#and two of them are rolling around on the ground in depression while the third is just

[three-penguins-in-a-trench-coat]

What if the Stardew Valley Farmer got a Trainee?

Okay, imagine: Depressed teen, third year of uni/college in Zuzu city doing biology and looking for an internship somewhere remote so they can get out of the city and see the world. Lo and behold, one day, someone responds to their ad. With a letter. It just appeared on their desk one day, right out of the blue.

Hi there! I heard you were looking for work somewhere remote so you could continue working on your biology degree. Well, I run a farm in a little place called Stardew Valley and I could certainly use some help. There will be plenty of opportunities to survey the natural wildlife that live around me, and the people of Pelican Town would love to see a new face!

If you would like to accept this offer, please sign your name down the bottom of this letter and send it to the address written on the back.

Kind regards,

ᛏᚻᛖ ᚠᚪᚱᛘᛖᚱ

Two days later, they find themselves on a bus headed into the countryside, carrying nothing but a bag of clothes and a toothbrush. Following the instructions that came in the follow-up letter, they arrive at a little cottage sitting in the middle of a giant paddock. There is no one around. Upon knocking on the door, there is no answer. The wind howls in the distance, but it sounds almost... alive. They sit there for a while, outside the cottage, too nervous to explore.

It was getting late, and they were about to get up and leave, but then suddenly, there's a massive BANG, jolting them from their stupor. And standing there coughing and spluttering, covered in slime and guts, holding a glowing sword and toting a bulging backpack is the farmer. They look down to see the kid sitting on their ass looking up at them with a bewildered gaze.

"Oh shit... you're arriving today. I'm sorry, this is really not a good first impression." Stretching out a slimy hand, he pulled the kid off the ground. "Hi, I'm the Farmer. Let's get you settled in." The Farmer's house was quite eclectic, with little trinkets scattered everywhere and a mismatched collection of artwork lining the walls, with windows squished between them in the most random of places. Throwing his bag on the table, they could just see the faint glow of a deep purple ore sticking out of it. "I-uh, haven't got much set up yet." the Farmer said "We'll get you a bed later, but for now, you can roll out a sleeping bag on the living room floor. I need a new house upgrade anyway, so you'll be fixed up with your own room soon anyways."

They didn't know what to think of everything so far, but hey, at least it would be interesting.

The next day, they were woken up at 6am to see the Farmer staring directly at them. "Rise and shine kid! The suns up and it's time to grind!" Ten very messy minutes and one pot of coffee later, they were outside in the cold, shivering in the one pair of pants they brought. The only sound they could hear was the quiet hiss of the sprinklers watering the multitudes of strawberry plants. They just seemed to go on forever, an army of green and red.

The Farmer - who seemed positively cheery - clapped their hands and strode towards a rows of coops and barns on the right. Upon opening the first door, a torrent of chickens fled out, including one that was bright blue. Moving on to the next coop, they opened it to find a duck, 2 rabbits and a giant lizard waiting for them. It was so large, it could barely fit through the doors to get out. Upon being released, it immediately raced past the poor kid to go chase a butterfly. When it caught it, it pinned it to the ground with it's foot and proceeded to fucking torch it with a burst of fire from it's mouth.

The farmer gave it a little pat on the head, and it trotted away proudly with it's crispy prize. "That's Bill. I'm sure you'll love her." They said. The barn didn't have any unholy creations, just some cows. They never thought they would be so happy to just see some cows.

For a few days, they worked on the farm, feeding the animals, planting and harvesting crops, avoiding the lizard from hell, and in their spare time, trying to actually study and complete assignments. On a rainy Friday, they walked into town to pick up some seeds and meet the people. Pierre was nice enough, but was distracted trying to sell the Farmer as many seeds as possible. They went to the Saloon for the evening, and they watched in confusion as the Farmer walked around the room handing out gifts to everyone in there. A bowl of spaghetti for a lady, who promptly stopped dancing with her husband to chow down on it. There were three people their age playing pool, and they could only classify them as the adventurous one, the emo and the puppy dog they adopted. Sam honestly just seemed to bounce around and have a good time. They were all given shiny gemstones and pizza, which they loved. It was very interesting to see everyone individually greet the farmer and get given a trinket or piece of food.

For a few weeks everything was calm, with mild weather and good spirits, they explored the world of Stardew Valley. There was wildlife (slightly toasted wildlife in some instances) surrounding them on all sides, but the people of Stardew interested them more. On the other side of town, a small museum sat only half-full with items, and upon asking around, they found out the Farmer had been providing all of the exhibits.

The beach was nice, if not cold. But Elliot was always up for a chat when they visited, and they found they both loved watching the ocean. Leah had some interesting sculptures, and knew where all the best spots were in the forest to view the wildlife.

And the Farmer. Well, they didn't know what to make of the Farmer. Some days, they were the life of the party, floating around handing out gifts as if they were Santa Claus. And other days, they just weren't there. They left at the crack of dawn, holding that strange glowing sword. They wanted to find out what happened on those days, but the Farmer never talked about it, so they never asked.

One day, they woke up to see the Farmer staring over their bed. Again. "Time to get up. We're going to the mines." "I'm sorry, what?" they asked. The only answer they got was a sword thrown on their blanket.

An hour later, they stood inside the entrance of the old mines in the pouring rain. They had taken the rickety minecart system, and they felt like they were going to throw up. "Here, eat this." The Farmer said, throwing them a piece of glowing rock candy. Why was everything always glowing? They ate it anyway, and felt a surging rush of energy. They felt like they could take on the world. And then, they were in a rickety old elevator, shooting down, fast, into the earth. The Farmer stood next to them, sword raised. "Get ready." The Farmer said. They raised their sword as well, very afraid.

The doors clicked open, and the Farmer bolted out. From out of their pack, they threw a bomb at a nearby cluster of rocks, which instantly exploded in a cloud of dust, leaving a small pile of gemstones. The Farmer didn't even stop to inspect what was left. They just kept running towards the next cluster. They stood there dumbstruck, watching the farmer sprint their heart out through this cave. They then heard a small noise, and as if they had materialized out of the walls, a small man shrouded in shadow was upon them!

They lashed out in fear with their sword, but the shadow man was faster, dodging neatly out of the way. They stepped backwards, into the elevator, sword raised. The shadowy creature lunged at him and- it exploded in an instant. From the other side of the cave, the Farmer held a sling in their hand, and it was aimed where the shadow person had been. "Keep moving if you want to stay alive!" the Farmer shouted.

Eventually, they completed ran out of stone to blow up, and they gathered up all the gemstones and other items. They sighed in relief, thinking it was over, until the Farmer pointed to a nearby ladder, going deeper into the Earth.

They emerged several hours later, covered head to toe in dust and monster guts. But their backpacks were full of materials. After a long shower, they flopped on the couch.

"Is that what you've been doing all this time?" they asked the Farmer. "No, actually." they responded "that was actually a warm up. There's a much more dangerous place in the desert I usually go. That was a warmup, so I wouldn't throw you in the deep end." The poor thought they might kill themselves at this point.

They did a few more trips to the mines over the coming weeks, and they did get better at fighting monsters. When they walked into town, they were treated with a new respect by the townspeople. They felt more confident, but the Farmer still came up with new ways to terrify them. The mines were nothing compared to the sheer chaos of the Skull Caverns.

During the Winter, the Farmer decided to dedicate an entire week to investigating the deep caves there. They called it "The Skull Caverns Dive." This was when the Farmer introduced them to magic. In preparation for the week, the Farmer showed them how to use a warp totem in case of emergencies. It was a very disorienting experience, but it was fast.

When the week begun, they thought they were prepared for anything. By day two, they bore bruises and scars across their body, compliments of the monsters of the Caverns. They watched in awe and fear as the Farmer turned into an absolute demon, storming through the caverns like a wrath of nature, destroying everything in their path. By the final day, even the Farmer was tiring, but the monsters never stopped coming. At one point, a flying serpent raced into the Farmer, who went sprawling into the ground. The serpent turned around and went for another pass, racing towards the Farmer. The serpent was fast, but they were faster. Slicing through the serpent with the borrowed sword, they dragged the Farmer to their feet and activated the emergency warp totem, sending them back home. They both crawled into their beds and slept well into the next day.

Eventually, the year was up, and they had to return to Zuzu city. They were still doing a degree, and it was time to head back to complete it. Most of the town came out to say goodbye, and more than one of them had tears in their eyes. Right as they were about to leave, the Farmer came up to them. They pushed a small package into their arms. "This is a reminder of your time here. You can return whenever you want, you know. There will always be a place for you in Stardew Valley."

On the bus ride home, they opened it to see a dagger, pulsing with energy, along with a small scabbard. They tied it to their belt, and swore never to part with it.

When they returned to live at college, everyone gave them a newfound respect. Perhaps it was the way they walked, or the knife strapped to their belt. People could just feel the danger radiating off them. Their old friends hadn't changed too much, and while it was nice to see them all again, it wasn't the same. No monsters to fight, no fire breathing lizards to feed, no monumental harvests and re-plantings.

When they graduated, the swore to return. Because there was something special about Stardew Valley, and now because it was home.

#stardew valley #stardew #sdv #stardew au #sdv au #stardew valley au #sdv farmer #stardew farmer #writeblr #writers of tumblr #story idea #storytelling #short story #short stories

[therainscene]

I’ve been rolling the Mike thinks Will is in love with El theory around in my head some more. I like it, but it’s not without its flaws.

One especially damning counter-argument a few folks have brought up is that Mike heard Will refer to himself as El’s brother at the police station:

Will’s line contrasts Jonathan’s earlier “I’m her brother... uh, step-brother...”, indicating that Will has fully embraced her as family where Jon doesn’t quite see her that way yet.

It’s a great point. The only justification I’ve seen for it is that Mike wasn’t put off from kissing El after he’d already implied he wanted to be her brother... but that doesn’t wash with me. Just because he had no idea how to reconcile his feelings with heteronormative expectations at 12 doesn’t mean he's still clueless at 15.

So let’s give him some credit and try a different angle: When we step outside of the Byers POV, Will’s line is actually quite ambiguous.

The unsympathetic receptionist refused to let them see El on the grounds they weren’t a parent or legal guardian, so Will jumped in with an argument he hoped would win her over: we’re her legal next of kin. He’s just saying whatever he thinks will grant them access to El -- there’s no reason it has to be reflective of his true feelings.

After all, it’s not as though Will “be gay do crime” Byers has any qualms about being dishonest with authorities when it suits him.

Mike was present for both of the above moments, so he definitely knows this about Will. And this is only one piece of evidence amongst many -- the rest of it is undeniably suggesting that Will’s in love with one half of Milevn:

Will’s been acting weird in a likes-someone way around El;

Will sulked at Rink-o-Mania over getting third-wheeled by Milevn and rarely took his eyes off El;

Will is always eager to talk about El and brings her up in conversations with Mike more than Mike does;

Will hinted that he was hiding an uncomfortable secret from Mike in the scrapyard heart-to-heart;

Will is the more trustworthy party in the “maybe it is for [someone he likes]”/“El commissioned it” painting lie conflict;

Will was on the verge of tears the whole time he was pushing Mike back into El’s arms in the van and the pizzeria.

It’s obvious to the audience what conclusion to draw here because we had the benefit of seeing it all through Will’s sad gay puppy eyes...

...But Mike is forced to assess the evidence through his own biased POV.

This kid has severe self-worth issues, which are tied up in his feelings for El, which are in turn tied up in heteronormativity. It’s also been hinted that he has depression -- messy room, slipping grades, parallels with Max -- an illness that’s notorious for twisting your thought processes into the most pessimistic directions possible.

So while Mike may very well suspect the truth, I’m not sure he’s in the right headspace to accept it. There’s a good chance he’s torn between the two interpretations:

Will likes El: Mike is forced to choose between making Will happy vs. holding on to the one thing that makes him feel like he has value. But he can tell that El doesn’t need him anymore, and he couldn’t live with himself if he hurt Will... after all, aren’t a straight boy’s feelings more important than some pathetic queer who’s lying to himself?

Will likes Mike: Mike gets to make Will happy and he gets to make himself happy. Letting go of El might be difficult, but he knows she’ll be fine without him, and Will has already proven that his unbridled love can help Mike see his inherent self-worth -- a much healthier approach than tying his self-worth up in being someone’s boyfriend.

The first interpretation reinforces Mike’s heteronormative beliefs and ensures he continues to feel worthless, whereas the second allows him to feel hope that things can get better.

Which interpretation would a depressed brain find more appealing? Or, more to the point, since Stranger Things tends to explore these struggles through metaphor--

--which interpretation would give Mr. Everyone-is-Just-Waiting-For-it-All-To-Be-Over an opportunity to break through Mike’s defenses?

#stranger things #willelmike #byler #willel #elmike #mike wheeler #will byers #el hopper #my analysis

[omnidemidisaster]

⚠️Huge mf tw⚠️

Hatzgang x depressed reader ( hurt comfort )/(angst to fluff)

I've been hella depressed lately and fanfiction is alot cheaper then therapy. If you or a loved one has depression and/or suicidal thoughts, please go get help as soon as you can. Even if you don't think you have a place in this world, someone knows otherwise.

TW/CW: Depression, suicide references ( no suicide but it plays in the story ), implied eating disorder.

"Help me"

"Cmon dude! You know that the third movie is the best one!" Robert's voiced echoed while stepping into Ross's bedroom. The hatzgang and you had just gotten out of school and decided to go to Ross's place to do homework and hang out.

"Nuh uh! First is the best!" Roy argued back with Robert, dropping his back pack on the ground. Ross rolled his eyes at their childish attitudes. He turned to you, smiling so innocently.

"So, wanna get started on math?" Ross asked. You nodded, smiling as best you could. Ross sat you down on the bed, him sitting across from you. Robert was already starting his work while Roy had to call his mom.

It was quiet, pleasant, and comfortable. The sound of pencil scratching paper, humming and page turning filled the room.

Even though the atmosphere was comforting, you had too many things in your mind. Overthinking and negative thoughts pounded in your head. A voice whispered in your ear constantly. Whispering things like

"You shouldn't be happy"

"Look at them, they wouldn't suffer if you were gone"

"Your nothing. Meaningless. You aren't special"

"If you died, no one would miss you"

"If you died, no one would miss you"

"If you died, no one would miss you"

You tried to ignore those thoughts, but they wouldn't go away. You ended up finishing your homework quickly, laying back and trying to think of something else.

After a while, the boys finished and moved onto playing video games and talking. Robert was alot more...attentive to you this time around. He noticed you were stressing about something but he couldn't put a finger on it.

You eventually began to drift off to sleep while laying on Ross's bed.

While the boys were playing, Robert noticed your homework was still out. "Hold on guys. Ima go put (Y/n's) homework away real quick" He said.

He grabbed the paper and went to go put it in your folder when he noticed something. He saw a note. Curiousity told him to read it, so he did.

The more he read, the more horrified he became.

It was a suicide letter for when you felt "ready". He couldn't believe his eyes. He knew you were stressed but...this?

"Yo? Robert? Whats taking you?" Roy spat out. His voice was nearly tuned out. "Uhm..Roy...Ross...Get over here.." Robert was shaking, trembling even. Confused, Roy and Ross walked to him, seeing a terrified Robert holding onto a piece of paper.

Ross grabbed the paper and put it between him and Roy and began to read. Ross and Roy read the note, getting alot more disturbed after reading it.

"Oh my god..."

Robert ran to your sleeping body, shaking it. "(Y/n)! (Y/n) wake up!" Robert yelled. Roy backed up into Ross's wall, clutching his mouth in shock.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes. You looked up to see Robert who looked like he was about to cry. "Robert...? What's going on?" You sleepily asked.

Ross walked to the two of you and held up the paper. It took you a second to process it, but once you figured it out, you went pale.

"How...how did you find that..." You asked. "I went to put your homework away and I saw it..." Robert explained. "(Y/n). Is this how you really feel?" Ross asked. You were too scared to say anything, but you slowly nodded.

Robert instantly pulled you in a hug. He began to sob hard on your shoulder. Ross pulled you in for a hug as well.

Roy refused to leave the wall he put himself against. He felt so many emotions. Confusion, worry, and for some reason anger. He wasn't angry at your feelings. Not at all. But he was angry that this feeling was eating you alive.

He was angry you never told them. He was angry you even felt this way. He was angry that he didn't try to tune in more often. He was angry at himself because he could of done something.

Roy slide along the wall and sat on the floor, covering his whole face instead.

You just noticed Roy now on the floor, covering himself in this little ball he made himself as. "Roy?" You called out to him, your voice a little shaken. Roy refused to look up.

Ross and Robert looked down at him, full of sympathy. Ross, however, was conflicted. He wanted to comfort both parties, but he knows he can't at the same time.

So which is it? Comfort your potentially suicidal friend who may or may not have planned to leave today, or comfort your friend who has dealt with depression before and PTSD is getting to him, along with other feelings?

Robert noticed Ross's internal struggle and put his hand on Ross's shoulder. "Go comfort Roy, I can take care of (Y/n) from here" He said. Ross opened his mouth to say something, but was immediately silenced.

"Ey ey, no. Just go find out what's troubling him. I promise we will still be here when you get back" Ross nodded, defeated. While Ross sat next to Roy to figure out what was up, you still had Robert right next to you.

"So..about this note...Are you...Are you suicidal?" Robert asked, holding your hands in his own. "W-What? No...I wrote that a long time ago" You tried to lie to him. Robert instantly knew that was a lie. He has looked in that folder plenty of times to put homework away.

"But I've seen your folder without it before today. I put your homework away all the time and I haven't seen it before" He explained. You looked down, ashamed.

"You know, if your going to lie, don't have evidence against you....Well I can't say that for this situation huh?" You laughed a little, tears still coming down your cheeks. Robert put his hand against your cheek, wiping the tear on your face.

"So...how long have you felt this way?" He asked, getting closer to you to hold you. You looked down at your hands. "A long time. Maybe since I was 10?" You said. Robert nodded, rubbing your back.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Robert asked. You tried to find the right words to say. "I don't know...I just didn't want to be a bother on you or Ross or Roy...You all seem so happy and I dont want to ruin it just because of my stupid emotions"

Robert made you face him. "In no way are your emotions stupid. Your feelings matter just as much as ours. You telling us something as serious as this would never ruin us. We will be concerned, we will be worried, hell we might be scared. But we will never be mad or upset at you. Do you understand"

You nodded, a little anxious at his sudden lecture and louder tone. Robert noticed you looking a little frightened and backed away.

"I'm sorry for getting all worked up. It's just we are concerned for you. We love you and we hate seeing you like this" You smiled at him. You smiled without any force or doubt.

Ross popped up behind Robert, Roy now joining you all.

"Sorry I wasn't here for a while. Roy needed some help himself" Ross explained. Robert moved himself aside, pulling you with him. Roy and Ross sat on the empty spaces on the bed.

Ross looked at Roy, nudging his head in your direction. Roy leaned over and hugged you tightly. Your eyes welled up again, returning the hug from the shorter boy.

Roy pulled away once he started to hear you crying, continuing to holding your arms. "H-Hey, don't cry..." Roy wasn't the best at comforting, everyone knew that. But it wasn't like he wouldn't try.

"Please don't cry..." Ross stood up. "I'm going to get us food. (Y/n), what do you want?" Ross asked. You shrugged. "Not hungry"

Ross looked at you with a doubtful expression. "Yea, not buying that. I know you haven't eaten since...I don't remember.." Robert looked at you. "When was the last time you ate?" He asked.

"Wednesday, we had left overs...I didn't want to eat" Roy and Robert had the same expression of worry.

"Yeah, your gonna eat something. Give me some time and I'll make you something" Ross said, not skipping a beat.

He walked out the room, leaving Roy, Robert, and you. "Are you telling us you don't even eat?" Roy asked, unintentionally getting louder. Silence. "But why?" Robert asked.

"Why should I?" You mumbled out. Roy's hands moved to your shoulders. "Because we want you here." He said, sternly. "But are you being honest?"

"(Y/n), I am being as honest and transparent as I have ever been. We want you here. I want you here. If you weren't here, none of us would be the same"

Robert was internally surprised. He had never seen Roy in such a passionate and caring state...in his own way.

"Why do you even care? You are a bully, why do you suddenly care so much now?"

Roy snapped and blurted out. "ITS BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, ALRIGHT?! I love you so much and FUCK it hurts ME seeing YOU in pain"

Roy instantly put his hands back to his mouth after he yelled. Robert chuckled. "Finally got that out, huh?" Roy looked away in embarrassment.

"Roy, it's okay. I love you too" You reassured, putting your hand on his shoulder. Roy looked up at you, his glossy eyes meeting yours. "If anything, I love all of you dearly. I would do anything to see you three happy"

Roy blushed, looking back down. "Then don't leave us. If you would do anything to see us happy, then please...don't go..."

Your heart ached at that. Roy sounded like his walls were crashing down on him. "Please..." His pleads sounded desperate, like he was about to break at any moment.

You looked at him. He was clutching your arm that was on his shoulder, he was blushing and ready to cry, he refused to look at you. You didn't want to see him like this, you didn't want to see any of your favorite boys like this.

"I...I won't go. I won't leave. You three are too precious to leave behind" You said. Robert suddenly hugged you from behind, his cheek rested on the back of your head.

"Good, we don't want you to leave" Robert mumbled. Roy sat up and went back in to hug you. Just then the door opened, Ross seeing you being hugged by Robert and Roy. Ross didn't ask questions, didn't say anything. He just walked up and hugged you as well.

It was...crowded to say the least. But hey, they can't help it. They care too much for you.

After a few seconds, the three boys pulled away from the hug, yet they still held onto you in one way or another.

"I just came in to say foods ready" Ross said. "Cmon, you don't want it to get cold" You looked up at Ross and smiled.

"Alright!"

#x reader #spooky month #spooky month ross #hatzgang #spooky month robert #spooky month ross x reader #spooky month roy #spooky month robert x reader #spooky month roy x reader #can i order an espresso with heavy despresso

[maccreadysbaby]

Chapter Two: Fro-Yo-Smirks-A-Lot

featured characters: tommy (oc), drummer boy, deacon, glory

word count: 2,294

full chapter guide

—

Tommy and Drummer Boy laughed hysterically as she popped open her… third beer? Fifth beer? Lightweight. They were on the roof of the Old North Church, a place they utilized many times to get away from the rest of HQ. They were the two youngest ones there, standing at nineteen and twenty-three, and being around all the adult workaholics was often depressing. Tommy wasn’t much for drinking, but she wasn’t much for living in Nate’s shadow, either, and she needed something to take him off her mind.

"Okay, okay, my turn," She stated, taking a swig of the bitter liquid. They were laying shoulder-to-shoulder on the old shingles, a crate of beer sitting above their heads. Her police hat was laying on her chest.  The sunset was turning everything gold just like the sunrise had. "If you could be one wasteland creature, what would you be?"

Drummer Boy scoffed. "Easy. A radscorpion.”

Tommy wrinkled her nose. "Why?"

"Because they're rad,"

Tommy brought a hand to her mouth, blowing raspberries with her lips before she finally busted into loud, obnoxious laughter. Drummer Boy dissolved into giggles, too. She whacked his arm repeatedly while laugh-induced tears collected at her eyelids.

"If… if you could... if you joined the Brotherhood of Steel, what would you learn first?" He asked through his chuckles, drinking out of his own bottle. 

Tommy hummed, tapping her fingernail against the brown glass. "How they pee in those suits.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I always figured there was a hole."

Tommy snorted. "A hole? No way. A dude would be totally obliterated if he got shot in the wee." She explained, the drinks making it exceptionally difficult for either of them to keep their words in their heads.

"A hole that closes, obviously,"

Tommy began to giggle again. "It's like... it's like... like a gas cap on an old car!”

They fell back into hysterics. It was hard for Tommy to breathe, she was laughing so hard. A sober brain shouldn't even be imagining Brotherhood of Steel nerds peeing out of a gas cap in their power armor.

After they quieted, Drummer Boy continued: "If you could go back in time and do something, what would you do?" 

Wasn't it her turn? She didn't know and neither did he.

"Be a better agent," She responded, lifting her bottle to her lips again. Drummer Boy glanced over at her, creasing his brows.

"What are you talking about? You're a good agent. Real good,"

"If I was real good, Des wouldn't have replaced me with mister fro-yo-smirks-a-lot,"

As Drummer Boy drunkenly connected the dots, he ran a hand across his face. "Oh God, this again."

"I'm serious!" She exclaimed, flinging her hand to the side and knocking over her almost empty bottle. It rolled down the roof and shattered on the pavement below. "He's been here, what, three months? Four? And he's the savior of the Railroad. I've been here three years, but no, send the new guy. Makes sense."

