-

“Ahhh!”

“Castor!”

The mutts got him too. Pulling him down into the water, sinking in their ragged teeth.

Pollux can’t even scream, for his brother, mouth open in a silent cry.

Cressida tugs him forward. They have to keep going.

Gunfire holds off the mutts for only a second, they just keep coming. Hundreds. Thousands. Their skin slick and reeking of roses.

A ladder is finally within view, one that leads up into the capitol.

They have to go, one at a time.

Y/N rains steady fire from her gun.

Pollux is up. Homes is up.

Cressida is next.

Gale.

Peeta.

Katniss.

Leaving only Finnick, Cashmere and Y/N. Fighting the creatures off as best they can.

“Finnick, go now.” Cashmere calls.

“No, you.” He fires back.

Y/N hesitates, starting up the ladder, hanging one arm off to fire at the mutts. “One of you come on!” She drops her empty magazine into the water, loading a fresh one with her arms looped through the rungs. She nearly loses her footing.

“Y/N!” Katniss calls, staring down at her, with worried eyes.

“I’m fine.”

Cashmere is behind her then, patting her bum playfully. “Giddy up.”

Y/N focuses, moving faster, making room behind Cashmere for Finnick. Still kicking off the occasional mutt attempting to scale the ladder.

They’re finally nearing the top when a Capitol creation latches onto Cashmere’s leg, sinking it’s teeth in deep.

Y/N reaches back for her, but it’s useless. She digs her heel into its skull.

Finnick, runs it through with his trident. Now coated in its blood and Cashmere’s.

“Keep moving.” They have to keep moving.

Once they’ve cleared the ladder, Katniss uses the hollow to blow it up.

Y/N removes her belt, knotting it tightly around the top of Cashmere’s thigh, above the wound, to slow the bleeding. “Can you walk?”

Cashmere presses her lips together, allowing Finnick to help her upright. “Yeah.”

————————————————————————

“Haymitch, it’s happening.” Madge makes her way to him, through the slew of bystanders, in front of the broadcast screen. “Snow called for all Capitol citizens to come to his mansion. This is it!”

Haymitch nods, numbly. Everest and Arista are still in school. Daisy is strapped against his chest, sleeping through the yelling and premature rejoicing of those around them.

“Have you heard from her?”

Her.

Y/N.

“No,” Haymitch admits. Not since two nights ago. She would call if she could. He doesn’t dwell on what might be keeping her.

“She’s coming home, Haymitch.” Madge says, with childlike glee. “She’s going to end this and then she’s coming home.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N gives Peeta her nightlock pill, just incase Snow sends peacekeepers to search houses. One of Cressida’s friends and former stylist for the games, Tigris, has taken them in.

It is decided that Y/N, Katniss and Gale are the ones going for Snow, while the others hang back.

“Thank you for everything.” Peeta captures his mentor in a long hug.

I would do more for you, if I could. “I love you, Peeta.” Y/N tells him, “and I am so proud.” She smooths a hand over his hair.

He buries his head in her shoulder, “I love you too.”

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Y/N pulls away slightly, so he can say his goodbyes to Katniss. Who is waiting anxiously behind Y/N.

Cressida is nearest the door, waving Y/N over. “They will have disarmed the pods to ensure the safety of Capitol citizens, just get yourselves into the crowd and you should be able to walk right in. You’re not all glammed up and you’ll be wearing hoods, chances are no one will recognize you.”

Y/N nods, not caring if she’s telling the truth. She has to see this through. For Katniss, for Peeta. For Haymitch and their children. For herself.

The three of them open the door, marching out into the streets, becoming one with the crowd.

Among the sea of bodies is a girl. A little girl, held in her mother’s arms, wide blue eyes staring back at them. Her blonde curls peeking out from the hood of her yellow coat. She couldn’t have been more than four.

Just a couple years younger than Arista.

Y/N has to get home to Arista.

