#sounds terrifying but neither of them has murdered the other yet so i guess everything has worked out

[sillyguyhotline]

ranboo and tubbo are really the epitome of gen z’s universal attitude of “internet safety who?” going from strangers to online friends to roommates in the span of less than a year. good for them

#sounds terrifying but neither of them has murdered the other yet so i guess everything has worked out #ranboo #tubbo #beeduo

[true-blue-megamind]

What Makes Hal a Great Villain?

Okay, I’m saying it upfront: this one is going to get a little dark and very real.  Potential triggers for harassment, stalking, sexual predation.  Nothing graphic or heavy, of course, but if these are especially highly sensitive subjects for you, please proceed with caution.

Also, SPOILER ALERT for anyone who has not yet watched the animated awesomeness that is Megamind.  (If you are that person, the DVD is on sale on Amazon, and the movie is available to stream on NowTV.  Go watch it.  I’ll wait.)

We all know Megamind is an awesome protagonist--multi-layered, relatable, and surprisingly complex-- but, truthfully, his antagonist is just as interesting.  In fact, when compared with other animated villains of the early 2000′s, he’s by far the most memorable... and the most terrifying.

Many may question my assessment.  I mean, let’s be honest: this guy doesn’t exactly look like the face of evil.  But make no mistake: Hal, who later becomes Titan, is an extremely scary person.

I don’t want to leave readers with the impression that this character is one-sided, however, so before we get started on just what makes this fellow complete nightmare fuel, let’s look briefly at a few of the other reasons that Hal makes a fascinating Bad Guy.

One of my favorite things about Hal’s character arch is that it defies expectations.  Superhero comics have a long tradition of Average Nobodies who somehow receive extraordinary powers and go on to save the city.  Or the world.  Or the universe.  You get the idea.  Many comic book fans, upon watching Megamind for the first time, probably expected Hal to do the same, but he doesn’t.  In fact, he goes rogue, choosing to use his newly-obtained gifts for wanton destruction.  Thus the film inverts the established trope.

Like the protagonist he faces, (and is thankfully conquered by,) Hal is complex, and his true nature reveals itself slowly.  I’ve heard some people say that they actually felt a bit sorry for him in the first scene he appears, as he awkwardly tries to express his feelings to reporter Roxanne Ritchi.  At first he seemed like nothing worse than a socially inept and sexually frustrated nerd.  Only as the move progressed, and the aforementioned viewers saw his creepiness more clearly, did they begin to revile him.  One of the many clever things about the movie is that the gradual development provides audiences with the experience of slowly getting to know the characters.  While Megamind is the somewhat anarchical Goth who worries you a little at first, but whose heart of gold has you loving him once you really understand him, Hal is that guy you really, really regret talking to at a party.  You know, the one who quickly starts sending your internal Creep-o-Meter off the scale and persistently follows you around for the rest of the night.  This is, indeed, part of what makes Hal disturbing; just like real villains, he hides in plain sight, wearing the guise of an ordinary fellow.

Which brings us back to the scary part.  Even before he gets superpowers, Hal is bad guy deep down.  He’s a creep and a stalker.  He harasses Roxanne at work and keeps pestering her for a date no matter how many times she says no.  Either consciously or unconsciously, he assumes that she’s shallow, and that once he has a muscular body and a bevy of godlike abilities, she’ll fawn on him.  The idea that he himself might be the problem never seems to occur to him.  In fact, he seems to feel that she will then owe him her affection.  This is because, even before becoming Titan, Hal appears to have an overblown sense of self-importance and an unrealistic concept about what he deserves.  (I go into detail about that in an earlier post, Megamind and Identity, which you can read here.)  The fact that he doesn’t get what he feels is his right seems to have created a deep-seeded bitterness in him that rises to the surface once he obtains power.

But Hal really is the problem.  His combined possessive harassment and complete lack of empathy are exactly why Roxanne neither likes nor trusts him.  And she’s right to feel that way.  Almost immediately after gaining his powers, now feeling that he is above society’s rules, Titan begins revealing just how terrible of a person he really is.  He uses his supervision to spy on Roxanne while he and Megamind (disguised as Space Dad) are in the park, and that must not be the only incident because he later tells Roxanne: “I know everything about you.”  This is just before he grabs her off of her balcony, without her consent, and begins throwing her around like a rag doll, terrifying her and putting her life in real danger because, apparently, he thinks she’ll be impressed.

Yeah.  This guy is pretty much human garbage.

Once he finally understands (more or less) that Roxanne really means it when she says she’s not interested, Hal/Titan reveals himself to be a man-child.  He  begins by using his abilities for selfish and criminal reasons, essentially stating that he doesn’t feel heroism is worth his time.  When he learns that Megamind has been dating Roxanne, (albeit in disguise,) he reacts with violence.  This is because Megamind, like Hal himself, is an outsider: unpopular, unwelcome, and considered unattractive by most of the population of Metro City.  In Hal’s mind, this revelation highlights the fact that none of these factors were the cause of Roxanne’s rejection, leaving only he himself to blame.  (In fact, the movie contrasts Megamind, who, although imperfect, respects Roxanne’s wishes and intelligence, with Hal, who basically views her as an object to be won.  Again, you can read more about that in Megamind and Identity.) Hal can’t handle that.  He can’t accept it.  So instead he turns his rage on the city as a whole.  (This is despite the fact that, deep down, Hal knows he is the problem, hence why he rejects his identity as Hal and fully embraces the new one as Titan.  That’s illustrated by his final line before abandoning Roxanne on Metro Tower: “It’s Titan, not Hal!”)

Hal abuses his power, and society suffers as a result.  Even then, however, Hal/Titan still tries to lay claim to Roxanne.  He accuses Megamind of “stealing his girlfriend,” and later tells Roxanne: “Let me guess, after seeing how awesome I am, you’ve come to your senses.”  All the way to the end, Hal still can’t quite seem to accept that reality is not following his design.

If the idea of a man who lets power go to his head, objectifies women, won’t take “no” for an answer, and reacts violently when denied what he feels he’s owed sounds familiar, that’s because it is.  Humanity has a huge problem with these sorts of behaviors, ranging from sexism and sexual predation to unfeeling abuses of power.  The Sarah Everard case in London, and the fact that several officials essentially blamed the victim, asking why Sarah was walking home alone rather than asking why some guy felt he had the right to attack her, is the most recent well-known testament to this, but it’s sadly far from the only one.  A.J. White said it best in his YouTube video, The Terror of the Incel Superman, when he expressed that news archives are full of stories about women being murdered by the sort of overgrown boys who can’t accept their refusals.  And although men of that sort do not have the ability to fly or shoot lasers out of their eyes, some of them do rise to social and political power.  They are Hals. 

That is exactly what makes this character so especially scary.  Unlike more farcical supervillains, he is based upon something that truly exists.  Preternatural abilities aside, Hal is terrifying because he is very real.  Let’s just hope our world will see more Megaminds willing to stand up to them. #BeMegamindNotHal

#Megamind #Megamind movie #villain #antagonist #Hal #Titan #bad guy #assessment #analysis #film #movie #Roxanne Ritchi #Be a Megamind Not a Hal #Metro City #Defender of Metro City #hero Megamind #Roxanne #Hal is a Creep #Incel #Be Megamind Not Hal

[ateezmakemeweep]

line without a hook.

mingi x reader; lovers to strangers au

word count: 13k

angst, fluff (tw: mentions of death)

you could personally never understand one’s desire to run as far away from their hometown as they could.

maybe it’s because you’ve had the privilege of growing up in a beautiful, prosperous place, with cozy winters, amazing festivals and snowfalls on the frozen lake before spring came and melted it away.

maybe it’s because you have fond memories tied back to this picturesque place, shops and restaurants surrounding the lake in a way that almost seemed too magical to really exist.

you’ve met so many different people purely because of that sight, men and women of different cultures and backgrounds always so eager to take in your hometown’s natural beauty.

fortunately for you, the lake ran right through your yard and acted as a place of solace where you could get away from everything in the busy, touristy town.

a place you went when you were feeling happy, sad, angry or when, truthfully, you didn’t know how to feel.

it’s also where you first met your boyfriend, one of the many come and go visitors, who introduced himself as mingi.

except he had walked right through your backyard like he owned the place, a small smile on his handsome face as he took in the sight of the frozen water.

he looked at it with such wonder and fascination, like he’d never seen anything like it before in his life; and you can remember that night, even with how you’re feeling right now, that he looked at you the same way.

it’s the only thing that reminds you, at some point, you two must have really loved each other.

two years ago - december 13th

you were hunched over your desk finishing the last of your final essay, only a page left before you could throw every syllabus away and rejoice at having two months of winter break.

it was a chilly night but you couldn’t help but be outside on the porch, a big warm sweater and fuzzy socks on as you read over your work so far.

you’d gotten used to the sounds of nature, the chirping of birds, pitter patter of animal feet and even the loud, slightly terrifying barks of deer.

but the footsteps crunching on the leaves in your driveway definitely weren’t those of chipmunks or rabbits, your strained neck craning over to see a tall figure walking right past your porch and deep into your backyard.

strangely enough, whether it be the frigid temperatures getting to you or the stress of finishing this paper, you weren’t panicked; the man technically wasn’t even on your property, he was right outside of it along the grass that turned to decking.

so you continued to make revisions and edit your paper silently, your eyes fluttering up ever so often to check on the mysterious, tall figure. his shoulders were broad and his hair was messy, that much you could tell from your spot on the porch.

when five minutes past, then ten, then twenty, and he had still yet to move or realize he was in someone’s yard, you decided to investigate - because one, how long could he really stare at this frozen mass of water and two, your head was pounding from looking at this stupid document.

so without an ounce of fear or hesitation, you wrapped your sweater tighter around your body and made your way down to the man.

your slippers were loose so the last remaining bits of snow were seeping into your socks, a slight grimace on your face when the coldness touched your skin.

the sound of crunching snow caused him to turn around, his lips quirking up into a small smile when you came into view.

it was when you got closer that you saw just how attractive he was, pale skin that glowed, plump lips that were slightly chapped and messy hair that looked even better up close.

he looked different than most locals and tourists around here, many of them pastel wearing men who wouldn’t dare stick an earring in their skin.

but the man in front of you had a completely different vibe, earrings and chains and a gray t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest despite the freezing temperatures tonight.

a few minutes of silence pass, neither him nor you concerned about filling it; it seemed as if he could’ve stared at the lake just as long as you could’ve wondered why the hell he liked it so much.

“aren’t you cold?”

more silence passed and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear your blurted out question.

but then you discover he did when he looked at you with a smirk, the snow crackling underneath him as he shifts to take in your big sweater and pink slippers.

“no.”

it’s a short and simple response but his voice is somehow incredibly warm, looking at you with a twinge of soft light in his eyes before he opens his mouth again.

“why? are you?”

a confused smile pulls at your lips as you shake your head, looking over his bare (muscular) arms conspicuously.

“no. but i’m not wearing a t-shirt in december.”

he sends a smile your way, his large body turning allowing you to fully take in just how big he is. you feel incredibly small next to him and it should probably make you nervous - a large, stranger unwelcomed in your yard and staring down at you.

but there’s a weird sense of tranquility over both of you in this moment, the moon shining off the frozen lake as his gaze meets yours.

“well that’s a good thing,” he hums, your eyebrow quirking up before he continues. “because i don’t have a jacket to give you.”

a surprised chuckle leaves your mouth that has a smile spreading across your face and he feels his own doing the same at the sight of it.

“what makes you think i’d take a jacket from a stranger?”

his eyebrow raises after a few seconds of pondering the rhetorical question, his large hand suddenly coming between your bodies.

“my name’s mingi. i’m staying a few houses over at my aunt’s for the holidays.”

your lips purse together as you wrack your brain for which neighbor it could possibly be, remembering that the woman who brought you left over lasagna for thanksgiving mentioned her nephew was coming for christmas and new years.

she didn’t mention that her nephew looked like this or that he went onto the property of anyone he pleased.

“i’m y/n,” you say, taking your smaller hand in his cold one before a teasing smiles crosses your face. “and we’re actually standing in my backyard. so thank you for trespassing so politely, mingi.”

his eyes widen as an embarrassed look crosses his face, the small hint of pink on his cheeks just as endearing as it is humorous.

“i- i’m so sorry, oh, my god,” he chuckles out, your cold hands still intertwined. “my aunt said i could take the first road i saw to get to the lake. that there was a better view down here than from her house.”

and you can see in his eyes the exact moment his next sentence came into his mind, like he thought it was gonna be the smoothest and coolest thing he’d ever said.

“and it looks like she was right.”

the loud laugh that bubbles out of you is uncontrollable, mingi’s quickly following as his cheeks turn even more pink.

“sorry, i couldn’t help myself,” he mumbles sheepishly, sounding completely unapologetic as he finally pulls his hand away from yours; you try not to think about how much colder your hand feels now, quickly sticking it in the pocket of your sweater to compensate.

“right,” you quip, a tiny giggle leaving you as you crane your neck to meet his gaze. “but really, you should probably get a jacket if you’re gonna be out here a lot. you don’t wanna get sick and it can get pretty cold here.”

“will do,” he hums, his eyes roaming yours and making your heart jump in your chest; he really is the most attractive person you’ve ever seen.

there’s a few beats of silence as he cranes his neck to look out at the lake, eyes roaming what seems like every piece of frozen ice and snowy tree surrounding it.

“my aunt actually told me people sometimes skate on it.”

“yeah,” you confirm with a nod, taking the time to look at the beauty you take for granted every day. “it’s thick enough this year. sometime we’re not allowed.”

“cool,” he says with a smile, a slight shiver running through him that makes you frown. “so... can i come back here to do that?” he asks, his eyes hopeful and soft as he looks at you. “or should i use the real path?”

your eyebrows pull together at his question, confusion covering your face but only meeting his cocky, playful one.

“are you asking if we can skate together?”

he bites down on his lip so he doesn’t smile larger, his tongue peeking out just before his teeth make contact.

“yeah,” he hums lowly, the deep tone of his voice sending butterflies through your stomach. “i guess i am.”

your lips quirk to the side as you weigh out the pros and cons.

you’re on your own a lot and definitely miss talking to someone.

he’s attractive and funny and seemingly nice enough.

you know his aunt and can easily confirm his story, the chances of him being a murderer who moseyed into town considerably low.

the only con you can think of is falling on your ass in front of him and even that it isn’t such a deal breaker.

so you smile at him and nod your head, a melodic “okay,” leaving your mouth that has him smiling back at you just as sweetly.

present day:

you knew going to this dinner with mingi was gonna end in disaster.

you were both too on edge after your fight this morning, past the point of screaming and yelling for hours that, now, you’ll exchange a few harsh words at each other before falling silent.

you’ve learned that the tense silence after a fight is worse than screaming and yelling.

at least with that, it seems as if there’s still some passion there. there’s words being exchanged and feelings coming to the surface that both people feel motivated enough to express.

but with the silence, you’re both bottling it up.

deeming it useless and letting it brew and brew and brew until one of you goes completely over the edge - and more often than not, that person is him.

the car ride over is no better, not even the radio playing to distract you both from the building tension in the air.

your friends know immediately that something is up, yunho eyeing mingi and san eyeing you; yunho, san, seonghwa, and wooyoung had been your friends since elementary school.

you’d been through a lot with them and have seen each other at all your highs and lows.

throughout your two-year relationship with mingi, him and yunho had grown especially close and it was sweet to see; you knew it was important for mingi to have another friend in a place he didn’t grow up in and you were genuinely happy they created a great friendship.

“hey guys!” wooyoung chirped happily, already chowing down on the chips and salsa in the middle of the table. “how is everyone?”

and like he’s almost oblivious to the tension in the room, mingi only mumbles a grumbled “fine,” before he starts happily babbling again. you try a little harder to put up on a happy front, giving wooyoung a small smile as you talk to him about your last semester of school.

as the dinner goes on, appetizers turning to meals and meals turning to alcohol, mingi downs sangria after sangria before he becomes a lot more chatty.

“oh, shit, there he is,” wooyoung smiles happily, a drunken flush to his face as he pokes his arm playfully. “you were scaring me for a hot second. looking all pissed off and shit.”

“that’s because i was pissed off. still am, if i’m being honest, woo,” mingi says, a conniving hint in his tone as he finishes the last of his drink.

your eyes immediately move to him and you’re quick to narrow them, hoping and praying he doesn’t start round two in this public restaurant right now; but apparently, that’s exactly what he plans on doing.

“what’s with the face, y/n?”

mingi spits your name out like it’s the last thing he wants to say, a quietly snapped “nothing,” leaving your mouth.

san and yunho look to each other immediately, concern on both their faces as they feel the tension start creeping back up.

they knew something was wrong the second you both came in, have known things have been off between you two for months, and it was even more obvious when you immediately took the seats a few spots away from each other.

“nothing?” he asks, his voice deep and gravely due to his anger and the alcohol. “because it sure looks like you wanna say something.”

“i don’t have anything to say to you.”

“you never do, do you, babe?” he asks, his humorless laugh and vindictive tone making your skin prickle.

“did you even miss me?”

your eyes meet his from across the table when he finally speaks, your eyebrow raising as you two stare at each other blankly.

he had left two nights ago after telling you he needed space, not hearing a word from him until he came barreling through the door just a few moments ago at seven a.m.

you’d just gotten up to make yourself coffee, plagued with worry and upset over your fight and his lack of communication.

“maybe if you looked at your phone, you’d know.”

because how could he think you wouldn’t miss him? how could he think you’re actually okay with him leaving after every fight? not hearing from him for a day or two while you stay in this apartment and let your mind go off into every worst case scenario.

a humorless laugh can only leave him as he shakes his head.

“of course you’re putting the blame back on me. i just can’t make you happy, can i, y/n?”

“you staying after a fight would make me happy. but of course, you can’t do that for me, can you?”

he doesn’t say anything and instead just clenches his jaw painfully tight.

you watch it tick dangerously and instead of feeling anger or sadness, you just feel utterly defeated; you don’t know how many times you guys have had this exact conversation.

a fight will happen.

he yells, you cry.

you just want him to see your tears and obvious pain and stop the yelling.

hold you and kiss your hair and mumble that you guys are gonna figure this out and get passed it.

he leaves, you stay silent.

he just wants you to fight for him a little.

call him out on his shit and prove to his insecure self that you still love and care for him, even though he’s a dick. ask him to please stay because he wants to figure this out and get passed it.

but then he comes back and you’re both okay for a bit, just for the cycle to repeat itself over and over.

“is that why you leave, mingi?” you speak again, looking at him curiously as you shake your head. 

“make me sit here and worry about you for days, while you purposely ignore me, just so i can tell you i miss you? is that what you want?”

the words are on the tip of his tongue. that yes, that’s exactly what he wants from you.

but the words are also on the tip of your tongue. that you want his first instinct to be to stay. to stay here and talk things out with you before immediately jumping up to flee.

he wants you to tell him you miss him but you want him to tell you he loves you, that he loves you enough to stay when you guys fight; but right now, neither of you are even sure if that’s true anymore.

“i don’t know about y/n, you guys,” mingi says suddenly at dinner, the drunken slur to his voice evident to everyone. “i love her but sometimes.... i think i actually fucking hate her.”

you feel your heart sink when those words leave his mouth, your face dropping just as the boys call out his name roughly.

“mingi, what the fuck,” san growls from across the table; but the boy is completely unbothered, shrugging his broad shoulders as he looks directly at you.

“how ‘bout you, babe? how do you feel about me?” he asks, leaned back against his chair like he’s completely calm, cool and collected.

“i’m not having this discussion with you right now.”

“you never want to have this discussion,” he mocks, the anger and rage in his eyes only making your blood boil even more. 

“i’m getting tired of it, y/n. i’m getting tired of all this shit.”

his voice is raising and you’re becoming increasingly embarrassed, knowing that the last place for this blowout fight is in front of your friends in a public setting.

“mingi, this really isn’t the place to-”

“shut up, yunho, we’re gonna finally-”

but you’re not intending on doing anything, already feeling humiliated and belittled as you get up from your seat and walk toward the door.

you leave your bag and jacket so the boys know you’re not leaving, hoping and praying that your drunk asshole of a boyfriend follows you outside; and sure enough, two minutes later, you smell his familiar cologne when the door opens.

neither of you say anything for the first few seconds, him leaned against the wall and you facing him with your hands on your hips.

“what’s your problem?”

it’s the first thing you think to ask, looking at him with such concern and defeat in your eyes. 

you hope he can see it but you’re sure he can’t, far too absorbed in whatever he’s been going through for the past few months to notice.

“i don’t have a problem.”

“you obviously do,” you snap, your voice raising as you take a step closer to him.

“you just embarrassed me in front of everyone and you’re acting like a fucking child. we could’ve had this conversation at the house instead of not speaking for days.”

“why? so you could just turn shit around on me or ignore what i’m saying?” he snaps back, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at you. “maybe we need an outside source to listen.”

“not our friends, mingi, and not at a public dinner when you’re getting drunk.”

“you always have an answer for everything, don’t you?” he snaps, his jaw clenching and eyes flaring as he continues to peer down at you.

“and it’s always on me. when we tried to talk this morning, you blew me off, too, y/n. it’s like you don’t ever wanna have this discussion.”

“because i don’t know what you want me to say, mingi. how many times do i have to repeat myself and tell you i don’t know what you want from me?”

“have you ever thought that maybe that’s the fucking problem, y/n? that after all of this, you still don’t know what i want from you? are you fucking stupid?”

“are you fucking stupid?” you yell back, the suppressed anger and rage you knew was brewing boiling over right here and now.

“you want me to tell you that i miss you when you leave every other week, mingi? why would i tell someone that who could give a shit? i could tell you i miss you or that i’ll miss you and you’ll still fucking leave me.”

“how do you know?” he snaps, “you’ve never tried!”

“i’ve never tried?” you yelp, tears of frustration burning your eyes as you look at him.

“what’s me texting you when you leave like a little bitch every single time? or me obviously worrying when you pull that stupid shit over and over? i’ve been trying mingi and you don’t care! you leave me crying alone every single time!”

he meets your gaze with fire in his eyes and you can only stare back with tears in yours, waiting for him to scream something before he decides to kick over the metal garbage can a few feet away from you.

you watch as it clatters against the side walk, a loud, deep “fuck!” leaving him as you watch him blankly. his chest is heaving and you can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself right now but you also don’t know anymore.

because you’re shaking inside and out and feel like you wanna throw up, knowing that right now you both look like the worst type of couple; but it’s nothing compared to how you feel, how even though you don’t want to, you can’t stop yourself from acting out on these negative feelings.

“and if i never try, mingi, then just leave again,” you say, tears blurring your vision and a lump growing in your throat. “you can stay and come home with me tonight. or you can leave. at this point, i’m too tired to care.”

you weren’t surprised to go home alone that night.

watch as seonghwa and yunho helped your boyfriend to their car and promised that he’d be back in a few days; you were only able to sleep soundly that night because you knew he was safe with them.

but it didn’t stop you from crying yourself to sleep that night, the night after that and the night after that for the next week; the same would’ve probably happened the next night, too, at least for a little bit, had you not heard your front door open just after midnight.

you were getting in one last episode of your drama when mingi returned home, craning your neck back to see him lazily kicking off his shoes at the front door.

his head looked up to meet your gaze, the glow of the tv hitting him just enough to tell you he looked like shit.

he had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was tousled messily, like he hadn’t washed it since you last saw him. his face was sunken and pale as if he’d been away in the wild for months opposed to his friend’s house for just a little over a week.

but when he’s away from you, this is what happens each and every time - he can’t sleep or eat or function properly.

he’s only plagued with the thought of you, memories running through his mind or constantly wondering what you’re doing. if you’re safe and feeling okay or if something bad is gonna happen to you because he’s not there.

the couch dips next to you before you feel his skin graze yours, a quietly mumbled “hey,” like he just came in from work casually spoken through the air.

you crane your neck up at him to look in his sunken eyes, an uncontrollable frown on your face as you swipe your finger across his purple skin.

it’s the softest touch he’s received in a week and he’s missed it more than he cares to admit. shutting his eyes and smiling slightly when he hears you mumble “hi” back.

you bask in each other’s comfort and warmth for the rest of the episode in silence, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm wound tightly around you until the tv screen falls black.

you two walk into bed and he pulls you down with him, your head falling to his chest and his hands in your hair. you moan against him sleepily and it’s a sound he’s missed so dearly, tightening his hold on you as he feels his body immediately relax.

you’re both completely comfortable and at ease, days of worrying finally calmed as you’re beside one another again.

but even with this comfort, even with the familiar feel of each other’s skin and warmth soothing both of you, you know it won’t be enough.

because you still don’t say you missed him and he still doesn’t tell you he loves you.

a year and 11 months ago - january 10th

you weren’t sure if it was possible to fall in love in less than a month but it really felt as if you and mingi did.

from the moment you saw him two days after your initial meeting, skating together and braving the frozen lake together, your connection was immediate.

you’d spent everyday with each other, frolicking through the town in the afternoon before going back to your house at night.

you usually spent it cuddled up on the couch or making food in your kitchen, his arms wrapping around your waist before tossing you up on the counter playfully.

“you didn’t strike me as a chef,” you tell him, watching him stir a pot of noodles with a content look on his face.

“well, i didn’t strike you as a rapper either,” he says, a smirk on his face as a giggle leaves your mouth.

you learned that mingi was an aspiring rapper, him and his friend hongjoong trying to get their foot in the door for the past year. you listened to a few of their songs and even got a live performance from him, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed as you watched him.

in a fit of absolute astonishment, because you didn’t think mingi could get any more attractive, you blurted out that he didn’t seem like a rapper. that his personality was too “cute and charming” despite the deep growl to his raps and voice.

“i told you just personality wise,” you whine with a pout, reaching your hand out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “but appearance wise, absolutely. you’re very tough. very cool looking. i’m scared of you.”

“you’re making this a lot worse for yourself, baby,” he hums lowly, another giggle leaving your mouth as you bite down on your lip.

“did your friend hear back from that producer yet?” you ask him curiously, your legs criss-crossed as you sit on the counter and peer up at him.

he looks over to see you staring at him all wide-eyed and interested, a soft, happy glint in your gaze that makes his heart pull in his chest.

he hasn’t even known you for a month but he’s never been this happy before.

he’s never had anyone be there for him the way you’ve been, dedicating their time to him and being so actively interested and supportive of his decisions; it also doesn’t help that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met, both inside and out, that made him extend his trip a week longer.

he couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to you yet and he’s still not sure if he can; he’s grown incredibly attached to you and it’s something he’s never felt before.

something all consuming and magical that’s making him incredibly vulnerable.

“not yet,” he mumbles, his eyes roaming your face.

your eyebrows pull together when you notice the way he’s looking at you, soft and sweet with a fondness that makes your heart flutter dangerously.

“why are you looking at me like that?”

a smile crosses his face as he lowers the heat on the stove, caging your body in and cocking his head to the side. he bites down on his lip when he sees your eyes widen, a large hand coming up to push pieces of hair out of your face.

“because i’m happy i met you.”

a small, touched smile pulls at your lips as you peer up at him, raising your own hand to smooth out the chain around his neck.

your fingers brush against his warm skin and it’s like there’s electricity coursing through both of you, your bodies close and hot breath wafting together.

“i’m happy i met you too, mingi.”

his heart soars at the way you say his name, eyes falling to your lips as he presses himself closer to you. you push yourself against the cabinets, swallowing the lump in your throat when you follow his gaze.

your tongue peeks out to lick over them unconsciously, your own eyes falling to his lips. you feel your stomach swoop dangerously, wanting so badly to feel them on yours - they’re one of the first things you noticed about him.

“y/n?”

“hm?” you hum, your eyes lingering on his mouth before hazily meeting his eyes; and there you see it, the soft intensity you’ve yet to grow used to.

you’ve seen this look from him more times than you can remember despite the short time you’ve known each other.

on the lake when you two were skating, grasping each other’s hands and giggling as you tried to keep yourselves from falling back.

in town when your hands bumped and you’d stop dead in your tracks to look at each other, completely unaware of the people around you giving each other knowing looks.

on the couch when you’d allow your head to rest on his shoulder, cuddling closer to him because the weather is really cold for january and you need body heat.

but it’s never been as strong as it now.

your heart’s never been beating this fast and you haven’t been able to feel his own pounding against his chest. probably because he was nervous to ask-

“can i kiss you?”

neither of you can remember what happened after he uttered those words.

just that one minute, he said it and the next, your mouths were connected. parting on one another’s as he completely caged your body with his.

your arms wound around his neck and he hummed contently against your mouth, slipping his tongue in when you started playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

he had half the mind to turn off the stove before carrying you to the couch, your legs wound tightly around his waist as every hint of desire and want overtook you.

he plopped himself down as you situated yourself on his lap, lips never disconnecting. you moaned against him when you felt his body underneath yours, tongues colliding and mouths pulled into smiles.

his hands gripped onto your hips gently, pulling your body closer to his as your kisses grew hungrier and more intense.

you finally pulled apart for air with heaving chests and red, puffy lips, your eyes meeting and every hint of vulnerability and longing in them.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he finally says softly, almost whispering it in fear that someone else would hear.

but this house is empty. it always is and it has been for quite some time.

until you met him and he completely changed your life.

now there were two pairs of shoes at the door and two empty cups in the sink. there was someone to talk to and someone to be in the silence with.

because you’ve learned over this past month that even a silence with someone else is way better than the silence of being alone.

“me... me too,” you admit shyly, a warm blush creeping up on your face. “i’m... really, really happy you’re here, mingi.”

his eyes widen when he sees tears well up in your eyes, his mouth pulled into a frown as he brings his hands to your face.

but you only shake your head before he can comment on it, placing your hand atop his before connecting your lips again.

he meets the kiss with the fervor you need, everything about it soft and sweet and passionate. like you guys know time is running out and you need to fit it all in.