"You're not-"

"Hold on, I'm not finished," She stated, grabbing an empty bottle from above her head and laying it beside her, watching it roll down the shingles and disappear toward the ground below. "Desdemona still gives Glory a ton of jobs, even with Nate here. Deacon, too, when he isn't doing whatever it is that he does. They get to go kill stuff and clear out areas... but no. Now all Tommy gets to do is move the stuff and pat synths on the back scribble names off the chalkboard!" She put on her best Desdemona voice and cleared her throat. "Tommy, go give H2 therapy! Tommy, check PAM's systems! Tommy, do all the things Nate should be doing but isn't because he's too busy being my favorite agent in the entire HQ!"

"Tommy-"

"I am just as capable as that... that stupid snowman! I've cleared out raider camps all by myself, I've wiped out groups of Mutants!"

He sighed. "To be fair-"

"I just... I don't... I don't know what happened," She explained, eyes suddenly watering with drunken tears. "Nate came and Des forgot about me. Wasn’t good enough for my parents to keep me around, wasn’t good enough for anyone in Diamond City to want me, not good enough to get decent jobs from my boss. Why am I not good enough anymore?"

Drummer Boy took a swig. "You’re a depressing drunk.”

Tommy humphed. "At least I don't want to be a radscorpion.”

He shook his head at her, and after a few moments of tense silence, they eased back into their questions.

"Alright, kids, party's over,"

Tommy jolted awake when she heard a familiar voice ring through her head. Her brain was hazy and her memory was fading. When did she fall asleep? 

Drummer Boy seemed better off than she was. While he was able to walk back to HQ, their savior, Deacon, nearly had to carry Tommy. She had an arm thrown around his neck, and his around her waist, and she still managed to stumble around as they walked through the Sanctuary of Old North Church. And she wasn’t happy about it. She didn’t like Deacon much when she was sober, but drunk, she definitely didn’t like him. But she wasn’t exactly in the rightest of minds, and if he let go of her, she’d faceplant.

"Your boyfriend is... is stupid, Deacon. I don't like him," She slurred. She almost fell over a pew as they approached the stairs that lead to HQ.

"My what?" The older agent snapped back.

"King Nathaniel, savior of the Railroad, leader of the entire world, friend to all, enemy to none-"

"Oh, God," Deacon muttered to himself. 

"Who... who knows?" She continued, not making much sense to herself or anyone else. "Nobody kn...ows anything about you. Except that you’re weird. Doesn't matter if you're... if you're straight or sideways or upside down, I'm sure Mister frozen-corndog-dinner could seduce anyone in his..." She struggled to finish the sentence because she couldn't find the word she was searching for. "Because he's so amazing. Nate's sooooo amazing."

"Are you sure he isn’t your type?" Deacon suggested. Tommy was so unstable on her feet that he had to drag her down the stairs. She was fighting him somewhere in mer mind but for some reason, wasn’t in the physical.

"I would kill myself," She concluded. Drummer Boy was behind them, giggling at the conversation. Deacon stayed silent, choosing not to further provoke the intoxicated girl.

"Seriously, though, why does Des like Nate soooo much?" Tommy continued. "Are they... like... hooking up or something?"

Deacon shook his head, though not totally dismissing the idea. He took them down into the agent's sleeping quarters and laid Tommy on a sleeping bag.

She meant to keep talking, determined to get some sort of answer out of Deacon, as him why he was so weird, but she couldn't fight the sleepiness that came as he tucked her in and turned off the lamp beside her.

—

Tommy peeled her eyes open. She was laying on top of a sleeping bag in the small bunk of HQ, and... oh God. That meant Desdemona saw her... drunk. The light stung at her eyes and made her head throb. She couldn’t remember a single thing from the night before.

Pulling herself into a sitting position, she noticed the slumped figure of Drummer Boy laying on a sleeping back behind her. He was totally out of it. They were going to get an earful. And with the run at eight tonight? Des was going to chew them up and spit them out. What time was it? How did they find their way back into HQ drunk? 

But before she could even stand: "Welcome back to the land of the living. I was so tired of coming up with lies to keep Des offa' you."

She glanced up, and Deacon was standing in the doorway in his usual white t-shirt and jeans, holding a purified water down toward her. She took it hesitantly.

"Deacon," She greeted with a small nod. She didn't remember him from the night before, but she assumed he'd been involved to some extent since he was covering for them. Or maybe he was on a good-guy streak. “You get us off the roof last night?”

He shrugged. “More or less. Des was looking for Drummer Boy, I thought it would be best if she didn’t find you guys passed out on the roof with an entire crate of empty beer bottles.

She furrowed her brow. “We drank the whole thing?”

"Oh, how I miss being a teenager," He mused. She wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not. It was quite rare for him to do so, but hey, if everyone thinks you're lying, why not tell the truth? It was confusing and it made her headache worse.

"Hey, I’m turning twenty in, like, a week," She defended, taking a sip of the cool liquid. He didn't reply, so she continued. "Why aren't you… with Nate?"

"You mean my boyfriend?"

Her eyes widened, and she nearly spat her water all over the place. "Huh?!"

"That's what you called him last night," Deacon continued. "He's off doing whatever he does. Took that kid Preston with him."

"Oh, man." She exhaled, allowing her false shock to fade. "Sorry. I know it hurts to be an obvious second choice.” Her voice was laced with venom towards the Vault Dweller, but it was a hit or Miss whether Deacon picked up on it.

“We both know there’s at least one person in this HQ that would pick you first for everything. Well, maybe not a shootout, but you get what I’m saying,”

Tommy snorted, glancing over at Drummer Boy, who was still sleeping. His hat was sitting above his head, revealing his shaggy dirty-blonde hair. It reminded Tommy to grab the police cap off of the floor next to her and shove it over her messy waves.

"He has good taste in women," She stated simply, taking a sip of water.

Deacon smirked, leaning up against the doorframe. Tommy hated to admit it, but she didn’t mind talking to him then. It might not have been genuine, but it wasn’t unenjoyable.

Night came faster than anyone wanted it to.

Drummer Boy and Tommy had come out of their hangovers quickly, which Desdemona had yet to learn about. Tommy was fairly curious what Deacon told her they were doing — and somewhat worried, because he could’ve told her anything. And Tommy was at the mercy of whatever he said, because she wasn’t about to tell Des the truth.

Tommy, Drummer Boy, Glory, and a few other agents were standing outside a subway station near the HQ. They had a Brahmin piled with supplies, disguised as a Caravan. Deacon's idea.

"Okay. I sent some scouts in before you to clean out the place as best they could. They left railsigns on the walls to show you the directions. I'm going to give you a roughly sketched map. It took the scouts three and a half hours to get to each safehouse and back, so with the supplies, it might take you four, four and a half," He explained. Tommy watched him speak and wave the map around. He was very good at his job. She had her ruck on again, shotgun in her hand and sniper hanging off her bag. The 10mm was still attached faithfully to her hip.

"You’ll have to come out of the tunnels and cross a bridge to get to Ticon. It's been marked and cleared, but we never know what else will show up. Both safehouses are aware of your arrival and have security outside to spot you. Good luck,"

Glory stepped forward and held out her hand to take the map from him. He gave her a sheepish smile and stepped to the side, making his way to Tommy instead. The older woman looked like she was about to blow a gasket, which was funny, considering she was a synth. 

"We're going to be the most hated agents in HQ," Tommy muttered, glancing over Drummer Boy's shoulder at Glory's scowl. As Tommy locked gazes with her, a shooting pain went through both of her eyes. 

That surge of pain in her eyes surfaced randomly, and she didn't know the cause. She could only hope it wasn't some lingering radiation effect or disease surfacing. Drummer Boy waited until she finished rubbing her eyes and held out the map to her.

"Only because we're the best," He started. "Des told me you were heading down south after this mission."

"Yep. Should be there by morning," She stated. 

"Be careful, okay? They said the tunnels were crawling with ferals. They're way more active at night. Not to mention that the entire south is basically a death trap."

"That's why it's the best place to live. Don't worry, buckaroo. I'll be fine," She replied, pulling his cap down over his eyes. He pretended to be annoyed as he pulled it up, but she could see right through his scowl.

"You coming, lover-girl?" Glory shouted. The other agents were already heading away with the Brahmin full of supplies.

Drummer Boy's ears tinged pink, but Tommy only laughed. "Jealous, Glory?"

The woman shook her head and turned around.

"See you on Sunday, lover-boy," Tommy joked, sending an extremely over-dramatic wink to her best friend. She swung her shotgun in a circle around her body by the sling and caught it in her hands, cocking it. Drummer Boy's ears turned even pinker.

"I.. uh... yeah. See you,"

Tommy tipped her hat with a small smile, and ran to catch up with Glory and the rest of the agents.

—

#oc; tommy #drummer boy #desdemona #deacon #fo4 deacon #deacon fallout 4 #deacon fo4 #fallout deacon #the railroad #railroad #mb; before us

[to-the-head-of-the-line]

Part two!

TW: attempted suicide, suicide

When Hiu Yan closed her eyes to sleep on a warm summer evening, she knew this would be the last time that she was alive. She had tried to live out the rest of her life like Fai would’ve wanted her too, but she was just too tired to carry on. And she didn’t mind it. Cheng Hei was still working in America, and he had met a nice young lady there. He was happy, and she was happy for him. But there was nothing left for her, and so she breathed her last.

She found herself in a small room. Although it was quite cramped and a little chilly, this was too comfortable to be the afterlife. She looked around. Whoever the owner was, they weren’t quite fond of tidying. But everything else was mostly clean, from the bed sheets to the hanging clothes and the books on the desk.

She walked closer to the desk. The owner had been writing a letter, or had been trying to, judging by the amount of crumpled up paper balls around. It was rude, but she couldn’t help but peek at it.

“... I’m so sorry. I wish I could do more for you. I should’ve never left. I’m sorry. I love you I love you I love you-”

The door opened, and she tried to hide. A middle aged Chinese man walked inside and collapsed on the bed, sobbing.

“Sir?” she said. “Are you alright?”

The man didn’t hear her. She tried to touch him, but her hand passed right through him. She gasped. So she was dead after all. Was she a ghost or a spirit? But why was she with this man?

It took a while for the man to stop crying. He sat up and dried his eyes.

“Fai?” He was hardly twenty-one, but she knew it had to be him. There were wrinkles and bags under his red rimmed eyes, and his hair had streaks of grey. He stumbled over to a chair at the desk, and she noticed that his back was slightly bent. What had they done to you?

He grabbed a pen and began to write, but before she could see he’d already broken down again. She glanced around frantically before her eyes picked up on a newspaper on a bedside table. From her limited knowledge of English, she read that the date was September Twenty-third, 1882. This was six months after the Act had passed. He must have been trying to write that letter to her.

“Please don’t cry…” she mumbled even as tears started rolling down her face. As her vision blurred, the room faded, and the next thing she knew, it was night and all was silent save for the choppy waves crashing onto the shore.

While she was staring at the dark murky waters in amazement, a man climbed over the railing next to her. She stared at the haggard face of her husband in shock. It was clearly sometime later, as he had cut off his queue and was looking even more depressed than before. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily.

“No, no, no! Don’t do it! We’ll find a way out of this! Don’t- I- I love you!”

He opened his eyes and gasped. Hopping back onto flat ground, he crouched down and screamed. “I… I can’t do it… Goddammit…” he sobbed.

He spotted something a few feet away from him. A discarded newspaper, with an ol important-looking man’s face on it. “He did it…” Fai muttered. “He signed that piece of paper… he could’ve stopped it… he could’ve made life better for all of us. Instead…”

He tore the paper to sheds and threw them into the ocean. He stood up, his eyes filled with a rage and desperation she had never seen before. “It’s his fault…”

The scene faded to black. They were back in the tiny room. Fai checked his gun and pocketed it. Then he took out the photo of them, the one they took weeks before he left, the only one with the whole family together and gazed at it.

“Please don’t do it. It’s not the right way. It won’t change anything.” she begged, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her.

“Yan?” Fai said.

“Can you hear me?”

“No… must’ve been the voices again. This is for you, my love.” He kissed the picture and placed it in the drawer. Then he put on his hat and left.

She followed him to a grand building where a crowd was gathering, even though a light rain was beginning to fall. Her heart was pounding as she dreaded the upcoming events. She passed through the people as Fai slowly made his way to the stage.

Someone made an announcement, then everyone was clapping as the man in the photo walked to the podium. That must be the President. Fai glared at him as he continued to move forward, his right hand curled around the barrel of the gun.

“Hey, watch where you’re going-” another man said as Fai bumped into him. The man looked at Fai, then the shiny bit of metal in his hand. “He’s got a gun!”

In shock, Fai raised his arm and fired, missing the President completely. He pushed his way out and ran. The crowd erupted into chaos. Some people- police officers and civilians were running after him.

Fai reaches a dead end. He spots an open door and bolts in. He sprints up the stairs to the roof. A mob has gathered around the building and the police are breaking down the door.

“Oh no…” He glances around. There is no escape. His gaze turns towards his gun.

“Fai… please…” she tries to reach him. Her hand pulls at the coarse fabric of his coat.

“Yan?” He chokes up.

“I’m here… please stop…”

“No… they’ll kill me anyways… I thought… I really thought…”

“Open up!”

“Yan… Cheng Hei… I’m sorry…”

Bang. She covered her eyes and shrieked, but she could feel his blood on her face, hear the shouting of the people behind them-

Everything was white when she opened her eyes. Except Fai, who was looking around.

She shouted his name and ran towards him. His eyes lit up and he too started running, but when their fingers could just barely touch, the ground under them split up. She fell down as the earth on her side shifted backwards and away. Everything besides the ground turned dark.

The last thing she remembered was Fai reaching towards her, screaming her name…

To be continued

#assassins ocs #assassins musical ocs #leung cheng fai #things pat missed #this is where the Chinese Valentine's day theme comes in #so there's this folk tale about a guy and a fairy from heaven who were in love but the Jade Emperor said no #and he took her back to heaven but the guy went to find her #and the Queen Mother of the West drew the Milky Way to separate them #but a bunch of magpies were super moved by their love and they made a bridge of magpies for them to meet #and then the emperor was like fine you can meet on the bridge on the seventh day of the seventh month of the lunar calendar #also it's something about astrology #so the star Vega is the fairy and the star Altair is the guy and another star Deneb is the bridge between them #ancient people had nothing to do so they made this really vague stuff up from stars #cause the wives or gfs of our ocs are allowed to visit once a year and it's similar to the story #this has been Chinese culture lessons with Monica #I'm gonna sleep now

[akioshiwarrior]

hi yes i am an ARTIST

#aka im just. not doing good artwise today. #i WANT to draw but when i DO draw it doesn’t look any good #i mean its definitely just because of some stupid self imposed standards #like i expect everything i draw to be PERFECT and logically i KNOW that’s not gonna happen cuz it never happens for anyone #and then i mess up and it feels like the world is crashing down and i question whether or not i can even call myself an artist?? #like yeah!! i know i can!! im making ART that’s literally all being an artist is no matter what the quality of the piece is #but for some reason i hold myself to such a high standard that if a drawing doesn’t look good enough through the entire process #it’s automatically trash #and my monkey brain is just happy making stuff but my dumb human brain keeps criticizing itself and tells monkey brain to stop #and it keeps criticizing itself and my smart human brain is trying to reason with it #and be all ‘all art is good art!! you’re making an effort and that’s what matters!’ #while my STUPID brain says ‘if it exists it’s TRASH’ #anyways #there’s three wolves inside of me fighting #and two of them are rolling around on the ground in depression while the third is just #trying to reason with the other two #congrats if you read all of these tags lol

[edwardskhakipants]

Forks, Washington. August 2004.

Esme and Carlisle stood in the middle of their grand living room, waiting for their five vampire children to arrive. Alice arrived first—prompt as usual. She settled herself gracefully onto the tufted sofa Esme had recently acquired, only to be immediately jostled by Emmett who heaved himself onto the cushions. A breath caught in Esme’s throat—she had lost many pieces from her beloved collection by that action—but it looked like this one was still in one piece. For the moment. Jasper took Edward’s normal spot in the only armchair, forcing Edward to wedge himself between Alice and Emmett.

“What?” Rosalie grumbled as she perched on the armrest of the couch beside Emmett, “Are we having another one of those How to Respect the Telepath in Your Life meetings again?”

“No,” Edward answered, fully aware of the intent of this meeting since it hatched in Carlisle's mind two days prior. “But there’s never a bad time to bring that up. Christ, Emmett, if you’re going to have a song stuck in your head for over seventy-two hours, the least you can do is learn the correct lyrics.”

Emmett’s eyebrows knit together, asking his brother a silent question.

“It’s ‘mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido,’” Edward answered.

Emmett’s brow furrowed doubtfully.

“No.” Edward shook his head, answering Emmett’s thoughts. “Why would he eat a beetle?”

Emmett grinned playfully and tilted his head towards Edward.

Edward wasn’t amused. “You know what it means.”

A silly grin plastered on his face, Emmett elbowed Edward in the ribs, silently egging him on.  

Edward’s eyes darted to Carlisle, then Esme, and he shifted in his seat. “Sexual desire,” he muttered.  

Emmett howled with laughter and clapped his hands once, “Wow, Eddie! You’re just going to say that in front of Esme!?” Edward scowled as Emmett’s bouts of laughter echoed through the room.

Esme ran a hand through her youngest’s ginger hair. “Boys,” she warned, and Emmett sucked in his laughter.

“Our meeting today has to do with all of you,” Carlisle began.

“We simply wanted to go over the rules of attending school with you kids before you start your second year at Forks High School,” Esme explained, unfolding and re-folding her hands in front of her. “There are already whispers, and we don’t want those whispers to turn into rumors.”

“I thought the only whispers about us at school were whether or not Edward liked girls,” Rosalie said, earning an eye-roll from Edward.

“No,” Alice chirped,” Some kids think we’re a cult.”

Jasper leaned back heavily in his chair. “We haven’t heard that one since the Seventies.”

“Kids are getting more creative these days.” Emmett nodded appreciatively.

Esme held up one, delicate finger. “Which is why it is best to take preventative action.”

Carlisle took the floor. “We thought a few reminders would be helpful before you started your first day of your second year,” Carlisle said. “We don’t want another incident like the one we had at the end of last year.”

Every head in the room turned towards Emmett.

“What?” Emmett threw up his hands in exasperation, “The water gun fight was the senior prank—I wasn’t the one who brought them to the school. Hell, I wasn’t even the only student who got suspended!”

“That’s true,” Carlisle agreed, “but you were the only student to shout, ‘Sit down, kids! Daddy’s gotta tinkle,’ and shoot the stream of the gun from your crotch.”

Jasper snickered—the sound was immediately silenced by a single raised eyebrow from Esme.

“I still don’t see the problem,” Emmett continued, “That’s not necessarily a vampire thing.”

Edward—who often mistook himself as the third vampire parent rather than the youngest son—sighed, “Yes, but it brings unnecessary attention to the family. Which is the first rule: do not bring attention to yourself.”

Esme ran her fingers through her son’s hair once more, “Yes, darling, you are especially good at keeping to yourself.” Edward’s eyes widened, despite Esme’s gentle touch, already aware of where her point was headed. “So much so, that I have been given the names of several child therapists to help my son through his depression. One was recommended for his exceptional work on spotting and treating the early signs of sociopathic behavior.”

Esme grabbed her son’s chin and forced him to look at her. “You have to talk to other people.”

Knocked off his high horse, Edward flinched back from Esme’s hand. “Friendship with humans never bodes well for us.”

“We’re not asking you to create lifelong friendships with humans,” Carlisle clarified, “We are simply asking you to be likable.”

“A nearly impossible feat for Edward.” Rosalie grinned. The comment went unnoticed, save Edward’s slight flinch. But the quick, little tick was satisfying enough for Rose.

“Look at your father,” Esme gestured towards Carlisle, “At every hospital he works at, he goes out of his way to ensure he is well-liked among his colleagues. He forces down countless lunches and coffees, solely to make sure they’re comfortable around him.”

Carlisle took over. “And your mother, a beloved member of her gardening club and a prized member of the PTA.”

“And neither of us have rumors started about us, and do you know why?”

All five teenagers grumbled the ingrained response. “Humans don’t want to spread rumors about people they like.”

“Exactly.” Esme nodded.

“I try!” Alice whined, “But Edward never lets me talk to any humans.”

“That’s because every, single thing that is about to come out of your mouth is incriminating. You might as well walk around with a neon sign that says, ‘I’m a psychic vampire’.”

Alice scoffed, “Is not!”

“You wanted to tell Nihal Howard not to audition for the musical.”

“And he broke his leg on opening night,” Alice challenged.  

“You were going to tell Christiana Ward that pink was not her color.”

“And she lost prom queen to Ashley Kirby.”

Jasper put a comforting hand on his wife’s knee. “Maybe try not to meddle so much, darlin’. Natural relationships, first.”

“They would have been!” Alice wailed, “I would have played it cool and casual and made friends and you all would have seen it! But everyone’s hurt and I have no friends at all because Edward won’t let me try!”

Edward rolled his eyes.

Carlisle suppressed a heavy sigh. “You have to let your sister try, Edward.”

Edward’s mouth fell open. “You cannot seriously be siding with her on this!”

But Carlisle stood his ground. He and Edward stared at one another for a few seconds, engaged in a silent conversation. In the end, Carlisle tilted his chin and Edward slumped back. Victorious, Alice used both pointer fingers to jab Edward in the side several dozen times at vampire speed.

Rosalie flipped her golden locks over her shoulder. “I don’t know how you all struggle so much. I have no issues with becoming well-liked at school while remaining inconspicuous.”

“Oh yeah, you’re so inconspicuous,” Edward grumbled, now extra-petty that he had been called out two times in one meeting. “You dress like you're on your way to brunch at your second husband’s country club in Beverly Hills and you make out with your foster brother. The perfect picture of discretion in Forks High School.”

“At least I don’t dress like a sad, old man.” Rosalie grimaced, disappointed in her comeback. The light, humorous insults that were required in family situations were Emmett’s forte; Rosalie’s insults were meant to emotionally cripple a person.

Edward sat up in his seat on the couch and turned to face Rosalie. “I think you missed the main takeaway in that you make out with your foster brother.” Edward turned back. “I can read your minds, and I still don’t understand what made either of you think it was okay to bring your relationship to school?!”

Emmett smiled, unperturbed. “It’s hot.”

“It’s disturbing,” Edward disagreed.

Esme frowned, “You kids don’t really do that, do you?”

“Would it help if Jasper and I became an official couple too?” Alice suggested.     Jasper perked up at the idea of being able to hold hands with Alice in public again.

“No!” Edward yelled at the same time Emmett and Rosalie muttered their acquiesce.

“It wouldn’t seem as weird if there were two couples,” Emmett agreed.

Edward dug his fingers through his hair. “Oh my god!”

“...maybe not, kids,” Esme intervened, but was ultimately ignored.

“So should we come out today like it happened over the summer, or make a little show out of it?” Alice asked Rosalie.

Rosalie waved a hand in the air. “Oh, it’s way more fun if you play up the theatrics.”

“A little more realistic, too,” Emmett agreed.

Alice looked to Jasper for his opinion. “It might be better if we were discreet about it,” she said. “Like we knew it was wrong, but we wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of our love.”

Jasper scooted forward to the edge of his seat. “Or we could let it be quiet and drawn out. Let others see our mutual pining, and root for us to be together.”

Gazing deep into the golden eyes of her soulmate, Alice sighed, “I love that.”

“If people wanted us to get together, it would normalize Emmett and Rosalie’s relationship.”

“Or Rosalie and Emmett could stop,” Edward suggested, bitterly. “That would be normal, too.”

“Oh, Edward,” Alice patted his shoulder, “You’ll find love someday, too.”

“That is not at all what bothers me about the situation.”

Carlisle made the decision for everyone. “Rosalie and Emmett, break up at school. Alice and Jasper, remain friends and siblings.”

Disappointment filtered into the room through Jasper.  

“I heard that,” Edward grumbled at someone’s thoughts.

“You were supposed to,” Rosalie shot back.

“We are also initiating a new rule,” Esme brought the room back to the conversation at hand, “No more correcting your teachers.”

A chorus of complaints rang from the couch.

Esme clicked her tongue, “I’m tired of defending you all from entirely preventable issues. I have emails from curious teachers wondering why my foster daughter is taking French 101, when she already appears to be fluent.” Esme looked at Rosalie, who immediately tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Or why my son, at the tender age of sixteen, could not only deadlift three hundred pounds in his first weightlifting class, but also give his coach tips on improving his posture.”