The palace guards are checking civilians as they line up at the front gates. One of them will surely recognize them. They try to turn back, to regroup and make a better plan.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The world around them explodes.

“It’s the rebels!” One of the men cries out.

Bullets rain down. From above and below, all around.

“Mama!” The girl in the yellow jacket is crouched over her mother’s lifeless body. “Mama.” Her mother won’t wake up. There’s screaming, there’s so much noise and she’s all alone.

With one last nod to Katniss, Y/N takes off. Trying to reach her. Because she has to try, if it were one of her children, she hopes someone would try.

“Mama!”

Y/N sweeps the girl up into her arms, searching for Katniss and Gale. The child screams in protest. Y/N understands, she is not her Mama. “Shh, sweetheart. I know you want your Mama.”

“Mama!”

“My name is Y/N,” Y/N says, against her ear. “I’m going to be your friend for a little while, would that be ok?”

The girl keeps crying, but no longer screaming.

“What’s your name, hmm?” Y/N continues rushing them through the crowd.

From the corner of her eye she makes out Gale, being dragged away by peacekeepers.

Where is Katniss?

The girl mumbles out something through her sobs.

“Tell me one more time, honey.” Y/N says, rubbing circles into her back.

“Poppy.”

Y/N pulls back slightly, blinking at her. “That’s a pretty name.”

She nods.

“One of my daughters is named after a flower too. Her name is Daisy.”

When the crowd comes to a standstill in front of the mansion’s still sealed gates, Y/N manages to find Katniss. She’s just a few feet away.

One of the palace guards calls for the children to be brought forward, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to let the little girl go. She will be safe. Snow is smart, calculated and there is no reason for him to kill Capitol children.

“Be brave, Poppy. You’re going to be safe now.” Y/N gives the girl one last squeeze before handing her over to the outstretched arms in front of her. She then begins forging a path to Katniss.

A hovercraft flies overhead, dropping parachutes to the children, being moved towards the mansion.

“Gifts.” The Capitol citizens marvel and little hands reach up to catch them in wonder.

Boom!

Screaming. Running.

The parachutes exploded.

Not parachutes, bombs.

Everyone rushes in to help the wounded. Y/N looks for her, for Poppy. Medics from district thirteen have arrived.

“Prim. Prim Rose.” Katniss recognizes her sister among them.

Prim looks to her sister. Sees that she is alive.

Boom!

What happened to the little girl in the yellow coat?

What happened to Katniss?

Oh. Y/N realizes.

Oh.

More bombs, the fire. It took the little girl in the yellow coat.

It took the medics from thirteen, including Prim.

It took Katniss, blowing her back, setting the jade green cloak ablaze.

Death takes everything. Her Aunt, her father, her tributes, her district.

Everyone but her.

She always tries to save them.

She always tries.

————————————————————————

Y/N startles awake, jerking upright in the hospital bed.

“Hey, hey, gentle. You’re still healing.”

Haymitch.

She’s in thirteen, she made it back to thirteen. Her skin burns, across her chest, down her arms. She glances down at herself, finding the reddened inflamed skin.

“Lie back.” Haymitch soothes, fluffing her pillow before her head comes to rest on it. “You’re alright, no permanent damage.”

“What happened?” She can’t remember.

“Second round of bombs blew you back, knocked your head. Doc says it might be a little fuzzy for a while.”

“Katniss? Peeta?”

“Both safe.” Haymitch assures her. “Katniss has some burns, same as you, but she’ll pull through.”

“Cashmere? Finnick?”

“Cashmere’s leg is healing up nice and Finnick is fine. Back with Annie. The kids are good, they’ve been asking for you.”

“Can I see them?” Y/N’s eyes well with tears. “Please, Haymitch.”

“Of course,” he pats her cheek. “Madge will bring them down after school.

“How are you?” Y/N asks, reaching out for his hand.

“I’m still kicking.” He squeezes their entwined fingers.

“Will you lay with me for a while?” It’ll be cramped, but she needs him close.