“that producer got back to me and wants to meet in person so you’ll be home next week, yeah?” hongjoong asked mingi over the phone, the boy laid out on his bed a few days later.

he can only keep replaying the memory of you in his mind, the tone of your voice and the teary look in your eye when you told him how happy you were that he’s been here.

there was a certain type of sadness behind you that he hasn’t been able to shake, making it incredibly hard for him to pick a day to just pack up his car and go.

“i... uh. i don’t know, yet.”

“what?” hongjoong asked.

him and mingi had been waiting to meet producers for months, getting either put on a list or straight up rejected. and now when they have a chance, “you don’t know yet?”

mingi licks over his lips as he hears the disbelief in his friend’s voice, knowing that hongjoong won’t be able to believe this. they’ve been waiting for this moment ever since they were in high school and had the dream of rapping as a duo.

he was only supposed to be here for a few days and now it was almost a month. what could possibly be keeping him there? what could possibly have made mingi-

“what could you possibly not know, mingi? we’ve been waiting for this moment for years. you even extended your trip for a bullshit reason thinking i’d really buy it.”

“okay but my aunt really did need help around the house...” he mumbles because yes, she needed help around the house as she redid her bathroom but she was quick to hire professionals so, technically not a lie.

“so what, what’s your excuse this time? did you meet some chick?”

there’s a silence that stretches over the phone for what feels like hours, mingi attempting to find any words before hongjoong lets out a loud groan.

“a girl? mingi, are you fucking kidding me?”

“i really like her, hongjoong,” mingi tells his friend, a sweet genuineness and innocence in his deep tone. “i really, really like her and i... i don’t think i can leave her yet.”

he reluctantly opens up to hongjoong about you, telling him that you’re in school and live alone in this quiet little lake town. that you and him have been spending every second together and he’s never felt this way about anyone before.

“i’m happy for you, man, i really am,” hongjoong says, never having heard his friend talk like this before. “but i mean... is she worth changing your plans? what the hell is there for you?”

he wants to say that you. you’re there.

the girl he’s known for less than a month but has gotten him so tight around her finger - and once he leaves, will still be here.

except she’ll be within the walls of her house all alone again, in a town based off people coming and going where she’s never seemed to have a stable relationship with anyone.

where she now knows what it’s like to spend every day with someone and look forward to their company every morning and night. spend hours talking until the sun rises and sleep until it’s dark out.

“i wouldn’t be changing my plans that much. i still have our music, hongjoong. we can still do shit even if i live here.”

“live there?!? hongjoong blurts out, “you’ve been there for a less than a month, dude, that’s fucking crazy. you’ve barely know her and you’re gonna move there?”

“i can’t leave her.”

he didn’t think at the time that it was crazy. he didn’t think he’d ever come to regret that decision because, at the time, he really couldn’t imagine leaving you.

he couldn’t picture himself hugging you goodbye and telling you that you’d keep in touch via texting and facetime.

he couldn’t picture going back home with a genuine smile on his face when it felt as if he left behind something, someone, would could make him the happiest he’s ever felt.

he couldn’t picture that he’d ever come to resent you because when he told you he was gonna consider staying in town longer, a bit more permanently, the smile that lit up your face was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“really?” you smile, jumping up from your spot on the couch and running over to him.

you’re so smiley and happy and bouncy until you’re not, your face dropping ever so slightly when you look over his face.

“but wait... what about the producer? did he ever answer?”

“he did. hongjoong’s meeting with him tomorrow.”

your eyes widen at the news but he’s quick to cut you off, bend down and press a long, lingering kiss to your lips before scooping you up into his arms.

“but i told him there was something better for me here.”

present day:

he wasn’t sure when the resentment started.

he just knew that, one minute he loved you, and the next, he started to question everything.

it could’ve been from seeing hongjoong’s success, album after album and talk of him all over social media right in his face every day.

it could’ve been his lack of success, pursuing a music degree via online school while still keeping up with his previously established career as a rapper; it was enough to get the bills paid and keep his name lingering around but that’s all it was now.

it could’ve been that all of his passion was gone and he blamed you for that; because if it weren’t for you, he’d be with hongjoong now. he’d be making money and feeling inspired and at the peak of his creativity and motivation.

but he loves you, right? he loves you more than he’s loved anyone in the world and he made the right decision.

“sometimes i question if i made the right decision.”

it was a relativity quiet night for you and mingi, the past few days calm and uneventful, so you knew a fight was bound to happen soon.

and with that statement, it seemed as if the night was quickly headed in that direction.

“what do you mean?” you ask, looking up from your textbook.

he was sat on the love seat opposite you, computer in his lap and a beer on the side table as he watched you. he’d been wordlessly watching you all night and you hadn’t been sure what to make of it.

now, you can see, he might’ve been watching you with disdain.

“i mean i sometimes wonder if i made the right decision in staying here. just... so quickly not accepting that producer’s offer with hongjoong’s.”

his words hurt you more than you let on, your stomach sinking and knotting as you let his words sink in.

you had asked him for weeks after he made that decision if he was sure.

if something he worked so hard on and something he looked forward to for so long was something was worth giving up.

and anytime you asked, he’d say the same thing.

“you’re worth it.”

you wonder now if he said it so many times to qualm your ever present worries or to convince himself. tell himself over and over again that, yes this girl is worth staying here and no, i won’t come to resent her.

it’s something you worried about in the beginning but faded with time.

because your love grew stronger and you both became more secure. your relationship was the closest thing to perfect you’d ever experienced.

but not now.

now it’s a fucking disaster.  

“where did that even come from?”

you can hear to your own ears how shaky and unsure your voice sounds. it’s filling you with as much shame as it does embarrassment, knowing that you can’t even talk to your own boyfriend openly and honestly.

without feeling upset, like you know you have to walk on eggshells or can’t express how much he’s been hurting you.

“i don’t know, i’ve just been thinking,” he hums, taking a swig of his beer as he adjusts himself on the couch.

you don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, only humming lowly as you nod your head.

you lick over your lips as you look back down uncomfortably, blankly staring at the words of your textbook. your brain can’t absorb any of the terms or phrases on the page, the sinking, awful feeling in your stomach taking over.

you can’t even remember how long you’ve felt like this.

when butterflies turned to this gut wrenching, awful feeling.

like the feeling before a plane takes off or you have a presentation to do or when the one person you’ve loved in this world has decided they don’t want you anymore.

“i stayed for you.”

the words you feared hearing pierce the air and you hold back a shaky breath, biting the inside of your cheek so harshly you’re hit with the metallic taste blood.

you look up and see his eyes narrowed in on you, tears burning the back of yours as you beg them not to fall.

because you can’t keep crying in front of him just for him to ignore you. to just watch you lose it with a blank look in his eyes, instead of holding you or attempting to soothe you.

“i couldn’t leave you alone in your house,” he begins, like the words he’s rationalizing in his head are coming out of his mouth uncontrollably.

“i wasn’t ready to leave you yet and i didn’t even think twice about how i would feel in the future. because i was so fucking consumed by you, y/n.”

there’s an obvious and palpable pain in his voice and it makes your gut wrench even more; you hate that he’s in pain but you’re in pain, too. you were in pain before him and now you’re in pain because of him.

“i’m still consumed by you but i feel...angry now. i feel so fucking angry, y/n, and i don’t know why. i don’t know if i’m mad at you or myself but i know i stayed for you. if i never met you, i never would’ve stayed here and now i feel like i’m stuck.”

“but i never asked you to stay, mingi,” you whimper out, the tears quickly coming to the surface.

they’re a mix of sadness and frustration, because it hurts so much hearing this, the obvious regret in his words, but it also makes you mad - that was his choice and his choice alone.

and it’s like he knows that too. because he doesn’t say anything in response, just continues to stare at you with a look in his eye that breaks your heart.

“i asked you so many times if you were okay with doing that,” you begin after moments of silence, your teary, wet gaze meeting his. “i asked you again and again because i knew you’d come to regret it.”

“i’m not saying i regret it, i’m just saying i-”

“you’re saying you stayed here for me like it’s my fault,” you say, shaking your head as tears leak from your eyes and down your cheek. “like i asked you to and like meeting me was your downfall. but i never told you to and i would’ve never ever expected you to.”

“what, so i was just supposed to leave you alone?” mingi growls lowly, emotion behind his tone that’s almost masked by the brashness.

he can’t help but feel all of this coming up, all of these feelings he’s been going through these past months and making him a completely different person.

“why would i have left you when i knew i loved you?”

neither of you focused on loved being past tense, probably because it’s a fact both of you know by now.

“i didn’t want anything else but you in that moment.”

“do you want a prize, mingi?” you snap, every defensive and defeated emotion coursing through your veins.

“you could’ve left me alone. you could’ve just left the way you wished you did so fucking badly. you would’ve saved yourself all of this obvious regret.”

“you think i regret staying with you?” he asks, his voice low and deep as he rises from the chair.

his frame is tall and broad and looming as he walks closer to you, standing over your chair as you sit there and stare up at him. his eyes roam your face and he follows the few tears rolling down your cheeks, his hands stiffly hanging at his sides.

he used to hate seeing you cry.

it used to make him wanna destroy whatever was hurting you. he used to kiss your tears away and wouldn’t let you leave his arms until you were smiling and laughing again.

“well, what do you call this?” you whimper quietly, sniffling and stuffy and feeling small tears stream down your face.

“you basically said if it weren’t for me, you’d be happier with your life. and i... i was so happy when you decided to stay, mingi, i’m not gonna lie to you. i was so happy because i knew we would love each other so much,” you whimper out, the knot in your throat making it difficult to speak.

“but i also knew that one day, you would probably regret it and resent me. it’s why i asked you over and over and over again. because i was so scared this was gonna happen.”

his mouth grows dry as he licks over his lips, a burning behind his eyes as he hears your voice break. he’s quick to shake his head and blink away the tears, though, because he knows if he starts crying, he’s never gonna stop.

“i thought you would leave with me eventually,” he’s finally able to get out, his throat clogged and voice gruff as he voices his innermost thoughts and wishes.

you compromised for him once, why wouldn’t you do it again?

“i thought if you actually loved me the way you claimed to, you’d be able to go.”

“well, i was always honest with you about that too,” you murmur, feeling utterly defeated and guilty as you meet mingi’s glossy eyes. “you know i never intend on leaving.”

a year and 5 months ago - june 19th

he learned about your parents accident on the 4th year anniversary of their death.

he had noticed that week you were especially gloomy, a sad look in your eye and the fake smile on your face making him cling to you just a bit more than usual.

and apparently, you had noticed too.

“mingi, are you okay?”

the words were muffled against his shirt, your face pressed against his chest as the two of you lay on the couch. his hand had been running up and down your back gently all night, like he’d been trying to calm you without any words.

like he knew there was something wrong, even though you hadn’t said a word.

his eyebrows pull together in confusion, placing his fingers under your chin. he lifts your face as his eyes search yours, that sad look behind them masked by a soft curiosity.

you’re trying to hide your pain because you think he’s hurting and that alone only makes him even more sad.

“of course i am, baby. but are you okay?”

you can’t find it in you to say yes so you only nod shyly, a small smile gracing your face as you look at him.

his eyes are full of such warmth and love that it makes tears prick behind your eyes, dropping your gaze quickly as you bury your face back in his chest.

the movement causes him to swallow nervously, adams apple bobbing as he presses his lips to the top of your head.

he knows something’s wrong. he knows something’s very wrong but he doesn’t know what happened or what’s brought this on.

“you can tell me anything,” he mumbles against your hair, his arms wrapped tightly around your body. “you know that, right?”

because he also noticed that you started seeming off when he mentioned moving in together, looking at apartments in town for himself before getting the idea to live with you.

you guys are already together all the time, it only made sense for you two to live together as well.

but he could tell immediately the idea unsettled you, you clutching desperately on to him as you muttered that you’d think about it.

at first, he would’ve assumed you didn’t wanna go that far with him. that it was too serious a commitment and you were completely uncomfortable with that.

but it was the way you were clinging to him, burying your face in his chest like you were begging him not to leave you that made him realize something deeper was going.

it’s why he dropped it at first. looked for apartments on his own with the idea that, best case scenario, you’d move in with him too.

could that be what’s wrong right now? you dealing with moving in with him and fears coming from that? or something else entirely?

he just knows that when he starts to hear you cry quietly into his chest, he needs to know what’s been wrong because he hates seeing you like this.

“hey, hey, hey,” his deep voice mumbles, large hands pulling you from his chest and wiping at your face. “what happened, baby? what’s wrong?”

and since you started crying about this, remembering the day and the circumstances around it so well, you won’t be able to stop. you can only continue to cry into him, tiny sobs wracking your body as you clutched onto him tightly.

“i... i can’t.”

you couldn’t talk, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t tell him, he wasn’t sure.

that’s why he shook his head and pulled you back into his chest, the warm safe place you’ve come to know so well and usually calmed you whenever you needed.

“i don’t know what’s wrong but i promise you’ll be okay,” you hear him mumble against your head, his hand running up and down your back gently. “i’ll try to help you in any way i can, baby, but i’m gonna need to know what’s wrong.”

but he can’t help you bring back your dead parents.

he can’t help you time travel the way you so desperately wish you could to tell yourself not to go on that senior trip.

that if you didn’t go, your parents never would’ve driven you to the airport and they never would’ve gotten in the car accident that took their life on the way back.

you’d spent a week in a foreign country while they spent a week in the hospital, your aunt and grandparents dealing with the repercussions before you came back and said your goodbyes in a dingy, hospital room.

mingi doesn’t know how long you both sat there in silence, your cries muffled against his chest and his arms wound tightly around you.

he loosened his hold immediately when he felt you try to pull away, watching as you stared at him, wiped your eyes and told him everything.

“my parents died four years ago, today.”

he watches with soft, sympathetic eyes and a breaking heart as you tell him about your guilt.

how if you just decided to stay home after weeks of begging them to go, they’d still be here.

“they didn’t have the money but i begged them for weeks, mingi,” you tell him, tears in your eyes and voice thick with emotion. 

“i wanted to go so badly because all my friends were going and i was too selfish to see they really couldn’t afford it.”

he can tell you’re not done talking so he only presses his lips together and grasps your hand tightly. squeezes it reassuringly as his thumb gently rubs back and forth against your skin.

“they both worked overtime for two weeks straight and gave me the money the last day it was due. and i barely thanked them,” you remember, the scene you’ve replayed in your mind hundreds of times flashing yet again.

you jumped up from the couch and snatched the money from their hands, throwing your arms around them in a quick hug before screaming your thanks and running up to your room to tell your friends.

“a drunk diver hit them on their way home from the airport and the doctors couldn’t believe they both didn’t die on impact. a-and no one in my family could even call me so i said my goodbyes when i got home, in the hospital.”

you look to mingi with tears streaming down your cheeks and you see wetness in his own eyes, his hand grasping onto yours tight.

“i couldn’t even talk to them one last time. or hear their voices. i don’t even know if they heard me.”

your voice breaks off after that, not being able to handle recounting this after years of staying silent about it; he’s the first person you’ve talked to about this besides the counselor you saw a few months after their death.

he pulls you in his lap and wraps his arms tightly around you, rocking you back and forth as he presses his lips to your head.

your eyes are closed tight as you focus on his breathing and soft murmurs. his deep, full voice muttering sweet nothings and quiet reassurances.

that your parents did hear you and they loved you till the end.

that it was no one’s fault but the driver who decided to get in a car after getting drunk.

that you shouldn’t put any blame on yourself, because your parents would want you to be happy and thriving.

“i know but it’s just hard,” you tell him, you teary face pulling away from his wet chest.

you look around the living room full of books and wooden furniture, a family portrait hung above a cluttered-filled desk; it was taken when you were ten and you remember hating that day because you had to wear an uncomfortable dress and tights.

“i don’t know how i’m ever gonna leave this place,” you voice aloud to him, one of the many concerns that muddled your mind when you started deciding on college or jobs or moving in with your perfect boyfriend of almost a year.

“it’s the last thing i have of them. i don’t... i don’t know if i’d be ever to leave this place, mingi.”

not after what happened last time.

not wanting to leave the house you grew up in to strangers who would create more happy memories and replace the ones you made with your own parents.

his face contorts into one of sympathy and pain, his heart breaking as the obvious guilt and dread is in your eyes.

he’d always seen a bit of torment behind them but you were always able to smile.

laugh with him and tease him and push whatever demons he knew you had aside; but he started seeing it again when he mentioned moving in, fear and anxiety and discomfort that he hated to even see behind your eyes.

“i don’t know how that will effect us, it’s something i’ve thought about a lot recently,” you confess quietly, playing with the edge of the blanket nervously. “especially when you mentioned us moving in together. i... i want to, so bad, because i love you and i think it’d be fun. but... i can’t leave.”

your tears start up again and a frown crosses mingi’s face, his body hovering over yours as he takes your face in his big hands.

he wipes at the tears threatening to slide down your cheeks before placing his lips on your head, breathing slowly and calmly against you as his warm breath wafts over you.

“baby, i understand completely, i really do,” he says, everything making sense now but... “but i don’t think your parents would want you to... limit your life like this.”

because you obviously had an interest in seeing the world. you obviously wanted to see different places and cultures and sights in the world that even your precious little town doesn’t hold.

but he can see tonight isn’t the night you’re gonna see that, if the way you shake your head and bury yourself back in his chest doesn’t show that.

and because he loved you more than anything else in the world, he understood it. held you and kissed you and made sure you knew he’d be by your side in whatever way you needed.

it was with his patience and love and unconditional support that you were able to live with him. keep your parents house as a sense of security but slowly move yourself out of it.

leaving a toothbrush at the apartment, a few sets of clothes, some shampoos and soaps until one night, you were waking up and falling asleep with him every morning and night.

present day:

the fight that ended you and mingi was over a trip to disney.

something meant to be so childish and fun and innocent morphing into a blowout, gut-wrenching fight that left the two of distraught.

hit both of you with the realization that whatever you once had had fizzled out and turned so horribly toxic, you were both losing yourselves.

it had started with yunho, san and wooyoung planning the trip, mingi over their house one day after the tension in the apartment got too much. he had scoffed when san mentioned it at first, wondering what business they had as college going twenty-somethings booking a trip to disney.

“it’ll be sweet!” san said, “we could go to the parks for a few days, everyone loves roller coasters! and then we can drive down to the beach, go surfing and go to bars and shit. it’d be so much fun, guys.”

and the more all of them thought about it, the more excited they got. looking at flights and car rentals and getting all their swim suits in order - that was until mingi came back home a day later and informed you of these plans.

“me and the guys were talking about booking a trip to disney,” was the first thing he said to you. not a hello or how are you or sorry for leaving and making you worry for a week.

“oh?” you hummed quietly, looking up from your spot at the kitchen sink; you’d made breakfast for two just in case he came home early but it was another serving of eggs and bacon in the trash.

“yeah, so is that something you’d wanna do?”

there’s something off about his tone that you immediately pick up on. snippy and on edge and defensive, like he’s already fully prepared to break out into a fight.

because he already knows you won’t do it. you won’t leave the 70 mile radius you’ve trapped yourself nor will you even try to go out of your comfort zone for him and you or anyone else.

and quite frankly, he’s grown really fucking sick of it. call him selfish or call him someone looking out for you, someone who knows this type of living isn’t normal, he can’t deal with it anymore.

“i... well i mean...how would we get there? and when?”

“we were looking at flights three weeks from now,” he says, carefully observing your face with slightly cold eyes. carefully waiting for the next hint of a breakdown he’s not gonna properly respond to.

you bite the inside of your cheek as panic starts to stir in your chest.

you haven’t been anywhere since the accident. you’ve gotten yourself so used to this environment that going anywhere else seems terrifying.

but you’ve seen how bad things will happen when you try to venture out. you left to do the same and it cost your parents your life - who’s to say you wouldn’t get your karma soon?

leave mingi without a girlfriend he doesn’t even care about anymore or your grandparents without a granddaughter you can’t help but feel they blame for their child’s death.

tears are quick to prick your eyes as you try to push down all of these feelings, looking down at the floor in a move mingi already knows is dismissive.

you hear him scoff and it sends a flurry of emotions through you, not even needing to lift your head to know he’s shaking his head.

“figures,” he hums lowly, making extra noise as he puts down his bag or plops down on the dining room chair. “i don’t know why i bothered asking.”

“mingi...” you begin breathlessly, guilt and shame and sorrow filling you.

“no, y/n.”

his voice is firm and hard and makes you meet his gaze, the look he’s throwing you icy and completely empty. he’s done and you’re done and there’s basically a ticking time bomb between you two.

“you didn’t even let me give you an answer.”

“because i know what it’s gonna be!” he roars, feeling stupid for getting excited when he knew damn well you wouldn’t be able to leave. “i know you’re gonna make up some bullshit excuse about school or work or money and you’re gonna say no.”

you can’t say anything because you know he’s right. but what he doesn’t know is that you’re trying. you try every day and every week and every month to push yourself out of your comfort zone and it just doesn’t work.

you’ve tried going away with him and you’ve tried expanding your horizons - you’e even moved out of your parents house to live with him. but it’s hard when you’re constantly reminded by the fact that your decisions ended a life.

while it was technically the drunk driver’s fault, your survivors guilt heavily outweighs that. intrusive thought after intrusive thought until you start to question why you’re even still here, too.

“i’m trying, mingi,” you say, your voice shaky and defeated. “i’m trying but you don’t even see that.”

“how are you trying?” he asks, watching your dejected form a few feet away from him. “you haven’t done anything different since you moved in with me. we’ve been living the same life for the past two years, y/n.”

but you just remember how patient he was when you first tried moving in. how he was so patient and kind and gentle and was everything you needed him to be.

but he can just remember how much he loved you. how patient and understanding he was, not fully grasping the severity of what happened to you and how incapable he was of dealing with it.

“i’m... so fucking sick of it. i’ve grown to be so sick of you and i hate that, y/n. i hate feeling like this but it’s the truth.”

“and you don’t think i am?” you blurt out, the dam of tears breaking as you hear him say those specific words to you - i’ve grown to be so sick of you.

your frame is smaller and fragile and you’re like a shell of the person you were when you first met as you make your way up to him, looking over him with all the pain and exhaustion in your eyes.

“you don’t think i’m sick of feeling this way? of seeing how much you obviously hate me and are over this when i can’t stop feeling this way? because i’m sorry it’s been inconveniencing you, mingi, but it’s been ruining me, too. sometimes i can’t even believe i’m still here.”

the last part of your sentence stirs something in him but he can only focus on your broken state. watching as you grow weaker and weaker because of him.

“you haven’t even been helping me,” you suddenly say, words quiet and soft-spoke but filled with an obvious hurt. “i... i don’t know why you’d even wanna go on a trip with me because we’d just fight, mingi. we’d just fight and i’d cry and you’d leave me. th-that’s what we keep doing.”

tears burn the back of his eyes, a knot growing in his stomach so big it feels like he’s about to puke.

“because i don’t know what to do anymore, y/n,” he say, his voice less harsh but still holding a certain degree of bite. “i tried so hard with you and nothing seems to work. i loved you, i still love you, and i was there for you and i tried so hard with you but... i don’t know how to help you.”

“you think yelling is the way? or leaving me is the way?” you laugh out manically, tears rolling down your face that you desperately try to reach out and wipe. “you’re sick of me but i’m sick of you, too. i’m sick of feeling this way and i’m so fucking sick of thinking you still love me.”

“you don’t think i love you?” he asks, rising from his chair and making his way over to you. 

his looming height should make you nervous, the way he’s looking down at you and threatening to trap you against the counter should make you nervous, but it doesn’t.

because coming to terms with this right here is the worst part. the conversation you’ve been avoiding for months and the obvious change in what you two have become.

“i don’t,” you say, finally meeting his gaze and seeing hurt and anger swirl behind them. they used to hold such a sweet softness that would sometimes make you feel better, even if just for a little bit.

“because even if you do, you’re still sick of me, right?”

one year ago:

“what if you get sick of me?”

the newest compromise had been his family coming here to meet you.

you and mingi had booked refundable tickets for a week in his hometown, a part of you wanting to desperately prove you could do something for him. something that would make him happy and maybe prove you love him a little more than you can convey.

but the second you got on the highway to the airport, you knew you weren’t gonna be able to.

memories played through your mind of you in the backseat of your parents car, laughing and talking with them as you promised to be careful and take a lot of pictures with them.

hearing them tell you they loved you and were so happy you were able to go after all.

and then you’d looked to the other side and see in your mind a car hitting the other. spinning out and smacking into the divider as an eruption of fire, car parts and the chaotic screeching of breaks echoed through the air.

mingi had to pull over to calm you down, bring you back to the real world in the form of hugging you close to his body and his hand running through your hair.

“i’m- i’m sorry, mingi, i’m sorry, i-”

“sh, you don’t have to apologize, baby, there’s nothing to apologize for,” he hums against your head, pulling you over the console to rock you gently in his lap.

he was warm and broad and soft spoken and everything about him made you feel safe. you couldn’t grasp at the time how or why he was so understanding and sweet but you didn’t even wanna question it.

because he was the one thing in your life that made you feel okay. that you had him and he had you and there was nothing that could be that bad if you had each other still. 

he didn’t let go of your hand once as pulled onto the highway, got off the exit and made his way back home.

he guided you back into the apartment and told you to go lay down and that he’d be there in a second. 

he cancelled the flight and called his mom, telling her you guys got rained out and that, if it was okay, he’d pay for them to fly out here next week.

the bed dips a few moments later, broad strong arms wrapping around your waist before you’re pulled into his chest.

it was after a few silent minutes stretched between you two, the calming rise and fall of his chest against your back, your small voice pierced the air.

“i’m sorry, mingi.”

he could tell you were gonna cry before you even started, turning you in his arms as he pulled you closer to him.

“baby, i already told you you don’t have to-”

“but i do,” you cut him off, lower lip trembling and stomach knotting guiltily. 

“i... i don’t think this is normal, mingi. i should be able to move on with my life and travel somewhere. i wanted to go so badly and meet your mom but i-” your voice breaks as tears fill your eyes and you try to catch the breath threatening to suffocate you.

“i’m scared i’m gonna be like this forever,” you say quietly, looking up and meeting his soft, sweet gaze. “i’m scared i’m gonna be like this forever and you’re gonna become tired of it.”

“baby... that’s never gonna happen,” he assures you, voice gentle but firm as he runs his fingers through your hair.

“and you’re not gonna be like this forever. we can get you help. and i can help you,” he says, his eyes looking into yours with such a raw honesty and love. “i... don’t really know how but i’ll do whatever it takes.”

“what if it’s not enough?” you ask, because at the time it’s like you knew just how bad this was gonna get. that even with as low as you felt then, it wasn’t even rock bottom.

“what if you get sick of me?”

“i won’t,” he reassures, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your head before settling you onto his chest carefully. “that’ll never happen because i love you, y/n. and i always will.”

present day:

in a turn of events, you were the one who left after that. 

came right to the place you first met, except now the lake isn’t frozen over and the late-afternoon sun had just set.

his words were too harsh and reminded you too much of his broken promises.

you felt too weak and pathetic and completely hopeless, the tense silence so horribly loud between you two you left without a word; and he hadn’t said anything either.

and now, as you sit at the spot you’ve always come to and found solace in, you can feel why he was always so hurt when you didn’t ask him to stay. because even though you were fighting and even though you both hurt each other, you wanted him to ask you to stay.

to please not go because that would’ve been the last possible way for you both to see there was something still there - even though it’s plain to see there isn’t.

too many fights and too many words have been said. too many lapses of silence and too many unspoken thoughts that now when uttered are just hurting both of you.

you’re both too hurt and you both have too many things to sort through that you can’t do together. 

one second you were staring down at the lake, your own broken reflection staring back as your feet hung in the water, and the next you couldn’t see. tears flooded your vision and sobs wracked through your body, loud, ugly, horrific sobs that you’ve been holding back for far too long.

you cry because you know it’s over with him, you know it’s been over for a while, but now it all feels real. 

you cry because you know you need some help to get past all of the guilt you feel, how if you don’t get help, you’re never gonna leave this town and see what else is out there.

you cry because you don’t even know where to start and know, even though it hurts, you have to do it alone.

you’re so lost in your thoughts and the way your cries echo through the yard that you don’t hear footsteps approach you.

you don’t even know anyone’s behind you until someone bends down and pulls you into their broad, warm chest. a chest you know far too well and a body that hasn’t held you like this in what feels like forever.

he knew you’d be here and he couldn’t stop his legs from jumping in the car and coming to see you after you left. half because he knew this had to happen and half because he was far too scared for you to be out here like this.

he knew what conversation was gonna follow but he knew had to hold you one last time. he missed holding you and he missed wiping your tears away.

“i don’t know what happened to us, mingi,” you whimper into his chest, the tears that have been building behind his eyes finally coming to the surface.

he doesn’t know what happened either. he doesn’t know when or where you guys went wrong or when you stopped talking to each other. he doesn’t know when he stopped loving you in such a way that was all consuming, where he knew he’d do anything and everything for you.

“i don’t... i don’t think this is working. i don’t know what to do but i know i can’t do this anymore.”

“i don’t know what happened either, baby,” he mumbles against your head, his words wobbly and wet as he tightens his hold on you. it feels as if every part of is heart is breaking, for the way he’s neglected you and the way your crying against him.