Emmett glanced over at Edward before he realized Esme was, in fact, addressing him. “What!?”

Jasper snorted. The sound was a mistake, for it brought Esme’s wrath onto him. “And not to mention the emails from not one, not two, but three teachers warning me that my foster son has an intimate understanding of the mechanics of a point fifty-eight caliber rifle-musket.” Esme held out her hands, almost pleadingly, “How does that subject keep coming up, Jasper?”

A noncommittal grunt was the only answer Jasper had for that question.

“No more,” she commanded. “You can get good grades but keep your extra knowledge on any subject to yourself. Whatever your teacher teaches is all you know. Understand?”

“But what if we—” Edward started.

“Understand?” Esme repeated.

The five teenage vampires understood, even if they didn’t want to. 

“I believe that all five of you will graduate from Forks High School!” Esme cheered.

The kids stared back, unable to muster the zeal Esme had over the prospect.

“Meeting adjourned!” Carlisle announced, and faster than fast vampire speed, the kids bolted from their seats. 

Esme was able to get in a few more reminders as her children flitted around the house and filed out to the silver Volvo.  “Remember to buy lunch with cash and not your credit cards. Emmett, please do not joke about being mauled by a bear. Do not address your teachers by their first names—I don’t care if you’re older than they are, Edward. Alice, please wear something a bit more causal, pet.”

When the house was finally empty, Carlisle pulled Esme backwards into his chest and began massaging her temples. The gesture wasn’t needed, but any touch from her husband was always welcome.

“Do you think they’ll listen?” she asked her husband.

“Not a chance.”

#this bad boy had been swimming around in my head for awhile #please enjoy #my other fics havent been cullen centric enough for me lately #so i had to do something #twilight fic #twilight fan fiction #and thank you to the editing queen edwardsmate4ever for beta'ing for me #youre a queen

[yourmidnightlover]

all my fault

Request: spencer and y/n are married, and they’ve been trying to have kids, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. a few weeks into the pregnancy, she has a miscarriage, and at the hospital the doctor said it’s bc she had an abortion as a teenager, and it fucked up her it yet us. spencer didn’t know she had an abortion, and blames her for the death of the baby, and they end up sleeping separately for a while and they have to grieve by themselves. spencer ends up talking to emily about it bc of her experience and it has a comforting ending!

Summary: when reader has a miscarriage after trying to have a baby with spencer, and things about her past are revealed and leaves things rocky within their relationship.

CW: miscarriage, pregnancy, mention of abortion, spencer’s rly harsh at first, teenage pregnancy, mentions of surgery, a cervix condition that i kinda made up, depressive thoughts, negative self-worth, HAPPY ENDING. *please let me know if i’ve missed anything*

A/N: i’ve been working on coming up with a series, which i posted last thursday! i’m sorry i haven’t been as consistent with my schedule, this summer has really taken a toll on my mental health and school is about to start back up. i promise i’m not quitting writing, but my writing might become a bit more sporadic in terms of my posting schedule. i’m still not sure if i like how i’ve executed this piece, so please let me know what you think!

IMPORTANT A/N: this contains serious topics centered around pregnancy and abortion. reader end up blaming herself and it is a very triggering subject to some. if you aren’t comfortable with those kinds of depressive thoughts PLEASE DONT READ. i don’t want anyone to be triggered by my writing. your mental health matters. you matter. do not read if your sensitive to the subject matter, please!

———————————————————————

when you and spencer checked the third pregnancy test and saw those two, very clear lines on the stick, you felt an unbelievable amount of joy.

“oh my god,” you clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes welling with tears.

“y/n…” he held his breath, holding your free hand with both of his own.

“you’re gonna be a dad,” you huffed out a laugh as his arms flew around you.

“and you’re gonna be a mom! we’re gonna have our own little family,” he cheered as he breathed in your scent, elated from the news he had hoped for since you said ‘i do.’

spencer had wanted to be a father since he met henry, you remember how attached he was to the child who wasn’t even his own. you hadn’t always wanted children, only when you were absolutely ready for them. now, you were more than ready.

your arms flew around spencer’s neck as his went around your waist. he dropped to his knees and began pressing kisses against a bump that wasn’t even visible yet, praising you and your body for carrying his child.

because it was so hard for you to get pregnant, spencer decided to baby you every chance he got. you didn’t do the dishes or sweep, you weren’t allowed to reach for high shelves or even step on a chair to do so. he was worried about you and the baby, so you let him. you found it endearing.

the perfect man that you married was so worried about the little bean inside of you, worried for your safety, that it drove him a bit mad. who were you to complain? each time he’d do one of the new little quirks like not letting you lift anything above 10 pounds, you just smiled to yourself and brushed it off.

being pregnant was something that you had lost hope for, in all honesty. spencer had been talking to a few friends who had adopted children prior to finding out you were pregnant. if this hadn’t worked out, the two of you were going to look into adoption.

spencer had planned your doctors appointment for 6 weeks after your last period. the appointment was in three days. and then the perfect outline you had for your future went down in crumbles.

you had been having pains in your lower abdomen, and you figured it was just because you were pregnant. you went to the bathroom like you normally would when you felt queasy, kneeling by the toilet in preparation for what was to come. only nothing came.

you decided to just go pee and get back to bed. there was a pain that wasn’t like you’d felt before when you were peeing, like someone had been pulling your intestines out of your body. when you looked down, you felt your stomach drop.

“spencer!” you cried out. “spencer, hurry!” you felt tears well in your eyes until he ran up beside you. his hand was on your thigh as the other one was trying to steady your shaking hand.

“what is… oh,” he looked in the toilet to see blood inside of it.

“spencer… what happened? i don’t know what happened. everything was doing so well and the baby-we just found out and now they’re-wh-what’s gonna happen?” you rambled out, unsure of how something this horrific happened so quickly.

“i-i don’t know, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i don’t know. but we’ll go to the hospital right now, okay? we’ll get answers.”

you just nodded. you couldn’t speak anymore. you felt your throat closing in on yourself. you cleaned yourself up and got dressed. even looking in the mirror with spencer’s arms around you, you didn’t feel anything but guilt and worry.

spencer’s touch would usually be something to ease your mind and take away the thoughts of everything else around you. only this was something wrong inside of you. you were the problem this time. and you didn’t think anything could fix this feeling.

“let’s get to the hospital, yea?” you nodded as he held onto your hand, trying to ground you to himself as he guided you to the car.

you were silent the entire drive to the doctor. there was nothing to say. there was nothing to do. there was just… nothing. you were numb.

“hey,” he spoke up, “we don’t know what happened yet. there’s a chance it’s just a fluke, right? the baby might be okay.”

“what’re the statistics, spencer? tell them to me,” you ordered as tears flowed from your eyes.

“y/n…”

“tell me! why don’t you want me to know?!” you accused him, looking over at the man driving as he but his lower lip. “1 in 4 women who experience bleeding during a pregnancy are fine. 25 percent. the other 75 percent of people have either a miscarriage or serious complications. those are the statistics.”

“y/n…” he sighed, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t want this to happen. besides, there’s still a 25 percent chance that nothings wrong.”

“whatever,” you rolled your eyes and opted to look out of the window for the remainder of the drive to the hospital.

-

“alright,” the doctor entered the room. “we have the results from the test and we’ve examined the ultrasound pictures. i’m so sorry, but you’ve had a miscarriage.”

what were you supposed to feel? an overwhelming sense of sorrow? like a failure? like the one thing you wanted most in the world fell through?

“how-how did this happen?” you spoke through the tears. “we were so-we were careful. i didn’t lift heavy objects, i didn’t do repetitive motions, i just… we tried so hard to make this work,” you shook your head in disapproval, as if you wouldn’t accept the answer that had already been proven to you.

“there’s proof of an abortion when you were a teenager. there was severe damage done to your cervix that wasn’t assessed pre-pregnancy. now, we can repair the damage within the next two months, but it will still be difficult to become pregnant after the surgery,” the female informed you.

“then what’s the point of getting the surgery?” you scoffed, looking at spencer who was just staring off in space.

“while getting pregnant will still be difficult, maintaining the pregnancy is much more likely. the fetus would be more protected and secure after the surgery,” she explained with a pitiful smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how she could smile after giving you the worst news of your life.

“right,” you nodded curtly, allowing her to sense the mood of the conversation.

“i’ll leave you two be. i’m so sorry for your loss,” she gave the both of you a pitiful smile before exiting the room, the only sound audible being the closing of the door.

it didn’t feel real. it felt as though you were in a nightmare. only this time, you wouldn’t wake in spencer’s comforting arms. you wouldn’t hear the soft soothing voice of the man you love trying to calm you down. you wouldn’t feel the solace he would provide by merely being himself in your proximity.

the drive home was eerily quiet. there was an inkling of animosity between you. looking over at spencer in the driver’s seat, he had a dead look on his face, the only sign of previous emotion being his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. he didn’t even look like your spencer. he looked like a stranger in the drivers seat with a cold expression that you could barely read.

you knew this was something you should talk about. when the nurse came back in the room it was only to offer a few referrals go therapists that specialized in this kind of grief. clearly, any couple should talk about losing an unborn baby. but you knew that’s not what spencer was truly upset about.

you waited until you shut the door to your apartment before saying anything.

“maybe we should talk about it?” you whispered, not knowing how he’d react.

“about what? the fact that you’ve lied to me for our entire relationship?!” he wouldn’t even turn around to face you. “i thought we were in this together, y/n. we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other - especially not any that just killed our child!”

“hey…” you winced at his words. “why would you say that?”

“that’s the truth! your choices when you were a teenager just killed our child! my child!” he finally turned to face you, and you wished he hadn’t.

“do you think i knew they would botch my abortion, spencer?! do you think that’s what i wanted?!” you stepped closer to him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what you want anymore, y/n,” he shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“i want you. i want to get the surgery to fix my cervix. i want to grieve our child. i still want kids… with you, spencer,” you tried to ease the mood, calm him down. you reached your hand out to cup his cheek before he dodged your touch, afraid of touching you. “but you don’t want that?” you whispered so quiet, too afraid of the answer to raise your voice.

“i-“ he sighed and bit his lower lip. “i don’t know.”

“right. of course you don’t,” you shook your head before sitting on the couch, dropping your face in your hands.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he took off his coat.

“it means that: of course, you’re making this about you! it can’t be about us grieving our loss together like the doctor recommended?!” you peeked between your hands at the man you still didn’t recognize.

“maybe we shouldn’t grieve together since we can’t even have a conversation without getting angry at one another,” he tried to reason.

“the only reason i’m getting mad is because you’re blaming me for my baby’s death,” you spat back at the doctor before you.

“because it’s your fault!” he stood strong in his belief. “when you were a teenager, did you or did you not have an abortion?”

“i did,” you admitted.

“and the nurse said that in said abortion, they screwed your cervix up! if you didn’t have that abortion, our child would still be alive! we would be on our way to become happy parents!” he accused, rubbing salt in the already stinging wound. “it’s your fucking fault!”

“stop saying that,” you shook your head and dropped it back in your hands, trying to hide the tears that began to flow down your face.

“it is, y/n! i can’t believe you’re even trying to say this isn’t!” he chuckled, clearly getting under your skin.

“shut up, spencer!”

“i can’t, y/n!” he sat in the chair across from you before standing back up, too hyper to sit. “no wonder it was so hard for you to get pregnant.”

“spencer,” you begged him to stop, meeting his face with your teary eyes.

“y/n,” he stared you in the eyes, and you saw a glimpse of the man you loved for a second before he retreated to the bedroom.

you sat on the couch in confusion of what had just occurred.

when you were 15, you’re boyfriend was adamant about taking your relationship “to the next step.” you didn’t think you were ready to have sex, but you wanted him to stay with you. so, you gave in. it just so happened to be that you were one of the lucky girls that ends up getting pregnant her first time in spite of birth control and a condom. you couldn’t tell your mom about your pregnancy, she’d have your head on a pole.

so, you earned enough money from your job to get an abortion yourself. you went to a clinic and had your boyfriend’s mom come with you to sign as your guardian. was it smart to get an abortion that cheap? probably not. but you had no other choice. your mom had made it abundantly clear that if she caught you fooling around with him that she’d kick you out.

you were 15. you were young and still had to finish high school. there was no support system for you. you would’ve been on the streets with a little baby - not to mention the amount of debt you’d go into for just giving birth to a child in a hospital. it was the only choice.

and now you were being berated for making the only choice you even had - and by the person you loved most in the world.

you curled into yourself on the couch, laying your head on the arm and crying into the fabric. you released all of the tension and turmoil. you held onto the cushions as if it were the man that you wanted - no, needed to comfort you. because as much as you’d hate to admit it and try to fight those thoughts, part of you thought that spencer was right. it was your fault.

you fell asleep on the couch that night. you didn’t have the strength to get up to grab a blanket so you just sucked it up.

spencer didn’t sleep at all. he was used to having you curled into his chest, or himself on yours. he felt terrible about how he had talked to you, but he was too stubborn to admit anything just yet.

in the middle of the night he went out of the room to grab a glass of water. he saw you curled up in a ball, you head resting on the arm of the couch as you slept. it was the most peaceful you looked in the past 24 hours. but you began shivering as you slept. you were probably too exhausted to get up to do anything.

he went to the hall closet on a detour and grabbed your favorite, soft blanket and laid it on top of your body. after placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he went into the kitchen and made his glass of water before taking one more glance at you. you had snuggled into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin with a gentle smile that always appeared when he kissed your forehead as you slept.

maybe he didn’t screw up too badly, after all.

the next few days were spent avoiding one another. spencer couldn’t face you after knowing you had kept something so dire from him for the entirety of your relationship. you couldn’t face him after he made you feel as though it was your fault you lost your baby.

you would stay on the couch all day, barely eating or drinking anything while spencer would go out - only mentioning the library or the office to do more paperwork. eventually he just started sleeping at morgan’s house - probably because he couldn’t stand being around you.

you didn’t know how to grieve your baby, you were hoping that spencer might help, but that clearly won’t be happening. on top of that, you were worrying about your marriage. he couldn’t even look at you, how was he supposed to talk to you and sleep beside you?

a lot of times, it’s perceived that the only reason women were put on this planet were to have children - of course that’s a false notion, but it didn’t make it sting any less. your body had betrayed you. you had betrayed yourself.

it was only 12 days after spencer left when he came back home, if he could call it that anymore. once he walked into the living room, he saw you curled up in that same position on the couch. you had a blank stare that was directed towards the black tv. the only evidence that you were doing something was the empty water bottles surrounding you - certainly not enough considering he’d been gone for over a week.

when he entered you didn’t even flinch. your gaze stayed on the empty screen and your face remained vacant of any emotion.

in all honesty, morgan was the one to tell spencer he should check on you. spencer hadn’t told him everything about your argument, he knew he was in the wrong. but he was just so angry. regardless, he was here now, and it’s a good thing he was.

you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. spencer had morgan and savannah checking on him, but you had nobody. he only realized this when morgan pointed it out. and as upset as he was, spencer would always love you. your expressionless face only worried him more. your clothes had been changed from when he last saw you, but he doubts you’ve had a shower.

he stayed silent as he began picking up the empty water bottles from around the table and couch. you looked at him quizzically with furrowed brows.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, your chin already quivering as tears threatened to stream down your face.

“i’m trying to help,” he whispered as sensitively as he could, making eye contact with the most pitiful face you’d ever seen.

“i think you’ve helped enough,” you rolled your eyes before resuming your serious stare-down with the television. “you can leave.”

“no, i can’t,” he replied, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch while being sure not to touch you - he didn’t know if you were ready for that.

“you already did,” you brought to his attention, briefly looking at him. “just go.”

“y/n, i-“

“i don’t want to hear it! what’re you gonna say that could make me feel worse, spencer?!” you let the tears fall past your waterline. “i know it’s my fault. i know i screwed up! and i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” you replied with far too much sincerity, the tears streaming down your face before he scooted closer to you, planning on wrapping his arms around you. “stop! don’t come near me!” you pushed his shoulders away. “it’s my fault,” you lowered your voice significantly before wrapping your arms around yourself.

he had called emily as soon as he got back into the bedroom. he knew she had previously had an abortion when she was a teenager, and he just needed to hear her side of it. part of him didn’t even expect her to pick up the phone.

“reid, what’s wrong?” she immediately answered.

“i-i think i need to talk to you,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

“right now?” she asked in a mildly concerned tone.

“if you can? the sooner the better,” he answered honestly.

“alright. you want to meet somewhere or just come over?”

“can i just come over? it’s really personal and i wasn’t sure who else to go to,” he began tying his shoes and hoping she’d agree.

“of course, come on over,” she replied in a worried voice.

“ok. i’ll be there in twenty.”

he quietly left the apartment, not before sparing you a regretful glance. he lost his child, but you also lost your child as well. he just couldn’t control his anger. and partially, he thought he was right.

how could you not have told him about something so serious? the second you had began having issues getting pregnant, maybe you should’ve been open about previous pregnancies.

“hey,” emily greeted before giving him a hug after seeing his teary eyes. “come inside.”

“thanks,” he sniffled before stepping into her apartment.

she guided him into her living room and sat down on the couch beside him. they sat there for a few silent minutes before he was able to work up enough courage.

“y/n was pregnant,” he whispered, barely audible if she weren’t right beside him.

“was,” she pointed out, already feeling as though she knew the rest of the story.

“she uhm-she miscarried two weeks ago,” he somberly admitted for the first time to someone else. “the doctor said it was because she had an abortion when she was a teenager that somehow ruined her cervix.”

“and that’s why you felt like you needed to talk to me?” she gathered, she was a great profiler for a reason but this was far more obvious.

“i was pretty harsh. i-i told her it was her fault,” he bit his lower lip as he grimaced. “i really rubbed it in, too.”

“spencer… “ she sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “you’re mourning a life, right now. obviously, that would raise tensions and emotions would be heightened. but… have you apologized? for telling her it was her fault?”

“no?” he replied after thinking about it. “i was going to do that today but she’s… she’s not in good shape. i’m not saying she needs to be perfect, but while i was at derek’s i can tell she didn’t take care of herself. she barely drank any water.”

“did you ask her why she had an abortion? why she didn’t tell you? did you ask her anything about how she’s feeling?” emily asked once more.

“no,” he cowered down, feeling even worse about the truthful answer. “i was just… selfish. i didn’t think about how she’s feeling. i just-i feel so bad now, seeing what state she’s in.”

“when i got an abortion it was because i wasn’t ready for a child,” she began to inform him. “i was a child, myself. how was a child supposed to take care of another one? my mother would’ve been disgraced. i basically had nobody there for me. i kept it a secret because having an abortion is so controversial. i knew people would look at me differently for making a responsible decision for my future.”

“god, i feel so bad,” he began to tear up himself. “i love her so much and i told her these horrible things.”

“make it right, spencer,” she gave him a supportive smile and pat his thigh before he stood up.

“i-i have to go,” he wiped the tears from his face before giving emily a hug, grateful she would listen to him at such an ungodly hour.

he quickly drove back home, where he decidedly belonged in the first place. he never should’ve left home. he never should’ve left you. you were his home, and he didn’t know how he could possibly lose sight of that.

“y/n,” he cooed as he entered the apartment once more. it was noticeably a bit more clean. the trash was taken out, the dishes were done, and your hair was wet from a shower - he assumed. “hey,” he smiled when he saw you sitting on the bed, cheeks still red and tear-stained with red, puffy eyes.

“hi,” you sighed as you brushed your hair, spencer sat down beside you.

“how’re you feeling?” you shrugged. “i need to apologize to you,” he admitted, placing a hand on your thigh. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said. telling you that it’s your fault that we lost our child… i-there’s no excuse. i was clearly upset, but so were you. what i said was so out of line, and i’ll never be able to express how sorry i am to you.”

“you’re right,” you shrugged. “it was my fault.”

“no,” he rubbed his thumb on your skin. “it was not your fault. i’m so sorry i made you believe that.”

“when i was 15 my boyfriend at the time pressured me to have sex. we used a condom and i was in birth control but i still-i still ended up pregnant,” you began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i couldn’t tell my mom because she would’ve kicked me out, so i saved up some money and had his mom take me to a cheap clinic. she signed as my mom and i got the procedure done. that was the end of it,” you finished tears streaming down your face. “a few weeks after the procedure i started having pains in like my lower back, but i didn’t think anything of it. so… it is my fault. i shouldn’t have gone to a cheap clinic, but i couldn’t live on the streets with a baby and no way to clothe or feed them.”

“y/n,” he got your attention, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “you were a teenager who had no other choice, love. it’s not your fault, it’s the clinic’s.”

“i just… it hurts so bad, spencer,” you shook your head in defeat before he wrapped his arms around you. “not even just emotionally, my body physically hurts so bad. i don’t know what to do and i thought i lost you and i didn’t know what i would do without you because i didn’t think you loved me anymore because it’s my fault,” you ranted out, sobbing into his shoulder before he moved the two of you around the bed to lay down, you on his chest.

“i’m so sorry you had to go through that, and that you’re still dealing with the repercussions,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “but know that i’m not leaving you. i love you and nothing will ever change that.”

“there’s nothing we can do now,” you whined, clutching to his shirt as if he’d disappear once more.

“we can go to the recommended therapy. we can get that surgery to fix your cervix,” he reminded you, rubbing circles onto your back as you sniffled. “then, if you’d like, we could try again for a baby.”

“so you still want to be with me?” you whispered by his ear, clearly worried of the answer.

“of course i do,” he said as if there were no other option; there wasn’t. “i’m so, so sorry, love.”

“the reason i didn’t tell you is because,” you sighed as you shuffled on top of spencer, now sitting on his lap and facing him. “because there’s this stigma that comes with having an abortion - and i didn’t know how you’d react. i also didn’t know it didn’t go well in the first place, but that’s a different story,” you chuckled. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you about something so serious.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “that was from your past. this is our future, we shouldn’t get caught up on it and allow it to ruin this.”

you nodded, “you’re right. are-are you staying here, now? or are you going back to derek’s?” there was an obvious look of hope in your eye that spencer never planned on squashing.

“i’m staying here,” he smiled. “home. you’re my home.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes as a laugh left your lips.

“i’ve missed your smile,” he pressed a kiss to those very lips, your smile not going away but growing even bigger.

“i’ve missed you,” you pointed at his chest. “please don’t leave again.”

“i won’t. ever again,” you held your pinky out, he smiled and wrapped his own around it. “i’m so sorry.”

“we’ll work at it,” you sighed. “we’ll build back the trust and fix my stupid cervix and then maybe try again for a baby.”

over the next few months spencer and you had been going to therapy once a week, mourning the loss of your baby and working through your other issues.

five months after you found out about the miscarriage, you had the surgery to fix your cervix.

one year after you fixed your cervix you and spencer began talking about having a child. you were extremely nervous, rightfully so. you voiced your concerns to spencer about what if the surgery didn’t work? what if your cervix wasn’t the only issue? and he replied by reminding you that you would both take this one step at a time.

seven months after having the conversation with spencer about having children, a miracle had caught up to you.

you were pregnant.

taglist:

@averyhotchner

@greenprisca

@muffin-cup

@spenxerslut

@spencerreid9

@spencyreidpls

@spencerreid9

@spencersmagic

@calm-and-doctor

@the-local-pendeja

@spencersrose

@spencersmagic

@shemarmooresfedora

@pastelbabygirl19

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, please don’t hesitate to message me or leave a comment!

#tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage #tw abortion #tw abortion mention #tw depressive thoughts #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid angst #spencer reid comfort

[mostlydysfunction]

Torment

Summary: She’s been with them for a long time. She’s nothing but entertainment, providing them with something to do. But something’s changed. She’s tired of playing, but they’re not done with her yet. 

Warnings: Very graphic violence, torture, language, Yautja are not really the good guys in this, implied rape, attempted rape, the word is used at least once, depression, seriously fucked up culture

Pairings: Yautja male x unnamed female oc (could be reader but it’s written in third person)

A/N: Well, this is fucked up. But Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals

MASTERLIST

She’s running off pure adrenaline. She’d lost the feeling in her legs and feet long ago. Her blood is pumping in her ears, blocking out all other noise. Not that it mattered. They didn’t make noise. It’s behind her, but she can’t see it. Not that she would bother with the two-second delay looking behind her would cause. 

It didn’t matter anyways. They were fully capable of outrunning her. Their stride and stamina outpaced hers ten to one and she knows this. They’re letting her run. They want to see how far she’s willing to go. 

Despite the time she’d spent on the planet, the gravity was stronger here than she was used to, and her body was still adapting to the pressure. Just the fact she could run at all was a miracle of human adaptation. 