“The doctors won’t approve.”

“Please?”

Haymitch sighs, as if he could ever say no to her. “Scoot over and be careful.”

His weight shifts the mattress as he sides in behind her. His arms wrap around her, so softly. As if she’ll break.

“We did it.” She forces her lungs to expand, willing away the pain.

“We did it.” Now they get to live. Now they’ve earned it.

Part 24

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly @misfits1a @nj01 @eruannaaa-blog @thatkindofgurl @solikeapparently @innercreationflower

#moves & countermoves #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy fanfiction #haymitch fanfic #the hunger games fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

[box-milk]

I can't make you love me

Pairing~ Lucy Bronze x reader

Genre~ angst

Warnings~ injury, unrequited love, self doubt.

You hummed lightly while doing a few touches with a football after practice. while your teammates cleared off the field already, you stayed behind continuing until your buried emotions began to bubble within your chest, the ball at your feet made a violent crackling sound as you sent it souring into the back of a vacant goal.

You retrieved your ball with a sigh and then tossed it aside in favour of running laps, starting off with a light jog until you're full-blown sprinting laps around the pitch until your legs gave out sending your body tumbling to the grass.

The sun was setting over the stadium in beautiful streaks of pink and orange. You allow the serenity of the afternoon to wash over you. The light breeze cools your sweaty face, and the sound of the flock of birds heading to their nightly resting place does wonders in calming you to the point of slumber.

That's how alexia finds you dead asleep on the damp grass. The captain, being one of the many out on a search for you when you didn't return to the apartment you shared with her. The blonde sat as quietly as she could, the wet grass immediately soaking through her sweatpants, opting to ignore it in favour of looking at your still form.

Alexia noticed how relaxed your posture was she didn't think she'd seen you look this peaceful in a while as your body had been permanently engraved with fatigue the past few weeks. As much as she knew you needed the rest, the captain also knew that your chosen resting place wasn't the most ideal.

As gently as she could, your housemate took you in her arms, shushing you silently when you started to stur until you're completely limp in her arms. She noticed how extremely light you felt and swallowed thickly before you both home and tucking both of you in her bed after getting into both of you in fresh clothes.

The next morning, the spot next to her is empty, cold even signalling that you had been gone for a while. Alexia immediately jumped up in search of you, and as much as it killed her to disturb her teammates again, she pulled up mapi's contact, ready to call her again when she found you nursing the cut up fruit she prepped for you.

"Morning carino"

Alexia frowns when your response to her voice is delayed. The captain was well aware of you running your body to the dirt. First to practice and last to leave. The entire team watched as your vibrant spirit crushed and burned into a hollow shell of the person she used to be. The team, of course tried to intervene, but y/n refused any help choosing to backpack her problems on her own.

In a haste, you quickly ran out with your kit bag, avoiding the inevitable conversation with your captain, leaving a bad feeling in alexia's stomach.

That feeling comes to light when you crash onto the pitch while sprinting for your laps instead of a light jog.The blood curling scream has most of your teammates immediately at your side but their voices all blend into one at the shocking feeling in your knee.

Aitana quickly grabbed jona's and the medics' attention, and they rushed over to the circle, which formed around you, attending to you immediately. While everyone looked on in concerned the medics confirmed your worst nightmare a torn ACL.

You were comfortably sat on a medical table completely catatonic as the doctor explained future proceedings to your captain that she was familiar with before they left you both alone. Alexia sighed heavily before sitting on a stool beside your bed.

"cariño-"

"Ale, please, no, not right now."

"No Y/n this has gotten out of hand, and you're injured. All the extra work you've been killing for is worth nothing in this moment." Alexia knew it was harsh, but you needed the naked truth, and it seems to work when you snap out of your pitiful daze and tears silently stream down your face.

"Please y/n please let me help you."

"I told Lucy how I felt."

