#so i wish i just hadn’t ever existed and they let someone else who died too young who wants to do my life right take over my body so i don’t

[hollandsfavbabe]

Where Do We Go Now

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis: in which the death of y/n's father leaves her determined to bring him back and her boyfriend peter determined to save her

warnings: endgame aftermath, death, parental loss, isolation, suicide attempt (but magical?), it gets better - I promise

word count: 7.1k

masterlist

a/n: Hey guys. This is going to be a bit longer than my usual notes, but I feel like I should explain why I've been gone for so long and why this story is a lot sadder than my usual ones. My community has been riddled with tragedy recently as we've lost a lot of people to suicide this past year, some of which have been as young as middle school age. One of my friends died by suicide a couple months ago. I can't express to you guys how hard it's been trying to deal with the pain and the guilt his death has caused me and my loved ones. So many days have passed where I wish I could've been a better friend for him while he was here. It hurts more knowing that other people are hurting too. Writing this was the best way for me to cope for many reasons. I wanted to write about how I'm feeling and honor my friend in some way even if it's through a silly little fanfiction. I know I'm late, but I also wanted to honor one of my favorite characters, Tony Stark as he canonically died this past October. That being said, if you are struggling please, I implore you, talk to someone. There are so many people on this planet who would be so torn without you. My dms are always a safe space if you need anything at all <3

Also I'd like to thank Gracie Abrams for her music that I had on repeat the entire time I was writing this. I hope you like it!

“I am Iron Man.”

The words replayed in your head, over and over like a broken record with no one to turn it to a new tune. That’s exactly how you felt. So alone in your grief that even if miraculously every wish you'd ever made in the whole of your existence had been granted, it still wouldn’t be enough to make you happy again. To make you feel anything besides the constant regret and incessant grief that anchored you down as you wasted away in your bed.

It had been exactly a week since the passing of the great Tony Stark. Everyone else in the compound had mourned their coworker, riddled by a somewhat lesser version of your sadness for only a few days after his death. It’s not as if their grief had been washed away as if it never stained their cheeks with tears or weighed down their hearts with sorrow, but it eased much quicker than yours and before long they could continue their duties. Everything was so much harder for you because Tony hadn’t just been a coworker. He was your father.

You relieved every memory you had of him like bittersweet torture. You remembered when he held you as a little girl, wiping up a bloodied knee. When he discovered you had powers and helped you control them. Later on when he banned you from joining in on the Avenger’s Civil War and afterwards when he thanked you for sneaking in to help anyway. You could almost feel his comforting embrace as if it was only yesterday that he was assuring you before a failed battle against the mad Titan Thanos, the same one that left you dusted and missing your father’s last five years on Earth. And finally, of course, you remember his last moments all too well. It played out before you like the tragic ending of a stage play. 

“Let me do it,” you shouted over the sound of war cries and carnage that surrounded you on the packed battlefield. “I can take it!”

You were almost certain that your power, your immeasurable magic, could handle the debilitating strength of the Infinity Stones making you the most reasonable choice for snapping Thanos and his army out of existence, but your father refused to risk losing his eldest.

“No,” he breathed, the metal plate shielding his chest rising and falling from the heat of the action. There was only one way to succeed, only one way to put a stop to the destruction of the universe. It had to be him. “I won’t risk losing you, not while you’re still so young. You have so much life ahead of you.”

“Not without you!” you cried, a tear streaming from your eye.

There wasn’t much time for your conversation as the world was moments away from being wiped of its human history, but despite the odds your father pulled you into a tight hug, as if he knew it would be the last. You both did.

“You are the strongest person I’ve ever known and I’m so proud of what you’ve become already.” he smiled when you finally pulled apart.

“I need you dad,” you sobbed, still reluctant to let him leave you. With the threat of his death, suddenly Thanos’ defeat didn’t matter anymore. Not nearly as much as having your father by your side. “I’m not ready.”

Your dad looked down on you with the saddest of smiles, but if any part of him was upset about his decision, he made no other hint toward it. He just held you close for as long as possible and comforted you in the way that you could always count on him for. In the way, it hit you, that you could never count on him for again. But yet, in the face of death, he cradled you close and spoke in his signature fatherly tone: assertive yet on the edge of softness.

“No one’s ever ready -,” he answered truthfully. “- but I know you can handle it. You always do.”

You looked up at him as he finally pulled away and headed towards the purple giant, but not before turning to you for one final declaration.

“I love you, junior, to the edge and back again.”

And then he was gone. You never got the chance to say it back.

Yours was the last name he uttered before his heart stopped beating and the light on his suit went out. By then Pepper had already said her goodbyes and you both were huddled close to his body, weeping as the other Avengers knelt around you in honor of your father. Peter was hunched behind you, one hand on your shoulder while the other worked to wipe away his own tears. Oh Peter, you had your father to thank for him.

It was Tony who was credited with setting you up with your long term boyfriend, Peter Parker, even if it was a complete accident. You two had gotten acquainted on a fateful plane ride to Germany and eventually ended up together after many failed attempts at confessing your feelings. There was something about him that had you smitten with him from your first encounter, your liking only strengthened when you learned that your father approved. He’d been with you through thick and thin and even now, Peter was the only person who could even remotely share your pain besides Pepper. Tony was like his father too.

He’d taken care of you ever since the incident. Brought you food and water, helped you dress in your black attire for the funeral, laid with you in your bed each night to calm you whenever you awoke in a nightmarish terror. He showed his love for you prevailing over his grief in the most selfless of ways and yet all you had managed to do since you father’s funeral was stand to use the restroom every once in a while. It piled on more weight that your poor soul could already take. You were nothing, but a miserable burden now.

The door to your room opened with squealing hinges as Peter stepped in, returning from school where he had spent the morning reuniting with your shared friends and finding out when the official return date was. You were supposed to join him, but instead you hadn’t moved an inch since he left. It wasn’t as if you wanted to waste the entire day in your lonely sheets again. You yearned for everything to go back to how it was; when Peter was happy and you could share it with him. When your father used to smile upon the two teens he didn’t mean to bring together. When your father was alive.

“Hey,” he said, softly as if not to startle you from your endless torturous pondering. He set something down on your dresser, a small stack of papers he must have gathered from the school, and removed his fall coat before sauntering over to you. The bed creaked and shifted under his weight as he took a seat next to you. “Good news, we don’t have to go back until the next semester so we get a break until January. Ned was asking about you. He wants to know how you’re doing.”

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes red-rimmed from all of your crying and your lips cracked and dry.

“What did you tell him?” you croaked, your voice hoarse from under use. There was little to talk about and no one else to talk to whenever Peter wasn’t around. Pepper had visited you once, but with Morgan to look after, she couldn’t spare much time for her late husband’s grieving daughter. You’d seen Happy a couple times as well, but he needed his own time to recover and reflect on his past time with his best friend.

Peter was gentle as he tucked some of the hair strands snot cemented to your jaw behind your ear and cupped your cheek in his palm. He was cold from the autumn chill outside, but his hand ignited the same soothing heat that his touch always brought forth.

“I said you were recovering,” he answered truthfully. “And that it’s different for everyone. And no matter how long it takes, I’m here for you every step of the way.”

The ghost of a smile graced your lips and had it not felt like it stopped beating after losing your father, your heart may have fluttered in its cavity in your chest.

“Thanks Peter,” you curled closer to him in the most sincere of ways. “But I’m afraid it’s going to be a while before I can get up to see Ned again. Give him my best.”

“Take your time. I’m sure he understands.” Peter assured before pulling off his flannel and laying down beside you to wrap you in his arms, allowing you to tuck your face in his chest. As unhappy as you were, all the swirling emotions of suffering were always suppressed by the sound of Peter’s heart and the feel of his body around yours. You stayed like that for a while, holding each other before Peter broke the silence as it neared time for your midday meal.

“I think you should come with me today,” Peter suggested, rising to run his daily lunch retrieval before running a loving hand through your hair. You couldn’t understand how he hadn’t gotten sick of you yet. You hadn’t been able to wash in over a week. “It’s not good for you to stay here all day long. You need to start moving.”

His voice was full of worry, though he wasn’t overbearing. He wanted the best for you, it’s all he ever wanted really.

“I don’t know Peter, I don’t think I can.” you sighed as tears started to fill your eyes again. How could anyone stand to be around you when you were being so pathetic. You wished there was a way to erase your pain, anything to bring you to your normal self again.

“It's okay baby,” Peter hugged you into a tight embrace, kissing your tears as they fell in slow salty streams. “I know it hurts, I feel it too. But I read somewhere that the best thing to do is keep a consistent routine. Maybe you should start today. Come get lunch with me.”

You wanted to agree, but there was no part of you that could move from the weight of your grief. It pressed you down, gravity multiplied by the mass of your sadness as it consumed you. It felt as if only a miracle could save you now.

“I’m so sorry.” you stated with remorse, but Peter made no move to share his disappointment if he had any at all. Instead he leaned down from his seated position and placed his lips on your forehead, a gesture as if to say that all was alright.

“Please don’t cry, y/n. It’s okay.” he assured you before standing to leave and get you something that you figured you probably wouldn’t even eat very much of.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, turning the handle of your door to leave before looking back at you sprawled on your bed. Suddenly, as if he had recalled the cure to the rainiest of days, he expression shifted to one of great excitement as he stopped back into your room.

“I almost forgot,” he began. “Doctor Strange was here earlier. He wanted me to tell you he’s offering some meditation sessions for you if you’re interested. He said they’d be good for your powers and that they might help you feel better if you want to think about it. He’s free at 8 tomorrow.”

You nearly perked up at the sound of the man’s name, picking up your head to cast a last longing glance at Peter as he waited for a parting word.

“Thanks,” you managed. “I’ll let you know.”

And off Peter went to get you both something to eat.

You weren’t sure if he knew how dangerous it was for you to be left with your thoughts, how the mention of the magic doctor sprouted a myriad of mystical ideas all aimed at the same goal that would erase your eternal lonesome aching. How to bring your father back. By the time Peter returned with his hands full of two homemade sandwiches and more sweets than the two of you could ever finish in one sitting, your mind had been made up and you were ready to set the plan in motion.

The following evening was your first time out of the confines of your rooms for days. Peter had helped you greatly with all the tasks you did not have the mental power to do all on your own. He had brushed your hair and made your bed and before you left in one of the less expensive cars held on Avenger’s campus, he sent you off adorned with one of his favorite sweatshirts, a peck on the forehead and enough I love you’s to last more than a lifetime.

You pulled the sleeve of Peter’s sweatshirt over your palm as you drove off, using the cloth to wipe away fresh tears that had fallen after you left your boyfriend’s loving gaze. You’d always been an overthinker, but your bad habits crept up on you worse in your unbreakable stage of sadness. Especially in your father’s favorite car.

You didn’t understand why he hadn’t left you already. Maybe he would. Peter had offered to join you at Strange’s, but after you insisted you had to go alone, he made plans to go help his Aunt May figure out their apartment situation as the pair had been inadvertently kicked out after being gone for so many years. You’d almost forgotten he used to split his nights between the compound and his own bedroom. Recently he’d only stay with you.

He promised to be back before dinner so that the two of you could keep up your progress, but an unsolicited voice within you convinced you that he wouldn’t want to return. You weren’t good enough for him anymore, not like you used to be. Your plan was better for the both of you and as you pulled up to the familiar building on Bleecker Street, all the pieces started to fall into place.

You stepped up to the door, raising your fist to knock only for the door to crack open by itself as if to invite you in. You waited for the familiar sternness of Doctor Strange’s voice to greet you once you were past the stone floored foyer, but only wisps of the autumn breeze caught your ear. 

“Strange?” you called, your voice still not stable enough to be louder than a whispery dialogue. You were met with no response. It was just like you had planned. The wizard wasn’t home.

You felt a strong tug towards the room of your desires, the forbidden library. It was as if fate was leading you or some other force from above, another sign that you were meant to do it.

Your steps were more sure than they had been in days as you made your way to the self, passing any magical fire walls with the sheer unfiltered strength of your powers. Strange once told you that they were guided by your emotion, the quintessential essence of every magic holder even to people like you and Wanda Maximoff who were outside of his world protecting wizard cult. It was easier than it should have been, like slicing paper with a katana, you broke each enchantment until all that was left was the cool leather cover of the book you were looking for. The book with every answer you needed inside its ancient yellowing pages, but you only needed the spell that would revive your father. Locating it near the middle of the book, your tore out the page and turned back to your car, leaving the Sanctum with the same unhurried pace you had entered it with. There was no stopping you now.

Peter was only an half an hour late for your agreed meet up time when he arrived at the campus. He expected you’d be in your room as per usual and as he made his way to your door, the excitement of getting to hold you and talk about your first day out of the campus since the funeral built up in his chest. He wasn’t sure if any accomplishment in the world could make him as proud as he was of you. With two brown paper bags of groceries in his hand, he couldn’t wait to shower you in the affection that you deserved with all of your favorite snacks, enough to share of course.

“Y/n,” he smiled, using his webbing to open your door handle only to find, much to his disappointment, that you were nowhere to be found.

He checked all over campus, leaving the bags by your bed. No one had seen you since you’d left and the spot where the car you’d taken was still empty, the normally pristine concrete covered in fallen crisp maroon leaves. It didn’t make any sense. Where could you possibly have gone?

“Y/n!” he called, circling the perimeter of the campus looking for you. There was still no sign of your reappearance. “Y/n- oh. Hi Ms. Maximoff.” Peter forced a strained smile as he nearly bumped into the woman.

“Peter, we’ve been over this,” Wanda answered, her voice calm. “You can call me Wanda.”

Like you, the witch hadn’t been doing the best in recent days as she had lost something just as valuable as a father: her partner. While she occasionally had days where the ground would’ve been lucky to feel the grace of her step, her superhero duties had kept her from spending each day hidden from society. She had a different way of coping, but like others, she seemed to start getting back into routine again.

“Right, sorry Wanda.” Peter apologized.

“What are you doing out here?” inquired the witch in her native Sokovian accent, always intuitive. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s y/n. I can’t find her anywhere and we agreed to meet back here nearly - an hour ago!” Peter pulled up his coat sleeve to check the time on his watch, the face of which bore a picture of him and your father from only a few months before the snap. It had been a birthday gift, one of his favorites in fact, though it couldn't top what you had given him the same year: a lego set and your first kiss.

“I didn’t know that she got out of bed. That’s a big step!” 

“Yes it is and we were going to celebrate tonight, but she hasn’t come back yet which is really not like her.” worried Peter.

“Where did she go?”

“Strange’s. He was going to give her a meditation lesson for her powers.”

Confused, Wanda's eyebrow furrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Doesn’t she know how to use them already?”

“Yes, but he thought it would help her manage her grief. Working out is a pretty common method, but she hates going to the gym so he figured some meditation would be better for her and -“

“Wait, hold on. Did she go to him this morning?”

“Yes and she was supposed to be back around noon, but it’s nearly six and she’s still gone.” Peter explained.

“Peter!” Wanda chided. She couldn't believe he could make such a grave mistake.

“What?”

“Strange hasn’t been at the Sanctum all day!”

“What?! Where is he?”

“Do I look like a wizard to you?" the witch gestured to her casual leggings and cardigan pairing that drastically differed from Strange's usual eccentric costumes. "How should I know?”

As if summoned by the topic of conversation, a figure appeared in the distant grass, hovering over the blades until he was close enough to be able to walk. His cape that flowed in the breeze like a blood red stream with a mind of its own was a dead give away. Doctor Strange had indeed arrived in the flesh.

“Parker,” he greeted, though he did not smile. “Is Ms. Stark ready for our lesson?”

Peter’s eyes went wide as he realized his mistake.

“Oh no.” he muttered, shaking his head in defeat. He was met with confusion from the wizard.

“No?” Strange repeated. “We agreed upon 8 didn't we? I know I'm a little early, but I assumed she wouldn't be busy. Didn’t you let her know I was coming?”

“Yes,” Peter confirmed. “I told her to be ready and then I sent her off to your place at 8… am.”

“What?!” Strange exclaimed as he summoned a portal to appear leading directly to his found home on Bleecker Street. He stepped through the fiery ring, a silent invitation for the others to follow as he hurried passed your car, up the steps, and into the door which did not part of him the same way it had earlier. Inside he was met with the most frightful of discovers accompanied by the looming feeling of doom as the situation became clear.

The Sanctum, unguarded with his absence, lay littered with books that had fallen from their homes on his shelf’s yet one stood out from all the others. It laid on the floor open with its pages to the ground while every other book was shut. Levitating it with the simple flick of his wrist, a horrifying sight awaited Strange as he turned it over. One of the pages in the sacred book was missing.

“Do you know how serious this is?!” Strange exclaimed and although Peter at first took it as a barbed criticism aimed directly at him, he was able to distinguish Strange’s tone from when he was reprimanding. This was a separate kind of worry, the sort of tone that he had used heavily on the fated spaceship you three had been stuck in until you landed on Titan, Thanos’ home world, nearly five years ago. Treachery was afoot and if your powers were involved, the whole fabric of your current reality could change.

“Which one did she take?” Wanda pointed to the book, clearly noticing the giant tear in its center.

Strange’s voice answered, heavy with concern. “The revival spell.”

“You don’t think she knows, do you? She can’t possibly know how to conjure it.” asked Wanda, the same concern for their future written all over her face.

“That’s exactly what I think.” Strange confirmed.

“What?” Peter asked. “What are you guys talking about?”

“There are many types of magic, Parker, and the Sanctum, the building where you sent your girlfriend, is full of all of them, good and bad alike. Every spell comes with a price, the bigger the spell, the bigger the price and the spell she took comes with one of the biggest prices there is to pay.”

“Think about it, Peter,” Wanda paled. “What does y/n want most in the world right now?”

It hit Peter harder than fresh fallen hail. You were going to try to bring your father back.

“We have to find her. Now.”

Strange tried to use his sling ring to appear wherever you were, but in your grief, the extent of your powers had grown massively. Intentionally or not, you managed to prevent even the most powerful of wizards from using his Sling Ring to access your location.

“She's blocked me out.” Strange frowned. “We’re going to have to track her on foot.”

“She can’t be far,” Peter agreed. “She always takes the shortest path whenever she wants something.” It was one of the many things he loved about you: your ability to turn any taxing task into something much simpler. You were one of the cleverest people he knew. He just hoped it didn’t work in your favor this time.

It was Wanda who had the idea of tracking your magic. She led them to the nearest withering woodland area, where trees with bare branches and dying leaves sprawled endlessly. It was the perfect place to perform dark magic, away from the unyielding eyes of society. The trio didn’t hesitate to run in.

The further they got, the closer you felt especially to Peter despite the fact that he was the only one without his own source of magic. If he lost you tonight, he feared he’d never feel any sort of magic ever again.

They were only half an acre in when Wanda and Strange called out in anguish, the witch falling to her knees while Strange stayed standing, pounding the air with his fist as his trying to break through an invisible barrier though it was to no avail. Whatever was holding him back, it wasn’t fading anytime soon.

“Keep going, Parker!” he shouted, urging Peter forward. “You’re the only one who can stop her. The spell will only allow that which she loves.”

“How do I do it?” Peter shouted. “How do I stop the spell?”

“The page,” Wanda replied, quicker than Strange could as his reply was easy for her to access. “You have to tear it apart.”

Without wasting a second more, Peter sprung back towards where he could feel you, running without fatigue as his superhuman endurance supplied him with plenty of energy.

It was only a minute later that he caught his first sign of you. There was a break in the tree line out of which a bright amber glow poured like an incandescent warning. It was a dramatic contrast from the normal comforting emerald greens of your magic, but it was you nonetheless and Peter didn’t stop until he was so close he had to shade his eyes from the light.

If it weren’t for the dark nature of what you were doing, Peter would’ve considered it one of the most beautiful events he’d ever seen take place. He wasn’t sure if the circle of trees that surrounded you had been a natural formation or one you made for the sake of the spell, but he was sure the way they seemed to bend to your will, despite the hard wood of their birch trunks, had to be because of your power. In the center of it all was you and the page you had stolen atop a pile of purple and golden leaves. You stood before it, eyes closed as you whispered some sort of incantation. Your powers spread above you in orange flickering flames as you outstretched your arms and summoned what looked like the beginnings of a portal, though it was hard to peer through like a bride covered in a veil of night black.

Peter shouted your name, screaming for you to stop, but you didn’t so much as flinch as the portal grew. You couldn’t hear him over the force of your will. He could start to feel what Wanda and Strange were trapped behind. There was some sort of invisible wall that threatened to push him back from you, but he couldn’t be defeated. He had to stop you. Step by step, he got closer and closer to you, watching in horror as your body was lifted from the ground and floated in midair. A new energy started weeping through the fabric that covered your chest, soft and white like a sheer glittering fabric. It drifted towards the portal and as Peter neared you he could make out the outline of a face forming from it in the black center of it. It started to take shape, growing a neck and a body and becoming more concrete than a fragmented part of your energy. He became more unmistakable as the color grew back into his face. Tony Stark, in the flesh. Peter hurried towards the page.

You opened your eyes to gaze into the face of your father, tears flowing down your face partially from the exhaustion of bringing him back and from being able to see him again.

You tried to say something, tell him how much you had missed him, but you were left rendered without a voice. Your words came out as mouthed nonsense, though it seemed he had regained his voice.

“Y/n,” he uttered, though it seemed more like a warning than a greeting after being torn from you for so long.

You mouthed something you knew he’d understand. I love you too, dad.