She pushes herself onward, unsure of where she’s headed, but even she’s curious just how far they’ll let her go this time. She never made it any significant distance from camp, yet she insisted on playing this game. 

Something whistles through the air, hitting a tree inches from her face. It hadn’t been a miss, just a warning. Despite this knowledge, she can’t help the yelp at the exploding bark. She pushes herself faster, legs threatening to give out at any moment from exhaustion. A second one hits a tree to her left, the third coming straight at her. She drops, crawling forward as it slams halfway through the tree in front of her. She’s quick back on her feet, but a force hitting her back has her flying, hitting that same tree with a crack. 

She fights to catch her breath, legs numb and lifeless. Multiple things are broken, blood pooling in her throat, choking her as she tries to breathe. If she can’t roll to her side, she’ll drown in it. 

Menacing clicks materialize next to her. The glow of the three lasers is aimed at her forehead but she knows he won’t shoot. She wasn’t worth wasting ammo on, and she was too much fun for them. His hands are rough on her, a scream leaving her as he yanks her onto her side. He pulls an injector from his belt, pressing it against the swell of her behind before pressing the trigger. Another scream leaves her as the thick needle breaks her skin, pumping the viscous fluid into her. He hadn’t given it directly into her bloodstream this time. He wanted her to suffer. 

That’s why she finds herself like an animal in his net, being dragged on the ground behind him as he takes a leisurely walk back to camp. Every bump on the ground is brutal against her fractured spine, sending shockwaves of pain through her. Her body is healing itself, knitting itself back together thanks to the injection he’d given her, but it was not nearly as fast as it could have been. 

She’s dragged back to camp, the orange firelight glowing around her. She’s dragged past the fire, towards the post on the far side of the camp. She whimpers, knowing what’s coming. The net is retracted from around her, the male reaching down to rip the netting off her body. 

They had very different meanings of modesty compared to humans. For a while when she’d first been with them she’d been entirely naked. It had been fine until the start of what was their equivalent of the winter season began and she had nearly suffered hypothermia. He had wrapped her in their heated body netting, a stark contrast to her bare skin in the cold air. 

Tonight is warm, thankfully, but it does nothing to satiate her fear of what’s about to happen. She’s yanked up by her arms, the male locking her wrists behind her, her ankles strapped to the post. She’s a foot off the ground, forced forward to the maximum flection of her shoulders behind her. She was completely naked, now forced into a very painful position. He walks away from her, going to join the others around the fire. 

She doesn’t know how long he’ll leave her hanging there. She’d once seen them hang a human man from it so long his arms ripped right off his body and he bled to death. It had only been a matter of minutes for her, and her arms were already going numb. They put both their humans, and their own kind in this position, and their kind always lasted much longer. 

She keeps her gaze on him as long as she can, trying to burn holes into his helmet. The pain in her back has lessened, but the growing pain in her shoulders was taking over. He’d leave her here as long as he felt she needed to be punished. It wasn’t like it wasn’t warranted. She was stubborn. She refused to break like the others. She was the last of her batch still alive. She had made herself indispensable simply for the fact she was amusing to them. 

She closes her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing. The pain was unbearable, the cramping in her shoulders worse than anything she’d ever felt. She had preferred the fractured spine to this constant pain. 

She opens her eyes as she senses the presence in front of her. It’s one of the other males, this one bigger than hers. She fixes his maskless face with a glare rivaling their permanent resting bitch faces. They were always scowling, always looked like they wanted to skin you alive even when they were laughing at you. This one is amused, she can tell by the clicking of his mandibles. They spoke little English, but one could learn to read their alien body language quickly enough. 

She yelps in surprise at the tug on her nipple, the male releasing a deep throaty laugh. 

“Ell-osde’ pauk.” She growls, spitting on his face. 

He lets out a roar loud enough to shake her bones, mandibles flared in rage. Despite his obvious anger, he doesn't lay a hand on her, instead taking a step back. “S'yuit-de.” He spits at her, her own male wrapping his hand around her throat. 

He’s angry, she can tell. He easily could have crushed her windpipe, ended her there, but his touch is light, hardly any pressure but the knowledge of what he could do to her is enough. He releases her from her bonds, her body dropping like a ragdoll. His grip shifts to the back of her neck, dragging her towards one of their huts. She quickly recognizes where he’s heading, panic flooding her. 

“Wait, wait.” She tries to dig her numb feet in but it’s no use. “No, no, no, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please!” 

The door opens with a whoosh, cold air hitting her. Goosebumps form on her skin, partially from the air and partially from fear. The cage door whooshes open and he forces her inside. She slams her body against the already closed door seconds before the creature pounces. Its chains keep it back, its second mouth inches from her nose. 

“Wait! Kaail! I’m sorry!” She screams, panic flooding her. She could do nothing but stand there to avoid being killed instantly. Her legs are already shaking, arms useless by her sides. They were tingling painfully as blood was forced back into them, but she could do nothing but stand there plastered against the door. 

“Let me out! Please! Kaail! Let me out!” She continues to scream, terrified. Two inches of movement and she would be dead. 

This creature terrified her more than anything. The Yautja had scared her in the beginning, but one time when she’d been caught running, her male had brought her in, shoved her against the glass wall of the cage and forced her to stand there as the creature inside darted forward, second mouth shooting out towards her face. It hadn’t been able to reach her, of course, but the idea had terrified her beyond belief. She’d only been forced in with it one other time. 

“Kiande amedha” he had called it. She called it fucking terrifying. 

The creature snaps at her again, close enough that if it breathed, they’d be sharing air. She continues to scream herself hoarse, tears dripping down her cheeks. She’s not sure how long she stands there, the creature hissing at her. These creatures were smart. She knew that much. The little of their language she had picked out was enough to tell her just how much the Yautja thought them worthy adversaries. Her male had several of their skulls on display in his hut. She knew he wouldn’t let it harm her, but the thought that it would be half a second to her death if she so much as lost her balance is enough to have her screaming. 

The creature yanks at its restraints, her bladder losing control. The creature tilts its head as she wets herself, urine dribbling down her thighs and pooling at her feet. The door slides open, her body falling backwards as the support it had is suddenly gone. She scrambles back from the cell as far as she can force her body to push herself before she gives out, flopping on her side pathetically, retching from the intense emotions roiling through her. 

Her male wraps an arm around her stomach, lifting her like a sack. She hangs limply, knowing she can’t do anything as she’s carried back towards the fire. She’s dropped on her knees near his hut, a canteen forced between her lips. Her head is forced back as she gulps as much water as she can, the rest pouring down her front. She gulps down as much as she can. He pours the rest of the water over her head, shocking her as the icy water snaps her back into reality. 

He drags her inside, taking her to the bathroom and all but tossing her into the water. She lets herself go limp for a moment, floating. It feels good, all the pressure taken from her limp muscles. The soapy consistency of the water was already washing away some of the grime on her body. 

She bathed almost daily. Despite how they lived, the creatures stayed surprisingly clean. They apparently did not sweat, nor produce oils like human skin did. Nor did they have body odor. They could go weeks sometimes without bathing. 

They had learned quickly that humans could not. 

Even before her little escapades into the forest she had gotten grimy quickly in their camp. The rainy season, which was the equivalent of Earth’s spring, was the worst. Mud was constantly being kicked up, and their mud was almost like tar. It was thick and slippery and she had fallen in it more than once. They had laughed at her for it. All feelings of shame had quickly gone out the window, though, because if they were laughing, that meant she lived to see another day. 

She quickly ducks herself under the water as her male joins her, knowing him well enough. The first time he’d forced her to bathe, he’d held her under the water almost too long. She had uselessly struggled as she’d held her breath until she felt her lungs would burst. She’d come up sputtering, throwing as many English insults at him as she could. They had meant nothing to him then, earning her an amused twitch of his mandibles in response. 

A thick arm loops its way under her stomach, lifting her from under the water. He maneuvers her so she’s bent over the edge, beginning to scrub at her skin with his sponge. It wasn’t exactly a sponge. She’d liken it more to steel wool. More often than not it made her bleed, tearing at her soft human skin. But it was adequate at removing the grime, sweat, dirt, and often the urine from her skin. 

He ditches the sponge after he finds she’s clean enough, using his bare hand to rinse between her legs. She jerks at his abrasive touch, trying to remove his hand but all she gets is a warning growl. She knows better than to fight him, going limp against the side of the bath. She’s tired, her body aching still as the medicine works its way slowly through her body.

She jerks slightly as the rough skin of his hands brushes over her nipples. He lets out a human-like chuckle, trilling in his chest as he repeats the motion, earning a whimper from his little ooman. 

That’s what he called them. It was the first word she’d learned of their language. She’d picked out quite a few since. She had picked out his name from amongst the guttural growls of their language. He didn’t know hers. He didn’t want to. More often than not she had a different name. 

“Hulij-bpe.” He spits it out as he drops her outside of the bath onto the cool metal floor. 

She shivers, quickly taking her leave. They didn’t believe in towels, the warm air in the hut quickly drying her skin. She plops herself in his nest of furs, pulling her knees to her chest and waiting. She’s tired, exhausted from the emotional strain she’d gone through. Was it really worth it? To keep playing this game to keep herself alive? What was there to live for now? She wasn’t going home. She had no home to go back to anyways. She’d spend the rest of her life here with these aliens being nothing but a source of entertainment for them. But they would get bored of her eventually, right? The same game over and over had to get boring. They were going to kill her anyways, why keep delaying it at the expense of her body and her sanity? 

She doesn’t wait long for him to exit, watching him move around his hut. He was younger, one of the younger members of their clan. He was on the smaller size compared to some of the others, something she’s glad for. But he’s strong and fast, the lines of his muscles evident under the reptilian-like skin. 

She falls back into the furs as he approaches the bed, letting her legs fall open. She’d long since stopped fighting him after she’d learned they liked it. She tried to give no reaction now, except when he purposely tried to make her mad and get a rise out of her. 

“No.” He says, shoving her on her side with his foot. 

She lays there for a moment, surprised. Usually after she ran, he’d fuck her until she was raw and couldn’t walk. Another source for their laughter in the morning as she’d come hunched over and limping from his hut. But his denial had shocked her. He never did this. 

Had her suspicions been right? Was he growing bored of her? 

**********

She can’t bring herself to rise in the morning. She no longer ached, the medicine working as she slept. Nights were short here, days stretching on for hours and hours. She’d long ago gotten used to sleeping while it was still light out. This morning is no different, waking to the blue sky through the window high on the wall of the hut. Usually she would be up, creep her way to the fire to eat from the bowl of fruit, maybe grab a piece of meat and run if there weren’t very many of them out. But she doesn’t feel like it. 

She’s tired. 

Tired of living this life. She missed Earth. As much as she had hated it while she dwelled there, she missed it now. She missed human interaction. At least, interaction with humans she knew weren’t about to be brutally hunted or tortured to death in a few days. She was utterly alone, unable to get close to anyone, nothing but a source of play for an alien species. 

She lays in the furs, some of them itchy against her skin but she doesn’t care. She’d long ago lost the ability to care about discomfort. She’s alone in the hut, her alien out doing whatever it was he had to do. He’d come for her eventually. He’d notice her not slinking around camp as usual. 

She’d still be laying there when he did. She’d pay whatever price he felt she deserved for being boring. She’d take it, endure it and then they’d do the same thing tomorrow. 

She wakes again to the hiss of the door opening. She’s not sure how long she’d slept again, unable to tell any sense of time. He’s already by her side, moving with his incredible speed. His hands pull her up into a seated position, maskless face staring at her hard. He’s assessing her, the same sort of look he’d given her the first time she’d seen him without his mask. Likely the same look he’d given her the first time he saw her as well. 

She stares right back into those yellow eyes, all emotion gone from her face. Normally she’d give him a defiant look, or an angry one, something to tell him just how she felt about him. But she couldn’t bring herself to show anything. 

He releases her after a few moments. She lets her body flop back onto the bed, ready for whatever he felt he needed to do to make her pay. But she’s surprised when she feels the cool smoothness of a metal bowl in her lap. She’s pushed back into a seated position, suddenly finding herself staring into a bowl of stew. It’s fruit stew: a purple liquid with mashed bits in it. It tasted like if you blended a granny smith apple with an eggplant. The fruits were bitter on this planet. Everything was bitter on this planet, and the meat was tough like overcooked steak. 

“No.” She says, trying to push the bowl from her lap but he forces it back. 

“Eat.” He says, taking the spoon and holding up some to her lips. 

“No.” She says, trying to wiggle away. 

“Hulij-bpe.” He grunts, holding her in place. “Eat.” 

She knows he’ll force her, choke the stew down her throat until it was gone. So she relents, taking the spoon. It’s huge in her hands, more like a ladle. She forces the stew down, surprisingly filling for being fruit. 

She should know, she’s been living off of mostly fruit for who knows how long.

She stares at her while she eats, not moving until she’s scraping the bottom of the bowl. He takes it from her hands, and she flops back on the bed. He doesn’t say anything else, leaving her alone again. 

She’s not sure how long she spends alone. How long she lays there. She’s surprised, the days passing with no sign of her male except to bring her food every so often. Perhaps he thought she was sick. Not that he had ever cared when she was. Or perhaps he could sense her growing exhaustion, the need for change. Maybe he was letting her live out her last few moments in peace before he killed her. 

That was unlikely. They liked violent deaths. 

Her male joins her a few days later. She’s awake, still curled up in the furs. She’d bathed, starting to get sick of her own stench after having been regularly bathed for so long. He kneels among the furs, uncovering her. Her breath hitches as he turns her, hovering over her. It’s dark in the hut, her own vision almost nothing compared to what his would be. She knows they see well in the dark, even without their helmets. 

She’s crying, waiting for him to use her for his own release. It would be a fitting end. Raped then murdered. No less than what could happen to her on Earth. His hands are rough on her skin, nails pricking the soft flesh as he moves her, shifting her to the middle of the nest. She sobs quietly, looking up at him with tear stained cheeks as he runs his hand up her body to her face. 

He grips her chin, mandibles clicking together. “No.” 

She sobs, reaching up to smack him but he dodges out of the way, catching her other hand. 

“No.” He says again, pressing her harder into the furs. 

“Just kill me!” She all but screams, kicking at him. She catches him in the side, earning nothing more than a quiet grunt at the impact. “Just kill me.” 

He holds her for a moment, looking down at her. She waits for it, waits for the snap of her neck as he pulls her spine from her body. But instead he releases her, getting up and leaving the hut. 

***********

She finally gets up the next morning. Something had to be happening. She digs around until she finds her collar, slipping it on. The netting covers her, offering her some warmth and sense of protection as she ventures out. There’s more of them than usual, her eyes spotting a ship on the edge of camp. Visitors. Another clan perhaps? 

She takes a couple steps out, looking around for her male, but he’s nowhere to be seen. She feels nervous all of a sudden, the comfort of having aliens she recognized around her suddenly gone as she finds herself surrounded by the unknown. It felt a bit strange to think that way. They were all unknown to her, even the ones she’d been around. But she knew them to a degree. She was used to their presence, and their lack of acknowledging hers. 

She wraps her arms around herself, making her way towards the edge of camp. At least there she could hide and go unnoticed. But she doesn’t make it that far, slamming hard into a bulky body. 

She takes a couple steps back, tilting her head back to look way up at the masked face of an unknown male. He’s huge, close to double the size of her own. He’s trilling low and deep, reaching out for her. She panics, taking a couple steps back but her legs won’t work, and she finds herself on her back in the dirt. She scrambles back, turning onto her hands and knees to try and crawl away. 

A hand closes around her ankle, bones snapping in his strong grip. She lets out a scream, probably unlikely to do anything but draw an audience, but she can’t think of anything else to do. She’s yanked back, her hip popping at the force of it. Her entire right side is burning in pain, clawed hands undoing the collar around her neck. She tries to fight him, all sense gone as she knows what’s about to happen. 

A rough hand runs along her slit. It’s wrong, all wrong. She claws at the dirt, the big male pressing up against her, the heat of his body making her shiver. 

But a roar shakes her to her core, her brain unable to do anything but tell her to curl up and hide. The weight is suddenly gone and she turns to look, finding a familiar male throwing punches at the larger unknown male. They do have an audience now, males known and unknown gathered to watch the two fight. 

She desperately clings to consciousness, but the pain in her side is too much, and she fades into darkness. 

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

She wakes to the familiar metal roof of the hut. Her entire body is on fire, soaked in sweat but shivering. Something wet and cool is pressed against her face. She follows the arm up, turning her head to look at the face, the very human face. She’s older, streaks of grey in her hair and wrinkles in her face. She’s clothed in their netting, but a necklace of bones sits on her chest. 

“W-What...” She tries to speak but her mouth feels as if it's full of cotton. 

“Hush, young one.” The woman says, offering her something to drink. 

“What...” She pants, something burning through her chest making her grimace. 

“Your mate. He’s given you his blood.” 

She stares at the woman for a moment, trying to process what she said. “Mate?” 

The woman stares back before giving her a look of understanding. “Oh child, you didn’t know? He’s chosen you. He defended you from one of our own.” 

“Oh pauk.” She stares at the woman for a moment longer before her eyes roll back, brain forcing her into unconsciousness once more. 

#predator #yautja #fanfic #yautja x oc #male yautja x oc

[akaashisbabygirl]

recording

pairings: suna x female!reader

warnings: NSFW - recording (with consent), spanking, knife use, degrading, fingering, vaginal penetration, use of duct tape, restrains, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia, suna is kinda a dick in this, reader is not on birth control

a/n: been having problems in my life, so here, have a smut fic 🤠👍🏻 i’ve been really out of it lately so i haven’t been motivated to right or have ideas which usually just flow naturally. these last weeks have been a struggle and i’ve been in and out of depressive episodes which sucks, but i’m doing okay :) i hope you all are taking care of yourself and you’re doing okay! i love all of you and i hope you enjoy <3

suna’s fingers fiddled with the rope in his hands. he watched as you did a twirl, the pink skirt short enough to reveal your panties from underneath, the panties which just covered up your womanhood from suna’s eyes.

you walked over to where suna was sitting, on the chair in the corner of your shared bedroom. sitting yourself down, you straddled suna’s body, your cunt pressing up against his crotch as you moved your arms to rest on suna’s shoulders.

your head shifted to the side, suna’s lips attacking yours as his hands held onto your hips, grinding your clothed cunt against his growing erection.

“get on the bed,” suna muttered against your neck, his hands tracing up and down your waist as he stared you in the eyes.

you followed his orders obediently, crawling off of his lap and walking yourself over to the bed.

“bend over,” he growled softly as he stood up, walking over to the bed.

your skirt fell to rest on your hips, your backside becoming evident to suna’s eyes. he watched how your legs clamped together, your fingers digging into the bedsheets as your panties showed off from under your skirt.

suna’s hands ran along your ass, giving it a slight slap with a smirk on his face. he listened to you whine as he pulled his phone out, opening up his camera and pointing it at your clothed cunt.

“you look so pretty,” he muttered, slapping your ass once again.

you whined, earning a glare from suna, “keep your fucking mouth shut, sweetheart.”

suna set the camera down on the stand which sat before the bed. he twisted the ropes in his hands, pinning your wrists together behind your back and tying them tightly together with the cute, pink rope he had brought.

“so pretty with your hands tied together behind your back.”

he picked the camera up again, zooming in on your tied hands.

“move your hands for me.”

your hands moved in their restrains, body beginning to squirm. suna set the camera down on the stand once again. he turned you around onto your back, your hands sitting in an uncomfortable position as he picked up the knife from one of the small tables in the bedroom.

he dragged the knife along your clothed skin, cutting the fabric off of your body. you bit your lip as you watched the clothes be cut off your skin, throwing the cut up material onto the wooden floorboards of the bedroom.

“so fuckin’ cute,” he muttered, flipping you back into your stomach, his hand resting on your head, keeping your head down into the bedsheets.

suna’s fingers trailed over your clothed cunt. he set the knife down back on the table, his fingers pulling your panties from your body and throwing them to the ground with your cut up clothing.

“don’t worry angel, i’ll buy you a new one,” he whispered softly against your ear as he shoved two of his digits inside of you.

a moan escaped your lips as your jaw dropped, cries of suna’s name falling from your lips as your head was forced down into the bedsheets. your hips bounced back against his fingers, your cunt tightening as suna curled his fingers inside of you.

“r-rin...” you moaned, drool dripping down your chin from the way your mouth rested open.

suna thrusted his fingers inside of you, adding a third and stretching you out. all you could do was fiddle with your hands, trying to escape your binds, moaning out loudly as it was the only thing you could do.

suna slapped your ass once again, “keep quiet, slut.”

“m- gonna cum,” you mumbled loudly into the bedsheets, eyes shutting closed as the tight knot in your stomach broke.

your cum dripped down your thigh as suna removed his fingers. he watched how your cunt began to clench around nothing, your cum oozing from your abused hole. suna shoved his fingers inside of his own mouth, sucking your juices, letting his tongue roll around his finger, savouring your taste.

suna removed his shirt, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants drop to the floor, stepping out of them, letting his pants and shirt rest on the floor with your clothing.

he grabbed hold of his phone which was still recording, zooming in on your dripping cunt. the camera caught the way your cunt clenched around nothing perfectly.

setting the camera back down on the stand, suna removed his boxers, grabbing the role of duct tape from where it sat next to the knife. he cut a strand, placing the tape over your mouth securely to keep your mouth shut as he fucked you.

he lined his cock up with your dripping entrance, rubbing his length along your slit to collect your wetness.

suna pushed in, grabbing the phone as you tried to moan out against the tape. he rocked his hips slowly into you, his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust of his hips.

the tape over your mouth muffled your moans, your face pressed down into the sheets with one of suna’s hands while the other grabbed hold of his phone.

he recorded the way your cunt stretched around his cock. the way your cunt sucked him in tightly.

“so fucking tight,” he gripped onto your hair, another muffled cry being stopped by the tape.

you began to cry, tears rolling down your face which only made suna thrust his hips into you at a faster pace. he knew you were close to your climax.

his fingers moved to your clit, rubbing fast and harsh circles on the small bud. your body shook and began to squirm underneath suna’s hold. he could only smirk as he thrusted faster and faster into you.

“aw are you gonna fucking cum already? you must be so desperate, aren’t you? just desperate for me to fuck you? isn’t that right, you fucking pathetic slut.”

suna let go of your hair, his fingers digging into your hips with every thrust. he was sure to leave bruises on your body.

with the movement of his hands, he turned you around. your hands sat uncomfortably behind your back as he lifted your legs to sit above his shoulders.

he smirked, his lips pressing onto yours over the tape, teasing you.

suna sucked hickeys onto your chest and chest, marking you up while thrusting painfully fast into your abused hole.

“mmm” you mumbled out.

suna knew what it meant. you’re we’re about to cum. he knew that you were sensitive, but he chose to speed up his thrusts to bring both you and him to your climax.

with a few more thrusts, the knot in your stomach broke and you climaxed around his length. suna knew he was close. he clenched tightly onto the phone in his hands to make sure he were to get everything on recording. he recorded himself pulling out of your cunt, the camera picking up how your cum dripped from your hole once again. he wanted to cum inside of you, yet, he knew it wasn’t safe. he pumped his length a few times before releasing his cum all over your tits, watching how his cum stained your body as if you were an art piece being ruined.

“so fuckin gorgeous,” he panted as he ripped the tape from your mouth, letting the camera catch just how beautiful and fucked out you looked.

© all content belongs to akaashisbabygirl 2021, do not repost or change

#suna smut #suna rintaro smut #haikyuu smut #nsfw—🎟

[achillieus]

we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one. 

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, mentions of depression, angst, bucky is a cocky bitch, but bucky also needs a hug

(other parts)  (masterlist)

part 1/3:

It’s December, his sophomore year of college and Bucky’s watching you again. From afar, always from afar. He’s scared if he goes near, something will give him away and you’ll laugh at him. He doesn’t remember when his fixation started but he’s certain it’ll pass. A load of girls on campus like him. Sometimes he thinks he likes some of them back. But not you. Bucky doesn’t like you. He’s beyond you. (Actually, you’re beyond him. He would never admit that.)  He watches you and notices how your fringe has grown the last few weeks and how a few strands are falling down your eyes. You brush them away and keep writing your essay. He decides it’d be better if he started writing his too. You’re a year younger but he knows you’ll probably get a higher score than him anyway. You’re good with words, he has noticed.

-

It’s March, your freshman year and you breathe out. You’re leaving the library, arms wrapped around books about Hamlet and Shakespeare, when you see him. Lately he seems to be everywhere you are. It’s getting annoying. You promise yourself you won’t stare at him again, but you cheat a few times. He’s wearing one of his overpriced shirts and he smiles at a sophomore girl. You know Bucky Barnes. You’d known him even if you didn’t want to. Because everybody does. Because that’s who he is. Everything you dislike about the world distilled into one label-whoring, conceited, 5′11″ tall boy. And everybody seems to be smitten with him.