“i’m sorry i can’t help you. i wanted to so fucking badly but now... i just, i can’t, baby.”

you cry harder as you shake your head against him, feeling him plop down and pull you into his arms tighter.

it feels every bit as heartbreaking and upsetting as you both knew it’d be. it’s probably why you guys put it off for so long. because even though you feel the love you used to feel, you both know nothing will change.

he’ll resent you and you’ll resent him right back.

he’ll say he stayed for you and tried to help you and you’ll say you never asked him to do any of it.

you both sit there and cry and hold each other until the sky falls dark and air turns crisp, the moon reflecting off the lake in a way that hasn’t changed in two years.

but everything’s changed between you both and it’s too heartbreakingly obvious.

“i’ll miss you,” you mumbled to him.

because you know he’s gonna go on and do all the great things he’s wanted to. move out of this town and pursue whatever dreams he put off for you, the girl he once loved more than anything.

“i love you,” he confesses quietly against your head. “i really really did love you.”

because he knows he still does, he knows he always will, but it’s not something either of you can bear to hear right now.

you both have said what the other needed to hear and when you guys part tonight, maybe you’ll finally start feeling better. fix yourselves and the damage you’ve caused each other and maybe reunite when the universe deems it right.

two and a half years later:

it had always been your dream to see the northern lights.

something about them had always fascinated you, how they almost didn’t see real or were just a figment of fake editing that would only ever be seen in photos.

but you had an overwhelming need to see them before your very eyes. see the sight before you and marvel in just how truly fascinating and beautiful it was.

so that’s exactly what you did.

you wrote down a list of all the places you wanted to see: the egyptian pyramids, the great wall of china, the taj mahal, the eiffel tower, all of the sights that you knew in order to see, you’d have to leave the perfect little town you loved so much.

it took a lot of attempts, a lot of tears and anxiety and frantic calls to your therapist, but finally, you were able to do it.

it was the third to last place on your 6-month journey around the world, jet lag getting to you immensely but an extremely fulfilling pride and excitement within you.

you were able to do it. see the sights and meet hundreds of different people and experience all the things you convinced yourself you didn’t need or want. 

and you didn’t have a single regret until this very moment. 

because the rookie mistake you made within this amazing, journey of self-discovery around the world was not investing in a parka.

the biting temperatures of alaska were surely getting to you right now, your glove covered hands over your ears as you trekked through the snow with other groups of (properly dressed) tourists during the aurora season.

you found yourself in a snowy, freezing field, tall evergreen trees above your heads as you waited patiently for the sky to change perfectly, a buzzing excitement and low chatter from the people around you.

footsteps crunching on snow filled your ears from every direction, your eyes on the trees and large sky above you. a harsh gust of wind whipped past you and you let out a tiny squeal, your hands shooting up to your red, wind-burnt face.

you could hear a quiet, low chuckle beside you, something about the strangely familiar sound sending a whoosh of butterflies through your stomach. you didn’t understand them at that moment, ignoring your bodies odd reaction and keeping your eyes focused on the sky. 

it took hearing his voice, the same one you’d fallen in love with in your own backyard, for your eyes widen and quickly look over the snowy vast of land surrounding you.

mingi stepped in front of you, eyes full of amusement and pride and even disbelief, looking over your face with the same type of a fascination he had when he first met you.  

“aren’t you cold?”

inspired by: line without a hook by ricky montgomery, ty tiktok

tag list: @mochibabycakes @atinyarmyx1 @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwich @chrryhwa @baekhvuns @marksflvr @bunbaebae @markleeyeosang @inkigayeo​ @nlost21​ @toffee-hwa​ @hyunjeansuniverse​ @cherryeonii​

#so aha.... not the dystopian au #but i was inspired by a song in the car and this happened <3 #mingi #mingi angst #mingi fluff #ateez #ateez angst #ateez fluff #mingi scenarios #mingi imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

[sayonarasanity]

Chance With You

Summary: It is hard to see beauty in everything. Especially after a life as a soldier who had witnessed so many of his fellow comrades’ and thousands of people’s death. But Hanji wears that word as an outfit every day. It is drawn aesthetically in the way her eye lights up despite everything, in the way she examines each living being she finds in the garden, in the way her curiosity never leaving her mind. She is neither a tree nor a bird. She is a forest; she has a universe and a variety of colours in her land. Beauty is a butterfly that has perched upon her shoulder and it never leaves her side. 

Link to AO3

notes: for the first part of this story I was kind of inspired by this ask. I highly recommend you to check that out as well also for Hanji's short hair see this post

A house, surrounded by some young, some old trees and green grass, with a little garden outside colourful with flowers, herbs and vegetables of different species. In the morning, the birds chirp just beyond his window, they welcome the new coming day with a melody in their tongue. The sun illuminates the sky brighter as if it had a mind of its own and it thought that a world after a gruesome war, painful sacrifices and unreasonable hatred deserves to shine more. 

The familiar touch of warm fingers traces the line of scars on his face while he is still half-asleep, lying one side of his face buried on the pillow. The fingers move upwards to comb his hair back, then they slide downwards to his bare shoulders, to the space between his shoulder blades where old, pale wounds are inked permanently. Then a pair of lips are pressed on his temple, they are warm, and the touch is undeniably real. If it wasn’t, he would pray for it to go away, to disappear. Because if it wasn’t, ripping his heart out of its place would be less painful to open his eyes to the empty side of a twin bed.

“Morning, handsome.” 

“Hmm,” he murmurs. Insomnia post-war still has its fair share of control over him. It is like a friend that he never intended to be close to, yet he is stuck with it inside the same cell in the same prison. 

But Levi post-war had something else against it. Someone else, a third one in the cell to be accurate. 

She presses her lips on his shoulder, and he half opens his right eye then shifts his head a little so that he can see her properly with his only functional, left one. Her dispersed, brown hair is the first thing that comes into his view. Then her eyes, one wounded like him and the other glittering with the daylight and her smile when she rests her head on her pillow. 

“Hey,” he says with a rusty, morning voice. 

Hanji reaches out with her hand to cup his cheek, her thumb caresses the scars again, goes over his blind eye then fixes his brow. “How romantic,” she sighs. “We match like broken glass.” Then her hand moves down to his undercut, her fingers warm on his rough, shaved skin. “Maybe I should get an undercut too.”

He touches the old scar on her left eye, and then her hair with his three remaining fingers. It is shorter than before, now it ends a little below her ear, curling on her nape. “It would suit you.”

“You think so?” she asks a mischievous smile shapes on the corner of her lips. 

“Yeah,” he tries to suppress the smile, but his lips move slightly, nonetheless.

“Armin and Onyankopon will come for a visit today,” Hanji says.

“For what?”

“They said they had something to show us,” she shrugs one shoulder. “And that it was a surprise.”

Levi cannot think of anything. Nor his or Hanji’s birthday are close, or any holiday is on sight. Levi wonders if it is Gabi and Falco’s doing. Though as far as he knew they were away, travelling. 

He raises himself on one elbow and gets his face closer to her neck to press his lips on her skin. “How much time do we have?” he murmurs as he puts his right arm next to her head to balance himself and intertwines their fingers with his other hand while leaving another kiss to her jaw.

“I don’t know,” she sighs as he kisses the sensitive skin under her ear. “An hour or so, I guess.”

“Good enough,” he whispers and finally catches her lips with his own. 

-

“Good morning, Captain,” Armin greets him when he steps inside the kitchen. He wears a black suit; his hair is combed neatly, and he carries himself with a maturity the war he had to face so early in his life and his age has brought about. There are no traces of the insecure, irresolute boy upon him any more. But his smile and the shiny blue eyes are still the same. 

“Morning,” he responds as Onyankopon and Hanji follows Armin into the kitchen. They all gather around the kitchen table. He is not a captain or anything anymore, but he lets it slide whenever Armin or one of the other kids call him that. It feels nostalgic and works well as a reminder that everything that had happened wasn’t a daydream or a shitty nightmare but an unfortunate reality. 

“How do you feel, Levi-san?” Onyankopon asks, sitting across from him. He too wears a suit, a light grey one and has a matching bowler hat on his head. 

“Not bad,” he says sipping from his tea. 

Hanji serves their visitors two cups of tea then sits down next to him. “He actually means, I feel very good and I’m glad to be fucking alive, Onyankopon. Thanks for asking, what about you?”

Armin hides a silent chuckle behind his fist, pretending to be coughing while Onyankopon smiles and even laughs quietly. “I’m great, thank you.”

“Good,” Hanji beams.

“Stop translating me,” Levi says, glaring at her. “We speak the same fucking language.”

“Yes, we do,” she approves then adds, raising her brows with a knowing look. “But they don’t.”

“Tch,” he grunts and then sees the two younger men watching them with a weird expression on their faces. Half smiling, half questioning. His body tenses without control, and he grips the arm of the wheelchair. “Armin,” he decides to ask, just to be sure. “Do you see Hanji here?”

The blond boy blinks in confusion and stares at Hanji for a few seconds. “Yes, of course, Captain. She sits next to you.” 

“Right,” he sighs. 

A hand slides slowly on his back, drawing circles on top of his shirt. It immediately does its magic. His strained body relaxes under her touch. “No need to be confused,” Hanji explains, and Levi doesn’t look at her, but he just knows that she is smiling. “He is just making sure that I’m not a ghost and he hasn’t gone batshit crazy.”

Levi nor approves or rejects this accusation as he quietly proceeds to drink his tea. No one plans a murder out loud. 

“Well,” Onyankopon starts, he sounds a little nervous and when Levi looks at him, he sees that his expression is also the same. “Don’t worry, Levi-san. She is as real as the greys in your hair.”

The hand on his back stops its movements, Armin freezes with the teacup half lifted to his mouth, his eyes are wide and terrified and for several seconds nobody even dares to fucking breathe.

Levi feels Hanji’s body shaking. He knows she is trying to suppress her laughter. Onkankopon opens his mouth, ready to explain himself. “I didn’t—” 

“It’s okay,” Levi cuts in. “They both mean that I’m still fucking alive.”

-

They go outside after breakfast to see what Armin and Onyankopon came here today for. Levi had only been getting used to the midday sun dazzling his vision when he heard Hanji shrieking with joy and excitement.

“Is it what I think it is?” She exclaims bending over a black thing that he had likened to a wheelchair. He doesn’t understand the reason why she is so thrilled over it. 

Onyankopon joins Hanji to explain the gadget while Armin stays next to him. “The hell is that?”

“It is a special wheelchair, Captain,” Armin explains. “Hanji-san had told us that you were sick of being pushed everywhere and we had been thinking about a solution. It took a while though,” he says sheepishly. “We’ve been kind of busy. But it’s finally completed and ready to be used.”

“This was her idea?” Levi asks, watching the excitement radiating through her body. Especially her eyes are shining even brighter than the sun hanging on top of their heads. 

“Well, kind of.” Hanji sits on the wheelchair, curious idiot, and presses upon some things on the arm of the chair then screams when the thing suddenly moves forward on its own. Levi blinks his eyes, surprised. “I think she didn’t want you to feel like you were being a burden to her, so she didn’t directly ask for this, and to be honest I already had an idea in my mind when she had talked to me. So, yeah, this happened.”

Levi continues to watch Hanji who is moving forwards, backwards and to the left and right. Laughing and smirking like a child in an amusement park. “It’s amazing!” she yells. “Armin, you are a genius!”

The boy laughs and clears his throat seemingly embarrassed. “I’m glad you liked it, Hanji-san.”

“Levi!” she jumps up, and walking to where he is, she catches his hands. “Come on, you have to try it!”

She helps him get up from his wheelchair. “You know I can still walk on my own, right, four-eyes?” It takes quite an effort though, but he can. 

“Don’t ruin my only excuse to touch you in public, shorty,” Hanji replies as they take slow steps towards the other, more technological wheelchair.

“You don’t need an excuse to touch me,” he says.

“Oww,” she coos. “How sweet of you—”

“Because I don’t want to be touched,” he goes on as he sits down. “In public.”

“Cruel, old man,” Hanji mutters, shaking her head. 

“I’m not old, I’m only in my forties,” he objects, glaring at her. “Stop acting as if I’m a walking funeral.”

“Yes, of course, grandpa,” Hanji pats his head and Levi slaps it away. 

Hanji and Armin quickly show him how the thing works and apparently it doesn’t require much of a genius to understand. He pushes upon the buttons hesitantly at first, moving only inches here and there as the three of them watch him expectantly and with an annoying curiosity. It is actually quite useful, at least he won’t need Hanji to push him whenever he wants to go out for some fresh air or he won’t need to overuse his arms. It is also more comfortable, and there is even a place on the arm to put his teacup. 

“Did you like it?”

Levi looks up to see them expecting his answer. Hanji was the one to ask the question, yet it is obvious that the other two are also waiting to hear what he has to say. “Yeah,” he says causing them to take a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

“I’m so happy to hear that you liked it.” Onyankopon smiles and Armin nods.

“Come on now, take a stroll.” Hanji claps her hands excitedly. “Let’s see what this baby is capable of.”

Levi had been planning to just do that. There is enough space in the yard to test the machine properly. However, before he sets on to do what Hanji has offered, he looks into her eye, intensely enough for her to frown and her expression to change into confusion. Armin and Onyankopon had already started to talk with each other and are too much preoccupied to realise what is going on. So, with that bringing him more courage, he brings one hand down and pats his knee.

She is quite surprised and a little embarrassed as a cute flush colour her cheeks and she laughs nervously, combing her hair behind her ear with one hand. “Okay.”

“Have you put on weight?” Levi questions when Hanji sits down between his knees and curls her knees to her stomach. She secures herself by putting her feet next to his leg.

“Shut up,” she chides him and wraps an arm around his neck.

He holds her by the waist with his left arm, just in case. “Ready?”

She nods and sends him a toothy grin. “Always.”

Levi presses upon the button and they move forward. There is no hesitation in his control as the machine goes faster this time, stumbling when the wheels go over some rocks or little bumps on the lawn. Hanji is ecstatic. The wind ruffles her short hair, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. It is hard to see beauty in everything. Especially after a life as a soldier who had witnessed so many of his fellow comrades’ and thousands of people’s death. But Hanji wears that word as an outfit every day. It is drawn aesthetically in the way her eye lights up despite everything, in the way she examines each living being she finds in the garden, in the way her curiosity never leaving her mind. She is neither a tree nor a bird. She is a forest; she has a universe and a variety of colours in her land. Beauty is a butterfly that has perched upon her shoulder and it never leaves her side. 

“Why have you stopped?” Hanji asks, and only then does he realize that they aren’t moving anymore and that he had been staring at her thinking how fucking lucky he is to have this, this thing which is called love.

Rather than answering, he holds her nape and brings her face closer, resting her forehead against his. Then closes his eyes and inhales the smell of the soap they share together, and the odour of the tea leaves still fresh on her breath. 

He feels the moment her body melts, as her fingers touch his neck, and her thumb caresses his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just checking.”

She laughs quietly, then leans in for a brief, soft kiss on his lips ignoring the fact that they are being watched by two of their former subordinates. Levi uses that moment to press on one of the buttons which quickly swirls the wheelchair to the right with a sudden movement. The kiss is over in a second as Hanji yelps then laughs heartily tilting her head backwards. The sun shines on her skin, and a butterfly flies around her head, fluttering its wings.  

And despite all those years that had passed, and despite the places, they had seen during the last few years Levi is still positive that it is the best fucking sound this crocked world has to offer. 

   That was just a dream.

Levi stirs and blinks his eyes open, then almost immediately winces at his stiff neck. Curses at himself as he lifts up a hand to massage the skin. He had fallen asleep on the couch again with the TV open. His mother would’ve killed him if she were here. Good thing he had moved away for his job. He is still too young for this shit.

Accepting the fact that he has to deal with a stiff neck for the rest of the day he sits up reaching for the remote control. 

That was just a dream, says Michael Stipe on the TV. The clip is almost over and the song fades. Just a dream.

He turns it off.

It is almost five in the morning and there is not even a drop of sleep left in his system. He walks to the bathroom yawning and stretching his body. His neck and shoulders crackle and he wrinkles his face. “Goddamn.”

He washes his hands on the sink and then his face, getting rid of the crust around his eyes. After that, he uses a towel to dry his face, and when the towel covers the right side of his face and his right eye, and he stares before him to the mirror he stops.

Bits and pieces of strange images slide inside of his head, a man around his forties who is sitting on a wheelchair, a blind eye, a scar running up and down one side of his face, a woman with short hair and bright eyes, a house with a garden, the sound of genuine laughter, the feeling of—

He drops the towel to the side of the sink and breathes heavily. His fingers touch the smooth skin on his face absentmindedly and he stares at his reflection. And his, thankfully still functioning blue eyes stare at him back, like they have no idea what the hell is going on. He checks his right hand to see all of his fingers are in place. Then he bends a little and slaps his leg, taps his foot on the ground for good measure. 

“Huh,” he murmurs then. “Weird.”

Shaking his head, he settles on the idea that whatever he had seen was just a bizarre albeit a little too much realistic dream and sends it away to the back of his mind. Although he realizes that after remembering it, he feels somehow lighter. It is similar to the feeling one gets when the winter quietly recedes, and the trees start to give life to little flowers. That feeling of being lightweight and carefree even if it is just for a little while.

He takes a shower.

When he sits back down on the couch after the shower with a cup of tea in his hand, he opens his laptop to deal with some unread emails piled up in his inbox. He leaves the tea on the coffee table, next to his phone and puts away the towel he had been using to dry his hair. 

Minutes later, when he reaches for the cup, he catches the moment his phone lighting up with a new notification.

 Are you awake? The text says.

Taking the phone in his hands he taps, what do you think?  

It takes only a second for his phone to start ringing. “Hey,” he opens the call. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’ve only just woken up,” she says but her voice sounds clear, dispersed of the sleepy roughness like she had been awake for a while. “Had a dream.”

“Bad one?” he asks as he takes a sip from his tea, his eyes scanning his laptop screen.

“Well, not really but kind of.” A pause, like she is lost in thought, then she adds. “I saw you.”

Levi hums, approvingly. “Naked?”

She lets out a loud, heartfelt laugh. “Oh my God, Levi. No,” she giggles breathlessly. “It wouldn’t be a bad dream if you were naked, you know.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “What was it then?”

“It was weird.” She stops again for a few seconds. “Like really weird.”

“You should tell me first if you want me to believe you, Hanji,” he says, not quite seriously. 

She sighs. Then there is another pause which is relatively longer. Levi knits his brows and sits a little more upright. Something is wrong.

“What is it—”

“You were sitting on a wheelchair,” Hanji spills eventually, and the words die on his tongue. “And there were scars on your face. They were like war scars like you were once a soldier, a veteran. And—and you looked peaceful but also a little sad too. I don’t know. You were also older. Then there were two young people with you and a tall man. I don’t really remember their faces. I think you were travelling, you looked like tourists though I am not so sure but I-" she breaths fast, she hasn’t stopped talking for a while. “I wasn’t there.”

“Hanji,” he manages to say, despite the fact that he feels like he is choking in his own breath.

“It felt so wrong,” she goes on with a thin, frail voice. “I remember how I felt in the dream. I wanted to reach you, but I couldn’t, I tried to call out to you, but you didn’t hear. It was almost like… like I was a ghost. I was invisible. I was so desperate to just be with you and it felt so damn wrong that I wasn’t.”

“It was just a dream,” he whispers when he finds his voice. His body is frozen like he was paralyzed by something he had no control over. 

“It felt so real.” He hears the tremble in her breath, and he notices how tight he had been holding the teacup. It is almost a miracle that it hadn’t been shattered to pieces yet. 

“I had a dream too,” he decides to tell her.

“Oh?” She sounds interested and he is relieved to hear that her voice is back to its natural tone. “What did you see?”

So, he tells her the dream, not leaving much out except for the things he remembers himself feeling. She listens without almost a sound. He only occasionally hears her gasps and thoughtful hums and the quiet rhythm of her breaths. Only when he tells her that one of the men's in his dream was looking suspiciously similar to Armin, she adds thoughtfully that now that she thinks about it, the man in her dream was very much like Onyankopon. He flicks his fingers, of course, the other man was Onyanokpon. Though the identities of the two younger people remains a mystery.

When he finishes she is silent for a while. Possibly thinking. 

“Hey, Levi,” she says, at last, drawing him out of his own deep thoughts. “Do you think we might’ve lived another life together?”

He examines the keyboard of the laptop for a handful of thoughtful seconds. “I don’t know,” he replies, honestly. Frankly, it is not that much of a long shot. “Maybe.”

“I don’t remember anything, though,” she continues. Levi imagines her lying on her back, watching the ceiling, her dark hair scattered on the pillow. “Do you?”

He almost says no, but then he recalls the dream again, and the way her skin reflected the morning sun, how her laughter touched the forgotten, drought lands in his heart and how lucky he felt to have her right beside. “I remember loving you,” he blurts, surprised even himself.

For an uncomfortably, and terrifyingly long second, she doesn’t respond. He chuckles, somewhat nervously. “Too much?”

“No,” she breathes. “No, it’s not. I just didn't expect you to say something like that.”

“Yeah,” he says dryly. “Tell me about it.”

“So, what do you think?” She asks, shifting the matter masterfully. “Which one was real?”

“How would I know?” 

“Might be both,” she reasons. “Alternate realities and all that.”

“Yeah,” he mutters and shrugs although she can’t see it. “Why not?”

“Weird.” Levi holds the handle of the teacup and taps the table absently. “I wonder what happened. In my version, you know. Did I die before you? Maybe I was a soldier as well.”

Levi doesn’t like that possibility. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth but considering the two obscure dreams, it is likely. “You had a scar on your eye,” he says remembering his dream. “You most probably were.” 

“Oh,” she sighs woefully. “Sorry for leaving you alone, then.”

“Yeah. Sorry for letting you die.”

She laughs. “Well, you probably had no other choice.”

He runs a hand over his face. What the actual fuck they are talking about in the goddamn wee hours? “Hanji, this doesn’t make any sense. Seriously, go back to sleep.”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep. I keep remembering the dream. I wish I had seen your version.”

He wishes the same too, to be honest. “Forget about it. Just sleep.”

“I can’t forget about it,” her voice comes muffled, like a part of her mouth is pressed upon her pillow. “You looked so fine with that scar.”

He pinches his nose but cannot stop himself from grinning like a lovesick fool for the life of him. “Idiot.”

“Would you like to hear something disgustingly cheesy and cliché?” She asks, drowsily.

“No.”

She goes on as if he had never talked. “I’m your idiot.”

“Dear, fucking Lord,” Levi struggles very hard to keep his laughter inside. “Just sleep already.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs, she is most probably about to fall asleep. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“No, you will see me today.”

“Right, good, good,” she sighs, sleepily. “Later, then my handsome, my shorty, my one and only.”

“Dumbass,” he says affectionately but she is already snorting on the other side of the line. 

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 14 reactions: HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AWESOME BUT ALSO I’M CRYING edition

- the good good din characterization is back after all the weirdness last episode!!!! that soft way he says ‘no, no, I’m not mad at you’? THAT’S din djarin, he would not be fucking impatient with his son having just been informed and seen for himself that he is terrified, go away mr filoni I know you’ve got all of canon memorized but you don’t get this lol. this feels much more right in how din being conflicted and still thinking he should give the baby away for his own good plays out too  

honestly every line of dialogue for him in this one was perfect I was just whispering ‘I love this awkward clueless wonderful man just doing his best’ to myself any time he said anything. “...does this look Jedi to you?” sir I adore you more than words can describe

- we got din chuckling. asjdklfhsdkafghsdafsadhjkfsdahjkfh. fskahfksjad. side note: I can’t believe my joke post about din desperately trying to Force home school the kid with the one (1) jedi trick he knows about and the baby being delighted by it over and over anyway -- listen to his expectant excited laugh when din takes the ball and sets up the game!!!! -- was canon all along. and then the baby & mando music kicking in when he gently put the silver ball into the baby’s hands again and tells him he’s special (because he IS special. to din)? hmng. hmmmmnnnnn  

they opened on the height of softness so we would all crumple under the weight of the rest of the episode and that was very mean of them in a way I sincerely appreciate 

- nothing to see here... just a dad trying to walk through the literal manifestation of the unassailable underlying forces of the universe to get to his baby again and again........ the desperation in that, the love, the foolhardy devotion................... shit

- okay so I might be a dumbass, but I’d never noticed this before -- the silver ball has a blue spot on the top, like so: 

and in addition we get the room where the baby goes full darth grogu (I have to laugh so I don’t cry okay) on those storm troopers, and there’s a red light in there dominating the room (and it did even more in the concept art):

in star wars blue means light side and red means dark side (it’s very sophisticated that way), meaning the visual storytelling here is that there’s a battle for the baby’s soul and gideon and all his nonsense (and the trauma bb’s been through in the wider sense) is pulling towards the dark, while grogu and din’s connection leads him towards the light. just... the image of the baby looking at his own reflection in the symbolic representation of his relationship to din? the way children find their sense of self through being safely reflected and held by their caretakers? god help meeeeeee I will go in there and fistfight gideon myself for disrupting that in any way  

the smaller light seems to be blue too, like there’s still the presence of light even if it’s dimmed and small in that shitty horrible room, which is a change from the concept art!

- FENNEC SHAND SURVIVED BITCHES!!! I even called that she’d be back with new shiny robot parts back in season 1, could not happen to a cooler lady, I hope we get more backstory and interaction from her the next episodes -- sounds like she’s basically sworn herself to boba’s service in gratitude for saving her life, I wonder if that’s a cultural thing of whereever she comes from? does she live aboard slave 1 now too?? because that would be hilarious and amazing, it must be like two strange cats trying to get used to sharing the same space   

- everything I could ever hope for about boba fett in this series came true, they went down the much more interesting and nuanced route with jango and boba’s identities as mandalorians, he looked cool as fuck and made din as a character shine rather than overshadowing him... amazing beautiful yesss 

(I did 100% not anticipate just how ‘cool uncle boba here to help you fuck shit up’ he was going to be but I am delighted to get it anyway. uncle points deducted for getting someone to point a gun at the baby, but the main point still stands lol) 

the power and brutality of his hand to hand fighting too... a w e s o m e , I enjoyed the action scenes a lot in this one

- they even recanonized him actually wearing jango’s armour. what more could I ask for. I’ve had confused parent & child feels about these two since I was like eleven and here we fucking go again. and jango fighting in the mando civil wars too!

- so I’m grieving the razor crest (and I always will be, rip you magnificent jalopy, always in my heart) but also there’s the grim satisfaction that my reading on it was sort of true -- it is (...was. oh god it’s going to take a while to sink in huh) a symbol of din’s self and life, and at this point when they take the baby it tears everything else to pieces. the only thing that’s left in the ashes is the beskar and the thing that connects him to the baby. and there’s... a strange solace in seeing that that’s all he needs to keep going? he’s fucking obliterated from orbit but he still has his love for the baby and the beskar and that can keep him going until he finds something new, everything else can be replaced?????? weirdly healing, though he is probably going to have a solid breakdown at some point after they get the kid back (shut up they are getting the kid back) and the cold distant fog lifts 

also this scene/shot feels like it carries some Meaning, doesn’t it? I’m on record several times saying I never want din to be mand’alor and that’s still true, but there’s something about the framing of this and the way boba looks at him that’s like... hm. I’m not sure I have the words for it. there’s something heightened about it, anyway, for a moment he looks like something mythic there in the wreckage 

(something I would be much cooler with is our clan of two growing a little bit and those new people rallying behind him, actually, that might be neat. imagine if a force user does show up for the baby and gets adopted into the clan somehow??? so many possibilities.) 

- from the way he picks up the silver ball... din djarin is on his way to straight up murder some people huh

I think part of what reassures me about this scene is the music -- this mando flute is not distant, is not beaten, is not despondent, it’s clear and determined and strong.

- 

I love this. I love when we get explicit baby POVs, it makes it feel so real and intimate and... like home. (I especially loved baby’s point of view inside the razor crest, which just made me tear up again. baby lost the closest thing he’s had to a home in a long long time on top of it all. everything is suffering)

-

Emotionally Significant Thumb Grabbing tm; the show

- din djarin looking for the ‘on’ switch on a magic rock fhsdakjfhsadlfhsdjah I can’t breathe

 “Well, this is the seeing stone. Are you. Seeing anything?” fsafkdsajhfsa sdhfksjalhfkjsdahfkjsdhf

- the energy around the baby as he’s, in ahsoka’s words, ‘choosing his path’ is blue, and the force sort of works across time and space, right?? so there’s definitely still hope for our lil green bean to not have to come up with a really dumb unsubtle sith name for himself, as is regrettably yet delightfully tradition. darth babbu should never come to pass (I do like how they’re interrogating the normal dark/light side dichotomy in this series, seeing as this is a literal baby who can’t really be responsible for that stuff himself yet and has such capacity for both.)  

- listen. listen, the way din says ‘can you please hurry up’ with no sarcasm or real impatience whatsoever, more like a harried worry, to his force-meditating son as he jogs off to make sure no one’s trying to kill them. is hilarious and also YES this is what the character is!!! weirdly and incongruously polite under stress sometimes and with a slightly odd reaction pattern to things!!! he’s not just quiet and badass, he’s a little strange sometimes and it’s so good!  

- a friendly opening volley warning shot from boba there

also din uncertainly asking BOBA FETT if he’s a jedi... now this is the dramatic irony I’ve been looking for haha 

I guess neither shand nor boba actually know din’s name after this either. baby you gotta start introducing yourself at some point it gets real confusing when there are two mandos on screen 

oh the long weary sigh going through din’s frame when boba says he wants ‘the armour’ and he thinks it’s just someone trying to peel the beskar off his corpse again. sorry the galaxy’s so shitty dad   

- “But fate sometimes steps in to rescue the wretched” is a killer line well done mr favreau. I like that boba actually offers din a good deal as well and seems to intend to deliver on it from how things are going. 

