#have had a near death experience so the memory of me begging the universe to let me live and going i dont want to die i dont want to die

[ankhisms]

dont know how to explain but i feel like that scene in black sails where anne has had the shit beaten out of her and shes on the floor of the deck and she just grabs the shards of glass on the floor and you just see her with her face in shadows gripping the shards of glass in her hands. yeah

#i shant lie i feel very suicidal but its like. a really weird feeling to have just very recently within the last month #have had a near death experience so the memory of me begging the universe to let me live and going i dont want to die i dont want to die #be fresh in my mind and like. conflicting with my feeling and thoughts of well i should just die i should just kill myself vs remembering #walking and waiting for help for hours begging any kind of god that could hear me to let me live. its a weird dissonance. #i just really hate myself and the audition didnt go well and i keep just going whats wrong with me. whats wrong with me. #how do i always manage to fuck up even with things i want so badly to do well in and to be good at and that i care about a lot #and why is there always something about me thay people find some reason to dislike or think is weird and offputting #anyway. whatever. whatever. whatever

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

The Lair in the Woods: Part 7

A/N: I totally didn’t have to reread this series to remember where I was going with this or with the desperate hope I left clues for myself to jog my memory. Nope definitely not😅 Also, SORRY IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE MY LAST UPDATE💜

Warnings: swearing, inferences to flirting, reference to a near-death experience (freezing to death), reference to stalking/being stalked, teasing (or bullying depending on how you look at it. Imma call it ‘banter amongst enemies’), manipulative/power-play dynamics, minor self-depreciation

My Masterlist | Taglist Info | The Lair in the Woods masterlist

Hero cursed the buzzing phone on their nightstand. With the blizzard coming down from the mountains, they knew it was going to be a long couple of days until the snow cleared and had been trying to get some sleep while they could, but alas, the universe had other plans for them. Barely awake, they slapped their hand down on their nightstand, grumbling to themselves as they patted around the hard surface for their phone.

Finding it, they blindly accepted the call and brought it to their ear, tucking themselves back into the warm cocoon of their blankets where they had shifted in their attempt to grab the wretched device.

“Hello,” they mumbled.

“I need a favor.” Hero’s eyes opened slowly at the quiet but commanding voice on the other end of the line. Brows furrowed, Hero debated whether or not they should hang up on the master criminal bold enough to call them personally.

“No, now goodni—”

“It involves a civilian, and I can’t help them.”

Hero hummed. Taking a deep breath, they forced themselves into a sitting position. Bringing their knees to their chest, Hero smirked. “Oh? What, did someone worse than you capture your lover or something and now you’re forced to come begging to me for hel—”

“No. It’s much simpler than that. The blizzard blew a civilian off-course and they ended up half-freezing to death before my henchmen found them on a patrol.”

Hero blew out a breath. Of course. Supervillain didn’t have it in them to love someone, obviously. “And now you’re holding them hostage until I do something for you. Look, I’d love to play your little game, but that blizzard’s coming my way next and I’d rather get some sleep than fall into your trap. Try Superhero instead. They’ve been rather bored lately.”

“For the love of god, you cynical bastard, listen. This civilian is being stalked and I think it’s a super behind it. That’s why they’re on this mountain at all.”

Hero paused as Supervillain’s words sank into their half-conscious mind. They blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Supervillain’s voice held an edge to it Hero hadn’t heard in a long time. “Here’s what I’m asking you for: poke around, see what you can find. My team and I can’t do anything until the roads clear, so I need you to be—”

“I’m not your sidekick, Supervillain,” Hero rolled their eyes, “Or one of your henchmen. You can’t order me around—”

“So you won’t help?”

Hero pinched the bridge of their nose. “I didn’t say that.”

At Hero’s words, there was a beat of silence before Supervillain said, “Thank you.”

Hero’s smirk returned. That was a first, for sure. Just who was this civilian, and what did they mean to Supervillain?

A long sigh sounded in their ear. “I can hear you thinking all the way over here. Don’t give yourself a headache, Hero. I actually need you to be useful.”

“I’ll help,” Hero said slowly, “but only if you answer one question: who’s the civilian?”

A second ticked by before Supervillain responded as if through clenched teeth. “Civilian Surname.”

Hero sagged in disappointment. The name didn’t ring any bells in their mind. “And here I was hoping for something scandalous, like a reporter or someone of note. So who are they to you?”

“A frightened mouse,” Supervillain sighed heavily. Hero narrowed their eyes in suspicion, dissecting what the master criminal had said for any hidden meaning, for a telling inflection in their voice, but their examination yielded them nothing. “I can’t even keep them calm. They’re terrified.”

“Well, yeah, being around an imposing, shapeshifting murderer will do that.” Hero leaned back against the wall at the head of their bed. “Though I suppose if they’re being stalked that wouldn’t help them any either. All right, I’ll start looking into it.”

“I’ll be in touch then.”

Hero didn’t even have time to respond before Supervillain disconnected the call. They were hoping to get another “thank you” out of them, but they supposed that was a once in a lifetime deal. Just who was Civilian Surname that their mere presence in the master criminal’s life had them asking for help? Supervillain was cunning, capable, but most of all, they were resourceful. They had a reach and influence no other villain had, and it plagued the caped community to no end, no matter the side you were on. Every one wanted to know how they did, and in Hero’s case, they wanted to bring them down. The information Supervillain was privy to, or allegedly privy to, was too dangerous for one single person to have—or for anyone to have at all.

And, the mere existence of such a compilation of data, shook them to their very core. If Supervillain knew where to look to get things like their phone number, what else did they know? And what were they doing with it? Were they selling parcels of information to other villains? Or were they taking their enemies down one by one just like they did with Other Superhero?

Hero shook their head. They didn’t have any answers to any of their questions, just as they hadn’t the slightest clue who Civilian Surname was. But they’d said they would help. Why they’d agreed, they didn’t know. They could’ve easily told Supervillain to piss off and poked around in secret, for Civilian’s sake, but instead they’d verbally agreed to help Supervillain.

Cursing themselves, Hero ran a hand through their hair. Sucking in a breath, they picked up their phone and tapped the shortcut they were looking for. The call barely rang before it was picked up, bringing a slight smile to their face as the familiar voice greeted them.

“It’s four in the morning, what do you want?”

“Good morning to you too, Detective. I miss you too, the weather’s been absolutely dreadful, hasn’t—”

“Hero, please,” Detective begged, their voice sounding utterly exhausted. A pang of guilt wormed its way through Hero’s heart. “I have three hours left of this god-awful shift, so please just get to the point.”

“Right, sorry,” Hero said sheepishly. “I got a call just now asking me to look into a stalker case?”

“That’s not my department.”

“I know, but I like working with you. Other Detective is such a—”

“Hero, the point,” Detective interrupted again.

“Right, the point,” Hero smiled softly. “I don’t know if they’ve filed a report or not, but could you check for anything involving a Civilian Surname for me? I mean anything, not just the stalker report.”

Detective sighed. Hero squeezed their eyes shut, knowing the reproach they were about to receive. “You know I can’t do that without cause. It’s unlawful. The best I can do is get you a copy of the report if you want to formerly adopt the case under Clause 71.”

“All right, fine, I’ll do that.” Hero tilted their head back. “I’ll file the paperwork as soon as the office opens. But, can you at least tell me if Civilian Surname rings any bells for you? You’ve been on the beat for a long time, so maybe you’ve had a run-in with them or there’s something that comes to mind about them.”

Hero counted their heartbeats in the silence that followed their question. They tapped their fingers against their thigh as they waited, knowing Detective was giving their question a careful consideration they gave to all their work.

“No,” they said at last. “I can’t think of anything. Maybe you should try public records just in case there’s something I don’t know about. It might not yield anything useful, but it’s something.”

“Ah, well if the paperwork goes through…” Hero trailed off, a mischievous smile playing at their lips.

Detective let out a soft laugh on the other end of the phone. “Yes, if the paperwork goes through, then I can look up Civilian Surname in our database, but you better have a cause for me!”

“Would a suspected association with a known criminal count?”

A pause. “What?”

“Would a suspected—”

“No I heard you, I just don’t know if I believe you. I thought you were asking about a stalker case?”

“I am, but the call I got…” Hero hesitated. They knew they could trust Detective, but how far did that really go? “It was from a less than reputable party, let’s say.”

“Hero,” Detective started, “are you mixed up in something?”

Hero turned the question around in their head for a moment before they answered honestly. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Good. I can’t lose my job, you know that.”

Another pang of guilt struck their heart. “I do. I’ll call my handler and tell them the whole thing before I file the paperwork.”

“Good. Well, if that’s all…I gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Hero said. “I should too. This blizzard looks like it’s going to be a bad one.”

“Speak for yourself, it might give me an easy day.”

Hero chuckled, “Goodnight, Detective.”

“Good morning, Hero.”

Hero disconnected the call, smiling like an idiot. It was always a pleasure conversing with Detective, though there were many reasons for that aside from their not-so-secret feelings for them. For one, Detective didn’t get all star-struck working with heroes, and secondly, they didn’t care that they had a dark sense of humor, and in fact, Hero preened, they seemed to like it as they’d often caught Detective hiding their smirks and laughter whenever Hero said something off-color at a crime scene they were working together.

They only hoped doing this favor for Supervillain—and actually agreeing to it—didn’t cost them both their jobs and their reputations.

At least there wasn’t anything in writing, Hero thought to themselves as their smile fell. Slipping back beneath the covers, Hero draped their arm over their eyes, knowing the premise of actually sleeping was long-gone at this point. Their mind was consumed by the events of the last several minutes. They might as well be Supervillain’s lackey now with how easily—and foolishly—they’d agreed to help them figure out Civilian Surname’s stalker problem.

But at least they had a plan, and a way to cover their tracks and make this whole ordeal a little more by-the-book.

First, they’d adopt the case and call their handler. Then they’d look into Civilian Surname, and finally, they’d take the case seriously and root out their stalker, if one even existed in the first place and this wasn’t some grand scheme of Supervillain’s to distract them while they did something truly destructive.

Hero grumbled under their breath. “You damn idiot.”

The Lair in the Woods Taglist: @just-a-space-rabbit, @classicplesiosaur, @pigeonwhumps, @heninthegarden, @kaiwewi, @korejon, @rivalriotrenegade, @alpacamelons Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed (no reason necessary😊)! You can also fill out this handy dandy form if you’d like to be added too!

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[the-writers-bookshelf]

Hoi, and a happy Fab Friday!

I'm getting so close to finishing part four of the Cold Half. I need to finish 21 more chapters plus this one scene, and my goal is to get it all done before I start university in September (totally not so I can say I wrote four massive fics in one school year XD), and I just might!

I've just entered the most angst-filled section of the story, like the last hurrah for the dark corners of my mind to have some fun, the worst of the worst.

I've gone a little personal with Brenda's arc in particular. She really struggles accepting her new disabilities, and to a pretty extreme point subconsciously speaking at that. But when she's confronted with an actual near-death experience she finally understands what she's sort of already understood for most of the story at this point, which is that it's not a bad thing to need some more help with simpler things than some other people might need.

I've gone nice and dramatic (and self-indulgent) with this bit, and I think I managed to weave in some nice foreshadowing on Jorge's fate too. George is her older brother, whom disappeared when she was about four, then died years later at WCKD's hand:

Just like that, George was gone. And she stood in between two things she couldn’t quite see, touch, or even hear. One tugged at her tethers to pull her in. The other contained the faint image of her mom pulling George close.

The pain came back. The slipperiness of her mind came to light, as did the memories. It felt better out there. But as she stood, images flashed by her. From lying in her mother’s arms, to flinching back when Jorge opened the box she’d hidden in all those years ago, to the countless times she’d woken up to watch the flowers.

She saw the sky and felt the air. She tasted the sweet bread Frypan and Justin had baked. She felt Thomas’s tug on her arm to drag her along into some reckless idea Vince would beg them not to put into action.

She sensed the world breathe under feet, as alive as she was.

Alive?

Where it hurt. Where her body sometimes failed her, where she could no longer rely on the thought that she could survive on her own if she had to.

That was where the world breathed. Where planet earth spun around and around and someone, a lot of someones breathed their first and last breath every day. Where flowers bloomed and stars flickered in the sky. Where people squealed with joy if they had their reasons to. Where her friends sat by her side when she needed it.

It hurt there. It was harder there. But was that reason enough to turn it down?

She glanced at George.

He smiled. “I’ll wait. I love you.” A boy, no more than seven years old waved his hand at her. That wasn’t how he looked when he died, but it was how he’d looked when he disappeared all the same. How she knew him last. Best. “I like the moose, it suits you.”

She lingered, still, it was tempting her.

“Go,” George chuckled.

“I’m sick,” she told him.

He nodded. “I know. I know those shanks, they’re good ones. They’ll be there. Go.”

She took a few steps into the pull of her tethers, into the sensation of sheer life, but she couldn’t get the nothingness, the utter and complete peace out of her mind. She couldn’t forget the way it had calmed her every nerve.

“Why do you want me to go?”

“Well that’s simple,” George said. “You’re my sister and I love you. And I really need to clean up first, honestly, you kind of caught me off guard.”

She caught a glimpse, just a glimpse, of the boy he’d grown up to be for as long as it lasted. She liked him.

“What if it… it doesn’t stop, it just— it just hurts forever?”

I cut off the scene at that line, because I wasn't really sure how to answer the question in a way that wouldn't take a whole other story. Brenda actually fights for her life (and in part also her health, but that is plot-relevant, not as much to her arc as the impact is small) after this, without taking unnecessary risks for the sake of no longer needing help because she no longer sees it as a flaw.

This got really long, didn't it... I love my bi-weekly gush to you, it keeps me motivated and I really hope that the Fab Friday after next one I can say I've finished this fourth part, like that's my goal. Finish this by Friday morning (Dutch time XD), September second.

this is FANTASTIC!!!! and you are TOTALLY going to knock out those final few chapters before school starts!!!

Also, I absolutely love that even though I'm not entirely familiar with the source material (I read the first book AGES ago), your writing and characterization makes it a BREEZE to read and I'm caught up right away! Great job!! :D

#asks #fab friday writers #pathsofoak

[im-poe-dameron]

Chapter Nine

A/N: So....how are we feeling about this story? Especially since it’s been so long. Chapter eight really fucked with y’all and for that well I’m sorry, but this chapter isn’t any better. If you cry then I’m really really sorry about that! If you don’t then good for you - i cried writing this. So without further ado, I give you another piece of heartbreak.

Also we’re going slightly canon on this, and if you can guess the foreshadowing i’ve been shoving into this story from the very beginning then you’re fucking AMAZING.

Summary: Heartbreak was always an odd thing to go through. It could hurt physically or mentally - or it could feel like nothing but numbness. Yet there you were without a way to live, because of what he’d done. That is until things begin to change.

Word Count: 13.2k+

Pairing: 1980s!Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: not explicit but still NO MINORS ALLOWED, cussing, angst so much of it that it will hurt, tw: grief, tw: depression, overwhelming sadness, mentions of pain, heartbreak, breakup aftermath, tw: alcohol consumption, near death experience. let me know if i missed anything!

    “You’re not allowed to die.”

    There were several ways you could refute that statement; several arguments that would have you the winner. Only you held no energy to do anything except burrow further underneath the covers of your bed. Ones that somehow still smelled like him. Him. The asshole who had torn your heart out of your chest, ripped it to pieces with his bare hands, and spit on it for good measure.

    Yet after all that. After you came home, collapsed onto your bed with sheets that still smelled like him, you remained there. Only getting up to do the important things before crawling back under the covers. Fully intent on doing nothing but being a shelled version of yourself for the remainder of your days.

    You still couldn’t find it in you to change the sheets. Let alone even bring up his name.

    “Did you hear me?” Liv asked, yanking the covers away from your body that was clad in a pair of sweatpants and his shirt. “You’re not allowed to die because some dick broke your heart.”

    Mumbling under your breath you turned onto your stomach to avoid the sight of your friend in all her fury. She would drag you out of this bed unwillingly. You knew that for sure, but instead she merely stood there. Watching as you tried to come up with any viable solution as to why you could stay here all day. Why you could wonder about how he was doing.

    “I didn’t hear what you said.”

    “He’s not a dick,” you replied.

    Partly true. In all fairness you did want to tear out the man’s jugular with your teeth to cause him a little pain. But that was a bit sadist.

    Even for you.

    One week. One spectacular week since he had torn you to shreds and allowed you to walk out of his life for good. If you were being honest...you thought three days in the pain would kill you. The memories of him, of all the tender moments you shared, every laugh and smile, would stop your heart in the middle of a beat. At one point you wondered if it actually did.

    People were capable of dying due to a broken heart - had you?

    Time seemed to pass slower than usual. Each second stretching on into the next - until it felt like you were floating through life. Wasting away in the bed you couldn’t seem to get out of. The best word to describe yourself at this time was pathetic. Completely and utterly pathetic.

    So he had broken your heart. He had made you rethink every choice you ever made and you begged the universe to take away every memory you had of him. Only it never did, and you were stuck. Forced to relive all of it, beginning to ache over the thought of actually being loved by him. What would that feel like? To be loved by Din Djarin.

    A question that would remain unanswered, because you refused to go down that path again.

    When your last breakup happened, three hours in you were downing shots at a club in the city. An hour after that you were doing who the fuck knows what in who the fuck knows where. And when the lovely hour of three in the morning rolled around, you were stumbling into a little bar on the outskirts of the city - just before you left it for good and entered a different area.

    So why weren’t you doing the same thing now? Why were you frozen in time - suffering through the visceral pain he caused?

    You think you came up with the answer...three hours after the breakup happened. Love had been too minuscule of a word to explain the way you felt about Din  - perhaps there was no word to explain it - and that’s why you couldn’t move. Why you now glared at your ceiling as Liv went on a rant about how she should burn his bar down in an act of revenge.

    “He’s absolutely a fucking dick!” she shouted, throwing her hands in the air and collapsing into the bed beside you. “I know what you get like after breakups. And this...whatever this is...has never happened before.”

    Something twisted in your chest as she said the words to confirm your suspicions. She knew how much you cared for him. How much it hurt to come home and choose to wither away rather than go back and fight him on every word he said. That had been her suggestion at first. Return to his bar and fight for him. Only - she hadn’t heard what he said, wasn’t there when he looked at you with a hardened and cold expression that had sent chills down your spine.

    “I don’t know what to do,” you said, feeling fresh tears begin to fall down towards your hair as you continued to stare at the ceiling. Afraid that if you shifted even an inch, you would break physically as well as mentally.

    She didn’t respond, choosing to simply watch as you tried your best to hold back the tears. Did what you could to ignore the sharp stinging pain in your chest at the realization that - this was it. This was all the relationship would - could - amount to. A man who was too afraid to open his heart to the woman who promised to keep it safe. Pitiful, yet beautiful all the same. An agonizing piece of art come to life.

    “I really thought - I thought he loved me,” you whispered, hands coming up to cover your face from the earth-shattering reality in front of you.

    “Hey.” Tugging at your arms she brought you out of the shelter you had created for yourself. Pulling down the armor slowly to reveal that there was someone in front of you who cared what happened to you, who was your family. “Let’s get out of the apartment today.”

    “Why?”

    She shrugged. “Fresh air always helps, and besides I have to go to a fitting for my dress today. Want to come with? You don’t even have to do anything.”

    The word no was on the tip of your tongue, an impulsive response that seemed to be all you could say the past few days. Except she was right - and you hated to admit it. You needed to get out of this space you created - out of the place that seemed to hold its own memories of him. You could feel him there, almost as if he had been branded into the walls of your room. How he held you as you slept - how he cared for you.

    All things you had been sure proved his love for you.

    Only things don’t turn out the way you wish them too, and in the end you were left with the fragments of a time when life seemed okay. When you had been okay.

    “Let me clean up,” you mumbled, attempting to push the weariness out of your body. Anything to manage a day out of the apartment before you came home to wallow once more.

    You couldn’t wait to get to the part in the post breakup feelings where you wanted to punch him in the face. The grief taken over by anger for how he treated you. How he ignored the way you felt in the end, because he was afraid. Yet you knew the anger would never show itself - merely simmering at the surface until it vanished again. How could you be angry at a man who you were willing to give up everything for?

    “Take your time,” she said, offering a hand to help you out of bed.

    After spending as much time in the shower as humanly possible, washing your face and putting on a minimal amount of makeup, you were ready to re-enter the world. Sure it was only for a few hours, but it was better than nothing compared to the hermit you had become within a week. You had been to the dress shop before with Liv, having gotten fitted for your bridesmaid dress, but it still felt like walking into a new area.

    Probably due to the fact that the last time you had come here, Din dropped you off. On a day where describing the weather as torrential rain was an understatement. You felt the clenching of your heart - knew that if you ran out of there now you wouldn’t return again. But you didn’t want to be that person.

    You couldn’t be that person.

    He had chosen what he wanted in his life and you had to move on in yours. So, taking in a deep breath, you entered the building and sat quietly while Liv went to put on her gown. Funny to think that the last time you were here you had dared to glance at the wedding dress section. Wondering if maybe - just maybe - you’d get the chance to wear one with the man who had already held your heart tightly in his grasp.

    You laughed at that memory.

    Oh how oblivious you had been. High off the thrill of love and sex. Except it hadn’t been more than just sex for him - had it? You could recall his words with perfect clarity, having gone over them more times than you cared to admit. Marriage, a life together, none of it had ever been a possibility. So who were you to dream about it?

    “Idiot,” you muttered.

    “That’s a little unfair. I just got here.”

    Turning faster than you had moved all week, you saw the one person you didn’t expect to see here, standing directly behind you. His hands were shoved into his pockets, a smile giving you a feeling of hope in your chest, because he didn’t hate you after everything had happened. Some piece of you wondered if Din’s friends would no longer be your friends after everything. You were up and collapsing into his arms before you realized that you had moved from the seat.

    “What are you doing here?” you mumbled into his chest.

    He shrugged. “I was told you might be here.”

    “How did you-” Of course. He was still keeping tabs on you wherever you went, because that’s just who Din was. A protector before anything else. “He sent you.”

    Paz smiled, leading you back to the seat and collapsing down beside you. “No one sent me sweet girl-” He froze at your glare, glancing down at his hands. “He just wanted to know if you were okay,” he mumbled.

    It should have warmed your heart to hear those words; to know that Din still cared in some form that he’d send Paz to come check on you. Except you still couldn’t get the cold feeling out of your body. Knowing that he only did this, because he knew what he did; knew how he had torn your heart from your chest and figured he could make up for it through this.

    “He’s an asshole.” The words slipped out faster than you could control them, but why should you? After what he did.

    Paz merely laughed, throwing his head back and clutching his stomach. “He is. I wondered when you’d find that out.”

    You seemed to deflate and he saw it; how you collapsed into yourself - the tears no longer able to be kept at bay, because he was right. Din had been an asshole to you, and you didn’t know how to handle that fact. Paz yanked you forward, nearly covering you whole with his hug, his apology being whispered into your hair. What he had to be sorry for you didn’t know. He hadn’t done anything to you, but then you realized…

    He was apologizing for what Din did. Saying sorry to hopefully dampen the pain, because the man who caused it couldn’t get the apology out himself.

    Now you wanted to punch him.

    “Don’t apologize for him,” you said, pulling away and doing your best to smile. “He did what he did and that was it.”

    Paz sighed. “Sweet girl, I don’t think you understand why he did it.”

    “Oh. So, there’s a reason why he broke my heart?” Maybe your tone was cruel - unnecessarily cruel - but you wouldn’t take an excuse for what happened. It wouldn’t wipe out the last week full of agonizing hours where you weren’t sure how to live anymore.

    “I know. He’s a dick for what he did-”

    “You’re not the only one thinking that,” you muttered under your breath, causing him to huff out a laugh.

    “But - he’s broken too.” Somehow you doubted that and scoffed at his words, the anger now finally showing itself fully after so long being dormant. “He nearly sold the bar.”

    That caught your attention.

    “What?” He was joking right? Saying this to get you to come back - he had to be. You were sure of it. Din couldn’t...he couldn’t sell his home. The one place he felt the most safe; his life’s work.

    Paz hung his head, running a hand down his face and suddenly you weren’t so sure. “Poe and I had to drag him to my place to stop him from going through with it. Granted he was trashed when he tried to do it.”

    “Trashed?” you asked. Din had never been trashed around you - let alone even drank enough to get to that point. You always found his self control around alcohol was something to admire, because he never had more than a few drinks with you.

    “Poe’s running the place now.” Everything Paz said, every piece of truth he revealed showed you that you weren’t the only one unable to deal with this pain. “As far as I know Din hasn’t stepped foot back into the bar since...well.”

    Since you left. The words that he didn’t dare say, yet you knew what they were already.

    He couldn’t return to his own home just like you couldn’t come back there. Couldn’t bear the thought of the bar without you in it - waiting for him to come home just as you had done so many times before. The very last sliver of your heart that had remained intact, shattered. You heard the break, felt the emptiness as it fell away, as you faced the truth. Din broke himself by breaking you - a vicious act that left you both empty on the inside.

    Unable to bear life without the other person.

    “I know it’s frilly, but I think it’s beautiful.” Liv’s voice shoved you back into reality and you blinked back the tears, turning to see her walk out in a gown that would put every bride in existence to shame.

    She glowed - the happiness in her eyes bright enough to light up the whole room.

    “Oh - Liv,” you whispered, tears threatening to fall for an entirely different reason, because this was your best friend. The person who had told you her dreams of a wedding all those years ago and now she was getting it.

    “Hello,” she said warily, seeing the biker decked out in a leather jacket sitting beside you. Even you had to admit Paz looked terrifying anywhere he went.

    “Right.” You glanced at him as he smiled at Liv. “This is - Paz. He’s a friend of...a friend from the bar.”

    He stood, sticking out his hand. “You look fucking gorgeous. I mean - no disrespect. Your soon to be husband is a very lucky man.”

    She seemed to preen underneath the compliment, unable to resist the charm that was Paz. You couldn't blame her. The man knew how to place people under his spell within seconds, having seen it happen first hand at the bar. Paz was a people person. Someone who knew exactly what to say and when to say it; part of you remained grateful for that, because as he talked to Liv - asked her about the wedding and the plans for it - you contemplated the words he had just told you.

    Din was in pain.

    You knew he was hurt when he broke your heart, but you had no idea it managed to get to the point of nearly selling his bar. Clearly it had. You shouldn’t have cared, should have continued with the fitting and gone home to wallow some more before getting over him. Except the bothersome feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away. The annoying fact that you still loved him enough to care about what happened to the man remained.

    “Fuck,” you muttered.

    “Is something wrong?” Liv asked, gathering the skirts of her dress to step closer to you. Even you couldn’t hide the thoughts that ran through your head. “Don’t go back there.”

    Your mouth opened in protest - only to shut seconds later. “I’m not.”

    She knew you were lying, but was kind enough to let it slide. Knowing that if you truly wanted to go check on Din - to go check on the bar - you would do it, with or without her support. Your family had always said you were too headstrong for your own good, but there were moments when being headstrong and stubborn worked in your favor.

    This was not one of those moments.

    Instead of rushing out the door, you settled in to watch Liv get her dress altered slightly and dragged Paz by the arm to join you. He showed up, the least he could do was keep you company. As he explained everything that had gone down since you left. You didn’t want to admit it, but you missed the bar - missed Poe and all his antics, missed the friends you had made there.

    You even missed him. More than you could say.

    “So, how have you been Paz?” you asked, hoping to shove any and all thoughts about Din out of your head. The last thing you needed was to remain hung up on the same man...even if he had been stuck in your head every second of every day since you walked out of his life.

    “I’ve been better.”

    Life seemed to even out into a semblance of peace with that single hour of talking to him. As you listened to him tell you about his girlfriend, how he met her, what life was like for them now and every little thing in between, you felt calm. Could hear the music the shop played in the background rather than the beating of your own heart as it continued to break with every minute. He smoothed over the wounds with tales of his own life and you hung off every word - adamant that he was helping more than any carton of ice cream could.

    You wanted to remain there in his company rather than the emptiness of the apartment that still held memories of Din. A place that seemed to suffocate you the longer you remained there on your own. But in the end he had to leave. Back home to check on his girl when in actuality you knew it was to check on some other person. Yet Paz was far too polite to tell you that himself, so you said your goodbyes watching as he climbed onto the back of his bike and headed home.

    Telling Liv you’d meet her back at the apartment you walked down the street to get some food, but halfway there you made a spur of the moment choice.

    A horrible choice, but even you couldn't stop yourself when you got like this.

    Was it safe to turn back and head home? Absolutely.

    But you were never one to play things safe.

    The door sounded the same as it creaked open, and you half expected to hear the sounds of customers blasting music. Their laughter spilling through the air and out into the world, but you were met with nothing but a bleak silence. Eerie enough to have you nearly running back to where the cab dropped you off. You shouldn’t be here, should have gone home instead, but there you stood - in all your stubborn glory - staring at an empty bar.

    You could almost see the past play out before your very eyes. How he stood before you and said things that had broken you beyond repair - and you did nothing. Tried to convince him that he did in fact love you like you hoped, only to be shown a different reality altogether. Life could be cruel in the end, a fact that you seemed to have forgotten.

    “We’re closed.”

    Turning you saw Poe standing behind the bar, stacking bottles, with his back turned towards you.

    “Even for me?” you asked, clasping your hands together in the hopes that it would stop them from shaking.

    It’s when he spun around fast enough to nearly shatter a bottle did you realize how you leaving had hurt much more than just Din. He looked as tired as you felt, the dark lines beneath his eyes prominent enough to prove that he hadn’t slept. Had anyone slept while you were gone? Surely you weren’t that important to them that they’d lose sleep over you and Din breaking up.

    “You’re back,” he said, setting the bottle down softly - a hesitance in his movements that had never been there before. What was there to be nervous about?

    Until you understood. You left and cut off contact - with everyone. You broke up with not just Din but his friends, the people you considered your friends as well. Not because you were afraid that they’d hate you, or because they reminded you of Din, but...because you didn’t know what life would be like with them...without Din. He had always been there. Yet the longer you stood there, watching as Poe stood behind the bar, a wary look in his eyes, you understood how stupid you had been by letting them go too.

    “What no hug?” you asked, smiling to help appease his mood.

    It must have worked.

    Poe rounded the bar and dragged you closer, his face burying in your neck as he embraced you in a warmth that had been sorely missed. Only a week had gone by, but somehow it felt like more. As if you were returning after being gone for months. Who knows, time might have just sped up to that point. Some days it felt like that’s exactly what happened.

    “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

    Pulling back you met his eyes. “Don’t apologize for him.”

    “I’m not-” Poe ran a hand along his neck, eyes cast downwards. “I thought you didn’t want to see me. That - maybe I’d done something wrong?”

    Fuck.

    You had fucked up by not calling and letting him know how you were doing. Without saying anything you dragged him for another hug, an apology of your own spilling past your lips, because he needed to know you weren’t upset with him. That you wanted him in your life for as long as he chose to be there.

    When had life become so messed up?

    A question you didn’t have an answer too. One you weren’t even close to answering.

    “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry for not calling. I just - I couldn’t come back here.” Part of it was true. You couldn’t return to the bar knowing what happened there, and yet there you stood; within its old walls and you were doing fine.

    “I understand. What he did-”

    “Let’s not talk about that please,” you replied, cutting off his words before he could finish his sentence. There had been enough time spent going over what happened.

    You didn’t need a reminder of it.

    He nodded, leading you to a table - avoiding the place you used to sit at you noticed - and bringing over a bottle of whiskey. Not the brand you used to drink, and you thanked him for it. Even that had been tainted by the memory of Din. You hadn’t realized how much he ruined by breaking your heart, but the past week had been interesting to find out.

    “I broke his nose,” Poe blurted out after downing his drink.

    Nearly spitting out your drink you coughed to clear your throat. “You what?”

    “I - I didn’t know what he did to make you leave until your friend called us. Liv is her name; well she told us what happened and how you were and - next thing I knew he was bleeding.”

    Liv had let them know how you were…

    Which would explain why Din tried to sell his bar. He knew how much pain you were in and that’s what ruined him. Not the sight of you leaving, not the emptiness of the bar, it was you - unable to move from how much pain he caused you. That’s what broke him. You wanted to cry again, but refrained from doing so in order to avoid freaking Poe out even more.

    “Thank you for that,” you whispered, running a finger along the rim of your glass. Contemplating asking how Din was.

    Only you didn’t need to ask the question for Poe to know what you were about to say. You were more of an open book now than you had been before meeting Din, and it had become a fact you hated. Did you want to close off your emotions? Yes, but at the same time it hurt to feel so lonely within when no one knew what you were going through.

    “He’s been living with Paz. We’ve - uh - we’ve been trying to get him to eat again. He can’t keep anything down lately.”