He comes to you first.

“It’s destiny, Y/N,” he says, a smug look on his face, “third time I bump into you today.”

You tense. This is new. Usually, you don’t talk to each other if not for arguing in Romance Literature class. It’s one of the two classes you share.

“I must be very lucky.” Bucky chuckles and it’s somewhat engaging because he hasn’t given you a smile since the first day you met him.

“Admission office is on the left, doll”.

You had thought he was nice then. And beautiful. God, he was so beautiful. Please, he’s not. He’s an arrogant smartass. And now he’s standing here and for some seconds he laughs and you can see the dimples in his cheeks. You blink.

His light eyes divert to the books you’re holding.

“Try not to have too much fun.”

He mocks and walks away.

-

It’s July, end of sophomore year and Bucky joins a summer book club. (He doesn’t tell anyone. He enjoys his facade.) Every morning he grabs an iced latte and a butter croissant and he goes to the meetings. He reads a lot. And he loves it. It helps him feel. It’s a getaway. Bucky always stands proud and tall, trying to hide how easily he can be torn.

Running one finger along the starched collar of his shirt, he reads quietly and he considers the ever-changing art of literature; words and metaphors that allow him to imagine entire worlds and fathom his own sensitivities. He almost feels vulnerable. He decides that reading together with another person is an intimate act and he’s thankful he doesn’t really have any interest in anyone in the club.

But then it’s Monday and his teenage dream walks in, hair falling gracefully your shoulders, Gone with The Wind in your left hand. And it could have been the sun gleaming through the windows, but Bucky swears his whole being flickers. In a way or another he always responds to your presence.

You sit two rows behind of him and when he involuntary turns to you, you look surprised and yet you smile.

He tries to avoid you and he’s good at it, until someone decides it’d be fun to present the next book in groups. You’re the only two without a friend there and you end up paired together.

“I don’t like this.” he says.

“Oh, I know.” you whisper.

You spend an evening in his dorm, discussing the author and the plot holes. At first, he talks a lot, trying to impress you. But then he lays on his back, listening to the summer rain outside and you reading out loud. Regardless of what you feel for each other, he thinks it’s a beautiful sound.

Next morning, he buys two butter croissants instead of one.

-

It’s October, your sophomore year and you’re not exactly friends. Or enemies. Bucky has stopped teasing you and you think it’s because of your days in the book club. Actually, it’s because he’s dating Natasha Romanoff now and he promised he’d be kinder.

You realize sooner or later and you say it’s obvious you don’t care. (Who is it obvious to?) The girl is pretty, clever and vibrant and she’s a good person. You like her. You just can’t figure out what she sees in Bucky.

-

It’s January, his junior year and he’s not doing well. He knows it’s his fault (he always loved half-heartedly) and that makes the hurting worse. It’s guilt driven. He tries to get Nat back but she’s not ready. And it’s awful because nobody warned him and he didn’t know; it’s hard to feel lovable after a break up. He desperately needs a distraction. He pushes himself past his breaking point. Carves his grades into the back of his neck. Devours facts and theorems. Almost joins the football team for extra credit. But to be honest he’s never been that much into sports. Debate team, it is.

That’s where he truly learns to despise you. Who do you think you are? The proud jaw, those smart eyes, your feet planted on the ground as if the world’s wisdom belongs to you. You’re at your best while he’s at his lowest point.

He watches you and then he watches himself.

“Your last argument was weak,” you say, raising your eyebrows, “you should concentrate more.”

Bucky bites his lip in frustration.

“You’re not the boss around here.” He says, crossing his arms in his chest, “You may think you are, but you’re not.”

(Technically she is, Bucky. She’s the captain of the team.)

“Don’t start again.” You sigh. “I just want us to win next week.”

He rolls his eyes at you. He would never admit it out loud but a part of him is enjoying this. Feuding with Y/N feels natural. It reminds him of who he is.  And he feeds on that.

He takes a step towards you.

“Of course, so you can take all the credit.”

You just stare at him. Sometimes you don’t understand what Bucky is trying to prove. That he’s better? Or that you’re worse? You hate it. How quickly he can make you lose your temper.

(How quickly he can exhilarate you.)

“If you don’t like the team,” you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, “you’re free to leave.”

Bucky laughs. This is how you are. This is how you will always be. Both strong, you just, him lost.

“You need me to win, Y/N,” he sets his shoulders back and smirks, “I’m good at this.” He remains close to you and refuses to look away. He can see you parting your lips for a second or two.

(Did he just glance at your lips?)

“I know you are,” you breath out and Bucky is incredulous, “so start acting like it.”

(Did you just compliment him?)

-

It’s the first day of February, your sophomore year and you think you’re losing your sanity. Bucky invites everyone at his dorm to celebrate their victory at the National Debate Championship. And it’s strange because Bucky never really invites anyone he doesn’t like. If you didn’t know him, you would have bet that he’s been feeling lonely.

You don’t want to go at first. But you’re glad you do. Under the green lights he has installed and all the alcohol in his body, he looks different and it’s the first time you genuinely see him. A boy with silky black hair, blue eyes and skin that looks like it’d be cool to touch. There’s something attractive about him, in a rugged way, and you’re seeing it again after a long time.

Your allergies must have gotten in your head.

He doesn’t talk a lot that night. Not to you. Not to anyone. You deduce pretty early that Bucky just wanted company to drink. You wonder if he’s still messed up because of the break up.

Probably. Everyone on campus is talking about how Natasha was hanging out with that boy, Clint.

He tells you, you don’t have to, but you still stay to help him clean up.

“Why are you doing this, Y/N?” His voice is low.

You started taking a new antihistamine, maybe it’s the side effects.

“It’s called being nice,” you say firmly, “you should try it.”

Bucky makes a little humming sound and keeps collecting plastic cups. The room is quiet, but for the sound of trash bags and you count the seconds before you speak again.

“How are you?”

“I’m not that drunk, don’t worry.” He half-answers, half laughs but he pronounces the last word with enough irony.

“No, I meant,” you breath, “Is everything okay with you?”

“Seriously, you make no sense Y/N.” He’s careful not to look at you.

“I just wanted to say,” your voice sways for a second, you’re a novice in talking with him about anything different than books and words and that makes you weak and nervous, “You’ll be back with Natasha, I’m sure.”

Bucky’s face hardens around the edges, his eyes saying more about him than any words could. He comes close to you and it could have been the smell of alcohol but you feel like you want to throw up.

“You and I, we’re not friends.”

You don’t blink. You stare blankly at him, waiting for what follows. But he just leaves the room.

You promise you will never go to any of his parties again.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #college au #au!bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #hassandra #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #alternate universe #alternate universe bucky #natasha romanoff #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #fools

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 8,912 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, sexuality, anxiety, fear, nudity, violence, gore, death of a character, typical TWD A/N: Here we are! The very final part of this series and it's a long one. It's definitely bittersweet. 257 page document and almost 130,00 words. Thanks for sticking with Y/N and Daryl this whole time. Hope you like it. A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N and Daryl head to the meeting place to try and put an end to Negan and The saviors.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl was staring over at you beside him in the bed. The sheet was swirled around your hips, allowing him to memorize the delicate angles of your shoulders blades and to trace the shadow of your spine down to the dimple in your lower back. You were sleeping soundly beside him somehow, probably just out of exhaustion. The two of you had practically torn the house apart last night tearing into one another feverishly with desire and scenes from it played on a loop in his head; your legs wrapped around his hips as he pressed your back into the wall, sweat beading up on both of you, your head thrown back and your eyes closed as you gasped in pleasure, completely letting go and surrounded only by sensations of him.

Daryl had pressed kisses and nipped at practically every inch of your soft skin, knowing some would leave faint bruises and reveling in the surprised noises his lips and teeth were eliciting from you. He could practically still feel your fingernails down his back, your lips crashing into his, your fingers in his hair. He could hear your laughter and see the fire in your eyes and blush in your cheeks when you’d both clattered into the nightstand as you tore each other’s clothes off and sent the lamp shattering on the floor. It had been a whirlwind of desire and passion and was borne of both of your fears and anxiety about what was coming. It was needy and full of love. It was heated and wild. Daryl had never experienced anything like it and neither had you... The feelings and sensations had been all-consuming and almost overwhelming. Unstoppable.

But afterwards, once you’d laid spent on the bed for a time, tangled with each other, you kissed him so softly and tenderly and with so much love he’d melted into warmth, and he’d returned it and told you how you were everything to him, how much he loved you, how he needed you to breathe, to live. And you’d returned every word. He was bewildered and still in disbelief that you felt the way you did about him. Your eyes drank him in and then you’d pulled him gently under a warm cascade of water and showered together, washing each other’s hair, caring for the bumps and bruises you’d inflicted on one another earlier in the lustful crescendo and physical venting of your frustration and worries, smoothing the rich lather over one another, refusing to part for a second. And this was delicate and tender. Your hands were light on each other. Your kisses were soft but still full of heat.

You’d collapsed against him in bed, completely content with his arms around you, but Daryl hadn’t been able to sleep a moment. Now it was almost time for him to wake you. It was nearly 3 am, and the plan was to meet Rosita at the gate at 3:30. You’d travel under cover of darkness to the place where Negan was to meet you that afternoon, allowing them both to conceal themselves in the trees on opposite sides of the field. And then you’d wait.

Daryl adjusted the sheet over himself as he rolled closer to you, needing to feel your skin against his. Both of his hands smoothed over your back and you felt so small and delicate beneath them. You stirred a little beneath his touch and he kissed your shoulder and swept your hair aside to kiss your neck. You let out a soft sigh and sleepy moan and Daryl wanted so much to stay hidden with you in his arms forever. Why the fuck did this goddamn world have to be the way it was? How was it that he’d only found something this good when everything else was utter shit? The constant shit coefficient, he thought to himself. Something Merle used to say.

“Do we have to wake up?” you breathed quietly, turning and curling into him, your fingers finding his bare chest and moving down his side to hold gently to him.

“Yeah. S’time,” he drawled. Your eyes flitted open and for a moment Daryl thought he saw a flash of fear in them, but the next moment it was gone.

“Okay,” you said.

The archer reached out and smoothed his fingers through your hair. Your hand covered his and you laced your fingers in between his.

“It’s almost done,” you said. But Daryl didn’t find that reassuring. You saw that he looked careworn and worried and pressed his hand over your heart so he could feel it beating. “Hey. Everything is going to be fine,” you said. “I love you.”

Daryl felt a swell of emotions, everything all mixed together at once. It was dizzying. “I love ya, too.” You leaned in and kissed him softly. The next moment you both rose and dressed and soon you were outside the gate with Rosita, on your way to the meeting place.

It was still almost pitch black when you arrived, except for the faintest glow of a lighter blue on the eastern horizon. The three of you walked the area in silence, shoulder to shoulder. There were a few walkers and you put them down like a well-oiled machine. You all picked the spots where Rosita and Daryl would post up with their scoped rifles. Daryl gave Rosita a boost so she could climb up into a large oak tree. She settled into the crook of two diverging branches and nodded, glancing down at you. “It’s good. I have a good view.” Her camouflage clothing made her nearly impossible to see against the leaves and bark.

You walked with Daryl across the open clearing and into the small copse of trees on the other side. After you’d found a suitable spot, he gave you a long look, frozen with his hand on the strap of his rifle.

“There’s still time,” he drawled. “Ya ain’t gotta do this. We can find some other way.”

You stepped close to him and rested your hand on his strong chest, feeling the beating of his heart beneath your fingers and the expansion of his lungs with each breath. “I do have to do this,” you said. You stared up into his blue eyes. “Everything is going to be okay,” you reassured him.

His eyes flickered between yours but your reassurance didn’t relieve the pit in his stomach. He cupped your face and kissed you, pouring everything into that kiss and soaking you up, breathing you in. “Alright. Let’s get this done.” He knew there was no talking you out of it.

You pulled your pistol and handed it over to him. “Just hold this for me for a little while,” you said. But you kept your knife in its sheath for now in case a stray walker wandered by. “Daryl Dixon. I love you. More than you know,” you said, taking one last long look at him.

His forehead was deeply lined with worry, but his voice was steady. “I love ya too.” And then he watched as you headed into the darkness to wait in the clearing while he took his place. _ _ _ _ _ _

The wait was agonizing. You were practically sick with strenuous anticipation but finally, after what had felt like an eternity, you heard a vehicle in the distance. You rose from your seat on the ground and stood in the small circle of depressed grass left where you’d waited. Your jeans felt damp with moisture from the morning dew that hadn’t yet evaporated and you squinted in the direction of the road. Eventually a tall, lean figure, immediately recognizable as Negan came into view. Despite the heat of the sun, he was wearing his characteristic leather jacket. You were surprised but relieved to see he was without Lucille. You began approaching him cautiously, aiming to meet him halfway, knowing that would be a good spot for both Daryl and Rosita’s fields of view.

You were about a third of the way there when he suddenly froze and spoke. “Y/N, is that a goddamn knife I see on your hip? What in the fucking hell did you think unarmed meant?” he growled. His voice was deepened in anger and booming across the open space to you.

You pulled it from the sheath and tossed it out away from you over your shoulder. “I needed something in case of walkers,” you said. You eyed him suspiciously but he seemed to relax. You noted that he had a pistol in a holster at his side.

You both resumed your approach but something over his shoulder caught your eye and every muscle in your body tensed. “I said come alone!” you spat at him. “I said no one else!” You started to back away but far from looking concerned, Negan simply laughed.

He whistled and Dwight came into view, but he was entirely different than when you’d last seen him in Alexandria, when he’d come to pledge to help you fight against The Saviors. He was now clothed in a filthy sweatshirt and sweatpants that looked like they could have been the very same ones Daryl had worn, and his face was covered in bruises. “This? Oh, this isn’t someone, Y/N. This is my new dog, Dwight.”

You gulped and your heart started to race. Oh, fuck. He knew. “What did—"

“Can we not lie to each other, Y/N?” he growled, interrupting you. “I fucking know that you know what he did. I FUCKING KNOW!” he roared at you, his usually handsome features distorting and his face burning red with anger. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t FUCKING figure out what sneaky little rat cunt was feeding information to Alexandria? How goddamn fucking stupid do you think I am?”

You were paralyzed and were praying that Rosita or Daryl would pull the goddamn trigger. They had to know something was wrong. Was Negan far enough into the field now that he wasn’t blocked by other trees?

“Get the FUCK DOWN and get the FUCK over here, dog!” Negan growled at Dwight. Dwight fell to his hands and knees, his head down, and he crawled the rest of the way to Negan. When Dwight reached his side, Negan glared down at him. “Now stand the fuck up right here, right next to me and keep your eyes on the goddamn ground.” His voice was dripping with contempt. Negan looked back up at you. You realized that Dwight standing next to him was, in all likelihood, blocking Daryl from taking a shot at Negan. “Are we doing this or what?” Negan said. “Come over here so I don’t have to fucking yell and you can tell me why in the hell I shouldn’t just wipe all three communities off the goddamn map.”

Somehow you steadied your nerves after seeing Dwight so changed and you walked the rest of the way toward him cautiously. Negan seemed to calm as you came closer and you caught him looking you up and down. “Lift your shirt up, Y/N,” he said.

“Fuck you,” you spat back at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I said lift it up, not take it off. There’ll be plenty of time for that later if you’re interested,” he said with a grin. “I want to see your waistband. Make sure you’re not hiding some cute little peashooter.”

You begrudgingly lifted your t-shirt up enough so Negan could see the waistband of your jeans. “Turn,” he said, moving his forefinger in a circle. You scoffed, but complied and turned around so he could see you weren’t hiding anything.

“Good,” he said as you came to rest back in your original position.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask to frisk me,” you snarked at him. He let out a chuckle and that wide goddamn smile grew on his face as he looked at you.

“Holy shit. I do miss you, Y/N,” he said. “And not just for the great ass.” You were taking a breath about to open your mouth to say something snarky back when suddenly Negan pulled his pistol and shot Dwight right in the fucking head. You watched the blowback of blood splotch Negan’s face like it was in slow motion. The cloud of gunpowder drifted lazily on the heat of the afternoon air. Dwight’s body crumpled to the grass in a heap like a wet towel and you stood paralyzed, in shock, staring at the place where that living man had just been standing. Your hesitation from the shock of what the fuck you had just watched only lasted for a split second but it was long enough for Negan. Dwight’s body hadn’t even finished falling when Negan lunged forward and grabbed you, spinning you roughly and pulling you back against his body, one arm looped around your neck.

There was nothing you could do. He had you.

“Fool me once, shame on you,” he hissed into your ear. “Fool me twice…” His arm around you was tight. You could feel his tensed muscles straining as he pulled you back against him. But there was a sharp biting to the muzzle of his gun pressed into your back. “Now what did I fucking tell you, Y/N? I said no goddamn Daryl, didn’t I? And you just can’t obey me, can you? I know he’s here. There’s no way he’d let his little lovebug come out here on her own.” Negan suddenly roared and his deep voice was so soaked with bone-chilling anger it completely paralyzed you. “Get the FUCK out here now, Daryl! Or I’ll shoot her in the fucking heart!”

Sweat was dripping into Rosita’s eyes as she peered through her scope. “Shit. Fucking shit!” The only thing she could see was you in the crosshairs. There was no way she could take the shot without risking hitting you instead.

And Daryl’s view was no better. His stomach had plummeted into the fucking depths of hell. When Negan roared for him to come out, the archer tried to think fast. What the fuck were his options? None. He had none. Maybe he could bargain for you. He’d go with Negan as his prisoner if he just let you go. He had to try. He had to try something. He was nearly hyperventilating. Calm. He needed to be calm for you if he was going to get you out of this.

“I’m not fucking playing games, Daryl!” As he roared angrily, his arm tensed and tightened around your windpipe.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and drew in as deep a breath as the paralysis in his diaphragm would allow. Then he shouldered his rifle and grabbed your pistol instead, stepping out from the copse of trees with it aimed in Negan’s direction.

Negan laughed into your ear and then you felt his teeth on it, biting. You tried to recoil from him but his arm held you tightly in place. It was terrifying how the man could go from roaring in anger to chuckling like he was having the time of his life with the flip of a switch. Daryl was still a way off, approaching with your pistol aimed. “Who’s your other friend?” Negan hissed into your ear. “The one over in the trees to the right.”

How the fuck could he know? How the fuck could he possibly know?

“I asked you a goddamn question, Y/N, and I fucking expect an answer.” Another squeeze on your windpipe.

“Why does it matter?” you wheezed out.

“Hmm. Good point. I’ve got everything I need right here,” Negan said. He pressed the gun into your back, eliciting a painful hiss of air through your teeth.

“How’d you know?” you asked, your hands gripping his strong arm in an attempt to lessen the pressure on your neck.

“Because I fucking know everything. You should have learned that by now.”

You were up on your tiptoes and the way he was pulling you back arched you into him, pressing your body against his. You were repulsed by the feeling of him against you. He laughed again, seeming to sense that you were raking your brain trying to figure out how he knew Daryl and Rosita were there. “That boy Eugene can build just about anything when given the proper motivation,” Negan said. His voice was silky and low. “When you said you wanted to meet, I tasked him with coming up with a way to make sure you really came alone. And you know what that son of a bitch came up with? Modified a camera to read thermal heat signatures. Now, I’m not even gonna pretend to understand how the fuck that works, but he did it. So, all I had to do was pull up, turn that shit on, and survey the meeting place. And with little Dwighty-boy under my thumb there was no rat to run off and warn you! And wouldn’t you know, when I fired that baby up there were three human-shaped heat signatures instead of just one. You must really think I’ve lost my touch if you thought I was going to take you on your word…” Your whirling mind was interrupted by soft footsteps in the grass nearby.

“Let her go,” Daryl growled. He was close enough now that Negan could talk to him without raising his voice. Your pistol was still aimed at Negan in Daryl’s hand but with the way Negan was holding you, you couldn’t imagine that Daryl could actually get a clean shot.

Negan laughed heartily. “That’s cute. You do know I have a gun pressed into your dearheart’s spine, right?” You felt the muzzle of the gun leave you for a moment as he showed it to Daryl, but a second later the bite of the steel was back. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little Mexican stand-off!” Negan said. “But there is one thing I have that you sure-as-fucking-shit don’t. Leverage.” Negan leaned down and you felt his face in your hair. He drew in a deep breath and let it out dramatically. “Mmm-mm-mm! Smells sweeter than I remembered.”

The muscles in Daryl’s jaw flinched as his teeth clenched. “If ya let her go, ya can take me instead. Hell, ya can kill me right now,” Daryl said.

“Daryl! No!” Your eyes went wide and round with fear. “Daryl—” But Negan’s arm tightened against your throat and you fell silent.

“I’ll put this gun down and ya can kill me right now,” Daryl said again. “Just let her go.”

Negan was smiling a self-satisfied smirk and chuckled again. “Oh, how I love having you both by the short and curlies,” he laughed. “Now, why the fuck would I want to make a trade like that? I can get out of here with Y/N and fucking kill you later. Besides, the idea of me having little Y/N here,” he pressed the gun to your head and his arm unwrapped from around your throat and you felt his hand running down your side to grip your hip. “Me having her would torture you in ways I can’t even imagine. That’s so much better than just, pfft, shooting you in the fucking face.”

“Fuck you,” you spat at Negan. Angry tears were burning in your eyes but you were determined not to let them spill out. “You can take me but I won’t give myself to you ever again. And I know that’s the one rule you’ll keep. Willing ass only, right?”

The gun bit into your back again and Negan’s fingers swept the hair off your neck and then gripped around your throat. His hand almost reached all the way around your neck. “Oh, give it time, doll… The things I have in mind for you, you’ll be begging to be my wife again in no time, just to have some light, some sound, some warmth, something to eat besides tinned cat food. There’s something called learned helplessness. You ever heard of it, Daryl?” Negan’s voice was casual now, like he was having a friendly conversation over a beer. “These psychology researchers would deliver a tone before shocking rats in a cage. At first, when the rats learned that the shock came after the tone they’d try to escape as soon as the sound played. They’d scramble and run, looking for a way out.” Negan’s fingers drifted down from your throat and swept to your collarbone. “But eventually, when they realized they couldn’t escape, when the tone came, the rats would just freeze. They’d just wait for what was coming. They’d learned they couldn’t escape and they accepted it.”

Daryl’s hand started to shake a little with rage. If looks could kill Negan would have been dead ten times over. “I ain’t lettin’ ya take her. And ya won’t hurt her,” he growled.

“Now, why the fuck would you think that?”

“Because you’re obsessed,” Daryl growled.

“Ever heard the phrase ‘If I can’t have her, no one can?’” Negan’s tone was dark and for the first time you truly realized he might kill you. Your stomach turned. This was so fucking stupid. How had you been so fucking stupid? You were blinded by your desire to save lives, to protect the people you cared about, and to just get this whole fucking mess over with. “This is me. I’m Negan. If it ever comes down to me or someone else, even Y/N here, I will be the one to fucking walk away.”

“Daryl—Daryl, look at me,” you said. The archer’s narrowed blue eyes met yours. “Just shoot. Just shoot. You have to end this. It’s okay... Just shoot,” you said. “You can—you can shoot him through me,” your voice broke as you urged the words to fall from your tongue.

“Wow,” Negan exclaimed. “Holy fucking shit! That is some goddamn insane shit you just said, Y/N! Fuck me! No wonder I like you so much. That takes some massive gonads! Can you feel my cock getting hard?” he asked, pressing his pelvis into you. “Goddamn…” He let out a low whistle and looked up at Daryl, still laughing. “Oh, you can’t do that though… Can you, Daryl? Kill the love of your fucking sad, pathetic, little hillbilly life just to get the Big Bad Wolf?” Negan laughed into your ear again and you squeezed your eyes closed as you felt his breath on your neck. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just below your earlobe, knowing this must be killing Daryl to watch, and the stubble on his face was rough against your skin. “He can’t do that to you, baby. What the hell were you thinking spouting out that—”

But Negan never finished his sentence.

Daryl couldn’t explain it but despite the rolling boil of rage in his chest, or maybe because of it, time seemed to slow down in front of him and his hand suddenly had never felt steadier. He saw Negan as a target on the other end of the sight on the barrel of the gun and knew in his core that if he pulled the trigger at that exact moment that the bullet would find the intended target. And he squeezed off a round and watched through the hazy cloud of powder smoke as the bullet buried into Negan’s head.