"Oh"

Alexia knew of your infatuation with the defender. Given there wasn't a detail about yourself, you wouldn't tell her. She often tried to subtly encourage you to ward off your feelings as she observed the not so sly looks the English defender gave the team number 22. You'd disregard the warnings and the consequences of that, alexia felt like the fault was hers.

Any form of comfort to offer is interrupted by the topic of your affliction. Lucy stood slightly pleading that alexia allowed you both a moment alone, to which the captain obliged with a pat on your hand and Lucy's back before leaving.

"I'm sorry"

"I'm not mad at you"

The older woman couldn't find it in herself to believe you had she observed everything that made you, you slowly decline after your conversation a month ago.

"Listen y/n-."

"No, Lucy. I was willing to give you my love, but you don't want that lucia,so what is it exactly that you want from me."

"Not this! Not for you to foolishly put yourself in danger over some stupid school girl crush!"

You can tell immediately that she regretted her choice of words, but you were also aware that she's completely right. It's just the delivery that stung.

"Y/n I didn't mean-"

"You're absolutely right. I realised that the moment I went down. I was just coming from a bitter place."

Lucy at on the seat, alexia previously occupied and gently took a hand in hers. "Y/n, I wish with everything in me that I could return your feelings, but I just.. I just can't see you as anything else besides a friend. A friend I really don't want to lose."

"I'll be honest, lucy. I don't think I can do that right now. Be friends. Because I honestly can't look at you without feeling like I'm gonna fall apart. I know you don't owe me the privilege of reciprocating my feelings, I can't make you love me, and I just need some time to be OK with that.

Lucy couldn't tell why it felt like a piece of her was being torn away, and she hated the feeling. However, she knew the space was what you both needed in order to come to terms with the scattered feelings. Hesitantly, she takes your hand in between her palms, giving it a light kiss before letting go and standing.

"Until we find each other again?"

"Until then, amiga."

○●○●○●○●○○●○○○○

An: I hope you enjoyed this. The idea was just swimming in my head, and I just had to write it.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #lucy bronze angst #lucy bronze imagine

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #41

#so now this new love interest is becoming more prominent #a while ago after Janice Cord died Tony was wondering if that he had pushed her away because of his heart condition #thinking that it would be wrong to form a relationship like that when he could die at any time #which is the same reason he had pushed away Pepper Potts #was only a ‘hollow excuse’ #now he’s crediting him not wanting to make a commitment to that he’s hiding behind false images #a ‘glossy shell of charisma’ which is used to to hide/downplay his heart injuries to others and his secret identity as Iron Man #and now he’s wondering if it’s possible for him to get out of that shell to form a real relationship #and I have to say that I really like this #it’s these identity issues that have made me so intrigued by this character #and now he’s contemplating dealing with that both of his identities are disguises #also intrigued that this woman believes and is creeped out by that Iron Man is sitting in the room behind them unseen #that she’s ‘seeing the spectre of Iron Man hanging over’ Tony #both that it’s a cool vibe #and that Tony is apparently telling people that Iron Man’s always- or at least often- there just unseen #marvel #tony stark #marianne rodgers #my posts #comic panels

[hellcat8908]

Long Gone Azriel x Female Reader

Warnings: pure angst because I've been in a mood

Shielding your bond had become second nature, not that it really mattered if it was shielded or not. The light of it that once burned bright had been slowly snuffed out, leaving it cold and dark. Azriel had taken on more missions that kept him away for extended periods of time. At first, you had begged him not to go, but he claimed it was his duty. After a while, you realized you were wasting your breath. He'd never choose to stay. You had started sleeping in the guest room when he was away, unable to sleep in your lonely marital bed unless it was one of the few times he was home. He hadn't noticed the toll this was having on you, or if he had, he didn't care.

You were left alone once again after Azriel had rushed out for a mission in Illyria. You stared at the half eaten breakfast he had left behind. Your eyes drifted around the house, noticing how it was just a house, no longer a home to you. It used to be full of love, and now it's just a hollow shell, like you. The thought made you laugh, and the more you dwelled on your life, you couldn't help but laugh harder. You were becoming hysteric, laughter turned to tears quickly as you realized how pathetic your existence has become. You couldn't stop crying, reaching out for Rhys to send Madja.