    You choked out a sob covering your mouth with your hand as the floodgates opened at the thought of him suffering that way. Poe moved so fast you didn’t see him switch chairs, but he was pulling you in for another hug as you sat there and cried. You wanted to stop, wanted to cease with all emotions for a few days, because crying this much took its toll on your body. Except you couldn’t stop the pain. No matter how much you tried, how much you begged the universe to take it away, you couldn’t cease the ache in your chest from spreading.

    “Is he okay?” you asked through broken sobs, wiping at your eyes to stop the flow of tears that continued on an endless stream.

    Poe sighed, handing you a napkin as he poured himself another drink. “He’s getting there.”

    “And you? Are you okay?” The question that had to be asked, because you could see how he was dealing with this situation. Life had turned on it’s side due to Din and you separating.

    “I missed you,” he whispered, forcing a smile onto his lips to show he was okay.

    Only you saw it. How the smile didn’t reach his eyes, but you took it nonetheless - nudging his shoulder with yours to lighten the mood. You needed this. To know that the people who cared for you and Din were okay themselves, because like it or not - they were your family. They became your family that first night you walked into this bar and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

    “Want to tell me what it’s like running the bar on your own?” you asked, sipping at the whiskey that tasted far too weak for your own liking. But you couldn’t drink the other kind - not yet.

    “It’s strange. Being here without you guys.”

    “Why’s that?”

    He huffed out a laugh, leaning back in the chair. “Because this is your place...not mine. I guess I just miss life before Din became a dick.”

    His words startled you. It wasn’t him saying that he missed you that shocked you out of your reverie of sadness. He said his name. His first name. Not Djarin, not boss, he said Din, and you wondered when he learned it. How did he learn it?

    “Din?” you asked pointedly, hoping he’d catch onto what you were really asking him.

    “He told me his name two nights ago.” Poe laughed, turning towards you. “He collapsed onto my couch and only after I asked him what he needed for the night did he say, you can call me Din. Months waiting just to learn his name is three letters.”

    You smiled, drinking the rest of your whiskey and pouring another glass. “It’s underwhelming.” 

    “Damn right it is.”

    “How’s everyone else? Finn, Rey, Elora? Are they good?”

    Within seconds of you speaking the words, he lit up. Gone was the hesitancy from earlier and back was the Poe you had grown to care for. He smiled, recalling something that happened earlier in the week between Rey and Finn. Apparently they were apartment hunting for Rey and Elora and Finn didn’t want them to leave him out of it.

    Like before with Paz you listened intently, happy to finally have company within your loneliness. Glad to see a friend who you had missed more than anything. You made a promise to yourself as you watched Poe animatedly talking about his friends, the light never once fading from his eyes. You’d never let them leave your life. No matter how bad things got between you and Din, even if things never worked out for you and him, you’d never forget the friends you made. Would do anything and everything to keep them a part of your life.

    You needed them - just as they needed you.

    “Wait, hang on, he's moving in next door to them?” you asked incredulously, a laugh ready to escape your chest.

    Poe nodded. “He claims that it’s closer to the shop.”

    “So where did they move?”

    “Into my building.”

    “You’re kidding!” you exclaimed, laughing at the expression he had on his face.

    “I’m definitely not kidding.” He downed his drink, unable to stop himself from joining you in laughing. “But hey, at least they're close if I need something.”

    “At least I know you’ll be eating well. Rey and Elora will be feeding you dinner every night.”

    He sighed, dropping his head down onto the table. “They’re going to force feed me everything they make.”

    “Out of love,” you said. “They care for you too Poe.”

    “I know.” Glancing at you, he smiled softly, nudging your knee with his. “And I care for you.”

    The smile was involuntary, but you wouldn’t have stopped it either way, because for the first time in days you were content with where you were. “I know,” you whispered.

    “Don’t do that again please.”

    “Do what?” you asked.

    He leaned back again, facing you. “Disappear on me. I didn’t know how you were, or even where you were. I’ve had Finn, Rey, and Elora asking me how you’re doing since - well you know - and I couldn’t tell them anything.”

    You really fucked up.

    Part of you figured that no one would come looking for you once everything went down, but there you were being told that people cared. That you were more a part of their lives than you originally thought. It shook you out of the morose state of being that you had been stuck in, bringing you back to what had now become your life.

    “I’m sorry,” you said. “I won’t vanish again.”

    “Good.”

    There wasn’t much else to say. Not much to assure him of; he knew how you felt. Saw what you were going through, because he was taking care of someone dealing with the same thing. One week had gone by and already the both of you had fallen apart beyond repair. With nothing to show for the relationship but a few memories and an empty bar that was haunted with moments of you and him together.

    Poe and you sat in silence for what felt like hours until it was him speaking again. Bringing you out of your thoughts, out of the moments replaying in your head. Had it only been a few months since you sat at that very bar? Ordered a drink and began a game with a man who terrified everyone around him - everyone except you.

    “Do you remember the first time you met me?” he asked.

    You smiled. “I thought you were a regular customer here.”

    “Really?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “What gave off that impression?”

    “I’m going to go with the helmet you were holding.”

    His laughter put you at ease, gave you the freedom to pour yet another drink with the intention to remain right where you were. Why hadn’t you come into the bar earlier? Or at least have invited Poe over to your place to let him know that you were okay. You made a mental note to invite him to dinner with Liv one of these nights. Perhaps Paz would be available to join as well.

    Life didn’t have to be put on halt just because a man broke your heart.

    “I never thought that I’d make a home here,” he said. “With you guys.”

    Elora’s words came back to you - how she told you that Poe was more than grateful for finding The Crest. For finding the small group of family you had. He was more a part of it than anyone, especially since he brought in new friends to join. People that you could see yourself calling family one day in the near future.

    “Thanks for taking the job,” you said softly.

    “Thanks for offering it.”

    Your eyes wandered over back to the stool that had become your place to sit at. It looked strange from a distance. Almost as if everything that happened here had been in your mind all along. Every memory of Din, every moment shared, had been nothing but a figment of your imagination. Yet you knew it was real. Could still remember how it felt when he kissed you, when he touched you.

    “I have a question,” you said.

    Poe swallowed the rest of his drink. “Hit me with it.”

    “When you and he first met. That mini interview he conducted. What did you talk about?” The thought had bugged you for as long as you could remember; never having seen Din laugh so much with a complete stranger before. You could recall asking Din about it, but with him you were never guaranteed a straight answer on anything.

    Poe merely smiled once more. “I asked him if you were single.”

    “You - you asked if I was…”

    He nodded. “I remember, because he looked at me like he was ready to throw me out of his bar after I asked.”

    “And?”

    He took in a breath, laughing under his breath. “And he said I wouldn’t be able to handle you. Which is very much a Din response.” He was right about that. “And then I asked if you and him were together at the time.”

    “We weren’t,” you said.

    “He told me.”

    You paused, glancing at the whiskey bottle in front of you. “So why didn’t you ask me out, Dameron?”

    “I didn’t want to die,” he said.

    Turning back to him you could see the joy on his face from your confusion. “What do you mean you didn’t want to die?”

    He scoffed. “Come on. I know you’re not that oblivious.” Giving you a minute to understand he poured yet another drink, and when it was clear that you weren’t getting it he continued. “The man was in love with you.”

    “What?” you exclaimed. “No he wasn’t!”

    “That man has been in love with you since you met him. Even I could see that! I didn’t ask you out, because I knew from the very beginning that you were off limits. You were his girl - and his girl alone.” He set the glass down, watching the flurry of emotions cross your face. “I told him you two would look good together.”

    That man has been in love with you since you met him. Poe’s words echoed back in your mind and you thought back to that day. How Din reacted to you talking about Poe, every look he gave you, and something clicked. The puzzle piece you’d been missing all this time. If Poe could see it...had it been there all along?

    Paz had claimed that there was a reason Din did what he did, and even you had to admit there was always a reason Din did anything. But you couldn’t accept that as an explanation. Not after what happened. Perhaps he had loved you all along. Perhaps you hadn’t been imagining the feelings, yet you also couldn't’ forget so easily.

    No matter how much you tried.

    Another hour of talking to Poe led you to where you were now. Laying upstairs in Din’s bed as you tried not to bring up everything in your stomach from earlier. The ache in your chest was more prominent than it had been since that night, because you were back. You were in his bed, staring at the ceiling as you tried not to cry. Some part of you hoped that you’d hear his footsteps coming up the stairs, that he’d open the door only to curl himself around you.

    A protection of warmth through the night. Something you missed more than anything.

    Except all you heard was Poe downstairs, shifting around as he played whatever music he could on the jukebox. His movements were unfamiliar but still a comfort. Better to be there with someone than remain there alone, awaiting the oncoming demons that seemed to accompany the night. At least you could count on them to keep you company.

    Shifting to your side, you watched the door, wishing with everything in you that Din was behind it. That he was getting ready to come home - back to you.

One Week Later

    You dragged the bag full of your old sheets behind you, tossing them near the door as you prepared to go back and place the new sheets on your bed. After washing them once you realized that there was no getting his scent out of them. So, with extreme reluctance you made your way into the city and picked out new sheets as well as a few new house decor items.

    It wasn’t much, but it was enough to spruce up your home. Help make it look a little different from how it had been. Two weeks since you last saw Din had gone by, and with every day you felt yourself gain some energy back. You felt yourself heal slightly from the pain that he caused you.

    Did it still hurt to think about him? Yes. You don’t think there’d be a time where it didn’t hurt.

    Except you weren’t resigned to your room, unable to move from the constant ache in your body. You felt well enough to get up, resume some aspect of life, and move on with everything. The pain was still there - faint enough to remind you of him - but faded enough to give you a semblance of peace. Something you hadn’t had in awhile.

    A knock on your door forced you to turn down the music you were playing - a record by Prince that Liv had brought you. That had been the pick me up you needed to get out of bed this morning; coffee already being brewed in the kitchen as Liv got ready to head out for work.

    “One moment,” you called out as they knocked again, trying not to trip over the blanket that fell out of the bag.

    “Sweetheart?”

    You froze at the sound of his voice coming from the other side of the door. Felt your heart plummet and speed up at the same time, as the pain returned. Visceral and agonizing - just as it had been before you managed to pick yourself back up off the ground. You couldn’t breathe, didn’t know what to do, because Din was here. He had come to seek you out after everything and you wondered who convinced him to come here.

    Was it Poe or Paz? Doesn’t matter you’d hit them both for not warning you about this.

    “Sweetheart - you don’t...you don’t have to open the door. I just-”

    “What do you want?” you asked, thankful that your voice didn’t waver.

    You could practically see him flinch at the coldness of your tone. “I came to see if you were okay.”

    If...you were okay. 

    If you were okay? 

    You weren’t sure how to respond to that question, and it nearly made you laugh from the sheer stupidity of it. If you were okay? You barely survived the breakup, the pain he put you through, and he had the audacity to ask if you were okay. Forget asking, he must have balls to come here and actually speak to you. Granted it was through a door, but that didn’t make it any better.

    Two weeks. That’s how long it took him to finally show himself. You wanted to throttle him - strangle him with the sheets you were throwing out - because of him. Except you still hadn’t moved from where you froze. Only a foot away from the door, your arm outstretched as you got ready to open it. Yet you couldn’t.

    Wouldn’t be able to survive any more pain if you saw his face again.

    “What do you really want Din?” you asked dejectedly, the exhaustion showing through your voice now.

    Turning around you slid down to the floor, your back pressed against the door behind you, as you tried to calm the racing of your heart. Why come back now? After he broke you into pieces. You once again blamed the guilt he must be feeling, but that couldn’t be it. Because he had already stayed away for two weeks.

    A thump from the other side of the door let you know he had joined you on the floor. His back pressed directly behind you - with only a piece of wood blocking you from him. This was better than meeting actually in person. You wouldn’t be able to handle that - not after the anger had begun to show itself far more than you originally thought. He was taking a risk coming here, probably knowing full well that you were ready to break his nose if he tried anything.

    “I’m sorry,” he said.

    Anything like that.

    Fuck did he have to say those words? Did he have to say he was sorry now, of all times? You took in a breath, trying to counteract the ache in your heart and calm yourself down slightly. Crying wasn’t allowed. Not when he was here. You had cried in front of far too many people to allow yourself to break down now, and with another breath you began to contemplate actually opening the door.

    If you let him in...what would happen? Would you forgive him? Kiss him? Kick him? All of the above?

    You weren’t quite sure what would happen, and you were far too afraid to find out for yourself.

    “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” you replied, staring at your hands in the hopes that the answers to all your questions would jump out at you.

    He sighed. “I just - I miss you sweetheart.”

    Shutting your eyes you allowed a few tears to fall, the heat of them pricking your cheeks. “Din-”

    “I know I’m sorry,” he said. “Poe told me you went to the bar.”

    “Asshole,” you muttered. By the huff of laughter Din let out you knew he heard you.

    “Don’t blame him. I asked.” A pause of silence followed and you wondered if maybe he left, but then you heard him shift.

    He wouldn’t be leaving any time soon and so you gave into the anger slightly. Even if it was a bad idea. “You can’t show up at my apartment like this. We’re not...we’re not together anymore.”

    It hurt to utter those words, but they had to be said. Even if you didn’t want to admit that fact to yourself just yet.

    “I know. I needed to hear from you that things were okay on your end.”

    Scoffing, you hit your head back against the door, staring up at your ceiling. “Why should I tell you? It’s not like you told me anything.”

    “That’s not fair. I told you everything.”

    Another laugh left your lips as you clenched your hands into fists. “No you didn’t.”

    “I nearly did-”

    “When were you going to tell me about your son then?” you asked, blurting out the words faster than you could think.

    Maybe it was too far, or off limits to speak about him, but you had to know. You couldn’t live in the dark about everything going on in his life if he wanted any part of this to work. If he ever wanted you back. Except that was a very large if on either of your parts from where you were at this moment.

    A thump hit your ears and you knew he had hit his own head as well. You wondered if he ever planned on telling you, or if he would have kept you in the dark about that as well. A son. You couldn’t hide that fact for very long; eventually it would have come out. Except he hadn’t been in a rush to explain that picture to you, nor was he in a rush to respond to you now.

    “His name is Elliot.”

    You raised your head, perking up slightly at what he said and how he spoke about him in present tense. Maybe his son wasn’t gone like you had thought. So many different scenarios played through your head as you awaited his response, and you waited patiently until he began to speak again. Anything to learn more about the man who for some reason still owned your heart.

    “And he’s technically not my son. I adopted him when his parents - when they passed away.” He took in a breath, giving you a moment to digest the information about his adopted child. It made you smile. Din Djarin, ever the protector. “When I got caught up with Moff and got dragged into being a Mandalorian, I knew that I couldn’t protect him.”

    “What do you mean?” you asked softly.

    “I couldn’t keep his existence a secret. And eventually it wasn’t. Moff - uh - he took him from me - claiming it was leverage for me to complete my job. It’s why I called the crew in. To help me finish what I had started. So I could...so I could get my son back.”

    Wiping at the tears you took in a breath and leaned your head back. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t know.”

    “How could you,” he replied, laughing bitterly at his own fate. “I never told you.”

    “Why didn’t you?”

    “I was-” Another intake of breath followed his words and you wondered if he was crying like you. If he was in just as much pain as you were. “I was scared to tell you. For so long he’d been a secret I had to keep from the world. My whole life had to be a secret - even my damn name. And then you came along sweetheart.”

    You smiled, shutting your eyes and ignoring the new flood of tears.

    “And suddenly my life no longer feels like it has be a secret.”

    “It never had to be one in the first place Din,” you said, wishing that you had the strength to open the door. “Not with me.”

    Was he smiling? You hoped he was, but even you knew that it was an impossible thing to ask for. Given the situation.

    “What happened to him?” Now it was your turn to be afraid, because you weren’t sure if Din would ever tell you the answer. Maybe that one fact was meant to be kept a secret for a reason.

    Only then you heard him take in a breath, coughing to clear his throat. “I had to give him up.”

    “Give him up?” you exclaimed. “But he’s your son.”

    “He was. After Moff took him I knew that he wouldn’t be safe with me anymore. So I found a family that wanted a child.” Din sighed, resting his head against the door again. “That was two years ago.”

    Long before you and Din ever met - before you had even started your life here in New York. It was strange to think that he had a past that complex before you waltzed into his life wearing his jacket. You could recall the man in the picture; the smile on his face was far more different than the smile of the man you loved. And who knows - maybe they were two different people. Maybe Din had to give up a part of himself in order to become someone else, but that didn’t make him any less the man he had been before.

    “How old is he now?” you asked.

    “Six...I think.”

    Din had to give his son away when he was four years old. You couldn’t even imagine what that would have done to him, let alone what it would have done to everyone who knew about him. Saying goodbye to a child that you had practically raised from infancy was an impossible thing to do, and yet he had done it. Let him go because he knew how dangerous his life would be if he remained with his father.

    He had let Elliot go just as he had done you...fearing for your safety beyond anything else.

    “Din, what happened wasn’t your fault,” you said, knowing that nothing you said would ever convince him otherwise, but he had to know you believed it. That you didn’t hold him accountable for the danger his son was put through.

    As if that would help to heal some of his wounds.

    “He wouldn’t have been taken if I wasn’t his father.”

    “Some things can’t be helped. You took him in because it was the right thing to do. Him being taken wasn’t your fault. Not in the slightest.”

    Din sighed again - a sound you now realized you missed dearly - before tapping his head against the door. “It still happened because of me sweetheart. There’s no taking that back.”

    I lost my son because of who I am.

    The words he didn’t say out loud, but were clear enough to be heard regardless. Din gave up his life, his past, for a reason. He never did anything without something pushing him to make the choice, and he had made the choice. About Elliot, about you. Things he believed he couldn’t have, because of who he was. Who he chose to be. He gave you up, because he didn’t want you to end up like his son; he didn’t want you in situations like before.

    Paz’s words suddenly became clear to you. I don’t think you understand why he did it.

    Din chose to break himself to protect you from...himself.

    Wiping at the tears you took in a breath, fighting the sob that threatened to escape, before getting to your feet. You didn’t care what happened, why he did what he did - all you knew was that you missed him. Except you couldn’t open the door. Couldn’t get your hand to even go near it, because his words from that night still played in your ear like a bell that would never stop ringing. Incessant and nonstop, but still the truth of what happened.

    He chose to let you go in the most painful way he knew how.

    Make you feel like your ex did. Worthless. A broken toy that he was done playing with for the time being, and no matter how much you missed him, or how many reasons he came up with, you couldn’t open the door.

    “Din I can’t-”

    You heard him shuffle, getting to his feet as he stood on the other side of the door. Mere inches away from you. It’s own kind of torture was to love someone and yet be afraid every second, because you loved them.

    “I know sweetheart,” he whispered, a movement of the door letting you know his hands were pressed to it. “You don’t have to open it.”

    “I want to,” you said through the tears. “But I can’t.”

    “I know. I’m sorry for everything - for all of it.” You pressed your forehead against the door, imagining that he was doing the same. Imitating a kiss that he had taught you not too long ago. “I’m sorry for the night at the bar, for keeping things from you. I lo-” He coughed, cutting off his words and if at all possible your heart sunk further into your body. “I want you to be happy sweetheart. And if that’s not with me - then...that’s okay.”

    You couldn’t feel your heart any longer, all the broken pieces were now lost to the depths of your body. Unable to be found no matter how long you searched for them. He knew that he’d gone too far that night; he had done the one thing that would take forever to come back from. Yet he was willing to let you go completely in this moment; allow you to live a life without him in it.

    Perhaps that’s why you couldn’t feel your heart, because you couldn’t fathom to imagine a life without him in it.

    Your mind sunk into turmoil, the intense emotions that rushed through you was enough to have you stuck in one place. Attempting to come to terms with what your answer would be. What your actions would be. Do you open the door? Or do you allow him to leave for good? The choice had always been yours, something he gave to you the first night you met and you just hadn’t realized it yet.

    You choose if he stays or if he goes.

    Willing yourself towards the door knob you tried to turn it, tried to open it, but you couldn’t. Knew that to open the door was to open yourself back up to him - only to one day end up back in this situation.

    “Goodbye sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing against the door once again and waiting a few seconds more for you to open it. To let him back into your life.

    You heard him begin to walk away, head back to who knows where, and leave you there for good. As if you had been shot once more, you felt the pain overwhelm you. Why didn’t you open the fucking door? Without thinking again you opened it, hoping that you misheard and that he was there, waiting for you to allow him back into your life. Yet there was no one in the hallway - no Din to be seen. Only a black jacket that looked oddly familiar remained on the ground, neatly folded with a letter on top.

    A letter you recognized.

    He had left you the jacket as a parting gift, but even you knew that it was more than that. This was him leaving you his heart - gifting it to you on a silver platter in the hopes that you’d accept. Picking it up, you hugged it to your chest, feeling as if a piece of you had finally returned. One more piece setting itself into the endless puzzle that made your relationship with the fickle man that was Din Djarin.

    “Fuck you Din,” you whispered, a smile on your face as you inhaled his cologne - already having made your choice the second you saw the piece of leather sitting before you.

    “And fuck you William,” you muttered, staring at the crumpled envelope that had your name written on it in perfect handwriting.

    Without thinking twice you opened the letter, nearly ripping it to see what contents were inside. Only to come across a few lines that made you want to tear the eyes out of the man who had broken something so good for you. He didn’t deserve to have a happy life after what he did, but even you knew the day would come when William would have to reap the consequences of his actions. You just hoped it would be soon.

    You chose wrong baby. Enjoy life being an ex murderer’s girl. It’ll get you killed one day, that I’m sure of.

    Remember I could have given you the world and I still can, more than him. All you have to do is ask.

    -William

    Screaming, you ran towards the kitchen, adamant on your choice to burn his words. To rid yourself of them for good, because he decided to fuck with a relationship that meant everything to you. Grabbing the lighter off the counter you stood over the sink and watched in glee as the paper caught fire. His words turned to ash before your very eyes, allowing a sweet satisfaction to wash over your body, because William was gone.

    You were done with him.

    For good.

    There is something absolutely terrifying about loving someone. Of giving everything you have, everything you know to one person. You supposed it was because that person could say no. They could refuse to accept any piece of yourself. Except what happens when they already have accepted you. What if they knew you inside out, accepted the person you were, but then said no afterwards? Do you give up on them? Allow the memory of them, the feeling of their love to fade just like they would to you? Heartbreak is a human emotion, the pain that comes with the hardship of love, but what do you do when that heartbreak, that pain, it’s unbearable.

    You should have been pissed at him. Should have hated him for letting you walk out of that bar, should have promised yourself that you’d never want him again, and yet...you knew it wouldn't be possible. Hating him would never happen, because you belonged to him. You were his in every possible way, and that was the fucked up part about all of this, of him not telling you those words, of him choosing to walk away twice. 

    You couldn’t stop loving him. Because if you did, then you’d lose sight of who you were as a person.

    “You can’t love me.”

    His words replayed in your mind on a continuous loop; forever branded into you. A burn on your skin, your heart, every piece of you, with just four simple words. You shouldn’t have said those words, shouldn’t have given him the opportunity to break you in half. Except they had to be said. They had to linger in the air, because you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore.

    Yet when he looked at you, with a cold expression that had sent fear spiraling through your body, you knew that no matter how many times you said it, no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself he could give it back to you. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

    You had moved from your bed to the couch, hoping that if you chose to simply sit there you’d come up with a solution for what to do. Going to him wasn’t an option. Not after what transpired here two days ago; his words still ringing in your head with every minute of the day. He had let you go to protect you, and yet how did that help either of you?

    “He just had to make things more complicated?” you asked, to no one in particular, because there was no one there to speak to. Just you and a glass of water that you had been staring at for an hour.

    Trying to come up with something to say to Din when you’d see him next time.

    As far as you knew, Poe had made sure you received the invite to Rey and Elora’s place for dinner. Which meant that Din had the same exact invite. You had three days to prepare - three days to figure out a plan on what exactly to say to him. Easy right? You didn’t know how wrong that was until you were two hours into trying to come up with different conversation topics.

    The both of you could be friends right? You could work it out and remain in the same friend group. Something that seemed to be an impossible feat might actually work in the end. Only there was one small fact that you chose to ignore with every ounce of strength in your body. There would be no way in hell that you and Din could be anything less than what you were. Friends would work for the time being...but what happens when things shift. When time changed things and the concept of friends no longer worked. 

    You’d never felt more pathetic, and yet stupidly you still held hope that this painful period of being without him would be over soon. That he’d come back, because you saw the broken look in his eyes that night at the bar, saw how he was angry with himself because he couldn’t give you that love in return.

    The sound of the phone ringing brought you out of your mind for a moment. Normally you’d ignore it, return to what you were doing, but some part of you told you that this time was important. You figured it to be Poe doing his nightly check up on you. A routine that seemed to be what kept him busy and away from trying to make sure Din didn’t sell his damn bar.

    “Poe I’m fine,” you said, running a hand down your face. It was obviously a lie, but you didn’t need him to know that.

    No, he definitely didn’t need to know that you were internally panicking because you had to socialize with your ex for the first time in weeks. You shoved the thought out of your mind, trying to focus on what he was saying, but he was speaking fast. The words came out in a jumble and you attempted to decipher it through his panic. 

    “Poe what’s going on?” you asked, clutching the phone tighter to your ear.

    You caught a few words, what with the shitty line. Apparently he said something about you needing to get over to the bar, but you didn’t fully register his words. Not until you heard the thing that made your heart drop violently to your stomach. The phone nearly falling out of your hands as you finally put the pieces of his panic together.

    “What?” you breathed out, clutching the phone as you leaned against the wall for support.

    “I called the fire department. I got here for the night shift expecting to see Paz, but he called earlier to let me know that he wasn’t coming in, and there was smoke and flames. It’s still going, but I can’t find…”

    “Find what Poe?” you whispered, already terrified of his answer. Somehow knowing exactly what he was going to say next.

    He took a breath before confirming your suspicions. “I can’t find Din. I’d hoped he was with you. Is he there?”

    The phone fell out of your hand, hitting the wall as it hung there, Poe’s voice now faint in the background. A ringing had started in your ears as you rushed to your room, shoving on any clothes you could find. He couldn’t find Din. The Crest was on fire. You couldn’t breathe. You ran through the living room, grabbing for the jacket he left, only to shove your hand in and find a pair of keys that most certainly didn’t belong to you.

    Had he left his car here? For you? What would be the point of that? You didn’t have time to ponder the multitude of questions that now ran through your mind, because there were only a few things you could focus on fully. Fire. Din. The message was running through your mind, forcing your heart to practically jump out of your chest. This wasn’t happening. He had to be safe right? Maybe it was simply an accident and there wouldn’t be much damage to the bar or to...him.

    The car practically roared to life as you sped out of the building and onto the busy street. It would take you time to get there, but by then things might already be too late. Cutting off who knows how many people, you finally managed to get onto the entrance of the highway, feeling your heart nearly leap out of your chest with every passing minute.

    “Fuck!” you shouted, hitting the steering wheel as you sped onto the highway, the tears now falling. 

    For two days they were stuck, unable to let yourself fall apart after he left with his explanation. You had begun to think that you were finally broken, that you held no more tears within you. Yet after hearing that he might be hurt, he might be in danger… It sent every heartbreaking feeling out until you were trying to fight for sight to see the road.

    Fifteen minutes driving and you felt as if your chest was constricting the longer it took to get there. You pressed on the horn, swerving around people until you found the exit not giving a fuck about how many people you cut off. Or how horrible your driving was in particular. You just had to get there, had to see that he was okay, that they had found him.

    But then you saw the smoke. A dark ominous cloud in the night sky; the smell of it getting in through the open window and burning your throat and lungs as you inhaled. You felt your chest seize at the sight and you pressed harder on the gas pedal, feeling the car take off down the side road towards the bar. It wasn’t until you reached the outside of the street, saw the orange flames, and heard the sirens did you nearly give up.

    Slamming the car door shut you scrambled towards the front of the bar, desperate to find him yourself if they couldn’t. Poe stood there talking to an officer, tears nearly falling down his face, but you didn’t have time for that. Couldn’t bring yourself to ask him what happened, because you could only focus on one thing. One person.

    Din. You panicked, drawing in short breaths as you tried to find him in the small gathering of people. Paz, the crew you knew, Finn, Rey, Elora, you saw them all. Standing there and watching as the place you used to call home with him was destroyed slowly. Everyone was there...except him.

    You didn’t know what you were doing, your brain only focused on finding him, and before you knew it, you were heading towards the building now being consumed by flames. If you could get inside, you could find him somehow. You were sure of it. The burning of your lungs didn’t help the situation, but you couldn’t care, not when this horror show was playing out right before your very eyes.

    An arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you back as you said something. You think it was his name, maybe you screamed it. At this point you couldn’t hear beyond the hum of nerves in your ears; everything blocked out except for the sound of your own heart, beating erratically in your heart.

    “Hey!” Poe shouted, cupping your cheek and forcing you to look at him.

    “Where is he?” you asked, pulling away. “Where is he?”

    He tried to grab for your arm to keep you in place, but all you needed, all you wanted was to find him. To hear him tell you that he was okay, that he was right here. Poe said something but you couldn’t hear, your mind racing with the fact that he might not be there, that he might be… Your heart seized again, pain shooting through your body at the feeling of everything mixing together until you couldn’t see straight. Your head felt fuzzy, the breath you took was short and painful. Fuck were you going into shock? Were you having a panic attack? You couldn’t tell, but still you fought past it, trying to get back to reality around you.

    “Where is he?” you asked softly, the tears streaming down your face as you heard the sounds of another hose being turned on.

    “They’re looking for him. As far as they can tell there’s no one inside but there might be a possibility...there might....” Even he couldn’t get the words out.

    You shook your head. “No. No he was supposed to… He can’t do this to me. He can’t. Not after I…” You had just told him you loved him. He couldn’t do this to you, couldn’t break your heart like this for another time.

    Poe turned back to the officer, wiping furiously at your eyes as you stared into space, trying to come to terms with what might actually happen. Din wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere to be found and you could no longer get air into your lungs. All those hours spent being in pain over the heartbreak he caused, you never thought anything would top that.

    You didn’t know you’d be proven wrong so early.

    “He can’t,” you whispered, your back still towards the bar. Unable to bear the sight of it being burned to the ground.

    “Sweetheart.” A broken voice came from behind you, forcing you to spin around as you recognized it. You felt the air rush towards your lungs, felt as your legs nearly gave out, because it was him.

    Black marks were smeared across his face, most likely from the excess of smoke and his shirt and jacket were slightly charred, but he stood there mere feet away, watching you. He coughed, trying to catch his breath, and falling to his knees as his body was wracked with the motion. It didn’t take you more than a few seconds to follow him, wrapping your arms around him and digging your face into his neck. He was okay. He was here.

    The disbelief still hadn’t worn off yet, because you weren’t sure this was real quite yet. Taking in a breath you tried to calm your racing heart, but then you heard him say something else. It was mumbled into your neck as he weakly wrapped an arm around you, but you heard it as if he’d screamed it out loud.

    “I love you,” he said it again, reaffirming the speculation, and as if someone placed the heart they cut out back in your body, you could finally feel again.

    You pulled away, wiping the ash from his face. “What the fuck were you doing in there?” you asked, afraid that he’d said those three words for a different reason. Afraid that he didn’t mean them, what with the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body.

    He smiled softly, eyes dazed from the lack of oxygen as he brushed a thumb across your cheek before he lifted his arm. Tightly held in his grasp and covered in it’s own layer of ash, was the whiskey bottle from your bet. The bills, still nicely wrapped around it, but slightly charred from the fire. He went back in to grab this. Out of everything in his home, his bar, he grabbed the bottle that you had sworn on, the promise that no matter what...you’d stay. 

    Letting out a laugh that sounded like a sob you pressed your lips against his. You didn’t care that he tasted like smoke, that neither of you could barely get air into your lungs. The kiss was sloppy, not meant for anything else other than an assurance he was here, he was alive, and that he did in fact love you. And it was everything.

    “You’re a dumbass Din Djarin.” You wiped at the tears, pretty sure you were smearing dirt everywhere.

    “Yeah,” he said, continuing to hold your face. “But you love me. Right?”

    The hesitancy in his voice nearly killed you, because a few weeks ago it was you putting your heart on the line in front of him. It was you asking him if he loved you and hoping for one single answer in return. A smile spread across your lips as you came to one conclusion. Poe had been right all along. Din was in love with you every second of every day, since the minute you walked into his bar wearing his jacket.

    “Yes. I love you.”

    He smiled, falling into a sitting position and carefully putting the bottle beside him, turning to see his bar now being consumed by the flames.

    “Din?” you asked, drawing his attention back to you. “What happened?”