What he hadn’t expected was the sound of a second shot.

It took him a moment to understand just what had happened. Had Rosita fired too? But as Negan’s now lifeless body crumpled beside Dwight’s, you fell too. Daryl expected you to bounce back up, to rush away toward him, but when you fell you just were lying there still on the soft grass.

Then he was a blur of movement and was beside you instantly on his knees. “Y/N? Y/N!” Your eyes were shut. Daryl’s hands immediately lifted you to cradle you against him, trying to rouse you, and that’s when his hand came away warm and wet and crimson from your back. He stared at it in a cruel realization. When he’d shot Negan, perhaps as some reflex on dying, Negan had squeezed the trigger of his gun and a shot had gone into your back.

Rosita was tearing across the field as fast as she could, her lungs on fire, and when she arrived beside Daryl on the ground she looked down in horror at your still body. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” she gasped. “Daryl—”

But her presence and voice seemed to snap him back to action. “Go get Negan’s vehicle. It’s closer. Go!” he roared. She pushed Negan’s corpse over and found the keys in his pocket before running as fast as she could to the waiting Jeep.

Daryl was still trying to rouse you. “Y/N! Y/N, open your eyes! Y/N, open your eyes dammit!” he roared. “Look at me! Y/N!” But your head simply lolled a little as he jostled you. He hesitated only one more second before pressing his fingers to your neck. Pulse. You had a pulse. He let out a rush of air, or maybe it was ripped from his lungs. “I’m not lettin’ ya die, dammit! Ya ain’t—ya ain’t dyin’ on me! I need ya!” He tore his shirt off. He lifted you enough to see the blood soaking the back of your shirt and dripping onto the grass beneath you and he pressed the bundled fabric of his clothing as hard as he could to the spot that seemed to be the origin of the crimson river.

The roar of an engine behind him pulled his eyes from your paling face and Rosita came roaring into view in the Jeep, which slid on the grass a little as she stomped on the brake pedal. Daryl stood, lifting you in his arms like you weighed nothing and Rosita hopped out to pull the back door open. The archer slid inside. Rosita rushed to grab the guns from near Dwight and Negan’s bodies and threw herself back into the Jeep, slamming it into gear and turning in the direction of Hilltop, her foot to the floor.

Daryl could feel your blood soaking through his shirt. Every passing moment his terror grew and you showed no signs of stirring. He cupped your face with his free hand, wincing as his fingers left smears of your own blood wherever he touched you. He huddled forward and pressed his forehead lightly to yours and Rosita could tell he was talking to you, whispering, but she couldn’t make out the words. Her stomach lurched every time she glanced in the rearview mirror.

She pressed her foot to the floor and the Jeep leaped over the pavement, but still she willed it to go faster…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl sat slumped over, his head in his hands, frozen. He vaguely registered a door opening somewhere behind him and he straightened up enough that he caught sight of his hands and saw the dried blood all over them. In some spots it was thick and flaking off while in other places it filled all the lines of his palms like someone had purposely painted it there, a red wash over his skin. He stared down at his hands, his vision going in and out, blurring and then sharpening, blurring and then sharpening…

The door opening had been Rosita entering the medical trailer. She hesitantly made her way over to Daryl and lightly touched his shoulder. He flinched, startled, and turned to look up at her with a dazed and desperate expression. She gulped and gave him a sympathetic look, her brow drawing downward over her eyes, but he didn’t seem to really be registering anything. He looked completely unlike himself. She pressed a damp cloth into his hands and he mechanically began rubbing away the dried blood on his skin, moving simply because she’d prodded him.

Her eyes drifted over to the bed Daryl was slumped beside and her throat constricted. It didn’t even look like you. Your skin was so ashen. Her stomach twisted. She should have stopped this—should have pushed back about the plan, but she’d been so blinded by her own hunger for revenge and this was where it had led. “Daryl—you should let the doctor give you something… some fluids, some medication—”

“No,” he croaked. The towel in his hands, now smeared with rusty red, fell to the floor carelessly.

Rosita gulped and rested her hand over the wrapping around the crook of her elbow absently. As if on cue, Dr. Carson appeared around the curtain divider. His eyes fell on you lying on the bed first and then drifted over to Rosita again.

“She probably is going to need another transfusion soon,” he said softly.

Rosita nodded. She, luckily, was blood type O negative, the universal donor. “Anything she needs,” she agreed.

Daryl’s eyes lifted and fixed on the doctor. “Why ain’t she awake yet?”

“Her body went through a lot of trauma with the gunshot and then the surgery… that with the medication, the painkillers, anesthesia still wearing off it could take a while.”

Daryl slumped again and rubbed his hands over his face.

Rosita glanced at Dr. Carson. “Can I talk to you?” she tilted her head away from the curtain divider and he followed her around it to the other side. “Tell me,” she said. “How is she? Really?”

“She lost a lot of blood. The bullet hit her right scapula and shattered it but that also stopped it from going clear through. If that had happened, she probably wouldn’t have even made it here. I was able to get the biggest bullet fragments out and I had to put in some plates to stabilize the area. My best guess is that everything will be fine. She’ll wake up, and except for some residual pain in that shoulder and maybe a little reduced mobility, in all likelihood, she’ll be just fine after she’s completely healed.”

Rosita wanted to heave a sigh of relief but she knew there was a qualifier. “But you’re saying there’s a chance she won’t wake up, that she lost too much blood,” she said.

“Yes. There’s a chance,” he said. “You should prepare him for that if you can.”

She shook her head. “There’s no preparing anyone for that,” Rosita said. “How long until we know?”

“If she doesn’t wake up in the next day or so I’ll start getting concerned,” he said quietly. “But all her vitals are trending in the right direction.”

“A day. Alright. Thanks,” she said. Dr. Carson breezed away and Rosita stepped around the curtain again. This time Daryl was right at the side of the bed and he had your left hand pressed between his, his eyes closed. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was praying.

Rosita pulled up a chair and set it slightly back from the bed you were in, feeling like she needed to be there but also needed to give Daryl some space with you. After everything their family had been through, all the people they’d lost, she’d never seen him like this. She was never a religious person, especially after the apocalypse, but at that moment, looking at how Daryl was with you, she sent a prayer into the ether.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl had finally collapsed on the edge of your bed out of pure exhaustion. His will had been strong to stay awake, to sit a vigil beside you, but his body eventually had other ideas and finally gave up.

But the slightest movement of your hand in his and he was sitting up stock straight, staring down at it and wondering if he was imagining things. His heart was hammering with renewed hope. There was a soft noise that fell from your lips and he knew he wasn’t imagining that. Daryl was instantly on his feet. “Doc!” he roared, and Dr. Carson was there in an instant. Daryl watched as a grin widened on the doctor’s face and he finally felt his body relax some.

Dr. Carson pulled a small penlight from his shirt pocket and clicked it on. You were moving your head a little on the pillow, but more than that, your left hand was squeezing onto Daryl’s and your grip was strong. “Y/N? Can you open your eyes?”

It seemed to take some effort but they fluttered open and Daryl gripped your hand in both of his and let out a gasp of relief.

Dr. Carson flicked the light over each eye and straightened up with a smile. “Normal pupillary response,” he said, grinning at Daryl. “How are you feeling?” the doctor prodded you.

You gulped and seemed to take stock of the moment. “Like hammered dog shit,” you rasped.

Dr. Carson and Rosita chuckled while Daryl let out a gruff laugh and squeezed your hand in his. He smoothed his fingers through your hair and you turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his.

“There you are. You’re here,” you said softly. Dr. Carson and Rosita, who was still hanging back, both stepped around the curtain divider to give you and Daryl a moment.

“Course ‘m here,” he drawled, still stroking your hair gently. “And so are you.”

Your eyes closed for a moment and you drew in a few deliberate breaths. “What—what happened? Negan—did he get away and—”

“He’s dead,” Daryl said. Your eyes snapped back over to his face. They were a bit round and unsure.

“What did you just say?” Your brain was a bit foggy. You wanted to be sure you had heard correctly.

“He’s gone. Dead. I—I shot him,” Daryl said. “With your gun.”

“You shot him,” you repeated.

“Mhm,” Daryl said, nudging his nose up in a nod at you.

You finally glanced over at your right side, the apparent source of the pain that seemed to be radiating in waves. Your arm was in a sling and fixed close to your body. “You shot him,” you said again. “What—what happened to me?” you asked. “Is my arm broken?”

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip anxiously for a moment. “When I—I shot Negan he squeezed off a round from that pistol he had. It went into your shoulder. Shattered your shoulder blade. Ya had to have surgery. Dr. Carson fixed ya up. Put some hardware in.”

You stared at him with your brow drawn slightly down but eventually nodded to show you understood. “So, I’m bionic now, is what you’re telling me.” There was a somewhat playful look in your eyes, but Daryl didn’t smile.

“Y/N—‘M sorry. S’my fault ya got shot,” Daryl said and you could hear the tension, the anguish in his voice. “Ya almost died. Ya coulda died…” Now his blue eyes turned downward and he couldn’t or wouldn’t look at you.

“How could you think this was your fault? If it was anyone’s fault besides Negan’s, it’s mine,” you said. You squeezed his hand as tightly as you could but you were feeling weaker by the second. “The whole plan was mine. And it was shaky at best but I—I didn’t care. I just thought I could end it. It’s not your fault. I told you to shoot him through me, remember?” Your voice failed and you leaned back into your pillow and closed your eyes. “I feel really tired…”

Daryl looked up at you again, guilt still swirling in his stomach. “You lost a lot of blood,” he drawled, his stomach twisting with fear again as he remembered how his shirt had soaked through with your blood and then it was running all over him and the back seat of the Jeep. “Just rest now, alright?”

But you forced your eyes open again and looked over at him. “What happened? With the rest of The Saviors?” Daryl could easily read the anxiety on your face but he shook his head.

“Rick and Michonne came back. With the scavengers. It’ll be over soon. Ya ain’t gotta worry,” he said, hoping to soothe your fears. “Everyone is safe back home. Some of The Saviors tried to get to Alexandria but those bombs you and Rosita wired up? Blew a bunch of ‘em to hell. Don’t worry about anything. Just rest.”

But you gulped and started to shift in your bed, grimacing with every movement but apparently determined. At first Daryl’s heart sank. It looked like you were moving away from him. But when there was as much space as you could create on the bed your eyes found his again before glancing at the created spot next to you, and he understood. “Come up here. Please,” you whispered. Your voice was a little raspy again. “I need you.” There were tears glistening in your eyes. It was settling in how narrow of an escape this was.

“I don’t wanna hurt ya,” Daryl said, worried about bumping your arm. The bed was narrow.

“Then get up here,” you said again. “Please.”

How could he deny you that? Daryl toed off his boots and very carefully settled in next to you on his side, facing you as you pressed back into your pillow. He rested his hand on your uninjured arm and studied your face in profile. Your eyelids were growing heavy again and each blink lasted longer and longer. “Daryl…”

God, his name leaving your lips was still the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard in his life. “Hmm?” he hummed, his finger drawing idle circles on your soft skin.

“I love you.”

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the words out without his voice breaking. He leaned up on his elbow and kissed you when you turned to look at him, gentle but yearning. “I love you,” he said quietly when he pulled back. “Now rest.”

And now, having heard those words and with the weight and warmth of him beside you, the familiar smell of leather and the outside air and smoke, you did.

_ _ _ _ _ _

A few days later You were sitting up in your bed with Rosita on one side and Daryl on the other. You fingered the cards on your lap and gave Daryl a long look. There was a pile of poker chips on the table beside you and you pushed them onto your bed and looked at Daryl again. “I think you’re bluffing,” you said. “All in.” You gave him a satisfied smirk. His blue eyes narrowed and stared back at you.

Rosita let out a scoff and threw her cards down. “I’m out. I fold,” she said, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Well?” you prompted Daryl. “Show ‘em.” You flipped your hand. “Two pair.”

Daryl let out a low growl and turned his over. “I got nothin’.” You laughed and grinned at him.

“I knew it!” You started to gather the chips up with your uninjured hand, piling them on the side table again, adding many more of Daryl’s to your stash.

“Considering how well she can apparently read you, it’s amazing it took the two of you so long to figure out you were crazy about each other,” Rosita pointed out.

Daryl shot a glare at her. “Ain’t quite the same,” he said.

The game was interrupted when Enid came around the curtain divider with a huge bouquet of tulips in her hands. “From Ms. Thompson,” she said, shuffling some things aside to make room for them.

You let out a small, uncomfortable groan. “Can you tell them to stop?” you asked Enid. “It’s getting embarrassing…” You trailed off glancing around at all the flowers and cards and other gifts covering every available surface.

The next second, as if on cue, Jesus stepped in with a loaf of some sort of bread in his hands eliciting another groan from you. “What the heck…” you trailed off. He laughed heartily.

“This one is from Mr. and Mrs. Devon. I think she said beet bread, but honestly I’m not really sure,” he said, setting it down and eyeing it uneasily.

The two of them, Enid and Jesus, were staring at you expectantly.

“…what?”

Enid grinned. “Are you in the mood for more visitors?” she asked. You gave her a questioning look.

“Uhh… I guess… as long as they aren’t bringing more strange vegetable loaves…”

“What about a lot more visitors?” Jesus prompted.

“What is—?” But you didn’t even finish your sentence before Aaron rounded the curtain, with Gracie in his arms. Your breath caught in your throat and your eyes immediately welled up with tears to see your dear friend. And he was actually smiling. “Aaron.” It was all you could get out. Daryl was looking at you fondly and got up from his place beside you to make room.

“I can’t even tell you, again, how mad I am at you for doing something so insane, but also how glad I am that you’re alive. And I wish I could hug you, just one giant bear hug, but I won’t,” he said, nodding at the sling on your arm. He adjusted Gracie in his arms and beamed at you, nodding. “It’s over,” he said.

You wiped away a tear that managed to leak onto your cheek. “It’s over.”

Aaron grabbed your hand in his and gave it a brief squeeze before moving down the side of your bed to stand by Daryl, who he did grab into a one-armed hug that made you laugh. The next thing you knew, the small area of the medical trailer you’d been occupying, already adorned with gifts and notes from the Hilltop residents who remembered you from your time there, was filling with… everyone. Daryl’s family, now your family, was filing in. Michonne, Sasha, Carl, Rick and Judith… all of them were there and whole, looking extremely relieved to see you awake and alert, but obviously also still worried about your condition. Maggie came in too. You glanced around at them, a little overwhelmed, and your eyes landed back on Daryl, who was standing at the end of your bed and had one corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile. He turned to look at Rick.

“Hey—Didya get it?” Daryl drawled.

“Oh, right. Carl, take Judith for a minute,” he said, handing off the bouncy little girl to her older brother. You watched, puzzled, as Rick disappeared around the curtain for a moment and then reappeared with a bag in his hands.

“Normally, we would have wrapped it better for you,” Michonne said, “but, you know, the apocalypse and all,” she joked.

“I wish we could honestly say it’s from all of us, but it’s mainly from Daryl,” Aaron said.

Rick set the bag down on the bed and you gave Daryl a questioning look as you managed to use your one good hand to unfurl the scrunched brown paper top and reach inside. You froze when your hand closed on a familiar feeling bundle. Your eyes zipped back up to Daryl’s face and the little smile he’d been wearing grew into a knowing smile at the look on your face.

“Are you shitting me?” you asked. Aaron let out a hearty laugh and it warmed you to hear it. You hadn’t heard him laugh since Erik’s death. You pulled out a sealed bag of coffee beans and stared at it, before glancing back at Daryl. “Where in the hell—” You upended the bag and poured out about seven more bags of coffee beans. “I don’t—what—” You shook your head in disbelief and grinned at the archer. “I mentioned this to you once… like… I don’t even know how long ago…”

Daryl shrugged and hummed a noise of acknowledgment.

“Where in the hell did you find these?”

“Figured that asshole probably had a stash of ‘em in The Sanctuary,” he drawled. “Asked Rick to go look. I was right,” he drawled.

You shook your head as you stared at him, your heart brimming, completely full. “I feel a little bad about rubbing how bad you are at poker in your face now,” you joked, eliciting laughter all around.

Rosita stepped forward and gave you a look. “No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe I don’t…” you said. “I don’t—thank you,” you said, glancing around at everyone. “This is—I mean, it’s just coffee but… thank you. And I’m just glad to see all of you.”

Dr. Carson poked his head in. “Alright. That’s enough excitement for one day. Y/N still needs to rest. Everybody out.”

Aaron gave your good shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passed. “We’re staying a bit. So, we’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, and Carol is on her way from The Kingdom.” You leaned back against your pillow and nodded, suddenly tired.

“Good. Tomorrow then.”

Everyone filed out except Daryl, who helped you repack the unexpected gift and clear away the remnants of your poker game. You sighed as he sank down in the chair at your bedside. “When can I get out of here?” you asked. “I want to sleep in a real bed with you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up again and he nudged his nose up in a nod. “Couple more days.”

“I can’t believe you found that coffee,” you said.

“Should last ya a bit, right?”

“Yeah, probably, like, a whole week maybe,” you joked. Daryl let out an amused huff and smiled at you. He grabbed your hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your fingers.

“I wanna sleep in a real bed with ya too.”

“You can go sleep in a real bed without me,” you said. He’d been sleeping in the chair beside you since you’d arrived and you couldn’t imagine that it was at all comfortable.

“Nah. I couldn’t.” He leaned up and pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back eagerly.

Epilogue

“Shoulder sore?” Daryl’s voice behind you followed by the feeling of his arms around you and then his body pressing into yours. He’d caught you out on the porch, watching the rain, rubbing your shoulder absently with the other hand.

You nodded. “Little bit. Probably from the storm.” You had a mug in your hand and there were curls of steam drifting up from the surface. Daryl peered over your shoulder into it. It was coffee, and he smiled. “But check this out,” you said, moving your injured arm so your elbow lifted slightly above the level of your shoulder.

“Progress,” he said. You were still working on getting full range of motion back. Dr. Carson said you may never be back 100%, he’d had to reconstruct so much after the destruction by the bullet, but you were determined. Daryl swept your hair aside and pressed his face into the crook of your neck and left a kiss on your skin, breathing in your smell. You were wearing one of his old flannel shirts and he pulled it down to reveal your bare shoulder, leaving a kiss there, too. You leaned back against him, content. He could see the very end of the surgical scar and his fingertip traced it before his lips found that too.

“You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?”

“We both got shot in the right side. Dwight shot you, Negan shot Dwight, you shot Negan, Negan shot me. It’s like some fucked up connected cube of shooting.”

Daryl let out a huff and shook his head. “But we’re the only ones left standin’.”

You set your mug on the railing and turned into him, facing him now, your expression pensive, matching his. “What are you thinking?” you asked him.

He shook his head. “Honestly? Nothin’.” His hands went gently to your lower back. “You?”

“I’d like to go back to bed with you,” you said. “It’s storming. We don’t need to hunt in this.”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ain’t gotta tell me twice,” he said. The next second he scooped you up in his strong arms and you laughed as he carried you back into the house and up the stairs, your mug forgotten outside. He set you gently down in bed, minding your shoulder, and then collapsed beside you, moving into you needily. His hands immediately slipped under your shirt and smoothed over your soft skin and you met his lips urgently with yours, tangling your legs with his.

Life since The Saviors was largely peaceful. There were still struggles. People needed things, the communities needed supplies… The walkers were still out there. But without the threat of Negan lurking somewhere in the shadows of your mind it felt like an entirely new world. It felt the way you had always felt when you were only with Daryl, but now it felt like it all the time. There was nothing else you could ask for. The two of you would have been content with each other and nothing else.

You knew there was likely to be another fight someday, but you also knew that the worst of your life was behind you. And Daryl had realized the same thing too. Neither of you could understand how in the middle of the fucking shitstorm of a zombie apocalypse, with the insanity of Negan, you had found each other and managed to make it through. It was something you talked with Maggie about a lot, and your heart ached that Glenn had been taken from her so cruelly, now knowing what they had because you had it yourself.

You were coming home after one such visit. Maggie and Jesus had made the trip and you all had gathered at Aaron’s, watching with delight as Gracie and baby Hershel cooed at each other. You found Daryl in the living room and gave him a curious look. He had an expectant expression on his face and you laughed and cocked an eyebrow at him. He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and ducked his head for a moment. “C’mon in here,” he said, his eyes flickering up to meet yours again.

“Okaaaay… you’re kind of freaking me out,” you said. You wandered over to him and his hands went to your hips reflexively. He seemed nervous but you couldn’t understand why. “What is going on?”

Daryl cleared his throat and then shoved a hand into his pocket. He opened his palm flat and you stared at what was sitting there. A delicate, silver ring. Your eyes shot back up to meet his. “I ain’t gonna get down on one knee or anything stupid,” he said, rubbing his free hand a little nervously over the back of his neck, “but, uhh, I want ya to be mine. Will ya?” He braved a glance back up at your face and caught the stunned expression melting away into a brilliantly happy smile that immediately sent his heart fluttering.

“Is that even a question? Daryl, I’m already yours,” you said.

“Well, I just… want to make it official,” he drawled. “If ya’ll have me.”

You gave him a somewhat teary smile and offered him your ring finger. He slipped it on. It was a perfect fit. “It’s official,” you said, grabbing him and sinking into a kiss. When you pulled back, you glanced down at the ring on your finger. “How’d you know what size? And where the hell did you find this?”

“I made it. Melted some shit down. Aaron helped me actually.”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re telling me Aaron knew about this and managed not to give it away? Wow… That’s actually shocking.”

“Anyway, the size… I measured your finger with a bit of string while ya were sleepin’,” he admitted. “Ya know, s’funny, ya sleep much deeper now.” You gave him a look. You hadn’t had a single nightmare since the end of the war.

“Yeah, I wonder why that might be,” you said sarcastically. No Negan, and Daryl always next to you? A recipe for a perfect night’s sleep.

The End.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

[frogtanii]

WRITTEN BIT BABEY :)

you leave the room with a heavy weight sitting on your heart that is only amplified by the serious look on kenma’s face. you ignore it in favor of turning on the tv and going to disney+, queuing up the original mulan knowing how into the story hinata would get. still refusing to face your friend, you move to the kitchen digging around the cabinets to find snacks.

“yn,” the sound of your name jolts you out of your focus even though you were expecting it. “can we please talk?”

it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, the only thing remaining being a heavy blanket of tension draping over the two of you. when you chance a look at kenma, you’re taken aback by the unreadable look on his face--it's overwhelming and you have to take a step back.

you turn away from him, unable to look for long without your mind racing and heart clenching with unknown guilt. a hand gently touches your shoulder, the feeling sending a shock of discomfort down your spine.

"we need to talk about kuroo," kenma starts, his golden eyes desperately searching for your own but you refuse to make eye contact, too afraid of what his expression might hold. when you don't move to face him, kenma sighs and moves somewhere behind you. the sound of a barstool scraping against the tiled floors alerts you that he's probably sitting down which signals a long and emotion-packed conversation.

"he texted me today." the relatively innocent statement is weighed down by the many implications behind it. your mind begins to race--what could that even mean? did he talk about you? your childhood? what he had done to you and more importantly, why? "what did you guys talk about?" the question is out of your mouth before you can stop it, desperation creeping into the edges of your voice.

you finally, finally, shift to face him, mentally steeling yourself for the upbringing of things you'd much rather forget.

"he's playing with you yn. you know it, i know it, he knows it. you need to separate yourself from him," kenma says, his voice monotone and soft. "i-i love you, you know that right?" you nod but remain tight-lipped, allowing your best friend to finish his piece.

"i know you think he's changed but some people never do. i just- i wouldn't be able to live with myself if i didn't say anything and let him hurt you like before." he lets out a deep breath and runs his hands through his almost entirely brown hair. something glints under the soft kitchen lights and you recognize it as the bracelet you'd bought him back in your first year of high school. you smile to yourself, not noticing the look of admiration in his eyes and the soft smile gracing his lips.

the sound of a door opening startles the both of you from your silent reverie, your eyes trailing to the hallway where hinata stands bundled up in four blankets and looking absolutely miserable. "oh shō," you whisper, his puffy eyes already welling up with tears.

kenma moves faster than you, kindly (well as kind as kenma can be) moving the hinata burrito to the couch with you following closely behind. you plop yourself down right next to the redhead, his body coming to rest in your lap. you can't help but lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, running your fingers through his orange locks.

"w-what were y-you guys talking a-about?" shōyō asks, his voice watery and thick with tears. you shake your head at his question, not wanting to bog him down with depressing tales about one of his friends. "nothing baby, nothing. how are you feeling? do you need anything? water, snacks?" your fingers never leave his head, even when he turns to look at you frustratedly, his cheeks puffing in annoyance.