Moments later the they are both in front of you, "sedate me!" You manage to say between sobs. Madja looks to Rhys questioningly. After he prods your mind, with permission, he gives Madja a nod. She gives you a tonic that will keep you resting for several hours. Your eyes flutter closed as the tonic takes effect. Once Rhys carries you upstairs to bed, he orders Azriel to return home. After some back and forth, Rhys shows him why he needs to come home. Once Azriel returns, Rhys tells him about the state they found you in and Madja sedating you before he leaves the two of you alone.

Azriel stares at you, wondering how it took him this long to realize the pain you're in. Madja said you'd be out for hours. He took the time to really take in how much things had changed. He noticed the bed smelled more like him than you, even though you slept in it more, or so he thought. He took in the puffiness of your eyes from crying. Each sign of pain and distress he failed to notice sooner glared at him. He reaches out to hold your hand but stops, wondering if you'd want him to touch you. He sits there in silence as he dwells on the past several months. When you stopped begging him to stay is when he should've realized what was happening. He thought about how lifeless the bond between you had become.

You started to stir on the bed, bringing Azriel out of his thoughts, "Hey, Angel," he says softly. Your eyes are still tired as you try and focus on him. "Madja gave me the good stuff. it's almost like you're actually here." You mumble before your eyes drift closed again. "It's me, I'm really here." He says as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face. "You're away, you left earlier. Besides, you wouldn't choose me." You mumble before drifting back asleep. He sits in stunned silence at your words. The fact that you'd accept a dream of him being there before him physically being there hurt him deeply. He hadn't given you reason to believe otherwise, though, he thought to himself as he watched you rest.

You wake up later that evening to the smell of dinner. You get out of bed and make your way towards the savory scent, expecting to see someone from the inner circle. You're stunned when you see Azriel cooking with his back to you, you pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. Once you accept that you're awake, you take a few moments to gather yourself. "Dinner is about ready if you want to sit down." Azriel says over his shoulder. "I thought you were in Illyria." You say as you remain where you are. "I was, but you needed me." You let out a laugh, "That's never stopped you before." You say. You watch as he visibly flinches from your words.

He makes a plate for you and sits it at the table before making one for himself. "I can hear your stomach growling from here. Please sit down and eat." He says gently. You hesitantly sit down and take a bite. The chicken is so tender and flavorful as you savor it. A satisfied grin comes over Azriel. You eat in silence as Azriel keeps a watchful eye on you. "How are you feeling?" He asks. "Okay, I guess." You answer. "No lingering drowsiness or headache from the tonic?" He asks. "No." You answer before gathering your dishes and carrying it to the sink.

You wash your dishes and leave them to dry in the rack. "I guess I am still kind of tired. I'm going back to bed." You say before heading upstairs, not giving him a chance to stop you. You decide to sleep in the guest room, unsure of what to make of Azriel cooking you dinner, let alone him being home. You change into knit shorts and a shirt before climbing into bed and trying to get some sleep. You toss and turn for a bit before finally falling back asleep.

Meanwhile, Azriel sits at the table where you left him. He moves his food around with his fork but doesn't have an appetite anymore. He scraped the remaining food fromhis plate into the trash before cleaning his dishes and leaving them yo dry with yours. He sat down on the couch and debated what to do. He didn't know if you wanted him in bed with you or if he should just make himself comfortable on the couch. After a while, he decided to sleep beside you. He made his way upstairs and into the bedroom, which was surprisingly empty.

He checked the bathroom, and still no sign of you. He sent his shadows to search for you while he checked the other rooms and found them empty until he came to the guest room. As soon as he opened the door, he could tell you spent a lot of time in here. It had been redecorated to your liking, and it smelled of your sweet scent. He found you soundly sleeping in the bed. This was your retreat when he was gone. He could tell how much time you spent in this room. He briefly wondered how he could miss all the signs, but then it would be easy if he was hardly ever home.