Some other force called your name, but you ignored it. You couldn’t focus on anything else, but the father you had lost regaining life right in front of you. With every part that he gained, you felt a part of your fade. It wasn’t painful, more numbing than anything like the final dose to end all your sadness. You couldn’t help but relish in it. You were bringing back one of the greatest men to ever live.

You were so distracted, you missed the web that landed on the page below you and pulled it away.

“Y/n,” your dad said again, nearly having enough of one of his legs to step out of the portal when suddenly, the inky blackness swallowed him whole again and dissolved in the forest light, taking back the only thing you ever wanted.

“NO!” you cried as your voice returned to you and you fell back down to the dry grass and dead leaves, crumpled on the forest floor as all of the magic you had summoned faded away save for the glittering cloud that returned to your chest with such force it made you cough. You had failed.

“Y/n!” someone called and you shuddered away from their hand on your shoulder as loud sobs erupted from you. 

“Leave me!” you begged. “Just leave!” Peter refused to leave your side, tossing behind him the page he had shredded into tiny scraps of paper as he knelt beside you, careful not to touch you again. “Why did you have to do that? Why did you take him from me?”

“You were going to die! I couldn’t let you di-“

“I WANTED TO DIE!”

Peter froze as you whimpered, the truth spreading above the both of you in the cold air like storm clouds as you cried to him.

“I want him back. Everyone wants him back. No one cares about his depressed daughter and I don’t want to hurt anymore, Peter.” you paused to take a deep breath. “It- it hurts so much.” you could barely get the words out as you were choked by your sobs. “It hurts knowing I could’ve saved him. It hurts knowing it should’ve been me that snapped those stupid stones. And I don’t want to live with that anymore. I had to try to bring him back for the world. It needs him more than it needs me.”

You brought a hand to your face, wiping away some of your tears, though it was no use as more came pouring out.

“I need you.” uttered Peter, looking into your glossy eyes. The sight of your tears and the echo of your screams couldn’t deter him from you. You can’t be repelled from the ones that you love.

“But you miss him, don’t you,” you argued as hot tears coated your face. “You want him back too.”

Peter nodded in agreement.

“I think about him everyday. Our moments together. Like this one time he saved me from drowning in a lake. Or-“ Peter grinned. “- remember when he caught us making out that one time before we told him we were together. He was so mad.” Peter smiled to himself, looking fondly on the memory until he began again.

“I miss him so much and it makes me so sad that I'll never see him again. But I wouldn’t trade you for him. I wouldn't trade you for anyone. You’re worth more to me than anyone else in the universe.”

Your sobs slowed yet the tears did not cease as they still cascaded down your face.

“It hurts me so much.” you restated.

Peter opened his arms. “May I?” he asked. You nodded and before you knew it, you were engulfed by a warmth unlike any other as Peter hugged you tight enough to make sure you wouldn’t try to leave him again.

“I know you do,” he related. "And I wish I could take it away. I wish I could just bag all your pain and throw it all away. But it doesn't work like that. It's going to hurt. It's going to be painful, so much so that you won't move from bed for days and days. You haven't." 

"But I feel like everyone else has already moved on. Why can't I?" you shivered.

"No one else was as close to him as you. Everyone else lost a friend. You lost a father. There's a big difference. You can't expect yourself to move on from it. That's not healthy. It's just like I said, I'm here for you no matter how long it takes. You have to take your time with it, don’t rush the process." Peter pressed the lightest of kisses to one of your dampened cheeks.

"I just don't know what to do."

"Breathe."

As silly as it sounded in its simplicity you did as he instructed and inhaled deeply, allowing the air to coat your lungs that hadn’t been exposed to so much fresh air in a week. As you exhaled, you let out another sob in his arms, but somehow it felt better than all the others. You were not rid of your pain by any means and sadness still corroded your core, but for the first time in so long, you didn’t feel so hopeless. Peter placed another gentle kiss on your cheek, encouraging you as you took several more slow breaths and quiet cries until you found the strength to speak again.

“Was it like this for you when your parents died?” you wondered aloud as you pulled away from Peter to look into his chocolate brown eyes that you almost forgot you loved so much, yet not so far that he couldn't keep his arms around your frame that was still bearing his sweatshirt. You hadn’t spoken much about them before and while you weren’t sure where the question had arisen from, it felt like the right thing to ask.

“I was so young when they passed, sometimes I feel like they were never mine to begin with,” he admitted. “I took a couple days off school when it happened, but I don’t remember crying all that much. It’s tragic and sometimes it makes me sad that they’re gone, but I’m glad that it does. It’s a reminder that they were there for me in the first place, that I knew them enough to miss them. The grief is proof that I loved them while they were here.”

You were both silent for a moment as you thought about his words in relation to your situation. All your pain was put into perspective. Everything you had been through since he died, all the days you wasted away in bed, it was all the proof that you had loved him so much when he was alive and that you were still carrying the love you had left for him. You missed your father so much you were willing to die to get him back and for a moment, you almost did.

You parted from Peter’s arms to stand though you still grasped onto his hands as you weren’t strong enough to be upright on your own. You closed your eyes again and listened to the sound of the forest, the swaying of the leaves that still clung to their branches, the faint twittering of birds, and the calm of the sky that was oddly cloudless for autumn. The sound of your name falling from your father’s reformed lips was still faint in the air and for a moment you felt as though you were with him again.

You remembered when he taught you how to ride a bike one evening when you were only four. You remembered the day he pulled you from public school and started teaching you at home. You remembered the look of shock on his face when you showed him your powers for the first time and even more, you remember his pride when you completed your first mission with the Avengers (that he'd approved ahead of time to avoid any more Germany -like surprises). He wasn’t there, but at the same time he was everywhere. And you missed him, but at the same time the absence he left in your life felt less empty.

The tears came out in slow smooth streams, flowing down in slow trickles as you finally sat back down. You didn’t say anything and neither did Peter, but you knew he could feel what you felt. He could feel your father too and minutes slipped by as you sat and cried together.

There was a sudden rustling in the distance and soon enough, Doctor Strange and Wanda had arrived at the scene, no longer held back by invisible barriers. They rushed to you bringing flooding guilt through your system as you began to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m so sorry.”

Strange opened his mouth to speak, but he had nothing to say. You could tell by his expression that he was disappointed, but there was more to it. He had empathy.

It was Wanda that leaned down to place a friendly hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you home.”

The months following were some of the hardest of your life. Every battle you faced was uphill, but you no longer felt like you were fighting alone. You started going out again, first to visit Pepper and your half sister Morgan who lived in their cabin home. Peter joined you of course, but he played with Morgan for the most part while you and Pepper talked. You cried with her, but you laughed a lot too. She shared with you so many of her own memories, times when your father didn't know what to get you for your birthday, when he had managed to mess up cooking dinner in the strangest of ways, and when he’d accidentally burned your favorite stuffed animal in the drying machine all of which Pepper had to remedy. Though she hadn’t raised you, she was the mother you never had and through her stories you learned that your father had been just as good raising Morgan with her as he had been with you.

You hung out with Ned and MJ again shortly after that. While Peter had suggested a brief check-in at a cafe so you could go home quickly to rest, you surprised him with a much more time consuming idea: laser tag. The four of you had the best time targeting each other, you winning more rounds than any of the others. You ended the day with smoothies, talking as you drank and making plans for the next time you would all see each other. MJ made you promise you would text her if you ever needed anything and Ned gave you a whole plate of his Lola’s ensaymadas, your favorite dish of hers.

Finally, though he was locked up in his house and avoiding humanity, you visited Happy. Peter offered to join you like all the other times, but you assured him it would be best if he stayed home, promising you would return later. Happy was in a similar state of dismay to you when you saw him and while he was able to care for himself and continue with his personal routine, you could tell he was hurting.

You didn't say much when you first entered his apartment, but there was comfort within the silence. You sat with him on his sofa and watched whatever mind numbing program he had turned on to distract his thoughts until you had both worked up an appetite for lunch. It was there, in the middle of a random Burger King in Queens over a plate of cheeseburgers that you both broke down. You told him what you had nearly done, trusting him with the sensitive information as he was almost a second father to you. You took your time telling him the story of how you had nearly died to bring back your father.

Happy cried as you did and when you were finished, he told you how much you meant to him. He traded your story for one from your father after he returned from Afghanistan where he had famously been kidnapped.

"You could tell he was shaken," Happy began. "He told me he wasn't scared to die, but he was scared of losing time with you and leaving you alone. Pepper and I had been so busy trying to get him back, he was worried you had been neglected while he was gone. But when he came home and he saw your room clean, your toys put away, and a fridge full of leftovers from meals you prepared yourself, he was so proud. You inspired him to turn his life around. It was after that he told me that he knew you'd be okay if he was taken from us one day."

You both cried after that.

Long after you had finished your food, Happy drove you to the Parker's new apartment with the promise that he would be okay too, eventually. He also admitted that he was starting to develop quite the liking for your faithful boyfriend after hearing all that he had done for you, though he’d skin you alive if you ever told Peter.

It was that night in Peter's new bedroom that you knew you’d be okay. It still hurt to think of your father and you knew you’d never entirely recover and that the pain would never fully leave you, but there was a certain comfort in it now. You knew Peter felt it too as he snuggled half asleep into your side, his arm slung around your body in a protective manner, but also to keep from falling of the twin bed you shared as he let you sleep on the side with the wall. There were still days when you didn’t want to leave your bed, but there were also days when you felt more elated than ever. You could feel your father in those moments the most, like the shine of his smile took form in the light from the sun. You couldn’t see him nor could you speak with him, but you knew he wasn’t really gone. It was love that kept him around. And it was the love you carried for him that would suspend you for lifetimes, through light and dark until the end of time.

“I hope this grief stays with me because its all the unexpressed love” - Andrew Garfield 💙

#tom holland x you #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker #mental health #suicide awareness #avengers endgame #tony stark #stark!daughter #stark!reader #fem!reader #you are loved

[silascody]

Characters: Silas Cody, various mentions / allusions to others. 

Timeline and setting: April 25th, 2023 + Lone Fir Cemetery in Portland, Oregon. 

Trigger warning: death, child death, grief, cancer, drugs, suicide ideation. 

“I think you’d have smoked Acapulco Gold, if you’d smoked,” Silas says as he tilts the matchbox he’s just retrieved from the pocket of the jacket he had to take off due to the heat to free one, striking it against the headstone he was sat beside to light up his joint. “Or maybe you’d have been a Bubba Kush kinda guy. Lemon haze?” 

He lets that question hang in the air as he takes a long, lung-deep toke as if he was waiting for his brother’s voice to speak back to him with answers. It wouldn’t, it never did, and somehow that hadn’t gotten easier with the passing of time like all those stupid pamphlets and well-meaning wishes had told him. 

According to his birth certificate, Portland was his home, the city that raised him but it had never quite felt that way. Not even twelve years in California with five of those spent locked in a cage had been enough to restore any rose-tinted memories for him of the first place that had ever left scars on his body. 

For the first four years of his life, eerie children’s characters painted on chipped hospital walls had been his most frequent friends, unblinking eyes that watched him silently as he tried to be a brave boy like his mother demanded while his body was poked and prodded and used as a last lifeline for the dying boy who was the only reason he existed in the first place. That had been Silas’ job, the only one that ever mattered, to save Jack. 

( Four years old was too innocent to truly comprehend the magnitude of death. ) 

“I wish we could have smoked together. Or just done anything together, really. Sometimes I wish that you lived and I died, I think you’d have done it better than me. Living. I only knew you for four years but you were the best guy I ever knew. If it had of gone that way, I don’t think mom would have forgotten to smile the way she did and maybe dad wouldn’t have drank so much. I think you guys would have been sad a while but you’d have moved on. We could never move on from you. We were never allowed to. It made me hate you. Man, I fucking hated you.” 

His head leans back against the black marble headstone that bore gold lettering with JACK CODY carved into it along with his birth and death date. The picture of the beaming boy that was displayed on it with his brunette hair still intact before treatment bore a striking resemblance to the weary man tapping ash into the patch of grass that separated his brother’s resting place from someone else’s loved ones. 

They had always looked the most alike, the oldest and youngest of the Cody boys, and Silas had adorned his body with various tattoos and images from his teen years in the hopes that maybe if they were less similar his mother would have been able to bear looking at him. 

“Not really though. It just made being here without you easier. I’ve always been better with being angry than being upset, you know?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can’t help but notice the vibrant arrangement of blue irises that had to have been freshly placed for how they had been fairing against the weather, his hand reaching out to brush his fingertips against their petals as he held his spliff in between his lips. 

“Mom’s still alive then,” He observes after he exhales, feeling equal parts relief and revulsion at knowing that. It makes him curious about if she had ever found herself sat in the same cemetery as he was, at the same grave, sharing the same regrets. It’s been years since he had seen her face but he could picture it so clearly due to how regularly he saw her in that state, cheeks tearstained after weeping for the boy who had been dead for longer than he had. Had she ever wept for the wayward one that still had a heartbeat on any of her visits? 

He would have settled for wondered if not, to be a fleeting thought in the mind of the woman who had given him life for no other reason than to prolong her firstborn’s was better than being nothing at all which is what he felt like most of the time. 

( Thirteen years old was too young to die. ) 

“I don’t why I thought she might visit me, when I was in prison. I wrote her a letter, tried to say I’m sorry for being such a fuck-up. Not just with the drugs and shit, with everything. She never wrote back, which should have been my first clue but, I don’t know. Every week when visiting hours would roll around, I thought maybe she might show and sit across from me and maybe hold my hand or something and we could try and mend some shit.” There’s a humourless laugh that leave’s his mouth then, that kind of naivety was something he hated in other people and he would never have confided this in anyone living, which made Jack the only person he could really talk to these days. 

“You wouldn’t know but, let me tell how it goes after someone dies, people rally. They show up. They look out for you, but then they show up less ‘cause they moved on. Moved forward, even if you’re still stuck in it. That’s what prison is like too. Six months, a year, people show up to visit, they accept your calls, they write you. But then you hit two years, and three, four and you start to see that you’re just not important to people like that. It doesn’t fit with their life anymore, because they’re moving forward and you’re just stuck there. Living out the same fucking day, day in, day out. Sometimes I used to hope someone would start shit with me just for something to do,” He knows that Jack would have laughed at that, the same way he always did when Silas found himself in a wrestling match in the living room with Nathan, who was three years older than him and had always been built like a brick house even back then.

As much as he loathed Nate, he had taught him a valuable lesson early on – it was just as important to know how to take a punch than it was to be able to throw one. 

“Remember that girl I told you about last time I was here? The one I said I’ma marry one day, you don’t even wanna fucking know how that turned out.”

It’s harder for him to make light of that topic as he did every other one, even when speaking to deaf ears. Some part of him knew that if he felt less for Jordan, it would be easier to speak about her – but he’s never been good at doing less when she was in the equation. 

Ever since they had first crossed paths he’s always wanted more from her – to love him more, to need him more, to give him more. More, more, more while all he had to offer her was himself which had a track record of always being just a little less than. 

It had never occurred to him that he had been expecting too much, not until her visits started to be missed and his calls started to be screened. 

“She’s prolly better off without me around but, classic Silas, can’t have that. So I been keeping tabs on her fucking daily even though I've been out for two years. Day they let me out that cage I had this stupid fucking notion in my head that she’s gonna remember why she gave a fuck about me in the first place and she'd be there outside the gates waiting for me even though we hadn't spoke in four years. She wasn't, so I went on a two week coke bender with this chef chick that I met the day I was released and the rest of the last two years have been a fucking blur of trying to forget about her.” He clicks his tongue then, a shake of his head following as he crosses his ankles so he can stretch his legs out in front of him, keeping a stoney faced expression despite the sympathetic smile aimed his way by a dark-haired woman who was trudging her way towards a cluster of headstones just passed where he was sat. 

“No such luck, not that it matters. I think she hates me, and in some ways I get that ‘cause they tell me getting released is getting a second chance but I haven't done shit with mine.” 

( Thirty three years old was too old to change. ) 

Even with the debts that he had racked up just before he was sent away and while he was in there now cleared, he has no idea what the fuck he wants to do with his life. After seven years removed from what he considered his norm, it takes him by surprise that he’s starting to see cycle he was caught in. 

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it? You and me kicking it here forever. Seems like no matter what I do, it always comes back to me and you.” 

Silas, Jack. Jack, Silas. Oldest, youngest. Selfless, selfish. 

A boy taken too young and a man who’s lived longer than anyone anticipated. 

Finally, he’s getting himself up off the ground, patting off stray blades of grass that hand clung the fabric of his dark jeans before he reached down to pick his jacket up. 

“I’ll be honest with you man, I don’t think I’m going to be back here again. It just hurts too much to be in this city and to be here. I don’t how much more hurt I can handle, which probably makes me sound like a pussy but it’s just the truth. I want you to know that it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you ‘cause I never could. You weren’t just my big brother, you were my best brother. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” 

#drabble. #ft. jack cody. #ft. jordan mitchell. #ft. nathan cody. #ft. rose raleigh. #long post cw #death tw #grief tw #child death tw #suicide ideation tw #cancer tw #drugs tw #just covering all the bases KJHGSHJ was meant to post this a millennium ago bc it pre-dates just before he rocked back up to AB but w/ever #wanted it on the blog <3

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Into The Fog (Part 7)

He has pushed too far too soon in telling her that she is pregnant. She seems to hate him more than anyone. Anyone but Zuko. These days she only talks to Aang if anyone and ignores him entirely.

He is scared that if he pushes even harder, approaches her again too soon that she will write him off completely and he will break the promise that he made her approximately nine years ago; that he wouldn’t let her be alone again. That he would help her no matter how much she hated him. 

He hadn’t anticipated that she would ever thoroughly loath him.

“I miss her, Aang.” He shakes his head.

“She’s not gone, Sokka. She’s right there.” Aang nods his head towards a spot across the room. To the spot on the sofa where Azula lounges, laying on her back and reading a book that is propped up by her legs.

“Why does that make it worse?” He mumbles. 

“Are you trying to say that you wish that she had died?” Zuko furrows his brows.

“Of course not!” He replies much too loudly. Loud enough for Azula to look up from her book, acknowledge his existence for the first time in days, and shoot him a cross stare. “But I think that it would have been easier if she went missing or something. If she’d gone missing we could have found her, she could have escaped on her own. We can’t just fix this.”

“She just needs time.” Katara says softly.

Zuko cringes. “We’ve been at this for over a week now.” He spares a glance in her direction. “She’s got excuses for everything and most of them don’t even make sense. Especially when you try to connect all of the pieces.”

“I just really miss her. My Azula who lets me hold her…” 

He misses her touch on his cheek, the kisses she liked to trail on his neck, the purse of her lips and the scrunching of her brows when she strokes his beard and urges him to just ‘shave the damn thing already.’ 

In a sense he thinks that he did lose the woman he loved. She is right there, he can hear her talking–mostly complaining–and he can see her moving about her day. But it is like someone else inhibits her body and the worst part is that person is still her. Just not the right her. Not the Azula that should be there.

Not the Azula that he can hold and kiss and share a bath with. 

He can’t even talk to this Azula. 

He can’t remember how he had broken through to her before.

Why can’t he remember how he’d done that!? It was such a a monumental moment.

But then, if Azula can forget half of her life then he could easily lose one or two moments of his. 

.oOo.

She has to wonder, why Sokka? Why had they chosen him to do the lying?

In a sense it’s quiet brilliant actually; he is someone who she doesn’t feel and never really had felt  all that strongly about. He is someone more neutral, someone without a real motivation. And therefore he would be someone who she is more likely to let her guard down around.

It is very much brillant were she not more clever than they. Clever enough to see through their tactics.  

She waits for them to leave before entering the dining room for herself. She takes her meal in merciful silence and waits there at the table for a good while. Long enough for the servants to ask her if she is still hungry. 

She is not. She simply has to wait.

Has to make sure that everyone is asleep. 

And she does. She doesn’t pull a cloak over her head and slip out of the palace until the latest hours of the night. That window of time just before late at night becomes early in the morning. 

Her journey isn’t a comfortable one. Her feet had already been achy and her ankles agitatedly swollen. Reaching her destination has only made the ache so much worse. But it is worth it. 

Worth it to see the one person that she can trust.

She clears her throat. “Father.” 

In a rattling of chains, the man turns around. His face is gaunt, his hair scraggly. Azula swallows, what have they done to him? They took a perfectly proud man and stolen the gleam from his eyes. And yet his mouth curves into a smile.  A cruel smile. “It’s been a while, Azula.” He drawls.

Azula, at her limit with the cramps in her feet finds herself a spot on the ground in front of Ozai’s cell. “I’ve been injured, father. I would have come sooner…”

The man laughs. “Would you have?”

Azula nods. “I am going to get you out of here and we can take our nation back.”

His eyes grow momentarily wide, she wonders why he is so surprised that she would come back for him. 

“I can’t do it just yet, I need a more solid plan but I wanted to talk to you.” 

“And why is that all of a sudden?”  His fingers curl around one of several bars.

Azula tilts her head. “Well first of all I need you to be prepared when I come back for you. Secondly…” she swallows. “They’re driving me crazy, father. They keep telling me all of these things, all of these lies…” she tightens her fist.

“And which lies are those?”

“They tell me that it has been ten years and that I’m…” her palm brushes against her belly. “Nevermind. They tell me that it has been ten years, that I just don’t remember. That’s ridiculous. Right?”

He is quiet for a very long time. Long enough to leave her tummy fluttering. Finally he reaches out. The back of his hand touches her cheek. “Of course it’s absurd, Azula. Do I look older to you?” 

Azula clears her throat. “Prison can do that to a person.”