"i want you to tell me what you guys were talking about," he orders, fumbling his body burrito until he's sitting upright between you and kenma. "i'm not a baby, y'know."

kenma barks out a laugh, leaning over to ruffle hinata's hair. "says the one who's been crying all day," hinata giggles at the contact before kenma adds, "baby." you grin as hinata tries to force a pout on his face but it doesn't work, a small smile worming its way there instead.

"we can talk about it later, hm?" you say as you stand before moving to the kitchen to get snacks. hinata nods and snuggles into kenma's arms while mulan begins to play in the background. you're quick to join them, handing a bag of chips to kenma while shō presses a kiss to your cheek before settling in to watch the movie.

------

turns out the later was much later--you'd gotten through all of mulan, frozen one and two, and half of moana before hinata tried to bring kuroo up again.

"shō, you really don't want to hear about it," you groan while cleaning up the kitchen, carefully evading hinata as he follows close behind. "but you promised," he whines, finally grabbing hold of you and resting his head on your shoulder. kenma pops his head from around the corner with a mouthful of pocky's and shakes his head before speaking up. "you should tell him--he deserves to know why you transfered to karasuno in our third year."

you roll your eyes before bopping hinata on the forehead, sending him to the ground with a moan. "fine but if i'm going to be forced to relive the hell that was my high school years, i'm gonna do it over text." with that, you playfully stomp back over to the couch, bringing out your phone and lying down, determined to get this conversation over with as fast as possible.

© promiscuous boy ;)

storytime!!

series masterlist

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an: holy shit this took me FOREVER AND IT SUCKS ASS IM SO SORRY this is not how i wanted this explanation to go but my writing juice dissipated i am so sorry 😞 don’t worry abt feeding me idk if i wanna hear it for this trash LMAO

EDIT: I REDID IT SO KUROO IS LESS EVIL PLS DISREGARD EVERYTHING YOU MIGHT HAVE READ EARLIER GOMEN

taglist: if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@suhkusa • @tamaguchi • @heyyourecute • @yn-tingz • @mymelodysbreakfastburrito • @tadashi-simp • @bbyouamazin • @1987hotschott • @elianetsantana • @sunflowerirl • @amberalisa • @animeboihoe • @iloveyouasmuchaspoohloveshoney • @xo-lovelyreign-xo • @vitalthot • @starry-magicshop • @mariachiii • @karasunobbys • @underratedmage • @seomisaho • @timeturnerss • @h0ngh0ngh0ng • @myeggodied • @nekomacam • @smuttyanimeslut • @iminlovewhaikyuu • @saturnfarie • @dreamstormings • @spikertrash • @just-snog-already • @quiche-inoya • @strawbabytsukki • @sky-has-a-main-ig • @xxsweetbubblegumxx • @imnotyourramonaflowersbruh • @naimalove143 • @bakarinnie • @bakudad • @birdiewolf • @letthemreadfanfiction • @tsukkiboii • @misluck

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq smau #haikyuu x reader smau #haikyuu #haikyuu smau #hq x reader smau #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo angst #kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader smau #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x you #hq kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x y/n #kuroo tetsuro smau #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro angst #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kenma smau #kenma kozume x reader #kenma x reader #kenma x you #kenma x y/n #kenma kozume #haikyuu kozume

[chasingpj]

𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞

"You’re really sweet, water boy.”

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 5,379

warnings: angsty, mentions of breaking down, one curse word

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story click here

a/n: hi hi! I hope you guys like this chapter. If you have any feedback let me know. i've read this chapter over like 1,000 times while editing so i can't even give my own opinion on this chapter lol. i hope someone likes it at least cause i'm a little iffy about this one.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality!”

The singing voices of the Apollo cabin harmonize as Atticus stands in the middle of their cabin, eyes closed with his arms swaying side to side in the air. You sit against the window frame at the end of the room, your lips curl in a soft smile as Harvey prances around his feet, enjoying the spotlight as much as Atticus is. You were glad that Atticus was still up for karaoke night despite his mood. Although you didn’t plan on coming yourself, you had hoped that he would as he needed it as an outlet to let loose. A part of you wasn’t surprised when Atticus was begging you to come with him, insisting that your plan of staying in and sleeping early was too lame for a Friday night at camp. You didn't want to make him upset so you decided to suck it up and go with him. Besides, you did need to get out.

The past few days, you’ve had your nose in books, drowning out your thoughts with everything from studying demonology to enjoying fantasy novels. You’ve been keeping an eye on Lou Ellen as well, noticing that she too was avoiding her feelings by drowning herself with books back to back. And now, as a result of your similar coping mechanism, you two have an exclusive book club where you spend hours reading and mercilessly criticizing Twilight. Meanwhile, Atticus has been up and around, constantly surrounding himself with people to distract him. He seemingly was doing fine on the surface, but it was a facade. Sorrow was radiating off of him like never before. Even if you didn’t have the ability to sense his emotions, his song choice for tonight was a dead giveaway. Bohemian Rhapsody is his comfort song.

“I’m just a poor boy. I need no sympathy!” Atticus sings passionately into the microphone. Cheers break throughout the cabin, and you giggle, joining in, cupping your mouth as you whoop for him. You look over at Lou Ellen, talking and laughing with a few girls across the room. You smile, content that for right now, the two of them are occupied and happy. You, however, couldn’t get into the mood. Sure, the chaos of the Apollo Cabin easily entertained you, but you were having trouble shaking off the heavy feeling in your chest. You frown, your hand coming down to pet the top of Ambrose’s head, the other nuzzling his snout against your leg to comfort you. You look down at him, smiling softly as a silent thank you, and you sigh, hoping to lighten the feeling in your chest, but to no avail, it remained.

A nudge on your shoulder draws in your attention, and you turn to face the boys standing to your left. You meet Lee Fletcher’s bright blue orbs, a smile plastered on his flushed face.

“You’re next!” He shouts over the music, pointing his index finger at you in the same hand he held a red solo cup in. You scrunch your face, moving a little closer to him and the group so they’ll be able to hear you.

“I’m not really in the performance mood tonight,” you say, and the immediate protests from the boys around him made you smile. They insisted that you had to sing tonight and that they were going to make sure you went after your brother. On any other night, you would have agreed, gladly taking the mic. You weren’t a stranger to singing karaoke, and you had to admit you did enjoy it just as much as Atticus did. Last week, you sang an interesting rendition of Wannabe by the Spice Girls with Lou Ellen, Silena, Katie, and Sage. You were Scary Spice, of course; you wouldn’t have been anyone else. But tonight, you were unable to see yourself singing. Now that the boys returned to whatever they were talking about, you were planning your escape. You tune back into the song, realizing that Atticus was almost finished.

“Nothing really matters; anyone can see. Nothing really matters. Nothing really matters, to mee.”

You take a deep breath for a moment, accepting your fate. It’s only one song, you tell yourself; it’ll be quick. You cringe, expecting to be pushed up to the front by the others any second now. Suddenly, chanting fills the cabin,

“Encore, encore!"

Atticus smiles, bowing like a Broadway actor as the crowd cheers. You sigh, relieved, and you hoped whatever he picked would be able to conceal your exit. There was no way Atticus was going to pass up the microphone, and over the chanting, he announced his next song choice: Dancing Queen.

He’s so depressed.

You didn’t want to miss your opportunity, slowly scooting yourself away from Lee Fletcher and the others. As the instrumental of Dancing Queen fills the cabin, a chunk of people get up from the bunk beds and the floor to dance and sing along. You take your chance now that everyone is distracted, and you walk into the crowd, carefully weaving through bodies.

The cool summer night air was refreshing on your skin compared to the stuffiness of the crowded cabin. The collective singing of Dancing Queen becomes faint as you make it across the camp. You didn't realize how loud the song was while you were in there, and you could just imagine what the other cabins were doing. You couldn’t help but smile at the idea of an annoyed Ares' cabin, all of them with pillows covering their ears in an attempt to drown out the music and screaming.

By the time you reached the beginning of the woods, the disco instrumental was long gone, and you took in the stillness of the night. There was barely a breeze tonight; the only sounds were the faint chattering of campers hanging around the hearth and taking walks. You stare into the forest, uncertain if you should venture by yourself. You hear a soft whine come from Ambrose, signaling you that it was a bad idea. It was a couple of hours away from curfew, and you can already hear the faint roars of monsters. That wasn’t enough to turn you away, though. Your desire to be somewhere silent was more prominent than your fear of the monsters.

You walk in without another thought, your pace slow and slack, and Ambrose unwillingly follows close behind you, checking around to make sure you are safe. As you walk farther in the forest, the thoughts you had sent to the back of your mind were returning with a vengeance.

The departure of your siblings felt surreal. When you had woken up to their empty beds the next day, you had chosen to believe they had left for breakfast earlier than usual and that everything that happened was a dream. Yet, as the days went by, the absence of your siblings became more apparent. A part of you refused to grieve. You had wanted to declare your brothers as monsters and convince yourself that you didn’t care. You had hoped that deciding to hate them would allow you to move on, but even that came with a desolate aftertaste.

You had blacked out in your thoughts, allowing your feet to take you where they wished, and you find yourself at a familiar boulder. You look to your left at the picnic table, staring longingly at it. It was quiet for a moment before the sight of your brother and sisters sitting on the top of the picnic table, their feet resting on the bench, appeared. They sat quietly, Atticus frowning as he looked out in the forest.

“Focus on your breathing. You won’t shift if you’re impatient.” Your gaze snaps in the direction of the voice. You saw yourself slouched in defeat as Alabaster’s hands gripped your shoulders. His green eyes peered into yours.

You were the only one that hadn’t become ethereal after trying for the past 30 minutes. Atticus had transformed on his second try, Lou Ellen on her third, and the others followed close after. But you had lost count, growing more tired and discouraged after every failed attempt. Alabaster noticed you were on the verge of tears, your lip trembling, and he easily saw that you were crawling into a bad headspace.

“I can’t do it,” you sniffled, feeling embarrassed as your siblings waited for you. You were aware they weren’t judging you and had instead been encouraging you the entire time, but you still felt ashamed. The voices in your mind taunted you, making you forget any positive feedback you received that day. You were the weakest link of the group. You were never going to be powerful as your brothers, and so you’ll never be recognized by your mother, it said.

“You can, Y/n. You’re getting too in your head,” Al reassured you, his hands falling to his side, taking a step back. You were confident that he had given up on you, and you didn’t blame him. You looked down at the ground and fiddled with your fingers. It was silent for a moment before you heard him sigh.

“Try again,” he said softly.

You groaned and rolled your eyes at yourself. You were drained from trying so long, and you were ready to accept your defeat and stomp away. You looked at Alabaster again as he patiently waited for you.

You swallowed hard, and you closed your eyes as you heard the encouraging words of your siblings. Their words failed to cancel out the negative thoughts in your own head, though. You were already bothered by the little voice that said you would never transform. You dwelled on being the last one and what made you feel worse was that it was nighttime - when your magic is at its strongest - yet you still hadn’t transformed. Maybe you weren’t as powerful as your brothers gave you credit for. Disappointment swirled in your stomach, clouding your brain, and your fist clenched as you tried to shake off the thoughts in your head. You were well aware that your mindset was holding you back. You inhaled deeply, somehow finding the will to set aside your negative thoughts.

You decided you won’t allow yourself to be the only person who couldn’t transform. You weren’t going to let your insecurity of being the “weakest link” get to you, at least not on that night. You huffed out and felt a tug in your core before your fingertips and toes began to vibrate. You gasped, and your eyebrows furrowed tightly, the vibrating sensation gradually becoming more intense to the point where it almost hurt.

You heard an excited cheer come from one of your sister's lips as the feeling crept up your arms and legs. It finally met your core, and it was as if a ball of warm, electric energy sat right in the pit of your stomach. You opened your eyes, immediately seeing the bright smile on Alabaster’s face. A relieved laugh came from your lips as a few tears ran down your face from your previously pent-up anger.

“I told you.”

You snap back to reality, looking around you to see that you were still alone. No one was at the picnic table other than Ambrose, who was laid down at the foot of it, watching you cautiously. You swore you heard the sound of Al’s voice as if he was right in front of you, but that wasn’t possible. As much as you wished for it to be, you knew your siblings were long gone.

Though you were incredibly grateful for Atticus and Lou Ellen deciding to stay, the dynamic that your siblings had as a whole was something that you wouldn’t be able to get back. Now it was the three of you, left to figure things out on your own. It’s not as if you three were incapable of figuring things out, but you’ll miss your brother's guidance.

You think perhaps if your mother didn’t give them the okay to leave, they would have never left. You couldn’t help but be mad at her, and lately, you’ve been a little petty towards your mom. Tonight, you had decided to go to dinner and dedicate your burned offering to Hestia instead. You’ve been praying to her every night as well, hoping that maybe she’d be able to bring your siblings back to you.

You hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary to inform you if your mother was aware of your silence or if she cared. You also found yourself wondering what she thought of you for not leaving. How could she not visit you? Were you really not worth, maybe, five minutes of her time? Did you have to prove yourself worthy? If so, how? You were yearning to know, but even for that, you were unable to find the answer.

Your jaw clenches, feeling your sorrow shifting to rage in your core. Take a deep breath, Ernest would say, and you do, filling your lungs to their capacity, and you hold it. Think of your surroundings. Meditate on the question: If I erupt, will I hurt someone? If the answer is yes, take a step back, breath in for 10 seconds, out for another 10 until you’re calm. If the answer is no… well, fuck it. Everyone needs to be angry sometimes.

Your head tilts slightly, taking in the clear night sky for a moment. From your peripheral vision, you can see your green aura wildly swirling and flickering around you. You close your eyes, and your chest expands, ready to release the air you’ve been holding. There was no rustling of the trees or grass, no monster screams, no sounds of the surrounding camper. The forest was still until it wasn’t as you let out a deafening scream.

After hearing the news of your siblings running away from camp at the counselor's meeting a few days ago, Percy had made a mental note to check up on you. In the time between his activities, he had checked the strawberry fields, the arts and craft center, even the arena in an attempt to find you. For a moment, he had thought you had left with them, but when he saw that Atticus was still at camp, he knew you had to be somewhere. It wasn’t until he passed by the Hermes dinner table the other day did he decide to ask your brother where you were. By then, you had not shown up for your meals for two days straight. Atticus told him that you weren’t doing too good, deciding to isolate yourself in the company of Lou Ellen. He had offered to let Percy come with him to drop off your dinner, but he had decided not to go.

He figured that you needed time for yourself, and he didn’t want to intrude. He was also worried if it would have been weird to check up on you. Surely, you were friends? You considered him as a friend, right? He hoped so since he had considered you one. He thought maybe he was overthinking it but then he began to worry that you would blame him. He had to do some mental gymnastics to come up with a reason why you would be mad at him, but he was able to come up with something. He would understand if you were mad at him since he is, well, suspected to be the child of the prophecy. So obviously, none of this would have happened if he wasn’t born? Right? He had told Annabeth about it, and from the way she blankly stared at him, he knew that the reason wasn’t solid, but still, he was nervous.

He was surprised to see you walk out of the Apollo Cabin. After hearing that you were hiding away, he didn’t expect you to attend one of the most lively events tonight. From afar, you seemed upset, but you also glinted with determination as you walked with purpose. He was seated with Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia by the campfire, listening to Annabeth ramble about the architecture of the Palace of Versailles to Thalia and Grover. It was her newest hyper fixation, and Percy had been listening though he got a little lost at some point. He didn’t want to lose his chance to approach you, not sure when the next opportunity would be so he quickly finished up the s’more he was eating before getting up from the bench.

“Um, I’ll be back,” he says. The only person who had heard him was Grover, who nodded to acknowledge him while Annabeth didn’t miss a beat in her ranting.

He checked in the usual places you would hang out in, but you were nowhere to be found. He found himself walking along the gravel road in front of the forest. He slows down, turning toward the trees and he hums,

“Did she go in there by herself?” He mutters softly, becoming concerned. It was kind of an unspoken rule that campers shouldn’t venture out on their own.

He looks over when he hears chattering, the wood nymphs slowly making their way out of the forest. They seemed to be gossiping about something as they huddle in a circle right outside of the trees. Percy found it strange that they were away from their homes, especially at this time, and he noticed they all looked a little stunned.

“Hey,” he smiles as he walks over to them. He halts hesitantly, the girls becoming quiet as they turn to him. “Have you guys seen, y/n?”

They exchange looks with each other, Juniper shifting on her feet as she stands in front of him. “Yeah…” she trails off, facing the dark trees. “Just keep walking. You’ll hear her.”

Percy furrows his eyebrows, unsure what they meant by that, but he takes their advice anyway. It didn’t take him long to find out what they meant, hearing your yelling before he saw you illuminating in the dark. He had imagined that you would be upset, but he definitely did not expect you to be yelling at the sky, rapidly throwing blasts of energy at a boulder.

Seeing you like this was odd. It was so different from the calm and collected demeanor that you gave off. He had considered you as the quieter twin. Compared to your brother, you weren’t as out there. He hadn’t seen you have many interactions with Atticus, but he could tell that you took on the big sister role. You just seemed more mature.

“How could you- how could you offer something like that?! I’ve never seen you once an- the first message I get from you is to join his stupid army! You took them from us!” You ignore the burning in your throat and the trembling of your arms. You felt lightheaded, and you didn’t know if it was due to how hard you were yelling or the amount of energy you were burning out. “I HOPE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” You shout weakly, looking up at the sky, hoping that your mother was listening to you. You wanted her to know how you felt betrayed, angry, and heartbroken.

Despite your anger, you still held back on what you said. You were wary not to push too far, preferring to not meet your mother's wrath the first time she visited you. You wanted an explanation; you wanted to hear the orders and the promises she made from herself. But you doubted she would appear.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks, your breath ragged, and you wail, blasting the last long beam you were able to muster at the boulder. You stumble from your own force, a sob leaving your lips, and your forearm wipes your tears.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” you strain in a whisper.

You gasp as you hear a twig snap behind you. You freeze in your spot, your heart beating hard in your chest. You were confident that you had summoned your mother. You took a deep breath, ready to face her, but to your surprise, you were met with Percy.

Percy's body tenses the moment you snap your gaze to him, swallowing hard as your glowing eyes bore right into his. He was hoping that his speculations of you being mad at him were wrong. The burning smell from your beams filled the air, and he definitely did not want to be charred up like that boulder. To his relief, he watches your clouded expression soften. He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you okay?” He asks, immediately cringing at himself afterward. Of course, she isn’t okay, why would you ask her that?

You sniffle, and you nod, “Yeah, I’m just doing my nightly prayers.” Though you tried to lighten up the mood, your voice was sad and hoarse.

Percy frowns, and he steps over a log in his way. He walks over to you as you plop down to sit on the grass with your legs crossed. Ambrose comes to your side, resting his head on your thigh, and you pet him softly.

“I heard what happened,” Percy’s tone is soft as he hesitantly invites himself to sit beside you. He wasn’t sure you wanted to be comforted right now, but you didn’t tell him to go away, so he took that as a good sign. He hums, looking down at his hands, “Travis reported it during the counselor meeting the day after,” he mentions. “Atticus told me you weren’t doing too well. I can’t do much, but if you want to talk about it, I’m listening.”

You didn’t want to dump everything on Percy, but the genuine concern in his tone made you feel comfortable enough to consider laying all your thoughts out on the table.

You haven't had the chance to discuss your feelings yet. There was a silent understanding between you, Atticus, and Lou Ellen that none of you were ready to bring it up and would rather go along your days pretending it didn’t happen. But as you continued to avoid it, it began to fester like an infected wound.

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize for how long you were quiet. In your silence, Percy waited patiently, not wanting you to feel pressured. Every once in a while, he would look over, noticing the flickering of your aura slowing down until it’s absorbed into your body, leaving you both with the soft white light coming from Ambrose’s body. If you decided not to talk about it, he told himself he wouldn’t pry, but he would be worried about you for keeping everything in.

You didn’t know how much Travis had said at the counselors meeting. Your mind was rushing with thoughts, asking yourself where you should start while also deciding if you should be completely honest with him. It wasn’t until now that you were faced with all the conflicting feelings you’ve had in the past few days. They came at you all at once, and a sniffle cuts through your silence. You sigh shakily, resting your head on Percy’s shoulder.

Percy looks down at you, able to make out some of your features in the dark. Your eyelids were a little puffy from crying, and you look exhausted. He frowns as a small sob leaves your lips, shifting to wrap his arm around your shoulders. He debated if he should say anything to you. He didn't find that this was a situation where an “it’s okay” was appropriate. Kronos was rising, war was on its way, and Luke was recruiting campers, 5 of those campers being your siblings. None of that was okay. He felt a pang in his chest, grasping on to the fact that you’d be fighting against them when it was time for battle.

“I’m sorry,” your voice quivers. You hated feeling as if you were losing control of your emotions. You didn’t want Percy seeing you like this, and you began to feel embarrassed.

“Don’t be sorry,” he shakes his head, and he opens his mouth to say something else but is too stunned when you pull away abruptly. Your gaze is fixed in the opposite direction as you try to catch your breath, hiccuping and gasping softly for a bit. “Y/n?”

“I almost left, and I feel guilty because a part of me regrets not leaving,” you blurted out the confession that was eating you up the most. It was what you were afraid to admit out loud, especially to Atticus and Lou Ellen. You didn’t want to admit that you, the one who found the courage to voice your opinion to your brothers, the one that declared she was staying at the camp, had begun to regret her decision. As much as you wished to not regret it, the what-if questions that filled your mind were hard to avoid. Were you actually missing out on the opportunity to be taught by your mother? Was it true what James said? Was deciding to stay a death wish?

You refused to look at Percy. You were wondering if he thought he was talking to a potential traitor to the camp. You were wondering if he would think of you differently now that you have confessed to having the slightest thought of joining Kronos.

Percy was lost for words, his face flashed with surprise, and he was glad you weren’t looking at him. He didn’t want you to think that he was judging you because he wasn’t; he was just taken aback. The tension between you started to thicken the longer he stayed quiet. His eyes scan the ground, frantically searching for something to say.

“Why did you stay?” He asks hesitantly.

Your teeth chew on the inside of your lip, and you now regret saying anything. You didn’t know if the shift in the air around the two of you was in your head, but either way, it bothered you.

“Because…” you trail off. The list of reasons why you stayed was long, and you didn’t want to go through all of them. You were determined to keep this conversation short, afraid that if you keep dwelling on this situation for too long, you will find more reasons to be angry.

“Because I’m not going to die for a cause I don’t believe in,” you declare. “I understand their side. I understand why they decided to leave. Alabaster was always saying that he wished things were different for us here at camp. I mean, so do I. They also had the approval of our mother, and they were promised to be taken care of if Kr- the Titan Lord wins. I can’t blame them for not giving that up because even I was hesitant to give it up,” you confess.

You sniffle softly, peeling the skin around your fingers before continuing, “But… for the change they're looking for, I don’t think this is the way to do it. Like really? Allying with him? Yeah, the gods are big jerks, but I don’t understand how he would be any different of a leader.” You sigh, “I considered leaving just to be with them, but I couldn’t go through with it. I wouldn’t feel right. I tried to convince them to stay, but they were set on leaving.”

Percy was quiet for a moment, and you found the courage to look up at him. His vision is fixed on the forest ahead before he meets your gaze. “I don’t think you should blame yourself for regretting not going. I think if I were in your position, I would have thought about the same things. They mean a lot to you. They’re your family.”

You nod, relieved that he understood where you were coming from. “Atticus was my last straw. If he had decided to leave, I would have left despite everything.”

“Understandable. He’s your twin,” Percy shrugs. You sigh shakily, your chest feeling a little lighter after being able to voice your thoughts. You felt more satisfied with yourself now. Your challenged morals felt solidified, and you decided with confidence that your choice was right for you.

“I give you a lot of props, Y/n. You were in a tough situation, and it must have been hard to stand your ground, especially since most of them decided to leave.”

“Yeah…” you say softly, and you realize that maybe you should have been kinder to yourself for having that feeling of regret.

“I think it’s really awesome what you did. Doing something like that takes a lot of guts,” Percy says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Thanks…” you say shyly.

A soft smile plays on his lips, and he can tell you were starting to feel better. He was glad that he could help because he understood what you were feeling. He didn’t exactly go through the same thing, but he knew how it felt to second guess your choices and how it was easy to spiral when you dwelled on it for too long.

“You’re really sweet, waterboy. Thanks a lot," you say playfully as you return the smile. Your heart flutters as Percy’s face brightens before sheepishly looking away from you for a second.