    He didn’t answer, choosing to look back at the bar - his home - the love in his eyes shifting from complete heartbreak to anger. Enough to rival anything he’d shown before, and you wanted him to tell you everything. Who did this? Why did they do this? Because from his expression - this was no accident. Yet you remained quiet, settling in beside him with hope in your heart. 

    He’d tell you what happened eventually. You were sure of that. But for now you took his hand in yours, reaching for the bottle and opening it as you watched helplessly as your sanctuary with him turned to ash. The heat was suffocating as it came from the building but you didn’t move from your spot; couldn’t leave Din to sit there by himself. You managed to get the bottle open and took a swig of the amber colored liquid. It burned on it’s way down, but part of that was due to the ash still lodged in your throat. Passing it to Din he did the same, kissing you afterwards as he took in a breath that wracked his whole body.

    The pain had dulled down to nothing but a small twinge, because you had realized when he left that he loved you all along. That every fucking thing that happened was because he was too stupid to allow himself to say those words. No matter how much it hurt to never hear him say it in the first place. Part of you still wanted to stay away, but you couldn’t deny the other half of you - begging to remain in his arms. To stay in his life, because he needed you more than you originally believed.

    Now more than ever.

    At some point you passed the bottle to Poe who took a swig himself - pouring some into his flask - before sharing it to others. You could see the grief in their eyes, shining with the reflection of the flames that continued to spread through the building. Thankfully missing the garage entirely. 

    Everyone was grieving the building, this bar in some way. It wasn’t just yours, or his, it was a home to so many, and to watch it be ruined like this was a tragedy. You continued to sit by Din, gripping his hand in yours and checking to see if he was okay every few minutes. The grief of watching this place, your home in a way be destroyed, twisted your heart until it hurt, but that must be only half of what Din was feeling. Leaning your head against his shoulder you tried to fight back the tears, knowing he needed you more now than ever. Even if he didn’t say it.

    “We can rebuild,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, knowing that you’d be there for all of it. Giving him your whole heart again would take time, but healing always took time; you’d just have to take it one step at a time.

    He turned, his eyes shining with tears as he watched you. “Does that mean you’re going to stay?”

    You smiled. “You’re stuck with me Romeo. If you want it.”

    He lit up slightly at the nickname making its return once more and nodded quickly, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. “Being stuck with you doesn’t sound too bad.” He took in a breath, shutting his eyes tight. “I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did, and hearing you walk out… I should have - fuck - I should have gone after you. Should have told you about everything sooner…”

    Cutting him off with a kiss you shook your head. “I know, but why didn’t you?”

    He turned back to the fire. “I didn’t want you to one day wake up and realize you couldn’t love a monster. I hadn’t told you everything yet...I just - I didn’t know what to do.”

    “Din look at me.” It took you actually turning his face to finally see those brown eyes of his again. A look in them that had you grasping him closer until your lips were centimeters away from his.

    You wanted to stop the pain, cease the grief and go back in time to that night. Maybe you could reverse what happened now that you knew the truth. Tell him that you were going to be there - for everything. No matter what.

    “You’re not a monster.” He opened his mouth to protest, but you covered it with your hand. “You’re Din Djarin. Sometimes you’re a dick and stubborn to a point of me wanting to break your nose.” He smiled underneath your palm. “And sometimes you’re fucking terrifying, but you care more than you show it. Don’t give me that look, I know you care. You’re beautiful inside and out, and a little broken - like me, but a monster is the farthest thing you are. You’re my Romeo...and I love you.”

    He let out his breath when you pulled your hand away; closing his eyes as more tears fell down his cheeks. “How did I live before you got here?”

    You shrugged, wiping away the stray tears. “I’m fully convinced you didn’t. Especially with the way you decorated your apartment. Come on. Black sheets? What kind of guy were you before I arrived?”

    The words were cut off as he dragged your lips to his, gripping the front of your leather jacket to keep you in place. A simple piece of clothing that had brought you together once more. Magic. That’s what you whittled it down to. “It was a lot quieter before you. That’s for sure,” he whispered.

    “Fuck you Romeo. I take back everything…” Another earth-shattering kiss cut you off as the firefighters worked to put out the fire. But you couldn’t hear them, or bother with them, because all you could see, smell, hear was him.

    Him and all his broken light. The pieces of him were still strewn on the ground around him, but you’d help him pick them back up. Just as he’d do with you. Help to heal everything he had broken with affirmations of his love for you - with proof that he wasn’t simply saying these words on a whim.

    “I love you.” He said it again, almost as if he couldn’t stop. As if the words were there for decades, waiting to be said to the one person he’d been waiting for.

    “I love you,” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulder, watching as the bar was reduced to ash and clutching his hand in yours to remind him that you were there. That after so long waiting - you had come back.

    Who knows. Maybe he had been waiting for you. Maybe after so many years of being on your own, you were truly waiting for each other, waiting for him to come into your life. Because the words I love you never held that much meaning until you said it to him...until he said it to you.

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[uwuwriting]

Yandere ex w/ Midoriya and Bakugou

Request: Can I request some headcanons about Deku, Bakugou annnddd whoever else you'd like with reader and they are currently dating

Reaction to reaching you from your crazy ex boyfriend who is...very powerful and has managed to corner you, alone. You're scared, you're a civilian.

" oh shh. Don't cry baby, i'm here. Now that I'm here, you're all mine, now that you're done being silly. You and me forever"

( thought that'd get the creepy factor)

I'm just a sucker for rescue missions. I'm just so interested in how they'd approach that situation, how they'd comfort reader afterwards

Thank you. For reading this if you don't do this

Which is totally fine! - anonymous

Bruh rescue missions are just *chef’s kiss*. I’ve been having a mini Deku and Bakugou infatuation and I just wanna see more fics with these cuties and their civilian s/os. Like legit there aren’t enough fics with quirkless/civilian readers out there and I’m sad. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: stalking, attempted kidnapping, mentions of toxic past relationships, being chased, eventual fluff in the form of comfort, TW BEWARE. 

Midoriya Izuku/ Pro hero! Deku

-Izuku believed you were an angel walking on earth. 

-He met you in the brink of death *literally* when you stitched him up and stabbed an IV into his arm. 

-It was love at first sight for him tbh and he is proud to admit it too. 

-Soon enough -and after many many more visits to the hospital so he can be treated by dr. L/N- he asked you out and now you’re living together. 

-He knows about your ex and he hates him for what he did to you. 

-He has coaxed you into relaxing many nights after you’ve had terrible nightmares about your ex finding you again and this time not only putting your freedom on the line but also Izuku’s safety. 

-You know he is a pro hero and all but you can’t stop seeing him on your apartment floor, unmoving with your ex looming over him. 

-He is always there to chase that horrible darkness away and replace it with the warmth of his love. 

-So as time passed, thoughts of your ex became less and less frequent until they stopped popping up throughout the day all together and you were happy with that. 

-Then the universe decided that it should serve you with a good old traumatizing experience to spice things up. 

-You were walking home after your shift at the hospital was over, exhausted out of your mind when you felt the hairs at the back of your neck rise.

-It was like a sixth sense, knowing that something was up. 

- “Y/n-chan~”

-Your blood ran cold at the familiar voice, your mind going blank as you quickly fished out your phone dialing Izuku’s number while speeding up. 

- “Hey angel w-”

- “Izu he is here. H-he is f-following me.” 

-You heard his feet hitting the pavement on the other line as he ran down the busy street, completely forgetting about the patrol he was on. 

- “Where are you angel?”

-Sharing your location with him you took a sharp turn and into a convenience store, walking to the very back and hiding behind a few shelves, your eyes glazing over as you heard the sliding doors ding as your ex stepped inside not even a minute after you. 

-When did he get so close?

- “Izu please.” 

- “I’m almost there Y/N, I’ll protect you I promise.” 

-You held your breath as footsteps got closer, Izuku’s breathing keeping you grounded as they echoed through the other line. 

-Dipping behind another shelf you zigzagged through the aisles hoping to lose him as you slowly and quietly made your way to the entrance, your plan being to run outside and find Izuku. 

-Your plan though was cute short when an arm wrapped tightly around your waist bringing you flush with a sturdy chest, your ex’s head dipping into your hair and breathing in your scent in an exaggerated sniff. 

- “You like the chase Y/N-chan~? I’ve got you now.” 

-Izuku’s panicked voice could be heard coming from your phone as he listened to your ex talking to you. 

-A whimper of your actual boyfriend’s name left your lips in an attempt to get away from him but his grip on you tightened making a sob escape you as tears cascaded down your cheeks, too many awful memories of your past relationship flooding your mind. 

-You wanted your Izuku. 

- “Aww baby don’t cry. And my name isn’t Izuku so don’t make that silly little mistake again because it doesn’t make me happy when you call out other men’s names. I got you now and everything will be back to normal in no time. Just you and me my sweet Y/N.” 

-You thrashed around, your hands clawing at the arm wrapped around your waist and the other one that was holding your chin. 

-In your panic you didn’t even hear the ding of the store’s doors as your boyfriend stepped in, eyes immediately locking on your crying features and the outer fear in your eyes as you ex tried kissing your neck.  

-It took him mere seconds to untangle you from your ex’s grasp and pull you safely into his chest, a punch flying right into your attackers jaw as he fell to the floor with a loud thud. 

-His hands went immediately to cradle your head near his chest, rubbing soothing circles on your back as you sobs wracked through your body. 

- “Shh angel, it’s me I’m right here shh. He can’t hurt you Y/N.” 

-Police sirens echoed outside as a few officers poured through the double doors, Izuku scooping you up and taking you outside trudging the familiar road to your shared apartment. 

-You wouldn’t let go of his hero costume as he calmly set you on your shared bed, whispering to you that he was only going to the closet to help you both change. 

-It took him a lot of time to actually calm you down and when he managed it he called his agency to inform them that he would be taking the day off. 

-The only thing he could do after that was hold you as close to his chest as he possibly could, reassuring you that he wouldn’t be coming anywhere close to you from now on that he was officially gone. 

Bakugou Katsuki/ Pro Hero! Dynamight

-It was a stupid argument that escalated and now he found himself crashing at Kirishima’s. 

-You two hadn’t talked for about a week now and Bakugou feared that you had had enough of him and you would break up if he called. 

-He felt awful.

-He just wanted to go back home to you, kiss you, hug you, be back in his normal routine with the love of his life but no he had to be stubborn and push you to your limits with a silly argument that he doesn’t even remember what the fuck it was about. 

-It was the third sleepless night for him and he couldn’t stop his brain from drifting to you and what you might be doing. 

-You on the other hand were terrified out of your mind. 

-Not long after Katsuki stormed out of your apartment you had started getting texts from an unknown number saying things like “He is finally gone” and “Now we can be together again dolly.” 

-The nickname had sent shivers down your spine, memories of your toxic/yandere ex flooding your mind. 

-Katsuki had helped you run away from him and heal after those dark days. 

-Walking to the kindergarten you worked at became a constant threat.

-You were always looking behind your shoulder for anyone who might be following you, coming very close to calling Katsuki more than once when you thought that you had caught a whiff of your ex. 

-You began asking your coworkers to walk home with you using the excuse that it felt kinda lonely walking alone.

-Things reached a tipping point when the photos started coming in. 

-Photos of you in your class helping the kids, on your way to the station to catch your train every morning and even from inside your own house. 

-Photos of you putting on one of Katsuki’s hoodies was filled with manic scribbles of the word stop as a big red circle was drawn around your boyfriend’s sweatshirt. 

-It terrified you and you wanted nothing else than to call Katsuki and beg him to come back. 

-But despite it all your worthless pride and ego got in the way convincing you that you would fight your ex with your own two hands. 

-All those thoughts were tossed out the window when you heard your ex’s voice outside your apartment’s door on a late Friday night. 

- “Dolly open the door~” 

-In less than a second you had pushed the kitchen table in front of the door, your fingers hastily dialing Katsuki’s number, tears already streaming down your cheeks as your ex pounded at the front door, his voice and pleas becoming more and more aggressive as the seconds ticked by. 

-Two agonizing minutes passed before Bakugou answered, his gruff voice reaching your ears from the other line as he answered with a short “What”

- “Katsu please h-he is trying to get in. H-he is at the d-door. I-I don’t know what to do.” 

- “Baby lock yourself in our room and try to barricade the door. After that hide I’ll be there before you know it.”

-You could hear a door slamming shut and his hasty steps coming through the other line. 

-Doing as you were told you locked your bedroom door, pushing your dresser in front of it as more bangs came from the front door the legs of the kitchen table scraping the floor as the door almost rattled off its hinges. 

-Ducking underneath your bed you let out a few whines to which Katsuki answered with reassuring words. 

- “I’m almost there baby, I’ll save you. Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby. I should be home with you right now keeping you safe from that lunatic. I’m sorry I love you so much.” 

- “Katsu please hurry please. I-I’m so scared. Please.” 

- “I can see our building don’t worry-” 

-A loud thud came from the kitchen and only a few seconds later something rammed into the bedroom door ripping another whimper from your throat. 

- “Oh my god Katsu he’s in our house!!” 

- “Y/N, dolly, why are you making this so difficult my love? I just want” *thud* “to love you” *thud* “the way you” *thud* “DESERVE!”

-In one finally push your dresser was finally knocked over as the door creaked slightly open, your ex squeezing through the crack a laugh and a breathy moan of your name escaping his lips as he stepped inside.  

- “Katsuki I lo-” 

-The only thing that Katsuki could hear was your scream as he barreled up the stairs to your apartment. 

-He was gonna skin that bastard alive for hurting you and then he would skin himself alive for allowing this to happen. 

-He will never forget the look of pure terror in your eyes as you ex was pining you on the floor, your eyes darting through the room desperately searching for a way to escape this. 

-Katsuki tackled your assailant, straddling his waist as he let punch after punch connect with the bastard's face as you cowered to the far corner of the room. 

-After a few minutes of relentless punching your ex was knocked out cold while Katsuki was cradling you to his chest, rubbing circles onto your scalp as you sobbed in his chest. 

-You don’t remember much of what happened later, too exhausted to process anything and too comfortable in Katsuki’s arms as he led you to Kirishima’s house to spend the night. 

-He refused to take you to a hotel, he thought you would feel safer in a familiar environment. 

-Kiri left you two alone as Katsuki prepared a bath and a change of clothes. 

- “Katsu…” 

-His name left your lips as a mere whisper and it broke his heart. 

- “I can’t go back to our house...He had been in there….he had taken pictures I-I” 

- “Shh it’s alright. It was getting kinda small for us anyways. Shh Don’t worry about it.” 

- “I’m sorry Katsu, I’m so sorry.” 

-It would take a lot of hard work to build up your sense of safety and he knew it but he was ready to give it his all for you. 

- “No need to apologize baby. You know I would do anything for you and your safety and I’ll be here next to you now matter what. I love you and I will never stop. You kinda have my wrapped around your finger, woman.” 

-You let out a weak giggle followed by an “I love you” of your own and a little peck on the lips, as you snuggled close to him, his arms bringing you safely to his chest in a way to calm your nerves. 

-You really did have wrapped around your finger.

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[cirrus-grey]

TMA/The Good Place AU

I've seen other versions of this before and I have so many thoughts (Contains spoilers for all seasons of both shows)

Gertrude is the Architect, who thinks she's working for the good of the universe by punishing bad people but gradually learns compassion, friendship, and the ways in which the system is broken

Gerry is the neighborhood guide like Janet

He's a lot more incorporeal though

Instead of "not a robot, not a girl" he's got "not a boy, not a ghost"

Good Gerrys have poor dye jobs

Bad Gerrys have perfect dye jobs

Neutral Gerrys do not dye their hair

Yes this means disco Gerry exists

Magnus is the Head of the Bad Place who pretends to be the Judge

(The actual Judge is Dekker)

OG Elias is the pothead student who had a bad trip and predicted the whole afterlife system with almost perfect accuracy

Jon, Martin, Tim, and Sasha are the four humans in the first neighborhood

Jon and Tim think they belong in the Good Place

Martin and Sasha know they do not

Jon is told his research into the supernatural saved thousands of lives

Tim was an environmental activist

Sasha was a hacker but Gertrude welcomes her as a tech innovator who changed the world

Martin was just working a minimum wage job trying to get by and Gertrude welcomes him as a professional in the parapsychology field, he's given the same "your research saved lives" spiel as Jon

Jon and Martin are told they're soulmates

Tim and Sasha are told the same

Jon and Martin have the Chidi/Eleanor multi-season-long star-crossed fall-in-love-in-every-reboot plot arc

Tim and Sasha have the we-hooked-up-in-one-reboot-but-we're-better-as-friends Tahani/Jason dynamic

However, Sasha gets Eleanor's "there's someone with my name who's supposed to be here instead of me" plot

This is Not!Sasha

Peter Lukas is the Bad Place representative who brings Not!Sasha to the "Good Place"

Martin gets Jason's "the person with your name was in a near-death coma"

Sasha tells Tim she doesn't belong right out of the gate

Martin overhears them and the three end up working together

Martin does not tell Jon he doesn't belong, leading to Jon becoming paranoid about what he, Tim, and Sasha are always conspiring about together

It comes out in a "why are you lying" argument just like the CV thing in canon and Jon is heartbroken that he doesn't actually have a soulmate

He shuts Martin out for a while but eventually realizes he's fallen in love with him, soulmate or not

The four of them end up working together (somewhat)

When they go to the Medium Place they meet Mikaele Salesa

He was a cut-throat antiques and curiosities dealer who donated his fortune to aid the orphaned children of sailors on his deathbed

Eventually the whole "this is the Bad Place" reveal happens

Not sure who figures it out

They get rebooted

And rebooted again

And again

Gertrude does not know how they keep figuring it out but she's definitely losing control

The other demons in the neighborhood are talking about rebelling

(Jude Perry is that one fire demon who keeps walking around without their skinsuit)

(I'm thinking Jared "canonically hot" Hopworth is the one who keeps going to the gym)

She makes a deal with the four humans to help them get to the real Good Place if they play along with the torture, and finally concedes to letting Annabelle Cane run the next reboot

(Yes, to line up with the original show it would be the Not!Them but I think Annabelle is far more likely to want to pull everyone's strings)

Instead of the Jason/Janet romance there's a Tim&Gerry friendship

Since there's no romance there's no need for a rebound boyfriend, however Gerry ends up feeling really alone in Annabelle's reboot and builds himself a new best friend to cope

It does not go well

Michael/Helen is a glitchy, non-functional almost-human who nearly blows everyone's cover with the chaos they cause

They have two faces, two personalities, two identities that they flip between seemingly at random

They get more stable the more times they're rebooted

They go chill with Salesa in the Medium Place while the main crew makes their bid for the Good Place, fails, begs the Judge (Dekker) for mercy, and ends up back on earth

Instead of a near-death psychological study they're all brought together again with an un-death paranormal study

Run by Jon and his new girlfriend Georgie

Yes, Peter is the demon Magnus sends to interfere

Yes, Gertrude drop-kicks him back off the planet

They form the Soul Squad and go off into the world to save people

Not really sure who

But they end up visiting OG Elias and realizing how deep the problems with the system go

They pass through accounting, which is run by Oliver Banks, and meet the neutral Gerry

I'm thinking Leitner is that one demon who's forced to assign point values to weird sex acts

Not sure who makes up the Good Place council

But they make their way back to the Judge and get the whole "test neighborhood" thing to happen

The new humans are Daisy, Basira, Melanie, and Georgie

I know it would make sense for Jon to end up in charge of the neighborhood as Gertrudes's replacement, but nope, he gets his memory wiped because he's awful at lying and he can't pretend he doesn't know Georgie

Martin ends up in charge after Gertrude freaks out

Jon does not actually end up as a participant in the study, since none of the new humans are demons in disguise, so he's just kind of wandering around like a loose end

Georgie definitely pulls the "this is a near-death hallucination" thing

Martin breaks his own heart telling Jon that Georgie's his soulmate, hoping Jon will be able to convince her it's all real

It backfires

Jon's miserable

He eventually confides in Tim (he and Sasha are pretending to be normal humans) that he thinks there's been a mistake, unless... do you think platonic soulmates are a thing?

He doesn't want to date Georgie

He's in love with Martin

Tim tells Martin and Martin has to handcuff himself to his desk so he doesn't run off and kiss Jon senseless

Yes, they establish that platonic soulmates are a thing

Georgie starts dating Melanie

Jon and Martin pine from a distance

I'm thinking Basira is the problem resident who is not making any progress towards improvement

She's very reluctant to see the complicated morals of a situation and takes a long time to break out of her "us vs them" mindset

When they're approaching the one-year anniversary of the new neighborhood and the end of the experiment Melanie and Georgie gather together Tim, Sasha, Daisy, Basira, and Jon

They pull out a huge red-string theory board and say there's something wrong with the neighborhood

Tim and Sasha exchange nervous glances

Georgie says she thinks it's all orchestrated by Martin

They make a plan to meet up at the party that evening

Tim and Sasha go straight to Martin, Gertrude, and Gerry and tell them what's going down

They decide to run out the clock and hope nothing goes too wrong

When Martin stops by his office Jon is waiting for him

Jon spills Georgie and Melanie's whole theory

"They think you're plotting against us, but I know you wouldn't"

"Whatever this is, you're as much a pawn as we are, I think"

"This is supposed to be the Good Place, right? So no one should be unhappy"

"But I am unhappy, Martin. You are too! I've seen the look you get, when you think no one's looking"

"Martin, I've seen the way you look at me. You must know how I feel about you. What kind of Good Place would not allow us to be together?"

Martin is imploding

He really really really wants to kiss Jon

But instead he takes him by the shoulders and tells him "I know what's going on. You're right, there's something more here than you've been told, but trust me when I tell you it's nothing bad. I won't let anything bad happen to you, Jon. I've got you"

"Please just play along with whatever happens tonight, I promise I'll explain everything soon"

And Jon does. Even when the sinkhole happens, even when Martin laughs in his face and tells him he's in the Bad Place

"I really got you, Jon," he says. "I got you good"

"I've got you," Jon remembers, and trusts him

Anyway there's a lot of drama but the neighborhood was a success

Jon gets his memories back and there's a tearful reunion

They start implementing test neighborhoods for everyone so everyone has a chance of reaching the Good Place

And Jon, Martin, Tim, Sasha, Gertrude, and Gerry finally get to go as well

Of course they still need to fix the Good Place itself but that goes fine

And then everyone gets a happy ending, with as much time as they want to spend with the people they love

#the magnus archives #my magnus archives stuff #original post #my writing #jonathan sims #martin backwood #sasha james #tim stoker #tma the good place au

[13atoms]

An Artifice in Silver - Part Two

A/N - Part 1 was the angsty part of the challenge, written by @wonders-of-the-multiverse, so read that first!! It’s amazing!

Here’s my attempt to make the ending to this fic fluffy.

WARNINGS - Some death and Cyberman conversion are mentioned.

PAIRINGS: Dhawan!Master x Reader

WORD COUNT: 10,323 words

Part One | Part Two

Part Two: A Trap

It felt your though your head had only just collided with the ground when you were shaken awake. Your body been moved, swept awkwardly aside as you slept, clearing a path to the rest of the collapsed crowd from the door. Your head and limbs ached from the hard concrete of the ground, the air no longer green with smoke as you squinted to try and make out the people in the rest of the chamber.

All still human.

A few of them were moving, while others were out cold. You could only hope those nearer the epicentre of the gas being released were simply unconscious, their ragdoll bodies making you wince as they were shaken, loved ones and strangers alike desperately trying to wake them from their unnatural sleep. You could see the horror on the survivors’ faces as they picked over the group, struggling to regain movement in their own aching limbs even as that human instinct to help kicked in. Everyone looked worse for wear.

Motionless Cyber units now stood centurion around the room’s locked doors, terrifying even in their stillness. They appeared to be without instruction, frozen in place, but very much still functional. What was wrong with them? You knew the answer. Your mind drifted back to The Master.

Where the hell was he?

How could he do this to you?

To any one of these people?

A stranger filled your vision, and you felt panic surging through you instantly, heart pumping enough adrenaline to power your chemically-weakened muscles.

“You alright?”

The woman had the authority and certainty of a someone medically trained, a kindness in her eyes even through her fear. She grabbed at your shoulders, checking your vital signs, moving her hands to watch if your eyes tracked them. You groaned. It was all too much, too intense, and you tried not to see rude as you flinched away.

“I’m fine thanks,” you dismissed, peering past her.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the sheer number of people in here.

With a nod she scurried away, back to the rest of the room. They had no idea what was happening, peering up in fear at the frozen metallic claws, at the empty faces of the Cybermen.

You had been so close becoming that. Rotting flesh, trapped inside of a walking tombstone, at the whim of the hivemind which controlled these creatures. You shivered, noticing one frozen in place a few metres behind where the Master had been. They must have encroached on the halted conversion room whilst you’d been asleep, creeping in like demons in the night. Fear gripped you at the idea of those monsters stepping over your unconscious, unguarded body, preserving your form only for its use to them as a puppet.

Since you’d taken those casings apart, you’d been terrified of them. Of the fate which befell those trapped inside, stripped of their humanity. None of those people inside were any more or less worthy of life than you, no one had saved them. They were undead, beyond saving but not yet released from life.

You shuddered.

Your legs continued to shake as you clambered to your feet, tiptoeing closer to one of the Cybermen, expecting it to jump back to life any moment. One question wouldn’t leave your mind: Why were you still human?

You suspected the Master’s involvement but, from the devastation on his face as the gas descended, perhaps he hadn’t had as much influence as you’d thought. With another glance back at the door, you reminded yourself that your worst fears had been realised: he was still gone. Only a frozen monster in an otherwise empty corridor loomed back at you, still locked away by the thick doors which had separated you from him.

They must have closed again after Cybermen entered the chamber, and you knew you couldn’t open them. Cybermen were far too methodical to allow your escape.

Nothing added up. Especially that you were alive without The Master’s involvement.

Had he left on purpose? Assumed you dead? Given up on you?

You couldn’t bear to think about the worst case scenario: that he wouldn’t come back for you. Was he already running, a million lightyears away? Had the Doctor gotten to him?

Had he gotten to the Doctor?

Dwelling on your fears did nothing but make you freeze.

You needed to do something.

There were still people who needed help, you could help them.

But you couldn’t be drawn away from the door. For a sickening moment you wondered if you had imagined him, the way he trembled, begged for you to fight off the inevitable. Perhaps induced by your fear, had you imagined the one person in the universe who could comfort you?

You longed for him to come back, to tut at you for being so scared and tease you for not having a respiratory bypass system.

Instead, he was gone. You were trapped. The noise of the crowd had gradually increased again, raising to a murmur as whispers and hushed sobs of children echoed off the walls. Tones were hushed, everyone terrified of waking the machinery again. Of restarting the horror. Every movement in the room spooked people, and the crackle of an overhead announcement system made people huddle together, whispering frantically as you all anticipated a robotic voice.

‘You will be converted’ still stung fresh in your ears, that sound which had followed you, been offered as the only explanation for what was happening.

That soulless reading of a death sentence still loomed over everyone trapped here.

You tried to stand strong in your position – if nothing else you could be a barrier between the crowd and whatever came through this door – even as freshly-dried tears made your eyes ache.

When a Yorkshire lilt called your name through the speakers, and you smiled.

“Here!”

The group of people backed away from you, watching with equal fear and curiosity as you desperately shouted up to the ceiling, hoping she could hear you.

“I can open one of the doors for a moment, need a power surge and an external battery, it’s a whole thing. Can you see me?”

You scanned the perimeter of the conversion chamber, and spotted movement on the far side of the room. A few of the crowd moved to let you through, whispering, and you could have cried with relief. Her mane of blonde hair was visible through the clear panel of a door, and she waved to you manically as you jogged over it. It was a harsh contrast to how you’d spotted The Master. This time, your relief was warranted.

Unable to hear her, you relied on trying to understand how she pointed frantically to the ground at your feet, before crouching as the played with wires sticking out of something which looked suspiciously-bomb-like. You mirrored her pose, hidden from each other, now below the glass of the window.

You could hear muttering behind you, the shudder of your own breath, as you waited.

There was no rejecting the Doctor’s help now, no matter where your loyalties or personal grievances lay. With the Master gone, she was your only way out.

You had to trust her.

With a gut-wrenching clang the door suddenly shuddered and rose upwards. The thick metal looked too heavy to stop if it fell, but you just held your breath and rolled underneath, trusting her yelled command of:

“Quick!”

She scrambled to pull you clear of the door as it slammed closed like the heavy drop of a guillotine blade, making you cry out as it shook the ground. You had barely made it. That impact would have been fatal.

“Doctor!”

She was already stood, hands on hips. You found yourself left shaking on the ground. She was already on to the next problem.

“I hope that didn’t rewake the system.” She mused as she picked at the smoldering wires, seemingly unaffected by your near-death experience.

You were panting, staring at her in shock. While you’d realised a long time ago that she wasn’t any more careful with your wellbeing than the Master, you couldn’t believe her complete nonchalance. Were The Master in her shoes he would be dragging you back to his TARDIS, apologising for putting you in the situation, his bravado stripped the second he’d seen your wellbeing at stake. He’d be all gentle hands and mumbled reassurance, fury at every single person responsible for the construction of the machinery which had scared you so much.

The memory of his face through the door of the conversion room made your chest hurt, your eyes sting, and you knew he’d never forgive himself for being so reckless. For putting you at risk.

When you looked up, expecting a concerned look at the minimum, you saw the Timelord’s spot vacated. A rat’s nest of wires were the only indication she’d even been beside you. The Doctor was already walking away, shoes clicking on the metallic floor of yet another identical corridor. The Cybermen here were still too, making you hug yourself and run to keep up with her.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” he ground out.

The Doctor couldn’t stand not knowing. She consulted her sonic screwdriver with a scrunched-up face, holding it to her ear, scanning one of the stationary suits as you finally caught up.

“Where’s the Master?” You demanded.

“What?”

“The Master.”

Her face turned dark, and she scowled.

“Of course he’s involved in all this. I should have known. Right, um…”

With another wave and buzz of the sonic screwdriver, she scowled at the result, then at you.

“Got him.”

Perhaps you shouldn’t have told her that he was here. Would it put him at risk? Would it put her at risk? You couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty. They would have met eventually, dragged together like unwilling magnets. They always converged eventually. And you really needed to see him.

The Doctor took off running, backtracking occasionally as she followed the trace of him the sonic had picked up. You tried in vain to remember these featureless corridors, should you need to navigate back alone. It wouldn’t work. This facility was endless, an economically designed rabbit warren marked with ruthlessly minimal symbols which you couldn’t discern meaning from.

You wouldn’t be able to get out of here alone.

You spared a thought for the poor souls still trapped in the room you’d escaped, cowering under those metal claws and eyeless Cybermen, herded here like trembling sheep.

As you ran after the blonde Timelord the corridor suddenly opened to a large hangar-style door, like the hotwired one you had barely made it under. Seeing the metal above you made you shutter and halt at the threshold, but adrenaline forced you onwards. You cared more about what was inside, who was inside.

You could see him. Hunched over a computer, Cybermen shrunken at his feet like dolls, the Master was in a state of mania as he ripped the room apart.

Seeing him The Doctor gasped and tugged you around a corner and out of view of the room. You went to whisper a protest, but found her lean hand clapped over your mouth, barely touching but enough to stop you giving away her hiding spot.

“Just trust me,” she insisted. “Stay here.”

She grabbed your hand, squeezing it as though you might be less inclined to follow her somehow.

You couldn’t. Despite everything, you felt the draw of the Master, and she tugged your arm to hold you from straying too close to him as you peeked around the corner, just watching him.

His booming voice was unmistakable as he shouted into the room, but his face was hidden from you. The control room of the underground building was sparking and torn apart in places, The Master’s precise tapping of computer keys was interspersed with the ruthless smashing of server racks as he threw them to the ground, scattering the technology. His dismantling of the room was equal parts strategic and uncontrolled destruction, and you worried for the blood seeping from his knuckles and forearms, his jacket strewn aside and sleeves rolled up.

As he took another break from the computer system to punch at a glass pane, you couldn’t let him hurt himself anymore. You surged forward from your hiding spot, feeling the Doctor trying to hold you back. Adrenaline and happiness to see him was all which powered your body.

Calling to him, you imagined his excitement at realising you were alive. Maybe he’d stop smashing. Take you to safety.

“MAST–”

The Doctor grabbed you around the waist, pulling you against her body, muting you with a single hand clamped vice-tight over your mouth. For a moment the pair of you waited in silence, shocked by each other’s actions in equal measure.  

“I don’t know what he’s done to you, but you need to stay away from him.”

Her accent grew stronger as she whispered, and you frowned. Her hand allowed you to breathe through your nose, but was tight around your jaw, her grip as strong as the Master’s.

“This is between us. You need to go back to the TARDIS.”