- din using his beskar-covered bod to cover someone he’s fighting alongside!!! literal moving cover haha. also I love fennec’s costume design  

- I don’t know where din got more whistling birds from and I don’t care, it was really cool haha 

-

wow haha um so anyway -- 

(cue all the ‘who wore it better’ with cobb vanth’s ‘spiderman’s first home made costume’ look on one side and ABSOLUTE UNIT DADDY boba fett on the other side posts lol)

- aaaghh the music almost like a stunned desperate fluttering heart beat as din watches the razor crest be destroyed 

- for someone who has willingly worked for them in the past boba sure sounds less than thrilled about having the empire back in any capacity 

- oof the deadness in din’s voice when he says “The child is gone”. ooooh no that got me  h e l p 

- guessing next episode is at least partly a ‘gathering old allies and preparing the assault’ step before the grand finale, then! they cannot go for the season ender cliffhanger with this, I will fucking riot. anything can be up in the air except baby and dad being separated, I will not allow it

it would be very funny if the force user baby called out to comes stumbling into the middle of all this like the troy entering the room with pizzas meme too 

- the music in the darth grogu scene is partially a dark mirror of the baby & mando music :’( is nothing in this world sacred

also from how he reaches out for it baby might have used a light saber before in the past with the jedi? ngl the idea of baby wielding the dark saber not when he’s all grown up but in like two episodes -- with all the chaos a toddler holding a laser sword would involve -- is all that is keeping me sane here 

‘liable to put an eye out with one of these’ well gideon you sure have doomed someone to lose an eye with that one, here’s to hoping it’s you, for full dramatic payoff 

he is a deliciously smug awful force with great musical cues tho, you have to give it to him

- okay so this

is obviously awful and horrible and it makes me so sad... but it is undeniably also very very very funny in how it’s framed. you know what? after all this bullshit baby grogu can have a little dark side tantrum, as a treat, we’ve all been there right

(forget finding a jedi, we need to go out there and find a child psychologist who can help him deal with this without adding the fear that he’s on the path to become a two foot tall evil space sorcerer to the mix Y_________Y) 

- rip the razor crest except for the second time :’’’( gone but never forgotten

- the last thing din tells the baby is “I’m gonna protect you; I’ll be back soon”. and I hope that stays with the kid somehow and that it actually comes true, that din will be back for him as soon as humanly possible and all this pain and fear can be repaired. ggggghhhhh my emotions are too big for my dumb human body 

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian meta #okay I'm gonna have to. go take a calming walk or something after this haha

[smokahuntis]

Anything for you

Anything for you

Paring: Connor kenway X reader

Warnings: angst, because I’m an angst queen, uhhh Haytham. Arranged marriage, mentions of murder... it’s assassins creed so...

Summery: during a small hunting trip Connor wonders across a lost women who he can’t keep his mind off of

Authors note: this is my first Connor fic! And I’m sorry it took so long I just couldn’t think of anything for this and ended up forgetting I had it I won’t lie to you. But it’s here now!

Connor sighed heavily as he walked threw the forest, his large boots treading in the dirt as he looked threw the forest. Today’s hunt wasn’t good, neither was yesterday’s. He was the best hunter they had and yet it’s like he was the worst. He couldn’t explain it for the life of him but it was starting to frustrate him.

Maybe he’d have better luck up High, in the trees. A smiled grew on his face at the thought before he scaled his way up the tree and threw the large heft branches until he heard something. The sound of snapping twigs below him, below the trees, that’s what called his attention.

Looking down quickly he was amazing to find not a wolf, bear or even a deer, but a girl. A women, a women like he’d never seen. Dressed in a fine dress of blue and white hues, her hair curled and falling down her back as she ran. Holding up her dress as she sprinted threw the large forest, but why was she running? Soon as he began to ask himself that question he was cut off by a large growl not far away, a bear.

He didn’t hesitate to start shooting arrows at the large beast as he jumped down from the trees to fight it. He was a talented hunter so a bear like this was nothing for him, it was quick work really. Only one scratch when he knocked the beast to the ground and looked up at the scared girl who just watched the whole time.

She was terrified and he could tell by the way her hands shook and the tears roll down her face. He quickly moved to her and grabbed her face gently with his large rough hands.

“Hey-hey it’s okay... it’s okay...” he whispered wiping the tears from under her eyes “he can’t bother you anymore” he smiled kindly moved his other hand to grab hers, the both fit in his so easily

“What’s your name?” He asked her.

“(Y/n)” she whispered in her shaky tone. “(Y/n) McCormick” she whimpered leaning into his warm touch like she’d never been touched before.

“Well- (y/n)... what are you doing out here?” He asked her pushing messy hair from her face, she was so beautiful, even when she was crying, even when her face was all red and panicked.

“I-I came-I came out because I-I was I-I was trying to-to get some peace and - and quiet and then I was to stuck in my head I walked to far and-and” she whimpered and cried more, it made him sad to see such a beautiful girl like this, shaking in fear.

“Hey-hey it’s okay- I’ll help you out of here alright?” He smiled and kissed her forehead, taking her hand and wiping her tears.

“T-thank you” she stuttered and sniffed as she started walking with him. She walked holding his arm and holding up her dress with her other hand as they wondered the forest.

“So what made you come out here?” He asked after a few moments of silence and she finally calmed down.

“My father... he’s... he’s betrothed me to a man I don’t even know...” she looked up at him and sighed “I shouldn’t tell you stuff like that you probably think I’m crazy for making such a big deal out of this”

“No, I don’t think you’re crazy” he looked at her “I think you should be able to choose your partner” he said kindly as he helped her step over a log, he knew the forest in and out so he had no problem helping her. “Can I ask who he’s betrothed you too?” He asked, it came off as kind but in the back of his head it was a vicious thought, a wrong thought to have for a man he doesn’t know.

“His names Haytham...” she answered looking up at him.

“H-haytham?” He said, the name itself shocked him inside and out. His father did not deserve a girl as beautiful as this, and definitely not one so young compared to him.

“Yes, haytham kenway... do you know him?” She asked seeing his expression.

“I-I do not- I do not know him” of course he knew him but that would be so weird if he just said ‘oh yea that’s my father’

“Oh...” she nodded and kept walking with him “I’ve heard of him, he’s one of my fathers good friends but he would never let me meet him...” she said softly

“How badly do you not want to marry this man?” He asked her as he started to see the town again

“Pretty badly...” she whispered holding his arm still even tho they could see the town.

“Why is your father making you marry him?” He asked.

“Because he thinks it’s what’s best for me...” she sighed heavily and looked down as they fit to the edge of the woods finally.

“Well I guess I’ll let you go here...” he whispered looking at her.

“I never got your name” she said looking at him with her big soft eyes.

“Oh, You can call me Connor” he smiled and wiped her face one last time so she looks alright to others.

“Thank you, Connor” she kissed his cheek and hugged him before hurrying back home before her parents worried to much.

Connor watched her leave and smiled to himself, his hand resting where her lips touched his skin. The moment didnt last however because now he had to find his father and stop this marriage.

It didn’t take long to find the old man in his study. Connor busted the doors open and looked at him with a bit of anger “cancel it”

“You know you don’t have to tear up my door every time you-“ Haytham started

“Cancel the wedding” Connor said firmly.

“Excuse me?” Haytham raised an eyebrow.

“With (y/n) you can’t marry her” he said in a deep growl, almost protective.

“And why can’t I?” Haytham crossed his arms.

“She’s unhappy- she’s to-to good for you” Connor claimed

“How do you know she’s unhappy? You don’t even know the girl”

“I do know her! I met her today in fact and she told me everything” Connor said sternly “I have not asked you for much in my life but all I ask now is this, call it off and let her be free”

“If I do that her father will just send her to someone else” Haytham said

“I’ll be that someone else!” Connor said almost excitedly but it didn’t last long

“You can not be that person Connor”

“And why not?” He groaned

“Because you’re an assassin...” Haytham said quietly yet stern.

“And-.... her fathers a Templar?” He asked furrowing his brows and looking at his father in shock and worry. Haytham only nodded and sat back down in his seat.

“Shay McCormick... I believe your creed knows him” Haytham sighed.

“Of course... I should’ve known...” he shook his head and ran his fingers threw his hair.

“If you’ve just meet her today, why do you care so much for who she marries...” Haytham stood again and slowly walked towards his son.

“Because she’s the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen...” he looked back at his father “I don’t even know her but to see her cry made me feel broken, father...” he whispered. “I can’t let you take her away...”

Haytham sighed heavily and nodded, he didn’t know what to do in this situation. But he wanted to do right by his son, for once.

“I can delay the wedding until it’s safe... I can’t however just cancel, to much relays on this, however if I can push it back I can work around it for you” Haytham said putting his hand on connors shoulder. Connor had never smiled brighter then that moment, he was so happy with his fathers words he even hugged him.

The moment was short lived at they heard people downstairs, so quickly Connor made his way out the window and away.

A few weeks after that Connor had come up with a plan, every Friday he would send (y/n) flowers. However when he started that her mother kept thinking they were for her, so plan changed. Every Friday he would sneak into her room and put flowers on her table, good thing that was today.

Today he’d gotten a large bundle of daisys and lavender for her, he noticed she’d had problems sleeping recently so he got the lavender to help her rest at night. Just as he was setting the vase down on her bed side table the door behind him creaked open and he quickly turned.

(Y/n) screamed and dropped the bowl in her hands before covering her mouth the moment she noticed who was in her room. “(Y/n)? Is everything alright up there?” Her mother called

“Yes mama, I just saw a rather large... moth...?” She said almost questioning her own words before her mother just went along with whatever she was doing before, and (y/n) looked back at Connor.

“ what on earth are you doing in my room?” She said freaked out as she closed her door and locked it, cleaning up the mess she made in the floor quickly.

“I - I uh- I was bringing you... flowers?” He scratched the back of his neck as he spoke, before helping her clean up the mess.

“You’ve been the one doing that?” She asked him softly, pushing hair behind her ear as she looked at him. A slight blush crept to her face as she put the bowl aside and stood with him.

“Um... yea- yes- I... I’ve been sending them for awhile but I think your mother has been taking them so I just started... delivering them?” He chuckled nervously and smiled at her. She was so small compared to him, he was a tall muscular man and she was this little graceful girl.

She giggled and nodded “yes fathers been wondering where the flowers come from” she chuckled and ran her fingers threw her hair. He smiled at her and sighed

“Well I’ve gotten you some daisies and lavender today...” he said walking back over to the window “and I-I should be off now”

“No-wait... you don’t have to leave” she grabbed his hand quickly. His heart fluttered feeling her skin against his, it made him feel this warmth he’d never felt before.

“You wish me to stay?” He moved his hand to the side of her face.

“Of course I wish you to stay... plus I know you’re not going far... you’re not a good hider...” she giggled and smiled

“Not a good hider- oh...” he blushed and looked down before getting his confidence back “I’ll have you know I’m an amazing hider”

“Then why have I noticed you threw my window the past few nights?” She smirked and crossed her arms

“Maybe I wanted to be noticed” he said trying to be tough to her.

“Well maybe I wanted you to come in rather then just stare, why do you think I opened my window?” She said raising her eyebrow. “I could barely sleep it was so cold”

“You could- you opened that for me...?” He blushed and smiled “I didn’t know I’m sorry”

“It’s okay, I should’ve said something” she smiled at him and put her hand on his face. He couldn’t hold it any long, he needed to say something for he exploded.

“You’re the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen” he whispered and kissed her palm, slowly kissing up her arm.

“Excuse me?” She blushed

“I said you’re the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen” he whispered in her ear and pulled away slowly.

“Oh I know what you said I just wanted to hear you say it again” she teased and cupped his face softly, he smirked a little and shook his head.

“You’re silly, little cub “ he smiled.

“You like how silly I am” she smiled at him and kissed the back of his hand “if you hadn’t you wouldn’t have watched me so long, my little eagle”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head “you’re a smart one” he pulled her closer slowly. “Can I be bold with you?” He whispered into her hair

“Yes sir” she rested her hands on his chest and leaned into him. She didn’t know how to explain it but she felt so comfortable in his arms, like he was a guardian of sorts, meant to protect her.

“I think I’m in love with you” he whispered and moved his finger under her chin, making her look up at him.

“You -you love me?” She smiled and blushed looking at him

“I do...” he said softly “and I would like to kiss you...” he admitted

“You need not ask, Connor...” she smiled and leaned up, pressing her lips to his softly. The kiss was sweet and deep, longing almost. It felt so right in every way that it made their hearts fly. She tugged his shirt softly pulling him closer before they finally parted and looked at each other

“I want to marry you...” he whispered

“Connor you know I cant-“

“I’ll do anything to make you mine, (y/n), anything... if that means killing that man then I will”

“Connor you sound mad” she said backing up a bit but he grabbed her hand.

“Forgive me, please I just... I don’t want to go another moment without you...” he whispered and looked into her eyes. She smiled and nodded softly

“I’d prefer if you didn’t kill him but... do what you must”

Tag list: @marshmallow--3 @thank-god-its-fryeday @sassenach-on-the-rocks @fangirl1071

#assassins creed #Connor kenway #Connor kenway fluff #ac #assassins creed gifs #connor kenway x reader #reblog! #Shay McCormick #haytham kenway

[jpegjade]

Void - Spencer

I’ve weighed whether or not to put this one out there. i’ve spent a day just sitting on it, editing, and rewriting some parts. i decided to put this out there bc i realize that i have friends here who go through the same things i do and it might help them. so to all my friends out there, old, new, or the ones i have yet to meet, i’m sorry we’re in this but i’m happy we’re in this together. 

Warnings: Okay so i will say this now and i mean it: if you are struggling with depression and feel uncomfortable during any point in this fic, do. not. read. the. rest. i tried to scale back a little bit bc i wrote it when i was having a really bad time (and probably still having that time rn lmao) so i didn’t include details and it’s a little bit ambiguous but it’s dealing with a hard topic: hopelessness and suicidal ideation. like i said, nothing graphic and no details but it is suggestive and real. so no fluff. 

__________________

The world is such a dark fucking place. There’s nothing good in the world. There’s nothing good for you to experience anymore. The world was a dark, tar colored hell. 

Nothing brought you joy. You could fake it so well on the surface, pretending the world was in color for you. The only colors you experienced were void of emotion, void of feeling, just void. The world around you was void of joy, happiness. There was nothing you wanted more than to escape. Any version of a sweet release would be perfectly fine. Something that you could deal with, some way to deal with the world. 

“Hey.” Spencer said, bringing you out of your thought bubble haze. He walked through the door, gripping his satchel.

“Hmm? Hey baby.” You plastered a fake smile on your face just for him. 

Spencer knew you were going through a rough time but he didn’t know exactly how bad it was. He didn’t know you had written notes for each of your family members and Spencer. He didn’t know that you thought about the easiest way to go, what required the most courage and the least amount of energy. He didn’t know you were scared to leave. 

“You look tired. Have you had a nap today?” He said, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek. 

“No, I’m okay. Just tired in general, I guess.” You said, watching him put his bag down. 

He came over to sit next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. He smelled like fall. You wondered if you would miss that, if you would miss him. Would you miss anything?

“Well, maybe we can relax together? Take a nap, watch a movie?” He looked down at you, stone faced as ever. 

“Yeah, maybe.” You said, staring off into the distance. Everything seemed to be off in the distance for you, all of it. The future, the past, now. It all seemed so far away from you. The world seemed so far away from you. 

“Are you okay? You don’t seem like you’re all the way here.” Spencer said, kissing the top of your head. 

“I’m just tired. Maybe I will take that nap with you.” You put on another fake smile, getting up to get something to drink from the kitchen. Everything was so exhausting, even Spencer. 

You hated that you felt that way. You loved Spencer with every part of you, you never wanted to let him go. But you just wanted to take off, go somewhere, escape. That’s all you thought about: escaping. 

“Hey, y/n? I’m going to get changed out of these clothes.” Spencer called, hoping you heard him. In one ear and out the other, just like everything else he said lately. 

You always felt so bad when it came to Spencer. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t deserve to go through this. You didn’t want him to deal with you anymore but any time you brought it up to him, he promised you weren’t a burden. He always promised you weren’t a burden but you knew, deep down, that he was lying. He was lying to you in exchange for your lies to him, pretending you’re happy when you’re miserable. The two of you were lying to each other and to yourselves. He knew you weren’t okay but wanted to believe otherwise. You knew Spencer was attached to you but you pretended he was detached from your relationship. 

“Baby? Come lay with me?” Spencer called, being needy. You loved when he was needy when you felt well. When you were feeling good, you loved the fact that he was open to show a type of emotion, even after all he went through. 

“Only for a little while.” You called back, downing half a glass of water really quickly. 

You climbed into bed, curling into his lap in bed. He liked when he could hold you just as much as he liked being held. You sat there silently, annoyed with the fact that anyone was touching you right now. All you wanted was to disappear. 

“Can we talk?” Spencer mumbled. 

“Yeah, sure.” You really did try to sound upbeat but in the end, you weren’t able to do it. 

“How are you really doing? And please don’t lie... “ Spencer said, sighing. 

“Spence…” You just wanted everything to go away, just like this conversation. 

“Look, I know I can’t fix this. I have been looking for ways to make this better for you because you are suffering and I see it every day. I can’t… I don’t know how to stop it and I’m scared that you’re going to do something that I really can’t fix.” He said, slowly. 

“There’s no way to stop this.” You said, flatly. “You can’t stop it and neither can I. I’m beyond help. The meds don’t work. The therapy doesn’t work. The coping mechanisms dont fucking work and I’m so damn tired.” You said all that without emotion and it scared Spencer. 

These days, you scared Spencer more than any murderer did. His greatest fear was losing you and he fought to keep his head straight because he knew he had you. All this time, he knew he had you and it was terrifying him to think that you could be gone today, tomorrow, the day after that and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Could he?

“You can’t leave… Not like this…” Spencer said, trying to rack his brain of different responses that might help you. He couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t selfish, on his part. 

Everything he had to say was selfish. It was all about how he didn’t want you to go, how he would feel, how he would be affected when you were gone. Everything he thought of was about him and that frustrated him. He just wanted to help you, not try to guilt you into anything by making it about how he feels but… 

“Spencer, there’s no point. Okay? There’s no point in going through the motions anymore. I am in so much pain on the inside, nothing fills it. I am so tired. I feel alone constantly. I feel like there’s nothing left for me here. I am broken. I am broken. I am broken.” You started crying but you weren’t sure why. 

Spencer just pulled you close to him, feeling your body shaking. He couldn’t tell if it was anger or sadness or if you were just cold but your body wasn’t still. 

You tried to get up, get away from him, run, but he held you tighter. You just wanted to get out of that room, get out of your skin, get out of existence but Spencer wouldn’t let you. He just held you close and rubbed your back. 

“I can’t make you stay. I can’t give you this fake positivity. I won’t guilt you into staying. If you want to do this, it’s ultimately up to you. But what I can do is tell you that I love you. I loved you when I got to know you. I love you now. I will love you no matter what you decide to do.” Spencer said. He sounded so fragile, like he was going to break at any moment. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Spence.” You said, numbly. “All I know is that I can’t live like this. I can’t survive like this. I wasn’t built to survive this and I’m so scared of what comes next…” 

There was a silence and you heard Spencer sniffle. He was truly at a loss for words. How could he miss that it was this bad? He was a profiler. He knew that everyone had an end game but he couldn’t tell if your endgame was leaving him or not, leaving this world or not. So he just sniffled and stayed quiet, trying to hold everything back. 

“Spencer?” 

“Hmm?” He responded, nervous. 

“What’s the easiest way to go? I’ve done research but… I wanted to ask my smartass boyfriend.” You chuckled and it turned sour. It wasn’t funny but it was a reflex. 

“Can we please not talk about this? I want to help you get better. I want to use all my energy trying to figure out how to help you feel like living is worth it. I don’t want to think about finding you…” Spencer’s voice caught in his throat. 

“Would you miss me?” You whispered, staring blankly at the wall feet in front of you. 

“Y/n…” Spencer paused. Your automatic thought was that he was going to pull bullshit out of his ass so you could feel better. You sighed, prepared for something generic. 

“You don’t realize the effect you have on people, on me. The world is so dark to you because you are a beacon of light. You are the lighthouse in everyone’s storm. That’s why everyone comes to you, looking for hope. You are a shining light and everyone sees it but you. Your world is dark because you look out and see nothing but the darkness, nothing but the storm.” 

Spencer’s breath wavered and you felt his thumb start moving across your thigh. He was nervous and fidgety, hoping he said the right words. 

“I miss you every moment I leave for work. I miss you on trips. I miss you at the office. I miss you whenever you’re not holding my hand. I miss you when you’re at work, when you can’t talk to me. I miss you. So yes, I would miss you if you weren’t here for me to come home to. And I know that might be comforting for a moment but at the end of the day, it’s not about me. It has never been about me. This is about whether or not you have the will to stay, whether or not you want to be here.” Spencer’s heart raced. 

“I guess you’re right.” You said, growing tired. You had a lot to think about.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst

[carrioncrows-readers]

You may not be good at a lot, but damn if you don't know business and numbers.

Content Warnings: major content warning for sexual harassment, explicit violence

When Jacob first brought you to the brothel, you thought he'd genuinely lost his mind — you made it quite clear you weren't interested in fucking him for money. With his arm around your shoulders, you were prepared to make quite a lot of fuss if he tried anything — but he didn't. Instead, he offered you a bookkeeping job for steady pay, with room to take "freelancing" on commission should you so desire. It was unexpected. It was — nice. The place is nice. A bit gauche, and good lord, those curtains are tacky, but you didn't expect prostitutes to be so…

Well.  Nice.

Come to find out, the woman who left a lipstick stain on Jacob's cheek (you aren't jealous; you aren't) is named Jenny. Jenny is in the elected position of being madame (you didn't know madames were elected?) of the establishment. Which also happens to be the name of the brothel itself. The Establishment. Tongue-in-cheek, but effective.

She's full-bodied and impossibly soft, brown hair piled into curls on top of her head. The pearls she wears are gifts from clients, apparently, and it's become so much of a running joke that for her birthday, the girls saved up to get her a new set of pearl earrings for fun. You have no idea why she wears them all at once.

She peers over your shoulder as you scribble in the ledger, writing down dates and numbers, trying not to get a headache putting it all together. Unfortunately, you haven't had time to sharpen up your sums.

"Ms. Jenny," you glance at her from the corner of your eye, looking for a way to fill the silence since no one is murdering the pianoforte, "can I ask why you haven't done the bookkeeping yourself?" She hums and smiles at you. You notice dimples in the roundness of her cheeks, like craters on the moon.

"Well, dearie, it's because I can nary read nor write. Neither can any of the others — been meaning to hire a bookkeeper for a bit, just never got 'round to it, I suppose." Suddenly and for, of course, no reason at all, you want to disappear into the floor. You should have guessed. Now you feel awful.

You look at your notes. You had all the girls tell you a rough estimate of their earnings for the past six months; some were more accurate than others, but you get the feeling that Jacob just wanted to find you something to do. He doesn't take a massive percentage anyways; usually, it fluctuates depending on how much they've earned that month. Always enough for a comfortable living after expenses, always favorable towards the brothel residents. You've no idea why, just that he somehow manages to supplement his own income enough that it doesn't put him in the red.

"I see," you say, pausing to add up all the earnings for July, minus overhead. Jenny leans in with her eyes narrowed and pokes your side, making you jump so high your ass almost hits the ceiling.

"You're a right hard one to read you are; what's that supposed to mean? Hm?" She pokes you again, and you feel your cheeks burn bright red.

"Nothing! Nothing, I just — felt terrible for asking, I suppose.  Ow."  You rub your side — does the woman have knives for fingers, or is your skin just made of paper? She pokes your arm — definitely knife fingers.

"Well, no harm done."

You sit quietly, shuffling papers in the ledger until everything is tight and up to date — it's not doing too terribly for a Whitechapel brothel. Still, there are some improvements to be made — namely, the settlement of customer debts.

How ironic that you have become the creditor now.

You set your pen down and lean against your steepled fingers, a plot crawling up the back of your mind and settling in. You ask Ms. Jenny, since she is much more familiar with the Rooks than you, to find you a few burly men. And to tell them to bring weapons. Blunt ones.

This is your job now — you'll be damned if you're not going to do it well. Besides, this isn't something you should bother Jacob with.

It isn't tricky to track down your debtors; one look at you smiling in your silks and velveteens, a train of rugged brutes behind you, and people scrape the ground to tell you where your targets live. They know what's coming, and they're not eager to try and quell the storm. You knock very politely on the door to an apartment in a run-down shack of a building, watching it crack open a hair's breadth. That is all the opening your boys need — they muscle in and push Mr. Curtis to the ground. You ignore him swearing to shut the door, folding your hands in front of your stomach.

"Mr. Curtis! I believe we have business."

"I don't know what you're fucking talkin' about," he spits. A simple nod of your head is all the excuse one of your enforcers needs to start walloping Mr. Curtis about the head until he begs you to stop him. You do, the smile on your face ever so slowly becoming a genuine manic grin.

"You owe my employer quite a bit of money. Do you have a wife, Mr. Curtis? I assume not if you visit brothels so often, but I wouldn't put it past you to cheat, either." Curtis rolls onto his side and covers his weeping nose, and you're fascinated by the slow drip-drip-drip of red into a puddle on the floor. "You have one month, which I find very generous. Can you read?" You don't receive an answer, just a low groan of pain that sends a tingle up your toes; you pull a piece of paper out of your pocket, the ink already dry as you sit it on a side table. On it is a sum of money, a date, and Curtis' name.

You leave him to lick his wounds, damn near skipping out into the darkened street. You visit three more houses in short order before returning to the brothel to see Jacob leaned over the intake desk, talking with Jenny. They both have lit cigars between their fingers. You had no idea Jacob smoked. He turns his head, and you suddenly feel self-conscious of where you've been.

"Done terrorizing the whole of Whitechapel?" He asks, but he doesn't sound unangry. Not that it doesn't stop you from worrying that he's simply putting on an air of calm. You quail and fiddle with the ends of your gloves, staring at your shoes.

"I apologize-"

"Think nothing of it," he says and comes over to pat your shoulder. "Debts need to be paid, and I appreciate you looking after my people. Your people now, too, I guess." Your people. You stare at Jacob and his toothy smile around his cigar, his hand still settled on your shoulder like it belongs there. You clear your throat and shrug it off, hurrying to the desk to note down when your debtors are supposed to send in their payments. It's mostly just to keep your hands busy.

Your people.

You've never really belonged to a group before. You exist in the gray strata between the middle class and the aristocracy, scathingly referred to as the  nouveau riche  by your would-be peers and mistrust by the working people of London, you belong nowhere. Unwelcome in the clubs and symposiums of the genteel, nor the pubs and coffeehouses of the mercantile caste. You didn't even have that many friends among the newly rich, either. Even for them, you were too…  off.  Violet Morvell was someone who tolerated you enough to call you acquaintance. Or so you thought.

The idea of having people is foreign and exciting, and terrifying all at once.

***

Your time at the brothel is well-spent. You buy yourself a math primer with the salary you get and brush up on your sums. With that knowledge in hand, you are brutally efficient with the finances of The Establishment. You set up a sign-in sheet and record every name that comes through the door, much to the patrons' shock and chagrin. The burly doorman you recently hired on is insistence enough they give you their real names, which in and of themselves are insurance. Occasionally he has to throw out a tirading customer, but they usually come back for their fix of unfortunate women. Sex, you suppose, is at the root of most vices.

At the end of the month, all four of your debtors turn their money into your capable (you hope) hands. You didn't have to visit them a second time — they either respect Jacob Frye too much, or they're too terrified of him to keep skimping on his money.

You begin educating a few of the girls on manners, etiquette, and how to properly play a pianoforte without sounding like they're torturing a cow. When you suggest that the brothel start serving tea and coffee to waiting customers, Ms. Jenny happily converts one of the rooms into a small kitchen. It makes more overhead, but in the end, the payout is astounding — it makes the patrons feel special, and men who feel special are pleasantly inclined to give more in terms of tips. Pun intended. Jacob would be proud of that one, you think.

It also attracts wealthier clientele, whom you are more than happy to charge extra for the pleasure of pretty company. The Establishment prospers with you holding the purse strings; you almost dare yourself to feel proud. The Rooks have taken to calling you  bookie,  of all things. Sometimes they even invite you out for drinks.

You've never had a nickname before. You think you might like it.

The English winter drudges on and turns into an English spring, and you settle into a rhythm. You moved into an apartment in Whitechapel, a nicer one (in comparison — it's still poverty when set beside how you used to live, but you think you're slowly acclimating to it) closer to work. You spend most of your time with Ms. Jenny and the girls anyway — most nights, you find yourself passed out at your desk until Ms. Jenny shoos you to a couch in a dark corner by the stairs. She begins to insist that you call her Jenny, just Jenny — but that seems like a breach to you, a line you're just not ready to cross yet, no matter how many times she covers you with a blanket and lets you sleep in the receiving room.

At the end of every month, you meet Jacob in a pub to hand over his cut and go over the ledger. He always lingers to talk with you after, and you've gotten to know him, you think. As much as you can know someone who somehow manages to head both a crime syndicate and an alleged, shady reactionary freedom movement. At least that's what you can glean from the whispered conversations he's had with you when you ask after it.

"I think I know that look," he says, pointing his glass at you, "what are you thinking about?"

Damn him and his sharp eyes — you really must be more careful about your expressions.