To her surprise, he chuckles. “I suppose that it can. You don’t look any different though.”

“That’s what I told them!” She declares almost too excitedly. She doesn’t need a mirror, father knows. “But the thing is…there are waterbenders and earthbenders here. There are flags and banners and…” She frowns. “They’ve certainly gone through a lot of trouble to keep up this charade. It feels pointless. Why would they?”

Ozai shakes his head. “Because they want to break you, Azula.” He confirms. “Zuko is spiteful and jealous. It isn’t good enough to just remove me from the throne. It isn’t satisfying to just lock you up next to me. He wants to hurt you, Azula. He wants to take your most important weapon…” he touches his finger to her head. “...Away from you.”

Azula swallows again. 

“You will return to the palace and you will come up with a plan to free me and  take our nation back. This is your most important mission yet; don’t let them sway you, the Fire Nation needs us. They’re counting on you.” 

“I won’t disappoint you, father.” Not again, she won’t.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

[chaotictarlos]

This Wednesday I'm sharing part of one of the breakup fics that I'm working on - yes there's more than one because I am obsessed with the break up era -. Let me know what you guys think!

“Carlitos, where is TK?” She asked, passing the salad to his uncle.

Carlos froze for half a second as he grabbed a roll from the basket and passed it down. He looked around at his family with the truth right on the tip of his tongue but when he looked into the face of his mother, the truth died. He can’t disappoint his parents. They had started to be louder about accepting him and he couldn’t tell them that he failed.

“He had to work,” Carlos said, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. “He picked up a shift for someone on b shift. I think their wife had a baby or something and there was nobody else to cover.”

“TK is such a sweet boy.” His mother said, a hand on her heart before she launches into a story about TK that she hadn't told the family yet.

Carlos wished that he could make himself small enough to disappear so that he didn’t have to listen, and didn’t have to pretend like he was still happily with TK. He couldn’t, and his family wouldn’t let him. Once the lie was out there he had to keep coming up with more to keep it up. He answered questions about how they were settling into the new loft, making up a story about going shopping for furniture with TK and how much of a disaster it was. 

Carlos hated every minute of it. He wasn’t the type of person to lie and make things up, each lie made his mouth taste bad and laid heavily on his stomach. At one point, he thought about coming clean and telling everyone but then the family started talking about how happy they were for him and TK, how they were proud of him for living his truth and finding someone to build a life with. Carlos felt like he couldn’t take that away from them so he stayed silent, pushing his feelings of pain down.

Carlos was able to keep it together until he got back to his car. As soon as he shut his door and started his car, all of the pain and hurt that he had felt all during dinner came back up and tears started to slip down his face. He forced himself to drive away from his family's ranch so that they didn’t see him fall apart and ask too many questions. 

The pain was almost unbearable, tearing him up inside and ripping away at the very few pieces of his heart that were still intact. Out of the few breakups that he had, this one hurt the most because he had truly been in love with TK and without him, Carlos wasn’t sure how to go on with life. His world had been forever changed and shaped by the way he loved TK and how TK loved him. There was no going back to how things had been before the breakup.

It scared him, that things wouldn’t go back to how they were before the breakup. Before the breakup, Carlos didn’t have much to lose. Not when he really thought about it. He had spent most of his time to himself, hanging out with Michelle, going to work and trying to navigate the dating world, and finding someone to settle down with. He hadn’t really had many friends, not close ones that he spent his time with. He had acquaintances and people he talked to, but other than Michelle, he didn’t have anyone close. His parents hadn’t been involved in his romantic life, hadn’t ever asked him about who he was dating and he had never felt like bringing anyone home.

Then he met TK and TK turned his world upside down in the best ways. TK brought chaos and love. He had pulled Carlos out of his mundane existence and into a world where he matted and people cared about him. TK had introduced him to the 126 and through that, he had been invited into a group of friends who quickly became his friends. They spent time together outside of work. They talked with each other, went to events with each other, had dinners and game nights… things Carlos had never before had. 

It scared him just how much he had to lose with TK not in his life anymore. He had an entire group of people who he valued and called his closest friends who could very well side with TK and let Carlos go. He wouldn’t hold it against them, if they did, after all, they worked together and Carlos was just an addition to their lives that could easily be replaced.

But he didn’t want to lose it. Now that he knew what he had been missing out on, he didn’t want to go without it again.

#t's wip #t's wip wednesday #work in progress #work in progress wednesday #tarlos #tk strand x carlos reyes #tk strand #carlos reyes #tarlos wip

[silascodys]

Characters: Silas Cody, various mentions / allusions to others. 

Timeline and setting: August 14th, 2022 + Lone Fir Cemetery in Portland, Oregon. 

Trigger warning: death, child death, grief, cancer, drugs, suicide ideation. 

“I think you’d have smoked Acapulco Gold, if you’d smoked,” Silas says as he tilts the matchbox he’s just retrieved from the pocket of the jacket he had to take off due to the heat to free one, striking it against the headstone he was sat beside to light up his joint. “Or maybe you’d have been a Bubba Kush kinda guy. Lemon haze?” 

He lets that question hang in the air as he takes a long, lung-deep toke as if he was waiting for his brother’s voice to speak back to him with answers. It wouldn’t, it never did, and somehow that hadn’t gotten easier with the passing of time like all those fuckass pamphlets and well-meaning wishes had told him. 

According to his birth certificate, Portland was his home, the city that raised him but it had never quite felt that way. Not even fourteen years in Canada with seven of those spent locked in a cage had been enough to restore any rose-tinted memories for him of the first place that had ever left scars on his body. 

For the first four years of his life, eerie children’s characters painted on chipped hospital walls had been his most frequent friends, unblinking eyes that watched him silently as he tried to be a brave boy like his mother demanded while his body was poked and prodded and used as a last lifeline for the dying boy who was the only reason he existed in the first place. That had been Silas’ job, the only one that ever mattered, to save Jack. 

( Four years old was too innocent to truly comprehend the magnitude of death. ) 

“I wish we could have smoked together. Or just done anything together, really. Sometimes I wish that you lived and I died, I think you’d have done it better than me. Living. I only knew you for four years but you were the best guy I ever knew. If it had of gone that way, I don’t think mom would have forgotten to smile the way she did and maybe dad wouldn’t have drank so much. I think you guys would have been sad a while but you’d have moved on. We could never move on from you. We were never allowed to. It made me hate you. Man, I fucking hated you.” 

His head leans back against the black marble headstone that bore gold lettering with JACK CODY carved into it along with his birth and death date. The picture of the beaming boy that was displayed on it with his brunette hair still intact before treatment bore a striking resemblance to the weary man tapping ash into the patch of grass that separated his brother’s resting place from someone else’s loved ones. 

They had always looked the most alike, the oldest and youngest of the Cody boys, and Silas had adorned his body with various tattoos and images from his teen years in the hopes that maybe if they were less similar his mother would have been able to bear looking at him. 

“Not really though. It just made being here without you easier. I’ve always been better with being angry than being upset, you know?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can’t help but notice the vibrant arrangement of blue irises that had to have been freshly placed for how they had been fairing against the weather, his hand reaching out to brush his fingertips against their petals as he held his spliff in between his lips. 

“Mom’s still alive then,” He observes after he exhales, feeling equal parts relief and revulsion at knowing that. It makes him curious about if she had ever found herself sat in the same cemetery as he was, at the same grave, sharing the same regrets. It’s been years since he had seen her face but he could picture it so clearly due to how regularly he saw her in that state, cheeks tearstained after weeping for the boy who had been dead for longer than he had. Had she ever wept for the wayward one that still had a heartbeat on any of her visits? 

He would have settled for wondered if not, to be a fleeting thought in the mind of the woman who had given him life for no other reason than to prolong her firstborn’s was better than being nothing at all which is what he felt like most of the time. 

( Thirteen years old was too young to die. ) 

“I don’t why I thought she might visit me, when I was in prison. I wrote her a letter, tried to say I’m sorry for being such a fuck-up. Not just with the drugs and shit, with everything. She never wrote back, which should have been my first clue but, I don’t know. Every week when visiting hours would roll around, I thought maybe she might show and sit across from me and maybe hold my hand or something and we could try and mend some shit.” There’s a humourless laugh that leave’s his mouth then, that kind of naivety was something he hated in other people and he would never have confided this in anyone living, which made Jack the only person he could really talk to these days. 

“I know it’s kind of fucked, me showing up here after ten years, telling you all this shit and probably fucking with the vibe of wherever you are now but I don’t got anyone else that I can talk to about this.” He decides against finishing the rest of his joint, stubbing it out on the grass instead and flicking it away from his brother’s patch to the gravelled walking paths that weaved through the plots so no one threaded on the resting. 

“You wouldn’t know but, let me tell how it goes after someone dies, people rally. They show up. They look out for you, but then they show up less ‘cause they moved on. Moved forward, even if you’re still stuck in it. That’s what prison is like too. Six months, a year, people show up to visit, they accept your calls, they write you. But then you hit two years, and three, four and you start to see that you’re just not important to people like that. It doesn’t fit with their life anymore, because they’re moving forward and you’re just stuck there. Living out the same fucking day, day in, day out. Sometimes I used to hope someone would start shit with me just for something to do,” He knows that Jack would have laughed at that, the same way he always did when Silas found himself in a wrestling match in the living room with Nathan, who was three years older than him and had always been built like a brick house even back then.

As much as he loathed Nate he had taught him a valuable lesson early on -- it was just as important to know how to take a punch than it was to be able to throw one. 

“Remember that girl I told you about last time I was here? The one I said I’ma marry one day, you don’t even wanna fucking know how that turned out.” It’s harder for him to make light of that topic as he did every other one, even when speaking to deaf ears. Some part of him knew that if he felt less for Jordan, it would be easier to speak about her -- but he’s never been good at doing less when she was in the equation. 

Ever since they had first crossed paths he’s always wanted more from her -- to love him more, to need him more, to give him more. More, more, more while all he had to offer her was himself which had a track record of always being just a little less than. 

It had never occurred to him that he had been expecting too much, not until her visits started to be missed and his calls started to be screened. 

“She’s prolly better off without me around but, classic Silas, can’t have that. So you know what I do? I show up at her door 2 weeks after I got out, but not before I went on a two week coke bender with this chef chick that I met the day I was released and I stand there and I think she’s gonna see me and she’s gonna hug me and she’s gonna remember why she gave a fuck about me in the first place.” He clicks his tongue then, a shake of his head following as he crosses his ankles so he can stretch his legs out in front of him, keeping a stoney faced expression despite the sympathetic smile aimed his way by a dark-haired woman who was trudging her way towards a cluster of headstones just passed where he was sat. 

“No such luck. I think she hates me, and in some ways I get that ‘cause I’m still lost in the life with no way out of it. I mean shit, I got debts I gotta clear from before I even went inside. Might end up right here next to you if I don’t figure out how the fuck I’m going to clear them.” 

( Thirty two years old was too old to change. ) 

That was his first deliberate lie. He knew exactly how he would clear his debt, the same way he had gotten into it in the first place. After seven years removed from it, it takes him by surprise that he’s starting to see cycle he was caught in. 

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it? You and me kicking it here forever. Seems like no matter what I do, it always comes back to me and you.” 

Silas, Jack. Jack, Silas. Oldest, youngest. Selfless, selfish. 

A boy taken too young and a man who’s lived longer than anyone anticipated. 

Finally, he’s getting himself up off the ground, patting off stray blades of grass that hand clung the fabric of his dark jeans before he reached down to pick his jacket up. 

“I’ll be honest with you man, I don’t think I’m going to be back here again. It just hurts too much to be in this city and to be here. I don’t how much more hurt I can handle, which probably makes me sound like a pussy but it’s just the truth. I want you to know that it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you ‘cause I never could. You weren’t just my big brother, you were my best brother. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” 

#drabble. #ft. jack cody. #this is sauuuuurr long and depressing and for literally what reason #no one asked <3 #KJSHGSHJK #long post cw #death tw #child death tw #grief tw #cancer tw #drugs tw #suicide ideation tw #just covering all me bases

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Fathers and Sons

Chapter 7: The Mission

"How do I know Pan didn't conjure up a vision of you?"

"He didn't. You did."

Those words sent him reeling and spiraling. So much so that he practically flung her away from him as he questioned her.

"What?!" he hissed in her direction.

He'd conjured her? He'd conjured a vision of her to steal his doll and appear before him like that? Like that…dressed in the dress that he'd last seen her in at the castle, the very image of her that he'd conjured of her time and time again when he'd been in captivity and needed to call upon her memory.

She'd never been this real in those times, and he'd never been able to touch or see her anywhere except in his head, but…he'd imagined her.

And Neverland was a world that ran on imagination. It was a world where anything you imagined became real, whether you meant it to be or not. He hadn't thought of it in years, but he remembered now the way he'd been a boy, and his father had had him summon food into existence just by imagining it. And…

"The question is why."

Why? Why indeed.

He thought back to the fire, to how he'd been when she'd first appeared or been summoned or created, or whatever the hell the technical term was for imagination becoming real. He had been thinking about Belle then, wishing she'd been here. But he'd also been thinking about Bae. If he had subconsciously used the magic of Neverland to conjure Belle, then why not both? Where was Bae? Why hadn't he appeared?

Because Bae was gone.

Because he didn't know his son, hadn't had any kind of relationship with him in centuries, and his son had died right after he'd told him to stay far away from him. Bae was gone. And while Belle believed that his son would be proud of him for shouldering this burden and coming after Henry, he had no idea what he would actually say about it now that the picture of his son in his head was the adult, a father himself, instead of his thirteen-year-old son. He hadn't any clue how Baelfire would react to the news of his parentage and the life he'd had before he married Milah. He wasn't sure what Bae would say or do or how he'd look at him if he knew that Henry was out there, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from the doll he'd owned before his entire life had changed forever!

But Belle…he knew Belle. He knew Belle better than he knew anyone else in the world. He'd been seeking comfort and assurance and company. And he knew exactly what she would have said and how she would have acted if he needed her. He knew the words she'd use and the exact shape that those words would take upon her lips. He knew how she'd react to bad news and good news alike, no matter how shocking it was. He knew how she'd respond to this situation, which terrified him. And besides all that, she was alive; thinking about spending time with her was considerably less painful than imagining himself spending time with his son, even if he did long for that more than anything else in the world.

"I was lonely," he stated to the ever-patient vision of Belle, perfectly crafted, just like her. "I wanted someone to talk to, someone who knew me."

"Because…" she prompted, her tone with just the right amount of lilt.

"Because I was lonely."

"Is that all?" she challenged her head at the exact right angle for knowing curiosity. Yes, that's why he would have summoned her, because while his son might have believed a cold-hearted man like himself would get lonely and desire company, Belle wouldn't just believe it but also see through it. She'd sense that he was giving her a shallow truth to hide a deeper one. But admitting that deeper truth…he wasn't ready.

"What else would it be?" he lied.

She smiled at that answer. Not a genuine smile, but rather a fake one. It wasn't the smile she used when she was happy, nor was it the smile she used when she knew something. It was only fraudulent, and it grew bigger with every step she took closer to him.

"Come for a walk with me, Rumpelstiltskin. Let's see if we can't find the answer together."

Though it meant leaving the protection of the magical circle he'd crafted for himself, he obeyed. He let the vision take his hand and let her lead him away from his campsite, doll in her own hands. That was a difference. Belle wouldn't have taken his hand; she'd have taken his elbow, but…that could be his mind too. After all, if she was too much like Belle, he ran the risk of buying into the deception and convincing himself that she was real instead of magic. But, if she was magic, and she was leading…

"Where are you taking me?"

"Shh," she hushed. "Don't worry about where we're going; just enjoy the company. After all, that's why I'm here, aren't I…you were lonely."

"Yes, but-"

"There's more," she assumed.

He opened his mouth to answer but couldn't think of the words he wanted to form. Confirm she was right? Play coy? Deny the truth? Lie?

"Rumple," Belle muttered, pulling him to a stop with a breathy laugh. "Don't you think I know by now…there's always more with you. And you don't have to hide it from me. So let's go for a walk and see if we can't find the answer together."

"Find the answer together," that was the second time she'd used that phrase. As he followed after her, he found himself suddenly curious about it. It was an idea that Belle certainly would have possessed, but the wording wasn't quite right. And the way she was leading him as if determined to get him to go somewhere…

Neverland ran on imagination; he wondered, how had that magic evolved over the years? Magic was, of course, capable of evolution; everything was. Belief was a powerful sort of magic that could render the weakest of spells strong and the most powerful spells useless. Was there something more to her than just imagination and magic? Was the island trying to tell him something?

He pondered all this as they walked, hand in hand, through the woods. The scenery didn't change much. It was still rocky and dirty and filled with trees, hardly a sound was around them, and when he sent his senses out, he realized that there was no one around, or else they were using magic to very cleverly hide themselves. If there was something in these woods, something that this vision of Belle had in mind for him, he couldn't begin to guess what it was.

Finally, they came to what appeared to be an archway carved into the rock. It was slim, truly just big enough for one, but she lowered her head and dragged him through behind her. She didn't hesitate, it was as if she knew where she was going, and he found it comforting in a way. Until they emerged into…not a forest. A clearing? A beach?

A cliff!

He dropped her hand and stepped closer to the edge to get a better look. They weren't at sea level but high above Neverland, looking out over a vast, seemingly endless ocean. That rock he'd read so much about, skull rock, it was nowhere in sight. Where had she brought him? Better yet, why had she brought him here?

"So…do you know why you brought me to the island?" she asked as if she'd just read his mind but poorly.

"I thought you were gonna show me the answer."

"Only you know that," she insisted.

"I've already told you."

"No, you haven't."

"I have no idea."

"Yes, you do!"

"No."

"You're holding back."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Belle!"

"What is it you're not saying?"

She was relentless. But not in the same way that Belle could be; it was more in the way that he sometimes made her out to be in his mind. She was compassionate and knew his boundaries, but to him, it could sometimes feel like this was how she was. It was the worst version of her he carried in his head. And he had summoned her? Over something that he wasn't saying? Something he hadn't told her. Something he hadn't told himself.

There were many things he hadn't had the chance to tell her yet, many things he wished he could have told her. He wished he could have told her about New York. He wished he could have told her about his past. He wished he could have told her he wanted to marry her. But those were things he wanted to tell her. She wanted to know what he wasn't saying, what he didn't want to say. He didn't want to say so much. He didn't want to tell her how he'd let Bae down when he fell through the portal. He didn't want to tell her how he'd almost ended Henry the day Bae died. He didn't want to tell her that while he was supposed to be working, finding Henry, he'd instead been here, sitting on a rock staring at his childhood doll, thinking about the one person in the world he didn't want to think about or ever seen again. The one person he feared, not because of his power, but because he had the ability to make him exactly like he was.

That was it. He knew he'd found it when he felt tears threaten to overwhelm him. He knew that he'd stumbled upon the right answer when even saying it out loud made him want to cringe. He bit his tongue, a last-ditch effort to keep it in but the way her eyes bore into him…he had to say it. There was no safer person in the world to say it to than her; a vision of her couldn't be much different.

"I'm a coward," he finally choked out. "I'm just like my father."

Belle offered him a small, simple smile. "You feel better now, don't you? You know why I'm here."

Yes. Because the last person in the world he wanted to feel like was his father. And the only person in the world who might tell him he wasn't his father was her.

He smiled and stepped forward to grab her hand, to touch her…a false anchor in a very real world of imagination. "You always saw the good in me."

"I still do. And as much as you deny it, I think you see it too…"

And that was why he needed her here. Not to remind him of who he was, but rather to remind him of who he didn't want to be.

"So why am I here?" she prompted as if she couldn't hear his own thoughts. The truth. He may as well give her the truth.

"Pan offered me a deal," he admitted. "I let him keep Henry, and he allows me to live. The boy needn't be my undoing!" he reasoned with her as she opened her mouth to speak. He could go home. To her.

"And you're afraid you'll make a selfish choice."

He felt a part of his soul drop at her words. It spoke to what he was feeling. There was some part of him that had wanted validation of it and longed to hear her say she wanted him home and it would be okay to take that deal. But there she was, calling it "the selfish choice." It was exactly what his Belle would have said. And he knew it. He also knew there was good reason for her to say such things.

"I generally do."

Belle sighed and looked up at him with sad eyes that held no disappointment. "You abandoned your son, Baelfire, and regretted it your whole life. You don't need to do the same to Henry. Letting go of the past…" she glanced down at the doll in her hands, then offered it to him. "It's the first step."

He looked the doll over himself and felt everything inside of him cringe at the idea of taking it and cherishing it. The doll meant something to him, but pristine as it was, it also felt stained. It had been good for him. But given to him by a father who hadn't wanted to be a father and thought a doll was a decent substitute. The fact that he'd taken its name…it mocked him.

"You know…this was the last thing my father gave me," he mentioned as he took it from her hands.

"What happened to him?" she questioned.

If only she knew. There were a lot of times that were bad between them, but there were a lot of times that were good, like when he'd given him this doll. He still didn't understand, couldn't even begin to fathom, what happened in that man's heart to turn him away from his own son, his own flesh and blood. All he knew was the result of it.

"He left me."

And that was really the only thing that mattered.

"If you don't want to repeat the mistakes he made…you need to let go," she whispered. Then she took a small step back, then another, and when he realized she was going, he reached out to hold on to her, but she slipped all too easily through his fingers. Without even a word of goodbye, she turned and disappeared into the woods.