His shoulders slumped as his mind raced with more questions than answers. Would you want him to stay with you or should he sleep on the couch, would you ever be able to forgive him, if you did would things ever be like they were when you first got together. The more he thought about it, the more overwhelming it became. Finally, he tucked the covers tighter around you and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead before whispering, "Good night, angel." As he turned to leave, he heard you mumble."Love you, Az." His heart stopping at your words before a little spark of hope flickered in his heart. He quietly shut the door before walking downstairs and laying on the couch. He laid there thinking that tomorrow is a new day for a new beginning, and he was determined to fix everything.

#acotar #batboys #acotar fanfic #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar angst #acotar fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #azriel acotar

[guccifrog]

WRONG NUMBER FINAL

matt sturniolo x f!reader

some of y'all bout to be real mad at me :3

y/n's pov

I let out a sigh, as my eyes scanned the ceiling, I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of misery. The cold bed sheets beneath me were like a prison, binding me to the spot, it was then that I realized I had been lying there for days.

The past few days had been like shit for me, that even the simple act of standing up seemed like a difficult task. I couldn't take Matt out of my head. That it was starting to hurt even worse now. I missed him, I missed us. I missed whatever we had going on, I missed his voice, I missed him holding me close to him. I missed everything about him. It was like a piece of my heart had been ripped out, leaving a gaping hole that nothing could ever fill.

God I hate it when I can't get him out of my head. It's like he's become some sort of drug I can't get enough of. every time I close my eyes, all I see is his face. It's been days since I last talked to him, but I just couldn't bring myself to answer his texts. I knew if I did, I'd just end up saying something that'll just regret later.

My head pounded in agony as I sat up, the room spinning wildly around me. I felt nauseous and weak like I could barely stand on my own two feet. I slowly crawled my way to the bathroom, every movement making me wince in pain.

 Once I was in there, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at the poor reflection looking back at me. My eyes were dull and lifeless, my normally pale skin now a sickly shade of gray. My hair was a mess, tangled and greasy from not bothering to wash it for days. I looked like death warmed over. It didn't help that my reflection seemed to mock me. I didn't recognize the person looking back at me anymore. I felt like I was some sort of shadow of my former self,

I stared back at myself. It's not like I was some sort of prize or anything special. He'll get over it, eventually. But the words seemed hollow even to my own ears.

I ran my hands through my hair and took a deep breath trying to calm down, but it seemed to only make things worse. 

I turned away from the mirror, unable to look at myself any longer, climbing back into bed, pulling the covers up over my head, and trying to shut out the world. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the feeling that I was slowly drifting away from everything that had once been familiar and comforting.

It wasn't even that big of a deal, why was I feeling like this? I'll get over it soon, right? It wasn't like it was the end of the world or something. But still, the pain didn't seem to lessen, it felt like someone had carved out my heart and stomped all over it. the truth was, I was scared. Scared that this was how it was going to be from now on.

I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to feel something else. But all I felt was this aching emptiness, that made me feel like I was floating in the void.

 His face kept creeping into my thoughts, his voice echoing in my head. It was like I couldn't escape him, even when I was in the middle of enjoying something else.

My brain refused to process anything else. I couldn't focus on anything else. It was like my entire world had been reduced to just one person, and now that he was gone, there was nothing left. I felt so empty. Like a shell of the person I used to be.

I needed to get out of the house. I needed some fresh air, some time away from everything that reminded me of him. I got up, threw on some clothes, and grabbed my keys. I didn't even bother to brush my teeth or wash my face. I just didn't care anymore.

matt's pov

I sat on my bed, my head pounding because of how much I was overthinking. I shouldn't have rushed things. I knew it the moment I had kissed her. I had been so sure that she felt the same way I did, but I guess I was wrong. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I have to ruin everything by acting on my feelings?