"I realize that I don't actually know you at all," you say, swirling your glass around in your hand to slosh the wine inside. Frye's response is a dry chuckle and little more than that, grabbing the bottle of wine and refilling his own cup. You know he's not partial to wine. You know he prefers milds to bitters and finds that lager doesn't have the malty taste he enjoys, but he drinks it when he goes to Evie and Jayadeep's. But beyond that? He may as well be a ghost to you.

"Perhaps that's for the best," he says. You watch him chug half his cup before he sits it down again, wipes his mouth, and clears his throat. You sit your glass down, a companion piece. You'd threaten to kick him over not savoring it, but the wine they serve here isn't worth savoring.

"Do you have any hobbies?"

"Hobbies?" He seems utterly baffled by the idea.

"You know — things you enjoy. That you do on your off time."

"I think it's so incredibly, endearingly bold of you to assume I have off time." He smiles and then leans his chin on the heel of his hand and makes a show of thinking. "I do enjoy a good game of cards."

"Does that count as a hobby?"

"Why wouldn't it? Not everyone can afford to learn croquet or whatever they teach at Fancy Lads and Lasses School for Fancy Lads and Lasses." That stings — you take a drink of wine to lessen the bruise that puts on your ego, and Jacob visibly softens with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. That was unkind of me."

"No — no, you're right." You look down at your hands, smooth and uncalloused, and rub your thumb against your palm to keep them busy. "I'm coming to learn that the world is very different from what I thought."

You don't know why you said it. Or why Jacob Frye touches his fingertips to yours after a long, pregnant pause. You startle, and you look up to see him with that softened smile.

"It's a lot to take in." He pulls his hand away; you find yourself missing the brush of it. Your fingers curl into your palms of their own accord.

"When did  you  first learn about all this Assassin and Templar business?" You ask.

"About four minutes after Evie, right out of the womb. We were raised in it. Our parents were both Assassins, so were our grandparents, probably their grandparents too. It's a good thing we keep dying young; otherwise, we'd be twice as inbred as Her Majesty and company." You gasp.

"That is the queen you're insulting!"

"She's a right shit old bird, is what she is," he plants a hand on his chest, looking wounded. "She almost took Evie's knighthood! Because we dared ask politely for her not to steamroll over all India and probably gleefully kick puppies in the process."

"Evie was knighted?"

"Henry and I too, but I didn't want the damn thing."

"You're a  knight?"  He curls his lip, topping up your glass and sighing. He nods his head as though it's a burden, and you snort into your wine glass. The dismay strangely suits him — he doesn't seem the type to want or even know what to do with a knighthood. You can't imagine him in a suit and medal either, no matter how hard you try.

You're about to ask him what his parents thought about him being here when someone grabs a chair and muscles their way to your table. You're pushed damn near into the wall, scowling and moving if only to keep your wine from spilling. You recognize the idiot who stuck his nose in — his name is Smith, and he's a bastard.

You've had to throw him out of The Establishment more than once; you'd entertain the idea that he has some sort of vendetta against you, but he's not worth the effort of thinking about. He downs his bottle of lager and sits it down onto the table, swaying in his seat. His eyes are bloodshot under the greasy, unwashed blond mop of his hair. He grins at Jacob with all his teeth after he greets him warmly. Loudly.

You cow in the corner as the whole bar turns to look at your table, trying to hide in your skin. For the most part, Jacob seems annoyed. Still, he greets Smith with the impatient smile of a father whose child interrupted an important meeting. You can see a muscle twitch in his cheek when Smith leans on you, his hand wrapping like an uncomfortable snake around your waist.

Your heart freezes, and every muscle you own goes rigid like stone as he spreads his palm over your hip.

"Didn't know you visited the Judies, boss! How much does ol' bookie go for these days? Gold or silver?" You grip your wine glass until your knuckles threaten to split, hot behind the ears as he leans in. His breath smells like a month's worth of stale beer. You fix him with your eye and pull your lip away from your teeth, speaking through a tight jaw. Usually, that is enough to get the handsy ones to back off; not tonight, apparently.

"You know very well that I work the desk. Nothing more, Mr. Smith."

"Yeah, with that stick up your arse, I bet you don't get many Johns. No room." He winks at Jacob, who simply sits and lets you wallow in your misery, the smile gone from his face. You look at him, pleading, as Smith leans even further in and plucks your wine glass out of your hands. You can't move. You can't stop him.

"Aw, c'mon, poppet! Give us a smile." Jacob grits his teeth until his jaw is white, a warning snarl curling his lip away from his teeth.

"That is  enough,  Smith."

"What? Boss, I'm jus' havin' a little fun. Hazin' the greenies, you know how it is." Smith turns back to you, leering ever closer, the rank of his breath falling across your cheek. "You're having fun, aren't you, darling?" The world melts away, candle wax as his hand travels down to rest on the outside of your thigh. You can only think of  Thomas Fucking Morvell.  His hand around your waist. It feels so suffocatingly like he's there instead of Smith, and something-

Something in you.

Snaps.

You think you might be seeing yourself outside your body, your hand wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle as you slam the motherfucker into his big mouth. It explodes in a haze of glass. The force pushes him backward, out of the booth, onto the floor, and he covers his bleeding face with his hands and screams, screams, screams.

"You stupid fucking cunt!"  Smith wails more obscenities at you, but you aren't listening. Your ears ring. The bottle feels oh-so-right in your hands, perfect. Jacob stands when you do, eyes wide and eyebrows high, but he's not quick enough to stop you from straddling Smith's chest and grabbing his lacerated jaw with your hand. Glass cuts into your fingers. He stares up with one eye swollen shut with blood and the other ballooned in horror. You raise the shattered, razor-sharp bottleneck over your head. You feel like an animal.

You wish you could say something clever — but your teeth are pressed so tightly that your words wither and die at the pass. Smith shrieks when your arm falls towards his eyes in a violent arch.

Aren't you having fun, poppet? Gimme a smile.

Something firm and solid stops your arm and wrenches you up with so much force you spin, and the bestial part of you uses the momentum to try to punch out at whatever's caught you. You've never thrown a punch in your life, but by God, are you going to throw one now. Something grabs that arm too.

You force yourself to refocus, panting hard and covered in blood from a million tiny cuts, splattered in Smith's gore and stale beer.

Jacob is staring at you, holding your wrists tight and firm to keep you from hurting someone else — or yourself. Then, finally, the horror dawns on you that the bar — the entire bar — is staring at you. You drop the bloodied bottleneck; your chest feels like it's going to implode. And yet Jacob keeps staring.

"You," he says, more to himself than you, "are full of so many interesting surprises."

***

You are cleaned up, bandaged, and taken to a private room above the bar. You spend minutes (hours, feels like) pacing. Back, forth — back, forth. You chew at your bandages and lament that your nails are covered, gnashing like a beast to try and bite them to the quick.

When Jacob opens the door, you want to throw yourself at his feet.

"Jacob," your voice wobbles, your breath coming out in short gasps, "I am so, so sorry-" He cuts you off with a raised hand.

"No, I'm sorry."

...What?

Whatever for?

You stare in stunned silence while he rubs the back of his neck. "You were obviously uncomfortable, and he just — kept touching you. And I didn't stop him. I'm sorry."

"You — You told him to stop." You want to laugh. This is a trick — this has to be a trick.

"That is not enough." He sighs. "Considering I know what it feels like." He grimaces at the floor, arms crossed, and you collapse back to sit on the bare mattress, hearing the frame creak its protest under your weight. The two of you exist in oppressive quiet until Jacob pipes up from the door.

"But — that was impressive, back there. And you've shown a lot of initiative and drive these past few months. I think you should join us — the Creed." It sounds like a speech he's rehearsed for months, shocked into pulling it out now at the most inopportune of times. It's damn-near comical, but you can't bring yourself to laugh.

"Again, with your crazy cult of conspiracy theorists." You sag, running a hand over your face. "Fine. I'll join you. What else do I have to lose?" The silence that follows is awkward and strange, so you try to fill it with conversation. "What did you mean when you said you knew what it felt like?" Jacob leans against the wall, watching a patch of the floor behind you with great interest. It takes him a moment to speak, but he sounds distant. Weather vaned to a place in history far away.

"His name was Maxwell Roth."

"The old leader of the Blighters? The one that set fire to the Alhambra?"

"The very same." You try to conjure him in your mind from what you remember. You come up with a shadowed figure in a mask and a cruel grin; you only know that he was much older than the two of you. You pull your knee to your chest and block out the thoughts as Roth slowly mutates into a figure you know far, far too well, and hate far, far too much.

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"Don't be — it was a lifetime ago."

"A year," you smile; it doesn't reach your eyes. "But those can feel like lifetimes, can't they?"

"Sure as the sun shits gold, are you right." He moves to sit beside you, his hands folded between his knees, back bent. "He — I loved him. At least I think I did, afterward. After he died. He'd call me  darling  and  my dear,  and he made me feel so — so damn good about myself — all the things I'd accomplished like I was special. But I think we both loved a man who was," he trails off, trying so hard to find the words. You finish for him, hauntingly familiar with the feeling.

"Different from who the real man was," you say. "You loved the image you had in your head." And afterward, Jacob fell in love with the nostalgia.

"Right." He pauses and then coughs, the tips of his ears red. "We never had sex. I mean, afterward, shit — yeah, there were men. But for Roth and me — he was just touchy-feely. I thought I didn't mind then, but looking back on it now…" You feel nausea coil in your stomach; it's like looking in a mirror.

You never would have known. Or maybe he's just not as broken as you.

But to hear that you're not alone — you can find some measure of comfort in that, even if you're horrified to see your doppelganger sitting by you. You ask Jacob if Evie knows — she doesn't. She never will, if he has anything to say about it; all she knows is that something changed when he killed Roth, maybe for better or maybe for worse.

You don't know what to do — so you hesitantly lean against him, hoping that you're a comforting weight. He lets you. You stare straight ahead to keep from crumpling like a paper crane.

"I'm glad you said yes," he says. "This isn't — it's not a life I ask you to join lightly."

"What do I have to lose?" You repeat yourself, finally feeling brave enough to glance up, watching Jacob light a match and catch fire to the end of a cigar — the same one he's been smoking for a week, you realize. He must be saving it. "Does your mother know you smoke those things?" Not that it'd make much of a stir — they're meant to be healthy for the lungs anyhow. It's just unfortunate about the smell.

"Didn't know her," he says, almost as a throwaway comment as he takes a deep drag of smoke. You jolt, the shock of it filling your bones. "What?"

"Nothing," you say, fiddling with the selvage of your bandages. "I simply realized that we have much more in common than I thought."

#dig yourself a hole #ac syndicate #jacob frye #m #general #multichapter #i will say. you DO get to hit someone in the face with a beer bottle in this one #catharsis <3

[bartramcat]

Desert Palm

I was cleaning out my Docs and came across this. It's from over a year ago and was my impetuous hypothesis about post Dead Doll reactions to the revelation that was GSR. It's mostly dialogue, so an easy read. It probably contains a lot of Canon and character violations, but, since they never let us know how the team felt, I went with my gut. It's been an interminable week, so perhaps it will amuse someone.

Exterior Desert Palm Hospital. Catherine and Warrick are sitting on a bench in conversation.

W: You really had no idea?

C: No. I always knew she was special to him, but I thought it was more of a teacher-student thing. When she first came here, I thought they'd had a bad breakup in San Francisco, but then it wouldn't have made sense for him to ask her to come here.

W: Maybe it was student-teacher then.

C: I don't know. He saw something in her. I remember him saying she was someone he trusted. Boy she was young.

W: Do you think Ecklie will fire them?

C: I don't know. He's a fool if he does. God knows Gil's never been his favorite person. I never thought he would ever do anything that would put his job at risk. Not playing politics is one thing but violating a policy.

W: Are you upset with him? For not telling you? You've known each other a long time.

C: I was more shocked than angry at first. But after seeing how desperate he was out in the desert...It's so strange to say this about Gil, but I think he really loves her. I thought he was incapable of those kinds of feelings. 

W: What kinds?

C: Normal, I guess. The way a man loves a woman. That's why I thought the only kind of woman who'd interest him would be someone like Lady Heather. Oh..

W: What?

C: I went on and on to Sara about how I thought Heather was the only woman Gil was ever really interested in. I knew she looked uncomfortable, but I thought it was because she didn't want to think about her boss that way.

W: You didn't know.

C: No. Damn it. I wish he had trusted me.

W: You are hurt…

C: I'm okay. (Smiles) It's not like I found out he was a murderer. 

W: No. You found out he loves someone.

C: That sounds so strange. To be honest, I thought being a murderer more likely than Gil falling in love.

W: Yeah. Any idea how long they've been together? Did he say anything out there?

C: (Shaking her head) No idea. He didn't say much, but I could feel his panic. All he wanted was to find her.

W: So they may have been together for years.

C: I don't think she would have been dating that EMT a few years ago if they were together then.

W: Damn. I forgot about him. Gris didn't like him at all.

C: (Short laugh) No he didn't.

In unison--

C/W: He was jealous.

C: It feels good to laugh after the last day or so.

W: Yeah.

C: You know, they're a lot alike. They're both nerds. They probably understand each other on some strange socially awkward level.

W: (Laughs) When you put it like that, you're probably right.

Interior. ICU waiting room. Greg, Nick and Sofia are sitting. Nick and Sofia next to each other. Greg apart.

S: How on earth did we not know?

N: (Shrugs) We know Grissom. I didn't know for sure if he was even interested in women. (At their looks) Or men. Work and bugs.

S: (Laughs) Tell me about it.

N: You had a thing for him?

S: I was intrigued. I had never met anyone quite like him before. He asked me to dinner once when I got demoted by Ecklie.

N: Oh Yeah. He wanted you to find Grissom negligent in that old case.

S: He wasn't. I thought he might be interested in me afterwards. Turns out all he wanted to do was extol the virtues of being a CSI and not let Ecklie influence my judgment.

N: That's Grissom. 

G: Maybe he was already with Sara.

S: I don't think we'll ever know.

G: What do you think Ecklie will do?

S: He could fire them. I know from personal experience he has a vindictive streak.

G: So a psycho almost kills Sara, and he fires her? Doesn't seem right.

N: You know that isn't the reason.

G: In other labs, they could be married and still work together.

S: This isn't other labs.

They're quiet for a few moments.

N: They should have leveled with us.

S: You almost sound angry. Look I don't work with them as closely as you do--

N: He almost got her killed because some psycho figured out he was sleeping with her. (Softly) He shouldn't have been sleeping with her.

S: You are mad.

N: I don't know what I feel.

S: I think you love both of them separately, and you don't yet know how to think of them as a couple.

N: Yeah. Maybe. It's as if I never really knew either one of them.

G: They're still the same people.

N: You're all right with them being together?

G: I'm not going to judge them if that's what you mean.

N: You think that's what I'm doing?

G: Maybe. 

N: Do you think Grissom really loves her?

G: Yeah. 

N: What about Sara?

S: She's been in love with him for a while.

N: What makes you say that.

S: Let's just say that as a woman I picked up on certain vibes.

N: Not on his side?

S: No. I thought the same as you. That the man had no interest in a relationship with anyone. But I'm sure he loves Sara.

N: What makes you so sure?

S: I saw his face when the paramedics couldn't get a pulse. He was terrified.

N: So was I…

S: We all were. But--I can't explain it. It was as if the life was draining out of him.

Greg stands up and walks over to the glass, looks in.

G: She's still asleep.

N: Grissom still with her?

Greg nods.

N: So let me get this straight. You two are okay with the two of them being together?

S: I don't think they should lose their jobs if that's what you mean. 

G: You know how I feel.

N: (Throwing his hands up) All right. I guess I just have to get used to this.

Exterior. Catherine is pacing.

C:  Where the hell is Ecklie anyway?

W: How much do you think he knows?

C: I don't know. But Gil isn't making any effort to hide how he feels about her now. God I hope she's going to be okay. For his sake as well as hers. What was it he said? The only person he'd ever loved. Hard to believe a man can get to be 50 years old without ever falling in love. (Beat) Maybe he had no idea how to handle everything.

They're quiet for a few moments.

W: You said she was conscious when they brought her in.

C: Yeah. And Gil wanted to stay with her in the ER.

W: Is that what that nurse was telling you?

C: I'm glad Brass showed up and took him for a walk.

A car pulls up; Ecklie gets out.

E: I hear Sidle's been found alive. Is she going to make it?

C: We think so. They're still trying to get her stabilized. Nick and Sofia found her just in time.

E: Grissom rode the Medi-Vac with her?

C: So?

E: That's against regulations. I haven't seen all of the reports, but I heard that Natalie kidnapped Sidle to get back at Grissom for the death of her foster father?

C: That seems to be the consensus.

E: I heard Grissom almost lost it in interrogation.

C: I probably would have lost it too.

E: Are you covering for him?

C; Look, Ecklie, if you want to ask me something, just ask.

E: Where's Grissom now?

C: We don't know. Last I saw Brass was taking him for coffee.

E: Stokes and Sanders? 

C: In the waiting room. Sofia too.

Brass appears, sees Ecklie, hesitates, then approaches.

C: Any news?

B: She's out of the ER, but they're keeping her in ICU for the next 24 hours.

E: Where's Grissom?

B: With Sara.

E: In ICU? I thought only family..

B: She doesn't have anyone else. 

E: All right. Let's stop pussyfooting around here. I want you all to tell me how long Grissom and Sidle have been dating.

C: We have no idea.

E: You're covering for them.

B: No. She's not. I know for a fact no one of the team knew anything before this whole mess started.

E: What about you? 

B: I had my suspicions for a while. I only found out for sure about a few months or so ago.

E: And you didn't tell anyone?

B: Not my secret to tell.

E: It's a violation of lab policy.

B: Your lab, not mine.

E: How did you find out? They weren't messing around on the job, I hope.

B: (Glares at him) No. They're 100% professional on the job. I found out by accident away from work. That's all I'm going to say.

C: Do you know how long they've been together, Jim?

B: No idea. But I think it's been a while. You're going to hear it anyway, so I may as well tell you they're living together.

E: Well that's just great. Who told you that?

B: He did. When the ICU nurse told him he couldn't go in with her because he wasn't family, he told her they lived together, so he was her family.

E: They're not secretly married or anything like that?

B: I don't think so. If they were I think he would have said so. His emotions are pretty raw.

E: Good old fashioned shacking up.

W: Hey Ecklie. You don't have to be so crude.

Pause. Everyone seems to regroup.

E: So you're telling me no one else knew about them?

C: I swear I had no idea.

W: Me neither.

E: Don't tell me they've been together since he brought her here.

C: I don't think so, but you'll have to ask him.

E: I'm going to do just that. 

Ecklie starts toward the doors. Brass steps in front of him.

B: Not now.

E: He's broken so many rules. He needs to explain himself.

C: It's not the right time. He hasn't slept for 2 days. We were out in the desert all day looking for her. He's still worried sick about her. We all are. 

B: Forget the rules for once. You should care more about the people. Sara came within an inch of losing her life, and all you care about is lab policy?

Brass continues to block his path.

E: All right. Let's just go in and see how she's doing.

Interior. ICU waiting room. Nick and Sofia are still sitting together, talking quietly. Greg is still staring in through the glass. We see what he's looking at: a woman is lying in the bed with IVs in her; her left arm is in a soft cast. We see it is Sara. She appears to be asleep. There is a man in a chair sitting next to the bed, holding her right hand. It is Grissom. He appears to be talking to her, but we can't hear what he's saying. 

Ecklie, Catherine, Brass and Warrick enter the waiting room. Greg turns around and stiffens at the sight of Ecklie. Nick and Sofia look up at him, uneasily.

E: (Smiles sheepishly, as if realizing he's unwelcome) How's she doing?

S: They think she'll be fine in a few days. She's on fluids and pain meds. But she'll probably need surgery on her arm.

E: I understand you and Nick found her. How did she get out from under the car?

N: We don't know. But she was smart enough to take the mirror with her. I saw the reflection...otherwise…

E: You might have been too late.

S: She was starting to shut down.

During the conversation, Brass, Catherine and Warrick have moved towards the glass.

C: Looks like she's asleep. She is conscious?

S: Yes. She's conscious. They want her to sleep.

E: (Looking around) Where's Grissom?

Catherine nods towards the glass.

E: Still with her?

C: I don't think he's leaving anytime soon.

E: Look, why don't you all go home and get some sleep. It looks as if you're going to be a little short for a while.

N: (Blurts out) You're not going to fire them, because if you do, that would be so wrong.

E: I don't believe you people. They've been deceiving you, and you all act like I'm the bad guy here. There are rules people.

G: Stupid rules.

E: Didn't you used to have a crush on her? I think you'd be the last person to approve of her sleeping with her boss--and yours.

G: She's my friend. I'm for whatever makes her happy.

W: You keep trying to make it sound dirty.

E: I have one of my supervisors carrying on with one of his team for who knows how long. What would you call it?

S: We don't choose who we fall in love with.

E: You all sound like a bunch of hopeless romantics.

C: We don't have the happiest of jobs. Maybe it's nice to be talking about 2 people who love each other instead of people killing each other for a change.

N: Yeah, and we wouldn't even be talking about them if Natalie hadn't tried to kill Sara.

W: Look, Ecklie, we care about both of them. If they have found something with each other, we're fine with it. They both needed to find something. So we're good. You should be too.

E: I don't even want to think about all the cases they've compromised.

C: It's a lab policy, not a law. Other labs even have married couples working together. They've never compromised anything. If they had, don't you think one of us would have noticed?

E: You never noticed they were living together.

Greg, Nick and Sofia look surprised by this.

C: We look at the evidence in a crime. We weren't looking for a love affair. Their work has always been above reproach.

E: You all feel the same way?

He receives a chorus of Yeses and affirmative nods. Ecklie walks over to the glass and looks in. Grissom is still holding her hand. Ecklie turns back to them.

E: (Sighs) Well. I guess I'll figure out what to do about all of this later.

B: Good decision.

E: I still think you all should go home and get some sleep. Oh, good job everyone. Finding Sara I mean.

With that Ecklie leaves. They all watch him go.

C: He has a point. About sleep I mean.

W: Someone needs to pry Gris out of there. He needs food and sleep.

C: And a shower. Look, why don't you guys take off. I'll see if I can get him to go home after you leave.

Doc Robbins and Super Dave arrive.

R: How is she?

B: They think she'll be fine.

R: How's Gil?

C: You're not going to tell us you knew about them?

R: No. But I'm not surprised. 

C: You're the only one.

R: It's always been pretty clear they have a connection, but I didn't know. Now everyone does. The Lab grapevine is working overtime.

C: I'll bet.

Interior of Sara's room. She opens her eyes; Grissom smiles at her. She looks confused.

G: You're in the hospital. 

S: You stayed with me?

G: Yeah.

S: (Her eyes focusing; she sees the figures behind the glass) Is that the team?

G: They're worried about you. (Seeing her confusion, gently) It's okay. Everyone knows.

S: About us?

G: (Nods) I only want you to worry about getting well.

S: Aren't you worried what they think?

G: I don't care what they think. (Puts both his hands around hers, and squeezes her hand) All I care about is you.

Interior. Sara's room. Sometime later. She is asleep. Grissom is still sitting next to her in the chair; he is barely awake. The door opens, and Catherine enters. She has obviously been home. She is wearing fresh clothes.

C: Come on Gil. You need to go home and get a shower.

G: I don't think I should leave her.

C: You can barely stay awake. You don't smell great either. She'll be fine. Sleep is the best medicine.

He stands up and stretches a little; he looks at Sara.

C: The nurse said she'll call you if anything changes, but she's probably out of the woods. 

G: Okay. (Leaning down) I'll be back soon.

C: Go ahead and kiss her. I know you want to. (He shoots her a look then leans over and kisses her forehead.) Oh, Gil, my friend, you've got it bad.

G: (Confused) Got what bad?

C: (Laughs) You're such a dork.

Interior. Grissom's condo. The sound of the doorbell. Grissom appears. He is in clean clothes and is freshly shaven. He opens the door. It's Catherine.

C: You look a lot better.

G: I slept. I don't think I've ever been so tired.

C: Fear is exhausting. (He smiles slightly.) Gil, in all the time I've known you I think the past couple days were the first time I've ever seen you really scared.

G: I don't know what to say to you. In many ways, you've been about as close to me…

C: But you've never been in love with me.

G: No.

C: Well I've never been in love with you either. (She looks around, taking note of the plants and the pictures on the walls.) A woman lives here.

G: How?

C: It's decorated. Your idea of decorating is bookshelves and dead bugs. I was in your old place a number of times, remember? (Sensing his discomfort) Are you planning to marry her?

G: We've never talked about it.

C: A woman living with a man who doesn't bring up marriage?

G: I'm a lot older than she is.

C: I doubt she cares. 

G: Wouldn't you?

C: Not if I loved him. (She looks at him for a moment) Gil, if you're worried about your age difference, take it from me, there are much bigger considerations. If you can live under the same roof that's half the battle.

G: Battle?

C: (Smiles) You are so innocent sometimes. You have to fight sometimes.

G: (Contemplating) She was upset when I took my sabbatical and…(almost accusatory) what did you tell her about me and Heather? 

C: If you'd been honest with me about your relationship, I wouldn't have told her anything.

G: Whatever you think about my relationship with Heather, you're wrong. I've never been in love with her. I've never slept with her either.

C: I find that hard to believe.

G: Everything isn't about sex.

C: You can't deny your fascination.

G: I'm fascinated by a lot of things. We have a connection, yes, but so do you and I. She sees things other people don't.

C: What things?

G: She reads people in ways I wish I could.

C: She reads you?

G: She knew how I felt in 2 minutes.

C: About Sara?

G: (He's said too much.) Yeah.

C: I wish I had.

Catherine looks around the condo again. There are so many little feminine touches. Sara really does live here. Feeling contrite--

C: Is Sara still upset? About what I said?

G: No. (He seems someplace else for a moment) I want to get back to the hospital. Have you seen Ecklie?

C: Don't worry about Ecklie. 

G: I have to worry about Ecklie. He's been looking for a reason for a long time. He has one now.

C: You worry about Sara. We'll handle Ecklie.

G: I don't understand. I thought you were mad, you know--

C: Gil, I'll probably never understand you and Sara, but I don't think you should lose your job for loving someone. Come on. Let's get you back to the hospital.

Catherine walks out. Gil stares after his friend for a moment, smiles, and follows her out.

#csi #csi las vegas #gsr #catherine willows #jim brass #warrick brown #greg sanders #nick stokes #sofia curtis #conrad ecklie #al robbins #gil grissom #sara sidle #fanfic #dead doll

[myblueeyedbuggers]

My Boys

Chapter 10

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairings: Reader x Steve Rogers (best friend) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count:1843

Warnings: Slow Start, Language.

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change.

Annnddd I’m back! so I know it’s been a while since the last update and I just wanna thank you all for having patience with me while I finished up with college, just a warning this chapter may feel a little awkward to read due to me just getting back into my writing mind so apologises in advance for this one. Anyways I’ll quit blabbering, Enjoy everyone! :)

This was my day of reckoning, my punishment for all the bad deeds I’d done over the past couple of years…I was finally being sent to school. Okay maybe that was a tad dramatic, but can you blame me? I mean who wants to be trapped in a building against their will for 7 hours straight learning about dead guys?! No sane person would willingly agree to that crap!

I’ve tried just about everything to avoid my approaching doom, hell I even went as far as hiding in the basement surrounded by cobwebs to try and get out of this, but as per usual neither Steve or Bucky took mercy on me, hence why in currently trapped between the two. “You are aware I’m perfectly capable of walkin’ by myself aren’t ya? The looping of the arms is not needed boys” I swear down these two are being more annoying than usual, and I didn’t think that was humanly possible cause these two are basically the living embodiment of annoyance. Steve turned and raised his eyebrows at me, shaking his head as he let out a small laugh, “Yeah there’s absolutely no way I’m fallin’ for that again, last time that happened it look me and Buck an hour to get you outta that tree”. Ah crap there goes that plan.

I’m pretty sure the noise I made wasn’t even human, it was a mix between a seal and a possessed monkey “I’m not gonna get outta this am I?” “Nope” and que another frustrated groan. “Is this payback for the time I placed that bucket of flour above your bedroom door and watched the both of you turn into ghosts? If it is then I want you to know I regret nothin’” both of them stopped and glared at me, for some reason they didn’t find that as funny as I did, and I have no idea why. Okay whatever you do y/n don’t laugh, even if Steve’s face looks like a slapped arse don’t laugh! A snicker slipped past my lips and a few seconds later I was full on laughin’.  Goddamn it.

Both of em just let out a bunch of sighs and started draggin’ my butt along the street, wait there’s somethin’ I haven’t tried yet…in hindsight this is completely stupid but screw it. “OH MY GOD LOOK A SPACESHIP!” I’m pretty sure poor Bucky jumped outta his skin, Steve ended up trippin’ up and falling down, I’ll admit that I felt bad about but hey may plan worked! So why am I still standin’ there?… maybe we try this thing called running y/n! I quickly pulled my arm away from Bucky and used my new-found freedom to run in the opposite direction of them, I could hear the shouts of protest from the both of them, so I decided to kindly ignore them and absolutely leg it.  “GODAMMN IT Y/N! THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME THIS MORNIN’!” when were the boys gonna catch on that I didn’t wanna go? Do I need to prepare a firework show and blast it in their faces or somethin’…probably.  

I know I probably shouldn’t be smiling, but the feeling of the wind flowing through my hair as my feet hit the ground made me feel free, after so many years I could finally begin acting my age and enjoy my childhood. I finally felt content with my life, which is probably the opposite of what I should be feeling at this moment in time, considering I was currently making my grand escape. And to completely honest I’ve got no bloody clue as to where I am. I glanced behind me to see where the hell those idiots were, to my surprise Steve was directly behind me, Buck was somewhere in the back holdin’ his knee and I’m guessing the daft sod decked it. Why am I not surprised? Okay maybe I should of kept my mouth shut cause literally a second later my foot tripped over a rock and, you guessed correctly, I landed on my ass for the thousandth time!