He didn’t get compliments like that often. Well, he has, from his mom, but he didn’t count that. It wasn’t the same as getting the compliment from a girl, a girl as pretty as you are.

“I-it was nothing,” he moves his hand in a dismissive wave, and you giggle. “Well… I don’t know if you were done with your ‘prayer,’ but I think you should go back to the party in the Apollo Cabin. I’ll come with you. It sounded like a lot of fun in there."

"Ugh, but they’re going to make me sing,” you slouch, and Percy laughs at the slight pout on your face.

“I’ll sing with you,” he says, and you furrow your eyebrows, surprised at his offer. You’ve only seen him at karaoke a few times, and he always stayed on the sidelines.

“You can sing?” You ask, amused. Percy definitely didn’t seem like the musical type.

“Nope, I’m pretty much tone-deaf, but I’ll embarrass myself for you since you had a rough day," he nudges you softly before standing up. You look up at him as he pats down his pants, and you lean back on your hands.

“I’m gonna pick a ballad so you can embarrass yourself even more," you smirk at him, and he stops patting his clothes, squinting at you.

“Don’t make me take it all back,” he jokes. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grab it, letting him help you up from the ground.

“You know, I’d kill to hear you sing a Britney Spears song," you mention as you pat your own clothes down and begin to walk out of the forest, Ambrose acting as your guide by trotting ahead of you.

Percy is quiet for a moment, and you glance over, positive that he's starting to regret his offer to sing with you.

"Please don’t do that to me.”

You laugh at him; the thought of Percy singing a Britney Spears song was way too funny to you. Percy gave you a cautious look, not sure if you were serious or not. “Fine, fine! I shouldn’t take advantage of your kindness,” you admit as your laugh ceases. Percy nods, playfully agreeing with you. “You listen to My Chemical Romance?” You ask, and he scoffs,

“Of course, I listen to My Chemical Romance.”

“Let’s sing Teenagers then,” you suggest. “It’s a crowd favorite. Everyone sings along, so no one has to suffer through your singing. What do you think?” you tease, and you take in his bright smile as he nods his head,

“Sounds good to me.”

masterlist taglist: @nct127bee @xxyrr @mochabreezeee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr

#my writing #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympian fanfic #percy jackson fic #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson fanfiction #pjo x reader #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #percy jackson imagine #percy x reader

[maraudersbutmuggle]

"The Prank"

Content Warning: Gender Dysphoria, Transphobia, Violence, PTSD. Depression, Mentions of Sexual Abuse. ANGST, ANGST, ANGST.

It was the week before exams. Everyone was crazy, especially the fifth years. These exams would define their possible careers in the future.

Remus was twice stressed. He was sick of people asking him questions and asking him to tutor them and sharing his notes with them.

After he had yelled to two poor third years, and slammed his book shot, making Peter jump, he went to the loo. Just to wash his face and take a bloody break.

He didn't know it would be one of the worst days of his life.

As he washed his face, he heard someone coming in. But Remus ignored it. Perhaps it was another boy.

"Hello, Rosie"

"Rosie, my sweet Rosie" "No!" "C'me here, Rosie..." "DADDY!!"

Remus began shaking. He looked that the voice came from Snape. He was staring at Remus like a strange animal in the zoo.

"Snivellus" Remus tried to sound confident, but his voice sounded high pitched.

"Rosalind Meredith Lupin. That's your name, isn't it?"

"C'me here, Rosie..." "Daddy!! Help!!"

"I don't know what you're talking about"

Remus was trying so hard not to break down. How did Snape find out?

Snape ignored him.

"I can't believe you fooled everyone. Even myself" Snape let out a little laugh. He stared at Remus with disgust "And all this time, you'd been a girl?"

Remus shook his head. Now he was shaking.

"I'm not a girl" but he didn't sound convincing.

"What I don't understand is who else knows? How could Dumbledore let you in, if you're sick. You are a freak"

"Shut up" more shaking "How did you find out?"

There was no point in denying it now. Remus was being so obvious.

Snape grinned. He took a piece of paper from his pocket.

"Thanks to the little love note between you and Black" Snape said "Maybe he needs to be careful where he leaves the love letters you send him"

Now he remembered. The note he had exchanged with Sirius. About his binder. About him being trans. He had begged Sirius not to show it to anyone.

"And then, I searched for you on the Internet. You were in the local news, Rosie. One of the victims of Fenrir Greyback. They found he had been raping girls thanks to your dad, the hero" Snape rolled his eyes "You were his last victim before he went to jail"

"Please don't tell anyone" Remus begged.

Nobody knew about that, not even his friends.

Snape shrugged "Why wouldn't I? Lupin? This is golden. One of The Marauders is actually a girl..."

"No..." Remus cried

"I can't belive your friends hid you like a fucking experiment. What do they do to you, Rosie?"

"I'm tryin' to be nice, Rosie..." "Please no!!" "Shut up!! I said shut up!!"

All Remus could do was cry and tremble. He didn't even dare to look at Snape anymore. He despised him and he couldn't believe Lily actually liked him. But Remus hated himself more.

"I thought I smelled grease from outside"

Remus was even more embarrassed to see his friends enter the bathroom. James in the front. Like a good leader. Him and Snape were mortal enemies.

"Potter" Snape clenched his teeth.

They noticed Remus.

"Moony?"

Sirius noticed Remus with eyes of concern. It was his fault. It was his fault Snape knew.

"What did you say to him, asshole?"

"I didn't touch your little bitch, Black" Snape scoffed.

"You and your greasy ass are always around upsetting us" James said "So go away"

Snape ignored him "You fucking perverts"

"Excuse me?"

"You hide a girl in your dorm, probably spy on her while she changes. God knows what else..."

Sirius rolled his eyes "What the fuck are you talking about? What girl?"

Snape pointed at Remus "Rosalind"

"Get away from Rosalind, you fucking wanker!!" "Daddy..." "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!! NOBODY TOUCHES MY DAUGHTER!!"

The Marauders turned to look at Remus. They didn't know his birth name. Remus felt so embarrassed. He clenched his nails on his arm, harder and harder. He wanted it to hurt.

"What is it, Marauders?" Snape continued, voice full of hate "Do you take turns to fuck her?"

PUM!!

James knocked Snape to the ground before anyone can stop it.

"SHUT UP YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!"

Snape touched his nose. And then he laughed. Like a maniac.

Greyback touched his nose. And then he laughed. Like a maniac. "Come on, Lyall! Hit me more!"

James wasn't satisfied. He kneeled down and kept punching and punching Snape yelling swear words and insults.

Remus was in shock. He stood there, glued to the ground. Like a statue.

Sirius crossed eyes with him. He looked so broken, and angry too. His eyes lowered. And Sirius turned to help James with the beating.

Peter seemed in shock as well. He had managed to put an arm around Remus and whispered things like: "It's okay, Moony. I'm sorry. It's okay"

This is it. Remus thought. Snape is going to die. James and Sirius are going to kill him. And Remus would be an accomplice. A stupid witness that didn't do shit. Just silently cried and shook.

Finally a younger boy came in and gasped looking at the scene.

"GET HELP" Peter yelled "PLEASE!"

The boy ran away. And minutes later, someone came in with him.

"STOP IT!!" It was Lily. She was pale as a ghost. Not in the normal way, but nearly transparent "I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING STOP!! YOU ARE GOING TO KILL HIM!!"

"PLEASE LYALL STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HIM!!" "He hurt her!!" Lyall cried, still hitting Greyback "He hurt my little girl"

Remus was surprised to see Lily's strength as she pushed James away. Peter ran to do the same with Sirius.

James was panting. He blinked like finally reacting. He looked at Lily, who was crying. And then at his hands. Covered in blood.

"Go and find McGonagall, Owen" Lily sobbed, talking to the little boy still there "Please"

Owen obeyed immediately.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU" Lily screamed mostly at James. He looked pale. Nearly in tears.

"Sorry..." he said "Sorry Lily.."

It was the first time that James Potter felt so small and quiet around Lily Evans.

But Lily was already on her knees, checking on Snape.

"Sev..." she cried "Sev... please wake up"

James' eyes were focused on them. He looked embarrassed. Sirius on the other hand approached Remus.

"Remus, are you okay?"

"Rosie, are you okay?" Hope asked, tears in her eyes. "MUMMY!!" the child cried. "Oh honey, it's okay" Hope hugged her child, crying herself "Mummy is here, is okay"

Remus flinched. Mostly because he was surprised that someone had addressed him. He had witnessed everything as if he wasn't there. And he felt the pain in his palms. Bleeding because of his nails.

He didn't want to talk to Sirius. He didn't want to talk to anyone or to see anyone. He just felt pain pain pain. Guilt Guilt Guilt. Anger anger anger.

This is your fault, Sirius. He knows because of you. He almost died because of you.

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!" McGonagall gasped, covering her mouth "What the hell happened?"

Nobody answered. They could only hear Lily's sobbing.

"Miss Evans, who did this to Mr. Snape?"

"It was me" James whispered. James never whispered. He was always loud.

"What was that, Mr. Potter?"

"It was me" he repeated

"And me"

Sirius, the loyal companion. Loyal with James, not with Remus.

"Miss Evans, please take Mr. Snape to The Hospital Wing right now! Mr. Pettigrew, help her"

"Yes, professor"

Remus didn't understand how Peter was so calm, how could he even react?

"Potter, Black. To my office"

James didn't even protest. He gave a last glance at Lily, who was stroking Snape's hair. And James walked outside. Sirius immediately followed, his eyes on Remus as he walked. Concerned blue eyes.

I hate you. I hate all of you..... Not quite.

McGonagall walked carefully towards Remus. He noticed he was still trembling and panting. McGonagall didn't scold him. She just smiled.

"Mr. Lupin" she said kindly "Why don't you step into my office, and we'll take some calming tea. Alright? You can explain what happened?"

Remus just nodded. Because he couldn't speak. McGonagall touched his arm, and they walked outside. Remus find in her body a support not to fall.

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

The boys were not expelled but severely punished after they explained their motives. Snape was forbidden to speak to anyone about Remus. Remus remained angry at Sirius and James for months after this. But they make up.

This is my muggle version of The Prank. But this time it makes sense.

#marauders #marauders muggle au #muggle au #marauders era #remus lupin #trans remus lupin #trans rights #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #lily evans #snape slander #jily #wolfstar

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter One: The Season Begins

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Despondency, depressive undertones, death of a parent, grief, unsolicited advances, age old sexism, strained parent relationship, nosy neighbors, food, lmk if I missed any pls!

W/C: 3.2k

A/N: And here we go! The first chapter! Welcome & thank you for tuning in, it means the world, truly! As I mentioned before, this story may not be the best for some, so please heed the warnings & proceed with caution. The sadness will not consistently be in each chapter, that much I promise, but we have to get through it right away so we can understand our dear Reader’s mindset as of right now. NO EZRA YET, SORRY! And like I said before, this is probably not totally historically accurate, so take everything with a grain of salt pleeease. Other than that, enjoy!

Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @barbossa2319 @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @ezrasbirdie @danniburgh @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @meesterblack @amandalovess @hunterofartem1s @pedro4ever @mishasminion360

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Chapter Two

~APRIL FIFTEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

Your eyes flutter open on instinct as the sun rises against the pale blue of the sky, its ochre rays peering from behind the grassy hills and across the wheat fields while waking the birds. They start their day with a song, shaking their feathers and stretching their wings as they merrily fly through the air in search of their morning meal. The hens that found solace in their coops from the stark chill of night chatter amongst themselves as they roam around their pen and the lone rooster releases its shrill call, a signal for the day to begin. Beat you again, you think.

The sun rises a little higher now, the bright of day in full effect as it fills your room with its intense luminosity. You lie in bed a moment longer, watching the dust mites float through the air and dance in front of your nose with each exhale of breath you release. Signs of life all around you, from the dew drops that formed on your window in the early morning to the muscles within your very skin twitching as you climb out of bed. Every little thing teasing and taunting you of significance, of meaning just on the horizon, yet so far out of your reach.

This is your life. Each and every morning, day, and night is as repetitive as the last. Wake up before the rooster crows and stare into the minute cracks rippling through the ceiling, envious of the pollen that manages to escape through and longing for you to shrink microscopic enough to hide away as well. Fill your basin with cold water you had gathered the night before to wash yourself quickly before your father wakes. Clothe yourself in your underdress, long sleeved, blue work dress layered on top with the sleeves rolled up, an apron cinched at your waist, and dirty and worn, black boots laced up tight enough to prevent you from minding the ache they feel as the day progresses.

You look at your reflection in the hazy mirror as you braid your hair; the drabness of the glass only accentuates exactly how you perceive yourself. The girl staring back at you was but a shell of the one you knew before. Before, when you still had ambitions that would have led you far from this town. To a place you could live anew. Now, just an empty being as one day fades into the next. Eyes that no longer gleam, hair that no longer shines, skin that no longer glows.

You had given up long ago of any hope and dream of something more, surrendering to the bleakness and repetitiveness of this life when your mother passed. A promise on her death bed to help care for your father any way he needs. And this is what he needs. You, here on the farm, helping tend to the chickens and the cows and the small shop he owned in town. The one your mother ran that was unceremoniously thrust onto your lap. The organ within your chest beats solely to pump the blood through your veins and keep you breathing, if only for the promise you made to your mother.

You fasten the gold chain around your neck, a locket with a faded photograph of your mother hidden within hanging to your breast. You tuck it into your blouse to keep her close to your heart and head down the ladder, stepping lightly as to not awaken Pa any earlier than necessary. Your Pa, an old man now with hair white as snow, only having turned the shade since Ma left.

Wrinkles crease deeper into his skin and the bags under his eyes droop slightly to his cheeks now on his once chiseled face. His strength has dwindled within the last year, and with no other siblings to share the burden of the farm, you knew you could not leave your Pa to deal with it by himself. So your own dreams and goals were swiftly thrown into the dirt to be rained on and turned to mush, impossible to be picked up again.

As you finish grounding the coffee beans and throw them into the pot of already boiling water resting on the range, Pa begins to stir and soon after wakes up, the aroma of caffeine acting as his own signal to wake. Leaving the house to give your father privacy to dress, you head to the hen coop to gather a few eggs for breakfast.

You take a deep breath of the crisp morning air, the smell of apple trees at the front of the house, then the smell of grass with fresh dew, to the smell of hay and chicken feed as you get closer to the pen they are corralled in. As you head back into the house, Pa is already seated at the small, round table with his tin of coffee.

“Good morning, Pa,” you greet softly.

“Good morning daughter. Thank you for the coffee.”

“Grace to our health, Pa,” you say, as you always do when he gives you his thanks.

Financially, you and Pa were well off enough; you still couldn’t afford luxuries like sugar, but you were able to live comfortably with only the necessities and the occasional new pair of boots. You were grateful to have the farm and the shop, both reliable sources of income for your small family, and you were blessed that Pa was still able to work the fields, but you know as time passes and his joints weaken, you would then need to take over the labor. There was truly no path for you to leave this life.

The older women around town had begun to whisper about you, not necessarily trying to keep their gossip from reaching your ears. They were just as bad as the hens that cluck around their pen all day. A never ending chatter of you being stuck in the house or the farm or the shop, working as an old maid for the rest of your life.

You’re still fairly young, just over two decades of life in you; sure, the girls you once played in the streams with as children were all married women now and on their third, fourth, fifth child, but you didn’t feel the desire to find a husband just to bend to the simple mold of life this society has cast. If you were to still have any control of your life, it would, at the least, be that.

You crack the eggs into the beaten and tired pan over the range, letting them cook to completion before removing and plating them, along with a roll of bread and the butter you had just churned the day prior. You walk over to Pa and place his portion down before working on your own. Pa sends up a quick prayer and starts to eat. His prayers turned to letters to Ma, but he never failed to speak them before every meal or before bed, sometimes even when a sudden abundance of eggs were laid or vegetables had sprouted during the night.

“The season is nigh for corn and potatoes,” Pa mumbles and you feel your heart sink to your feet.

You had forgotten about the season, when Ma and Pa would work the fields together endlessly, sweating through their work attire to be washed every evening. You still feel the creak in your elbows to this day. It is the busiest season, bringing in the most coinage for the year, but now that it was only you two, you worry about juggling between the shop and the farm.

“Pa, how will we manage?” You voice your concern. Pa takes a deep breath.

“You will hang a notice in the shop when you go today,” he says matter of factly. “Ask Mr. Williams if you are able to hang one on his window at the post as well.”

“And what shall it say?”

“‘Seasonal laborer wanted – will provide lodging with pay’.”

“Where will he stay?” You inquire.

“The barn; we will provide him blankets and he will be free to use our wash basins when needed and we will offer him meals.”

“It will be a lot of money expended, Pa; will we be all right?” You ask as you sit at the table with your plate and coffee tin.

“We will make do, daughter,” he says, the finality in his voice signaling for this conversation to cease. “We will not be able to pay handsomely or feed him much, but we require the extra hand if we are to pass the season.”

“Yes, Pa.”

You lower your head and eat your eggs in silence. You don’t pray anymore, not necessarily feeling the need since your Ma was taken, as well as your aspirations. Pa finishes his coffee, leaving the dishes in the wash basin and grabbing his hat, walking outside into the fields to begin preparations for the season. You sigh; the tears that have long hidden in your ducts refuse to spill out to bless you with relief.

The last time you properly cried was for Ma; every day you feel them there, the pressure building in the corners of your eyes, but nothing ever falls. A mind trick, you suppose, to force you to focus on the more important things. You don’t have the time to spare to release them; your mind and body are now slaves to the farm and the shop.

After your breakfast, you walk to the wash basin with your dishes, hand pumping the water from the pipe just off the side and using the homemade lye soap you learned to make from your mother. Once the dishes are washed, dried, and put away, you walk over to the black safe in the corner of the room, turning the dial to its correct numbers and pulling out the metal lockbox from the inside.

It carried within it the sales ledger for the shop and the velvet bag for the coins. Pa empties the bag every day as he looks over the ledger, placing the coins into another metal box that only he has the key to. He gives you coin anytime you ask, as long as it is needed for the shop or food for the house and, occasionally, on special days.

You pick it up and take it with you to the front door, pulling your bonnet and fabric bag from the hook they hung on. You stick the lockbox inside your bag, as well as the key assigned to it, and head outside. Pa is already far into the fields, hacking away at the dirt and smoothing it out for the new growth. You don’t bother saying goodbye; he knows where you’ll be. Where you’ll always be.

Living alone with Pa became quite challenging, you were disheartened to learn. You’ve always had a loving bond with him since you were a child; maybe he expected the same from you as he did from Ma, but he still managed to make his lessons on the farm enjoyable, doting upon you as any loving father would. Now? The anguish you both have felt since losing the feathery soft and caring love of your mother strained the relationship between you two.

What was once a thick belt of leather that connected you now pulled further and further apart until it became as frail as rubber, threatening to snap at a moment’s notice. You love your Pa; of course you do, and you know he loves you too. If only you could grieve together.

Upon entering the town, the people are going about their normal routines. The baker stacking the fresh loaves of bread in his window, the shoe shiners along the streets working tediously on men’s boots, the hens clucking – the older women gossiping away passionately about whomever they desire. As long as it isn’t you today.

You reach the shop, key in hand as you unlock the brass keyhole and turn the knob, the small bell dinging above you as you enter. You flip the sign in the window from the side that reads ‘Closed’ to the side that reads ‘Open’ and you pull back the shut curtains, allowing the light of day to flow into the small room.

Heading back to behind the counter, you remove the lockbox from your bag and set it on the shelf underneath in its usual resting place. You barely have a moment to remove your bonnet when the bell dings and you look up to greet the person who has walked in. Wonderful.

“Hello, my sweet,” the man husks and you find it difficult to choke back the bile rising in your throat.

“Hello Silas,” you say flatly. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Darlin’, you know exactly how you may be of service to me.”

Silas Taylor, a boorish man of thirty-eight years, has desperately been attempting to attract your affection for the past two years. He had the decency to respect you and Pa after your mother passed, halting his advances for all of one week. Considering his age, he did not show any signs of maturing, both in his looks and his brain. One might even label him handsome, were he not such a crude and overbearing personality.

Ma and Pa had bid you to consider his proposal, but in time came to understand he was not the best man you could have as a husband. Pa despises Silas, has even told him so to his face, yet it did not cause Silas to stray from pursuing you. Disrespectful, despicable, a generally awful person, Silas is.

Why he had you locked on to his sights, you weren’t sure. You never gave him the opportunity to court; staying cordial as to not make an outright enemy of him, yes, but never once have you made it apparent you enjoyed his attention. Nevertheless, he continued.

“Silas, please. I must ask you to leave my shop if you are not interested in a purchase,” you implore, hoping he will understand your position and take his leave.

“But, little one, I am very interested in a purchase. What must I do to make you my wife?” He grins, as charming as the manure out in the fields. In a flash, your vision goes red as you replay his statement in your mind.

“I am not for sale, Silas. That is the most offensive remark you have said to me yet,” you declare harshly, the acidic bile in your stomach turning into a burning rage.

“There must be something that can be done, my sweet. You name it; the most lavish jewels and dresses your pretty, little mind can dream of,” he presses on with a smile only found on masks to scare the children with.

‘Pretty’ and ‘little’, amongst his unwelcome endearments, are the words to send your mind into a downward spiral to declarations that you’d rather not say unless you were alone, lest he take offense and decide to wreak havoc on you and Pa. You put your foot down and grab his arm roughly, pulling him with you to the front door. He only laughs at the scene unfolding, rather pleased with himself that he’s ruffled your feathers so.

“Silas, I am no longer asking. Please leave,” you say as plainly as you can, doing your best to keep the tremble of anger out of your voice.

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles satirically. “Until our next meeting, my love.”

He pulls your hand to his lips, his strength surpassing yours and his thick, wiry mustache rubs harshly against the tender skin of your hand. You furl your lip and flare your nostrils, unable to contain the look of disgust on your face as he glares at you perversely with his black eyes. You tug your hand away and the bristly hair under his villainous nose scrapes you with the motion.

You stand with your jaw clenched and hands balled up in tight fists at your sides, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palm as you watch him walk away, leaving puffs of dirt trailing behind with each cocksure step he takes. If you were to only be allowed one person to despise in your lifetime, it would be Silas Taylor.

“Dear, are you well?”

A gentle, aged voice calls out to you from behind. You whip around quickly, your skirts twirling as you face the elderly woman that has hailed you.

“Mrs. Williams,” you greet, willing your fury from the unpleasant interaction to rest for the time being.

“Was that Silas Taylor you were speaking with?” She asks.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Yes, it was.”

“He’s a quite handsome lad, dear. It is known all over town how you have bewitched him. Why do you not accept his proposal?”

Adelaide Williams; the sweetest among the hens, but still a hen nonetheless. You sigh deeply to yourself, deciding not to engage in the conversation with the one woman who treats you with any shred of respect and kindness, even if her ideals still match those with the others in town.

“Mrs. Williams, while I have you in my presence, may I ask a favor?” You appeal.

“Why, of course, my dear!” She smiles, all thoughts of your personal affairs exiting her imagination.

“Do you suppose it would be alright to leave a notice at the post office? We are asking for help on the farm for the season.”

“Yes, dear, it’s quite alright,” she smiles, her wrinkly skin creasing along her cheeks and eyes.

“Thank you; will you wait a moment while I draft it?”

She nods and follows you inside the shop, slow in her old age. You quickly grab a sheet of paper and a fountain pen, inscribing the words your Pa informed you to write in large enough letters.

“I imagine this season will be most difficult without your mother. I am so very sorry, dear,” Mrs. Williams says as you write and your hand quakes slightly at her comment. “How have you and your father been managing?” Cluck, cluck, cluck.

“Not without difficulty, Mrs. Williams, but we manage nonetheless,” you say courteously, not wanting to relay any information that could be the next piece of news to travel through the grapevine. You finish the notice and hand it to her.

“Shall I direct him here or to the farm?” She inquires as she reads the note, perhaps looking for anything contradicting what you already stated would be written.

“The farm, more suitably, so he can speak directly to my father,” you reply. “Many thanks to you and Mr. Williams,” you end with a sweet smile.

“No thanks are required, my dear. Anything to help you and your father. Your mother was a wonderful being. I was proud to have known her.”

Another quake. You nod politely, letting her hold your forearm as you walk to the front door. The bell dings as it opens and you watch her while she walks down the wooden pathway to the post office. Once you’re sure she’s well on her way, you turn back inside and draft another notice for the shop window before you begin arranging the merchandise for the day, taking inventory of goods that are depleting, and checking order forms belonging to families around town for produce off your farm.

A most provincial and forlorn life, indeed, that you will have to bear until the end of your time here on Earth.

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Chapter Two

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