Not her TARDIS, you were sure of that.

You grunted into her hand, making her yell in pain as you bit down on the flesh of her palm, wriggling to get free. It didn’t even matter who she was: you refused to be manhandled. Your eyes flashed to the corridor, hoping The Master had noticed you, run to your rescue.

No footsteps came.

With a sigh, her hands found your temple, and your body weakened.

“I’m sorry, it’s a dirty trick. He’s done worse, I’m certain.”

You wanted to cry when you realised she was right. But not for the reasons she thought.

Her TARDIS was a mere few-minutes’ walk from where the pair of you had hidden, and she half-carried you the whole way, her mouth set in a grim line which terrified you more than any time the Master had ever shouted around you. You wanted to struggle, to fight her, but your body was too weakened to do anything.

You couldn’t even cry out, forced into obeying her, muscles made limp by her touch on your mind.

Setting you on the ground in the console room, she finally uncovered your mouth and dashed to the doors, calling back to you. As quickly as you had lost it, you suddenly you regained your strength, able to run at her.

“Stay in here.”

“DOCTOR!”

She darted out of the time ship just in time to escape your fury.

The TARDIS doors slammed closed, locking in an instant as you rushed to try and tug them open. It was no use, your whole body weight against the wood couldn’t move those doors.

You looked up at the ceiling of the sentient ship, hoping she might take your side, only to be met with the gentle hum of the time rotor.

“I need to get out,” you begged. “Please!”

Your exit remained barred.

A blue-tinged screen on the console flickered to life, and you left your post by the doors to peer at it. You could hear muffled voices outside, the screen showing a mute overhead view of the Doctor and her best enemy.  

“Please,” you whispered to her, stroking the console. You hoped she was like the Timelords who piloted her, using the touch to tune into your heart. “Let me talk to them.”

There was static, then a click, and you rushed back to the doors. They were still locked.

As you spun to the console in confusion, two familiar voices echoed through the ship’s speakers.

“Is she in there?”

It was him, voice desperate, demanding. The Master.

“No.”

The Doctor was a weak liar at times. He’d see through her. You pounded your fists at the translucent glass of the doors, then held one palm flat against it, begging him to notice you.

He did.

“Doctor!” He taunted. “You lied to me!”

“Stay away from her.”

Glancing back at the monitor, you could see how the Doctor’s body blocked his access to the door, positioning herself between the two of them.

“She wants to see me.”

“She doesn’t.”

You wanted to scream, object as The Doctor stood cross-armed guard between him and the ship. Your words couldn’t permeate the doors.

“Is she okay?”

The feed showed how his attire was destroyed in places, how he slumped, and something else too…

“You’re crying!” The Doctor declared, shock clear in her voice.

The Master didn’t hesitate, taking a long stride towards her, making The Doctor jut her chin out.

“Is she ALIVE?”

You didn’t need the audio feed to hear his yell, and you could see how the blonde Timelord recoiled.

“Obviously!”

He relaxed a little, taking back control, but you could still see how anger dripped off him. His words escaped him as a growl – frustration and fear a melting pot in his voice.

“You have no idea what could be in that stuff she breathed. You haven’t even checked her over, Doctor.”

“Oh, as if you actually care.”

One of them would snap, the Master’s snarling voice met with a harsh laugh from the other Timelord. One of them would just throttle the other, pull the TCE or a gun from some deep recesses of their pockets, or snap the others’ neck. One of them would survive, pulling you into their arms over the broken body of the other.

You couldn’t bear it. Tension seeped through the doors, through the silence of the TARDIS speakers and the bluelight of the screen.

“I care so much it frightens me. Can you imagine that, Doctor? That it scares me?”

He got closer to her face, almost spitting from anger.

“You’re lying,” she growled.

“I destroyed the Cyberium.”

In the grainy monitor you saw her take pause, inspecting his face for a moment, like she’d be able to see whether the Cyberium had left him from nothing but his panting and the whites of his eyes.

You’d heard about it in vague terms, the Cyber AI which he’d absorbed. You’d seen how he avoided the species like the plague as you travelled, the way he fought with it inside his own head sometimes.

Even when it seemed to cause him unbearable pain, he’d promised you it wasn’t that bad. Only in the quiet moments, when he thought you couldn’t see, did you catching him muttering to himself with his eyes pressed shut.

“You what?”

The Doctor looked disbelieving.

“I followed it. I obeyed it, helped it, and this is how it rewarded me. So I killed it.”

Speechless, The Doctor just stared at him.

“I’ll give you the command codes if you like, just let me take her. Please.”

“Have you hypnotized her?”

The Doctor’s new line of attack made you wince, spitting out her words like poison. The Master held his hands up in a surrender, a small silver box tucked under one thumb.

“No. I swear.”

“Let me talk to her first.”

For a moment, the Master seemed to look straight through the monitor, directly at you, and you swore he could tell you were watching. You moved closer to the screen, arms folded nervously as his eyes flickered back to the Doctor.

“Have it your way. I’ll be in the ship’s command room.” He turned to walk away, but you heard his voice still, steady through the speakers. “If you dematerialise, Doctor, I will hunt you down. And everyone left here will die.”

He marched off and you watched on the monitor as he left, longing to run to him as much as you wanted to kill him. The Doctor’s image paused for a moment, and you could see her pacing outside the TARDIS doors. Distracted by the live feed, you jumped when the doors finally banged open. The screen went black, and you silently thanked the ship for being on your side.

“Let me go.”

You told her firmly as she trudged towards the console, playing with one of the instruments like she was toying with just piloting the ship away.

“I will.”

The pair of you stood in silence for a moment, and you longed to say more, but what else was there to say?

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay away from him?”

You were already looking at the door, wondering if you could remember the route back to the smashed control room alone. The Doctor walked towards you, hands awkwardly behind her back, and you felt a pang of longing for what could have been if she was a little more honest, a little more open.

Her voice was desperate, soft, and it made your heart ache for the happier times you’d spent together. Before the pain which surged back and forth between you, the harsh words and the abandonment. You’d hurt each other irreparably. You couldn’t be happy with her and the fam. They would never be enough.

Despite everything, though, you didn’t want to hate her.

“I’ll always remember the adventures we had together,” you promised her.

So much had gone unsaid earlier, in your anger at her for dropping by unannounced and whisking you away like she still had a guarantee you wanted to travel with her. Facing the realisation that this really might be it, you wanted to hug her.

It was strange, wanting to leave her, and yet being so devasted about it.

“What is he, to you?”

She looked afraid to ask it, and you were sure she wouldn’t like your answer. With a sigh, you saw no sense in lying to her.

“I think I love him.”

The drop of her face was enough to confirm it, that there was no getting out of this without hurting someone.

“No mind control,” you promised.

“You can still stay. He’s dangerous.”

Her words were half-hearted. She knew your choice. You shook your head, and she finally left her comfortable spot, rounding the physical barrier of the console so there was only a few feet separating you.

“I know.”

For the first time since you’d known her, she hugged you, awkward and all misplaced limbs. You accepted it, hugging her tightly back. Her face was hidden from you, and you held her as long as she’d let you, hoping you were imagining the ragged breaths which caught in her throat.

“Will he look after you?”

“I think so.”

She nodded against your shoulder, letting you go.

“Thank you, for everything.”

You meant it. For the adventures, for the chance to get more from life than Earth could give you, for the friendships you’d shared with the fam, and for the chance to meet him.

Perhaps she already regretted that last gift.

“Let’s get going, then!”

Her chipper tone was mismatched for the somber mood as you stroked the console goodbye one last time, mumbling your gratitude to the impossible, ancient ship which had first shown you the beauty and terror of this universe. The Doctor strode out the door like this was any other adventure, and you almost expect to be met with the surface of an unknown planet, just one more time.

She led you through the corridors in silence, and you still shivered at the Cybermen as you passed them, recalling the horror concealed inside these metal soldiers.

With a quick instruction to wait for her, The Doctor darted off to check a rack of servers. This was it. Her easy out. She knew you wouldn’t wait.

You kept walking, unexpectedly recognising where you were. He wouldn’t be concealing anything in the corner of a cramped storage room. He would be at the heart of the ship. Waiting for you.

You were right. The doors to the control room hissed open as you approached, revealing him stood in the center of the room. He’d cleaned up, put his jacket back on, brushed his disheveled hair back and lost that snarling, wild-animal demeanor he had been overcome by outside the conversion room, and while he’d spoken to the Doctor. Like the best of his disguises, composure covered his true feelings as he waited for the pair of you, distain on his face and his hands casually strewn in a trouser and jacket pocket.

When he saw you approach alone his performatively curled lip dropped, face slackening as he rushed towards you, open concern on his face. When you didn’t reach out to embrace him, and he stopped, deflated a few feet from you. He tried to lighten the mood, his features picking up into an unnatural smile.

“I told you I’d get you out!”

“You didn’t.” You told him flatly.

He reached for you, and you crossed your arms over yourself, resisting his offer of affection. You wouldn’t go back to him without an apology, if you could help it.

“You left me there.”

“You’re here, you’re…”

He trailed off at the Doctor’s appearance, barging flustered into the room, muttering that she’d ‘told you to wait’. At her entrance the Master wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you tightly to him. You tried to get away, and he wouldn’t release you.

This was a show, meant only to remind the Doctor her friend had chosen him over her, and you hated it. You didn’t want to help him hurt her.

“Don’t touch me.”

He ignored your snarl. You kicked at his foot, and he broke his grip, allowing you to retreat from the two Timelords.

“Lover’s tiff,” he smiled apologetically to The Doctor, reaching out his hand for yours.

When you retreated further away from him again, he froze. He offered his palms up apologetically, and you noticed they were still littered with cuts, some particularly brutal looking. You suspected the smashed-up control room around you could answer for that. He caught you staring, open horror on your face, and shoved them in his trouser pockets.

“It’s okay,” The Doctor’s Yorkshire lilt tried to settle you, and she approached you from the other side like a scared animal. You recoiled from her too, and the Master stepped in front of you.

“You brought her here!” He scoffed to the other Time Lord. “Don’t pretend you’re any better than me!”

The Doctor was acting like the hero, as usual, treating The Master like a teacher calming a mid-meltdown child. Her soft voice and outstretched palms didn’t seem quite so sincere, on the receiving end. You could understand The Master’s anger, as her gentle voice tried to placate him.

“I brought you what you want, we can trade.”

Suddenly, pieces clicked together.

“You said you didn’t know the Master was here,” you frowned.

“Did I?”

You turned on her.

“This was on purpose. You brought me here on purpose?”

From the drop of her jaw, you could read that you were right. At least a little bit. You felt your throat tighten with tears. The Master growled.

“How dare you drag her into this!”

“What? Into your plan?” You caught yourself getting hysterical, but you didn’t care. The Timelords glanced at each other, herding you back towards the glass projection which covered the entire back wall.

“You were supposed to be on Earth! If you had stayed, like I told you –”

Under your glare, he fell silent.

The Doctor, ever playing at being a peacekeeper, tried to step closer to you, only to be matched by the Master. You had nowhere left to go, backed against the dark glass wall of the bunker as they looked between you and each other.

“Doctor, did you… know the Master was here.”

“Yes.”

She had the decency to sound remorseful. You thought back on when you first landed, how quickly you’d lost her, been swept up in the horde of people shepherded towards the conversion chamber. You remembered how you’d feared for your life, the heartbreak on the Master’s face as he’d almost watched you experience a fate worse than death.

How she’d suddenly decided she should have a heart-to-heart with you, the second the Master left you on earth.

“You used me.”

They played this game, and you were a pawn in it. She’d brought you were, let you follow her out of the TARDIS, to play with the Master. Just so she could be the savior, and he could play at matching all of her light with his dark.

“Give me the codes, and this can all end,” she spoke to the Master, refusing to relinquish any of her control as the two of them trapped you. “I’ll let you leave. Everyone downstairs lives. The Cybers get destroyed.”

“You’re monsters,” you whispered.

The two Timelords glanced at each other, not meeting your eye.

“Darling… ” The Master began. You cut him off.

“Don’t.”

“The Cyberium in my head, it was too much. I couldn’t handle it, and if I did this, I could find a way to get it out. I needed their technology, their trust. I’m sorry, love.”

You winced at the pet name. He’d called you that in bed, once, and you’d felt like the happiest person in the universe. You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“I hope it was worth it.”

Even The Doctor wasn’t speaking. You glanced at her, trying to read anything but shock on from her expression. Following your eyeline, the Master seemed to jolt at the recollection she was even there. Both of you startled as he shoved a hand into the inside of his waistcoat, rummaging.

He threw a small silver communicator underhand to The Doctor, and she barely caught it, inspecting it with unguarded horror.

“Take this. You can dismantle the conversion facility with it, get the people downstairs out.”

She was already at the computer console, sneaking wary glances at the pair of you as her hands flew across the keys, computers still a little scorched from The Master’s earlier go at them. With the second Time Lord out of the picture, The Master turned to you.

“I was destroying this place. For what they did to you.”

“Why did you leave me?” you demanded, “down there?”

“I had to be here, to stop the gas, to freeze the hivemind. I’d already destroyed the Cyberium, I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t in control.”

You wanted to believe him so badly, the pain in his eyes seemed so real, and he held eye contact with you like you’d never seen before.

“She was never meant to bring you were. I swear, I’ll kill every one of them myself if I have to.”

“Those people down there, they’re just like me. You were going to kill them?”

“They’re not you–”

“Believe it or not Master, I’m human. I’m the same as them. I know you hate it, but I’m the same as them.”

“You’re not–”

“I am! And you were willing to let them die.”

The tremble of his hand as he reached for your cheek gave away his fear, and you recoiled, wincing as your head collided with the hard glossy wall. The Master flinched too, dropping his hand.

“Think how many would have died if the Cyberium had taken over my mind. Taken my ship. Had you.”

The timeline was confusing. Upsetting. Too much to think about. You frowned as you tried to think about it.

“That’s why you dropped me home.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t let you see me losing control like that. I thought I could come back when it was all over, if I could get my mind back.”

The Doctor was working noisily, and an alarm started going off as she hacked further and further into the base’s system. Outside, you heard a ringing as a Cyberman crumpled to the ground.

“We need to leave.”

As angry as you were, you nodded quickly, letting him guide you out of the room. As you passed, the Doctor called your name.

“It was the only way, I’m sorry. I had to show him what he was doing…”

Her face was truly devastated, for the brief glimpse of it you caught, but you couldn’t forgive her. The Master’s arm found your waist, guiding you away from her quickly, and you let him.

Betrayal had rooted deep in your gut, making you want to nauseous as you looked at her face. All your history together, and she had knowingly dumped you in the middle of a crowd to be converted into Cybermen. Just to hurt The Master.

You saw those blank creatures, their masks hiding the faces of real people, who had loved and been loved, had dreams and wants and needs.

She’d told you it was the worst thing she could imagine. That she’d lost friends to that cruel death and would never risk losing another. At the time your heart had ached for her, for the suffering she had been through, her only crime trying to do the right thing. Apparently she didn’t consider you a friend anymore.

The screeching of collapsing metal ricocheted off the bare corridors, and the Master moved the two of you faster.

You screamed as a Cyberman moved beside you, an electrical twitch before it collapsed to the ground in a pile of loose metal, and the Master’s arm tightened around your waist even more protectively.

You couldn’t move. Your feet were stuck to the ground as you saw the unnatural way the creature fell, the skeleton inside so decomposed the usual flexibility limits of a human body were far exceeded.

Almost pulling you over with his momentum, the Master stopped beside you. He followed your stare towards the horrific sight beside you, and made a noise of discontent in the back of his throat. With a gentle hand he guided your head away until you couldn’t see the creature anymore and the vision was replaced with his face.

“I’m sorry.”

Against your better judgement, and despite everything you’d been through, you hugged him. In the corridor as the base started to crumple around you, you couldn’t help unravelling at his touch, his head against yours as he pulled you tightly against him, feeling tears welling up in your eyes as you pressed your face to his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“No.”

Deep red lights illuminated the corridors around you, and you felt his sharp inhale of fear.

“Talk later. We need to run. Now.”

The Master struggled to navigate the corridors, swearing to himself each time he reached a junction, and dragging you in the right direction after a moment of panicked, hitting-his-own-head thought. It brought you some small measure of comfort, in the midst of this horrifying day, that he couldn’t have been here long.

Lungs aching, you fought to keep up with him. Even the Master was stumbling, unused to running for this length of time, and he shot you looks of concern as your human body needed to wheeze for breath. The collapsed bodies of Cybermen and the screaming of alarms were enough to keep you moving as the very structure itself rumbled. The burning pain in your muscles could wait.

You noticed the Master cursing up at the ceiling level above, where the Doctor still resided, muttering. What was she doing?

Finally you let yourself slow at the sight of his ridiculous outback shack. It was completely out of place and blocking a walkway. That stupid ship. You loved it.

It was facing the wrong way, and you had to use the back porch steps to clamber up onto the structure, faltering as the comfort of being near the machine finally let your adrenaline crash. He half-dragged you to keep up as you both rounded the veranda, throwing the doors open and firmly pulling you inside. He rushed to the console as the rumbling of breaking concrete and collapsing earth followed you into the ship, and you didn’t have the heart to care about the destruction happening outside.

The Doctor could handle the people who were trapped. She always did, their savior no matter the cost.

The moment the TARDIS’ doors closed, you fell into that old rickety sofa, and sobbed.

The Master piloted in silence, and once the murmur of the ship engines had stopped, he paced towards you awkwardly. He crouched to sit himself on the low table opposite your curled form, clasped his hands, and bowed his head. He let you cry yourself out, staring out as the windows at the vortex – empty and filled with flashes of colour all at the same time.

After a while he left, coming back with water and tissues, and you took them gratefully.

A few sips of water left you with enough voice to speak, albeit tremblingly, as he watched you worriedly.

“Do you think the bunker collapsed? After we left?”

“Probably. I think she got them out though. The computers could open the doors to the surface.”

“Good,” you said firmly.

“Good that they got out, or that the building collapsed?”

“Both.”

He chuckled, pulling your clenched hand away from your face. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, keeping them held to his lips. His hands were warm against your fingers as he held them, leant forwards with his elbows resting on his knees, lips surprisingly soft.

You knew he could check the fate of the bunker collapse. Future archeologists would have found it, if no one at the time recorded its outcome. But you didn’t particularly care for the truth. This ending was nicer.

Even after you fidgeted, trying to get more comfortable with him holding your hand away from you, he didn’t let go. You noticed the marring on his hands, already scabbing a little, and turned onto your side to touch the wounds.

“Do these hurt?”

“A little. They’ll heal up with some sleep, though.”

You laughed hollowly. Of course, a nap could heal wounds which you would need stitches for. He smiled sadly against your lips.

“Did you get hurt, at all? I was worried about the gas.”

“I’m a bit bruised, but I’ll be fine.”

The fall and the running made your muscles ache, but the main hurt wasn’t physical.

She’d betrayed you.

“She asked me to leave with her.”

He bowed his head, lips moving against your knuckles as he spoke.

“You said no?”

“Duh.”

He smiled.

“Thank you.”

You shrugged, not totally forgiving of him yet either. The energy had left you to fight. All you wanted was a bit of peace, convalescence before this inevitable game started again. The reckless travel, fighting over how much damage to cause, and the sex he didn’t care about.

How much longer could the two of you keep this up?

You wondered if you’d ever regret the decision to stay with him. When death stared you in the face again? The next time he forgot how human you were? At the pull of the TCE’s trigger, as he killed someone without a second thought?

Maybe then the Doctor’s different-but-equally-grey morals might seem more appealing.

Perhaps if you’d begged her to let you rejoin the ‘fam’, the Doctor might not have used you as a bargaining chip.

“When I saw you through that window… I realised you mean more to me. More than I’d ever expected.”

The admission would have made you swoon, on another day, but you just threw your head back against the wicker armrest, emotionally exhausted.

“I mean it.”

He was watching you for a reaction, and you rolled your head to face him.

His eyebrows drew together in a frown.

“You must be shattered, love.”

You could only nod, and he dropped his forehead to the hand he was clutching, a silent apology.

“What can I do to help? I need you to tell me. I’ve been alone too long, and I’m not good at this stuff –”

His breath was hot against the skin of your hand. It made you shiver.

“I just want a shower. And to sleep. We can talk in the morning I just… I’ve had a long day.”

“Of course.”

It wasn’t a surprise to you, his capacity for tenderness, but you hadn’t seen it this exposed, this prolonged, before. He seemed to move a little easier than he had in the last few weeks, his mind not drifting so far from where it ought to be tethered.

You wondered if he’d ever tell you how badly the Cyberium had affected him.

“Sorry.”

Maybe he knew what your apology was for, maybe he didn’t. Nonetheless he shook his head, helping you up, his hands held out in a silent offer for support walking should you need it. You took your own steps, legs trembling a little from overexertion as you walked alongside him towards the corridor which housed both of your rooms.

“Wait a second,” he murmured, leaving you so he could check a screen, humming at whatever he saw.

Like he’d never left, he was back, arm held out for you to take. You laid a hand across his elbow lightly, not to lean on him, but to be near him.

“What was that?”

“Just checking you’re okay.”

At your puzzled look, he continued, tone dismissive.

“The TARDIS checks your vital signs. That green gas was nasty, unknown, I just wanted to check it didn’t need any immediate attention. Seems like it just knocked you out. How are your muscles feeling?”

“Exhausted, obviously. I think I’ll ache tomorrow.”

He hummed in agreement as you reached your door, surprising you when he opened it for you and followed you inside.

“High lactic acid. Blood-oxygen’s a touch lower than I’d like, too.”

You frowned.

“Do you really measure all that stuff on me?”

“Is it creepy? I hoped it wasn’t. I just… it’s not exactly intrusive, better than a checkup or whatever. It lets me know you’re not about to drop down dead.”

He moved around your room as he spoke, collecting pajamas and your hairbrush, various other bits and bobs you might need in an overnight bag. When he caught you watching him, confused, he walked back to the door. Your possessions were bundled against his chest, secured by one of his hands.

“Come use my bath. There’s some soaks that should help you recover.”

The shake in your legs wasn’t just from the running as you crossed the corridor, surprised by the realisation his door appeared to be unlocked. It was barely six feet from the entrance to your room, but you’d never seen this door open.

You had assumed his room was always locked. When he was in there, absent from the rest of the ship, it meant he wanted to be left strictly alone. Going inside, even with his hand guiding you, felt forbidden.

He’d always fucked you in your room. It was easier for him that way. It allowed him to leave the second he was done, if he wanted to. Even when the pair of you got more comfortable, laying together, spending more time intertwined just reading or watching movies, his space was off limits.

He didn’t miss the way you halted at the threshold, looking around at the curiously designed space. The furniture didn’t match the room, you noticed. Colourless walls were contrasted with a regal four-poster, antique bookshelves stretched high towards an iridescent crystalline ceiling, futuristic inlaid lights illuminated the messiness of a hand-carved oak desk.

Old and new clashed, everything regal and big, but barely filling the oversized space.

“It’s a bit weird,” he conceded, “you can stick to your room if you like.”

“No, no its fine. Just not what I expected.”

He set your things on the bed, and you picked over the sweats he’d brought, clutching them to your chest.

“What did you expect?” he grinned.

“I don’t know. Versailles? Or some kind of BDSM torture chamber?”

With a laugh he appraised the room, biting his lip in amusement.

“Are you disappointed?”

You found yourself grinning too, as he shucked off his coat and lay it over the desk chair.

“A little.”

The newly formed tension between you had felt like a lead weight, and you only realised when it was broken. You bounced on your heels as much as your injured muscles allowed, and let him lead you to the bathroom.

“Don’t change yet, I’ll just grab some shower stuff!”

More classic, the bathroom was all marble, the space dominated by an oversized claw-foot tub. For a moment you realised the pair of you could fit in there comfortably, before brushing the thought away. Exhaustion was making you hazy already. You’d just fall asleep.

Plus, you remembered, you were mad at him.

Ignoring his warning you started to strip off, left in just your underwear by the time he appeared in the doorway with an ‘oh!’

“Its fine. Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you pointed out.

He still looked sheepish.

“Rub this on anywhere that hurts before you get in the water, should stop any inflammation and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Help?”

You were too tired to navigate the pain mapped all across your body alone, and you didn’t want to be without company. The screams of the child who’d lost a mother, of the people who’d seen that gas descending, the slamming of the door you’d barely rolled under, they’d all find your ears again as ghosts the moment you were without distraction.

Without you stripping off any further, the pair of you managed to apply the chalky substance all over your body, the honey-sweet smell filling the air as his hands cautiously rubbed it across your muscles. You were more slapdash with your own application, and he quietly returned to spots you’d missed, making sure you wouldn’t ache. His attention to your muscles was so tender and careful, you had to keep talking, just to stop yourself choking up.

“I could have used this on the Doctor’s TARDIS!” you had tried to joke.

The other Timelord was far more fond of running, and you’d woken up countless mornings in agony, even as the fun of the day before electrified the atmosphere in her ship.

The Master stayed silent.

On many levels, you felt you understood him a little better now. It had hurt, to be betrayed by her, but you had something in common now.

“Did it hurt to leave her?” he whispered.

The Master’s eyes were on your calf as he kneaded the substance into your skin, but his hands froze at your momentary silence.

“Yeah. It did. Before I realised what she’d done, at least.”

He nodded silently, swallowing. The pair of you froze as you finally put the glass jar down, accepting that this excuse to be together was done. His hands left your skin and he walked to the sink awkwardly, washing his hands in silence.

He didn’t leave, leaning against the counter and watching you.

“Give me a shout if you need me, okay?”

You smiled, suddenly shy, barely recognising the man in front of you.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be just outside.”

Finally, he left. He closed the door with a click, and instantly you felt like an intruder, left alone in his bathroom. It was tidy, but everywhere were reminders it was his space. Aside from your clothes folded messily on the counter, there was only his things. A matte black range of branded products scattered the room, lined up by his toothbrush, on a built-in shelf of the shower. You wanted to investigate them, smell them. See which of them were responsible for the smell you associated with him.

The tub of hair clay by the sink had the lid slightly ajar, and it made you smile as you corrected it. He must have gotten ready in a rush. It was strange, that he’d even wanted you in here, but you hoped it was some step towards real closeness. There was still so much to say, but that was easy to forget when he was there, caring for you.

You’d only left the Doctor because you could see a future with him – something she couldn’t offer you, surrounded by carelessness and lies and three other companions. The Master could offer you more. You could almost picture your own toothbrush, stood up next to his.

You stripped off your underwear and left it on the countertop, foregoing the tub for the alluring waterfall shower in the corner of the room. It was easily big enough for four people, all natural-cut stone with a simple pair of dials to control it. Beautiful, and completely to the Master’s taste.

Before you had touched anything the TARDIS started the water, a slow trickle turning into a warm sheet of water which made you sigh at the sensation of being underneath it.

“Thanks, dear,” you mimicked how he spoke to the ship, and she flickered the lights in return.

It was heaven, to finally have every remaining atom of that base, that conversion room, those corridors, swept off your skin.

The products you reached for all smelt faintly like him – a matching suite of mildly citrus-scented body wash and hair products. Exhaustion and the smell made you feel dazed as you rubbed the chalky healing substance off your body. The smell of him made you feel somehow guilty as you tried to clean the sweat and grime from your hair and your face. His senses were so attuned, you wondered if it would freak him out. Or whether he’d like it, to have you smelling of him. Like a claim.

If he was still outside the unlocked door the thundering of the water hid any noise he made. You rolled your shoulders and turned the heat up, letting the heaviness of the water rush over you, waiting for this day to make sense.

You had no idea how long you stood there lost in thought. The Master’s voice dragged you back to reality, calling your name worriedly through the door with a rap of his knuckles against the wood.

“Are you okay?”

“All good!”

Calling back, you quickly rinsed your hair before shutting the water off, suddenly driven back to motion by his concern. Back in your early days together he’d often overestimated how much humans could withstand, lamenting the ‘wasted’ hours of sleep you wanted, or the frequency with which you had to eat. He’d gotten better recently. He was aware of how exhaustion affected you, appreciated that you couldn’t walk or run forever. It had amused you when he started carrying food and even occasionally arranging places for you to stay overnight, should your travels require it.

On a fundamental level, he had started caring for you more.

The Master had never gone to this extent, though. Or perhaps you had never needed his care as much. The scans his ship seemed to run on you proved he’d at least been checking your body was okay all this time.

Maybe he’d always just checked your health and opted to let you heal alone, before today.

A deep burgundy towel hung on a heated rail beside the shower and you grabbed it, careful not to slip as you wrapped the material around you. It was oversized, thick and soft, and you couldn’t help the jolt when you felt the warmth of it on your bare skin and remembered it was his.

Even though he’d been inside of you, gotten to know you, you’d never been allowed to know him back. Not really. This felt like a start.

You had to brush the thought aside, drying your hair as best you could without a hairdryer, pulling on pajamas and leaving the wet towel back where you found it for the ship to deal with. It took a moment, and a deep breath, for you to finally emerge from the steam-filled room.

The Master was sat on his bed, reading some book from his collection which was quickly strewn onto his desk as you approached.

“Better?”

“Yeah, thanks. I think I’ll still ache tomorrow.”

He looked a little sheepish.

“Hopefully not. That stuff’s pretty good, usually.”

You stood uncomfortably for a moment, waiting for some cue from him on where to go from here. He turned down the bed, silently pulling the covers aside for you to climb in. Then he looked at you expectantly, as if you were obviously supposed to just clamber into his bed. You were surprised, but all too grateful for the comfort.

“Really?”

He left your question unanswered. You settled beneath the sheets, and The Master watched you as he tried to figure out what to do next.

“Do you want me to…”

He was mid-thought, it seemed, asking you if he should leave his own bedroom. You spoke over him.

“Can you stay with me? Just for tonight. We’ll forget it ever happened tomorrow if you want.”

He faltered, still watching you curiously. You wondered what his plan had been, if not to stay with you.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see those fucking metal claws, the insides of those creatures, I –”

Without a word he stripped off his jacket, boots and waistcoat.

“I just need a shower. Give me five minutes.”

You nodded, wrapping the covers around you and trying to get comfortable. You’d never had ‘sides of the bed’ - he’d never stayed long enough to designate those - but you couldn’t shake the feeling you were in the wrong place.

It was stupid. To be having casual sex with the man, to trust him with your life, and not even feel entitled to be sleeping in his bed.

Something had to change.

The Master was barely gone two minutes, emerging from his shower with a towel slung around his hips. He rummaged through his wardrobe before tugging free a pair of checkered pajama trousers, glancing to check you were still there before silently returning to the bathroom to change. You looked away at his half-nakedness, hoping he hadn’t noticed your breath hitch.

The two of you were a mess.

His awkwardness didn’t escape you as he rounded the bed, shirtless and with wet hair.

He climbed in beside you, careful not to touch you, and you tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, letting him pull the covers over himself and refusing to let your bodies roll together, even as the mattress gave. To your surprise, he lay out to mirror you, on his side behind you.

If not to the distance between your bodies, he could be chest to chest with you.

“Comfy?”

You nodded against the pillow, hands self-consciously tucked away in front of you. You could feel it when he spoke, the whisper of his breath on your neck. His head rested inches behind yours, intimate even as the pair of you didn’t touch.

“You smell nice,” he mumbled, nose close to your freshly-washed hair.

You laughed.

“I smell like you, of course you like it!”

That got a chuckle out of him, and you could feel how his body moved the mattress as he exhaled.

“Are you cold? Your hair’s still wet.”

You shrugged, and he brought his arm around you, resting it on you without pulling you in. He made a noise of contentment as you shuffled closer into him, letting him hold you more easily.

With a gulp, you hoped his closeness to you would stop him from recoiling at your question.

“Before you dropped me off… when I fell asleep…”

“I’m sorry.”

Oh.

“So, you did do it.”

“You wouldn’t leave otherwise. It is not safe for humans around Cybermen,” he trailed off.

The question you wanted answered was obvious, hanging in the air, making you tense.

“Its not okay, to mess with people’s heads like that,” you chided him gently, with no anger in your tone, nothing to make him explode at you like he had before.

“I… yeah. I know.”

You frowned, even as you knew he couldn’t see you.

“The Cyberium… it made me not trust myself. It was relentless, talking to me. Muddling my thoughts with the AI…”

“You were scared.”

“I was furious. It made me volatile.”

His face buried into your neck. As though this was the most natural thing in the world, you found yourself trusting his touch. You brought a hand up to stroke his hair as he mumbled against your skin.

“I was scared. It threatened to hurt you if I didn’t do what it wanted. I didn’t sleep for a month, couldn’t let my guard down, knowing it might use my body to hurt you. It was trying to get to me.”

You found his arm where it was strewn across your side and covered it with your own arm, squeezed his hand in comfort.