“Sh*t! Cr*p! B*lls! That f**king hurt!” and that ladies and gentlemen is my fine command of the queens English, a groan of pain made me loose my train of thought as I turned my head to Steve, to put it simply he was laid flat on his back with his eye closed. Well there’s the rush of guilt I’ve been waiting for, “Sh*t Steve I’m sorry, you okay down there tough guy?” I quickly offered him my hand to help him up, I mean it’s the least I could do. Steve’s hand grabbed mine, a not so quiet grunt of pain made me feel even worse, quick question why am I such an assh*le at times? “Yeah, I’m fine y/n, don’t worry about it you know for a fact I’ve had worse” a quiet sigh left my lips as I brought him in for a hug, which was a tiny bit awkward due to the height difference. Once we pulled away from each other, I couldn’t supress the need to check him for anymore injuries, much to Steve’s embarrassment and Bucky’s amusement, “Jesus I’m gonna have to start wrapping ya up in blankets and pillows, Steve how the hell did you manage to get a bruise on your ear?!”

The sudden gasp behind me pretty much answered the question for me, it’s safe to say barney boy is in trouble…for the first in my life Bucky looks pretty f**king terrified of me, perfect. Slowly I started inching towards him, the glare I was sending him would probably make a demon cry for his mum…so yeah imma go kill the boy. I didn’t even have to say anything, he just started runnin’, “IT’S NOT MY FAULT HE STOLE MY FR**KING PUDDIN’ AND THE PUNK KNOWS I LOVE MY PUDDIN!’” YEP DEFINITELY KILLIN’ HIM “HE IS A SMALL AND GENTLE BOY HOW IN THE NAME OF HELL CAN YOU EVEN THINK OF LAYIN’ A HAND ON ‘IM?!” god this sounds like a bleeding soap opera.

 At this point I wouldn’t be surprised of someone called the cops on us, all everyone woulda seen was a big lad runnin’ for his life as a small lass tried to murder him while a smaller lad ran after the pair yellin’ for em to quit it.  Now that I think about, that’s actually hilarious. Wait, where was I? ah yes the murdering of one James Barnes…okay that is not a normal sentence I am aware. “HE.STOLE.MY.PUDDIN’! THAT A CRIME WORTHY OF DEATH!” oh for f**ksake “HOW THE HELL DO YA KNOW IT WAS HIM?! DID YOU NOT THINK IT COULDA BE BECCA?!” I think he made a sudden realisation, cause the dumbass stopped running and BOOM I was on the freakin’ floor. Again. We both groaned, mine was mostly in annoyance more than anything, but seriously the bloody floor is quickly becoming me best mate! “…. It just dawned on me that that could be a possibility…” if my neck twisted any quicker I’m 100% sure that I’d end up doin’ that weird owl thing “Oh now you realise?! Ya gonna say sorry to Steve or not?” a few seconds of silence gave me my answer. “Don’t give me that look y/n! I ain’t doing s**t till I’ve got some evidence so he’s still under my list of suspects!” oh my Jesus Christ this is gonna be the day I get arrested for murder isn’t it?

“Barnaby…you have exactly five seconds to run for your life so I highly recommend you get your affairs in order and kiss ya ass goodbye” oh hey look at that I didn’t yell at him! Well done me I’m so proud! “could you two quit trying to kill each other for 5 minutes?! We’re already late enough as is it and I ain’t explainin’ to the teacher why Buck’s outta it on the floor!” my f**kin god Steve just yelled! At me! why do I never have a camera when this s**t happens?  “Jeez, alright I’ll murder him later, calm your damn t*ts Rogers” and cue the sound of barely contained frustration in 3,2,1….

“I’m beginning to get the feelin’ that you don’t like me y/n” oh really? I wonder what gave that away “wow you catch on quickly don’t ya Barnaby?” by the looks of things I’m really doing wonders for his ego, buck’s head looks like it’s gotten smaller so the risk of him turning into a hot air balloon’s gone down. The feeling of a pair of eyes glaring at the back of my head once again reminded me that the blonde boy was quickly getting tired of our crap, my worst fears were confirmed once I met Steve’s surprisingly intimidating glare…how he manages to be both adorable and beyond f**king terrifying is a mystery to me. “Okay I’m comin’ just stop staring at me like I just murdered your kitten!” and the little s**t has the nerve to smirk and look pleased with himself, ugh he’s been hanging ‘round me and Bucky too long that’s for sure.

“Ya know Buck and you are gonna be the death of me” right do I be offended or pleased with that statement? “actually, if anything it’s gonna be the pair of you that send me to an early grave cause god knows the both of ya don’t know how to stay outta trouble” two muffled sounds of protest came from my left and from behind me, “what’s that supposed to mean?!” once again the point has been missed “do you really wanna know the answer to that? I’ve got my report and presentation ready on how you two are a pair of numpties”.

Maybe that was a tad harsh…okay wait never mind it seems I’ve learned how to fly again with the assistance of one James Buchannan Barnes. “this is coming from the girl who can’t walk five feet without fallin’ over somethin’?” as much as I hate to admit it the walking embodiment of frustration and annoyance has a point “what you call fallin’ I call floor hugs, now how about you pUT ME DOWN FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” wait when did Steve walk off? See this is what happens when an overgrown ape demands attention. I don’t even have to look at Buck to know he’s givin’ me that look that says, “what the hell?” and “I’m not surprised by this” at the same time, “Nah I don’t think that’s gonna happen doll” the temptation to kick ‘im where the sun doesn’t shine is too much to bare for me at this point. “And you wonder why I love Steve more that you” Buck’s face kinda looked like someone just shoved a whole lemon in his mouth, I’m almost certain that he woulda dropped me on my ass if it wasn’t for the fact that Steve came over and dragged us both through the gates of hell.

This is gonna be so much fun!……said no-one ever.  

Okay…maybe it didn’t suck as much a thought it did, hopefully my skills as a writer will come back for the next couple of chapters XD Thanks for reading ! :)

Rose xxx

#winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #captain america x reader #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #mcu #fanfic #reader #reader insert #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Is there anything more daunting and dangerous than the blank white expanse of a page? 

It glitters and glows like the spit-slick teeth of a predator, hungry for words that you cannot give it. No matter how much you want to. 

Its gaze alone freezes all trains of thought, even in the minds of Writers and authors and artists alike, even those more powerful than I. 

And as I sit here, trembling, at the mercy of Writer's Block and my own anxieties… I can think of nothing that I want more than to run, to leave this page blank, and my readers guessing. 

The End is Nigh, dear readers, and I am afraid. 

So very afraid. 

"I'm afraid too," says the rabbit we all know and love, his legs swallowed by moss and weeds and misshapen dreams. He stands right where we left him, sword in hand, broken sky above, the End of Everything staring him down. 

All seven of Her glowing green eyes blaze with something worse than hate, and I wish for all the world that this was a much different story. A happy story, with a happy Ending. 

But I've never written a happy Ending in my life.

There is silence now, neither Protagonist or Antagonist moves or breathes or blinks.

They know that this is how it Ends.

One of them will die today. 

So it is Written. 

So it will be.

"Shut. Up." The End snarls, lips curling back over venomous fangs that drip oily green liquid onto the cracked asphalt below. Flowers bloom from the puddle, and spread like a rainbow rash down the street. "This. This is all YOUR fault!"

I know. 

I'm sorry. 

"LIAR!!" Her scream echoes across the fourth wall and cracks my computer screen. 

This…

This is where I leave you, dear readers. 

I'm sorry. 

Fangs sink deep into the papery flesh of the Narrative, tearing it apart as it is poisoned. Thorns grow from its wounds and strangle it like trembling hands. 

Writer be damned.

Plot be damned.

I am the End of EVERYTHING, I will End this miserable excuse for story on my own terms. 

Or die trying. 

You have not won, sweet stupid rabbit, no one can save you now, no one will stop me now. The world is a page upon which fate is Written and I will burn it all to the ground. May its ashes be lost and forgotten. 

Your dark eyes narrow at me, bone blade glittering as you charge. But I am in control now, and I don't play fair. 

Deep beneath the earth, humans sit snug and safe in their bunkers, thinking themselves free of the horrors outside. From the canteens comes a deep and terrible shattering like teeth against an eggshell, and a figure crawls lazily from the steam wafting from any number of bubbling pots set on stoves across the world over.

She smells of cooking meat and blood drenched in exotic spices and honey. Stick thin, and dressed in a chef's uniform. Her sleeves and hands are stained with the blood of the starving.

She has no face.

Only bright white teeth.

She manifests in the homes of the rich, stuffing them fat with delicacies that humans have no names for. Each minuscule morsel is completely tasteless covered in edible gold. Like the kind of fare you'd find at high end restaurants, going for hundreds of dollars a plate, even though each serving is barely a mouthful. 

She appears in slums with bread made from ash and bone, rat stew, and tainted water.

Pots boil in city centers, a roiling soup made from human offal that nothing in this world or the next could ever hope to surpass.

The poor eat their rations, their bread, their stew and grow sicker and hungry. Skeletal and drooling like rabid animals, they stuff their faces with food that offers no nourishment until there is no choice but to turn on each other. 

Screens grow undulating limbs and crawl from the wreckage of humanity, their screens blinking wetly like the eyes of a crying child. On each one is a broadcast, a man with red eyes smiles a reassuring smile and says,"Hungry? Eat the rich."

And they do.

A hoard of near zombies growl and gurgle as loud as their empty bellies, they hunt down the wealthy, and they FEAST.

Pestilence rises from the pus and rot and ruin and watches as all the good Jack and his friends had done is undone in a flash.

Among the riots and feasting is a cop, his riot gear reflecting the terrified and feral faces around him as he marches slowly onward. There is nothing behind his helmet. 

Only malice.

Only power.

Only slaughter. 

Only Death.

I don't have to tell you what comes next, what Death does when he gets his hands on a victim. The sounds of bullets ringing out into the night can tell you, the smell of tear gas in a crowd can tell you, the cries of innocents choking out their last breaths in steel cuffs, wrists rubbed raw and bleeding can tell you. 

Death is not merciful. 

He is not kind or quick or clean.

He is inevitable. 

You know it.

And he knows it.

This world will collapse under the weight of its own sins and I will be here to watch it dissolve like candy floss in water. 

Tears stream hot and blue down your face, and your grip on the Vorpal sword trembles. They are not worth your tears.

They stole you, beat you, broke you.

Turned you into a monster and then threw you away like you were NOTHING. 

You should hate them as much as I do.

You should be glad for their suffering. 

They deserve to die.

Like HE deserves to die. I turn my gaze skyward and watch the world split as the armies of Heaven pour down like a wrathful rain. 

The Divinity burns your skin, doesn't it Jack? And yet the smell of Angels makes your mouth water. 

You are no better than I am, I think. A man made monster set loose upon the multiverse, expected to play nice and fit in the niches carved for us. But we don't, no matter how hard we try, how good we think we are, we are torn apart again and again and again until we are unrecognizable from our beginnings. 

I think I could have loved you.

In another story.

In another lifetime.

We would have been good friends at least. 

But it's too late for that now, and as the first wave of Angels assault me with Heavenly fire, I part my jaws and give them some fire of my own. Green, as bright and beautiful as the first leaves of spring, it turns their armor into bark and their marble skin into flower petals. They fall to the ground like confetti, and I claw my way up to Heaven.

The Gates bend and break beneath my weight like wire, nothing and no one can stop me as I wrap HIM in my coils, slowly constricting. My venom burns holes in HIM that grow fruit trees, and each fruit contains the knowledge of the multiverse. I want HIM to die slowly, to watch as HIS playthings suffer and burn because of HIM. The humans cry out, and they pray, begging, pleading for HIM to save them. But HE can't, HE won't. 

What GOD would make a world so empty and hopeless as this? What GOD would let HIS followers murder and hate and destroy entire cultures in HIS name? 

HE never wanted this, never wanted it to come to this, HIS teachings have been mistranslated and manipulated for millennia and now there is nothing left but hatred and sin. 

My jaws part above HIS head, ropes of green spittle tarnishing HIS crown. HE does not fight me, how pathetic of HIM.

White hot pain explodes through my tail.

There you are, sweet hero, stupid rabbit. 

Go home Jack, this doesn't concern you. 

"But it does," you twist the blade, dislodging my scales and rending my flesh. My blood slithers up your sword, trying desperately to burrow inside of you and turn you Green. "You said that you think you could have loved me… well love me now, it doesn't have to be this way… I could… I could take care of you and help you heal, we could do it together." 

You offer your hand, bloody and trembling. 

The sound I make is inhuman and hard to describe in words, it is disbelief and venom and vengeance all at once. I stretch myself down to meet you, my eyes are the size of houses, and they reflect your trembling visage like great green mirrors. 

"You're right, I should hate them, hate everyone… but I don't." a swallow, you taste copper and butterscotch, "I used to but I-I found people who cared, I found people who I love and who love me back and they make my life worth living… they gave me a reason to get better and stop hurting people… let me be your reason."

You reach out and touch my face, my scales are warm like the sidewalk in summer. 

I crush GOD in my coils and HIS blood rushes over you like a wave.

There is nothing that can fix this, fix me. 

No love will quiet the hatred in my heart.

I do not deserve kindness or redemption. 

Love might have tempered your monstrous hearts, but it won't do the same for me.

Only one of us will make it out of this story alive. 

"So it is Written." You say, solemnly. 

So it will be.

My coils curl around you, quick as lightning. Your symbiote is the only thing keeping you from being crushed like a soda can, I hope you know that.

I don't waste time, and fling you down…

Down…

Down…

Towards earth.

Countless Angels have been discarded this way, wings torn from their backs, left to the mercy of gravity. It never gets any easier. 

I tear a hole into space and crawl through it, into Fairyland, the place of my birth. 

I devour the Sun-In-Chains, my replacement, and plunge the planet into darkness. I skin my teeth into the planet's crust and empty my venom glands into its core. Fairyland becomes my twisted Eden, choked with blinding bioluminescence, thorns, and poisonous things that not even I have a name for. 

It's beautiful and terrible all at once. 

Like me. 

Like you too, I suppose. 

You plunge your blade into my seventh eye and send me reeling, screaming, flailing. My frantically flapping wings crash into a nearby planet and reduce it to dust.

I pluck the sword from my eye and snap it into pieces. 

You're becoming a real thorn in my side. 

Seven perfect fingers snatch you out of the sky like the annoying insect you are and start to CRUSH YOU.

I will tear you apart with my TEETH if I have to.

You've had every chance to run and hide, or join in my crusade and you denied them all. I have no use for you. 

Not even as a snack.

Or a toothpick. 

"Then kill me." You growl through clenched teeth, blood already flecking your lips and leaking from your nose. 

I throw you into a patch of thorns. Each and every one is serrated and ranges in size from a human finger to a school bus, you are impaled, skewered, crucified even. 

Neon blue blood running down to the soil beneath, feeding my Eden. 

And yet, you refuse to die.

Slowly but surely, you drag your broken body up and off the thorn, shakily levitating up to meet me. 

You stare at me with dead eyes, blood pouring from the opening in your chest. Your lips part and black flames flicker behind your teeth, smoke curling from your nostrils as the color drains from your eyes in inky tears, until there is nothing but black. 

Just like the hole in your chest.

You seem to crack like porcelain, to split in two like something precious dropped from a great height. What crawls from the darkness inside of you is something no human throat can utter, no human tongue can twist or shape itself the right way to name. 

It's said that Demons possess. 

But Angels abandon. 

But what can be said of creatures that man has no name for? 

The thing inside of you stares at me with eyes darker than the emptiness between stars, its maw is the belly of a black hole with teeth long enough to split a planet like an apple. 

It is the bleak black emptiness that existed before the universe, and will exist again when there is nothing but dust and dead silence. 

This… this is my Warden, my Prison, the creature tasked with my capture those eons ago. You are barely a speck in it's vast form, a limp and lifeless nucleus.

It roars, a sound that radiates across time and echoes across the multiverse. 

"FROM NOTHINGNESS YOU CRAWLED, TO NOTHINGNESS YOU WILL RETURN." the beast howls in a voice that echoes from every dark and terrible place in the multiverse and shakes me to my core.

I will not go without a fight.

It lunges, claws outstretched, the endless expanse of its hideous maw seems to suck all the light out of the stars, out of me. I sink my teeth into its throat and pull, my body curling around and around it. 

Its claws are impossibly sharp, tearing my flesh down to the bone. My blood falls to fairyland like rain. My face is grabbed and smashed into the planet's surface again and again. I crush the Warden close and set myself on fire, I am the LIGHTBRINGER, it will take more than some overconfident shadow to defeat me.

The Warden burns, it smolders and screams like steam escaping. I fling it away into deep space and charge after it, driving my seven horns into its belly.

I miss you by a hair, I feel you reach out and grab me just as I pull back. Amber chains snake from your weeping wound, to the Warden behind you. 

You have no control over this thing, do you?

No.

Didn't think so.

But still, you stubbornly grab your chains and pull. The Warden does not come to heel, so much as it melts, engulfing you in its emptiness like a suit. When you open your eyes, you nearly dwarf me.

Nearly.

Your fist collides with my face in an instant, sending teeth flying like meteors. I cannot tell your rage apart from the Warden and I'm not sure I really want to.

Run.

For a second, we are stars, two pinpricks of light twirling around each other in double helices, colliding and clashing with enough force to summon new stars from the ether. We are creation and chaos incarnate. 

We crash through debris fields, shatter planets and extinguish stars. Our blood becomes the new crawling things left behind in the wreckage. I'm smiling, the pain is dizzying, delicious, delightful. 

My venom turns you into a garden, and you tear me apart with your bare and bloody hands. 

Through it all we refuse to die.

Maws wide and screaming in tongues the universe hasn't heard since it was new, I am thoroughly seduced. 

But I am growing bored with this game.

I shove my hand through the Warden and tear you out. You scream in undeniable agony, I close my fist around you and squeeze.

The Warden hangs limp and dead in the darkness of deep space, slowly dissolving. 

Something oozes between my fingers. 

Not blood, far too sticky and cloying to be that.

If Hope had a color, what would it be? 

Would it be a color that only shrimp can see, and only gods have a name for? 

You pry my fingers apart, tears pouring from your eyes the same color as Hope. Hope flows from your mouth as flames, rushes from your open chest as ferns and flowers and vines more beautiful than I could ever create. You reach into the forest of your heart and pull out Kindness, sleek and soft and sharp. 

It melts in your hands, becoming a hammer, comically oversized like your Ma's. And then it grows, and grows, and in the blink of an eye it's bigger and I am. The swing alone takes out half a dozen solar systems before it hits me and sends me crashing through different universes and out the fourth wall. I land heavily on the Writer, dazed and bloody, your hand reaches through his broken computer screen and drags me back home, and there we float over the ruined remains of earth, the skin of my chest balled in your hand like a shirt. You kiss your knuckles and punch me hard enough to send me careening back down to the earth's surface, my crater levels a nearby city.

Do you care?

Are we beyond morals and niceties and caring about humanity? 

You teleport to my limp and broken body, you scoop me up into your arms and hold me close. 

I've folded in on myself several times, I'm barely the size of a person now. 

I can feel those amber chains slithering around me, they clasp around my throat tight enough to choke. 

I don't want to go.

Don't make me go.

I don't want to go back to sleep.

Please. 

I'm scared. 

I'm so scared. 

You don't let me go, as I break down and cling to you like a scared child you don't let me go. 

I wrap you in my wings, I shove my head under your chin and apologize when I stab you with my horns.

"I am your Warden, you are my Prisoner… you are the End of Everything, but I am the End of You…" your throat is choked with snot and tears as you squeeze me so tight I can barely breathe. "You… you deserve to be a Happy Ending and I refuse to live in a world without one."

You kiss my forehead and wipe away my tears. "We do terrible things when we hurt… you deserve compassion instead of imprisonment."

I can do nothing but sit there and bawl, choking on Kindness as thick and sweet as soft caramel. 

Seven times seven thousand lifetimes worth of hate and sorrow and trauma run from my eyes.

You sit with me until the crying stops, until my throat is raw and all I can do is whisper. 

I speak a Word, one that fixes the shattered sky and let's the sun shine properly again. 

The sun speaks their own Words and resets the world, turning the clock back to the day before my escape, I do humanity one kindness and let them wake the next morning as if the past week were nothing more than a bad dream.

I am made to fix my messes, to undo my misdeeds. 

The Horsemen are sealed away again. 

Fairyland is repaired to the best of my ability, although there is nothing that I can do for the Sun-In-Chains. What's done is done. 

GOD will be fine, HE'S GOD, and therefore more or less impossible to kill permanently. 

All evidence of my tirade is erased.

I am finally bound in amber, my powers diminished. I dread returning to the cold depths of the well, but you won't let that happen.

You refuse to send me back to that lonely place beyond dreams and take me home, to your home. Warm and safe beneath the soil, I curl up next to you by the fire.

And for the first time in your short and terrible life, you get a good night's sleep. 

#ic #action post #the end is nigh #blood #death #religious imagery // #blasphemy // #cannibalism // #police brutality // #ask to tag #body horror #dismemberment // #impalement #submission

[seyaryminamoto]

What would you have thought if the Kumurikage from the Avatar comics were real, and not a hoax? And that it really was the spirits that kidnapped the kids. And that the kidnappings were the spirits way of “restoring balance to the world” by making the fire nation pay for their crimes. And that Aang(and possibly Azula) must figure out a way to stop the kidnappings and figure out how to applease the spirits.

Well, damn, Anon... you see, I generally just don’t like the overuse of spiritual beings that a lot of post-canon ATLA content has relied on. Spirits, as LOK Book 2 proved, have to be handled in a very thoughtful way and canon doesn’t often do that, at least not in the comics and in LOK. ATLA Books 1 and 2 did it really well because spirits felt utterly unpredictable, from the most inoffensive ones to the most dangerous ones. You absolutely could feel that there was something otherworldly to how they behaved, to how they saw the world... whereas I never had that same feeling when I read Yang’s comics (nor with LOK Book 2). Whether because the spirits had some remarkably simple, even human-like motivations, or because they were easily roped into service of a human just because the plot demanded it (Unalaq... just, Unalaq...), it just felt off, and the Kemurikage might feel off similarly if they’re not handled properly.

I guess the thing is... even just the concept of spirits stealing kids to make the Fire Nation pay for their crimes sounds like they’d be too concerned with human reality? And I’m not sure that’d really suit spirits, at least, not the way I like to see them...

To break down what I mean: Hei Bai gets angry that the forest was burned down, and goes on a rampage that affects humans all around. Hei Bai saw no difference, fundamentally, between the humans who destroyed and the humans who didn’t... until Aang showed him the forest could be regrown. Hei Bai wasn’t attacking the village because he blamed the villagers... he was attacking in retaliation for the forest burning, an emotional, volatile reaction that only stopped when his problem was, more or less, resolved. It was irrational entirely, and highly dangerous because there was no telling just what the spirit was doing or if his actions would do a lot of harm to innocent people.

Secondly, Koh: what does Koh obtain from stealing faces? I mean, sure, he has a collection of faces, but they serve no particular purpose, do they? If he just wants to kill for the thrill of it, he doesn’t need to steal anyone’s face for it. Yet... stealing faces is what he does. That’s his power. It’s cruel, it’s creepy, it’s the subject of horror films, really xD and part of what makes it terrifying is that in the case of Koh, there’s NO REASON, no stated logic to it, he just does it because he has that power and finds amusement in destroying lives the way he does. Koh steals from animals, from humans, from spirits, from whatever he wants... just because he can. It’s not all that different from the reasoning of the Fire Nation, attacking and destroying just because they can: in fact, the Fire Nation has more ideological basis for what they do, more reasons behind which to make excuses for the destruction they’ve waged, than Koh does. Neither, of course, is justified, but Koh is notoriously unnatural because... this is just what Koh IS. A face-stealer. He gives zero shits about hurting anyone, probably even finds amusement in it... this guy is one nasty piece of work, and he’s a spirit. Which tells you... spirits aren’t simply pure and good beings. There’s some like Koh who are DEADLY. That he has no sob story (in the show) only makes him extra daunting and effective.

Thirdly... Wan Shi Tong. This guy is probably the most straightforward of all, and precisely because of that, he’s really interesting and I despise how he was written in LOK :’D but in ATLA, Wan Shi Tong outright says one of the most poignant lines of the show when he tells Team Avatar that they’re not the only ones who think their war is justified. It’s not an excuse of the Fire Nation, obviously not: but it’s criticism of war as a whole, of human violence perpetrated for whatever their reasons may be. Wan Shi Tong doesn’t give a flying fuck about their reasons, Fire Nation or not: he only cares about his library and knowledge. If these people put his library and its contents at risk over a war he must consider pathetic...? He’s not going to take it lying down. Like Hei Bai, who prioritizes his forest, Wan Shi Tong prioritizes his library and acquiring knowledge: anything that threatens his potential acquisition and preservation of knowledge is the ultimate offense against this creature. If humans are going to bring their violence into his library, he’ll be violent right back to protect his knowledge. And he’ll also isolate himself by sinking his library as deep as he wishes because... why wouldn’t he? xD if he wants to keep humans away, there’s no better way to do so than to keep his library to himself.

These three examples show there’s an inhumane simplicity to these spirits: they’re absolutely bound to be violent for their own reasons, when what they prize most is in danger, for instance. There’s also those who are dangerous just because they can, like Koh: then there’s others who are good and helpful to humans, like Tui and La (then you even have La as an example: when Tui is killed, La goes on a rampage against the killer, taking advantage of Aang’s spiritual power to do so, but La absolutely targets the enemy, La doesn’t murder the Water Tribe people willy-nilly), or even the lion-turtles. Basically? You never know what you get with spirits, and that’s the part that was really interesting about them in ATLA. The lion-turtles do feel a little more convenient and helpful because the whole role of the creature was to bestow power upon Aang just because... but there’s a shroud of mystery around it that still works, you know? No one knows where the lion-turtle took Aang, how it entranced him, why it showed up right then and there... it’s still mysterious enough that it works, as far as I can tell.

Meanwhile, LOK simplified matters so much... even featuring Wan Shi Tong somehow striking an alliance with Unalaq and being supportive of Vaatu? Why would he give a flying fuck about Unalaq and Vaatu? Why would he help them kidnap Jinora? What does that have to do with Wan Shi Tong’s long-established priority: knowledge? Instead, they featured him saying that Unalaq “was a good friend to the spirits”. Like... like the spirits are nationalistic or something? Why would it matter one bit to Wan Shi Tong if Unalaq wants Vaatu’s kite? :’D and that’s exactly what I’m referring to when I say that I dislike spirits serving human purposes: it steals from the otherworldly, starkly non-human behavior of these entities, and renders them as simple plot devices rather than actual characters.

As for Yang... I hate the Mother of Faces. Her design is interesting, but not only is she profoundly inconsistent, she destroyed part of what made Koh so intriguing by establishing a completely confusing concept of spirit motherhood and by playing it as though Koh steals faces “to feel closer to his mommy”. Why... why would you do this. Why would anyone feel the need to do this. Why would they need any connection in the first place. Why would that connection have anything to do with the Mother of Faces turning into a lamp genie and handing out wishes left and right, when she had already established she only granted ONE WISH per human encounter... *siiiiiiiiiigh* it feels so wrong to me, and it again makes spirits so unnecessarily human. Why. Just... why.

Thus, I wouldn’t want the Kemurikage to be real if they would only turn out... like that. Stealing Fire Nation children in some sort of vindictive spree to punish the Fire Nation when the war is FINALLY over...? It sounds a little weird. With the storyline established by the comic itself (though I’d honestly never hold that too close to heart, I really disliked that so-called origin of the Fire Nation...), these spirits came to be because a warlord stole all their children and they were taking revenge for that. That, at least, still sounds in-line with the logic that spirits have a specific purpose in mind, right? So... if no one’s stealing children, they probably shouldn’t show up to steal them themselves spontaneously. If they were concerned with the war and the Fire Nation’s lack of balance, they could’ve punished the Fire Nation back when Sozin was in power since that’s when it all began. Why punish it when Zuko shows up and ends the war?

In the end... I’d say if there’s no clear means to keep the spirits in question as otherworldly and non-human as possible, I don’t want stories with spirits. I think, for a story where spirits force Aang to work with Azula somehow to protect the Fire Nation, we’d need a wholly different concept, and not the Kemurikage. Just to use a quick and REALLY SOLID example from Inuyasha... there’s a spirit there from a one-time episode that plays a flute to guide the souls of dead children whether to heaven or hell. Its eyes are closed when everything’s going well, but if a child resists, the eyes start to open and if they open fully... it means the kid’s going to hell. Dark, ey? It’s a single episode and yet it nearly made me cry xD but the point of the comparison is... this spirit has a duty, of a sort. It’s not “stealing” children, it’s herding them off to the next life. What happens in the episode is that one particular soul of a very bitter and frustrated little girl refuses to heed the soul piper’s call because she’s taking “revenge” on her brother, whom she blames for her death (along with her mother): the girl’s defiance results in the spirit nearly dragging her to hell, and the protagonist has to do everything she can to rescue the girl’s spirit and in the end, the girl’s realization that she’d misunderstood her mother and brother, who of course never wanted her dead, makes her change her mind about them and the spirit gives her a second chance when it senses she’s changed indeed. There’s no morality to the duty of the piper, not really: if the child’s a rotten apple, it goes to hell. Unless the child proves NOT to be a rotten apple, as the girl did last minute, there’s no changing the spirit’s mind. If the child’s a good kid, the spirit will just herd the child off and nothing bad happens.