I threw myself back on my bed, the pain in my chest growing more intense with each passing second. What was wrong with me? Why did I always have to screw things up? It wasn't just this, it was everything. I couldn't seem to get anything right. And now I'd probably lost the only person who really understood me. It was like a physical weight pressing down on my chest, making it impossible to breathe.

The hours dragged on as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, replaying everything over and over again in my head. I needed to talk to her, or to hear her voice at least, and to somehow make things better. But how could I do that without making it worse? I didn't want to lose her, but I knew that I had to call her eventually.

With a heavy heart, I reached for my phone, staring at the screen for a moment before dialing her number. Again. And again. And again. But each time, the phone rang and rang without anyone picking up.

 I was beginning to feel like a pathetic loser, calling her over and over when she clearly didn't want to talk to me. I should just accept that I had fucked things up and leave her alone. But I couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, if I called one more time...

My finger hovered above the green "call" button, hesitating for a moment before I finally pressed it, Maybe she'd pick up, and we could talk about what had happened. Maybe we could find a way to make things right again. Or maybe, she'd just hang up on me, and I'd be left here, feeling even more shitty than before.

"hey bitch, I'm probably sleeping or re-watching my little pony or maybe I just don't wanna answer you, just leave a voice message even though I'm not gonna listen to- beep"

Oh. Well, I guess I'd better leave it at that then. I hung up the phone, feeling more miserable than ever. I had hoped that maybe she'd want to talk to me, but I guess not. I sighed, rubbing my eyes tiredly. Maybe I was being too hard on myself. Maybe she just needed some time to process things.

But again, I needed to talk to her, I just couldn't help it. I was sure I'd go insane if I didn't, So, I did the only thing I could think of, I quickly got up, grabbed my jacket and keys, and headed out the door. 

If I wasn't able to talk to her on the phone, then maybe I could just go see her in person. Maybe she'd be more willing to talk to me if I was standing right in front of her.

I drove to her house, my heart pounding in my chest as I passed through familiar streets and landmarks. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. What if she doesn't want to talk? What if her parents answered the door? What if she didn't want to see me at all? The uncertainty was killing me. My brain was a mess, trying to think of every possible outcome, every possible scenario.

I decided to stop at a flower shop along the way and buy her a bouquet, just in case. I wanted to look like I was just bringing her flowers as a friend, not like I was some desperate ex-boyfriend. I didn't want to make things any more awkward than they already were.

As I pulled up to her house, my heart was racing, my palms sweaty. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, and then stepped out of the car, making my way up to the front door. 

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just turn around and leave. But it was too late for second-guessing now. With a deep breath, I lifted my hand to knock on the door. 

No answer. I knocked again, a little louder this time. Maybe she was in the backyard or something. Maybe she was just taking a moment to herself. I tried the door, but it was locked. I knocked again, this time a little more frantically.

Nothing. There was still no response. I knocked one more time, just to be sure, but the silence that followed only made my heart sink further. With a heavy sigh, I leaned against the door, feeling like an idiot for even coming here. What had I been thinking? That she'd just open the door and invite me in like everything was okay?

I looked down at the bouquet of pink tulips in my hand, feeling ridiculous for even bringing them. Maybe I should just leave them here on the porch and leave, but something held me back. I couldn't just walk away without at least trying to talk to her. With a deep breath, I took out my phone and dialed her number, hoping she would pick up this time. After what felt like an eternity, it rang...and rang...and rang. No answer.

"Excuse me ?" 

I looked up from my phone, startled by the voice. Standing in the driveway was an old woman, probably in her late seventies or early eighties. She was wearing a floral housecoat and a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Um, hi," I said, a little sheepishly. "I was looking for...um, is y/n here?"

The old woman looked at me with confusion, before widening her eyes in realization" You mean the young lady who lived here? Oh dear, she would usually greet me every day but I haven't seen or heard of her in days, I'm assuming she moved out"

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. No, that couldn't be it.  