“You should have told me.”

“How could I?”

Without a response you fell silent, thumb tracing the hairs on the back of his hand.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, someday. You shouldn’t have been there. I promise.”

He blamed the Doctor, beyond all anger, he was just upset with her. You could never hope to understand the length and breadth of their tumultuous relationship. It would take a human lifetime to comprehend the bond between them – two near-gods who had been stuck in a game of cat and mouse for their whole lives.

“She used me.”

“I wish she hadn’t.”

Without seeing each other’s faces, it was easier to talk.

“Would you have stopped it, if I hadn’t been there?”

“Eventually. I wanted to destroy the base properly. I wanted a plan. I hate the Cyberium for what it did to me. It should have been power, knowledge, and instead it tried to steal what I knew, take my body for its own. The things it showed me… how it threatened me… I couldn’t let it take what’s mine.”

“The TARDIS…” you realised.

“And you.”

You nodded abruptly at his words.

One thought wouldn’t leave your mind: those people around you, he would have let them die.

Collaterally to you, he’d saved them.

And maybe that could be a start.

“Is the Cyberium totally gone now?”

“Yep! Transferred it to the supercomputer on the base, and then destroyed the machinery. Tricky to hide my plan from the AI, but I managed it.”

You couldn’t help smirking at his brag.

“And how do you feel?”

“Glad to have my mind to myself again,” his tone flattened.

It was hard to believe everything fell together, just like that. It still felt so unfinished, so… unhandled. In the minutes you were alone the feelings of betrayal, the sheer enormity of your ordeal, had felt so unmanageable. Now, you felt ready to heal.

Beneath his hand, your stomach gurgled loudly, and you cringed at the noise.

As you were about to apologise, the Master spoke.

“Wait, did you eat today?”

You frankly had no idea how long today had even been. You shook your head with a confused frown, realising that now the adrenaline had left your system, you were damn hungry.

He clambered out of bed, and you pulled the duvet aside to follow him, your muscles protesting at even the idea of walking to the kitchen.

“No, stay there, you need to rest. I’ll be quick.”

True to his word, a plate of food was dumped on your lap in minutes. Some of it not quite fit for human consumption, but most of it your favourites.

He clambered back into bed beside you. He used his body to prop you up comfortably. He picked off what you didn’t want, chatting away about nothing in particular, and something scarily like peace settled over you. That twinge of panic, the fear his mood would flip on a dime, ebbed further away every time he made sure the blankets were covering your feet. With every second he sat beside you, sneaking bites of your food and laughing when you spilt crumbs on his covers, your resolve grew.

You’d stay.

Maybe you imagined it, but he seemed so much happier in his own head. The dark moments when he wasn’t paying attention never appeared, the mental war he was fighting never sneaking outwards to play across his face. Every laugh felt sincere, every word authentic.

When you were done eating the Master cleared the plate, and you took it in turns to brush your teeth. He went first, and when you took his place in the bathroom you saw a brand-new toothbrush sitting innocently beside his at the sink.

The sight made you feel dizzy, even minutes later when you re-emerged into his darkened bedroom, taking your place once more in the bed. The image of those two toothbrushes side by side was burned into your mind. He pulled you to his shirtless body wordlessly, no hesitations this time, whispering a goodnight as the room fell into pitch-blackness.

You needed to rest.

Each time you closed your eyes, you tensed up. No matter the comfort, The Master had gone still beside you, but you were certain he was still awake.

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere near the Alzarium Galaxy, I believe.”

“How far–”

“Half a universe away, I promise.”

You closed your eyes again, feeling him breathe behind you as you tried to push the image of that collapsed Cyberman from your mind, the screams, that crying, motherless child. You’d seen horrors before, but rarely as the victim of them. Never so close.

Suppressing tears, you opened your eyes, staring into the darkness of the room.

“I can’t sleep.”

He hummed sympathy, pulling you tighter to him and brushing his nose against your neck. You sighed into him, trying to close your eyes again, unable to keep your mind from straying.

“Help me?”

You could talk more tomorrow, when you’d rested and had some distance from everything. But as you fell asleep, dreamless as the Master’s hands cupped your temples, you knew you were home.

#13atoms #fic #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master #dh!master #dh!master x reader #but I loved writing this! #Angst Challenge

[isis-astarte-diana]

Puppetry

Summary: “There are pains the human body can never accustom itself to; birth, death, and the foreign presence of a psychic link chief amongst them.” Missy can’t wait to be inside you, in every possible way.

Warnings: 18+/NSFW/Explicit. Fisting, bondage, tiny bit of painful sex, dodgy dynamics, little bit of mind control, potential dub!con if you squint. As always, Missy is her own warning.

Word Count: 3993

NB: After mentioning it no less than twice (!!!) in Big Bad Wolf and Reckless, I had to do a fisting fic. Totally normal stuff. I don’t even know what to say about this thing. It’s strangely fluffy?? Good luck.

“Open wide, love.” 

Your mouth is full, a thick bit of supple leather resting snugly between your teeth. It’s buckled comfortably around the back of your head and your breaths, while wavering, are unobstructed. Your tongue is pinned beneath it. Words of protest and encouragement alike are robbed from you, replaced with the taste of earth and smoke and a satisfying fullness, a pleasant resistance that lets you work your jaws around it. Your wrists are bound above your head with soft restraints that grant you enough slack to wriggle. Lying supine and naked on this bed, the ship’s engines humming beneath you like cosmic music, your world shrinks to the space between Missy and yourself.

She’s stripped down to her chemise, the thin linen of it starkly white against the hair that tumbles down her back and over her bare shoulders. The half-light casts dancing shadows on the sharp lines of her cheekbones. With her knees planted between your thighs she leans over you, dark locks tickling your neck, and presses gentle fingers to your temples.

You can feel her there. She’s warm and throbbing just outside your mind, applying a faint pressure that ebbs and flows and grows in increments. It’s not the first time you’ve done this but you still aren’t used to the near-physical sensation of pushing as she inches closer to breaching you.

What starts as pressure slowly turns into discomfort. Beneath her fingertips twin pains begin to bloom in your temples, tight and reminiscent of the soreness from a tension headache. You close your eyes against it, focusing on steady, deep breaths, knowing from experience that the worst is yet to come.

The aches sharpen as they spread further into your skull and soon they’re creeping behind your eyes, blinding and burning as they go, two shafts of white-hot light parting the folds and creases of your brain so that they can meet in the middle. You shudder beneath her, the raw heat of it coursing down your spinal cord and making every nerve thrum with sensation. Behind the gag you wail in anguish.

Missy’s voice is tender. “Shh, shh, it’s alright.” She soothes you like a bucking animal, pressing her fingers deeper into the protesting muscles and rubbing tight circles. You barely feel the touch, consumed by the fire blazing inside your head, unable to control the arching of your back or the pitiful sounds streaming from you. “I know it hurts, my love, I know. Open up, let me inside.”

There are pains the human body can never accustom itself to; birth, death, and the foreign presence of a psychic link chief amongst them. For a single moment of vice-like agony you feel the familiar panic, that this will be the end of you, that you cannot possibly accommodate her in a skull already so full of meat and thought and memory and feeling and then-

Stars. 

Millennia of stars, nebulae bursting with life inside your mind, histories and futures beyond your comprehension that expand and fill each recess until you’re holding the universe itself within you. Infinity and eternity and the crushing weight of aeons, terrifying and beautiful, consume you. There are heavy tears rolling down your face but you can’t feel them. Your eyes are glazed and unseeing as they stare up at her, the ceiling beyond her, the whole of time that stretches beyond that.

Well done, pet.

Her voice inside you is grounding. It resonates through your bones and pulls you back to her, to the moment at hand. She’s a warm, lavender haze as she sinks into the hollows of you, filling the space like a cloud in a bell jar.

Relax for me.

The first rush of her psyche inside of yours is always overwhelming. It feels so much bigger than your own, impossible to contain as it swallows your consciousness within itself. She’s immeasurably patient, working the synapses in your brain as deftly as her fingers work the controls of her TARDIS, carefully returning your senses and awareness until you’re piloting your own body once more.

Like waking from an episode of sleep paralysis, the first shred of control regained comes with the twitching and curling of your fingers. The scent of her perfumed neck is quick to follow, bringing with it the taste of leather and the weight of her, warm and soft and deceptively strong between your legs. Your sight comes back gradually, eyelids fluttering as your optic nerve struggles to adjust, and when at last you see her hovering ethereal above you once more it’s the loveliest thing you can conceive of.

Missy leans down and kisses you. It’s awkward around the bit, but she’s undeterred, catching your lips one by one between her own and slicking them with her tongue. She cups your cheek and strokes it with her thumb as the shock of being so thoroughly invaded dies away and your quivering slows and stops.

Better?

No longer dizzying, it feels natural to hear her voice even as she busies her mouth with yours. You wriggle experimentally, testing the control of your muscles, satisfied to find your faculties returned completely.

Better. Perfect. Thank you.

Thank you for having me. She chuckles audibly, stroking the tears away from your cheek. You took me in so well.

You blink up at her, meeting her eyes, and the tenderness there catches in your throat. I’ll never get used to this. 

You will. Give it time. She presses her forehead to yours. This is just the beginning. I have so much left to show you.

Like what?

Her fingers trace along your jaw. I can control so much. The nerves, the muscles… they’re all just strings to pull. She rests her palm across your throat, the faintest of touches, measuring your breath. I can control this.

Do it. 

You’re surprised by the quickness of your response. The spoken word is a conscious choice, but you have no control over your thoughts, and you still don’t know how to keep them from her when she’s linked with you. More than the pain of entry, that’s the most frightening part of joining with her like this. For her, it’s the greatest appeal; the nakedness of you, soft and malleable and incapable of hiding. She can pore over your every desire, pick apart the deepest dreams and fantasies and fears that you could never verbalise.

Do you want me to? She senses, or hears, your hesitance.

I think so. Yes. Show me.

Your wish is my command, love.

Your throat closes suddenly, as if by an invisible drawstring. There’s an instant of horror when you try for an instinctive breath that doesn’t come. She soothes you with feather-light kisses to your cheek, humming inside you, relax, I have you, I won’t let it hurt. Her palm hooks under your jaw to gauge your pulse. I would never let it hurt.

I trust you. It’s only been a few seconds, but the shock of losing your breath like this is like plunging into Arctic waters and you’re already struggling. The panic rises slowly, your body protesting at an inability to draw breath that it can’t distinguish from dying, regardless of your consent. Missy...

Of course. She releases whatever hold she has on your windpipe immediately. Your chest heaves with grateful breaths and she grins against your jaw. That was very brave. Another tender kiss to the curve of your chin. You look so lovely when you’re desperate.

You squeak around the gag, twisting in your restraints. Please don’t tease me.

I would never. Her lips trail further down and you mumble an appreciative noise into the bit when the heat of her mouth descends on your neck, sucking an affectionate bruise just above your collarbone. I can feel it, you know. How much it excites you to have me inside like this.

Quivering, you lift your hips towards her, searching for her touch. So much. Like nothing else.

You can’t hide from me. I know what you want, what you need.

More. I need more.

How much more? A ferocious graze of teeth has you whining and squirming. How much will you give? How much can you take?

As much as you like. Always as much as you like, Missy. She’s driving you into a frenzy with her teeth and tongue, hands braced either side of you, keeping you pinned down and spread out like a mounted butterfly. Please. I’ll do anything.

My fist. She pushes out, a wave of her desire lapping at your mind while she puts one strong hand on your rocking hips and forces them to still. You groan around the bit. I want my fist inside you, filling you up, fucking you open until you beg me to stop.

Yes. Please, yes. Both hands are on your pelvis now and your back arches when she starts to kiss down the length of your breastbone, over your stomach, towards the thatch of hair between your thighs. Anything you want, just please, touch me. Take me. I’m yours. I’ll let you do anything.

You know just what a girl likes to hear. Her hands wrap warm and tight around the outsides of your thighs as she situates herself between them, slotting her shoulders into the space she creates, leaving you hooked around her and exposed enough to feel her breath against your slick folds. You whine and try to draw her closer. Oh, my little human, how beautiful you are down here. I'm ravenous for you. Can you feel it?

Inside your skull the fog of her is turning red at the edges, rolling through you like billows of steam in its maddening desire. She leaves you no room for shyness, engulfing your doubts in clouds the colour of an electrical storm, lighting you up from within even as she leans in and drags the flat of her tongue along the full length of your vulva. It’s hot and slick and not enough and you tug at the restraints, head thrown back in wild abandon. The skill of her mouth alone is enough to make you frantic but the telepathic link is like a feedback loop, amplifying your arousal through her own until it’s all you’re conscious of.

I love you. I can’t bear how much I love you. There’s not enough room in me for all of this.

You’re so dramatic. She repeats the long, slow stroke once, twice, each time making you moan. I love you, too, poppet.

Missy works her lips against you, sucking at your tender folds, her tongue caressing and exploring until your breath comes short and heavy. The first stroke of the underside of her tongue against your clitoris has you crying out, sinking your teeth into the leather wedged between them, thighs twitching around her head. She hums in satisfaction and does it again before focusing her attention exactly where you need it, fingers clenching tighter into the creases of your inner thighs, holding you perfectly still despite your screaming nerves as she worships the sensitive bud with her lips and tongue. She insistently follows every rocking motion of your hips, offering no reprieve from the excruciating assault.

There, right there. Just like that.

I know. I know what you want.

You wrap your hands around the bedposts, white-knuckled. I won’t last, Missy. It’s too much.

So don’t. She doesn’t let up for an instant. You’re almost howling behind the gag, body taut and trembling like a plucked string. I need you dripping when I take you. I need you relaxed. Come for me first.

She knows you too well. It’s effortless for her as she drags out the perfect repetition and rhythm, every sweet word that she sends pulsing into your mind pushing you nearer to the precipice. The pit of your stomach tightens with each laboured breath. Close. I’m so close.

Good girl. Her mouth is merciless, her grip on your thighs close to bruising, her voice vibrating through your bones. Come for me, love. Just for me. Let me taste what’s mine.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to fall apart, thrashing and writhing beneath her as your orgasm takes you. Your thoughts fall crashing into a jumble of professions of love and adoration and yours, all yours, always while you fruitlessly try to squirm away from the overwhelming sensations. She doesn’t let you go, working the last of the tremors from your supine body with her tireless mouth. In the back of your mind she swells with pride and pleasure.

So lovely. Always so lovely for me. I’ll never stop craving the taste of you. Your chest heaves as she presses tender kisses to the insides of your thighs, allowing you a moment to catch your breath. Even so, she fails to hide her impatience. I need you. I need to be inside of you.

You know it’s not an exaggeration; she’s pushing and squirming urgently in your head, incandescent with desire, fanning the flames of your own need. Despite the aftershocks still pulsing through you her urgency is contagious, and your clenching cunt feels torturously empty.

Fuck me. Take me. I’m ready, Missy. I need to be filled.

And you will be.

She doesn’t tease, keeping one arm hooked around your thigh while she presses three fingers inside of you. They’re met with no resistance, your fluttering walls still pliant in the wake of your orgasm, the natural slickness more than sufficient to ease their way. Your grip tightens on the bedposts as if to drag you upwards and away but she holds firm as she begins to fuck you slowly.

Not enough. It’s not enough. It’s maddening, the way your mind can’t seem to reconcile with your body. You’re full with the thickness of her fingers, the width of them just this side of uncomfortable, a drag and slide against your insides that should be more than enough to satisfy you and yet it isn’t, not even close. What are you doing to me?

Tiny bit of psychic projection. She sweetens the words with another broad swipe of her tongue against your throbbing clitoris and your breathing falters. I thought you might need some courage.

Courage for what?

You feel the tip of her little finger against the stretched lips of your cunt, and then she’s twisting, driving her fingers deeper to accommodate the shorter length of this digit as it enters you. It burns, stings, just for a moment, enough to make you groan and bite down on the bit, arms trembling as your body stiffens in a brief but furious protest.

For that, mostly. She stills, giving you a chance to relax around her. Are you alright, poppet?

I think so. I don’t know. The discomfort ebbs away quickly, leaving your muscles clenching around the startling width of her four fingers, pulsing in time with your heart. It’s dizzying to be so open for her. No, but don’t stop. She chuckles, outside and inside. You can feel the absence of her thumb almost as acutely as the stretch, a breathtaking threat of more to come, miles left to go. I don’t know how I can take any more.

I’ll show you. I’ll help you. More tender, much-needed stimulation to your vulva, her mouth still astonishingly unwearied, never tired of pleasing you. She twists her fingers, wriggles them, massaging your insides and carefully making room for more. Patience, love. Always patience. You were made for me.

Now who’s the dramatic one?

Hush. Her fingers rock against the sensitive spot inside you, feeding the clenching pressure in your abdomen, making your legs twitch. You feel so good around me. So hot, so soft.

It’s so much. I’m so full. 

You’re almost there. Her thumb tucks into the hollow of her cupped fingers, pushing gently, easing you open further. This might feel... strange.

A giddy sort of laugh bubbles up from your chest. As opposed to?

Fair point. You draw a harsh breath when her fingers shift, expecting pain, prepared for her to push her thumb inside of you, but instead you feel a rush of slickness from your cunt, a fresh flood of your own arousal that coats her hand down to the palm. It’s not unpleasant but the sensation is bizarre, and you whine.

What was that? What did you do?

Just needed to ease the way a bit. The copious lubrication lets her thumb slide past your pulsing muscles with ease, so smoothly that you barely notice it until suddenly she’s buried inside you to the knuckles. Like I said... strings to pull. You’re lucky I know my human anatomy.

Even as you keen and writhe around the impossible stretch, you can’t help your exasperation. We do have lube, you know. There’s no need to show off.

I know. Starting up a slow rhythm of strokes inside you, her fingers push and twist, carefully working you open while you shudder and moan. It’s more fun this way, though.

Does this mean I’ll be really dehydrated later?

You wince as the idle thought rings out before you can stop it. Between your legs, Missy laughs, a rich and indulgent sound that makes your heart soar. Craning your neck from the mattress, an abashed look on your face, you see her grinning up at you. You squeak around the gag.

Sorry. Mood killer?

Never. Holding your gaze, she drags her tongue over your clitoris with aching precision. Your head falls back with a gasp. Plenty of water, tonight. Let me worry about it. I’ll take care of you.

You always do. Thank you.

My pleasure. She pushes deeper, letting you feel her slippery knuckles dragging at your labia, accustoming you to the width of them. Ready for the hard part?

Yes. No. Do it. You rock your hips in invitation. Please.

Beg me? A flick of her tongue against your overstretched entrance, drawing your attention to the size of her inside you. Just a little bit?

Please, Missy. Please fuck me with your hand. I need to feel you, all of you.

That’s my girl. You can feel her in your mind again, squirming with excitement, feeding your own. Deep breaths. Let me in.

Holding tight to the bedposts, you nod as best you can, fighting to steady your breathing. She moves almost painfully slowly, easing you open, a stretch that has your eyes rolling back in your head. When the sting begins to set in she knows it immediately.

So good for me. Such a brave little human. Her psyche caresses the inside of your skull, hot and slick, pulsing to the rhythm of her twin heartbeats. I could ruin you in so many ways.

You moan brokenly when she pauses, the full width of her knuckles splitting you open. Your cunt throbs and burns around them. You already have.

Silly girl. There’s a tightness in your chest, the ghost of her warm hand squeezing your lungs from the inside, making your breaths come shallow and your head swim with delirium. You have no idea what I could do to you. A twist of her hand; you cry out, hoarse, so consumed you’re numb to the beads of sweat trailing down the curve of your neck. You’re mine, you understand? Every cell of you. Every atom. You’re all mine.

I know. I know. I’m yours, Missy.

And I’m yours.

The world falls from beneath you when she slides home.

It feels like the link forming all over again, your vision whiting out, your senses failing but for the blazing fullness of her warm, slender hand inside your cunt, every curve of knuckle and bone tugging at your walls, hollowing out a space to fit her perfectly, her alone. You’re dimly aware that she must be projecting again because this has no right to feel as good as it does, and then she starts to move and the thought is no more.

Missy’s fingers flex inside you, rocking against your muscles, shifting and writhing and working you like a puppet. She’s reaching nerves you didn’t know you had and manipulating them relentlessly. You’re lost in the sensation, the aching, excruciating pressure that threatens to tear you apart in the sweetest way, unaware of the tears streaking down your face or the wail you’re choking out around the gag.

In your mind she pushes and pulls, slow thrusts that match her movements, suspending you in a merciless ebb and flow of physical and mental ecstasy. You’re drowning in her. She fills you and surrounds you with clouds of violet and red, caresses you from within with her knuckles, her thoughts, her blazing, burning adoration.

My girl. My dearest girl. How good it feels to fill you up like this.

You can’t control your movements, your sounds, your thoughts a babbling mantra of please please please please as she picks you apart, thread by thread.

You’ve done so well. You’ve taken so much. Come for me, now. I’ll feel it. I’ll go with you. Come on.

It’s a mystery to you, now, whether it’s her tongue on you or her fingertips or just her plucking the nerves from inside your skull, but you’re drawing her closer with your heels behind her shoulders, dragging your weight back by your clenched hands on the bedposts and coming hard. It almost hurts, racing down your spine like an electric shock, tight in your stomach and thighs and leaving you scream-hoarse, cunt pulsing and gushing around the width of her hand.

Something in the psychic link releases as she lets you come flooding into her mind, welcoming the rush of sensation you bring. Untouched and still half-clothed she feels it with you, lets herself be swept away by your own orgasm. If you were more coherent you might be comforted by the way she swears and shudders, the look of wild-eyed ecstasy on her face when she sinks her teeth into the soft, slick flesh of your inner thigh and comes with you, rocking her hips into the bed, growling and moaning into your skin.

It seems to last an age. There’s no reprieve from the telepathic interference, looping your climax through hers, dragging it out until you’re sure you’ll go mad from the pleasure and then-

Enough. That’s enough. Missy pulls back, throws her walls up again, allowing you to come back to your senses with only her unsteady voice for company. Good girl. My good girl. Breathe.

You didn’t realise you hadn’t been.

It takes a few seconds of gasping and quivering but you claw back control over your body, relaxing your death grip on the bedposts, letting your arched back fall to the mattress. Your cunt is almost numb from the overwhelming stimulation and you can scarcely feel her hand inside you.

Are you alright? 

You can’t straighten your thoughts out enough to respond. Instead, you chuckle breathlessly into the gag, more than a bit hysterical.

You look lovely like this.

You can only imagine the state you’re in, sweating and twitching, hair strewn across your tear-stained face. I doubt that.

You shouldn’t. She kisses the bruising imprint of her teeth in your thigh. You look ravished.

That’s one word for it.

Missy starts to move, to curl her thumb back in preparation for the achingly slow process of withdrawing her hand, but you tug her weakly back into place with your calf hooked around her shoulders.

Can we stay like this? Please. Just for a minute.

Aren’t you sore?

Sore is an understatement. She laughs, resting her cheek against your thigh. It feels... I don’t know. Good. Right. I like being so full of you. I don’t want you to go just yet.

Then I won’t.

Her free palm strokes your hip, your stomach, everywhere she can reach. Her mind wraps soft and warm around your own, easing the tremors, silencing the cacophony.

I won’t go, love.

#missy x reader #the master x reader #mine #nsfwork #smut fic #f/f #femslash

[lipstickbisous]

the lion and her sun. (4)

LOST LANNISTER PRINCESS

notes: so far, every chapter has ended with aurane rejecting oberyn sooo. and yeah some facts abt this might wrong but hey..

we gon pretend like dahlia’s exist in this universe. 

and the dress she wears during her walk is très similar to the pink one shae wears in ‘the lion and the rose’. this is for lack of a better picture. (except the dress is orange)

i wrote this while watching the prisoner of azkaban. 

none of that matters, but it’s important to me that you know that.

- john mulaney.

ALSO updates might be a little slower now, we’re having HUGE wifi problems at our house but i will definitely keep writing!

pairing: oberyn x oc!reader

summary: on her last day before the married life, aurane’s emotions start to change.

word count: 6.5k

masterlist

the week was coming to an end, much to aurane’s dismay. for the past three days, she had much to think about and do. her walk with oberyn had thoughts racing around in her head when she had gone to sleep that night. even resting naked against the silk sheets, her pillow pressed to her face with her sprawled out behind her head and her eyes gently shut, memories of the gardens and the prince were floating about, refusing aurane’s begs to go so she could ease into unconsciousness.

when her father had spoken of the sudden and upsetting news to aurane, cersei had spoken of how the dornish would be obligated to use the youngers lannister anyway they wanted. 

“they’ll humiliate her, torture her,” aurane’s dear sister spoke. “you’re going to send her off to her death. a lamb for slaughter.”

now, as aurane watched the sun rise with the silk sheets pulled up to cover her bare breasts, she wondered if her sister, cersei lannister, who had never been wrong about anything, had seriously misjudged the martell family. the princess hadn’t been in the city to meet the common people yet and she hoped that they would be exactly like the royals of sunspear. 

she could hear the bustling of early-rising maidens attending to their chores outside of her door. the child inside of aurane couldn’t wait to see what breakfast she would be brought this morning. 

it must’ve been hours since she had risen from her sleep because the sun now sat in its throne in the sky and there was a knock on the door. “i have your breakfast, your grace.” a sweet voice spoke but the unfamiliar accent made it hard to decipher. 

“come in,” aurane spoke, pulling up two of her pillows against the headboard of her bed and leaning her back towards them. it might’ve been the way she had slept but there was ache throughout her spine. the girl who walked in could’ve been no older than aurane. her hair was curly and frizzy and her skin a light brown. her lips were perfectly shaped and her nose curved into a more rounded one. the girl set down the tray of food at the table near aurane’s window, but before she could set out the plate, cutlery, and goblet, aurane spoke. “forgive me, but i don’t think you’ve ever served me before.”

the girl nodded and curtsied. “my name is dyanna,” she said.

“and where are you from,” aurane questioned before sitting back up and pushing herself off of the bed she’d found more comfortable than any other. along with her she took the silk sheets and held them against her chest so they covered her breasts, stomach, and ass. she sat at her table and smiled when seeing that breakfast that morning consisted of fresh bread, butter and jam, berries, and more orange juice. “dyanna.”

aurane’s interest in a someone of lower-class was unusual for any maiden to experience, even in dorne. “i’m from meereen, your grace.” before aurane could pop a grape into her mouth or slice off a thin piece of bread, she grinned.

“meereen?” she questioned, to which dyanna nodded. aurane set the grape down on her plate and sighed, the smile still lingering. “i’ve never met someone from essos.”

dyanna smiled with her hands held together. “no?” aurane shook her head before finishing half of her orange juice. in the past few days, it the only thing other than wine that aurane could drink. new flavors were being brought to her with every meal and the lannister princess couldn’t get enough. 

“no. my father always kept me in the red keep,” she divulged, smearing butter onto a slice of bread and jam on half of it. “tell me, dyanna of meereen,” aurane inquired before biting down on a small piece of bread. the crust was crunchy in her mouth and the jam, the sweetness of strawberries and sugar, contrasted the tecture. “if my knowledge of geography is correct, meereen is just on slaver’s bay.”

it was hesitant, but dyanna nodded silently in response. when aurane kept eating, popping a berry in her mouth between every other bite, she confessed, “i was born a slave and raised into it, your grace,” the princess sat back, leaving her loaf of bread on the plate along with the few berries left. her gaze softened, showing that she was listening, as her eyes focused on the sea. “i was sold to sunspear and sent to work for prince doran but he freed me.”

slavery had never been something that aurane had first-hand witnessed but her beliefs on it remained negative, unlike her sister and father, who couldn’t have cared less about those born lower than them. it was always a flaw that aurane had seen. “so, you’re a free woman,” aurane looked to the coffered ceiling and clutched her goblet of juice in her hand. “but you choose to work as a maiden?”

dyanna only shrugged, her posture remaining ideal. “what could i do?”

aurane laughed before sipping the rest of her drink and setting it down next to her half-full plate. “you could own a stand in the market. or work at one at least,” aurane sat back in her seat, mindlessly letting the sheets slip a bit, revealing the top of her breast. “collect enough money to buy your own place, or...” dyanna looked up in interest and aurane smirked. “purchase your own land.”

the maiden laughed and shook her head. aurane had then finished her breakfast and felt the breeze of the dornish mornings through the strands of her hair. “i’m fine here, your grace.” aurane kindly nodded as dyanna took the tray in her arms and sighed. before leaving the bedroom and closing the door, she piped up, “oh, your grace, forgive me. i forgot to mention it, but prince oberyn has told me to inform you that he would like another walk...before the wedding.”

dyanna then shut the door behind her before aurane could smile in silence. for the short time she’d been awake that morning, the princess hadn’t once thought anything about her marriage. dorne had entranced aurane and fabricated an entire sort of bliss in her mind.

there wasn’t much to do that day anyway. the wedding was already planned and she’d already worn the wedding dress to have it sized perfectly--during which aurane had been poked with needles twice but brush it off when the maiden apologized mercifully.

another stroll around the gardens, even if it was with the prince, didn’t sound so bad.

this time, aurane had worn an outfit less revealing than her last one. she’d spent an afternoon one day diving through her dresser and wardrobes to see what exactly oberyn had given her. most were two-piece outfits that aurane didn’t see herself comfortable with wearing just yet, but others were fine dresses made of soft and translucent linens. in the bottom drawers of her dresser were at least nine different pairs of...pants? aurane had never worn pants before. in casterly rock and king’s landing, women were always required to be clothed in robes down to their feet. the princess supposed that along with a new home came new opportunities.

well, that inner voice in her head spoke at she bit her bottom lip while holding a pair of trousers that were a dark shade of brown. there’s no point in not trying.

aurane stood with the pants in her hands, naked in her room--in all of her glory--and sighed before slipping her feet through the corresponding holes of the clothing. she pulled the pants up to her waist where it had felt comfortable and tied the two loose strings along the sides together the pants tightened around her stomach.

there was nothing much for aurane to say about them except for the fact that she entirely did not enjoy them. she looked to the mirror and noticed how they bagged around her thighs as she pinched the areas that left gaps between her skin and the material of the pants. aurane pulled them off as quickly as possible and pitched them into the woven basket she’d been given on her third day for dirty laundry. 

she began to dive into the wardrobe again before noticing the pale orange dress that had been hung directly in the center of her closet. the silk had nearly been invisible because when aurane slipped it onto her frame, she could see her legs and breasts through the fabric. it was then she remembered the prince’s sudden mention of undergarments and wraps that had been placed inside the dressers as well. the entire process of wearing a simple dress that fit perfectly took far too long for aurane then removed the clothing from her body, wrapped a cloth around her bust and backside, then placing the dress back on her frame. it hadn’t been too entirely hot that day, so the simple sheer fabric of the robe had been perfect against aurane’s skin.

by then, with the sun’s position in the sky, it had already been an hour before lunch and aurane’s stomach began to rumble with a yearning for the dornish food she’d grown so attached to over the past week. the princess placed a hand over her torso and sighed. she supposed it would be best to wait for oberyn to arrive just as he had the other day. 

almost half an hour flew, and aurane was still waiting. as of now, she sat in a chair by her window, quill, ink, and paper in her lap as she drew the outline of the great palm tree in front of her room. she hadn’t once looked down to see what her drawing would turn out to be; it was an art technique she had been taught in king’s landing. aurane had already finished several other drawings of whatever the view from her window brought and they sat by her feet on the floor. finally, after an illusion of hours, there was a knock on her door.

aurane hated to admit that she immediately jumped off of her chair and onto her feet, running to the door to see the prince. but when she opened the door, it was a large man, taller than any other she’d seen, with rich dark skin and a bald head. “captain?” she cocked an eyebrow.

the guard nodded. “prince oberyn waits for you outside of the west wing of the castle,” areo hotah was one of the most intimidating men that aurane had ever seen and she had been trained by ser gregor in her teenages years--of course, it was never something to mention to the martells.

aurane chewed the inside of her cheek nervously and blushed. “right, um,” she said, looking back to her room and shaking her head before letting out a small laugh that didn’t change the guards’ expressions at all. “well, i guess i’m going.” areo let her leave the room before closing her doors behind her. they then walked down the hallways of the dornish castle, aurane in front with several of her guards behind her. the seven then turned a corner and was brought to another door at the end of the hallway. aurane laughed sheepishly and turned to the captain.