How to apply a story like this to ATLA? Well, it’s obviously hard to say xD but my point is... if any other spirits would show up in future stories, if there’s going to be any more of them doing... anything? It should be along the likes of Books 1 and 2, or like this soul piper. A spirit with its own concerns, with its own duties, who either coexists with humans peacefully or exists completely apart from them until whatever they care about is threatened... but not a spirit that goes on a furious rampage against humans because the crush who friendzoned him died and he assumes humans killed her. Not a spirit who has an established behavior that she then sets aside immediatley just because. Not a spirit that has some sort of random stake on the state of the human world when that’s not their dwelling and they probably see little to no difference between warring nations. Hence... the Kemurikage as a concept probably would be best off left, in my opinion, as a matter of lore rather than anything that should be making a comeback in Zuko’s era. If some other spiritual entity causes trouble in the future, I’d rather it were written with a different set of beliefs and understanding of the world rather than making them excessively human... the way all of Yang’s spirits were. Just... defeats the purpose of making them spirits if they’re essentialy humans with fancy weird powers beyond bending.

... At any rate, I’m not saying there’s anything inherently wrong with taking this storytelling route... just that I, personally, don’t find the Kemurikage all that interesting as a concept, not as the spirits they’re supposed to be, not as villainous entities. If you, personally, want to write this, you’re 100% free to do so and to explore these sorts of storylines. Just... it’s not my cup of tea, and I doubt it ever will be.

#anon #when it comes to spirits #I have too many ~opinions~ #I'm sorry if this sounds discouraging #that's not the intent #you can absolutely set up stories for Azula to end up helping Aang in different ways too #at least that's how I'd go about it #but if you want to go about it this way #you're absolutely free to do so #zero judgment here!

[nymphigeon]

From me, to you || 02

♤ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

♤ Genre: fluff, angst, romance, hybrid au, hybrid!Taehyung, detective!reader

♤ Words: 2.4k

♤ Rating: PG-13

♤ Warnings (for this chapter): swearing, crime, a sex club, mentions of murder, blood, mentions of hybrid abuse.

♤ A/N: Due to some complications I had to reupload it, sorry!

Synopsis: A story in which he has never known love, so you'll give it to him.

Series masterlist

01 02 03

After looking through the room for quite a while and bombarding Blair with more questions I decide to leave and get some air. A metallic smell, which was already present when I first arrived, had doubled it’s noticeability over time. That room became impossible to breathe in as a result. I’m not one to leave my work unfinished, but if I don’t get out I’ll die of blood poisoning, if that’s even a thing.

Looking out through the door of the club, it’s not hard to see that is has stopped raining. The blurriness the raindrops caused has completely disappeared along with all the flashing that was going on earlier. The reporters must have been told to get the fuck out or get arrested. I’m lucky, this gives me chance to step outside. To be completely honest, I would be lying if I said that it’s just to clear my head. For work related reasons it’s a good idea to always look around the crime scene as well, so that’s what I’m doing. Killing two birds with one stone.

I nod to the officers as I pass by and climb under the barricade tape to the outside. The smell of rain fills my nostrils as I walk in and out of alleyways around the area. Nothing interesting is found. No knife in a trash can, no paw prints of a shifted hybrid, nothing. How long has it stopped raining? If any traces were left outside the rain will have probably washed them away. I sigh as I give up on finding anything. I should just focus on finding them with the information I have now. We can always send out a sketch of the guy from what the employees told us.

The walkie talkie on my hip buzzes, indicating that different officers are trying to communicate with each other. It bothers me. Nothing of importance to me is said, but if I turn it off just to miss something I should know, my supervisor will kill me. She isn’t someone you’d want to mess with. Her authority has grown to her head, she’ll do whatever it takes to get her way.

A can standing right up on the sidewalk grabs my attention. The way it’s neatly placed at the side annoys me, someone deliberately left it there, ignoring the trash can standing right across the street. I pick it up and cross the street, standing a few feet away from the bin to practice my aim. Might as well use the opportunity right?

The can hitting the metal inside of the bin resonates through the silent and empty street. Even before the sound has had a chance to die down, a loud whimper replaces it, followed by hurried footsteps running away from me. Not so empty as I thought.

“Hello?” I give whoever is still close some time to reply. They don’t. Guessing the direction the sound came from proves difficult, but somewhere I made a right turn. Ending up behind a closed playground I didn’t even notice was in the vicinity, I pry myself through a hole in the fence protecting it. There isn’t much the fence is protecting as it looks like this place has been abandoned for a while. Broken slides and worn down ropes hanging from metal bars is basically all this old playground consist of.

The crunching of my shoes on sand elicits another pained whimper from the creature. Not wanting to scare them, I try to talk them out of their hiding place first. “Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?” No response. “I just want to help you.” Again, no response.

Having no other choice, I decide to search for them instead. I can’t though, not when they sound so desperate. As soon as I step a bit further into the sand a frantic voice stops me. “No, no, please…” Immediately backing up two steps, I almost crash into the fence behind me. “Okay, okay I won’t come closer.”

Not wanting to sit on the wet sand, I to squat down, sitting on my heels. “Whenever you’re ready you can come out okay? I won’t hurt you.” Remembering the walkie talkie on my hip, I turn it off. If there’s a good reason for me missing something important, they won’t get angry right? Thinking about the worst case scenario isn’t a good idea at this moment.

15 minutes pass. So far neither of us have moved. Now and then I’ll slightly adjust my position to let them know I’m still here waiting. At some point they must have started to get a teensy more comfortable, as a pair of eyes unexpectantly make themselves known from behind one of the play towers. His dark yellow coloured eyes almost hide themselves under the bangs hanging from his head. Two big striped cat shaped ears lay flat on top. A tiger hybrid. Extremely rare and thus extremely valuable. There is absolutely no way someone just left a gold mine here like that.

I slowly bring up my hand to wave at the scared, but curious pair of eyes. They look me up and down a few times, probably trying to figure out if I’m really trustworthy. “Police?” The boy almost whispers. Or well, definitely an adult actually. I suddenly remember about the uniform I’m wearing. I smile at him and nod. “Yeah, something like that. Look..” With careful movements I point to the badge on my top. Not exactly that one of a police officer, close enough.

The hybrid stares for a few seconds before revealing his entire head. Part of his striped tail briefly comes into view when he does. “That way..” He points in a direction somewhere behind him. I follow his finger, but don’t find anything there. The fence at the other side limits my vision of the other side.

Sensing my confusion the tiger does his best to elaborate. “He went that way… Bad guy.” He brings his hand back to his chest, feeling too exposed having it point out. Something in my head clicks. The hybrid is wearing a hoodie. “Wait, you’re the hybrid? The one he was going to sell?” Hoping he won’t dash as soon as I move, I stand up. I’m in shape, nevertheless squatting for a long time still hurts. The hybrid nods hesitantly. “New owner.. also not nice” He whispers as he curls in on himself more.

“Will you let me come closer?” The hybrid shakes his head. “No, no, I didn't do anything... I didn't do anything..” He's absolutely terrified. Having witnessed two murders I can't blame him. Perhaps he thinks it's partly his fault. Did he attack them? “I know sweetheart, nobody is accusing you of anything. We just want to help, you won't go back to him anymore.”

When I was younger I worked with kids a lot. Trying the same technique as that I used at that time to calm them down appears to work. The hybrid stays quiet for a while, before lifting his hand, just sticking his pinkie out. “Promise?” Cute. I can't help the smile forming on my lips. Mimicking him I lift both my hands, interlocking my little fingers together. “Promise.”

A promise was all he needed, as the hybrid reluctantly reveals himself from behind the tower. I won’t gasp, I shouldn’t be surprised, yet I am. Wrapped around his neck like it’s trying to suffocate him, a dark, old looking collar is situated. A torn leash dangles from the black, belt-like item. Clearly, it’s evident a struggle has occurred.

What’s most worrying is the blood that’s decorating his left hand. His clothes are drenched in a liquid I can’t identify from simply looking at it, instead it’s better to use my nose. The familiar metallic smell radiating of the cloths is not a clue to be ignored. The red substance has already mostly dried on his hand, pieces flaking off as he rubs his hands together.

“Oh dear are you hurt?” I ask, concern evident in my voice. I get ready to grab my phone, if he has a gash underneath I need to call an ambulance whether he likes it or not. Shaking his head, he takes a few steps forward. “Not mine.” I visibly relax at his answer, nodding. I don't ask any further. There will be time for that later.

“I'm Y/F/N Y/L/N. You can call me whatever feels comfortable for you.” Earning his trust is my priority for now. This could be a breakthrough in the investigation. “Taehyung.” The hybrid boy gives me a name, progress. Understanding that he will want to keep his distance I move through the fence first, move away a bit, and then wait for him to come through.

The walkie talkie vibrates as it turns on. I can’t have anyone disturbing the peace, quickly letting my colleagues know I’ll be busy and will explain why eventually. Not giving anyone time to react, I turn the device back off. As expected, Taehyung wants to know where we’re going.

“Do you want to meet the other people I’m working with?” He looks pale, weak and tired. The last meal he has eaten most likely isn’t in the timespan of ‘recently’. The last time he had a good full night of sleep? I wonder if he even knows what that means.

Taehyung has his arms securely wrapped around himself, protecting himself from any potential danger. There is none, but if you’ve been treated like a pile of dirt everything looks like it’ll hurt you. I know I can’t do anything aside from give him time. I wish it wasn’t like that.

“No..” That’s what I thought. Giving him a once over I determine that it’s best to get a professional to take a look at him first. “You know how I said I want to help you?” He nods. “I want to bring you to someone who will make sure you’re healthy. You can trust them, they won’t do anything you don’t like.” I cross my fingers behind my back. Not because I am lying, but because I’m hoping he agrees to the idea.

He’s doubtful about it at first, neither refusing or agreeing to go with me. “I promised.” By showing him the smallest finger on my hand, I’m hoping to convince him. Taehyung takes a few steps forward. Usually if a wild cat hybrid comes at you, you should probably run if you don’t want to end up as their lunch. Yes, there are reported cases of wild hybrids eating humans as disgusting as it sounds. I don’t though, I don’t move an inch. He lifts his hand and gently locks his pinkie around mine, checking my face to gauge my reaction. Smiling seems to give him reassurance, as he gives me a small smile back and nods. “Okay.”

I eventually convince Taehyung to wait by the fence so I can go get my car. There is no way he won’t panic with all the officers around. As I near my car, Blair calls out my name and runs over. “What happened? Did you find anything?” She mentions to what I said over the walkie talkie earlier.

I answer her quickly as I open and enter my car, not yet closing the door. “Found a scared, abused hybrid who witnessed, or maybe even committed, two murders and almost got sold an hour ago.” Blair’s eyes widen as she takes in the information. “You found the hybrid? Why? How? Where is it?”

My insides cringe at her calling Taehyung ‘it’, but I don’t have time to call her out now. Using my hand, I wave her off. Go do something more useful. “I’ll explain everything later.” Is all I say before I slam my door closed and drive off to the hybrid.

Taehyung is still standing where I left him a few minutes ago. I park my car in front of him and get out. The moment I step out he comes running over. “Doing okay?” He nods and smiles. I open the door to the passenger side for him and only close it when he sits comfortably. Once I’m in the other side of the car I google for the nearest hybrid friendly hospital.

There is one 20 minutes away, outside of town. Making sure Taehyung is okay one last time, I offer him a fruit bar I had laying in my bag. He tilts his head and point at himself. “For me?” His confusion startles me. “There is no one else here yes?” He takes the bar from me and stares at it, turning it around a few times. Inspecting the wrapper, sniffing it a bit, weighing the bar in his hands.

“I can eat this?” He asks again. “Yeah you must be hungry right? Please, eat it. I’ll get you something better later.” I take the bar from his hands to open the wrapper. While discarding the wrapper in my pocket I make a mental note to throw it away later. I give the bar back to the hybrid who doesn’t seem to understand it’s for him. “I can really eat this? Just like that?”

I notice a small smile making its way on his face after he has sniffed the bar a few more times. “Enjoy it.” He takes a small bite and looks at me. Once he is sure the action didn’t anger me he takes a bigger bite. “Thank you, I like it.” Following me allowing myself to watch him eat a bit longer, I start the car and make my way to the hospital.

You know, it’s a sentence I have heard often, ‘Without the dark there is no light’. Or maybe you’d rather use ‘Without sour there is no sweet’. What exactly are you trying to tell me? Should I be hurt just so that I can be happy? Does that mean it’s a good thing I’ve never known love? Surviving of the scraps the abusers feed me, so that I can reach the end of the tunnel. It’s a lie, there is no end for me.

I don’t deserve the praise because I’ll never learn how not to behave. Obviously the way to learn is to be broken beyond repair. We can’t have anything nice, I’ll never know how to appreciate it anyway.

Leave me alone, I still need to figure out how to feel content on my own. Don’t come closer, I still need to find a way to be delighted with distance between us. Stop talking, I still need to discover how to be joyful while silence surrounds me. Oh, how you’d wish I would comply.

I’ll stab a sword in your heart so I can grasp the concept of adoring you. I’ll make you scream so I can master treasuring your laugh. I’ll kill you so I can perceive how to value your life.

Taglist

@suhappysuho​ @intellectualxprincess​

#bangtanarmynet #plotsofpastel #bts #bts scenario #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts taehyung #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts hybrid au #bts hybrid fanfic #bts taehyung x reader #taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung hybrid au #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung x reader #taehyung scenarios #kpop fanfic #kpop angst #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop hybrid au

[glockmonkey]

Right-Hand Cat

A jmart fic! Cross-posted to ao3 here.

Jon finds a cat behind the safehouse: or, rather, a cat finds him.

Spoilers for everything up to ep.192!

Content warnings:

Cats, worry over nutrition/weight (of a cat), apocalypse (plus general eyepocalypse stuff), mild body horror, brief depiction of paranoia/being triggered (not sure what it counts as), following/stalking (by cats), brief worry over parasites (staged), swearing, food, worry over disease (unresolved)

----

Jon was trying to make use of the wild blackberries behind the safehouse, but this damned cat wasn’t letting him. 

He’d nearly dropped the pail several times at this point, but the cat wouldn’t stop nagging him. Twisting in and out of his ankles, laying on the ground where he should have been kneeling. On one occasion, it had tried to get into his pail.

Jon had shooed him away hurriedly. He wasn’t sure if cats could eat blackberries.

It had been over an hour, and still the cat stayed. Jon nudged it gently with his foot so he could reach an obscured clump. 

“Made a new friend?” Martin called from the back door. Jon blinked at the light from the open door.

“Ha, ha,” said Jon sarcastically. 

“You should probably come inside. It’s getting pretty dark.” 

“You’re probably right,” said Jon, standing up. The cat stood with him. “Copycat,” Jon muttered, and dusted himself off. 

The bucket was heavier than he’d thought: he hoped the plastic didn’t crack under the weight of its contents.

Martin hummed upon seeing this. “Maybe we have too many.”

“Eh. Could always make a pie, or something.”

“Settling into that cottage lifestyle, are you?” said Martin. “Your friend seems to be, too.”

“What?” asked Jon, and then spared a look at his feet, where the cat had reappeared, squeezing its way into the door. “Oh, no you don’t.” He slid the door shut.

“Why not? It’s just a cat.” Martin looked at the cat, its sullen face pressed against the glass between them.

Jon shut the blinds, blocking the cat’s gaze completely. “Could have rabies, or something.”

“Yeah,” said Martin, his face falling. “I guess.”

----

The cat came back the next day. And the day after that.

Every time Jon stepped outside, there it was. In all its tuxedo glory.

Jon shut the door every time, but he couldn’t help but notice how scrawny it looked.

He couldn’t stop himself. He put two cans of fish into their trolley at the store one night. Then he put in some more.

“Tuna?” asked Martin, browsing the store’s limited amount of soups.

“Why not? We have crackers.”

Martin smirked, and Jon pretended that he hadn’t.

The walk back to the safehouse from the store was peaceful enough, as it were. The cool October air was still, for once, but the air was thick with humidity. Jon began to wish he had brought an umbrella.

Suddenly, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He jumped, swiveling in his place, swinging his bag of groceries in defense.

Behind him was not some eldritch monster. It was a woman: middle-aged, crouched on the ground in front of a large black-and-white cat. He felt Martin’s hand on his arm, steadying him. He sighed in relief.

“Oh!” said the woman, as if realizing the panic she’d caused. “I’m sorry, I just-” she gestured towards the cat aimlessly. “I haven’t seen this kitty in a few weeks. She was following you, and I figured-” she stood up suddenly. “I’m Lindsey.”

Martin shook her proffered hand politely. “Martin. This is Jon.”

Jon tried for a friendly smile. The shock hadn’t quite worn off, so he figured it looked more like a grimace.

If Lindsey was offended, she didn’t show it. “Nice to meet you, Jon. Do you know this cat?”

“Oh, um.” Jon looked down at the cat, who was circling around his legs again. “Sort of? Is she yours?”

“No, not really,” Linsey said. “She used to belong to one of the teachers here, but after he passed, she’s just been wandering. We’ve tried to rehome her, but she never really seemed to take to anywhere.”

“Poor thing,” whispered Martin.

“She’s friendly, if you want to pet her,” said Linsey.

Martin kneeled on the ground. In an instant, the cat was there, purring and rubbing her face on his hand. Martin cooed.

“Traitor,” muttered Jon, and Linsey laughed. Jon couldn’t help but be reminded of Rosie, all the way back in London, and then he banished the thought.

“Does she have a name?” asked Martin.

“Depends who you ask,” said Lindsey. “I always call her ‘Sasha,’ though. That was her original name, anyhow.”

“Sasha,” murmured Jon, and sat down beside Martin on the sidewalk.

“Oh, dear,” said Lindsey suddenly. “I just felt a drop.”

A second bead of water fell on Cat-Sasha’s head, and she dove under Martin’s legs. He swiftly picked her up and zipped her into his jacket.

“Fleas,” muttered Jon halfheartedly.

“You two need a ride home?”

“No, thank you,” said Jon.

Cat-Sasha meowed in agreement.

“Alright, nice meeting you!” said Lindsey, and then she was gone.

“So, we’re keeping her, right?” asked Martin.

“I guess,” said Jon, a little too quickly. Martin smiled.

----

Since Jon had given in to Sasha, another cat had graced their presence. A tabby, this time, wandering their small garden.

Jon refused to do anything but leave food out for her, but Sasha mewed pitifully in her direction anytime the tabby appeared. Jon took to shutting the blinds at most hours, making the safehouse rather dreary.

“We can’t take in every stray cat we find,” he muttered, more to himself than to Martin.

“But they’re friends,” said Martin mournfully.

“They can still do cat things outside,” said Jon. “No reason we have to adopt her. She’s probably lived outside for a while.”

He still felt guilty when it rained, though.

----

Jon and Martin had taken to walking, in the past month. In the afternoons, mostly, when the sun was still out and Jon didn’t have to wear much more than a jumper. He still wore gloves, though, partly because he seemed to be permanently cold, and partly because Martin had made them.

It was nice, really. The hills rolling in the distance. His hand in Martin’s. The highland cows.

Plus, it meant they weren’t seeing the same safehouse and garden all the time.

Ahead of them, a man waved. Jon waved back, hesitantly.

“Have you met many of the neighbours yet?” asked Martin.

“Not really,” said Jon. “Except Lindsey. Have you?”

“No,” Martin sighed. “Haven’t had much inclination since, you know.” The Lonely, he didn’t say.

“Ah,” said Jon. He squeezed Martin’s hand tighter. It had been weeks since Martin had last Faded, but there was always a chance. Martin squeezed back.

“The streak in your hair still hasn’t faded,” Martin whispered sadly. Jon knew he still felt badly about what happened in the Lonely. He wished he didn’t. He wished he could - well. Know the guilt away, somehow.

“Neither has yours,” Jon said instead. “We match.”

“We match,” said Martin, smiling slightly.

“Not like it makes much difference on me, though,” said Jon, adjusting a pin in his grey-streaked hair.

“I suppose not.”

Jon caught sight of something in the distance. Something brown, and bulky. “Cows,” he said to Martin.

“Cats.”

“What?”

“Cats,” repeated Martin, smirking. “Behind you.”

“I’m not looking,” he said.

“You should.”

“If I don’t look, they’re not there.”

A furry, tabby form butted his ankle with its head.

Jon groaned, and looked.

Behind him stretched a small army of cats, gathered behind them both.

“Like a fucking Ghibli character, I am,” he whispered incredulously.

Martin gaped.

“A goddamn line. Like ducklings,” Jon went on.

“And a General to lead them,” said Martin, scratching Cat-Sasha’s tabby friend behind the ears.

“You did not just name the kitty stalker.”

“She’s made her point. I think this is a cat resume.”

“To be adopted?”

Martin grinned. The General meowed expectantly.

Jon scooped the cat into his arms reluctantly, where she promptly scampered to perch on his shoulder. “No more cats after this.”

“Yes, sir.”

----

Jon hadn’t seen many of the garden’s cats since the Change. Those that remained were wrong, and Jon was glad when they finally disappeared.

----

“Are you sure this is it?” Martin asked nervously.

“Yes, Martin,” said Georgie. “I think I know where to find cat hell. It’s not hard to miss.”

“Just checking. This place feels, I dunno.” Martin pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “Human hell-ish. Lots of screaming.”

“Lots of people are scared of cats,” said Melanie. “They’re very murderous.”

“That sure gives me hope for our field trip,” said Martin glumly. “Lead the way, Mrs. Frizzle.”

“I’ve got the earrings for it, so I’ll consider that a compliment,” said Georgie. “Be warned, though. The cats aren’t… quite right.”

“We know,” said Jon. “The safehouse had a few, before everything really got into place.”

“I’m sorry,” said Georgie.

“It’s okay.”

Jon heard a shriek from up ahead.

Melanie winced. “Doesn’t get much easier, does it?” she whispered to Georgie.

“No,” said Georgie. “It doesn’t.”

“Are they all that tall?” asked Martin, peering over the ridge they were cresting.

“What, you’re afraid of dinosaur cats?” asked Melanie playfully.

“I’ll have you know that dinosaur cats are bloody terrifying and oh my god why didn’t you warn us-”

“I did!” protested Georgie.

“The safehouse cats were like bad putty creations, not forty feet tall!”

Jon squinted into the distance. He could see, faintly, a tabby and a tuxedo cat - likely torturing some poor human.

“General?” he called. “Sasha?”

A booming mrrp? sounded across the clearing.

“Admiral?” yelled Melanie, and a furry form came bounding towards them, quickly followed by two others.

“Jesus,” Martin breathed.

“Cats!” exclaimed Georgie delightedly, amidst the chaos.

The cats came to a skidding halt in front of the ridge. Melanie put her hand out expectantly, and The Admiral butted it with his gargantuan head. Georgie followed suit, scratching behind his behemoth ears.

Before Jon and Martin, their two cats sat expectantly. Martin reached out tentatively with his hand to pat Cat-Sasha’s head. Jon worried her purring would cause an avalanche of some sort, but he wasn’t sure those happened anymore, without reason.

He had only just ruffled The General’s fur when he felt a familiar sensation. The Eye.

“I’m sorry, I…” he started, gesturing vaguely.

“It’s okay, Jon,” said Martin. “Go make your statement.”

Jon nodded, and walked away.

#@theemerald-7 helped name The General!! #glock fics #also... the title... Here comes The General from Right Hand Man from Hamilton... #long post #all the cws are under the cut so i don't think i have to tag them here..? #let me know though #ask to tag #the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #magpod #magnuspod #tma spoilers #tma s4 spoilers #rabies mention #disease tw

[hitoshishins-hoe]

Heaven

Barbarian!Bakugou x Fem!Reader

—

Alright y’all! So I got a ton of great feedback on my fantasy au headcanons, and I was asked by several people on discord to write a one-shot based on my Bakugou headcanon, and so that’s what I decided to do! It is a bit long, and I may have gotten a little carried away, but I hope you guys like it! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

—

Warnings/Triggers: swearing, slightly ooc Bakugou (I love soft Bakugou ok), nsfw, loss of virginity, unprotected sex

Tengoku - Translates to “Heaven” 

Tenshi - Translates to “Angel”

Inari - Japanese goddess of prosperity

Word count: 5k

—

‘Forever’ was never in the cards for Bakugou. He planned on living fast, hard, and rich. Kicking ass, pillaging, taking revenge — but running into you made him realize maybe there’s more to life than just vigilante work. 

—

“Get your ass up shitty hair, we have a city to burn!” Bakugou slaps Kirishima awake from a deep sleep. 

“Bro chill! I can’t shift now! I have to save my energy to burn said city! Why don’t we travel by foot? There’s a city nearby, maybe we can sleep on an actual bed for once?” He stretches awake, now getting dressed. 

“Nah fuck that. We can go if you want, but I’m setting up camp, I’m not staying in some nasty fucking inn.”

Kirishima sighs, but agrees. It’s not like he had much choice anyway. After all, Bakugou was his only family in this world.

After eating breakfast, the two men packed up their belongings and began the trek to Tengoku, a small village about a half a day’s hike into the mountains. 

—

“Y/N! How are you my dear? What’s that you have there?” You look up from the small fragment of wood in your hand, having just finished carving the tail of a dragon. 

“Oh, good morning Tenshi! I had a dream last night about a dragon. He was red and huge, and he had a scar over his right eye.” You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck unconsciously. 

“Y’know, where I come from, those dreams that seem to be too real for comfort are just prophecy for the future.” She smiles warmly. 

Your (E/C) eyes catch a glint of sunlight at that. “Really? You really think I’ll meet a dragon someday?” You smile off into nothing. 

“Of course I do! You’ve wanted to see a dragon since you were about knee-height. And, well, every dragon has a rider, don’t they? Maybe a nice young man will come along with it. You’ve been here too long, go out and meet someone!” She laughs, knowing you’d grown up in the small village and had never left. You had no reason to. 

“Very funny, Tenshi. I’ll tell that to my dream-dragon.” You roll your eyes, focusing back down at the half-carved fragment in your hand. 

She laughs and makes her way down the small unpaved road that ran through the town, mostly lined with small tents with fresh produce, vendors, and entertainers.

–

Tenshi was the town’s founder, having come from ‘across the sea.’ She’d never tell anyone more than that. No one knew her name either, but everyone had affectionately coined the name ‘Tenshi,’ meaning ‘Angel’. She was well into her 80’s at least, and she acted as the chief and village grandmother to those who needed it. 

You on the other hand were an artist. Having been raised in Tengoku by monks, you lived a quiet life. Soon into your childhood you picked up the craft of carving. You’d found a small arrowhead along the creek that ran through town and starting working away at a chunk of wood you found nearby. From then on it became a hobby, then a craft, and now an art form. You started selling them to passers-by on their way to other destinations, and it brought in enough money to buy you a permanent room at the inn with plenty to spare. 

-

After Tenshi leaves, you go back to carving the dragon, each scale identical to the last. 

“How much for that one?” You yelp at the gruff voice immediately in front of you. You collect yourself and glance down at your half-finished dragon. 

“O-oh! This one? Well it’s not finished yet, I’m about halfway finished with carving and I still have to dye it! Can I offer you one of my finished pieces?” You gesture to the small table in front of you. 

The man just shakes his head, motioning to your hand. “I want that one. How long’ll it take?”

You think for a moment, and tell him maybe another 1-2 hours before the dye would dry once the carving was finished. 

He nods and grunts, making his way behind your table to the grass behind you. You look at him confused, but let it go since he’s not bothering you. 

You quickly glance behind you, offering the man a small smile. “I’m (Y/L/N) (Y/N) by the way.”

He looks up at you. “Bakugou Katsuki. Pleasure.”

You turn around sitting down in the small chair behind your table, hunched over while you carve. The man behind you doesn’t speak, and neither do you. It goes on like this for roughly an hour, until he breaks the silence. 

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” He asks you. 

You look up from your piece and sigh. “No, but it’s always been my dream, literally. I had a dream last night about a dragon. That’s what this carving is based on. There were lots of little details I remember about it. Like how there’s a scar along it’s right eye, across it’s chest, and on it’s left wing. Oddly specific, huh?” You laugh. “Our villages leader, Tenshi, says that sometimes those dreams that feel too real to be a dream are actually prophecy. Cool huh?” 

Bakugou’s eyes widen a bit, realizing you’d just described his dragon, Kirishima. 

“What is it?” You ask, noticing his change in demeanor. 

“I–” he pauses, mulling over his next words. His slack jaw turns up into a grin. “You want to meet a dragon?”

Now it’s your turn to look confused. “Y-you know one? Seriously?” You pause for a minute. “You’d better not be fucking with me.”

He chuckles “Whoa whoa princess, who says I’m fucking with you? He’s a shifter, not a full-blooded dragon but shit’s all the same to me. Finish up that carving for me and I’ll take you to him.”

Your eyes light up, feeling the sincerity in his voice. You immediately turn back to your unfinished piece, continuing on the hundreds of intricate scales. You two strike up a conversation after, both retelling stories from childhood, up to now. 

–

Through talking with him you learn that he really had it rough growing up, never having a true family, much like you. He was always moving towns, doing everyone’s dirty work with little to no pay. One day he was abducted and sold into slavery at the ripe young age of 15. The man he was sold to was one of the most foul men to walk the earth. The only nice thing was his slave-mate, Eijirou Kirishima.

The two teens quickly became friends. Spending every day and night in shared quarters really gave two people time to get to know each other. Shortly after Bakugou was purchased, Kirishima confided in him that was actually a dragon-shifter. No one else knew, or else he’d either be thrown into a bidding-war, or murdered. Some envied owning a shifter, while others thought they were a sin against the balance of life itself. 