He couldn't blame her for that; he'd left her behind in Storybrooke with less. But now he was alone again, just him and his small Peter Pan and…she was right. She was always right, but this time more than ever. If he didn't stop thinking of Pan as his father, he might not be able to properly think of him as his enemy. And if he didn't think of him as his enemy, then Henry had no chance. He needed to let go of the past. He even needed to let go of the idea of a future and reside here, in the present.

He stepped up to the cliff's edge and peered over into the blackness below. He took deep breaths as memories of his father invaded his thoughts. He replaced every one of them with a memory of his father's failings. Then he let his muscles loosen, felt the doll slip from his grip, and fall below.

He was the Dark One.

He was here to save his grandson.

And Peter Pan was his enemy.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Belle #Peter Pan #Henry Mills #Neal Cassidy #Baelfire #Ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

[luna-writes-stuff]

I would be honored if you could do an imagine for Fili crushing on someone who went on the journey with the Company. He thought she liked his brother, but after seeing him with Tauriel, Fili feels like he has a chance and offers everything to make her as happy as he thought she would be with Kili. Lovely fluff and some misunderstandings with everyone living because IF I CAN'T SEE CANON THEN IT DOESN'T EXIST

Mixed signals, Fili Durin (platonic Kili x reader)

what do you mean they don’t usually live???? Idk I always skip the last half hour of botfa. If I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist.

Ahahah I got taken away a bit so it’s a long request. Sorry….

Headcanons, female s/o

Tw: misunderstood feelings, mention of injury and blood, tiny sprinkle of angst, fluff, Kili being a lil shit, Fili being jealous, few mentions of Y/N I’m so sorry.

- This man is whipped for you. I posted a request similar to this one yesterday, and I feel like it says enough.

- The moment he sees you, he knows you’re his One. Yet, he can’t allow himself to show you. His brother wouldn’t shut up about it and besides that, after Erebor was to be reclaimed, he had to marry royalty in order to form an alliance.

- But Thorin wasn’t blind. He has seen the look in Dis’ eyes many times before. He had seen his sister find her One, so it came as nothing out of the ordinary when he witnessed his nephew do the same.

- And this is pre-dragonsickness. Back when Thorin was all “I hate everyone but I guess I have to keep up with these two idiots so I’ll tolerate them.”

- And he wanted to grant Fili the opportunity to be with his One. He had even told him to simply go for it.

- But Fili was a bit insecure. When you met him, you didn’t seem taken away in any way. It was almost as if it had only been him who was in love.

- And with that, you had grown remarkably close to his brother, Kili. You two joked around all the time. You sat together during the evenings, Kili would help you up on your horse/pony, he would take offer your watches and he even let you hold his bow and arrow. That is basically dwarven language for “I love you and I wish to court you” or “I love you and I’m so glad to have you in my family.”

- What Fili didn’t know is that Thorin told Kili about you being his One. But instead of teasing Fili about it, Kili had made it his duty to agitate his brother so much that he would have no choice but to confess to you before Kili would sneak you away.

- For your information: Kili had no intention of sneaking you away. He just wanted to make it look like it for Fili, and, lucky for him, you had just been going along with it subconsciously.

- But it did not agitate Fili. It made the poor lad confused and tired. You were showing so much affection and endearment to his brother that he felt like he could never compete. Even though Kili had never been attractive in dwarven standards, he knew his way around women. And seeing someone finally pay attention to him, made Fili happy for his brother.

- And Kili just kept up with the act. He was oblivious to what his brother was feeling. Thorin had quite specifically told Kili not to tell his brother, and for once, he didn’t. But when days turned into weeks, Kili made more advances. Not in any way uncomfortable for you, but they had been a step further.

- He would let you rest against him during night shifts, he would let his hand linger on your waist when he helped you get onto your horse/pony. This sneaky bastard even managed to toy with your hair.

- Fili grew absolutely devastated at these moments. He had distanced himself more and truly felt as if his One had been taken away and he would die alone.

- But then Mirkwood happened. It was obvious to Fili that his brother had taken a liking on Tauriel, the female elf that saved him earlier. You had been passed out of exhaustion in your cell, not paying attention to your surroundings anymore.

- And that was when Fili finally decided to speak.

- “What are you doing? I thought you liked Y/N and now you’re flirting with that elf? You can’t treat her like that!”

- And now Kili was confused.

- “I thought you liked Y/N?” He had questioned, not even knowing whether his uncle had been lying to him or not.

- “That doesn’t matter. What matters is, you can’t just run around-“ but Kili had already cut him off. “It does matter. Because Y/N isn’t my One. I’m not attracted to her!”

- And now Fili was dead silent. He had been contemplating on whether to act furious or taken aback. In reality, he had been a bit of both.

- “You don’t like Y/N?” Fili asked, nearly insulted.

- “I was only trying to agitate you. Uncle said she was your One but that you wouldn’t confess.” Kili admitted finally, knowing that keeping the act up any longer wouldn’t work.

- “So you tried to beat it out of me?” The only response the blonde got was a quiet hum.

- “You thought I would take away your chance of happiness?” Fili wondered aloud, his anger now showing more clearly. “Well, not if you put it like that-“ “How else am I supposed to put it?”

- With those words, the space grew quiet. One more question lingered on Fili’s mind, and he had to ask it.

- “Does she know you don’t like her?” A short pause was heard from Kili before he responded. “She does. When we grew closer she told me she wasn’t attracted to me and I told her she wasn’t my One.”

- A sigh of relief came Fili’s way, but his brother kept on talking. “She grew all confused by the concept of ‘Ones’. Had to give her a whole history lesson. She thinks it’s adorable. I’m sure she won’t reject you.” With those words, Fili’s ears pricked up.

- “How so?” “Because every time we are together, she won’t stop asking me about you.” Fili never thought someone could ever bring him more butterflies than when you smiled at him, but as Kili’s sentences reached him, his stomach felt all light again.

- “At first I thought it was because you were ignoring her, but I quickly figured out that wasn’t the case.” Kili shot a quick look his brother’s way, even though he had been in a cell on the other side of the hall. “She likes you, she really does. She’s not as good at hiding it as you are. If you ask her to court you, she won’t say no.”

- Fili had spent the entire night pondering over his brother’s words. Even as they escaped the dungeons and took the boat to Laketown, his anxiety bubbled up.

- But as soon as the orcs entered the city, reality sunk back in. They had been on the run while simultaneously claiming their homeland. There might be a chance neither of you would make it. And it terrified him.

- As you were busy holding off the orcs in Bard’s home, Fili had been right beside you covering your back. He knew asking you to court him would require more steps. Up until this moment you had only held a handful of conversations, but Fili was running out of patience.

- “When all this is over, I need you by my side.” He told you quickly, his voice heavy as he fenced off the attackers. You grew confused at your words, yet your actions did not falter one bit. And it only made Fili more attracted to you. How you maintained yourself on a battlefield, yet somehow managed to hold that perfect look. It could quite easily take his breath away.

- “But I am by your side.” You answered, not catching his meaning, thinking it had been too good to be true.

- “I mean by my side at Erebor. When we reclaim the mountain. Will you stay with me?” Upon your silence, Fili tried explaining his speech. “I know asking you to court me requires more steps but we might not have time for them anymore. I need you to stay with me. We can do all these steps afterwards, I promise.”

- You cast him a quick look before giving him a sincere nod. “I’ll stay with you.”

- And that is exactly what you did. Upon finally arriving at the mountain with the four dwarves, Fili finally got the time to braid your hair, even if Thorin told him to look for the Arkenstone. You had even managed to braid his hair too, even though you had no beads yet.

- Even as Thorin slowly grew insane, Fili had done what he promised; he remained by your side, defending you against his uncle and keeping you as safe as he could.

- During the battle of the five armies, you stayed with him and Kili. You traveled with the three of you, not once separating. Not even when Fili decided you should split up. Because of that, you managed to do quite a number on Azog before Thorin called out to him.

- Azog had gotten a good slash on your leg, nothing life threatening but enough to make you collapse on the spot. Fili had been so worried. He had promised to look out for you, but now you were bleeding out on the snow covered floor. Kili had already ran off for help, even though the possibility he would come back with one would be highly unlikely, as battle was still raging on.

- On top of Ravenhill everything had grown silent. Bodies of dead orcs were littered over the floor but all that mattered to Fili right now was you being safe. Eventually, Kili had ran back with Bilbo, Thorin and Gandalf by his side. They had successfully beaten Azog, finally putting an end to the bloodshed.

- As the mountain was being rebuilt, Oin had put you on bed rest to let your leg heal and Fili had been with you the entire time. Thorin hadn’t even tried to get him for royal duties. He knew he had been awful to you during his dragonsickness, and this was his way of apologizing to you. And you had been fine with it.

- When you had finally recovered, Kili took you to the forges to make beads for Fili. You wanted it to be a surprise for him, but you needed supervision. At first, Dis, Fili and Kili’s mother, had offered to help, but it had become her duty to distract the crown prince.

- A few burns and scratched had started to form on both your and Kili’s hands but it had been worth it. The beads were incredible.

- Fili was so happy when you gave them to him. He was so surprised by the amazing details and the thought and time your poured into them.

- He wears them the entire time. Now exceptions. Not even for bed or bath. None. They must always be in his hair.

- I WANNA WRITE MORE BUT IT’S ALREADY SO LONG BUT JUST ASSUME HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH AND WILL TREASURE YOU FOREVER AND LOVE YOU FOR EVERY LITTLE THING YOU DO

#Fili #Fili durin #tolkien #lord of the rings #the hobbit #the company #the company of thorin oakenshield #Fili x reader #Fili imagine

[starlessea]

Sea Witch (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Era: S4 

Summary: You sing just like a siren, and it makes Daryl realise why some sailors chose to drown.

Words: 1521

Warnings: Language.

Daryl was bewitched. He'd tip-toed his way out of the cellblock like a ghost haunting the hallways - careful not to wake anyone. He'd always had trouble sleeping, and found himself sneaking out for a midnight cigarette more often than not. Though, he'd run out of them the week before last, and had only recently managed to find a soggy packet on yesterday's supply run. He'd been waiting for this, and his fingertips traced over the carton in his pocket - feeling antsy to breathe in that first breath of smoke.

Except, he had forgotten all about them when he made his way outside. It was dark, and usually Daryl would find a secluded spot in the courtyard to flick his lighter like it was a sparkler in the night, and let the ends of his cigarettes burn his fingers just so that he could remember the feeling. But tonight was different. 

He thought it must be the witching hour, because the world didn't quite feel like it had when he’d left it. The moon was out, and it cast a hazed glow over the fields, and made Daryl's hands look a lot paler than they were. Yet, the sky was clear enough that he could see the countless stars hanging in it - like peering sets of eyes staring down at him. Daryl wasn't the type of man to spook easily, but something about this night set him on edge.

Then, he heard it. He wasn't entirely sure from where, but he could definitely hear it nonetheless. The man took a few tentative steps, whipping his head around to try and find the source of the noise. He couldn't, but he kept searching in the dark, as if some strange magnetism wouldn't let him leave. Daryl was bewitched - but by what exactly, he did not know.

You stood in the watchtower, overlooking the rolling fields and the forest that concealed any world that may exist beyond the prison. It was like you all lived on an island, lost out at sea. You wished that were the case - and that whoever dared to try and come for you would drown in their manmade boats and leave you all in peace.

Everything had been calm since you'd taken down Woodberry, but you couldn't help but feel it was the calm before the storm. So, you watched. You peered into the dark like you expected to see something there, and counted down the minutes until you could switch your shift and rest your eyes for good. 

On nights like this, you felt an unease creep into your bones. You had no explanation for it, except the fact that everything felt too quiet. You didn't like that very much, so you decided to change it. Humming softly to yourself at first, you let your voice get gradually louder, as it got carried off by the wind like a ship to the current. 

"My heart is pierced by cupid-" you sang, the words coming out sweet and thick.

"I distain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me-"

The breeze had died down, so that your voice rang clearer in the stagnant air, seeming to carry all away to that forest and beyond.

"But my jolly sailor bold." 

Daryl thought he'd gone mad. He paced around the courtyard like a fish bobbing around a lure - except, he couldn't see the lure dangling right in front of him. His cigarette remained unlit between his lips, and was mostly unsmokable from how much he'd chewed it between his teeth. The song was unlike anything he'd ever heard before, and he couldn't let himself return to his cell until he found out who sang it. It was strange; he felt more trapped here, outside, than he had done within the prison.

The moonlight allowed him a good enough view of the area, but he could see no other figures aside from his own shadow. He wondered if he was stuck in the midst of a dangerous game - but he felt himself too far gone to turn back now. The man spat the cigarette out from his mouth and stomped over it with his boot, grumbling under his breath about how much of a waste it was.

He turned on his heels, ready to call it a night - albeit a disappointing one. Then, he heard it again, and Daryl Dixon was no quitter.

"His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal-" you continued, staring out into the abyss like you expected to see a ship break through the misty fog and drop anchor at your gates.

"My happiness attend him wherever he may go."

Then, you saw him. A figure stood below the watchtower, looking up at you like they'd just stumbled upon the new world. You let your words trail off and squinted, trying to get a look at whoever it was.

Daryl stood triumphantly at the base of the tower, having found the source of the siren song. He hadn't expected it to be you - but that was probably intentional. Daryl batted all thoughts of you away like they were oncoming attacks, not letting him alone for more than a minute. He really did feel bewitched by you, by your unassuming smile, or the way you laughed at other people's jokes that weren't his - and how he wished he'd been the one to tell them. He hadn't thought you'd been the one singing, but that was only because he tried to think of everyone else it could be, first.

"Who ya tryna lure in?" Daryl called up at you, and you flinched.

You hadn't expected for the shadow in the dark to be him, but you couldn't say that you minded, either.

"Jesus, Daryl!" You yelled back, resting your hand over your heart. "You scared me."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't entirely the truth. You'd seen him before he'd even called out. The only thing that had scared you was realising it was Daryl. The man left you utterly speechless on a good day, and you wondered whether tonight was a good night.

"Nah, ya scared me." He grumbled in response, keeping his voice loud so you could still hear it.

You couldn't make out any of his features from where he stood, but the moonlight illuminated enough that you could see him looking straight up at you - like you were the beacon atop of a lighthouse.

"Thought my time was comin' to an end." He remarked, and you stifled a laugh. "Jus' wanted a cigarette an' I got the sea witch over here singin' some creepy shit."

You felt your cheeks burn, suddenly feeling too tongue-tied for someone who'd spent the night pouring over all the lyrics and melodies you could remember. It was like you'd used up all your words on your songs - leaving you silent for longer than you'd like.

"It's not creepy!" You argued, after a few seconds, but the man already knew.

Daryl wasn't sure why he'd said that, and suddenly wished he could take it back. He glanced up at you, leaning on the railing of the tower as your hair draped over the edge of it. To him, you almost seemed like an apparition - standing there against the ghostly moon like you were made to exist for this night.

"Ya got a pretty voice." He mumbled, wanting you to know what he’d really meant to say.

You bent further over the guard, trying to hear what the man had muttered into the night. 

"What?" You shouted, calling out to him. "I can't hear you from down there."

He remained silent, or maybe you'd just missed what he'd said again. He felt so far away from you, and you wished he'd just come closer.

"Are you going to come up?" You prompted, but felt your heart sink as he quickly shook his head.

"Nah." He replied. "Don' fancy drownin' tonight." 

You raised an eyebrow, not having the slightest clue what he meant. The man didn't give you much time to mope, however, as he called back up to you before he left.

"Maybe tomorrow." He said, and you watched the angel wings of his jacket catch the light as he turned around.

"Okay." You smiled to yourself. "See you around, Sailor!"

And so, Daryl returned back to the cellblock for the night, thumbing over the near-full packet of cigarettes in his pocket. The prison was as quiet as it was when he'd left, and he wasn't sure if any time had even passed since he’d been gone. The man slumped back onto his mattress and felt himself drift off to sleep like a boat adrift over waves, feeling more tired than he’d done in a long time.

Daryl fell asleep to dreams of peering, starlit eyes and a sea witch who stood among them, and you continued to sing until another figure was lured to your watchtower - this time, to take over your shift.

A/N I was listening to this cover of Jolly Sailor Bold whilst writing this. It’s honestly so enchanting-

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[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Supernova (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Dick Grayson as Robin x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of murder, mental health issues and episodes.

Word Count: 3.1K

Summary: As the daughter of Wonder Woman, you always knew you were destined for something more than the life of a mortal. It seemed like your wish for a life of adventure came true but whether in the form of a blessing or curse, you didn’t know. All you know is that you were the sole witness for a chain of murders that would begin. It’s up to you to find out who was the murderer before it’s too late……

A/N: Oof it has been a while since the last update

Supernova Masterlist

“I told you specifically that you were not to get involved! And you deliberately disobeyed me!” Your mother scolded but her voice was getting a decibel louder each time. You looked unfazed and unbothered, not even trying to maintain eye-contact while receiving your mother’s disappointment and instead staring out the window.

It was not what you had wanted to hear at the moment if you were being honest. The past few days had been hard and you even missed training since Valerie’s death. Robin had been by your room multiple times trying to get you out of bed but you just remained there. Not living, not dying, just existing.

Your mother’s comfort might have done nothing to change the way you downward spiraled after the events and while your mother yelled at you, the same images kept replaying in your head as they did for the past few days; Robin ripping you away from her body as the police and press showed up, Valerie’s parents finding out what happened and then watching her mother break down in front of her daughter, Valerie’s little sister wailing during the funeral.

You didn’t leave the bed after that, still dressed in the black blazer and trousers you had worn that day. It had been a couple days. You had managed to swallow down Robin’s green smoothies and even a couple slices of fruit but you didn’t quite remember what it was. They all tasted bland and disgusting.

Your mother had found out about your identity through the multiple press reports and articles and while you were sorry that she had to find out that way, you didn’t have the capacity to show it. The last thing you had was the energy to fight with her, or even resist her.

So instead, you just listened to whatever she had to say, hoping that she’d leave sooner or later but the more you felt your head throb, the more frustrated you got. This was just so typical of her, of course the unstoppable, fearless, undefeatable Wonder Woman would have no idea what you were going through. And instead of asking you for your two cents, instead of comforting you, she had been trying to imprint her anxieties onto you.

Had she even thought how hard this must have been for you? For even a second? You couldn’t imagine it because if she had thought about you for even a moment, she would’ve realized that you literally saw your best friend murdered before your eyes. She would’ve realized that you were feeling like you didn’t deserve to live on the face of the earth. And she would’ve tried to comfort you.

Instead, she stormed into your room, tossing her phone with the news article on the bed before beginning her lecture and now fifteen minutes later she had yet to ask you if you were okay.

Her argument was stupid as well. You didn’t ask for any of this to happen to you; you were hardly responsible and yet no matter how hard you tried to avoid the matter, it kept pulling you back in. You couldn’t deal with this like a human, no matter how much your mother wanted you to, because you knew that you were more than that and you could have done something. It left you feeling guilty.

But at the same time, you couldn’t handle this as a god because you weren’t. You kept thinking about how you ended up coming short in each fight; had you been blessed with just a little more, had you not been part human then you wouldn’t have gotten injured the night Mary-Anne got captured and you would’ve saved her. If you weren’t limited, you would’ve been faster the day Valerie was killed, you would’ve reached her before it happened, you would’ve stopped it.

You were truly useless, but you didn’t have the excuse to be.

That made you feel absolutely worthless. Even after being blessed with so much, you still came up short. You still failed.

And who was to blame for that? The cruel fate that had you in the position you were today.

“If you weren’t my daughter—” Your mother muttered to herself in her anger, realizing that you weren’t reacting to anything she said but you caught the start of her sentence, cutting her off with a humorless and tired laugh.

“If I wasn’t your daughter,” You finally looked at her and you saw her features morph into one of worry when she finally noticed all the tears that were skating down your cheeks, “I wouldn’t be here.”

“Three people are dead, mom.” You cried, voice cracking but she stood there as if she was nailed to her place, “And I only have myself to blame. If I had been faster, stronger, if I didn’t have these human side to me, they wouldn’t be.”

“I can’t live like a god because I’m not competent enough, not gifted enough.” You sobbed, wiping away your tears and holding a hand up when she tried to approach you. You were too overwhelmed at the moment, too much input was there and it was overloading all your senses, “And I can’t live like a human because if I was this wouldn’t be happening to me.”

“If I wasn’t your daughter,” You spoke and it scared her with just how much malice you put into it, like you were disgusted with yourself for being her child and in a way, you were, how could you be Wonder Woman’s daughter and still be so weak?

“Those people wouldn’t have died when I was there to do something about it. Mary-Anne would have been gone without me knowing, my principal wouldn’t have been a casualty and I would’ve gotten Achilles’ tarot.” It was like you had given up. So many emotions were rushing through you that you couldn’t understand what was pushing you anymore, if there was anything there.

You weren’t ready just yet to give up on being a hero, not after another death. You wanted to help, you couldn’t continue to be useless and yet it felt like you were burning the candle at both ends.

“Please just go. I don’t expect Wonder Woman to understand what it’s like to be caught between paradise and hell.” You said, laying down once again and pulling the covers over your head, “Just go.”

You heard the door open and click shut before you were bathed in silence and darkness once again. For a minute it felt peaceful and you let the minutes bleed into hours without realizing just how much time passed as you were curled up in the hollow of your blankets.

You heard the door click open but didn’t bother to rear your head from your shelter until you felt someone poke you in the back. When you turned, Robin was standing with a tray in his hands and a reassuring smile on his face, “I got you something to drink.”

He didn’t ruin the silence that you had been yearning for, in fact the sound of his voice was sweet to the ears. This was what you needed.