"You must be her...friend?" Her voice trailed off, her expression gentle and sympathetic.

"Um, yeah," I replied, my throat feeling tight. "I mean, I was"

The old woman must have sensed my discomfort because she put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Don't you worry, dear. Sometimes people need time to themselves, and they find it in the most unexpected places. You never know, she might just be around the corner, waiting for you to find her."

Her words were meant to comfort me, but they only seemed to make things worse. I wanted to believe her, I really did. But the feeling in my gut told me something different. It told me that I might have lost her, and that this time, it might be for good.

With a heavy sigh, I thanked the old woman and made my way back to my car. As I drove away, my eyes stung with tears.

I tried to distract myself with music, and the scenery around me, but it was no use. The image of her face, the way she looked at me when we were together, it was burned into my memory.

Maybe this is a sign, that I need to move on. To accept that whatever we had going on was over and focus on my own life. But how could I possibly do that when all I could think about is the way she used to laugh at my jokes, the way she would pout and frown her eyebrows playfully every time I teased her. Those memories are engraved into my brain, and I don't think they'll ever fade.

 I didn't want to let go. I didn't want to forget about her. But what choice did I have? Could I keep living this way, constantly thinking about what could have been, and what might never be again? I couldn't. I had to find a way to move on.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts, debating whether to delete her name or keep her in my life like a constant reminder of what I'd lost. In the end, I decided that if I wanted to truly move on, I needed to let her go. So I deleted her number, her email address, and even blocked her social media accounts.

I had to accept the fact that it was over and move on. It was the only way I could possibly heal. Even If I cared- no, loved her with all my heart, there was no point in holding on to something that wasn't there anymore. I needed to let go and find peace.

 It was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was one I knew I had to choke down.

the end

jkjk 😆

2 years later

y/n's pov

"Hey! Stop" I yelled as I watched my dog, pepper, run with my phone between her teeth. She darted around a corner, out of my sight. I sighed, running after her, just as she disappeared around another corner. 

"Pepper, come back!" I called, beginning to lose patience. I turned the corner and saw her sitting in front of our front door, her tail wagging excitedly, I breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to her, bending down to pick her up. "That's a good girl," I cooed, kissing her head. As I stood back up, I glanced down just to find my phone shattered into a million pieces on the ground.

 "Oh no," I muttered, "I guess that's the end of that." I sighed, knowing I'd have to save up for a new phone now. I picked up the pieces of my phone and stuffed them in my pocket, then reached for the doorknob, and entered my house.

I needed to tell my mom, or else she'd get worried. I knew she had an old phone lying around somewhere. I went to her room and started searching through her drawers, looking for the phone.

 After a few minutes of digging, I finally found it, buried under a pile of old magazines and makeup. I smiled to myself, feeling relieved that I had found it. I quickly grabbed the phone and went back to my room, shutting the door behind me.

As I sat down on my bed, I inspected the phone more closely and realized that It was my old phone, the one I had before I got my current one. I powered it on, relieved to see that it was still working. 

Luckily I didn't have a password set up on my old phone, so I was able to use it right away. I immediately went to check my contacts only to find that all contacts I had were just numbers now. 

I didn't recognize any of them. "How did this happen?" I wondered out loud, as I dug through the rest of the phone, looking for any clue as to who these people were or how I had gotten their numbers. After a while, I came across a number that looked exactly like my mom's. "That must be it," I thought to myself, before clicking the message icon and started typing.

THE END ☆

HEY OML U MADE IT TO THE END OF YHE STORY 🤩🤩🤩🤩💯💯💯 but anyways I just wanna thank u all for sticking around (corny ass zay) I'm so so So so grateful for all of the support y'all gave me to continue this shitty ahh series it really makes my day everytime I read u guys's comments I love u all fr muaaah 💕

taglist ☆

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#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #chris sturniolo x y/n #lets trip tour #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo texts #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo texts #let's trip #fresh love