“the west wing is that way, your grace,” he pointed behind the group, in the opposite direction of how they had been walking. as much as aurane wanted to roll her eyes--because why hadn’t he mentioned it before?--she smiled politely and turned on her heel to the west wing.

they trailed down staircases, strolled down through hallways that all began to look the same, and took sharp turns and corners. “if you don’t mind my asking,” aurane spoke with her eyes focused on any sign of where she was in the castle. “why is the prince not at the front entrance? or the gardens?”

areo laughed deeply, a sound that came straight from the depths of his chest. “the prince has special plans today, your grace.” over the last few days, aurane had been reassured that she would remain safe in dorne. but with the captain’s sudden statement, a fear washed over aurane again.

the princess truly had no idea what was in the west wing. the east held all of the royal’s bedrooms, the north had the guest rooms, and the south was for the maidens, chefs, and laborers of the castle. but the remaining had always remained a mystery until now.

“elia martell’s room used to be here, your grace,” the captain spoke again. aurane’s straightforward footsteps began to slow in pace as the realization sunk in. “it’s been abandoned since her death.” without stopping in her walk, aurane sighed. it was quiet again, with only the marching steps of the guards, the wooden ends of the spears against the floor, and loud thoughts in aurane’s head for her to hear. “prince oberyn is just this way, your grace.” areo pointed down a staircase to where there was a little wooden door with a lining of light around it. 

sickness began to overtake aurane’s body as she thought about the one specific princess who once habited this part of the castle. how aurane’s family had brutally slaughtered this princess and her children; how they sent her off as a peace treaty. aurane hadn’t noticed it, but she then stood directly in front of the door, staring at the knob. areo, from behind her, cleared his throat for it was a tight staircase and not all six of the guards, including him, could fit inside. she was knocked out of her thoughts and pushed the door open, the sudden sunlight burning her eyes from becoming used to the dim lighting of the castle. she mentally hissed and slapped a hand over her eyes before they met other brown ones.

“good morning, lion,” oberyn smiled. behind him were several more guards holding spears taller than them. the brightness of the sun didn’t seem to affect him at all as aurane gently squinted. “come, we’ll find shade.”

when aurane was by his side, he placed a gentle hand on her back, just as he did nights ago when she had silently rejected him. “and where exactly are we going this time?”

the prince chuckled. “well, you are to be a princess of dorne by tomorrow,” he smiled as they began to walk. it was then, when aurane could finally see in the light, that she noticed they were in a similar space as the docks. behind a large wall, extremely close to the ocean that aurane could almost feel it on her skin. “i figured you would want to meet the city.”

two of his guards stood by an alike door to that of what was located in the castle. it was old and smelled moldy like it hadn’t been used in a long time. aurane laughed. “a secret entrace?” she looked up to the prince with an arched eyebrow. “you really think dorne won’t like me that you had to take me to a secret entrance?”

oberyn shrugged. “i didn’t think you would want the attention.” the two guards swung the door open and aurane could instantly hear the bustling and yelling of the city of sunspear. she looked to oberyn, who stood only two inches taller than her, and sighed before ducking to fit inside the small door frame and entered the city.

it had almost been like magic because the wall had been so thick and strong it kept out all sound of a well-growing economy. as far as aurane could see, there were large structures and houses built all over the land. on the second floors of those buildings must’ve been the homes to thousands of dornish citizens because below them on the first floor were market and small shops and trading centers. it had been so similar to king’s landing yet sunspear reminded aurane nothing of home.

the prince was quiet for a few seconds because not one common person had noticed their presence. “do you like it?” he asked.

aurane smiled but oberyn hadn’t seen it. she slowly nodded as she whispered a, “yeah,” but soon caught herself in such a vulnerable state. “it’s not like i have much of a say whether i like it or not, do i?”

her sarcastic and audacious remarks had no effect on the prince anymore or, really, anyone of dorne. she hadn’t seen ellaria since she’d brought her lunch but even her maidens and servants didn’t seem bothered. it was like their pride could never be tainted. without saying anything in response, oberyn simply cocked his head and they began to walk again.

the soldiers followed a foot behind them but yet maintained a distance for a discussion or even a simple conversation to take place. at least three ladies had recognized the prince and gently curtsied before returning to their daily duties. oberyn must’ve noticed aurane’s confused state because he answered with, “everyone in dorne is treated equal. farmers and marketers are treated just how i am treated.”

even aurane had to admit that the system the people of sunspear followed was fair and nice. “they just...” she shook her head, her eyes trailing over anything to look at by the second. “they don’t look so surprised.”

oberyn shrugged. “i come for walks often,” his hands were holding each together behind his back but every part of him wanted to place just a soft, caring hold on aurane. “the guards are a requirement of my brother.”

why was he so kind? why, even after the slaughtering his family had gone through, the pain he’d felt in his life, was he so kind? even better, how could he be so sweet and patient and loving to those below him? it made a regurgitative feeling arise in aurane’s stomach and she could feel the contents of her breakfast reaching her throat before sighing and swallowing it back down, cringing in disgust. 

“you’re distressed, my sun,” the pet name, which aurane had secretly grown found of but would never admit, made her slightly cower. “what’s wrong?”

the prince’s eyes trailed over the variety of fruits and vegetables being sold by one vender as aurane chose her words carefully. “i fear i’ve been...disrespectful,” it was long overdue but oberyn was patient. “from the moment we arrived in dorne, you’ve been nothing but- but hospitable and welcoming. and i’ve been...vile. and rude,” he only nodded for her to continue, sensing she had a whole loads of words to speak. “perhaps it was my sister who drove this fear into me that i wouldn’t be accepted here.”

a kind smile between a vendor and oberyn was exchanged from his viewing of the products, but he listened intently to every word. “growing up, you were taught we were animals.”

aurane nodded and laughed incredulously. “savages,” she corrected him. such biased opinions had been written in the books she’d read as a child when learning about westeros. “and during the past week, i’ve found you’re nothing like the sort.”

the prince chuckled and smiled so that butterflies flew down aurane’s throat and into her stomach, where they would remain. “oh, really?”

her eyes watched as he turned to look at every sort of item being sold that day. suddenly, his kindness was a likable attribute to aurane and she blushed with a sly smirk. “if i’m telling the truth here,” he nodded. “you might even be better than those in king’s landing.”

“well, it’s not hard to be better than a lannister.” his remark wasn’t hateful or vengeful as oberyn smirked back and for a second, aurane had forgotten that there were guards behind her or merchants and traders and farmers all around. it felt like it was just the two of them enjoying them a quiet afternoon and a simple conversation. she quite liked it. “perhaps we should find lunch somewhere.”

aurane furrowed her eyebrows with a crooked smile before hesitantly laughing. “you mean,” she found no falter in the prince’s expression. “dining in a- a what, a restaurant?”

this seemed to take oberyn by surprise because, and it was the only time aurane could find him doing this that day, he laughed unsurely. the red viper was never unsure and even he himself couldn’t say what was happening. “well, yes,” his eyes began to scan over the many shops and restaurants in search of a meal. “that is what restaurants tend to do.”

such comment was not meant to be sarcastic or snarky or rude. it was a mindless thought that oberyn had just happened speak out. “i’ve never been in a restaurant,” aurane whispered and looked to the ground. would the owners of whatever eating house oberyn picked be peaceful with a lannister princess dining in their business. 

oberyn had heard her mumble but said nothing of it. there was a pit at the bottom of his stomach, it’d been there since his sister was murdered, and he hadn’t felt such sympathy in that pit from elia’s death until now, when aurane muscles grew tense because people were starting to look.

there were whispers. the worst kind of whispers; the kind where it seemed as if every person had something to say but it was impossible to make out. eyes were glued to the couple yet hands remained at their jobs. oberyn had never seen his city spark in such controversy. had aurane been right? would they treat her differently? he looked to the girl beside him and found that she was hearing the whispers too yet there was no stall in her walk. if someone had quickly glanced at her, she would glare back at them. her chin was raised high and oberyn, such as he had done with ellaria, felt compassion and admiration.

he gulped silently at the sudden change of heart in his city. as they began to walk further and further, growing deeper in sunspear, the whispers began to fade in and out. the rumored lannister princess was finally showing her face. “here, my sun,” he pointed to a small tavern with trays of produce and potted flowers in front of the windows. “i’ve been told you can handle the dornish spices.”

aurane blushed and nodded as the sudden mention of such topic caused her mind to flash to ellaria. she wanted to see the older lady again desperately and she wasn’t sure why. the entrace of the restaurant was not grand or heavenly or designed with a golden intricate design. it was a simple tavern with at least sixty plants hung and placed on the perimeter. it had been one large room and, for the time of day, strangely empty. aurane suspected that the prince had reserved it in secret but she wouldn’t comment on it. 

before either of them stepped foot into the tavern, oberyn placed a gentle hand on her forearm and pointed to one of the potted plants that held six white flowers with layers of small triangular petals. a few of the flowers had a pink hue to them but the white ones took aurane by interest.

“a dahlia,” the prince smiled, gently dragging his fingers over the petals. his eyes seemed entranced over the small plant. “you don’t see them very much.”

aurane smiled and turned to oberyn. “they grow rarely in king’s landing,” her words were sweet but there was something in oberyn’s gaze that seemed so reminiscent. he was longing for something. “what is it?”

he chewed the inside of his cheek and aurane turned to the guards standing protectively behind them. even they seemed aware of whatever oberyn had been feeling. “elia’s favorite flower,” his lips curled with a raspy voice before picking the flower from it’s stem and holding it between his two fingers. oberyn then looked to aurane, who was more understanding now, and wove the flower through her hair until it sat behind her ear. aurane could only smile.

―

the day was ending and the sun was starting to set. a large lunch had filled aurane’s stomach so there was no room for dinner. oberyn must’ve been the same because on their walk back to the castle, he, too, walked with heavy feet. the guard’s behind them didn’t stumble in their steps as the sunlight was fading. 

“i hoped you enjoy our walk today,” oberyn spoke, his hands behind his back as they strolled along the secret pathway. while exiting the city through the small door just as they had done earlier that day, aurane had been careful to crouch down so that her flower would stay woven in her hair. 

she nodded and listened to the waves because there wasn’t much else to here. the bustling of the city was muffled by the wall but aurane didn’t mind a little of bit of silence as the day ended. “i think i did,” the dahlia, which had at first felt strange when touching her temple was now softly brushing against her skin. “and i did enjoy lunch.” she turned to the prince.

“i don’t suppose you still want dinner?” he asked politely, looking down only two inches to her height. most of the woman oberyn had been with, apart from ellaria, could only reach his shoulder but the top of aurane’s head touched just below his nose. 

it was peaceful for him to watch her laugh so effortlessly and genuinely as the shore threatened to crash above the pathaway. they’d been inches away from the water but yet no sign of fear arose. “no, i think i’ve had my fill for the day.”

a nod in response before oberyn sighed, “join me in my chambers.” just as his voice normally did toward the end of the day, he sounded raspy and tired yet every part of him was awake while he looked at aurane.

was it an offer for a night of pleasure? the rumors of oberyn and his countless lovers had been spread all throughout westeros and he didn’t seem ashamed by them. aurane had no problem with bedding someone before she was married, she’d done it before, but she hadn’t thought that the prince would draw her close just for a fuck. the prince laughed and shook his head, noticing aurane’s train of thought. “i can promise you, lion, it’s not like that,” he chuckled out. aurane’s cheeks burned in embarrassment. “when was the last time you had a bath?”

they were now in the abandoned west wing that remained darker than the rest of the castle, but aurane didn’t find it unpleasant or frightening. oberyn could barely find the courage to walk around these quarters of the castle himself but aurane, who had lived with the family responsible of the death of the former inhabitant of sunspear, strolled so unbothered down those halls. it wasn’t because she had no care for elia martell’s death, if anything it was the opposite, but no--this was because aurane could swallow the lannister pride and respect the fact that her father slaughtered oberyn’s sister.

once they had arrived in the east wing, oberyn turned to his soldiers and cocked his head for them to leave him and aurane. because they had been under prince doran’s command, they each shared a glance of hesitation but one simple stern eye and a whispered “have my maidens fetch warm water for my room” and they continued to walk down the hallway, leaving the oncoming couple alone. “you wouldn’t oppose a bath, would you?”

aurane’s first experience of a bath in dorne had been lovely, mainly due to the spices and scents of the salts and soaps she combed through her hair. she sighed heavily, her chest rising with her breath before smiling, “no, i don’t think i would.” the rest of their walk was in sweet silence. the castle seemed to be asleep--the gardens were empty and the hallways barren of the normal maidens hurrying down to each room. aurane noticed that they walked past her room and she wondered just how close her and oberyn had been to each other this entire time. the floors, still a pristine polished marble, seemed to glimmer as the last of the sun could be seen in the sky. finally, they had arrived at oberyn’s door, which were exactly the same as aurane’s.

she chuckled and looked back down the hallway to where her doors stood and then back at the prince. “all this time and you’ve been down the hallway?” oberyn shrugged and opened the door for the princess. she bit on her tongue when she was instantly greeted with the overpowering aroma of citrus sugar. 

“don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now?” the prince smirked and aurane showed no hesitation as she sauntered confidently into the room, soon slowing her steps. 

his room had been much bigger than hers, yet held the same amount of furniture and looked still so full. the bed was placed next to the equivalent wall that aurane’s bed was in her room. the windows were so close to the bed that it seemed to her morning’s must’ve been perfect because the sun could just simply leak in through the windows and darken the skin of whoever lied upon the bed. next to the opening of the room was a desk that held what looked like to be hundreds of crumpled papers and a quill and its ink. on the opposite side of his room was a large wooden tub that could hold multiple bodies and the simple thought of who had been in there before almost sickened aurane. the tub had been filled to the brim with warm water and on a small table beside it were various soaps and salts. 

it was sudden but the door had been closed and oberyn’s hands landed on aurane bare shoulders. she shuddered gently and he immediately removed his touch. “lion,” he spoke steadily and turned aurane to him.

they both turned so their backs faced each other and she could hear him unbuttoning his top. her fingers did their best to trail over the clip in the rear of her dress but fumbled over the soft fabric. she sighed and turned to the prince but found he’d already reversed back to her. his chest was completely bare as he was only dressed in his pants. he must’ve silently slipped his boots off because his feet were also bare against the marble. he cocked his head and pushed on her shoulder so she turned once again. his index and thumb found the clip so simply and undid it so the fabric feel loose against her body, but her hands flew to her chest to catch it from falling completely off. there a crumpling noise of leather dropping into a heap on the floor. water splashed apart and together until it was silent again. while keeping her back facing oberyn, aurane turned her head and met his eyes.

he sat against the side of the tub with his arms held up along the edge of the wood. “are you scared, lion?” he asked so sweetly yet remained so stern. 

the only thing that stood in the way of aurane standing as naked as the day she was born in front of the prince was her hands clutching onto the dress. “close your eyes.” she whispered. oberyn only sighed and rose a hand over his eyes, gently squeezing them shut for reassurance. the dress cascaded down to the floor with an inaudible sound. she stepped one foot in the water and the warmth instantly felt calming. once aurane stood completely in the tub, she began to sink to the bottom, where she sat with the surface of her bath reaching just above her breasts. 

“can i open?” the prince asked. 

aurane brought her knees to her chest and spoke aloud a, “yes.” her arms wrapped around her legs as oberyn rested his hand again and smiled. somehow, despite her cowering position, aurane felt more confident than ever with all of her body exposed. 

that sly smile spread over oberyn’s face again as twirled his finger for aurane to turn around. she did so and sat closer to him in between his legs. her breath almost hitched when she felt his length against her back but he didn’t act upon it. instead, he lathered his hands with a lemon-scented shampoo and combed it throughout the strands of aurane’s hair. it was a soothing feeling as his fingertips gently massaged her scalp and aurane could’ve fallen asleep right there. once her hair was completely covered in the suds, oberyn then cupped his hands into the water and poured it over her head, watching as the soap washed out fairly easily.

she chuckled. “how many girls have you given baths too?” she noted his expertise. it wasn’t every man who knew who to treat a woman’s hair--not in westeros. 

once her hair was completely cleaned and dripping and pushed it to the side of her neck so her back was bare. he placed a soft kiss against the top of her spine, “do you want to know?” and began to caress her arms with the bar of soap. aurane gently shook her head and smiled. for a month, she’d be tense and anxious for what her fate awaited for her. for the past week, while remaining in her room she’d grown closer and closer to that fate and could not see perfectly clear what it was. and if it really was this, she didn’t mind. a finger was suddenly brushed over a raw piece of skin on her arm and she shivered under the touch.

oberyn’s eyebrows furrowed in concern before sitting up and looking over the top of aurane’s arm. “lion,” he cooed, gazing at the ruined skin--a scar. “how did you acquire such a wound?”

the question was one that aurane didn’t have to answer often because it was only her family who had seen it and she’d never left the castle for anyone else to glimpse her scar. 

“fire,” she spoke as he continued to gently rub over the healed wound with one hand, and the other poured water over the soap on her body. the sun had now completely set and the stars were glimmering over the surface of the water. the moonlight had such an effect on aurane’s frame--there was a silver lining against her curves and edges and oberyn wanted nothing more than to cherish it. “casterly rock didn’t like how the last lannister child was a bastard, furthermore with a rumored dornishwoman. i had never seen the city until i was four namedays,” the prince remained quiet as another kiss was placed on her shoulder. “my father had been hesitant about letting me into the festivals. but my brother had begged. he said ‘she’ll never learn to be a good ruler if she can’t know her people’, so papa had my sister escort me along with four other guards.”

a kiss on her knuckles as he held her hand. “and?”

“i’d gotten lost along the way. i didn’t think it was possible for a city to hate a child so much but i’d been proven wrong.” underneath the water, aurane moved her hands in such delicate motions. “i was in alley or- something like that, i can’t remember. but there were two men there and a woman. they were sneering and laughing at the little lost lannister princess,” a kiss on her wrist. “one was holding a candle since the sun was setting for the festivities to begin, and as i was trying to walk away, they pressed the fire against my arm,” the memories were still there in aurane’s mind but they didn’t spark anger or vengeance in her. she had accepted it. “my sister then found me and my father had them hanged.”

oberyn chuckled and planted a firm kiss on her neck. the loving and affectionate actions hadn’t taken aurane by surprise. she knew of the prince’s ways and respects. “lannisters are dangerous people.”

he talked of her family as if she wasn’t a part of it. maybe she wasn’t--maybe aurane wasn’t a lannister like her father or siblings because her mother had been a dornishwoman and aurane had been born a bastard. “yes, they are.”

―

suddenly, all the peace and comfort aurane had felt during her first week in sunspear dissolved into dust and blown away in the cool evening breeze she loved to feel after the hot days of dorne. the last time she’d been pampered was her last day in king’s landing. her maidens had braided her hair and her sister had applied the sheer cover of make-up to her skin that wasn’t needed very much. during her week, aurane had dressed herself and brushed her own hair and washed her own body, but now, she sat in a chair in front of her mirror with several maidens surrounding her. one was twirling and brushing and braiding her hair, another was powdering her face, and the last was tying the loose strings in the back of aurane’s dress. 

why was she so nervous? the night before had been so simple--oberyn showed love and they’d bathed and because he was so understanding, she returned to her chambers where she slept for only two hours.

a maiden giggled. “it’s a wonder, your grace,” she admired. “i sleep only four hours through the night and i always wake up with darkness under my eyes.”

aurane smiled in response and nodded quietly. her dress was the usual white, but behind it was a golden tint in honor of the lannister house, although she knew that dorne wanted nothing to do with their enemies. she looked at her reflection and her mirror and liked what she saw, but despite her beauty and fairness, her fingers absentmindedly began to fiddle with each other.

she sighed fairly and the maidens looked to each other on what to say. the oldest one, who looked about aurane’s sister’s age, stumbled on her words before noting, “i hope you know you look heavenly, your grace,” she leaned down and tucked a strand of hair behind aurane’s ear. 

the princess smiled in response before the second maiden spoke, “very heavenly, indeed,” aurane looked back to her reflection and attempted to smile with pride but it came out slightly unhinged. “the prince is a good man. you’re marrying a very good man.”

a knock echoed through aurane’s room as she inhaled deeply, sticking out her chest. the first maiden went to the door and the two other followed suite. aurane did not turn to see who was at the door because she knew, by tradition, it could not be oberyn. 

“my lady,” a maiden curtsied before ellaria sand could brush her off.

the older woman bowed her head back and looked to aurane. the sound of her voice, so peaceful and loving and...maternal, piqued interest in the princess and she smiled at the sight of oberyn’s lover. ellaria wore a bright yellow linen dress with golden plating on her shoulders that were attached to more honey-colored pieces of fabric that cascaded down her arms and to the floor. she looked heavenly. “are you ready, lion?”

aurane’s gaze softened and her lips parted.

tags: @ohpedromypedro @zeldasayer @pascalpapi @absurdthirst @cyarikaaa @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @pedropascalonline @pedropascalito @pedropascalitofics @honeychicanawrites @otherthingsinhead @wakalas @pedropascalispapi @heavenbarnes @qveenbvtch @foreverlostindreams @forever-rogue @arianawills @liadamerondjarin @pascalisthepunkest

#oberyn martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn x oc #oberyn x you #oberyn x ellaria #oberyn x ellaria x reader #ellaria sand #ellaria sand x reader #ellaria sand x oc #prince oberyn #the red viper #game of thrones #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic #oberyn martell fic

[sophi-s]

After three days. Three freaking days.

It is finished.

A kiss to die for

By: sophi-s (me)

Words: 4,531

Franchise: Darksiders video games

Characters: Fallen!Astarte, Abaddon

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, near death experience, angst, necromancy, I changed the storyline just a tiny bit for the purposes of this, Abaddon gets his ass handed to him by his ex :P.

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Eden. The first gift from the Creator himself to the Humanity. A home for the First Ones. Once, an indescribably beautiful place full of grand trees and fresh, soft grass, flowing with cool, crystal clear waters. Colorful fruits growing in the trees, a delight to eye and tongue. Within, no danger could reach Humanity's ancestors. Truly a paradise the first humans rightfully called it. But now, after a great war that took place here, seemingly not that long ago, the great garden was left scarred and burning. Made into a tomb for those who sought to claim it. Bodies of Nephilim were left to burn and decay, forgotten and abandoned.

However, something has changed. A dark shadow passed over the sacred graveyard, leaving only madness and corruption in its wake. Those who perished picked themselves up from the ground and lashed out at Eden's guardians. Surprised and unable to respond with a coordinated defensive, the Faneguard had to call for retreat after their leader, Malahidael fell to the blades and arrows of the living dead. Amongst the scattered angels was the general of Heaven's Legions. Trying his best to keep his brethren focused and plan a tactical escape.

At least that's what he was trying before. Before he saw the cause of this nightmare. Now, outstretched on the ground in the dust, he forced himself up onto his elbow as he crawled towards his discarded blade, clutching at his chest that felt as though it had been caved in after a charging monstrosity trampled him in full speed.

How could this happen?

Fighting with his chaotic thoughts, he finally got a hold of the hilt but when he turned around, it was already too late. A large paw armed with razor-sharp claws landed on him, pinning him down and successfully immobilizing his lower half. And then his own blue eyes stared up into a pair of white ones, the same eyes that doomed him from the moment he met their gaze for the first time. The eyes that occupied his thoughts when he was awake and his dreams while he slept. Eyes of Astarte.

But what stood above him… this thing, this monster was Astarte no longer. From the waist up, the woman was stunningly beautiful as she always was, with her pale white eyes and long flowing, platinum blonde hair. But her legs have been replaced by a body of a feline beast with wings coated in blackness of corruption, feathers shimmering with red glyphs. A wicked smile was twisting her petal like lips and wherever her clawed paws fell, the dead bodies shivered and rose, called back into the accursed unlife. Utter insanity shone in her eyes.. Keeping his stone façade was no longer possible as inwardly he was falling apart. Astarte. The same Astarte who would kill and die for him, the same who he trusted more than anyone. The same Astarte he dared to love. Her smirk grew wider as she chuckled.

"Who do we have here? The great general of Heaven's Legions Abaddon himself!"

The unfamiliar taunting tone of her voice sent a shiver down his spine, as did the way she bared her teeth in a disturbing grin. Giving the large paw a tug to try and wriggle free, quickly realising it's pointless as the damned thing didn't even budge, Abaddon took a struggling breath, pretty sure his sternum was damaged if not broken.

"Astarte…"

His voice came out as a broken, pleading whisper. He still couldn't… or maybe he didn't want to… cope with what he was seeing clearly like on the palm of his hand. Astarte, his most formidable soldier, the strongest of them all, and the only woman in the Universe he felt something special for… Fallen into the vice-like grip of Lucifer's corrupting influence. Gone was the gentle smile that crawled its way up onto her face whenever she spotted him. Abaddon swallowed thickly when he noticed the spear in her hand poised to strike and carve his broken heart out from his chest. Astarte would never harm him…

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She scoffed and used her other paw to press his right arm to the ground should he try to take a swipe at her. But they both knew far too well that he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. Astarte leaning over him was still the one his heart yearned for, still beautiful just… in a different, more horrifying way. Through the ringing in his ears after his head cracked against a rock, he could hear someone call out to him but whoever it was, they were successfully pushed back by the horde of undead Nephilim.

"Astarte, don't do it.."

He quietly begged, even though he never begs. Seeing her like this, twisted and bestial, did something to him he couldn't quite comprehend. Touched that part of his soul he didn't even know about. Strangely enough, even in her madness, Astarte must've sensed something in him that gave her a pause as she curiously tilted her head to one side. All the moments, even the shortest ones, he'd spent with Astarte in the past were flashing before his eyes. Every time they had one another's back in battle, every time one saved the other's life, every time they spoke about the things they would never tell anyone else whenever they were alone. And that memorable moment when they stood together, away from the prying eyes that moonlit night. Abaddon was listening to her as she asked him if what she feels is right, if there's any possible way he feels that way as well. He almost laughed at her obliviousness and the fact that his love was there before she even realised her own. Of course.. He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes, absolutely mesmerized, waiting for permission to finally grant her the proof of his love and devotion, one which she silently gave him with a nod and a smile.

"I would walk through the fire of Nine Hells for you."

He said before leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. A kiss, stolen kiss he was dying to receive. It was very brief but still felt like his first flight over the White City. Liberating, wonderful and equally as intoxicating. Those were the most beautiful memories he'd ever made but now they were like a parasite buried deeply into his brain, one that refused to leave his head, reminding him of better times and cackling maniacally at him as the present was coming undone before his very eyes. He wanted those memories to go. But there was no escape. Neither from them nor from Astarte herself.

"Look at me.."

"I am."

"Please, come to your senses. It's not you.. You need to fight it, I know you have it in you. Don't leave me like this… Don't you remember everything I'd done for you? Everything you'd done for me ?"

For a second, Astarte's grin fell, making place for a thoughtful expression and for this short second Abaddon dared to hope that there's still light in her. That he somehow managed to get to her. But all these hopes were taken away when she shook her head and looked at him… not with anger. It was pity, plain and simple as she spoke in a condescending tone.

"Fool. So loyal and righteous. Look around! The war had ended long ago, yet we remain stranded in this forsaken tomb! We've been abandoned and no one will set us free if we don't do so ourselves! Don't tell me you cannot see it."

He couldn't believe his ears. It wasn't the honorable and just angel he used to know. The Astarte he knew was gone. This was a twisted monster bearing the visage of his dearest, taunting him with her beauty that was always keeping his hand paralyzed whenever he tried to strike her even though his life depended from it.

"I have chosen my path, Abaddon. And you can walk it with me.."

Abaddon eyed her hand warily as she stretched it out to him, offering him help in standing up. He was torn. On the one hand, he so, so wanted to accept and be with Astarte as he used to. No one would take her from him ever again. But taking her hand would also mean slipping into the hateful darkness. Welcoming the sullying blackness inside and succumbing to madness. Straying from the light and forsaking his duty in favor of the same accursed power that destroyed her.

It was a dangerous thing, this love.. Pushing even the most reasonable people to do unthinkable and dangerous things in the name of it. More often than not at costs that rarely make it worth it. Lucifer knew this. And he used it as a weapon against Abaddon by turning Astarte. He knew not what the Dark Prince offered her but it must've been worth losing oneself. Astarte was now Lucifer's servant, not the love of Abaddon's eternal life. He couldn't… he couldn't end up like her. His already bleeding heart screamed out with anguish when he finally gathered himself to speak.. and refused.

"I… can't do this, Astarte. Not even for you…"

"That's a pity…"

Abaddon grunted in pain when the pressure on his wrist increased to the point when he could feel his bones beginning to crack. And then as suddenly as it appeared, the crushing weight was gone, both from his arm and his chest. But he wasn't free. His breath was abruptly cut off when Astarte's slender fingers, which often fiddled with his hair when he had a moment to lie down and rest after a hard day, looking up at her sitting beside his head, before all this, mercilessly curled around his throat and lifted him up to her eye level until his toes could no longer reach the ground. She was strong. Stronger than he remembered. His left hand grasped Astarte's wrist as he tried to struggle free while he raised his sword to attack. But… looking deep into her eyes, at her face, mouth curved in a poisonous sweet smile, the silken skin of her cheeks… His hand trembled. Once again he proved her and himself he doesn't have it in him to do this. Damn it all. This one, seemingly harmless emotion was what ultimately led him to his own doom. If he'd never fallen for Astarte he wouldn't be here, flapping his wings madly in an attempt to wriggle out of her hold. But he couldn't command his heart. It would not listen to him.. Abaddon couldn't simply stop loving Astarte. Her eyebrows furrowed in a gentle frown and he felt the tip of her gilded spear press insistently against his abdomen, right under his ribs. Cold sweat began to bead around his brow. Oh Creator…

"Fret not, love.."

Astarte purred, making him finally stop beating his wings and look her in the eye again only to see an unsettling spark in there. Despite the obvious danger, hearing her call him her "love" in this deceivingly sweet voice still made his racing heart skip a beat.

"It won't be long.. And when you die, you'll be forever at my side. Just as you desired."

As a monster, not unlike her. A living corpse that defiled the natural order by its existence itself. He didn't want to go like this. What an end it is for a general of Heaven? Killed by his own lieutenant and brought back to life as a shambling husk of what he used to be? Preposterous. Cold lump of fear settled into the pit of his stomach. He could only count seconds. One.. two… it didn't even come to three when the blade sunk deeply into his flesh, piercing the armor as though it wasn't even there in the first place and running him through. After all, the spear was created specifically to fight armored opponents… Abaddon wanted to scream out in pain but the wail of agony was cut short by the firm grasp on his throat that stopped the air escaping his lungs. Pain clouded his vision but did not silence his racing thoughts. He was weak. He couldn't strike Astarte down as his enemy, denying her the well deserved rest and falling to her blade like a fool he felt like. He struggled to breathe and keep his eyes opened when he felt Astarte loosen her ironclad grip on his neck and move her hand to his face, oh so gently pulling the strands of his hair, matted with sweat, to the side and behind his ear before placing the same hand on the back of his neck to keep his head still. He gasped for air through his opened mouth as blood was beginning to well up in his throat and dribble down his chin. And then Astarte unexpectedly leaned in and decisively captured his lips with her own, granting him the final kiss for a farewell.

Abaddon's eyes widened in fear and shock but even though the pain of the spear through his side, he found himself going slack in Astarte's arms. His ornate blade clattered to the ground when his fingers unfurled and let it slip out. No strength remained within him to even try and respond to Astarte's lips, even if he wanted to. But what he hoped to be his last comfort turned out to be nothing more than a cruel torment with how cold and meaningless the kiss felt. It was nothing like the one back in the White City. Hollow seconds ticked by. It tasted only of the blood flooding his tongue and the bitter defeat. No love, no passion and no feelings remained in her black heart. Only the empty void and tasteless ashes… Monster. Astarte no longer… She would never hurt him…

Astarte knew him and all of his weak spots all too well. She knew how and where to strike to make it hurt. And this last kiss was only a tool to her. There wasn't any physical pain anymore when she finally pulled away with his blood painting her lips in deep crimson and let his body slip down the spear to collapse onto the shriveled grass. The last thing Abaddon saw before numbing darkness swallowed him was Astarte delightedly licking his scarlet life essence on her mouth and teeth before she hummed contentedly

"Farewell, my love. I'll see you again soon enough…"

She stood close, gazing at the distant stars shimmering in the black sky.

"The night sure is beautiful."

"It is. Even more so with you around."

"Tsk. Sweet-talker…"

In the impenetrable black, Abaddon heard nothing, saw nothing and felt nothing aside from the dull ache within his chest. Betrayal… Every beat of his heart was a torture. He couldn't even tell if it was really beating or not anymore. It bled ceaselessly. Craving for the lost love. Crying out to Astarte as something started to tug at the strings of his very soul. Trying to pull him free from his still body that refused to move no matter how much he wished to stand or at least sit up. Memories were passing all too quickly through his head. Eyes shining with uncertainty, a relieved smile as he staggered upright with a pained grimace that was supposed to be a comforting smile..

" Are you certain everything is alright? For a moment there I was afraid you were gone.."