Shifting slightly, you patted the empty spot next to you and when he settled comfortably beside you, it wasn’t suffocating or difficult like how you felt with your mother. Robin handed you the glass of fruit cocktail smoothie and you accepted, sipping the drink quietly and enjoying the chill slipping down your throat.

This wasn’t uncommon. Ever since you both started training together, you often found yourself searching for him when you needed comfort, since Robin was the one you had gotten closest to during your stay here. Now, with just an inch of distance between you, you were feeding off his energy and it was putting you at ease.

You leaned your head against his shoulder and he didn’t flinch, having been used to it by now but the first time you had even held his hand, the poor boy had jumped out his skin. You just needed the physical touch to put you in balance for a while and recharge, he realized that a while ago. Robin even felt better himself whenever you played with his fingers, specifically taking off his gloves to feel his skin or leaned against his back after a long day of training.

It felt so intimate but not romantic. He just felt needed and supportive whenever you relied on him this way, delicately threading your fingers together and sitting in the silence of your room. He didn’t even have to look at you, just feeling his presence beside you was okay.

The sound of you finished the drink through the straw filled his ears before he realized he should speak up.

“(Y/N).” He said gently and you didn’t lift your head, just humming to show that you had heard him, “They’re interrogating her murderer today.”

He would’ve thought that you were unshaken by the news had he not felt your hands tighten its grip on his. You just nodded, burying your head closer to his neck, wishing the ground would just suck you in. He didn’t say anything else, gently drumming the fingers that were set on his thigh.

***

Your hands clenched into fists as you gazed at the figure behind the one-way window. She looked too simple, too mundane to be a murderer but you knew she was the one responsible for Valerie’s death. Afterall, you had been the one to catch her red-handed.

Messy red hair was thrown into a bun, her unkempt strands and frizz making her look like she hadn’t slept in days and you were part to blame for that. Her lip was still split from where you punched her, your knuckles pricked at the sight, eager for more.

Looking at her, you couldn’t imagine how she was responsible for this, a frail looking woman who looked like she couldn’t even hurt a fly. Her name was Thelma, at least that’s what it says on her identity card. Thelma had been denying that as her name since the interrogation had begun.

Going through her file, she looked just as you had assumed; ordinary.

Batman hadn’t gotten a word out of her, she had refused to co-operate with the interrogation at all, pretending not to hear his questions, going as far as to even deny committing the crime at all. That part made you clench your jaw so tight you could’ve sworn your teeth could crack. She knew she had the advantage here.

As per the rules from the UN, you weren’t allowed to use the lasso of Hestia without her consent to assist the interrogation as it violates their right to remain silent. Watching her blatantly deny the crime that you knew she had committed had your blood boiling in your veins. If only you could wrap Hestia’s rope around her throat.

You growled as Batman tried to intimidate her but it was in vain before grabbing the lasso from your mother’s waist and stomping to the door.

“(Y/N)!” She warned, as if daring you to defy her again.

You didn’t even spare her a glance before throwing the door open and stepping inside. Batman stalked up to you quickly, leaning in with a cold fury but you didn’t back down, holding his stare. You couldn’t just stand back anymore, the feeling of knowing that you could have done something but didn’t was too much for you to take anymore.

“Give me a chance.” You murmured, “I won’t go against protocol. You have my word.”

His gaze hardened for a second before giving you a curt nod and moving to the corner of the room. He didn’t trust you not to lose your temper, not just yet and you were more than determined to prove one of the big three that you could handle yourself. Although the urge to slap the condescending look off her face was getting more tempting.

You fastened the rope to your belt before stepping in front of the table, resting your hands against it in a self-satisfying way that you saw in movie before finally looking Valerie’s murderer in the eye. Haggard green eyes behind thick lenses and wrinkles running deep into her pale skin. She looked pathetic. That made you feel both frustrated and proud.

“Your name is Paris,” You bit out with such venom, making sure to keep your voice loud enough for the members behind the glass to hear you clearly, “Isn’t it?”

She smirked and her eyes flashed with some pride that had you resisting the urge to throw her across the room. It would be so easy to snap her neck right then and there, to make her pay for what she did to your dear friend but you controlled yourself.

“Finally, someone with a brain.”

You mirrored her smirk, feeling your spine straightened with a little confidence, your hunch had been right, “How couldn’t I have known The Great Paris? The brave soldier who slayed Mighty Achilles.” You purred, taking your eyes off her and glancing at the glass. You were keeping your tone even, your gaze steady to show your mother but you were comforted knowing that Robin was behind it.

“The brave, skilled, mighty Trojan Prince Paris. Made a name for himself by being the best of his kind. Only a mortal but still managed to take down a divine god.” You droned, noticing how she began beaming at your words. You turned back to her and even though it was just a moment, they had seen something change in your eye. Your glare turned dark and you smirked.

“Only we both know one thing; your name isn’t Paris.” Her smile vanished and you took a step closer, sitting right across her to look her in the eye. “Tell me if this sounds familiar, hmm? A lonely, old woman living all alone. She’s at a dead-end job. She has no family, no friends, no light in her life.”

The way you spoke had your mother on edge. Every single word that came out of your mouth was like hitting a nail on the head. It was unlike anyone had ever seen before.

Robin clutched his cape nervously in his hands as he watched you interrogate Thelma with something settling in the pit of his stomach. He had seen that look before, the very same dark glare on his father and now it scared him that it was almost identical on you. He couldn’t let you turn out as his dad, he just couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“And then finally she gets something in her life. A chance at hope. A chance at purpose. Something to finally make her believe that her life is worth living. Sound familiar? I bet it does, Thelma.” You hissed, “Because that pathetic woman was you, wasn’t it? You thought that if you killed Achilles you’d be rewarded, worshipped even. And finally, your miserable little life would have some meaning. Didn’t you?”

The look of fear in her eyes fed your hunger for a while. She was shaking her head feebly, looking at the ground since she couldn’t hold your gaze and you could only get angrier. Where was the pride and arrogance that she was showing earlier? Where was the crazed look in her eye as she murdered your best friend in cold blood?

“Only you were stupid,” You spat, “You were careless and you got caught. And suddenly, you weren’t the Mighty Paris that defeated Achilles. No, you were pathetic, irrelevant little Thelma who killed an underaged, unprotected girl in the locker room of her high school. I saw it all. You’re despicable.”

Robin watched your eyes swirl with a darkness he had never seen before. You were always trying to fight against your demons that were pulling you into the deepest recesses of your mind but now it was like you had finally surrendered to it. It was scary to watch such a pure person slowly get corrupted and Robin felt his resolve harden a little. He wouldn’t let you end up like the Dark Knight.

He had known Wonder Woman for most of his life and it was always your mother’s unconditional love and hope for the human race that made her what she stood as today. You always wanted to be like your mother, in body and mind. Now it felt like you were throwing away all those principles. Now it was to protect your own, and no one else.

If there was anything he could do to prevent you from going down that path he would, he realized when he saw the manic look in your eye. You were so close to being lost. Robin spared a glance at your mother, seeing her stand steady and tall. You were teetering over the edge at the moment and if your mother pushed just a little in the wrong way, you could possibly be lost to the rest of them. He wouldn’t let it come to that.

The darkness storming in your eyes suddenly ceased. Your features went slack in a terrifying way as you leaned towards the shivering woman in front of you as your fingers went white around the edges of the table.

“You took something very precious from me,” It was like poison was dripping from your tongue and you kept your voice low enough so only the both of you would know what you were saying, “Watch how easily I can do the same to you.”

Suddenly you pulled back and turned towards Batman with a small, disarming smile, “She’s free to go, Batman. She isn’t the one who killed Valerie. She’s just an ordinary, insignificant civilian.”

It was like a thread snapped.

“I DID IT! I KILLED HER! IT WAS ME!” Thelma shrieked lunatically, kicking the table and banging her hand-cuffed hands against the tabletop. She began sobbing loudly, screaming about how she was the one who killed Valerie and your heart lightened with satisfaction just a little. Just what you wanted.

“It’s my word against yours, Thelma. I witnessed the murder. I just think you’re just confused.” You replied, seemingly unfazed by her episode. The way she was crying in poor agony would usually have you off-put, concerned even. But right now, all you felt was your eardrums sting. She deserved none of your remorse.

“NO! NO, I DID IT! I DID IT!”

The smirk on your face was unmistakable, “Oh really? Will your confession hold up against the Lasso of Truth? Do you think it can?”

Her crying died down until she was softly sobbing into her hands, knowing that she had no other way out. She had lost, “Yes. I did it.”

You loosened the lasso around your waist, letting one end fall to the ground before wrapping it once around your wrist for better leverage, “Then let the interrogation begin.”

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[xreaderxo]

My Moon

Zuko x reader

Soulmate AU

genre: angst but with a good ending 

warning: death, sickness

summary: Every Fire Nation citizen gets a tattoo on their wrist when they turn sixteen. This tattoo shows the first words your soulmate will say to you. Some people find this person immediately, and spend the rest of their lives together. Some people never get the chance.

_

"Why do you keep that ribbon on your wrist?"

Zuko clenched his fists by his sides, exhaling a breath of fire in frustration. Sozin's Comet was in three days, and this was the fourth time Aang has stopped training to ask a question that had nothing to do with firebending.

"Aang," Zuko said impatiently, "Stop avoiding training."

"But I want to know!" Aang clasped his hands together. "That's where your soulmate's first words are, right? Why are they covered?"

Zuko groaned. "Because I don't have time for a soulmate. I was too focused on finding you, and now I need to focus on defeating my father."

"So you've never looked at it!?" Aang's eyes widened before he lunged forward. "Let me see! Let me see!"

"Wha- Aang!" Zuko yelled, trying to pry the airbender off of him as he stretched his right arm out of his reach. "Get off!"

"I want to know what your words are!"

"Why are you interested in my love life!?"

"Because I would kill to have what you have and you don't appreciate it!"

"Don't appreciate what?" Sokka asked, popping a grape into his mouth as he walked up to the hill where the two were sparring.

"Sokka!" Aang shouted. "Take Zuko's ribbon off!"

"Ooh, I love annoying Zuko!" Sokka said gleefully, grabbing Zuko's wrist and ripping the black fabric off. "Uh, why am I annoying Zuko?"

"Because Zuko's never looked at his soulmate tattoo!" Aang snatched a frozen Zuko's wrist and read it. "I want the last thing I see to be the moon," he read.

"Poetic." Sokka nodded approvingly. "I like them already, they like staring at my first girlfriend!"

Zuko blinked. "Wait, hold on- your first girlfriend actually turned into the moon? Like literally?"

That was a year ago. Zuko was Fire Lord now. Currently, he was headed to a secluded cliff he had found the day before to meditate. There was a sickness going around, and although it wasn't contagious, Iroh hadn't wanted him to be in a populated area. So, he was going to be alone away from other people.

Or so he thought.

He halted as he entered the clearing to the cliff. There was a person- you -lying down in the grass, staring at the moon. Remembering his tattoo, a spark of hope lit in his chest. He was Fire Lord. The war was over. It would be safe to fall in love. Maybe this was his soul mate.

His hope quickly turned to dread as he got closer. They had the sickness. Judging from their skin and frailty, they probably didn't even have an hour left.

Still, even if they aren't his soulmate, Zuko wasn't about to let anybody die alone.

"Uh, it's pretty cold out," he said as he got closer, and visibly winced. It wasn't cold. It was the middle of summer in the Fire Nation.

You shrugged, not having the strength to sit up to see who your soulmate was.. "I want the last thing I see to be the moon."

Zuko's breath hitched. "No," he whispered.

You chuckled bitterly. "We finally meet, and I'll be dead by morning. Sounds about right." you paused. "You can go, if you want. I don't want you to have to see this."

"I'm not letting my soulmate die alone," Zuko said determinedly, his legs shaking, and laid down beside you. You looked at him, and raised your eyebrows in shock as you recognized him.

"Well, look at that! If I hadn't gotten this cough, I would've been the queen!" you joked. "Nice to meet you, Fire Lord. I'm Y/N."

Y/N. It was the most beautiful word Zuko had ever heard.

"Just call me Zuko," he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You two laid there for a few minutes, drinking in each other's appearances. You knew he was handsome, as you'd seen his face plastered all over the Fire Nation for years. First listed as a traitor and most recently, Fire Lord. He was even more handsome up close. His amber eyes had flecks of fire orange in them. And his scar? You thought that it was the most handsome part of all. It showed he'd been through something terrible, and overcame it.

Zuko couldn't believe someone so beautiful could exist. You were gorgeous. Stunning. Even in your frail state, your complexion blemished from the sickness, your cheekbones jutting out sharply, Zuko had never seen anything so divine.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his eyes locked with yours.

"Yes, Zuko?"

He gulped, bringing his other hand to cup your cheek and resting his forehead on yours. "Tell me everything about you."

And so you did.

You told him your childhood. You told him about the first time you broke a bone. You told him how you felt when your father died. You told him that your favorite food is Roast Duck. You told him that you always planned on naming your daughter Izumi. You told him how you donated everything you owned to the Ursa Medical Center that Zuko had recently set up. You told him how excited you were whenever you heard that the Avatar had returned, because finally there would be peace.

"I was so happy that it was you who became Fire Lord and not somebody else." You had your head on his chest at this point, his legs tangled with yours.

"Why?" Zuko's fingers were running through your sweat-soaked hair, the wetness not registering.

"Because," you hummed, "You betrayed the Fire Nation to help the Avatar. You were willing to leave everything you'd ever known to bring peace." you paused, tilting your chin so you could look at him. "Plus, you're pretty cute, too."

Zuko blushed as the corners of his mouth turned upwards. "You think I'm cute? Have you seen yourself?"

You chuckled weakly. "Yeah, I'm a real dime piece right now." Zuko's hand stilled. He leaned up on one elbow so he could look down on you.

"Y/N," he said seriously, "You are incandescently beautiful. You are oh so pulchritudinous. You are the most stunning of all of God's creations."

You smiled at him. If your body could produce enough water for it, tears would be running down your face. "Thank you," you whispered. As Zuko laid back down, you spoke again. "Now, tell me everything about you."

So he did. He told you about his mother. He told you about being banished. He told you how it was trying to capture the Avatar. He told you about his time in Ba Sing Se. He told you about his uncle. He told you about being friends with the Avatar, and joining their group. He told you what it was like to face Azula. He told you about how Aang and Sokka had ripped off the ribbon, which you both shared a laugh at.

He sighed. "I wish we had more time," he choked out. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I just met you, but I can't imagine living without you."

"Well, that's the thing about soulmates," you replied, running your hand through his hair and bringing his head down to yours until your lips were centimetres apart. "We'll never truly be apart."

And then Zuko was kissing you. He was kissing your lips and your nose and your cheeks and your forehead and your eyebrows and back to your lips. He was kissing you as though he thought that if he kissed you enough, he could save you. He was kissing you as if it would be the last kiss you would ever share, which was likely.

You were the one to break the kiss, as you were losing breath. You could feel it coming, and Zuko could, too. "I- I don't know what to do," he whimpered, holding you closer. "We've only known each other for an hour. We should be able to have a life together, to grow old together. It isn't fair!"

"Shh, Zuko," you hummed into the hollow of his neck. "We'll see each other again, my love. And whenever you miss me, just look at the moon. This," you pulled back and gestured to the moon above, "Is our moon. Forever." You laid your head back on his chest, and your voice was barely above a whisper when you next spoke. "Can you sing me to sleep?"

Zuko's heart was breaking, but he couldn't say no. "Of course," he hiccuped, choking back a sob, before he began singing a song his mother used to sing him.

“Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it's safe, here it's warm Here the daisies guard you from every harm Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true Here is the place where I love you.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away A cloak of leaves, A moonbeam ray, Forget your woes and let your troubles lay And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.

Here it's safe, here it's warm Here the daisies guard you from every harm Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true Here is the place where I love you.”

As he finished the song, his heart stopped. You weren't breathing. Agony, the worst pain he’d ever felt, ripped through his chest. An inhuman scream erupted from his throat as he pulled your body into him, his tears falling. He'd just met you, and yet you had become his world. And you were gone.

He stayed there the entire night until Iroh found him the next morning, still clutching your ice-cold corpse. Iroh's heart snapped, immediately knowing what must have happened. It took hours to pry Zuko away from you. He spent the next week crying into Iroh's shoulder. "I don't think she heard me tell her I love her, Uncle," he sputtered before another sob wracked his shoulders.

"She knew," Iroh assured him. "I promise. She knew."

He arranged a funeral for you that was fit for a Fire Queen, and had you buried on the cliff where you had met.

_

Fire Lord Zuko's reign lasted sixty-seven years. After much pressure from his advisors about an heir, he did end up taking a wife. Her name was Mikoto, from a noble Fire Nation family. Her soulmate had died as well, so it was a perfect fit. They both knew they could never love another, but they were best friends.

They had a daughter, who Zuko named Izumi. He was still alive whenever she took over as Fire Lord, and he'd never been more proud of anything or anyone.

And yet, he still missed you. He thought about you every day, and every night he would sit and stare at the moon. Sometimes he would cry, thinking about what could have been. Other times he would be happy, telling you about Izumi's accomplishments. He would always sleep with the window open, so that the last thing he saw before he went to sleep was your moon.

He died at the age of one hundred in his sleep, his face still turned towards the moon.

_

Zuko's eyes opened to find himself in the Spirit World face to face with Iroh himself.

"Uncle!" he cried, wrapping him into a hug.

"Hello, Zuko!" Iroh said with a smile. "It's nice to see you again!"

"Hey Sifu Hotman, you better give me a hug, too!" Zuko whirled around to see Aang, and his smile widened as he jumped into the Avatar's arms. Stepping back, Zuko noticed that Aang was a lot older than he was.

"Why am I seventeen again?" he asked.

"For the same reason that I am twenty-five," Iroh explained, "The age I was when my son was born. Here, you remain the age you were when you were at your happiest."

"I was happiest when I was twenty-one, when Katara and I got married," Aang explained. "You're seventeen because that's how old you were when you met them."

Zuko froze as he heard footsteps behind him, before whirling around.

"Hello, My Love," you said. You were healthy and in a beautiful red gown. Zuko's breath hitched, his eyes filling with tears. He ran forward to envelop you in a hug.

"I've missed you, too," you chuckled as he peppered your face with kisses. The two of you stared at one another, soaking in each other's appearances yet again. He rested his forehead against yours.

"We can finally spend forever together," he said in what was meant to be a whisper, but he was so elated that it came out as a yell.

"I can't wait," you replied in the same tone.

"I love you." The words Zuko had been wanting to tell you finally left his lips.

"I know," you answered, cupping his cheeks with your hands. "I love you, too."

As the two of you shared another kiss, the full moon above seemed to shine a little brighter.

#zuko x reader #zuko #prince zuko #zuko imagine #soulmate au #fire lord zuko #atla #a:tla #atla imagine #sokka #iroh #aang #soulmate zuko

[sevenmikento]

A/N: hello!! this request sounds super lit but i am Scared of not writing their dialogue witty enough so imma just try my best! :D i hope you have a nice day as well hehe

genres: fluff, BIG angst, sort of happy ending?, tw death, tw blood and gore; 2k words

divine omniscience [Sukuna X Reader]

“Do you guys think it’s true? What Gojou-sensei said?” Nobara asks out of the blue as she casually munches on a fry that certainly was not from her tray.

“You gotta be more specific, dude,” Yuuji replies, speaking with his mouth half-full of burger. She scrunches her nose at him as she reaches for another one of Megumi’s french fries.

“Y’know when he said all that stuff about Sukuna having only one known trusted companion or whatever. I mean, everything in the texts seems pretty vague, no?”

“Yeah, ‘companion’ is not the kind of word I’d associate with someone like him.” Megumi chips in, pushing his tray closer to the girl sitting opposite him.

“Kinda wanted to ask if they meant it sexually but I swear he’ll just start giggling and wasting our time.”

The three friends continue to chatter on about their theories and interpretations of their earlier class’s contents, all the while completely unaware of the fourth party listening in–the one who is actually most knowledgeable on the topic they’re so oddly curious about.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you are the one who knows the most, that is if you’re still alive. Though Sukuna doubts you died within the time he was away. You’re too smart for that.

The village chanted, faces obscured behind masks carved from wood and dyed red from the colour of the witch’s blood. Watching from within the shadows, Sukuna felt compelled to observe the ritual, having never felt such a strong surge in cursed energy in his entire existence.

He was proven to have wrongly assumed it was coming from the outraged villagers when they finally set your crucified body alight and a blanket of black cursed energy covered the area, engulfing every single one of the citizens beneath it. Bone-chilling screams and begs for mercy filled his ears, the sound muffled but satisfying to listen to nonetheless.

When the strange turn of events finally came to an end and the energy receded into your bloodied and broken body, the King of Curses himself decided that he’d finally found someone worth his time.

At the end of your torturous life as a human and the start of your existence as a newly born cursed spirit, you were honestly a little too much for Sukuna to handle. Despite having never heard of cursed energy or jujutsu sorcery, you were quick to pick up everything you needed to know and then some.

Not only were you dangerously intelligent, but you were also completely unphased by him and his raw power, no matter how much he made sure to display it–whether it be in the form of exterminating a town of people or setting a forest ablaze with just a snap of his fingers.

“Scared yet?” he would ask, a smug grin on his face. You would smile back without a hint of sarcasm or dishonesty.

“No,” you’d reply without a second thought, “because I know you will never hurt me.”

What Sukuna initially assumed was well-hidden arrogance turned out to be a mere fact you were stating. A piece of truth you’d gained due to the nature of your ever-growing curse technique. Outwardly, the King could deny it all he wanted to, he could threaten you day and night, grab your throat and tighten his grip just to prove you wrong but he would never–has never–done any harm unto you.

When he had come to accept that as the truth, he tried deluding himself into believing he kept you around merely for your wealth of knowledge and powerful supply of cursed energy. Those were, in fact, his reasons at the start of it all–they were why he even walked into the village that fateful day and used his reverse cursed technique on you.

“You can say that all you want,” you once said, reaching up to wipe the blood off his face with your sleeve while the same red substance stained your own skin, “but we both know the main reason you keep me by your side.”

He did not respond.

Instead, he scoffed and grabbed your chin with one hand before raising the other and mimicking your gesture. With an uncharacteristic tenderness, Sukuna wiped the blood off your face with his thumb as the cries of the dying soldiers around you slowly faded to nothing.

“Their name was (Y/N).” His voice echoes shortly within the confines of Yuuji’s dark bedroom.

“What?” the sorcerer blearily murmured, having been on the verge of falling asleep when the King of Curses himself decided to speak.

“My companion… though, they would have preferred the word ‘partner’... was named (Y/N).”

“Why’re you telling me this?” Yuuji groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“The inaccuracies your teachers spread to your friends are painful to listen to,” Sukuna scoffs. “Frankly, it’s insulting and disrespectful.” The cursed spirit’s choice of vocabulary throws his vessel off guard.

“... You must’ve liked them a lot, huh?” Yuuji responds, voice softer than before as he feels his initial frustration of being denied his sleep fading away. “It’s weird to imagine someone like you feeling indignant on someone else’s behalf.”

“Well,” Sukuna smirks to himself, “let’s just say they’re the only one I have any respect for in this godforsaken world.”

“He plans on betraying you,” you stated matter-of-factly, opening your eyes for the first time throughout the entire meeting.

Sukuna had called forth a few powerful cursed spirits under the pretence of forming an alliance, with his true intentions being to simply size them up and subtly intimidate them into leaving his newfound territory alone–if they valued their lives, that is. He didn’t need to tell you of his plans and he knew he didn’t have to for you to understand it completely.

The cursed spirit you’d singled out widened his eyes before his expression turned hostile. “Don’t spout bullshit! I’ve done nothing but agree with everything Sukuna-sama has said!”

Sukuna watched the events unfold silently, unable to help but feel something in his chest swell with warmth as he observed you.

“I know everything.” Your simple reply was enough to enrage the spirit who shot out of his chair and seemingly began to lunge in your direction.

“You fucking wh–!” he cried.

Where his head used to sit was a neck sliced cleanly through the middle as everyone in the room felt a gust of wind brush past their terrified faces. The only outliers were you and the perpetrator of the murder himself, both smiling as one would out on a walk on a pleasant afternoon. His skull bounces twice on the tatami flooring before it disappears alongside his body.

“That was a bit much, don’t you think, Sukuna?” The other cursed spirits practically break out in a cold sweat upon hearing you so daringly speak to the King of Curses after such a display of his power.

“That was merciful, my dear,” he responded casually, reaching out a clean hand to wipe away the droplets of blood that had reached your face. Still touching you, he turned to the others. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

“No, they’re terrified,” you laugh when they fail to respond, all still shaking where they sat.

“Good–”

“Of me.”

He scrunches his nose and softly pushes your face away but a smile still creeps onto his face as he thinks to himself, ‘as they should be.’

Nobara and Megumi would find it hard to believe had the information not come directly from Yuuji’s mouth, as well as the additional mouth that had unceremoniously popped up on his cheek mid-conversation.

“You’re saying everything wrong!” Sukuna had exclaimed after making his appearance and refusing to leave until Yuuji had gotten all the facts right.

When he was finally satisfied, he still didn’t leave right away, sensing the two sorcerers wanted to know more. “Well?” He prompts. “Just ask your fucking questions already, we don’t have all day.”

“If you put it like that… then I’ll just ask it as it is and you’re not allowed to get all pissy, ‘kay?” Nobara responds. Megumi and Yuuji share a nervous glance.

“How’re you so sure they’re not dead?”

He wished he hadn’t left you on such a bad note; that he didn’t spit at your feet and push you away when you tried to stop him from leaving the temple in which you both sought refuge. He wished he’d at least bade you a proper farewell and that his last words to you didn’t consist of him questioning your abilities just so he could keep his ego intact.

As Sukuna laid dying, surrounded by Japan’s most powerful sorcerers, he realised, finally, that he would never see you again; or feel your hand wipe at his face after another victorious battle.

For the first time in his life, the King of Curses shed a tear.

The braver sorcerers scoffed, some even taunted him, assuming he was merely afraid of death, whereas the warier ones hesitated in approaching him to deliver the final blow, taken aback by the uncharacteristic gesture. Still, with his immense cursed energy forming a protective barrier around him as a last resort, the sorcerers hadn’t won the battle quite yet.

A few minutes later, in fact, they lost it.

Sukuna remains silent, pondering over Nobara’s question. As promised, he didn’t show his anger and hid his grief even better. Truth be told, he doesn’t know if you’re alive.

“I told you not to go,” you spoke, voice trembling as you rested his head in your lap, your hands wiping the blood off his face. “I told you you’d die, didn’t I? Why didn’t you listen? Why?”

The sound of your soft sobs mingled with the noise from outside the pitch-black barrier you’d placed around the both of you. The sorcerers who survived your ambush were chipping away at your cursed energy shield and it was only a matter of time before they would break through.

“Even after all I said to you before I left,” Sukuna murmurs, relishing in the feeling of your skin against his, “this is what you choose to scold me over?” He let out a weak chuckle.

“I know of your grief and regret, I know you’re sorry and I’ve long forgiven you.”

“Thank you, my (Y/N).” He turned his head to press his lips against your palm for the final time. “Now go. You have to escape before the damned sorcerers force their way in.”

“No.” Your defiant tone juxtaposed with your tear stricken face amused him. “I’ll be here to see you off and then I’ll kill them all.” You leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I’ll wait for your return, my love.”

When Sukuna refused to answer Nobara’s question and promptly disappeared, the trio assumed that was the end of it all. As much as they wanted to leave the information behind them, they still find themselves talking about it as they wait in line at a new sushi place that opened near the school.

“Kinda weird he was so insistent on telling us everything, huh?” Yuuji remarks.

“I highly doubt that was close to everything, though.” Megumi scratches the back of his head. “It felt like he was withholding a lot, like when he didn’t answer Nobara’s question.”

“Yeah, that was pretty lame,” she says with a pout. “I really wanna know if they’re alive or not. I mean, their whole story was pretty interesting but imagine how scary it’ll be if (Y/N) was still alive and in Japan after all this time.”

“Table for three, please,” Yuuji says to the staff at the counter once it’s their turn. They stare at him for a brief moment before a happy yet somehow sinister smile stretches across their face. The jujutsu sorcerer feels his blood run cold as he feels Sukuna suddenly begin to vie for control over his body.

“Finally,” you whisper, body and soul flooded with sheer relief as tears run down your face. You reach your hand out to touch Yuuji’s face and though he tries his very hardest to turn away and run, he finds his body frozen in place. “I’ve been waiting for you, my love.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #imagines #scenarios #fluff #angst #somewhat happy ending #tw death #tw blood and gore

[theartofdreaming1]

Katniss, bravely stepping inbetween Gale and Thread (and his whip) - she’s so courageous and protective, she deserves the world 😭

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 7-9 are below the cut. (Is it just me, or are my notes getting longer and longer with each and every post? I swear, this book is so meaty, we’ll soon reach the point where I have to type out the entire chapter, with my thoughts in the margins)

heart

“Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else in unthinkable.” 

I think these words are a result of Katniss being so afraid of losing Gale that she’s kinda overcompensating; their relationship has been strained these past few months and they’d just had a row, separating from each other on bad terms - and the next time she sees him, he’s been whipped so bad that he’s lost consciousness and could be potentially dying from his wounds. Of course she’s so terrified of losing him, that she’s holding on as tightly as she can to him. It’s important to keep in mind how important their relationship is to her and we see that in her preceding thoughts: What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely commited, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we’d found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting each other, watching each other’s backs, forcing each other to be brave. - Gale was the first person who was her equal, a kindred spirit, her partner. After Katniss had lost both of her parents when her father died and her mother succumbed to her depression - the people who were supposed to care for her and guide her through growing up - she was stuck with the role of sole provider and protector of her family at age eleven. She must have been so lonely all this time until she met this boy who understood what she was going through and they learned from each other and shouldered their burdens together, to take off some of the overwhelming pressure. Of course that relationship, of course Gale is important to her. But also now their relationship has become more fragile, after the Games they are in danger of growing apart - it’s got to be so terrifying to feel like the one proper, mutual relationship you’ve had seems to be slipping through your fingers. With everything that’s going on, her entire life as it is teetering on the razor’s edge (heck, the president himself has been threatening her and her family!), it’s no wonder that Katniss is craving that familiarity and safety that her relationship with Gale used to provide her with. And seeing Gale in this state just has her holding on to him more tightly than ever.

mind

Hmm, no big moment is coming to my mind right now; I think I’m always most impressed by the tiny moments that show how tenacious, resilient and fiercely kind humans can be - like Darius stepping forward to stop Gale’s cruel punishment, Leevy volunteering to tell Hazelle about Gale and promising to stay with the Hawthorne children, Madge bringing the morphling, Katniss pressing Darius’s hand in the Training Center, Twill taking Bonnie with her to flee to D13 and so on.

soul

I believe that Katniss was honestly surprised to learn that Gale had feelings for her; she had categorically shut down the idea of entering a romantic relationship for herself, so I don’t think she’d seriously consider anyone being romantically interested in her in return (that’s not how that works, of course, but I think that’s how she perceived the whole shtick). Their kiss threw her completely for a loop and if anything, she mostly saw it as something that contributed to the deterioration of their previous, easy and comfortable relationship.

Chapter 7

A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist. [...] They hadn’t anticipated its will to live. - In a way, the Capitol continues to make this mistake with the people living in the districts, too - underestimating their will to live (opposed to just surviving)

I look in his [Gale’s] eyes. His temper can’t quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. - Okay, we don’t know how much Katniss might be (incorrectly) presuming here, but the idea that Gale might feel betrayal because his best friend is being forced into an engagement pisses me off. It’s fine if he’s feeling jealous because she’s being paired off with Peeta when he wishes he could have a shot with her, but how in the world does this even rate as a betrayal?! A) It’s done against her will and B) Just because they’re friends doesn’t mean Katniss owes him anything when we’re talking about romantic feelings... Ugh 😒 Also, it’s quite noteworthy how insecure Katniss feels about their relationship - she’s constantly worried Gale will drop her and their friendship (waiting for Gale after the camera teams left after winning the Games: I’d begun to think that he’d given up on me in the weeks that had passed.- Ch. 2) and it doesn’t help that she’s been through that extreme, traumatic experience without him and they haven’t had much opportunity to spend a lot of time with each other (with the Victory Tour and Gale having to work so much) and when they do hang out, they don’t seem to really talk much, which doesn’t exactly help...

He [Gale] tosses the gloves on my lap. “Here. I don’t want your fiancé’s old gloves.” “He’s not my fiancé. That’s just part of the act. And these aren’t his gloves. They were Cinna’s,” I say. “Give them back, then, he says. - Gale can be so petty sometimes 🙄

While I talk, [...] [Gale] occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Captiol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. [...] Hands I trust. - Oh boy, this moment really shows how these two are at cross purposes right now - Gale’s prepping the food as you would for a toasting (romantic connotation), while Katniss is oberserving his hands, thinking how their hands used to match (not anymore!) and basically wishing herself back into the time before the Games, when things were ‘simpler’/more clearly defined (and also platonic!); there is nothing romantic from her P.O.V. - it’s all about the friendship and trust

[Gale] steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale’s neck to brace myself. He’s laughing, happy. “Hey!” I protest, but I’m laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn’t release his hold on me. “Okay, let’s run away.” [...] “You’re sure?” I say. [...] “I’m sure. I’m completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.” - Yeah, and I’m sure you’re not going to change your opinion in the next five minutes, Gale... In his defense, Gale didn’t know all the details, so in that regard it’s totally valid that he might decide to change his mind after having more input... It’s just that Katniss specifically asks him whether he’s sure and his reply is so full of conviction (100% sure!), only for him to do a complete 180 just a couple of minutes later; Gale’s very hot and cold, which makes for such a harsh contrast when compared to Peeta’s more measured reaction later in the chapter

He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. [...] I don’t try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you.” That’s why. - Oh man, Katniss just can’t catch a break 😞 Really not wise of Gale to drop the L-bomb here (after, what? a kiss they never talked about and little else... their communication is truly abysmal and it’s really damaging to their relationship, hurting the both of them)

“Gale, I can’t think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, is how afraid I am. And there doesn’t seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don’t know.” I can see him swallowing his disappointment. “So, we’ll go. We’ll find out.” - I mean, honestly, I totally understand where Katniss is coming from - she doesn’t need a romantic interest, she needs a partner, which is why she’s been so eager to talk to her hunting partner, someone she’s used to rely on for survival and now he’s also confounding their relationship by introducing that romance-angle (as if it wasn’t bad enough that her relationship with Peeta got kind of messed up when that same angle was forced upon them prematurely)... Also, telling how Katniss thinks she’d have to be different to maybe even consider a romantic relationship with Gale - Katniss as she is right now just can’t see herself wanting to be with Gale romantically; it would require a change... I’ve got to give Gale credit for still going along with it, and trying to push past his disappointment, though

“My [Gale’s] mother is going to take some convincing.” [...] “Mine, too. I’ll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won’t survive the alternative.” “She’ll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won’t say no to you,” says Gale. - That’s interesting, I wonder what exactly Gale means by that? That Mrs. Everdeen won’t say no to Katniss because she feels guilty that Katniss had to go through the Games or because watching her daughter compete in the Games really made her realize how messed up Panem is? Or that she’s more inclined to trust Katniss’s judgement after everything that has happened?

“Haymitch will be the real challenge.” “Haymitch?” Gale abandons the chestnuts. “You’re asking him to come with us?” “I have to, Gale. I can’t leave him and Peeta because they’d-” His scowl cuts me off. “What?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how large our party was,” he snaps at me. - Gale doesn’t seem to have realized how close and important Peeta and Haymitch have become to Katniss... maybe because they never properly talked about this aspect of Katniss’s life (I swear, their shoddy communication must account for at least half of the damage their relationship has taken in these past few months alone)

“What if he [Peeta] decides to stay?” he [Gale] asks. I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. “Then he stays.” “You’d leave him behind?” Gale asks. “To save Prim and my mother, yes,” I answer. “I mean, no! I’ll get him to come.” “And me, would you leave me?” Gale’s expression is rock hard now. - Boy, oh boy! I think Gale knows (like Peeta) that Katniss could never leave behind the people she cares about; then, he’s kind of gauging whether Peeta has already received the Katniss Everdeen Stamp of ‘Caring’ - and, as it turns out, he has! And then Gale ends up making it into a bit of  competition by asking her whether she would leave him behind (or, alternately, her turning him down has him confused about the depth of their relationship, I dunno); not fun

“There’s an uprising in Eight?” he [Gale] says in a hushed voice. I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. - Katniss is going to be about as successful as she’d been at defusing the districts, too - But here we have another example of Katniss trying to rein in Gale’s temper because she’s afraid he’s going to get himself in trouble (like when she decided not to tell him about Snow’s visit to her house because she was worried what he’d do with that information)... It’s really not great that she feels the need to censor herself so he won’t do something dangerous... Katniss knows first-hand how badly impulsive actions and decisions can be received in the Capitol - and she never even meant for a rebellion to happen!

“And it’s my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would’ve happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe. too.” “Safe to do what?” he says in a gentler tone. “Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven’t hurt people - you’ve given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. - Katniss is taking all the responsibility upon herself again... Gale is right to point out that she was merely a catalyst, not the cause for the rebellion - the cause are the awful living conditions of the people in the districts

“Stop it! You don’t know what you’re saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they’re not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!” I say. “That’s why we have to join the fight!” he answers harshly. “No! we have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!” [...] “You leave, then, I’d never go in a million years.” [...] “What about your family?” “What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can’t run away?” - This discourse is so painful because they are both right - Katniss has seen more of the districts and how things are handled beyond the (relatively tame) confines of D12 and it’s fair that she wants to know that the people she cares about are safe from harm; Gale, of course, has a point commenting that not everyone has that opportunity and the only way to have a long-lasting, wide-spread improvement of their conditions is through rebelling against their oppressor - but that will inevitably come along with sacrifices and collateral damage and it’s easy to say that it will be worth it in the long run, but when those who are hurt/dead could end up being your loved ones, it’s definitely easier said than done

He throws Cinna’s gloves at my feet. “I changed my mind. I don’t want anything they made in the Capitol.” And he’s gone. I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in the Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now just another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it’s mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next. - Gale getting rid of Cinna’s gloves just because they are from the Capitol is a prime example of this “us vs. them” mindset that he will be (worringly) fast to adopt - of course, perceiving the opposite side as “other” will make it easier to fight against them; however, it’s all too easy to lose sight of your opponent’s humanity when you think like that (think of how Gale has a hard time understanding Katniss’s distress upon seeing her prep team being treated so terribly/inhumanely in D13); Katniss feeling upset that Gale might perceive her as a product of the Capitol instead of its victim is understandable (and isn’t that exactly what the inhabitants of D13 are going to think of Peeta in MJ?) - and yet, she is still worried Gale could get himself into trouble with his impulsivity; she’s a good bean

”Going to town?” I ask. “Yes. I’m supposed to eat dinner with my family,” he [Peeta] says. - I’m tripping over the word ‘supposed’ here - it doesn’t sound like Peeta’s looking forward to hanging out with his fam, although it can’t be that often, since they’ve been away on Victory Tour and he is living alone (maybe the end of the chapter will give us another hint why that is 😒😒)... I can’t help but wonder whether these family dinners are mainly for public perception (in that case... it really is no wonder Peeta is so good at playing the cameras - poor guy had to fool the outside world his entire life) or because they are the only chance for Peeta to hang out with any of the members of his family he might actually want to spend some time with

“Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?” Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn’t need to check my face to see if I’m serious. “Depends on why you’re asking.” President Snow wasn’t convinced by me. There’s an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out,” I say. “By ‘we’ do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?” he asks. - Peeta doesn’t just blindly agree to Katniss’s proposal; he needs to know what’s going on first (he has been burnt before - no more secrets!) - and it’s a testament to how well he knows her that as soon as he’s asking whether she meant just the two of them, he corrects himself because knows that Katniss would never leave the ones she cares about behind

“What about Gale?” he says. “I don’t know. He might have other plans,” I say. Peeta shakes his head and gives me rueful smile. “I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I’ll go.” I feel a slight twinge of hope. “You will?” “Yeah. But I don’t think for a minute you will,” he says. [...] “Then you don’t know me. Be ready. It could be any time.” - Telling how Peeta immediately agrees to the plan once he gathers that Gale won’t come - he knows that Katniss cares about Gale and could never leave him behind, ergo she’d never actually leave under these circumstances - he knows her so well. Also, Katniss’s reaction is like that of a petulant child, it’s kind of funny 😄

“Katniss, hold up.” [...] “I really will go, if you want me to. I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won’t be making things worse for everyone.” - Ultimately, Peeta would follow Katniss to the ends of the earth - doesn’t mean that he can’t throw in a sensible suggestion in there as well 😉 (Also, in the next chapter we will see how Katniss, Gale, and Peeta might be a little too inexperienced/naive to be able to form accurate expectations of what is to come - Haymitch and his generation have a little more experience in that regard)

He raises his head. “What’s that?” [...] I haven’t noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath from a crowd. “Come on,” Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don’t know why. I can’t place the sound, even guess at the situation. But it means something bad to him. - Why does my sweet boy know what a whipping sounds like, Suzanne, huh?! Care to explain that? 😭

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence. - Peeta was offering his hand to help Katniss up the crate because they are a team (and he’s a gentleman)! It’s only when he recognizes who is receiving those lashes and realizes that Katniss will lose her shit once she knows, which could make the current situation even worse, that he urges her to leave, and he is not the only one to think that: - Voices hiss. “Get out of here, girl.” “Only make it worse.” What do you want to do? Get him killed?”