"Never, my light. I would never leave you."

He wasn't going to the Kingdom of the Dead, he was certain. Astarte would make sure of it.. Curse Lucifer.. curse this wretched feeling still coiled in his chest, like a festering plague. Warriors of Heaven are people of unbreakable steel. Calm and collected beings of logic. But when it comes to honest feelings, there's nothing in between. They either don't care or love to the death. And when they love and it all falls apart, their hearts break like no one else's. No, they don't even break… they shatter to a million pieces like a frozen flower. And even if they are ever put back together, they're never the same. Those scars run too deep to ever disappear. Curse everything… Soft hair he tangled his fingers in, a heartbeat right beside his… warm presence next to him and a misleadingly delicate cheek pressed to the skin on top of his chest..

"What happens now then?"

"Doesn't matter. As long as we stay together."

"We will, Abaddon…"

He tasted the copper tinge of blood again as Astarte's voice echoed in his head when she swore to him. When he believed her..

I  P R O M I S E .

Those two words… They meant a world to him. Even after he saw what Astarte had become… Abaddon desperately clung to those words like a drowning man holds onto the final breath until the very last second. And that was his downfall. She promised me…

The last memory of Astarte before all this chaos wormed its way into his mind. A less pleasant one. He could see there was something wrong with her back then. This was the first time they had a true falling out. Well.. can this really be called a falling out if it was just him being yelled at? Astarte was changed already. Something happened to her after the Nephilim slaughter. Something he had foolishly overlooked. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with his own grief? Blood tumbled down from her wound, painting both her and his armor in vibrant red from where a crude spear met her body… 

It didn't take long for the last of the Nephilim to fall when this happened. She held onto life tightly as he led her deeper into the garden where healers would take care of her. Abaddon waited outside the tent, pacing back and forth until Azrael, who'd been tending to Astarte himself, walked out. A slender hand fell onto his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and making him look at his old friend bearing a sullen expression. He'd never been so terrified in his life like in this short moment when he waited for Azrael to inevitably tell him that it was too late to help her but he merely asked Abaddon to come with him inside. Somehow, it was even worse. He saw her sitting on the edge of a cot, face pale, lips pressed into a thin line, staring at nothing. Eyes of other angels were on the three of them as the two archangels walked in. It was a relief to see her alive but there was no doubt that something was wrong. The patches of fresh crimson staining her trousers on her inner thighs only confirmed his suspicions. And Azrael didn't keep him waiting for an explanation.

"She was with child.."

The news hit him like a slug to the face. With a sack of bricks no less. Astarte, his beloved, bearing his blood in her womb. By all means he should feel ecstatic. He should rejoice. But this one word, this tiny word filled him with absolute dread. Was.

"The blade went deep.. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

Who knows how long he stood there like a wooden stake? There was nothing I could do. Azrael was inarguably the best healer in the White City. He knew what he was saying. And yet… Abaddon found it difficult to believe his words. A child. His child. Died before they even had a chance to live.. It hurt more than any wound he'd ever received. When he finally could move, he approached Astarte and sat beside her, reaching for her hand to give her something to hold on to. But her violent reaction caught him off guard. She jerked away, her words dripped like acid.

"It's your fault. Get away from me!"

"Astarte, listen.."

"No! It never should've happened! Why would you do this to me?!"

This was the first time she called him per "you" in the presence of other angels. He knew not what she was truly going through but if his own sorrow was any indication, it must've been a nightmare. They'd lost something they didn't even know they had and it felt like the end of the world they'd built together. In a way, it was... Abaddon tried reaching out again but Astarte batted his hand away and leaped up to her feet despite the pain.

"Don't touch me! Do not speak to me, get off!"

"Astarte!"

He managed to call out before she stormed out of the tent, wrapping her wings around herself as a barrier that could protect her from the world around. Were it not for a firm grip on his arm, he would've gone after her. It was Nathaniel who stopped him. Abaddon looked at his friend, the right side of his face wrapped up in bandages just like his side he was keeping his hand over.

"It's not going to help. Let her go for now."

It's been a long time since he felt this lonely. He left the tent without another word, ignoring whatever it was Azrael was saying, and walked away from the camp like a wandering spectre who lost its way to the Well. And when he was far enough, he found himself collapsing on the ground, angrily hitting it with his fist as though it was the culprit here. They died without so much of a name.. Abaddon knew that what Astarte said wasn't true. He had no idea, it can't have been his fault… and yet this thought kept bothering him.

I should've protected you better. I have failed you.. both of you…

It took a couple of shaky breaths to collect his thoughts. Unable to do anything else, he pulled himself to his knees, clasped his hands together and started to whisper a prayer, seeking compassion in the Creator and his silent presence.

Astarte was already slipping after that and the prolonged stay in Eden only made it worse. She became distant and irritable, constantly itching for a fight, be it with words or blades. He thought she needed time to grieve. But this was something else. Something more sinister. Perhaps if he noticed it earlier.. done something… If only…

The odd tugging suddenly ceased and moments later a wave of comforting warmth washed all over him, gathering in his side where he was impaled. Deep within his chest, he felt his heart quiver, desperately fighting to keep beating. At first he thought he was merely waiting for Astarte to pull him back into the land of the living as a detestable abomination but no.. He yet lived. His thoughts were abruptly dispersed when he heard voices, very familiar and concerned voices, break through, the buzzing in his head.

"Did that do it?"

"Is he even alive ?"

"Hard to tell. It doesn't look good.."

"No, it doesn't.. Do you think we got to him on time?"

"I do not know. I'm not even sure if- Wait, I think he moved."

Abaddon indeed stirred, prying his eyes open with no small effort, immediately regretting his choice after a far too bright light intruded underneath his eyelids, and descending into a fit of uncontrollable coughs, spitting out all the blood that remained within as soon as he took a deeper breath. Pain. Horrible, excruciating pain filled his chest. He had been right. His sternum was definitely broken.

Damn all of it. Damn Lucifer, damn the Nephilim and damn the blasted air that hurt his lungs with every breath. Mist eventually fell from his sights, revealing to him familiar, tired faces of angelic soldiers leaning over him with distressed looks. His men. The Faneguard. They survived. Some of them at least… Malahidael wasn't so lucky.. One of them, Fariel if his memory doesn't deceive him, was holding up Abaddon's hand in his, and held between his curled fingers, Abaddon noticed an emptied crystal, a used up healing shard glimmering in the sunlight as the energy that was channelled into his body began to close the torn blood vessels.

"Lord Abaddon. Can you hear me?"

Gasping for another bit of air, horribly weakened but still very much alive and likely to stay that way, Abaddon gurgled out a disturbing sound that was supposed to be a miserable chuckle. In honesty, it sounded more like a dying demon than a laugh.. It only served to agitate them even further until he breathed out with relief and nodded as no coherent word could form in his mouth. What happened to Astarte when he was on death's door, he could only guess. But one thing he was sure of. She was still out there. Raving mad and dangerous to all who step into Eden. The law was clear. Astarte had fallen into darkness, defiled the dead and raised her weapon against her brethren. This was not an easy decision but after what he'd seen and lived through, Abaddon was certain now. He tried to bring her back, save her from the hate that grew within her like a malicious weed. But she was clearly too far gone. He couldn't help her.. Too late. As always, he was too late. Whether Abaddon likes it or not, Astarte needs to die. There was nothing more he could do for her. But he won't be the one to play the executioner and the hand of justice. He knew he couldn't. He'd failed twice already.. It will be done, just… not now.

Perhaps another time… They were safe for now. And he needed to think… Abaddon lifted his free hand to his mouth. It was still there, this horrid sensation.. and he knew it won't go away for a long, long time. Resting his head against the ground, he exhaled heavily as blessed unconsciousness started to take a hold on him once more. He needed to rest. They all did…

Even as he was falling into the dark again, he could still feel Astarte's venomous kiss upon his lips. Burning like fire and sinking cruel claws into his chest. Would he ever forgive her for tearing his heart apart? Probably. It wasn't her fault after all. It can't be, can it? Would he ever forget, though? Unlikely.. Abaddon couldn't help but wonder… if it was all his fault? He couldn't command his feelings and order them to leave him. But still, he felt guilty. Not even for Astarte's fall anymore but for ever letting this infatuation control him. That's where this love had gotten him so far. It left him weak and vulnerable. It was beautiful while it lasted but now? Only suffering remained.

No wonder Heaven has such a disdain for love. It causes naught but misery and ruin. A dire thought invaded his hazy mind. It matters not what Astarte had done. He still loved her. Soon, she will be put to rest. And him? Well.. Every, even the greatest warrior has to fall in battle. Eventually… And when that day comes, he will be ready to embrace his end. When that day comes.. they will meet again. Maybe... But until then… His heart hastened even still as he took another breath and silently told himself…

…Never again…

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It.. it was supposed to be short? I did say short fic, didn't I? Uhh.. Whoops 😓

Also, Gimp 2 has nearly succeed in driving me nuts. In Poland we say "stand on eyelashes and clap one's ears" when something is nigh impossible. Yeah. That was that.

Btw, I take back everything I said about Abaddon's shoulder pads , they're mf'ing gorgeous 👌

#darksiders #darksiders fan fiction #darksiders genesis #my fic #darksiders astarte #astarte #darksiders abaddon #abaddon #here I go writing about that arsehole again XD #idk #I can't tag properly :P #my art #fan art #darksiders art #also .I.. Gimp #it's so hard to do decent stuff #it's not even that good :/

[quaranteehee]

My friend gave me his cute (idk) idea offffffff....

AKAASHI KEIJI ANGST

Summary: you’re a young lawyer who is tasked to meet with a client at a restaurant. During mid-discussion, you recognise someone’s voice and spots his familiar figure out of your peripheral vision. He and his new partner settle in a table within your line of sight, which makes it difficult for you to focus.

- - -

“The contract is signed, but the chairman requests with another meeting to discuss the legal implications of-“

“Tch,” you click your tongue, dropping the file on your desk with an audible slap against the surface.

“(Y/n) are you even listening? Good lord if I find out-“

“Mizuki, you said that the contract has been consummated?”

“Yes,” your manager carefully says. “The chairman just wants to review some points- review the whole contract if you have to. Besides, you need the exposure.”

“Is that because I’m new?”

“(L/n) it’s because you’re young. And I don’t mean to offend you but based off on last year’s review, even the board has agreed that it may require more time and effort to get you used these sort of ‘abrupt’ meetings.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“(L/n), Mr. David Simmons is waiting in the damn restaurant so just get in there.”

You end the call and begrudgingly exit your car. At the foot of an old building stood a modern restaurant, the type that politicians would consider adequate enough to spend their mornings in, sipping coffee with a newspaper in hand as they read about their acts of “benevolence” towards their country.

As soon as you enter, a gust of warm air hits your face. Someone offers to take your coat, which you gratefully shrug off.

“Just on time! You must be Ms. (L/n)?”

A stout man with thinning, grey hair approaches you. He is clad in a navy coloured blazer with matching khakis and a white button up. A golden watch sits on his right hand, which hints at him being left-handed. Sitting on his pointed nose are silver framed glasses and you notice that there are lines at the corner of his eyes; he must have smiled a lot.

“Yes.” You hold out your hand for him to shake- which he gratefully takes. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Simmons.”

You soon find yourselves seated by the window. Taking your IPad out, you decide to dive right into business. “I understand that the purpose of this meeting is only to review the agreement cited in the contract?”

“Right. We have already signed the papers but it would really help us if we go over it for a while? It should take long, only two points at most,” he assures you with a small smile, “Beg your pardon but I might as well go over them during dinner. I hope that’s alright with you, Ms. (L/n)?”

The man reminded you of your late grandfather. Besides, everything has already been put in place; all you had to do was to further explain to any questions they had. “Will do.”

David Simmons, you found, was surprisingly gentle and homorous throughout your discussion. It might have to do with the fact that the man had already expressed how sorry he was for troubling you at this hour (despite your repeated reassurance that it was nothing he had to fuss over.)

“... are you sure? It’s quite expensive, Keiji.”

Keiji?

You risk a glance at the young couple entering the restaurant and sure enough, your eyes did not betray you. A hearty chuckle emits from his chest as he pulls the woman closer towards him. Then he smiles; that damn smile that got you all the time.

The server walks them to a table in the far back corner of the room. They thank him and Akaashi makes his way to his date to pull her chair out. She smiles at the boy gratefully.

Your fingers tap irritably against the clothed table.

“Ms (L/N)?”

“Mr. Simmons?” You return cooly.

“Is something wrong?”

Whatever you do, you DO NOT let your personal life interfere with your jobs. Absolutely. Not. You have learnt this the hard way but seeing him again, watching him give away his love- the same love you have received- to somebody that isn’t you? A familiar ache settles in your chest as you resort to toying with your gold necklace.

“Mr Simmons, have you ever been in love?”

The chairman is taken back by your question. Following your gaze, his eyes rest on a blue haired boy. David Simmons looks back hard at you. “My first girlfriend’s name was Marie,” he begins.

Shifting your attention towards the elderly gentleman in front of you, you urge him to tell you more.

“We met in high school: I was in third year and she was in her first. Now, I played American football- with the gear and all that Jazz. Marie was a cheerleader. I remember when I got to know her name, which was by accident by the way because I tossed the ball at her thinking that she was my teammate!”

You laugh and reminisce about the time you accidentally fell on the second year boy: you were a year his junior. Rushing down the flight of stairs, you missed a step in your haste and fell onto someone. In the end, he helps you gather your papers which have been sent flying in the air.

“I’m so sorry..?”

“Akaashi. I’m Akaashi Keiji,” he says with an almost imperceptible smile.

“Now, Marie was a woman of wits. She was smart! Making it to all honour classes and all.. honestly? If you were to ask me, I wouldn’t know why she would love me. But she did.”

“I.. I love you.”

You pause, searching his eyes for any indication of hesitancy- any sign that may prove his words otherwise. “Akaashi..?”

“I know: it doesn’t make sense to me either. But (y/n) I love you. I love you to the stars and back. I- I love you.”

You were crying but a smile graced your lips.

“Say something.. please,” he begs.

David looks out the window, the soft evening rain blurring the view of the streets and city lights. You follow his suit. “I loved her. To the moon and back.”

The pink sky only added to the flush on his cheeks. The streets were desolate as Sakura flowers were littered against the pavement. Behind him, the afternoon sun cast shadows into his face yet his eyes- his eyes which displayed the colour of a sea before the storm seemed to experience a hurricane at that moment.

In your own way, an ocean spilled from your (e/c) orbs transitioning into a waterfall down your cheeks. “Akaashi... I love you too.”

“How old are you, Ms (L/N)?”

“21, Sir.”

“And that boy?”

You knew that Mr. Simmons was bound to , as soon as you realised that it would be near impossible to tame your emotions in your current state.

“Twenty-two.”

“Ahh.. yes. It was around that time-“

“What happened?” You eagerly inquire.

He smiles at you softly, just as a father would do to his daughter. “We were both aware that loving each other wouldn’t be a walk in the park. We would have endured the storms thrown at us, but sometimes... sometimes holding on is harder than letting go.”

“We can do it,” you shuffle desperately towards him and cup his face in your hands, “Keiji, listen, we can call everyday if we have to. Baby, we can make it-“

“Stop-“

“-I’ll come visit you, I promise. One every month maybe?”

“(Y/n)-“

“We can move together once I finish this last year. You don’t have to worry about-“

“(Y/N) LISTEN TO ME!” He raises his voice and slaps your hands away from his face.

You break down; every bone in your body is seared in pain as your blood burns in your veins. “Keiji..” you croak.

Watching you like this hurts him more than it hurts you. He knew you would move in with him without a doubt if he had asked you. He would marry you, and again, you would say yes. Once upon a time, Akaashi would have been completely at peace with the thought of a family of his own- a family you had created with him in a tiny village at the country.

But darling, darling you were destined for something great. You were blessed with a brain to think of unfathomable universes; to think up the solutions to solve the most gruelling maladies; and so much more. Akaashi Keiji knew this- he was more aware of this fact more than anyone. Maybe, even more than yourself.

“No, (y/n). We can’t..”

You watch him, “Keiji.. keiji,” you utter out his name repeatedly in hopes that it would make him see some sense, “ I love you.”

He doesn’t hide his face now that it’s stricken with fresh tears. He wants desperately to rush over and hold you in his arms. Above all, Akaashi wants desperately to say it back. Instead, he turns on his heel and leaves.

You stare at the traffic light as the colour changes from red to green, followed by engines revving in response. “D-do you still-“

“I always will.”

A tear escapes your eye. “How can you say that?”

“Because there’s a part of me that just.. does.” He watches for a reaction and continues, “I think, for me, it’s because I chose to love her. It wasn’t based on pure emotion.  Time heals, doesn’t it? Yet it also destroys. Time, therefore, does not limit itself to emotion. What makes love greater than time itself is the fact that it is a choice- a choice to care for the other person for richer and poorer, and till death do you part. It’s a choice that you make without any regards for your own happiness, but theirs.”

You stay silent. You didn’t know what to say. Akaashi claimed that he didn’t know how or why in the world he had fallen... but he chose to act on his feelings, and he chose you.

David’s voice is softer, barely a whisper: “but I don’t regret it...”

Memories that you had desperately tried to push at the back of your mind resurface:

When he held your hand during the school fair as you walked between the booths.

When he took you to an aimless walk at three in the morning as you held each other and danced to the rhythm of the sky changing its hues from a twilight purple to the gentle orange of dusk.

You remember when you were smiling so much in the photo booth as the camera took your pictures together; how in the end, he unexpectedly pulled you into a kiss.

“... I don’t regret her one bit,” he finishes.

All this time you watched Akaashi from across the room eye his new girl with eyes full of wonder. He takes her hand in his and they get up from their table, heading out the door before disappearing into the cold, Tokyo evening.

“Ms. (L/n).. a word of advise from an old man: don’t regret him because you loved him.”

“Mr. Simmons, I don’t have any regrets...

Because I still love him.”

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #fukorodani #akaashi x reader #akaashi imagine #akaashi keiji #anime / manga #akaashi angst #angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!!

[fanfic-corner]

Writer Castiel

4/12/20 - I have wanted to be a writer since I was ten years old, so maybe I’m biased here, but I absolutely adore the idea of Cas being an author if he lived a different life!

Tabula Rasa by Dangerousnotbroken on AO3. (78,240 words).

Tags: Writer Castiel, Bartender Dean, Past Relationship, Pervasive Themes of Memory, Magic, Canon Typical Violence, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of Past Child Neglect, Mental Illness, Witches, Ghosts, Bi!Dean, Bi!Castiel, Referenced Past Minor Character Death, Angst, Slow Burn, Memory Loss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Once upon a time, Castiel Novak had everything. He had a happy home life, a full scholarship, and, if he played his cards right, a promising journalism career. And on top of all of that, he had Dean. Then tragedy struck, as it tends to do, and Castiel lost everything. At thirty six, he’s got none of those things. He’s got no family to speak of. He’s got a job investigating purportedly true tales of the supernatural for a magazine no one reads. And worst of all he hasn’t seen Dean in nearly twenty years. So when research for an article turns him on to a witch who apparently grants wishes in exchange for stories, Castiel figures it’s worth the risk. If making a deal with a witch can get him Dean back, what has he got to lose?

Notes: This was absolutely amazing; both written beautifully and with a fantastic plot.

the inexhaustible silence of houses by Askance on AO3. (31,820 words).

Tags: Horror, Psychological Trauma, Domestic Violence.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh. But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

Notes: Excellently written, made me cry, and the ending was brilliant. Technically it isn’t tagged as Cas being a writer, but he does write some poetry throughout, and I couldn’t help myself.

Lost and Found by whelvenwings on AO3. (7,762 words).

Tags: Writer Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Demisexual Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: “Chuck Shurley? Sure, I’ve read his books. Kinda Vonnegut, but like, Kilgore-Trout Vonnegut, you know?” Dean took another gulp of his whisky, and smacked his lips like an adult. The guy sitting beside him at the bar, however, did not look suitably impressed. In fact, he was staring down into the bubbles of his cider, not even noticing the way that Dean was smiling at him, giving him the eyes. “I thought his stuff was pretty good, in a kinda metamodern way,” Dean added airily, and a little more loudly. The guy only nodded gloomily. Dean almost clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in frustration. C’mon, dude, I’m trying to impress you. Twenty minutes of talking and all Dean had to show for it was a weird first name, a series of dour stares and the strangest need to know more about this – Castiel.

Notes: This was written so well that I wanted to cry at Cas’ story of the stars, even though it wasn’t particularly sad. Now I want to go and stargaze with someone.

The House on the Ocean Road by coffeeandcas on AO3. (111,351 words).

Tags: Single Parent Castiel, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Hurt Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, Car Accidents, Past Character Death, Adopted Children, Mentions of Suicide, Slow Burn, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Near Death Experiences, Hospitals, Explicit Sexual Content, POV Dean.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester is on the run from his life. He's done something unforgivable, and can't face his family or friends ever again. So he does what any rational person would do: fakes his own death and vanishes into the ether. Wandering aimlessly along country roads, he succumbs to the elements during a violent storm and wakes up hours later in the home of a stranger: a single dad living alone in an isolated beach house, with a haunting past of his own. Cas is sweet and shy, but welcomes Dean into his home and tells him he can stay as long as he needs, never prying into his life or asking him to spill his secrets. As they rapidly forge a close friendship, Dean finds that the quiet life by the ocean with Cas is exactly what he's been dreaming of. He only hopes his past never catches up with him.

Notes: This was so gorgeous and the plot was fabulous! Also, I loved Jimmy, and Dean and Cas as parents were adorable. Weirdest use of Cole’s character that I’ve ever seen though.

What Can’t Be Seen by destieldrabblesdaily on AO3. (2,639 words).

Tags: Soulmate AU, author!Cas, Strangers to Lovers, First Kiss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Written for this prompt: Soulmate AU where you first see color after eye contact: Cas is a famous best selling author and he’s promoting his book, so he’s talking to a crowd of people and suddenly his world is in color, and a lot of his fans pretend to be his soulmate. A Cinderella type situation ensues.

Notes: This was really cute and such a sweet and funny idea.

(un)conventional by imogenbynight on AO3. (6,100 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, mechanic!Dean, Writer!Castiel, Conventions, Fluff.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Spec Lit Con--Speckly Con, to it’s regular attendees--is an annual weekend-long event held in Chicago, dedicated to science fiction, fantasy and otherwise speculative literature. This year Dean's favorite author, C.J. Novak, is appearing as a panelist. Naturally, he shells out the cash for an all access pass.

Notes: This was so adorable that I nearly screamed in the corridor outside my computer science lesson. Plus, the writing was absolutely gorgeous! I miss conventions :(

I Think That’s Mine by palominopup on AO3. (6,804 words).

Tags: Fluff, AU, Reporter!Dean, Writer!Cas.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: A mix up at the Atlanta Airport places Dean Winchester's laptop in someone else's possession. A series of calls and texts bring two men together.

Notes: This was so cute, Cas was so sweet, and Dean was an icon.

‘Star Wars is Overrated’ by leftdragonpainter on AO3. (38,186 words).

Tags: Soulmates, Pining, Drinking, Writer Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Neighbours, Swearing, Winchester Logic, Clueless Dean, College Student Sam, Awkward Dates, Dean Cooks, Castiel in Glasses, Slow Burn, Injured Sam, Fixing Cars, Smut, Costumes, Drunk Texting, Temporary Amnesia, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: When Dean Winchester turned sixteen he was disappointed by the words that appeared on his chest. He never expected that it would take so much to find his soulmate. He never expected to not remember meeting them...

Tags: Every time I thought I knew what was going to happen in this fic, something completely different happened, which I loved. 

Event Horizon by Winglesss on AO3. (6,442 words).

Tags: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Dean, Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Past Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Texting, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Veteran Dean, Doctor Dean, Writer Castiel, Strangers.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Castiel couldn't have helped his sister. That's why being offered a chance to help somebody else dealing with suicidal thoughts he took it without hesitation. When he gets the first text from someone who needs his help, nothing goes as he expected.

Notes: I don’t know if that kind of suicide prevention scheme exists, but this fic is very sweet. 

Darkly Dreaming Dean by Duckyboos on AO3. (29,008 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Police, Detective Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, Serial Killer Dean, Alternate Universe - Dexter, Established Relationship, Murder, Top Dean, Bottom Castiel, Anal Sex, Innocent Castiel.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester has the perfect apple pie life with his shy-but-sweet boyfriend in the suburbs. He has a steady, well-paid job with the LAPD and he’s charming and attractive. Really, he’s living the American Dream. It’s his extra-curricular activities that some may disagree with, as he’s also an accomplished serial killer. To date, his kills amount to around 36 and he’s never been caught. He’s employed by the law, remember? He knows how these things work.

*

A new serial killer arrives on the scene and despite the sloppiness of their work, Dean is intrigued by them and what they're trying to achieve, because their MO is the same as his; killing bad people. He makes it his mission to track the other killer down before the police do, and he’s left reeling when the 'Basin Vigilante' turns out to be someone a lot closer to home than he could have ever imagined.

Notes: I sort of watched Dexter a few years ago, and I absolutely love the idea of Dean as a vigilante serial killer. I only wish that the synopsis was a bit different, so the end was more of a surprise.

Finding Home by Desirae on AO3. (42,828 words).

Tags: Baker Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, PTSD, Past Childhood Trauma, Childhood Kidnapping, Mistaken Identity, Dean Whump, Castiel Whump, Best Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester lived a quiet life running his bakery. Aside from family, Dean had no desire to let anyone inside. The more people you cared about, the more you had to lose; A hard lesson he'd learned at the tender age of eight when Dean’s best friend was kidnapped right before his eyes. Dean was forever haunted by the event, although he hadn’t realized quite how much until Emmanuel James Milton breezed into his life; waking his sleeping heart with a complete lack filter and achingly familiar eyes. An author, with no family and traumatic past of his own, Emmanuel never felt like he belonged anywhere until he walked into The Honeybee Bakery and met Dean. It’s not long before they find out that there is a reason for their profound bond.

Notes: It was obvious what was going on here from the start, but that just made it even cuter as they fell in love again.

I think it is a shame we didn’t get more human Cas content, but I guess it is too late now. I hope you enjoy these fics, and if you ever have a specific list you want me to make, feel free to ask!

#writer cas #castiel #supernatural #ficrecs #fanfics #destiel #dexter #soulmate au

[aion-rsa]

How Ted Lasso Sneakily Crafted its Empire Strikes Back Season

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article contains Ted Lasso spoilers through season 2 episode 8.

Perhaps you’ve heard, but Apple TV+ series Ted Lasso was the subject of some dreaded Discourse recently. 

Since the Internet is infinite and we privileged few in the media have nothing but time, a handful of features came out weeks ago essentially questioning what Ted Lasso season 2 was even all about. Many of these features were well-written, well-argued, and fair, but when filtered through Twitter’s anti-nuance machine (i.e. Twitter itself), every feature boiled down to the same reductive take: Ted Lasso season 2 doesn’t have a conflict. 

In some respects, this take was the inevitable reaction to the metanarrative surrounding Ted Lasso in the first place. Despite drawing its inspiration from a series of somewhat cynical NBC Sports Premier League commercials, the first season of Ted Lasso was all about the transformative power of kindness. 

Or at least that’s what we critics declared it to be. And I don’t blame us. Awash in a flood of screeners about antiheroes, dystopias, and the end of the world, the simple kindness of Ted Lasso seemed revolutionary. They made a TV show about a guy who is…nice? They can do that? But the inherent goodness of its lead character was always Ted Lasso’s elevator pitch, not its thesis. 

There’s been a darkness at the center of Ted Lasso since its very first moment, when an American man got on a flight to London in a doomed attempt to save his marriage. And, as season 2’s brilliant eighth episode rolls around, it’s become clear that that darkness is what the show has really been “about” this whole time. 

Season 2 episode 8 “Man City” (the title is referring to AFC Richmond’s FA Cup match against opponent Manchester City but also stealthily reveals that this installment will be all about men and their respective traumas) is quite simply the best episode of Ted Lasso yet. It also might be the best episode of television this year. Near the episode’s end, right before AFC Richmond plays a crucial FA Cup match against the mighty Manchester City, coach Ted Lasso (Jason Sudeikis) finally comes clean with his coaching staff. He’s been suffering from panic attacks of late. His assistant coaches hear him, accept him, and then head off to the pitch where Man City absolutely obliterates their team.

Man City destroys AFC Richmond. They annihilate them. Embarrass them. Stuff them into a locker and steal their lunch money. The final score is 4-0 but it might as well be 400-0. The coaching staff is rattled but the players are hit even harder. Richmond’s star striker and former Man City player Jamie Tartt (Phil Dunster) is forced to endure watching his scumbag father cheer for his hometown team from the Wembley Stadium stands at the expense of his son. 

After the game, Jamie’s father, James (Kieran O’Brien), enters the locker room where he drunkenly accosts him for being a loser and demands that Jamie grant access to the Wembley Stadium pitch for him and his scumbag friends to run around on. When Jamie refuses, his father pushes him, so Jamie reflexively punches him right in the face. James is dragged out of the locker room by Coach Beard (Brendan Hunt), leading a stunned and traumatized Jamie Tartt standing in the middle of the room, as if in a spotlight of pure pain, surrounded by teammates too afraid to even approach him. And then something amazing happens…

Here’s the dirty secret about television: there’s a lot of it. Due to the sheer number of TV shows released each year, even the best of them are destined to become little more than memories long-term. Sometimes all you can ask from multiple episodes and seasons of television is to provide you with one moment, one line, or one warm feeling to carry with you into the future. I don’t know how much I’ll remember from Ted Lasso 30-40 years from now when I’m immobile and reclined in my floating entertainment unit, Wall-E style. But I know I’ll at least remember the moment that Roy hugs Jamie.

The great Roy Kent (Brett Goldstein) – a character so disconnected from his own emotions that some fans are convinced he’s CGI – embraces the one person in the world he is least likely to embrace. As Roy and Jamie wordlessly hug, it’s hard to tell which man is more shocked by the moment. Ultimately, however, it might be Ted Lasso himself who is hit hardest. Shortly after seeing Roy play father to the younger Jamie, Ted quickly exits the locker room and calls sports psychologist Dr. Sharon Fieldstone (Sarah Niles) on his Apple TV+-apporved iPhone. 

“My father killed himself when I was 16. That happened. To me and to my mom,” Ted says, weeping. 

And that, my friends, is what Ted Lasso is all about. Pain. And dads. But mostly pain. 

None of us can say that Ted Lasso didn’t warn us it was coming. To go back to the discourse of it all real quick – I don’t blame anyone for not picking up on the direction that this show was so clearly heading in. Ted Lasso is, first and foremost, a sitcom. The beauty of sitcoms is that you welcome them into your home to watch at your own pace and your own terms. If having Ted Lasso on in the background so you can occasionally see the handsome mustache man who smiles while you fold your laundry is the way you’ve chosen to engage with the show, then great! Just know that season 2 has been operating on a deeper level this whole time as well.

Let’s take things all the way back to the beginning – back to before season 2 even began. You’ve likely heard the old philosophical thought experiment “if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” Well Jason Sudeikis’s interviews leading up the season 2 premiere beg an equally as interesting hypothetical “how many times can one man mention The Empire Strikes Back before someone notices??”

Sudeikis referred to Ted Lasso season 2 as the show’s “Empire Strikes Back” multiple times before the premiere including in his local Kansas City Star and his technically local USA Today. The show even explicitly mentions the second Star Wars film in this season’s first episode when Richmond general manager Higgins (Jeremy Swyft) tells Ted that his kids are watching the trilogy for the first time. Sudeikis (who co-created and produces the show) and showrunner Bill Lawrence clearly want us to take the idea that Ted Lasso season 2 is The Empire Strikes Back seriously. And why would that be? 

Think of how ESB differs from its two Star Wars siblings in the original trilogy. This is the story that features arguably the series most iconic moment when Luke Skywalker discovers his dad is a dick on a literal universal level. It also has the only unambiguously downer ending of any original trilogy Star Wars film. Luke is thoroughly defeated in this installment. Having one’s hand chopped off by their father and barely escaping with their life is definitely the Star Wars version of a 4-0 defeat. 

The Empire Strikes Back can safely be boiled down into two concepts: 

Dads are complicated.

Everything sucks.

When viewed through those two conceptual prisms, so much of Ted Lasso season 2 begins to make more sense.

Episode 1 opens with the death of a dog and then leads into a classic Ted Lasso speech that could serve as this season’s mission statemetn. After recounting the story of how he cared for his sick neighbor’s dog, Ted concludes with: “It’s funny to think about the things in your life that can make you cry knowing that they existed then become the same thing that can make you cry knowing that they’re now gone. Those things come into our lives to help us get from one place to a better one.”

Things like…a father who you didn’t have nearly enough time with? Following episode 1 (and following just about every episode this season), Bill Lawrence took to Twitter to assuage viewers’ fears about a lack of central conflict this season. He had this to say about Ted’s big speech.

Look, Merrill. It was thought out, but the speech he gives after (Written by Jason himself – I loved it) is the core of the season, but we knew some people might bum out.

— Bill Lawrence (@VDOOZER) July 27, 2021

Sorry, truly. Ted’s speech after (which I love, but am obviously biased) is a big part of the season. But it sounds like you had a crappy thing happen recently.

— Bill Lawrence (@VDOOZER) July 28, 2021

It’s not. But Ted’s speech has big relevance. Stick around!

— Bill Lawrence (@VDOOZER) July 26, 2021

He also had this to say about dads.

Effin Dads, man. Love mine so, but he’s struggling a bit.

— Bill Lawrence (@VDOOZER) July 27, 2021

“Effin dads” and our complicated relationships with them are all over Ted Lasso season 2. In the very next episode, Sam Obisanya (Toheeb Jimoh) tells Ted “You know, my father says that every time you’re on TV, he’s very happy that I’m here. That I’m in safe hands with you.”

Ted smiles at this bit of info but not as warmly as you might expect. Because to Ted, a dad isn’t a reassuring presence but rather someone you love who will just leave when you need him the most. That’s why he’s been trying to be the perfect father figure this whole time. That’s why he did something as extreme as leaving his family behind in Kansas while he heads off to London. If giving his wife space was the only way to preserve the family and remain a good dad, then he was going to give her a whole ocean of space.

Moreover, Ted hasn’t just been trying to serve as a father figure to his son this whole time but to everyone else as well. Sam’s comment to Ted reminds him that not everyone has a good dad, which encourages him to bring Jamie into the fold in the first place.

As time goes on, however, the stress of being the consummate father to everyone in his orbit begins to wear on Ted. Throughout the entirety of this season, Ted Lasso appears to be trying to be Ted Lasso just a bit too hard. His energy levels are too high. His jokes go on too long. The same life lessons that worked last year aren’t working this year. AFC Richmond opens with an embarrassing streak of draws before Jamie’s immense talents set things straight.

It all culminates in this season’s sixth episode when Ted has his second panic attack in as many years. This time it’s in public during an important game. The experience sends Ted running through the concourse of the stadium until he somehow ends up in the dark on Dr. Fieldstone’s couch, instinctively, like a wounded animal. 

It’s certainly no coincidence that this panic attack occurs on the same day that Ted received a call from his son’s school asking him to pick him up, not realizing that he’s an ocean away. In that moment, Ted can’t help but remember what it’s like to be left behind by his own father and subconsciously wonder if he’s doing the same. 

Though the shallow waters of Ted Lasso season 2 may have appeared consequence free for half its run, beneath the surface was a tidal wave of conflict. Just because the conflict wasn’t taking place between a happy-go-lucky football coach and a villainous owner doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Game of Thrones author George R.R. Martin is terrible at meeting deadlines but great at writing. According to him (and William Faulkner, from whom he borrows the quote), the only conflict worth writing about is that of the human heart with itself. That’s something that The Empire Strikes Back understood. And it’s something that Ted Lasso season 2 does as well.

The post How Ted Lasso Sneakily Crafted its Empire Strikes Back Season appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3E4eqHF

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXIX: Mother of the Forest

When I received the call, an open refrigerator door hummed as its light leaked through to the dim space that was my apartment. Its light chill came as a breeze while I placed a bag of grapes within. Automatic, robotic, subconscious movements: standing in place, pivoting from one item to the next. I once heard that every seven years, the human body becomes anew, the old self having died out. There was a faint memory of a self of mine, a few deaths ago, long before the idea of having children ever came to pass, who stood and bagged groceries for minimum wage, and wondering how she would balance work and getting through high school.

In that same moment, I repeated that past life, in a more private setting. Just an hour prior, I had been the customer in line at the checkout counter. The woman behind me who I assumed to be one life older than I, arguing with the cashier over an expired coupon. Her spittle flew over the counter, and the scrawny and zoned out worker covered his face with the back of his arm as a means to protect himself.

I’m better than that. I’m not that kind of person, I often told myself, although if I had any sense of honesty, I often was. Something about the desire to be right, even when you know you don’t have a case, held such a sweet and sour taste; some of the grapes in the fridge had already spoiled from my last grocery visit.

My hand reached for the bottle of cranberry juice, but it soon became out of reach as my phone vibrated right beside it. There was a disconnect – a momentary hesitation – where I stood in place.

Just put that juice away, then answer it, my thoughts buzzed and scraped across my ears. Who was I to deny them? I had no expectations that the call would amount to anything of substance. If I had to guess, it might have been my boss, ready to beg and guilt trip me into working on one of my days off. That was a foolish decision, as I didn’t even notice the name on display on the screen. If I had, I would have picked up right away.

So it buzzed. Twice. On the third buzz, the refrigerator door swung closed and I picked up the phone. That was when I saw the name on the phone and a magnetic pull from below sent all the blood in me to sink down to the tip of my soles. When I tried to speak, I thought I would only manage a gasping breath. But instead, it was a normal, if gasping, voice:

“Demetria? Is that you?”

Not since I last heard from her, several months back, did I ever think I would hear from her again. No, maybe that was unrealistic. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I would hear from her at all: a simple hi every now and then sent through text, happy mother’s day or happy birthday messages. Those were the least (or most) I could hope for. But what it was instead was a belief that she had gone down the same path of the rest of my children and was too busy with her own life to think much of me.

So when she told me the truth, that she had dropped out of college, moved to the arctic over some crush, and worked as a waitress in a restaurant, I was elated. Any shock or sense of betrayal I may have felt didn’t register because there she was, alive, and wanting to come home. One of my children actually wanted to see me! It was enough to make me want to tap my shoes together and do a little jig!

After our conversation, however, I had no choice but to be aware of the environment I was in: empty, so empty. Every little space was covered by every day objects or some assortment of clutter. Paper towel rolls, post-it notes, bowls of fake fruit, tea and coffee cups, a box of makeup from that time I was suckered into buying from a friend’s multilevel-marketing gig. That was just a small sample of things which took up space on the kitchen counters. That didn’t even cover the hallways or the living room.

It was funny, really: when my kids lived with me, I’d get onto them about cleaning the house and made sure they did so. But when it came to me, alone and (in my own mind) free, I pretty much said, “fuck it, this is my space” and let the clutter do its thing.

Well, it sure did its thing, didn’t it? Hopefully Demetria wouldn’t mind.

When it came time to meet her, I felt the pervasive feeling that she wasn’t someone I recognized. It wasn’t the green hair, although that I didn’t expect. Nor was it her coming out, which although the notion never crossed my mind, didn’t really come as a surprise, either. Her loss of interest in her studies? Unfortunate, but not unheard of, especially when one attends university. Her new interest in knives? Concerning, but I could live with it.

No, it must have been something else. Even when she tried to revert to her old self, who I knew her as, I could tell there was something different. What it was, I just couldn’t place, but a thought crept in which brought shivers across my spine:

Maybe she’s not different and maybe I just never knew her very well to begin with.

That thought didn’t know what she was talking about. As far back as I could remember, Demetria was someone withdrawn and preferred her alone time. She valued hers and others’ hygiene and was quick to judge others, but also seemed to have a good heart deep down (at least, I’d like to think so). I always tried to give her her space, as I knew I would have wanted the same if I were her.

But there were little things which made me wonder if I was perhaps living with a different Demetria than the one I raised. One such example was when I sat at the sofa, watching one of my soap operas, Young and the Breastless, when I took a quick glance beside me to see none other than Demetria, pacing about and reading a book. Well...I assumed she was reading, but the book was upside down. She shook her head while she paced, flipping from page to page.

“Nope. I just can’t get into this,” she muttered, and it sounded less disappointed and more like she hadn’t yet given up hope that she would. I leaned forward and saw the title of the book: ‘Banana Fish.’

“What’cha up to?” I asked, and the show no longer took up my attention, instead becoming white noise.

“I’m trying to get back into marine biology, so I figured I’d read a new fish textbook, but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t get into it,” she explained and peered up from her book.

“Are you sure it’s about fish? I see a couple of guys on the cover,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, I’m assuming it’s one of those edutainment-type deals. Y’know, like Pajama Sam. Anyway, they haven’t actually talked about fish yet, but maybe it’s a slowburn textbook.”

Call it mother’s intuition, but something told me that book had nothing to do with actual fish. Props to her for trying to get back into her old interest, but she ought not to force herself.

“You know, you don’t have to get back into marine biology,” I suggested, “maybe pick up a new interest. What about knives?” That was such a weak suggestion, but it was something.

Even with her glasses on, she squinted, although it seemed less like a vision thing and more for effect, as if to say, “are you crazy, mom?!” It was weird to admit, too, but I already missed her green hair and as much as she tried to appear and act like her old self, it only seemed to highlight how much she had changed.

“What am I gonna do? Knive-ology? I don’t think that’s a thing,” she snapped her fingers for added effect.

Her old self would have just said something like, “I don’t want to make a career of that.”

I knew she had returned home due to having such a rough time with someone, but if anything, she had been more expressive. At least, around the house. I still couldn’t get her to go outside. Through every cycle of one’s life, it seemed at the core, some things remained.

Another day, I was watching a different soap opera on my day at work, this show called ‘The Good Doctor’ (yeah, generic name, I know).

“Good doctor! Your patient is having heart complications!” The assistant rushed to the good doctor in a panic. The good doctor sat at his desk with a suede suit and a polka dot tie and looked up, a bushy eyebrow raised.

“What’s the complications?” He asked, before pushing himself out from his seat.

“It’s complicated! Hurry!” The assistant urged the good doctor, who then rushed into the patient’s room. In the room, the patient leaned up from his bed, a shriveled up old man.

“Are you a good doctor?” He asked, a gravelly voice.

“I am the good doctor,” the good doctor replied, rather humbly, too.

“My heart keeps beating,” the patient moaned. “I don’t know why.”

“That’s what hearts do,” the good doctor answered, and a smile spread across the patient’s face.

“Wow, thanks doc. I’m cured!”

My viewing experience was interrupted by a plop as I turned to my right to see Demetria’s face looking back at me while she hung off from the top of the couch upside down.

“What’cha watchin’?” She asked in a tone that indicated that she was bored and didn’t really care.

“The Good Doctor,” I told her as I tried to keep my attention fixed on the show.

“Gee, I sure hope so,” she snickered. “If I was at the hospital, I know I’d want to be seen by the good doctor, not the bad one.”

I nudged her.

“Since when are you such a smart-ass?” I asked.

“You missed a lot of character arcs,” she continued the snark. “I went through several developments and regressions, and now I’m here.”

“I can see that,” I teased right back. Yes, two of us could be sarcastic.

“No, but for real, I’ve always been like this,” her voice turned quiet, contemplative. “I’ve just usually kept it in my head.”

That. That never occurred to me.

“Well, it’s fun,” I remarked. “I’m really glad to have you around.”

Her (glasses-less) eyes widened, then turned to a near-squint.

“You are?” She sounded quite puzzled by such a statement. As if it weren’t obvious to her.

“Of course! You’re my kid!”

“What about your other kids?” She pointed out.

“I love them, too, but they never come visit me. Well, Hestia does sometimes, but that’s still rare. It gets lonely here, you know.”

“What assholes,” she scoffed. I nudged her again.

“Those are your siblings you’re talking about!” I scolded, something I didn’t think I had to do. Oh well, it was a playful scold. “They’re good people, they’re just busy much of the time. Hestia’s an architect and works with various non-profit groups on the side. Hermes has his job as a fitness instructor. Then there’s Log...he’s busy being Log.”

“Sheesh, what’s with all these Greek myth names, anyway?”

I drummed up a storm of laughter, something which wasn’t really funny, but sometimes I just laughed to reminisce.

“Funny story about that…” I caught my breath. “Back when I was your age, I won a contest to go study abroad in Greece.”

“Did it come with a time machine?” She butted in.

“Are you gonna keep snarking or you gonna let me tell you?” I shot back. In response, she slunk down the couch, then sat up in a flurry of movements.

“Fire away, cap’n!” She gave me some goofy salute.

“So while I was at some museums, I met this nice Turkish guy and we hit things off pretty well. We went to a nice cafe and I got to unload my love of myth to him. That’s when he laughed and told me he was half-Greek himself, and he was visiting some family. After I went back to the states, we kept in touch as penpals and sent letters to each other back and forth. You probably don’t need me to tell you the rest.” I stopped myself. If I were to continue, it would have been a much longer story than it needed to be.

“Uh, yeah I do. What’s that got to do with giving us weird names?”

“Well, you know how there’s that tradition in our family to name ourselves after trees. My mom named me Sequoia, and she was Cypress. So when I had my first kid, all the relatives wanted to know what tree-related name I would give them. I gave it some thought and then decided that I wanted to do something different, so chose the name of a goddess I loved, Hestia.”

“Ugh, Hestia,” Demetria groaned, “it’s always ‘Hestia is bestia’ and ‘is there nothing Hestia can’t do?’ It’s grating.”

While I admit the praises seemed rather excessive, I was proud of her, just as much as I was proud of all my children in some way or another.

“Next came Hermes, and at that point, the whole family was up in arms, begging and pleading for just one tree name. So I compromised and said that if I had a third kid, I’d name them something tree-related. That seemed to get them off my back.”

“Thus, lo and behold, Log was born,” Demetria raised her head up and put her hand to her chest, almost singing out the words. Talk about dramatic.

“But then, you were born, just a few years after Log. I really didn’t expect to have another kid, and I figured to balance things out, I’d name you Sycamore. But then I decided: fuck it. You’re Demetria. And the rest was history.”

Yes. I was sure she heard the explanation before, but I suppose it bore repeating. It was just a shame that she never got to meet her father.

“What was he like?” She once asked me.

“He was a kind man. Patient, loved to listen to others. Never had a mean bone in his body. You would have liked him, I’m sure.”

“Would I have?”

“Maybe. I suppose it’s hard to say.”

Yes. Just a few months before Demetria was to come into this world, Beet Root (he took my last name) lost his life in a car accident. It was hard, to say the least. More than hard. But what else could I do? I couldn’t just stop raising my kids. So I continued on, through the grief and confusion. So it may have gone that she was born with a little bit of grief and confusion as well.

At least with the way things were, there was more time we could spend together. More things I could learn about her. There were still things I would have liked to see from her, though: making friends, finding a job, getting outside more. All things she didn’t seem to want anything to do with. I mean, she came out to me, didn’t that mean she wanted a girlfriend? It wouldn’t happen if she didn’t try.

I know, I’ll help her out, I thought in the middle of my shift. While my main job was working front desk at the Himbo Hotel, I’d sometimes work as a part-time taxi driver on the side. It didn’t pay a lot, but it was fun to meet different people, sometimes.

One person that I picked up was a tall and twig-like girl with blue and pink pastel colored denim clothing (jacket and pants) and hot pink hair.

“Are you Macie?” I asked as I rolled down my window.

“I might be,” she replied, then got in through the backdoor.

Once she was in, I let curiosity get the better of me.

“So...I’ve got a daughter,” I mentioned.

“Yeah? You want me to babysit her?” She asked offhand.

“No, no, I was just wondering if you’d like to meet her.”

“Why?”

“Well...she’s gay…” As soon as those words left my mouth, I saw her put the back of her hand over her mouth in the rearview mirror and laugh.

“Okay then, what’s she like?”

“Hmm...well...she likes...knives?” I just realized how hard it was to describe her to someone else.

“No thanks, I’m not into the hardcore type.”

“She’s not hardcore! It’s just an aesthetic thing...I think. She also likes to work out, and she’s got a bachelor’s degree in zoology.”

There. I think I listed enough positive traits.

Macie shrugged.

“All right, I’ll bite. I’ll write down my number. But if it turns out to be one of those weird catfishy things, I’m blocking both of you and leaving a one star review.”

I gulped, but couldn’t help but whisper a triumphant “yes!”

After I dropped her off at her destination, I returned home and raced to Demetria’s room to deliver the good news. I knocked on her door and after a few successive pounds, she opened up. She stood with a small towel over her forehead, a black tank top on, and working up a sweat.

“Hey! Guess what? I got a girl’s number!” I couldn’t wait for a greeting, I just had to tell her.

“Aw, you didn’t even give me time to guess…” She turned her head and looked down, disappointed.

“Aren’t you excited?”

“Oh, yeah, grats.”

“No, not for me! For you!”

“Oh. Not interested,” she turned away.

“Come on, you might like her! At the least, you might make a friend!” I urged her. She should’ve at least tried.

“I don’t wanna make any friends, especially not with someone I know nothing about.”

“It’s not good to shut yourself off in your room!” I pleaded.

“You never had a problem with it before.”

...She had a point. I shouldn’t have minded so much, but I just really wanted to help her out and didn’t know how.

“You’re right. I hope you’ve had a good day,” I softened my voice, then closed her door.

Other than watch TV and eat together, we didn’t really interact much. That was fine, we didn’t have to, but she should’ve at least interacted with someone. What I saw in her wasn’t someone who was in her room all the time, indulging in her study. Instead, I got the notion that she was deliberately avoiding going outside. As if there was something out there that she was afraid of. If that was the case, I didn’t know what.

There was one girl I managed to get her to speak to, though. Granted, it was her sister, but it was something. Especially since I knew how much she didn’t like to spend time around her siblings.

I had a video call set up with Hestia on my laptop.

“Hey mom, how’s things been?” She asked, her bright smile ever-present on her face. She was seated at the dining room in her own apartment, a much more effervescent air surrounded her while her tucked back teal hair took up a large part of the top of the screen.

“I’m good, things have been great, actually. Demetria’s living with me now,” I told her.

“Oh? I remember how freaked out you were a while back ago. It’s good to know she’s okay.”

“I know, right? Apparently she went to the arctic for a while because of a crush.”

Hestia laughed, a sort of high-pitched “ohoho” laugh.

“She always did do her own thing, didn’t she? I regret not being closer with her, but what’s done is done and there’s no room for regrets.”

“You could come visit,” I suggested. And it wasn’t just that I was lonely. “Maybe you two could hang out or something.”

Hestia put her index finger on her chin and hummed.

“I would like to, but you know how busy I can be. I won’t rule it out, though, ‘kay?”

I sighed. That was the best I could hope for, wasn’t it?

“By the way, it turns out she’s gay.”

Again, hum.

“I’m not surprised at all,” she replied, that same kind voice as ever. “Did you hear about Hermes’ new boyfriend?”

I shook my head.

“No, what’s he like?”

“No idea! But he says he has one, and he seems happy, so that’s all that matters, right?”

“Heh, guess so. Say, how’s things with your girlfriend?”

“Good, good. Aphrodite’s been helping me volunteer at an animal rescue on my days off.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Maybe you and Demetria can bond over your love of women,” I suggested. That was met with another hum.

“That’s a decent enough idea, but everyone experiences love differently, so we may be too different to relate to one another.”

Just because it wouldn’t be exactly the same, that didn’t mean the two couldn’t relate, could it? That just didn’t make sense to me. Yet when I could have voiced as much, I didn’t.

“Would you like to talk to her right now? I could go get her,” I instead said.

“Of course, I’d love to say hello to my dear sister!”

“Demetria!” I called for her. Without a moment’s hesitation, she made sluggish motions toward the dining room. After rubbing her eyes, she looked my way.

“What?” She groaned.

“Wanna say hi to Hestia?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, then looked at the laptop screen. “’Sup?”

“Why hello, Demetria! You’re looking as cute as ever!” Hestia oozed joy from the swaying of her head.

“Uh, thanks. You’re looking tryhard as ever, yourself,” she replied in a flat, deadpan tone. I nudged her.

“Be nice,” I whispered. She looked up at me in response, a wide-eyed and pathetic expression on her face.

“No puppy dog eyes, either.”

“How have you been, Demetria?” Hestia seemed to wave off the snarky remark, “do you still shut yourself off in your room?”

My face felt like it was about to turn red, but Demetria seemed unfazed.

“I shut myself off in your mom,” she shot right back. As if she was some grade-schooler.

“Ew. We have the same mom.”

Yes. That same mom was listening to the two of them as they spoke.

“Uh...well…” Demetria stammered as she struggled to save face.

I snickered. Now both girls looked at me and in unison asked, “what’s so funny?”

“It’s nice to see you two get along so well,” I remarked.

The two laughed as well at that notion.

“Yes, I agree,” Hestia proclaimed, “it was nice to hear from you, my dear sister. You look well.”

“Yeah, later, spoiled princess,” Demetria shrugged, then walked away. Then, the unexpected happened:

“Butthead!” Hestia yelled back, and stuck her tongue out. Upon realizing what she had done, she put both hands over her mouth. I shook my head.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I don’t know, that was rather unbecoming of me. Do forgive me,” she spoke all fancy, then gave me puppy dog eyes as well.

“You’re ten years older than her! You’re supposed to set a good example!” I cried out. To that, she raised and index finger and with her eyes closed, gave a triumphant smile.

“Actually, we’re both adults, so if anything, she should know better than to have such an attitude!” She declared.

Once again, I shook my head.

“Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom! Do give Demetria my sincerest of apologies!”

The video call ended. As much as that (began and) ended in bickering, it was still progress. They spoke to each other. Baby steps. Maybe after that, she would branch out a little more and –

I could only wish.

About a week after that conversation, I got off work and noticed a text on my phone. I opened up the message and I felt my heart caught in a bear trap:

Demetria: Hey, try not to worry too much when you get home, but I won’t be there. I went outside and got a smoothie like you wanted me to. It was good, but it got me thinking how I the whole time I’ve been with you, I’ve felt stuck. Not stuck because of you, but stuck because I haven’t found any interest that I’ve felt passionate about. I don’t know what I want to do and it frightens me. So I’ve decided to go off and try to figure things out. I’ll see if I can stay with Juniper for a little while, maybe a change in environment will help. Love you, and goodbye for now.

I rushed home. I tried texting her back, but it wouldn’t send. I tried calling, only to receive dead air.

Her phone must be off. But why? Is she in danger?

Frantic, unsure of what else to do, I called Juniper.

“Hey, is Demetria with you?” I asked, as Juniper answered right away.

“No? Not unless she’s hiding somewhere. Why?” She seemed genuinely puzzled by my question, meanwhile I was still hyperventilating.

“She left me a message. Said she’d be with you.”

“Huh. I haven’t heard anything like that. But maybe she’s on her way? I dunno.”

“Okay. Just. Let me know if you see her, okay?”

“Sure thing! Hope she’s doing all right!”

“Me too.”

I hung up. Next was Hestia, but not because I thought she’d know Demetria’s whereabouts, but just because I needed someone to vent to. The phone kept ringing, but there was no answer. Then it timed out.

Of course. Because she’s always doing something.

However, just a minute later, Hestia called back.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” She greeted.

“Demetria. She...she…” I had trouble getting it all out.

“Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. She ran off.”

“Oh my…”

“I don’t know what to do. She left a message saying she’d see if she could stay with Juniper.”

“So maybe she’s with Juniper.”

“I called her and she said Demetria’s not there. I’m worried.”

“Yeah, I can tell. When did you last see her?”

“This morning. Right before work.”

“That’s probably why. I’d say it takes more than an afternoon to reach Juniper’s place.”

Right. That thought never occurred to me. But then, where would she stay on her way there? Motels? What if something bad happened there?

“I’m just...I really thought she would stay. I gave her her space. I let her do whatever. But she didn’t want to make friends and she didn’t want to leave the house and –”

“...Sounds like she left the house, though,” Hestia pointed out.

“You’re right. I should be happy. She’ll be fine. She was fine before.”

“Mom.”

“What is it, dear?”

“Chill. She’s an adult. Just let her do her thing. She’s always been an independent person, so let her be. If she wants to come back, just tell her ‘no, I’ve made my choice.’”

I balked.

“I couldn’t do that!”

“I’m not saying to be mean. Look, I know this family’s known for being overly nice, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a pushover. It’s bad enough you’re a worrywart.”

“I just don’t want to be too tough. I remember how Juniper’s mom was and I told myself I wouldn’t be like her.”

“You’re not…” Hestia muttered, then continued, “you’re afraid of letting her go, aren’t you?”

That struck me. Not because of how harsh it was. No, her tone of voice was sympathetic, if anything.

“I just wanted to spend more time with her,” I began to tear up, “She didn’t stay for very long and I thought I could have some company.”

“I understand. It probably gets lonely.”

“It does…”

“It’s not too late for you, either. You can try to make friends, you can go out and have fun. You should take care of yourself, too.”

“You’re right,” my voice turned weepy, but I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course. I gotta go, mom. I’m busy petting goats at a petting zoo. Did you know that statistically, one in five goats don’t get pet?”

“One of your volunteer works?” I asked.

“You know it.”

The call ended after that. So once again I was left in an empty house, full of clutter. Days went by, the same routine, and I waited for some update, some word as to where she was. So far, nothing. At a certain point, I considered adopting a ferret. I hadn’t quite decided yet, but it might help.

#remoras full #wriitng #stories #this chapter is on the short side #I admit this chapter is kind of rough in terms of quality #but thats okay #im allowed a not so good chapter every now and then

[monchikyun]

11. till the end of time

Nothing lasts forever. That’s something he should have known from the very beginning. But it’s difficult to think like that when it feels like time doesn’t exist. They were safe for a while, seemed like nothing could stop them. But then it got too perfect and with it came the fear. He was absorbed by it to the extent that no amount of reassurance could put him at ease. Humanity in general doesn’t provide a great example for happily ever after and he isn’t sure he even believes in it, but he’s willing to do everything in his power to take them as far as possible. To the end of the line. Cutting his lifespan short would always be sacrifice enough not to live in a world where Gavin is buried in the ground.

Connor peruses all his memories, looking for anything that would persuade him otherwise, but there is not a fragment of doubt he could latch onto. All the bad doesn’t even come close to overwriting the magic they created together. It looks like it’s truly meant to be. What a terrifying concept.

He isn’t sure how he’s going to go about it, there is no concrete plan anywhere on his mind. It won’t be perfect no matter what he decides to do so there is no point in worrying about it too much. Still, Gavin deserves some effort. It’s not like he stayed with him this long out of kindness, though it might be one of the contributing factors. In the end, it all depends on trust. There is no verbal proof that they both have the same future in mind, but he doesn’t need it. It’s clear from all the gestures he receives and all the words that are whispered between them. If he can ever rely on a feeling, now is a great time.

They have so much ahead of them, so why not seal it so that it’s there for them to hold onto. Not that they wouldn’t be able to function without it, that’s not the case here. A way to decorate their relationship, to dress is it in a shiny suit, that’s more how Connor sees it. To officially form the family they both never had and always wondered how it would feel to be a part of. Disregarding the fact they could already be one, without realising it properly.

The weather is auspicious too. A downpour. Gavin once said that it means that the sky is crying, but not always because it’s sad. Sometimes it experiences joy so intense it cannot contain itself. Connor wants to think that today is one of those times, that the absolute happiness he feels inside is has been transmitted to the clouds and above, to the whole universe.

And so he waits. He has ended his shift a couple of hours earlier than Gavin, which in turn allowed him the time to make up his mind once and for all. It’s a reminder to him that there is some good in everything.

But the hours he has to fill the emptiness with drag on for years and when the tired autumn sun sets, he’s still alone. Outside, the rain has stopped but it still lashes down inside of Connor.  

Then he gets a phone call. Something his fears have warned him about. The moment when their little world starts breaking apart.

He can’t connect the words “Gavin” and “shot” in a way that would make sense to him, only the part that he probably should be there makes him run out of the door and straight to the hospital. “Probably should.” Like there is any other option.

The room he has to wait in smells of death and antiseptic and he has to do his best just to remain in one piece. Tina is there next to him, but that might be just a mirage. He can’t see anything through the pain. Still, the comforting hand on his is as real as is this nightmare, so he takes it and tries to convey through it all the things he can’t say out loud right now. As long as he stays quiet, he can still hope to wake up from this tragedy.

If Gavin survives this, if they’re allowed to see each other one more time, he’ll give him every single bit of his heart until there’s nothing left, just to keep him alive. He’d give anything for their time to continue.

When the surgeon enters the waiting room, Connor immediately knows the result before the man has the chance to open his mouth.

-

It was a harsh ordeal, passing as a suitable visitor, but he hasn’t been created as a negotiator for no reason. Also refusing to leave the premises and reducing himself to an image of a kicked puppy might have helped his cause a little.

But the fact that Gavin is breathing and on his path to recovery overshadows the endless hours he has spent begging to be let in. And now he is beyond elated to finally be near him. He would wait till the end of time if it meant that they can be together once more.

“Hey.” Connor doesn’t mean to wake him up, he just gets a bit carried away when taking hold of his hand. Luckily he hasn’t crushed any of his bones, the injuries he sustained at work looked bad enough.

“Good morning.”

“Is it already?” Gavin eyes the darkness behind the white curtain.

“Might be.” He is likely even more clueless about time-progression than his bedridden boyfriend, to be honest.

The smile he receives makes him realise just how cold he has been this whole time, a miracle that he hasn’t frozen to death. But the warmth emanating from Gavin is enough to melt him anew.

“You know, I was going to ask you to marry me if you had come home on time like a sensible person.”

He promised himself to tell him the next time they meet, after all. But he hasn’t expected bringing Gavin to tears, not this much at least.

“Does it still stand?”

Or maybe it was him who is crying, it isn’t easy to discern the difference when his system is about to overheat.

“Of course it does.”

“Okay then. Let’s do it.” He gently grasps his hand again, so he doesn’t float away with how light he feels.  “A soon as I’m out of here. I have never planned on letting you leave me anyway. You’re stuck with me forever. It’s you and me till the end of time, tin can.”

@convinseptember i don’t know this is my first proposal story ever :D

#convinseptember #convin #this could go both ways #but does it have a happy ending? #go find out I dare you xD #big brain fog mood today btw

[nativehueofresolution]

loki and thor

The tough thing about Thor and Loki is there’s so many incarnations of them because they keep dying and reincarnating, and each version tends to have pretty distinct dynamics… so I kind of tried to do a greatest hits of different incarnations because I think understanding all the different flavors of their dynamic is what gets you the full Thor and Loki experience.

1) Loki (2004) #4 - Mythic Thor and Loki! Blood Brothers is still very rooted in the Marvel versions of the characters, but it’s an alternate universe that imagines Thor and Loki having gone through centuries of their love/hate cycle and finally reaching a breaking point--which short of captures the epic scope of their mythic characters, imo. Despite the “what ifs” of it all, I think the insight the series gives into their relationship is totally on point. Loki not being able to go through with killing Thor, hating him because he loves him, everything falling apart at the moment it looks like they could reconcile, the inevitability and tragic doom of it all falling apart...

2) Siege #4 - Classic Thor and Loki! Ish. I mean it’s the original versions, but on the modern side… but whatever, I’m not familiar enough with the really old stuff to pick out a special issue. The good old fashion Loki realizes his evil plan has gone horribly right, dies trying to redeem himself, and Thor is the only one deeply heartbroken… classic! Plus on that helps inform a lot of the following incarnations of their relationship.

3) Thor (2007) #617 - Thor and Kid!LokI! This is the issue where Thor gives Serrure his memories back. To me it says everything about their relationship that Thor brings Loki back after all the hurt Loki caused, when no one else thought it was a good idea, when Loki had done Thor so much personal harm… yet did it selfishly, really only thinking about how much he wanted Loki back, not thinking about what life would be like for Loki, basically pressuring Serrure to give up his life and identity to come back to Asgard, in spite of how hated he will be. It’s selflessly selfish, which is Thor and Loki to a T.

4) Loki: Agent of Asgard #10 - Thor and God of Stories Loki! Well, kind of. He’s in the middle of it. Anyways, it doesn’t get any more emotional than Thor finding out about Kid!Loki dying, fighting to the near death, and Loki tearfully begging Thor not to go. Trying to change but really just falling back into the same cycle. And you get the flipside of some of the previous issues, with Thor being the one who is not able to go through with killing Loki.

5) Thor (2020) #9 - King Thor and King Loki! Their current dynamic is really fun--to my mind, this current stage, with Thor as king of Asgard and Loki as king of Jotunheim, is the first time both of them have really been pretty much on equal standing. This issue may not have the most in terms of screentime, but I think it gives more insight into their current dynamic than something like Loki (2019). Thor being really vulnerable with Loki by confiding in  him about Donald Blake, and yet he’s still being secretive about why he really needs help, even though Loki is obviously signalling to Thor he knows what’s going on. Thor asking for Loki’s help lying, even though he knows Loki is trying to change. Yet the fact that Loki can call Thor on it, and Thor can still be vulnerable… it’s good!

#ta! <3 #wizardysseus