Chapter 8

It’s too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won’t have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Gale. I’ve flung out my arms to protext as much of his broken body as possible, so there’s nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face. - Katniss is so selfless; she knows that it’s either Gale getting hit again or a lash to her own face and she chooses the latter

“Hold it!” a voice barks. Haymitch appears and trips over a Peacekeeper lying on the ground. It’s Darius. [...] He’s knocked out but still breathing. What happened? Did he try to come to Gale’s aid before I got here? - Haymitch sure appeared quickly - I can easily imagine Peeta taking off immediately to get him (or send someone to bring him to the square) once he knew Katniss couldn’t be stopped; but if Haymitch had been at his house in Victor’s Village, there is no way he’d have made that quickly to the square... maybe he was already at the Hob and had gotten wind of the whole situation? Also, poor Darius! Wearing a uniform/being in some sort of position of power is no guarantee you won’t get punished as soon as you show the tiniest glimpse of compassion - in a place like Panem, nobody is safe from the caprice of the people in charge

I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. [...] it wouldn’t be easy to identify me as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half my face swelling up. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he’d be difficult to forget. - Getting Haymitch truly was the smartest move to make (which is why I’m pretty sure it was a move on Peeta’s part - he’d know how to use reminders of ‘appearances’ to ensure a punishment wouldn’t go ‘too far’, y’know 😢). But also - Thread must have lived under a flipping rock, to not being able to recognizes Katniss (her face must have been plastered all over the place during the Victory Tour, which just had concluded recently) - or he was just too in the heat of the moment, with someone opposing him, bleugh 😒

“He [Gale] was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man. “He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.” - I love how Peeta’s just laying it down as it is; his phrasing just sounds so factual, rather than provocative (although it is, of course); he really has a way with words - Maybe we’re it. The only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it’s sure to be temporary. There will be repercussions. - Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss working together as a team again! Also, a good example of the effect people with public influence can have 

One [Peacekeeper], a woman named Purnia who eats regularly at Greasy Sae’s, steps forward stiffly. “I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad.” “Is that the standard protocol here?” asks the Head Peacekeeper. “Yes, sir,” Purnia says, and several others nod in agreement. I’m sure none of them actually know because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey is for everybody to bid on the drumsticks. - It’s kinda nice to see the local Peacekeepers supporting Purnia’s claim to get this display to stop - this is the only way out of this situation where Thread’s authority is not openly challenged (and we know Thread doesn’t take well to having his authority challenged - see Darius)

There’s no stretcher, but the old woman at the clothing stall sells us the board that serves as her countertop. “Just don’t tell where you got it,” she says, packing up the rest of her goods quickly. Most of the square has emptied, fear getting the better of compassion. But after what happened, I can’t blame anyone. - It’s sad how that air of intimidation makes people want to mask their acts of compassion (and also says a lot about the precariousness of the existing living situations if that old lady is still selling that board - I’d never even consider exchanging money for that, but that’s probably my privileged situation showing here; Katniss brings up the theme of fear vs compassion - very fitting, since it seems to be her driving force (although, generally, her compassion wins out over her fear) and despite her assertion that fear appears to be getting the better of compassion we see a good amount of people reaching out to help, such as the following example:

Leevy, a girl who lives a few houses down from mine in the Seam, takes my arm. My mother kept her little brother alive last year when he caught the measles. “Need help getting back?” Her gray eyes are scared but determined. - The subtle suggestion here that Leevy might be further motivated to help out because Katniss’s mom helped her little brother is also an excellent example of how kindness breeds kindness

“Get some snow on that,” Haymitch orders over his shoulder. I scoop up a handful of snow and press it against my cheek, numbing a bit of the pain. - This moment reminded me of Peeta immediately reaching for some ice from that fruit tureen after Haymitch hit him on their way to the Games in THG (Ch. 4) - their different immediate reactions to getting hit in the face could simply be due to the fact that Katniss is a little too preoccupied worrying about Gale to think about her injury, of course, but I feel like you could also interpret them as examples for how much experience Katniss and Peeta have with being hit in the face, respectively...

Gale must have gone to Cray’s house, as he’s done a hundred times, knowing Cray pays well for a wild turkey. Instead he found the new Head Peacekeeper, a man they heard someone call Romulus Thread. No one knows what happened to Cray. He was buying white liquor in the Hob just this morning [...] but now he’s nowhere to be found. - As I’ve already mentioned regarding Darius, inhabiting some position of power does not guarantee you any safety in Panem (there is always someone more powerful who will treat their inferiors like garbage, if they feel like it)

By the time I showed up, he [Gale]’d been lashed at least forty times. He passed out around thirty. - Jesus 😨 poor Gale!

“What about Darius?” Peeta asks.“ After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn’t do it smart and official, like Purnia did. He grabbed Thread’s arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him,” says Bristel. - It’s so messed up how it is not enough to have someone who’d stand up and do something about a horrible situation - they have to do it the right way, or else they’re toast; there really shouldn’t have to be a smart way of doing the right thing

Snow begins, thick and wet, making visibility even more difficult. - (President) Snow is coming down hard on them, making it hard to see what’s up ahead

Ever so gently, she [Mrs. Everdeen] begins to clean the mutilated flesh on Gale’s back. I feel sick to the stomach, useless, the remaining snow dripping from my glove into a puddle on the floor. Peeta puts me in a chair and holds a cloth filled with fresh snow to my cheek. - Although she’s quite squeamish, Katniss stays as Gale gets treated (the force that holds the loved ones of the hurt/dying, just like when Peeta was being treated after their Games); meanwhile, Peeta is taking care of Katniss - there is so much care + love to be found in this moment

My mother has to save the strongest [painkillers] for the worst pain, but what is the worst pain? To me, it’s always the pain that is present. If I were in charge, those painkillers would be gone in a day because I have so little ability to watch suffering. - Honestly, same; I can’t stomach seeing other people suffer without feeling overwhelmed and feeling like crying... I don’t know how professionals do it

“Just give him the medicine!” I scream at her. [...] “Take her out,” says my mother. Haymitch and Peeta literally carry me from the room while I shout obscenities at her. They pin me down on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms until I stop fighting. - Oof. Poor Katniss! But yeah, it was the best call to remove her from the situation, Mrs. E. had to focus on what she was doing... Also, Haymitch and Peeta are the ones to get Katniss out of there and stay with her - these three take care of each other!

After a while, my mother comes in and treats my face. Then she holds my hand, stroking my arm, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened with Gale. “So it’s starting again?” she says. “Like before?” - Katniss’s mom has become a much more active and soothing presence in this book, I like it... Also, what does “again” mean? Does this imply there has been an attempted uprising in D12 that needed to be squashed before?

Cray would have been disliked, anyway, because of the uniform he wore, but it was his habit of luring starving young women into his bed for money that made him an object of loathing in the district. In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. - Horrifying and absolutely disgusting 🤢 Those poor women! How desperate they must have been! 

... when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. [...] “They [the peacekeepers] can’t have him,” I say. “Might be you they’re after,” Haymitch reminds me. “Or you,” I say. “Not my house,” Haymitch points out. “But I’ll get the door.” “No, I’ll get it,” says my mother quietly. - Again, Mrs. Everdeen is taking the initiative! She was so watered down in the movies

[Madge] holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me. “Use these for your friend,” she says. I take off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. [...] “What is that stuff?” asks Peeta. “It’s from the Capitol. It’s called morphling,” my mother answers. “I didn’t even know Madge knew Gale,” says Peeta. “We used to sell her strawberries,” I say almost angrily. What am I angry about, though? Not that she has brought the medicine, surely. “She must have quite a taste for them,” says Haymitch. That’s what nettles me. It’s the implication that there’s something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don’t like it. “She’s my friend” is all I say. - I mean, Katniss could be mad because A) Gale had literally just told her he loved her a few hours ago and if there was something (reciprocated) going on between Gale and Madge, that would have been pretty shitty for both girls involved and also B) she is friends with both of them and it would be hurtful to learn that two of your closest friends had been seeing each other without telling you anything about it... also, she’s super upset over Gale getting so seriously hurt just after they’d had an argument, her feelings are all over the place

... I’m selfish. I’m a coward. I’m the kind of girl, who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn’t follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. - Yes, Katniss, you knew that your life back in D12 would have been unlivable if he died - but not because you feared that people would shun you; it was because you “couldn’t lose the boy with the bread” and because “if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really”... This is an excellent example of how distorted your memories can get when you are in a bad headspace at present

The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. - Katniss, you don’t have to be planning to overthrow a corrupt and cruel government to be someone of worth! You’re someone of worth just by being yourself! - The trouble is, I don’t know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. - Frankly, very rarely are our motivations clearly defined by a single factor - or my professor would not have been able to teach an entire semester-long course on motivation psychology😉)

Chapter 9

Gale’s dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he’s been watching us awhile. “Go on up to bed, Katniss. I’ll look after him now,” he says. - Peeta! Must have been hard for him to see Katniss like this (and the underlying strength of Katniss and Gale’s relationship, when his relationship with Katniss is still not all that solidified), and yet he’s being such a good bean about it 😭

I give a strangled cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread who gave me this wound. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, until I remember I’m not supposed to wish that anymore. I have chosen Gale and the rebellion, and a future with Peeta is the Capitol’s design, not mine. - Katniss, gurl... Maybe your instinctive desire to receive comfort from Peeta is trying to tell you something??!? Also, Katniss is forcing this strange dichotomous association of Gale = rebellion and Peeta = Capitol, when in just a bit, she’s clearly connecting Peeta to the rebellion as well (aside from the fact that Peeta was basically the first person to suggest to her that maybe a rebellion was necessary... just saying)

Fighting the Capitol assures their swift retaliation. I must accept that at any moment I can be arrested. [...] There might be torture. Mutliation. A bullet through the skull in the town square [...] I imagine these things and I’m terrified, but let’s face it: They’ve been lurking in the back of my brain, anyway. [...] I’m already a target. - Oh geez! Despite admitting that she’s terrified of what the Capitol is capable fo doing to her, Katniss is still pretty composed naming the possible horrors in store for her, which is just a heartbreaking reminder of how many terrible things she has already had to endure.🙁

Now comes the harder part. I have to face the fact that my family and friends might share this fate. Prim. I need only to think of Prim and all my resolve disintegrates. It’s my job to protect her. [...] I can’t let the Capitol hurt Prim. - 😭😭😭 Katniss has reached a point where she can put her own need for survival/physical intactness aside, but the thought of something awful happening to Prim stops her short (it’s so strange to think that, in a twisted way, it wasn’t the Capitol who’d ended up inflicting the final harm upon Prim...)

And then it hit’s me. They already have. They have killed her father in those wretched mines. They have sat by as she almost starved to death. [...] She has been hurt far worse than I had at the age of twelve. And even that pales in comparison with Rue’s life. [...] Prim... Rue... aren’t they the very reason I have to try to fight? Because what has been done to them is so wrong, so beyond justification, so evil that there is no choice? Because no one has the right to treat them as they have been treated? Yes. This is the thing to remember when fear threatens to swallow me up. What I am about to do, whatever any of us are forced to endure, it is for them. - All these things are very true and it’s also very fitting that the main motivation for Katniss would be to ensure a better future for the children of Panem (and to avenge the evils done to the people close to her heart... while Katniss of course can see the abstract bigger picture/reason for the rebellion, she always operates best when it comes to specific people/circumstances she has a deep, personal connection with)... But also: all these things apply to you, too, Katniss! Despite your tendency to feel responsible for everything and everyone, you’re still a child that had to grow up way too fast and had to endure way too much!

We need someone to direct us and reassure us this is possible. And I don’t think I’m that person. I may have been a catalyst for rebellion, but a leader should be someone with conviction, and I’m barely a convert myself. Someone with unflinching courage, and I’m still working hard at finding mine. Someone with clear and persuasive words, and I’m so easily tongue-tied. Words. I think of words and I think of Peeta. - Katniss’s idea of a great leader for the rebellion is Peeta - interesting, isn’t it (she could have considered Gale, but no)? She makes a good point, though: it helps when a leader has plenty of charisma, and our boy has that in spades; he’s got a good set of morals, is not above joining in on the action/risking his own neck when the need arises and is very genuine and purposeful with his words and actions, which is inspiring... I think Katniss is severely underselling how courageous she is, though

He could move a crowd to action, I bet, if he chose to. Would find the things to say. But I’m sure the idea has never crossed his mind. - Why would you assume that, Katniss? Peeta’s literally the one to suggest to you that trying to placate the district might not be the right thing to do... Peeta’s not someone who’d stir up trouble just for the sake of stirring up trouble, sure; he’s much more deliberate about doing things the ‘right’ way, but he’s not generally opposed to challenging authorities (he’s literally the one to openly gift some of your winnings to another district!)

She knows what she’s doing, my mother. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, the awful things I yelled at her as Peeta and Haymitch dragged me from the kitchen. “I’m sorry. About screaming at you yesterday.” - It’s so sweet how Katniss feels sorry for yelling at her mom and apologizes to her; their relationship really has improved so much in this book - “I’ve heard worse,” she says. “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. [...] Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But i’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. - Katniss is struggling to figure out in what way she loves Gale... She definitely doesn’t want him to remember their kiss because she knows it wouldn’t be fair to give him the hope that she might be able to return his romantic feelings when she is still in the dark about her own

... and I can’t really think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. - Lol, goes on to immediately mention the guy she’s been kissing these past few weeks (see, with Peeta you could actually have both: kissing and rebellion, Katniss - he’s the perfect man, isn’t he? 😉😋)

“He went home when he heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. - Yeah, I don’t think Peeta left because of his house; I’m pretty sure he needed some time to himself after seeing Katniss and Gale this morning - he is the type of person who needs to be alone to work through his feelings when he’s feeling upset - “Did he get back all right?” [...] “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says. I go into the study, a room I’ve pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta’s number. After a few rings he answers. “Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home,” I say. “Katniss. I live three houses away from you,” he says. “I know, but with the weather and all,” I say. “Well, I’m fine. Thank you for checking.” There’s a long pause. “How’s Gale?” - Aww, Katniss is worried about Peeta and gives him a call, although she hates being in the study 😊 Also, her calling him must have been at least of some reassurance to Peeta that she genuinely cares about him, in some way (though, he’s still clearly busy processing her relationship with Gale, since he’s asking about him as if he hadn’t seen that dude just a couple of minutes prior)

“Have you seen Haymitch today?” “I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread,” he says. “I wanted to talk to - to both of you.” I don’t dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. -  Despite everything, Peeta still made sure to look after Haymitch! And I know, there is also the issue of their houses themselves potentially being bugged, but I couldn’t help imagining how they could easily avoid the whole phone-tapping thing simply by using a tin can telephone (they do live pretty close to each other, after all) 😂

“You don’t even have a phone,” I say. “Effie had that fixed,” he [Haymitch] says. “Do you know she asked me if I’d like to give you away? I told her the sooner the better.” “Haymitch.” I can hear the pleading creeping into my voice. “Katniss.” He mimics my tone. “It won’t work.” - Okay, but Haymitch mimicking Katniss’s tone reminds me so much of when Peeta mimicked her tone towards the end of their Games, when she was trying to persuade him to climb into a tree as a lookout while he was insistent she’d show him some plants to gather; these three, I swear! 😂 On a sad note, Haymitch is talking from experience here when he’s advising Katniss not to challenge the Capitol 🥺😢

Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their livings there. - Katniss considers the people from the Hob her friends - honestly, even if the Hawthornes, Everdeens, Peeta and Haymitch all had agreed to leave D12, I don’t think Katniss would have been able to go through with it - she cares too much about the people in D12 to have been able to leave them to their fate

“Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare.” He [Haymitch] trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. “What’s he want that for?” Then I realize the answer. “We can’t let him drink it. He’ll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I’ve got some white liquor put away at home.” “Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business,” says Peeta. - Another instance of Katniss and Peeta being on the same wavelength, having taken precautions to help out Haymitch so he doesn’t have to go cold turkey again

We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. “I couldn’t leave her,” she says. “I knew Gale’d be in the best possible hands.” - The second mention of someone having contracted the measles in D12 - Why the heck does the Capitol withhold measles vaccination from the people in the districts?! They’re inflicting unnecessary damage onto the very people they want to exploit... But I guess cruelty isn’t always about playing it smart and logical...

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.” “I’ll go with you,” he says. “No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him. “And avoiding a stroll by the Hob... that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. - They are a team, they stick together (and they are constantly holding hands, always physically linked to each other)😩💕 Also, Peeta pointing out the irrationality of Katniss’s train of thought to calm her down and stay with her reminds me of how he’s going to use logical reasoning to calm her down after the jabberjays in the Quarter Quell arena

We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta’s father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers’ faces. - How weird is it that Peeta and his dad just talk about the weather?! Is this supposed to illustrate how in the Mellark family they just ignored the ugliness going on in their lives *cough cough* the abuse *cough cough* and just pretended that everything was fine, on a very superficial level? Also, it makes perfect sense that the Peacekeepers have been exchanged; the more time we spend with people, the more likely we are to like them - that won’t do if you want to have a ruthless authoritarian police force in the districts

As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they often don’t receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. [...] The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. - This is just so awful and despicable 😞 Life in the districts was already horrible but now the government does not even honor the extortionary rules they themselves have set up! I can’t help but wonder if the lack of food could be traced back to rebellions in the food supplying districts and, to keep this from the inhabitants of the Capitol, the reduced amount of good food was (obviously) kept for the Capitolites, so that the bad food had to be sent to the districts, anyway... It just seems like such a breach of ‘honor’/etiquette on the Capitol’s part, I dunno... Or maybe Snow was just desperate to use any means necessary to stamp out any potential rebellions in the districts that he still had some control over...

Gale goes home with no more talk of rebellion between us. But I can’t help thinking that everything he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. [...] Rory has signed up for tesserae, something Gale can’t even speak about - Poor, Gale! Poor Hawthornes :(

My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It’s a small white circle of flat bread. More of a cracker, really. Gray and soggy around the edges. But an image is clearly stamped in the center of it. It’s my mockingjay. - It is so very telling that the true symbol of the rebellion combines something symbolic of Katniss (which also contains a nod to Rue) and something symbolic of Peeta (the bread/cracker!) The people in the districts have rightfully recognized the both of them as symbol of the rebellion; they have a truer vision of the matter than the more artifically/forcefully constructed symbol of rebellion that D13 /Coin will push - we will also see that when the people in D13 will view Peeta as a traitor, while the rebels Katniss will visit in D8 instead ask her about Peeta and assure her that they know he was speaking under duress

#thgagain #thg #katniss everdeen #hunger games #thg meta #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #gale hawthorne #my sketches and drawings #thg fanart #catching fire

[chilligyu]

info: wen junhui/reader, teen+, soulmate au genre: angst, romance | word ct: 2k warnings: descriptions of injuries, scars, blood, hospitals summary: forever was a powerful word, and it was the only word he could think of when he imagined his soulmate. someone who was just as powerful as she was terrifying. because forever was a powerful word, and it scared him to no end. author's note: please read! this soulmate au deals with soulmarks in the form of injuries. once someone turns 18 their body will be marked with their soulmates scars and they will acquire all of their future injuries (i know it's a little confusing, story explains it better). if talks of scars and blood make you uncomfortable, respectfully, this fic will not be your cup of tea. thank you all!

Forever. Never, in all of Junhui’s life, had he heard a more terrifying word. He hated the permanency of it, the idea of being stuck doing one thing, being with one person. The thought of it alone made his skin itch. He loved being able to get on a train and go absolutely anywhere, loved never being tied down, loved being free. Sometimes he didn’t even know where home was, where he’d be sleeping, and that’s when he was most happy. He couldn’t explain it, nor did he want to.

What scared him most, was what he was destined for, what forever truly meant for him. For years he was told how his life would change, how it would never be the same once he became an adult. And he believed them. No matter how much he hated it, he’d have to be delusional not to. Because he’d been watching it play out on his skin since he turned 18. He’d been watching his body pucker with scars, little nicks here and there, for the better part of four years. A thin line across the back of his hand, a surgical scar on his stomach, it was so nerve-wracking. Because he hadn’t been injured.

His soulmate had, and he was a first-hand witness.

That was the sad existence he was left with, the one he’d been running from for years. He lived in a world where everyone was covered in the injuries and scars of their soulmate. Your body wasn’t a canvas of your own life, it was the story of someone else’s. And God Junhui hated that more than anything. That his life wasn’t his own anymore and there was nothing he could do about it.

It all became real for him when he came home from school on his 18th birthday. He shouldered off his bag and was getting ready to shower when he saw the bright pink mark on his stomach. A little thing, only two inches in length, half an inch wide, almost completely negligible. At first, he was confused, then scared, and finally—mortified.

No. He said to himself as he inspected the scar. Please tell me this is a lie.

For years he stared at his own body, repulsed and confused by the injuries that kept cropping up. His friends would laugh at the little marks, claiming that his soulmate was a complete klutz. Still, he refused to acknowledge it. He didn’t care what sort of scar showed up on his body, he refused to care. He refused to think about the one person who was tied to his entire existence. No matter what they were going through. He didn’t care when the eight inch gash appeared on his arm, nor did he care when he saw the surgical scar sprawled across his knee. It was just skin, scar tissue and skin. It didn’t mean anything.

Or that’s what he tried to convince himself.

Sometimes, if the injury was bad enough, he would even feel the pain from it. One day he was walking to work, and suddenly he was struck by an intense migraine. The throbbing alone was enough to make him want to puke. The world was spinning, he could barely feel the ground underneath his feet when he caught his reflection in a store window. His eyebrow had split open, a single trickle of blood streaking his face.

What happened? He found himself wondering despite himself. Are they—are they okay?

Before that moment, he had never actually bled from one of his soulmate’s wounds. And it terrified him. He had only seen the injuries once they’d healed, meaning that the danger, and pain, was over. That little bead of blood meant—meant that this was real. That on the other side of his scars was a real person. He hated forever, he hated the word, hated the meaning, hated what he was forced to endure because fate had better plans for him.

But still, he couldn’t help but wonder. And that was harmless, right?

Going to the doctor after that was interesting, because he had to get a full body X-Ray to see what sort of damage his new body had endured. Standard protocol when you turned 18, he’d just been putting it off for as long as he could. Injuries from his soulmate's childhood were clear against the backlight, several broken bones from when they were young, or reckless, or both. Without realizing it, Junhui found himself smiling at the sight. It was sort of comforting, knowing that he’ll always have this part of someone else. That it’ll never leave him.

He gingerly touched each wound and tried to imagine the story behind them. There was this one right up his shin, very old, very faded, it reminded him of the one time he fell off his bike as a kid. Maybe he had something in common with his soulmate. Maybe they had a similar past. He had no idea, but it was fun to wonder.

For periods of time, Junhui wouldn’t accumulate any new marks, and he felt lonely. He pretended like he didn’t, he continued on as he usually did. A string of flings and drunken escapades kept him busy, but they just—they weren’t as fun anymore. Car rides with no destination, late nights underneath the stars, the things he loved most no longer held the same weight. He felt stupid, selfish, wishing for some sign of his soulmate. Because that meant that they’d have to get hurt for it to happen.

And then, he thought he lost them.

He was getting set up for a gig, plugging in his mic and laughing with the stagehands, when he felt his life flash before his eyes. Like he’d been crushed by a car. The pain was so excruciating, he was finding it hard to breathe. Collapsing to the floor, he could’ve sworn that he saw a bright light above him. Tears streaked his face, his stomach churned like the red sea—he thought he was dying. He had no idea what was going on, until—until he realized that he was fine. That his soulmate—that his soulmate might’ve—

Pulling up his shirt, he watched a deep gash form on his stomach and a deep bruise color his whole abdomen. Propping himself up onto his elbows, he instantly fell back to the ground. Looking at his arm, he noticed the swelling. He was being covered in bruises, several of his bones were broken, and he only had one thought on his mind.

I have to find them.

He managed to get to his feet, finding his right leg weaker than he remembered, and he practically sprinted out of the bar. Pulling out his phone, he started searching every news site he could think of, looking for any news of any sort of car crash. Of any sort of accident.

Every few minutes or so, he’d check to make sure that his scars were still there. That his soulmate hadn’t left him. Because that’s what everyone truly fears, and the one thing Junhui has grown to fear more than forever. When you slowly see your soulmate's scars clear up, when your skin is your own once more, it means one of two things.

Either you’ve found your soulmate, or your soulmate is dead.

Please stay alive. He found himself begging, finally catching word of a couple car accidents in the past day. He scrolled through them, scrolled through the pictures of victims, desperately trying to find them. Dozens of faces blurred past his vision, and he finally stopped at a picture of a young woman. A woman with a small scar on her chin, just like the cut Junhui got when he was a kid and banged his chin on a coffee table.

After years of denying her existence, he had finally found his soulmate. For a brief moment, he was caught in some sort of trance, completely awestruck by the person who was a permanent part of his life. She was beautiful, perfect, everything he had ever dreamed of and feared all at once. It broke his heart, knowing that it took her getting hit by a car for him to find her.

When he figured out which hospital she was taken to, he hailed a cab and paid him extra to get him there as fast as he could. As he rode, he read the article more thoroughly, reading about how she was hit by a drunk driver, how she was in critical condition, and how she was in a medically induced coma. He had to fight back tears, knowing that she might not make it.

Arriving at the hospital, he showed the front desk her picture, desperate to find her any way that he could. They confirmed that she was there, that she had just got out of surgery. They kept telling him that only family could see her, that he’d have to wait until she was out of the ICU, and a million other things that he didn’t give a damn about. He had to see her.

“She’s my soulmate.” He whispered, trying not to lose it. “Please, please, let me see her.”

Even though the nurses were conflicted, they eventually let him in. Thanking them quickly, he sprinted down the hall to her room, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t lose her. Not before she was even a part of his life. Not before he could even tell her how important she was to him. He hadn’t even met her yet, and yet if she died – then his life would be over.

He slowed down as he got closer, his heart beating in his ears. She was just a few doors down, she was so close, he could feel it deep down inside. As he stood outside her door, he tried to calm himself down, he inhaled and exhaled, attempting to stabilize the raging storm inside of him.

Mentally preparing for the worst he reached for the door handle, his entire arm shaking. He was fully aware that she wouldn’t even realize he was there, that she’d be lying catatonic in a hospital bed with tubes and wires hooked up to her. He didn’t care. It was still an important moment in his life. He was about to meet his soulmate for the first time.

Turning the handle, he felt his heart stop when he saw her. Even though the actual sight of her broke his heart, something he couldn’t explain started to stir inside of him. Like—like his entire existence led him to this point. And while that thought alone would’ve terrified him not too long ago, it now gave him a purpose to strive towards. He wouldn’t run from this.

He approached her carefully, pulling up a chair and sitting beside her. As he sat there, he watched as the little scars across his knuckles started to disappear, and saw them reappear on her. Unconsciously, he started to check on every single scar on his body, finding himself frowning as they vanished from his skin. He would’ve preferred to bare them, knowing that they wouldn’t mar her beautiful body. And he’d miss the proof that she was meant to be with him. Fate determined that they were meant to be together, and for the first time—he accepted that. Because he finally learned that alone was a far more terrifying word than forever.

“I don’t care how long it takes.” He whispered, taking her hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#thesvttown #kpopscape #ficscafe #junhui fanfic #jun fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #junhui scenarios #jun scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #wen junhui #m:wjh #g:angst #g:romance #w:2k #t:oneshot #r:pg13 #tw:descriptions of injuries #tw:scars #tw:blood #tw:hospitals #p:3rd #s:reader #lex writes #chilligyu #fic:svt #*skin deep

[heyyyharry]

Till Death (a Halloween one shot)

…in which Y/N and Harry share a flat but he cannot see her.

Warning: DEATH, MENTAL ILLNESS, MENTION OF SU1C1DE AND SELF-HARM (inexplicit). There's a happy ending tho 😬

Inspired by Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride and this song.

Word count: 3.9k

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“Oh, you’re home!” she said as he shut the door and kicked off his shoes. His hair was a mess, his eyes dark and weary. He leaned against the wall and released a long heavy sigh.

“Trouble at work?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He never did. But it was okay. She was used to it.

She watched him trudge toward the couch and slump into it with his head buried in his hands. It was so quiet. It was always quiet here, and most of the time, she enjoyed the silence. After all, it was all she ever knew. But she also liked his laugh and his voice when he talked on the phone. He never talked to her. He was a great listener though, and she liked to talk anyway, so she had nothing to complain about. He never interrupted her, never commented; he only listened.

He rested his head on the couch with an arm over his closed eyes. She sat down beside him, her legs together, her hands on her knees.

“Guess what I did today,” she said.

He let go another long breath.

Silence.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya.” She rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin. “I made a new friend. A bird. I saw him on our balcony this morning. I named him Steve. Can you imagine? A bird named Steve. I think Steve likes me as much as a bird could like someone–”

“Oh, shit!”

She flinched as he jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, slightly worried.

“Shit, I forgot,” he murmured, shoving his fingers into his already unruly hair as he reached for his phone on the coffee table. He sat back down and unlocked the screen. His handsome face was illuminated as he typed something into the chat. She rested her head on his shoulder and stole a glance at the screen, just enough to see who he was texting.

It was that name again.

She’d seen him text this person every day for the last couple of weeks. She didn’t know who they were or what they looked like or if they were male or female. All she knew was that they always got Harry’s full attention.

She thought it’d be rude to read other people’s texts, so she never did even though he would never stop her. Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t dying to know what they said to each other. She would watch Harry as he talked to the person either on the phone or through texts. And he would always look so happy whenever a notification came and he saw the person’s name.

She bet they talked about more interesting topics, not just birds with human names. That thought alone gave a throbbing feeling in her hollow chest.

Sometimes, when she was with him, she forgot about its absence, which was good, because she wanted to forget.

But whenever she saw his eyes sparkle as he talked to this person, she would remember that there was somebody else out there with that thing in their chest, somebody he could feel and see and hear…

...and love.

Then she would remember what he was, what she was, and what they could never be.

After all, she was dead.

She didn’t remember how long she’d been dead. She only knew that she’d been alone for too long. Time didn’t really matter when you stopped growing older. She was stuck like this. Forever 21, as she would joke to herself. She didn’t know how old Harry was, but he had a job that stressed him out every day, so she assumed he was older than she’d been when she’d died.

She’d been trapped in this flat ever since. She’d watched people move her stuff out and other people move their stuff in. She’d forgotten about her loved ones or if she’d ever had them in the first place. She didn’t have any recollection of the life she’d had. She couldn’t even attend her own funeral. If she’d known that she’d be stuck in the place where she’d died, she would have probably not chosen to die here. She missed being outdoors, seeing new people. She wondered if she’d still be in love with Harry if he weren’t the only person she knew.

Honestly, she had never been in love when she’d been alive. She knew that, because even though the memories ceased to exist, she still would have remembered what being in love had felt like. It was funny, actually. When she’d had a heart, she hadn’t been able to use it, and now that she didn’t, she could feel it every day. Could someone love without having a heart? She didn’t know what love felt like to be sure that this was love, yet she knew that she’d rather spend an eternity with this man than to reincarnate into someone else.

They’d been living together for two years. Before him, there had been an elderly couple and a family of four. They’d been fun and lovely. But Harry was...different.

He was alone like her. She felt a deep connection with him in that way, as it was rare to find a person who appreciated isolation and not let it drive them insane. Almost everyone was terrified of being alone. Harry, however, found comfort in being alone. He always knew how to entertain himself. He read books. He sang in the shower. He cooked dinner for himself. He’d call his family to tell them about his day.

Sometimes, as she watched him talk to his mum and sister, she wished she remembered her own family. Would she still want to be alone if she remembered them? Well, she didn’t want to be alone now that she had him. It scared her sometimes. An attachment was a scary thing when you knew that you’d forever be temporary to the people around you. Like the elderly couple and the family, one day, Harry would leave, and she’d have to get used to new flatmates who would most likely leave again.

But that was for the future. Right now, what they had was enough.

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“I’m seeing someone,” Harry said one day.

Y/N didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she was sitting by the window talking to Steve while Harry was on the phone with his sister. It was the first time Y/N heard him say the person’s name. He was smiling the entire time as he talked about her. Y/N loved seeing Harry smile, so it didn’t matter what made him smile. She just wanted to see him happy.

He told his sister that the woman he was seeing was coming over tonight. He seemed excited. Harry had only ever looked this excited except for when his favourite show came on. That was how she knew he loved this woman as much as he loved that show, which was a lot.

“Can I join you guys tonight?” Y/N asked him when he ended the phone call.

He put his phone back down and looked right at her. If she had a heart, it would combust right then and there. But what she didn’t expect was him marching towards her, thrusting his hand right through her chest and shutting the window. Steve flew away. Harry turned and left.

The place where his hand had been burned with its absence, leaving her frozen as she watched the bedroom door fall shut. He couldn’t feel her, but she could feel much more than a dead person was allowed to feel.

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Dinner was nice.

And so was the other woman.

It was funny how Y/N would refer to her as ‘the other woman’ when she’d been the one getting all Harry’s attention. She was sweet, blond-haired, great smile. She sat at Y/N’s spot at dinner. Y/N didn’t mind as she wasn’t eating anyway, yet it saddened her that she didn’t get to tell Harry her boring stories; the other woman was doing most of the talking.

Harry listened to her and laughed at her jokes. He never responded to Y/N that way. She’d been fine with it before, but seeing how he interacted with someone else made her want to vanish into thin air.

It was the first time in two years that she’d seen another living person beside Harry, and yet she had never felt lonelier.

After dinner, Harry asked if the woman wanted to spend the night and she said yes, so Y/N retreated to her spot – the bathroom. For some strange reason, she found comfort there. She would just get into the empty tub and lie there until morning.

Before Harry had moved in, she’d stayed in the bathroom at night while the living were asleep. Since Harry, she would usually spend the night outside his room. He’d always sleep with the door open and a lot of pillows. She didn’t want to be intrusive, but she’d heard him crying one night. His stepdad had just passed away and she’d stayed with him to keep him company, even though he hadn’t been aware of her presence.

She’d sat beside him on the bed as he’d cried. She’d told him that dead didn’t mean gone, that his stepdad might still be around, or have gone to heaven to get a new better life.

To be honest, she didn’t know if heaven existed for she didn’t get to leave this place, but maybe heaven only existed for the ones who deserved it. She was too good for hell, not good enough for heaven, so she was still here.

That night, as she was lying in the tub, gazing at the shadows of objects cast on the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen at dinner. A happy Harry. A truly happy Harry.

She’d always wondered what he looked like when someone made him laugh so hard he forgot about everything else, or when he blushed because of the things someone said to him, or when he looked at someone like they were the only person that mattered. Now that she’d seen it, it felt like torture.

She would never make him laugh. She would never get to hear him call her beautiful or tell her jokes just because he wanted to see her smile. He’d never get to know her. That was the worst part. It hadn’t bothered her before, and now it was too late to undo her feelings for him.

She didn’t have a heart, but as she lay her palms on top of her chest and shut her eyes, she could feel it breaking.

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Ever since that night, the other woman would come over very often. It had hurt at first, then Y/N learned to get used to it. It didn’t mean it stopped hurting. She’d still feel invisible tears rolling down her cheeks every time they kissed in front of her. She’d spend most of the day avoiding them. It was hard to do so when she couldn’t leave the flat. She’d tried before. She’d tried to follow Harry outside, but the second she stepped through that door, she was back in the tub.

She was imprisoned in her own home where she felt like a guest. She had no one to talk to, and it had never been a problem before but now it was driving her insane.

Sometimes, she even wished that the other woman was dead. It was bad that love made her blind and envy made her cruel. Whenever that malicious thought crossed her mind, though, she’d think about Harry and instantly felt bad about wanting his girlfriend dead. It wasn’t a nice thing to wish onto anyone, especially when Y/N herself knew how overrated death was.

It wasn’t a solution. Just more problems.

And at the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter if she was hurt. After all, she was dead. Dead people couldn’t feel pain. This was just an illusion. Her pain wasn’t real. If Harry lost someone he loved, that would be real. And she’d take all the hurt just to keep him happy. Always.

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Tonight, Harry came home alone.

She asked him what was wrong, knowing he wouldn’t answer. He went straight to the couch and buried his face into his hands. She wondered if he’d forgotten to take his pills again. She’d call them his happy pills. He’d been taking them for a couple of months now. He was always so sad and numb without them. Lately, it seemed like he hadn’t been taking them.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s on your mind,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Silence sank in. The heaviness in her hollow chest became too much to bear.

Then, his shoulders began to shake.

He started crying.

She’d seen him cry before, but this time she could feel everything he was feeling. And it was even worse for her because she could not do anything about it. When a person cried, they’d feel better afterwards. There was no better for the dead. Just forever numbness. Forever pain. Maybe she hadn’t gone to hell because this was her hell. What had she done to deserve this?

Whatever. This wasn’t about her.

She wished she could wipe away Harry’s tears and tell him things that’d make him feel better. She felt powerless. There was nothing she could do to help.

She sat and watched him cry for what seemed like forever. When he finally stopped, he took out his phone and texted the other woman.

This time, Y/N read.

They’d broken up. The messages didn’t say why. All Y/N knew was that Harry was madly in love with the other woman. He’d sent so many messages asking her to stay, telling her he couldn’t live without her. And she never responded to a single one.

“Harry…” Y/N murmured.

Harry shook his head gently as if he’d heard it. Then, he got to his feet and padded to the bedroom. The door fell shut, leaving Y/N with the uncomfortable silence that could smother her.

She started pacing back and forth outside his bedroom. Her head swam with half-formed regrets. She wished she’d done something to stop him from getting to know the other woman and falling in love with her. But what could she have possibly done? She was dead. She was a ghost, floating around, haunting this place. She couldn’t keep two living people from falling in love. She couldn’t stop the woman from breaking Harry’s heart.

But that was one thing about not having a heart, you’d hurt twice as much trying to protect a heart that wasn’t your own.

Something crashed.

Glass shattered.

The world stilled for a second as Y/N burst into the bedroom.

There he was. Staring right back at her.

But there was also him. On the floor. The real him.

Those weren’t his happy pills.

“Harry!” she screamed and rushed towards the Harry on the floor. His ghost stood there watching in silence as she tried to wake him. She couldn’t touch him. She could only scream and if he’d never listened before, he wasn’t listening now. “Harry, please wake up...Please wake up…”

She lay her palm on his chest. He wasn’t dead. She could still feel his heart beating. His skin pale and his breathing slowed. Half of him was still fighting to live and as long as the other half didn’t overpower him, he might be saved.

“Who are you?” asked the ghost standing beside her.

She looked up. The other Harry was looking right at her, not through her. This one could see her.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, still in shock.

“Y/N,” he echoed.

She’d heard him tell the other woman that he would repeat a person’s name so he wouldn’t forget it. He could hear Y/N, see her and now he knew her name. Her invisible heart swelled for a second, but then she could feel it, the beating of that living thing under his chest. He was still half-alive. But he wouldn’t be for too long.

“You must hold on,” she told his ghost, panting heavily as she started freaking out. “You can’t...you can’t die...you must...I don’t know....get back into your body before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know how, and I don’t want to,” he said, staring at himself, and then at her. She didn’t like the look he was giving her. It was as if she was an exotic animal and he was a curious child going to the zoo for the first time. “Are you a ghost?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet, trying to avoid his gaze. “I-I died here…”

Silence.

“How long have you been here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember. When you’re dead, your memories start to fade. Now I don’t remember anything from when I was alive.”

“So there’s no afterlife?” Harry asked, his voice breaking a little. She looked up and saw him staring at his own body with a pained expression that could be regret. “You just...stay here?”

“I don’t know about the other ghosts, but that’s what it is for me,” she said, rubbing her arms.

“Aren’t you lonely?” he asked.

“Well, not really. I’ve got you.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. He blinked. “But I couldn’t see you or talk to you.”

She raised a soft smile. “But I could see you and talk to you. That was enough.” Harry was giving her an expression she could not interpret, so she hurriedly went on, “Believe me. Death is overrated. You don’t want it.”

“But what if I do? I lost my job and someone I loved. I have struggled every day for the past few months, so why bother?”

“So you think it’s easy for me?” she asked. “I don’t have a heart, yet I still feel things and I can’t cry and the feelings won’t go away. They’ll still be here when everyone else leaves. Dead doesn’t mean gone but it’s the end of second chances. I’ll never get to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I’ll never get to graduate. I don’t remember my family or if I ever had one. I don’t get to make friends. I don’t...don’t get to be loved…

“And if that doesn’t sound bad to you, just think about all the people you’d leave behind. Your mum, your sister. You won’t remember them but they’ll remember you. And they’ll have to carry the pain of losing you until it happens to them. I didn’t get to see them one last time because...if I tried to leave this flat, I’d just...just keep coming back here. I’d never get to apologise to them for abandoning them. I regret it every single day. And I don’t want it to happen to you.”

The Harry in front of her was quiet for a moment. The Harry on the floor was struggling to breathe.

“If I die,” he spoke, his eyes meeting hers, “you won’t be lonely anymore. Why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

She took a moment to think. Then, “Because I love you.”

His eyes widened as he parted his lips. He didn’t believe it. For the first time, Y/N could see herself in him. She wouldn’t believe it if someone told her they loved her, either. She thought she couldn’t be loved. That was why she’d chosen the easier way out. It wasn’t easy; she knew that now. So she wasn’t going to let him make the same mistake.

“You think no one cares, but I do,” she said, reaching for his hand. She held it, lacing her fingers with his. “So please hold on. If you fully give up, you cannot be saved.”

He looked at himself and then back at her. “Where did you die?”

A pause.

“The bathroom.”

Sadness set over his features. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “I’ve never been better than I am now.”

“Harry!” shouted a female voice as the front door burst open suddenly and frantic footsteps rushed into the room.

The moment Harry saw the woman he loved, hope lit up his entire face. The woman screamed as she collapsed by his body and pulled out her phone to call an ambulance. She kissed his face and told him how much she loved him, that she was sorry, that she’d take back all the things she’d said, that she wanted to spend many more years with him.

Y/N felt herself losing grip of the other Harry. He started to fade. She tried to hold onto him, but it was no use.

And before he was completely gone, he smiled at her and said, “Thank you.” And she thanked him, too. For seeing her. And not giving up.

.

.

.

Harry didn’t remember anything when he came back from the hospital. He got back together with his girlfriend, who finally moved in with him. They lasted for two years and their relationship ended on good terms. After that, Harry, now with the job that he loved, started seeing other people and stopped taking his happy pills. He’d got better. He was happy all the time. He didn’t remember his conversation with Y/N, but sometimes she’d catch him staring at the bathtub. She’d pretend that he could see her and she’d smile and wave. Maybe he could, but he didn’t want to freak her out. Who knew?

He moved out of the flat after a few more years. The last night he was there, she’d lay on the floor beside his bed as he slept.

The ones after him were fun. Y/N liked meeting new people. One couple even had a pet and she finally had someone to talk to. Still, sometimes she would think about Harry and wondered what he might be doing now.

One night, while lying in the tub, she discovered a tiny word someone had written on the bathroom wall.

Hello.

She’d been here long enough to know that it hadn’t always been there. She recognised that handwriting. Though she wished she’d found it sooner, it made her happy as she traced her fingers over it and imagined him thinking of her.

.

.

.

Y/N didn’t know how much time had passed.

But Harry did return.

When he came in, she almost didn’t recognise him. He was an old man in a wheelchair. She’d overheard him talking to his caretaker that he wanted to spend his last days in this flat. He stayed in bed for that whole first week and she’d lie beside his bed and talk to him each night.

He died of old age.

One night, he went to the bathroom and lay down in the tub and fell asleep and never woke up.

She stood in the doorway, watching him.

Then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. When she turned, she saw the same Harry who was young and handsome and wearing the same clothes as the day he’d first seen her.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

Apparently, when you died, you got to choose the age you wanted to be. She’d chosen to be twenty-one, the age she’d died. Harry had chosen to be twenty-four, the age he’d met the ghost girl who had saved his life.

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