Bakugou and Kirishima continued working for their owner for another 3 years before they decided to make their move. Over time they’d taken careful note of other slave owners in the village, their schedules, how many spaces they owned, family or no family. They also managed to pilfer small amounts of money, both from their own master as well as others. 

After some reassurance from Bakugou, Kirishima was able to shift and light the village ablaze. They created a network of safe houses so the other slaves were able to reach safety before all the slave owners were burned into oblivion. 

They never looked back after that. 

–

You look on with awe as Bakugou relays some of his and Kirishima’s adventures, as they continued to make their way through small towns, identifying rotten people, and “taking care of them.”

“W-wow,” you finally muster. You look down at your now finished piece, turning it in your hand. “You both sound incredible.”

He chuckles at that. “Yeah, well, what can I say. We’re both pretty damn cool.”

You laugh faintly, turning back to place your figurine into a small tin of crimson dye, allowing it to sit there for several minutes.

You both sit in silence as you pull the dragon out of the dye and set it on a drying rack. 

“You mentioned you grew up in this town, right? Why haven’t you left yet?” He asks, standing to his feet. 

You think for a minute. “I guess I haven’t really had any reason to. It’s quiet and everyone knows me here, ya know? Sure we don’t have the best food, or the best artisans, but it’s nice here.” You reply, turning to the table in front of you. 

“You realize how fucking talented you are, right? You could make four times what you make here if you were to travel to different towns.” He says sounding slightly irritated. “Don’t you want to see what else the world has to offer?”

You grow quiet, the faint smile fading from your face. “I never said I didn’t want to, but leaving everything I know, on my own completely, terrifies me.” You look down at your feet, letting out a shallow sigh.

“You can always tag along with Kirishima and I you know. I’d never oppose to a beautiful woman on my arm.” 

You look at him with wide eyes, cheeks flush. 

“Y-you just met me, you’d really take a chance on me? What if I’m a murderer or something?” You laugh nervously. 

He lunged forward at you, pinning you to the ground. You let out a soft grunt as you hit the ground, his hand pinning your arms above your head as he straddles your hips. 

“If you were a murderer, you’d never let someone get the upper hand, right?” He gives you a shit-eating grin as you huff in protest. 

“Besides, don’t you want to ‘live a little?’”

Your face cheeks deepen red in embarrassment, noticing the slight bulge in his pants so close to your heat. 

He notices your blush and snorts, hauling himself off of you, pulling you up with him. 

“How much longer on that dragon?” He asks, nodding to the drying rack. You dust yourself off, trying to hide your fading blush as you go to look at the dragon. 

“Ah, looks like it’s done!” You reply excitedly. 

You pick it up and look it over, proud of your handiwork. You then reach for Bakugou’s hand, uncurling his calloused fingers and setting the figurine in his open palm. He brings it to his face and inspects it, eyes lit with curiosity. 

“This is fucking incredible, (Y/L/N).” He says, awestruck. 

You let out a quiet ‘thank you’ and stand quiet for a moment. “You can call me (Y/N), you know. I’m not a fan of formalities.” You reply. 

Bakugou nods. “Yeah, me neither. Just call me Katsuki. And how much do I owe you for this?” He asks reaching for his coin pouch. 

“No no no! Don’t worry about it!” You exclaim, waiving your hands at him. “Please, as long as I can see a dragon I don’t need payment. It’s fine, really.”

He grunts out a ‘fine.’ And stuffs the figurine into his cloak. “Want to go see that dragon now?”

You nod eagerly, packing up your stocked items and throwing them into a bag. “Let me drop these off at the inn on our way there,” you tell him as you put up a “closed” sign on the table. 

You two travel down the now mostly empty road, dusk quickly approaching as you reach the inn. You run up to your room to put your stock away, jogging down the hall as to not keep Bakugou waiting. You grip the dresser in your room, panting as you’d worn yourself out a bit. “Katsuki,” you mumble, enjoying the way his name rolled off your tongue. 

“Yes?” You hear Bakugou’s voice from behind you. You yelp, running out the door before you could muster up an embarrassing excuse as to why you were saying his name in the mirror. 

He chuckles and follows you closely, eyes now wandering to your figure. You had on a plain dress, though it looked a tad small, only accentuating your curves. He wanted to devour you right then and there, but that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly, would it?

He eventually takes the lead, leading you to his small camp about a half mile outside the town. You two arrive about 20 minutes later, as the sun dips behind the mountains.

“Kirishima! We have a visitor!” Bakugou yells at the tent, a tall red-haired man poking his head out. 

“Dude, I-” He stutters, gesturing to his small protruding horns and scales on his face. You miss this exchange as you’re admiring the surrounding forest, since you’ve never been this far up the mountain before. 

“It’s fine, she’s fine.” He states gruffly, turning to you, oblivious to his state. His eyes soften as he sees you looking around the forest, admiring the sights. You notice him looking and look down at your feet, embarrassed. “C’mon, Kirishima will show you tomorrow, why don’t you sleep here tonight?” He nods at the small fire Kirishima had going. 

You sheepishly agree and make your way over to the tent, Kirishima now sitting by the fire. He extends an arm to you. “Hi! I’m Kirishima Eijirou! You can call me Kiri.” He grins, mouth full of jagged teeth. His smile is warm, and you return it in kind. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), please call me (Y/N),” you shake his hand and sit by the fire.

“Hey Bakugou, I gotta, uh...eat,” Kirishima says. “Go eat then,” Bakugou replies, sitting down between the two of you. “Don’t wait up,” he mumbles under his breath, the shifter understanding immediately. 

“Well (Y/N), it was nice meeting you! I’ll be gone for the rest of the night, but I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He smiles, running off in the opposite direction of Tengoku.

Shortly after Kirishima leaves, you heave out a sigh and flop backwards onto the grass, looking at the stars. Bakugou looks down at you, still amazed at how oblivious you are. He eventually lays his head next to yours, grunting as his head hits the ground. “Ow,” he grumbles, having hit it harder than he intended. You laugh at the whack  sound his head makes, spinning into a fit of laughter when he starts whispering profanities at the ground. 

“Hey, what are you laughing at, princess? You think it’s funny?” You wipe away a tear as your laughs turn into sniffles. 

“Maybe a little bit,” you laugh again. 

“Uh huh. You ticklish, sweetheart?” he smirks, your face paling at his threat. 

“Shi-,” you barely get anything out before he has you pinned, hands attacking your sides. 

“N-no! Please s-stop! I can’t take it!” You cry, the tickling so intense your eyes fill with tears.

“If you want me to stop, make me,” he smiles smugly. 

Having gained a new wave of confidence, you take your knee up to his groin and rub against his bulge, eliciting a moan from Bakugou, distracting him just long enough to flip your bodies so you now straddled him. 

Now he’s the one to be taken aback by your sudden change of attitude. “Where’d this come from?” He asks, his hands settling on your hips. 

You lean forward, your hands finding his chest underneath his heavy pelt as you bring your face just inches from his. “You were the one that said I should ‘live a little’, right? That’s what I’m doing.” 

He smirks, hands gripping tighter to your thighs. “Alright then brat, show me whatcha got.”

You lock your lips against his, his breath hot against your nose as you start to grind against him. He lets out a breathy moan, giving you enough space to slip your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss. It’s not long before the bulge in his pants is now straining against the fabric.

You slowly remove his pelt, revealing a well-built but scarred chest. You move your lips to his neck, gently sucking on the skin just beneath his jaw. 

“Fuck,” he groans as you suck on his sweet spot. You trail your kisses down his chest, leaving love bites in your wake. 

“You done this before?” Bakugou looks down at you, your hands now grasping the waistband of his pants. 

“N-no,” you stutter. “I only know what the entertainers in town have told me.” he replies with a weak tch as you continue. 

You undo his belt and slip his pants along with his boxers down around his ankles, his cock springing free from the confining material. Your eyes go wide at the size of him, never having seen a dick in person before. Noticing your hesitation, he smirks down at you. 

“What, don’t tell me you’re gonna back out now,” he laughs tauntingly. “We’re just ge—fuuuuck!” His face tenses as you lick a long stripe against the underside of his cock. 

You slowly coax his hardened member into your mouth, throat clenching as you slowly start sliding it in and out. You start at a steady pace, using your hand where your mouth can’t reach. Bakugou moans as you grow used to the size of him, taking more of him into your mouth inch by inch. Bakugou slowly starts to buck his hips up into your mouth, beginning to face fuck you as your throat clenches with every thrust. Your eyes brim with tears as the tip repeatedly hits the back of your windpipe. Your core begins to ache with neglect as Bakugou’s hips begin to stutter.

“F-fuck, I’m going to come,” he breathes as he thrusts into your mouth a handful more times before your mouth is filled with his salty seed. 

You slowly slip his cock from your mouth as you gulp down the liquid, wiping your mouth as you do so.

He chuckles, smug grin returning to his face. “Not bad for a first-timer,” he says, flipping you both so that he’s now straddling your hips.

He leans in next your ear and whispers “My turn,” as he bites down on your earlobe, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

He kisses up your neck and jaw to your lips, pressing his body to yours. He momentarily breaks the kiss, his hands snaking under your dress, pulling it up over your shoulders, revealing your bare chest.

He trails kisses down your neck softly sucking, leaving love bites as you did to him. One of his hands makes its way to your already hard nipple, lightly tugging on it while his tongue swirls your other bud, eliciting a small moan from you. 

He continues his assault down your front, kissing your soft curves as his lips reach your waistline. His vermillion eyes meet yours as his fingers hook the band of your underwear and slide them down until they’re discarded on the ground, his lips never leaving your body.

He kisses your inner thighs, sending shivers up your spine, your mouth now agape as your core aches with want.

“Already so wet for me,” he coos, warm breath fanning your now bare cunt.

You moan, shifting your legs open wider, giving Bakugou better access. He kisses your now soaking heat, slowly prodding you open with his tongue. 

“Pl-please go slow,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his slightly damp hair. 

He reaches a hand up to your face, slowly stroking your cheek reassuringly. 

“Don’t worry princess, I know what I’m doing.” he replies, sliding his hand back down to your waist. 

“Let me know if you’re ever in pain, okay? I’ll stop immediately.”

You give him a curt nod as he slips his index finger into his mouth, turning his attention back to what’s in front of him. 

He slowly slides his finger into you, causing you to clench in discomfort. He stays still for a moment before he slowly starts sliding his finger in and out of your heat, already dripping with your arousal. After a short while he adds in a second finger, his eyes continuously flicking up to your face to gauge your reactions. 

Your eyes are clenched in pleasure, soft moans and mumbles of his name falling from your mouth. “K-Katsuki,” you start, slowly opening your eyes.

“Yes, (Y/N)?” He asks, still sliding his now coated fingers in and out of you. 

“Please fuck me,” your cheeks flush at your outburst. 

He smirks at that, sliding his fingers out of you, as you sigh at the loss of contact. He licks his fingers clean and pulls himself up to you, kissing you more fervently this time. 

You taste yourself on your tongue as you moan, Bakugou slipping his tongue into your mouth. He reaches down to himself pumping his cock several times, long since hard again. He lines up with your entrance, breaking your kiss momentarily. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, meeting your gaze.

You eagerly nod, as he does as well. He slowly slides himself into you, as you wince with pain. His eyes never leave you, even as your eyes close as you focus on the mild pain as he slowly stretches you. You start to relax as he bottoms out, stilling there for a moment to give you time to adjust. 

After a heavy sigh from you, he begins to move, slowly at first, barely sliding several inches in and out of you. 

“You can move, Katsuki,” you breathe. 

He grunts in agreeance as he picks up the pace, balls slapping against your heat as he nestles his face into the crook of your shoulder. 

It isn’t long before you feel a knot in your stomach, on the verge of coming undone. 

“Katsuki, I–” you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he continues to pound into you. 

You come with a flash of white, clenching around him as your vision blurs. The feeling of you squeezing around him so tightly sends Bakugou over the edge not long after, a strangled moan leaving him as he paints your insides white. 

After several more thrusts he slips himself from you, collapsing next to you, quickly pulling you to his warm chest. 

You two stay like that for a bit, both lightly panting from your orgasms. You slowly curl yourself into him, his arm wrapping around you as your sigh. 

“My offer still stands. You can come with us, you know.” He breaks the silence, as you slowly look up at him. 

His eyes meet yours as you quickly turn away, cheeks pink with slight embarrassment.

“I feel like I’d slow you guys down,” you sigh, readjusting yourself as the cold night air starts to register. “Besides, I don’t know if I’d even be useful.”

He rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t ask you along if I didn’t want you there. I feel like you’d be able to help funnel people out while Kirishima and I handle the rest. You’re good with people, right? You’d be able to do a lot of fucking good, (Y/N). And besides, your work is too damn amazing to stay locked away here. Don’t stay cramped up in this little town the rest of your life. Do something, you know?” He says gruffly. 

You lay in silence for a moment, processing his proposal. You pull yourself to a sitting position, and Bakugou shortly follows suit. 

You turn to him, pulling his face to yours and kiss him gently. 

“You know what? Sure. Why not?” You grin, filled with fresh resolve. 

He smirks at that, pulling you back to his chest as he lays back down in the cool grass. He reaches for a discarded item of clothing and wipes the both of you up. He throws you your dress and you slip it back on, as he finds some clothing to put back on as well.

Using each other for warmth, sleep takes you both, sunrise still a handful of hours away. 

—

You awake with the sun, hazy oranges and purples dancing behind your eyelids as the sun drags up over the horizon. You pull yourself up, stretching as you yawn away your drowsiness. 

You look down at Bakugou, his mouth slightly agape as he slowly stirs awake. You smile, thinking about all the things you hoped to do. Sight-seeing, exploring new foods, selling your trinkets to new markets of people; the opportunities seem endless. 

“Hey! Glad to see you’re awake! I stopped by earlier but you two were still passed out, so I went into town and got some food!” You hear Kirishima’s voice to your left, his arms full of cloth sacks, presumably filled with food. 

“Good morning,” you reply, voice still thick with sleep as he hands you a bag. 

He sits to the right of you, Bakugou stirring on your left as you open the bag and start eating. 

Bakugou eventually sits up, rubbing his eyes as Kirishima hands him a sack as well, Bakugou muttering a low “thank you” as he still struggles to wake up. 

The three of you sit in silence for a while, as you all finish up your food. 

Bakugou is the first to speak up, setting his discarded wrappings on the ground beside him. “(Y/N) here’s going to join us, she can help evacuate people as we do the rest.”

“Sweet! You’ll fit right in!” Kirishima smiles, wrapping an arm around you.

“I do have to collect my things from town, and say goodbye to everyone, but I’m ready to go after that!” you smile back, taking a sip of water.

Bakugou stands up, taking everyone’s discarded food wrappings and throwing them into a sack as the three of you clean up camp.

As day breaks, the three of you make your way into town, conversing along the way.

Before long you reach Tengoku, the sun now high above your heads as you make your way to the inn. It doesn’t take long to pack your small number of things. You don’t have much more than a week’s worth of clothing, a hand-carved hairbrush, and a handful of figurines, as well as a couple of knives. 

The three of you walk back to the front desk, returning your key to the innkeeper, exchanging pleasantries and a tearful goodbye. 

You slowly make your rounds around Tengoku, wishing everyone well and promising you’d be back. 

The hardest person to leave is of course Tenshi.

At present she’s at the local shrine, paying her respects. The three of you stop at the bottom of the steps, as to not disturb her. 

“Can you guys give me a minute?” You ask hesitantly, placing your bag on the ground. The pair of men nod as you slowly make your way to the top of the shrine. 

“Hey Tenshi,” you start, gently placing a shaky hand on her shoulder. She opens her eyes and stands from her kneeling position and turns to you, tears welling in her eyes. 

She smiles softly, taking your hands in hers. “I was just praying for you,” she says, slowly rubbing circles into the backs of your hands. “I spoke with Inari this morning, and she told me what you set out to do, and I’m so very proud of you, (Y/N).” she gleams. 

You smile and bring her small frame to yours in a tight embrace, failing to hold back tears.

“You'll be back,” she says as you both pull away. “I know you will.”

You smile at that, knowing she knew better than anyone what the future holds. 

You make your way back down the steps, eyes still slightly puffy as you reach Kirishima and Bakugou. 

“You good?” Bakugou asks, handing you your duffel bag. 

You nod, assuring him you’d be fine. Kirishima hands off his bags to Bakugou and starts to stretch out his limbs as Bakugou drops the bags next to you. 

Your thoughts are pulled to Kirishima as you see him out of the corner of your eye stretching. You give him a sideways glance, slightly confused at what he was doing. 

Bakugou observes you and snorts. “Hey I promised you a dragon, didn’t I? He can’t transform if his damn limbs are stiff.”

You mouth an “oh” as Kirishima takes a deep breath and his skin begins to darken to a crimson red. 

A tail slowly protrudes from his lower back as he begins to grow in size. His arms lengthen to match his legs as they progressively become longer and thicker, ends coming to sharp onyx claws. His face elongates into a snout, his mouth lined with the same jagged teeth he adorns in his human form. Wings twice the length of his now massive body protrude from his back, varying shades of crimson and black, a scar running along the crease of his left wing. He shakes himself out, his scales catching the sunlight, reflecting tinges of black and purple. 

Honestly, you’re awestruck. You’ve never seen something so massive and beautiful in your life. Bakugou’s eyes never leave you, admiring your face of wonder. You slowly make your way around to Kirishima’s front, his eyes catching yours as he brings his face level with you. Your eyes immediately land on his notable scar over his right eye, and you reach out to it, brushing your hand over his face. You walk back around to his side, dragging your palm against his scaly skin as you walk back to Bakugou. 

“W-wow,” is all you can utter as Bakugou chuckles. 

“He is somethin’, huh? Let’s get going.” He replies, hoisting you onto Kirishima’s back. 

He tosses you the remaining bags and pulls himself up as well, settling himself directly in front of you. You take one more glance back at the shrine, Tenshi now waving at you. You wave back, flashing Tenshi a toothy grin. You then turn to face Bakugou, your arms snaking around his thin waist. His muscles tense under you as he slaps Kirishima’s back, signaling it was time to go. 

Without time to register, Kirishima shoots up into the sky, your hands finding purchase on Bakugou’s pelt as you hold on for dear life. As quickly as it starts it’s over, Kirishima leveling out amongst the clouds. 

It’s breathtaking. The heat of the day melts away as the air pressure drops, the clouds breezing by. You feel like you could float on endlessly, and with Bakugou at your fingertips and Kirishima securely beneath you, you feel like you’re in heaven. 

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou lemon #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha lemon #mha imagines #mha x reader #mha lemon #x reader #Kirishima Eijirou #eijirou kirishima #oneshot #reader #reader insert #female reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha kirishima #hitoshishins-hoe writes

[oh-theatre]

Objection!: Chapter 29

Chapter title: Staring Into Hell

A/n: Ew EW EW EW I HATE THIS I HATE MY WORK I HATE EVERYTHING WHY ARE YOU STILL READ AAAA BLEH! ANyway heres a new chapter, hope you enjoy I guess anD PLEASE LEAVE ME COMMENTS

First | Previous | Next

words: 2224

summary: With Logans remaining anger, they all just try to get through the days

pairings: Eventual logicality, prinxiety, platonic demus, romantic remile

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, Law and Courtroom, swearing, blood, hospital, crime scene,  murder, gun mention, guns, swearing abuse, graphic descriptions, alcohol, shooting, crying

Ao3 Link  

“A wheelchair?” Logan baffles, he doesn't understand but Patton does. His mind already races quickly and goes over everything he’ll need to adjust for his lifestyle. He can hear Logan shooting questions towards the doctor but he can't focus on the deep set panic. How will he make his commute, take his children to school, oh my how may he present himself in court? “I simply do not understand doctor” Logan finishes

“I know its a difficult situation but it seems as though his injuries could worsen if we allow him to return to his normal life instantly it could have detrimental effects” He explains, Patton takes Logan's hand comfortingly, kissing it sweetly.”This is a precaution of the most vital need, he will attend physical therapy and we will make sure he is in top shape.” Logan huffs, a disappointed scowl. Patton gives an apologetic look to the doctor, he takes his cue. “Ill leave you two to discuss”

“Lo..” Patton ushers, Logan sits himself on the bed, in front of Patton. “I want to be able to hold my kids, I want to walk through the courtroom, I want to be able to…” He feels the ring around his finger, Logan had returned it almost as soon as Patton had awakened. “I want to be able to walk down the aisle” He smiles. Logan chuckles, though still restrained he understood.

“Alright...Alright” He nods, Patton gives him a grin. His hand places itself carefully on the lawyer's chest as Logan pulls him in for a kiss. “Now to more grim matters…” He proposes, Patton sighs averting his eyes. The room had been severely decorated by Emile. Who wanted nothing more than the father to feel at home. At his bedside table were three framed photos. The first was of Patton and the children on the day of their adoption, he held the twins with vibrant tears in his eyes. The second was of Patton and Logan, a photographer had taken it while the pair had danced at the gala. The third however, he wished for it to be taken away, Virgil and him smiling exhausted as their children climbed them happily. That used to be his most treasured photo….

Used to be

Now the sight of Virgil conjured the worst of stomachaches and the most confusion. He shook it out of his head allowing Logan to kiss him on his forehead but he kept facing away.

“We will discuss it at a later time” Logan allows, Patton nods feeling his eyes grow heavy with exhaustion, listening to Logan's farewell. “I'm going to go and get you some food”

“Jamahl!” Patton yells, he serves the children already sitting at the table, happily bouncing for breakfast. Terrance flaps excited as Remus and Valerie chow down quickly. Patton huffs rubbing his hands on his apron. “Jamahl breakfast! Lets go!” Patton attempts again, Logan chuckles coyly taking Patton in for a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Good morning busy bees” Logan greets, a kiss to each of their foreheads. Patton cleans, finally the kitchen looks untouched. And yet as Logan reads his paper, the children discuss in chatters, one piece is missing. Patton taps annoyed, he checks his watch once more. “Something bothering you love?” Logan inquires, washing away his cup.

“I have to get the children to school, Terrence to daycare and I have a court case” Patton lists, he looks to the stairs that lead up. “Jamahl!” He calls again, Logan takes him from behind, leaning his head on his husband's shoulder. “What on earth is he up to?” The clock buzzes giving neither time to answer. “Crap I've gotta go”

“I'll get him to school, you take the three musketeers,” Logan promises, his hand moving down Patton's arm while his pinky interlaces itself with Pattons. A quick squeeze before a blushed Patton rushes to get the children on their way.

“Wakey wakey Patton” A cold voice shivered down Patton's already sweaty back. He yawns sitting up, rubbing his blurred vision as he reaches for his glasses. Soon enough his blinking pays and he wishes it had not. “Feeling better cupcake?”

“Feel like i'm going to vomit” Patton replies, a scowl returns to his face. Liam smirks taking a spot at the end of the bed. “Why are you here?” He asks for what seems the millionth time. Liam inches closer, and for a moment Patton can just seem himself return to his sinking self. Liam could take his cheeks right now and Patton fears his own control. Thank god for his fiancee

What a stranger idea

Fiancee

He couldn't help but blush

“Liam, I'm going to give a single millisecond to remove yourself from the premises” Logan announces, Patton bites his lower lip. Liam nods but stands. “Go on now, coward”

“Actually I dont think I want to” Liam chuckles, Patton swears things moved too quickly. Logan grabs his collar, delicately but hes pinned now on the wall. “What the hell! Get off of me!”

Huh

Weird

That was Patton's line

“Get out and leave Patton and his childr-”

“Our!” Patton corrects “Our children” he smiles, Logan refuses the intense urge to grin but nods.

”-Our children alone” He makes the change, proudly. Liam groans, finally getting the clearly superior man off of him. He gives Patton one more glare before disappearing. Logan wipes his hands, sanitizing. Patton falls back on his pillow laughing. “What? I don't like him” Logan sits.

“You and me both dearest” Patton sighs, he stretches his arms gladly taking Logans water. “Hey” His tone softens, he reaches for Logans more than ready hand. “I want kids” He admits, Logan retracts, sucking in.

“I hate to inform you but you already do” Logan teases “Two in fact” Patton turns to his shoulder laughing, Logan would never get tired of that. Patton tugged carefully, Logan takes his lay next to him. He wraps him up, they lounge comfortably.

“I want more” He finds Logans fingers, interlacing them carefully. “With you” He requests, Logan lets out a sweet breath, kissing gently on the nape of Patton's neck. “I know we have the twins, and I love them more than anything, but I want more kids...i want a-”

“Family” Logan completes

~~~

“Talk to me Logan!” Virgil grabs the lawyers arms, the fuming rage he faces terrifies him. “Please just let me explain”

“You dont get it do you? There is no explanation” Logan faces him. “Thats it, nothing is justifiable ok?”

“It was for Damian! I had just gotten him, I was young and stupid and wanted to make sure my kid was ok! I have never felt so much shame in my life but I needed it” Virgil rushes, Logan keeps his face cold but he knows in a heartbeat Patton would figure Virgil.

“And Remy?” But before Virgil can answer his face resolves “Emiles surgery…” Virgil nods, shuffling his feet on the ground. “Still, you shouldn't have taken the money, there were other ways...other solutions. You're just lucky that Patton was able to get out of that situation.” Logan tries his hardest to remain calm, his breath quivers but he musnt. “But what would have happened if Patton had not, if he had stayed?”

“I know that! Look, don't tell Patton, I need him to forgive me in his own time...I don't want him to know why...he's too forgiving and he has every right to be upset but I needed you to understand” Logan nods, he still has his duvidas. “But Logan....why do you care so much if we took the money?”

“Because I didn't Virgil” Logan reveals, the detective's heart drops. Of course it was a stupid question in the first place, it was Patton, it was a bribe. “I had a case, we had a case. We could have gotten him out of there. But then strangely two of my testimonies dropped out”  Logan shook his hand, grunting. “I don't want to talk about this, or talk to you, or anything” He takes his coffees disappearing behind Patton's room. “Hey”

“Hi!” Patton smiles, the twins giggle from their hiding spot. Logan keeps his eyes forward however, as if nothing was heard. “I can't seem to find the twins, would you care to help me my love?” Logan breaths, a cheeky smirk .

“I suppose I can, I wouldn't want our children to disappear” He laments, soon the door opens and they both rush into Logan's arms.

“No dada!” They cry, he kneels hugging them tight. Patton watches from his bed, his heart couldn't comprehend this. Was this real? Logan carries the kids to the bed, all four of them. A happy family...their happy family. His…

“You alright honeybee?” Logan whispers as the twins focus their energy on the tv. Patton nods, cradling himself into Logan's chest, the twins following into their fathers. “You look sad”

“No no...far from it” He promises, kissing Logan. “Are you? I heard some frustrated voices outside” Patton fiddles with Valerie's hair, braiding it gently. “Sounded like Virgil…”

“Not right now Pat” Logan assures “We are here, together and…” He falters, Patton turns him. He wipes away the newly freshened tears. “I apologize Patton, it seems I am overwhelmed at the moment” Logan admits, Patton purses his lip struggling to reach the tissues. “I love you”

“And I you”

~~~

“Alright shithead, fucker, pile of trash-”

“Virgil” Remy kicks him under the table, the detective glares. “Liam” Remy seethes. “You want to tell me where you were approximately an hour after the situation was diffused?”

“I was behind the barricade, the doctors were checking me” Liam concludes, Virgil kicks the chair. He knows as soon as he checks with the emergency response team, Liam would be on their record. He may be a flaming pile of trash but he isn't a killer.

“You're free to go” Virgil bites his lip, feeling his skin almost chew off.

“And I didnt even have to pay you this time” Liam snarls, Remy holds Virgil back while Liam makes his way out.

“Argh!” Virgil pounds, Remy signals for the rest of the team to leave from behind their one way mirror. “I'm so sick of him beating us! Always beating the goddamn system!” Virgil huffs, Remy's hand placed on his back for support. “I shouldnt have done it, we shouldnt have taken the fucking money Remy”

“I know...I know..I know I know-”

“Stop it!” Virgil slaps the table “Just...I have to go”  Virgil grunts.

“Patton?” Virgil knocks “Pat? Ready to-” Virgil pauses listening to the grunts

“Shut it or ill stuff-” The voice pauses “Whos there?” The detective recognizes the disgusting voice of the slimy intoxicating man. Liam.

“Its Virgil, Pat and I have a lunch date” He knocks once more, quiet but annoyed shuffling can be heard before the door opens up. Patton whimpers on the couch, his beagle Molly comforting him, the twins safely away at his sisters. “Are you ready to go?” He addresses. The lawyer coughs, clearly wiping something away from his face. He stands, plastering a fake smile. Virgil sees the bruise, he sees it and he goes towards Liam as Patton gets into his car. “WHat the hell did you do?” He accuses

“Now now detective, remember that information is not for you...not anymore” His sly smile turns Virgil's stomach. “If I do recall, a hundred grand being placed in yours and detective Nyx’s name sealed that”

For damian

For damian

For me…

He felt sick

~~~

“You're not giving me much choice” Roman sighs,Logan smirks, rolling his eyes. The pair make their way from the cafeteria, holding three trays of food. Logans, Romans and of course Pattons. The breeze was chilly as the doors would swirl open every now and then. Roman enjoyed this moment, right now, everything was fine. Everything was ok.

“You alright?” Logan asks, turning the corner, he smiles politely to the nurses and doctors who rush by.

“I'm doing alright for myself specs” Roman catches himself in the bliss. James, Patton, his job, his friends...everything was alright. Pattons room was just up ahead, he could make out two figures. James must have beaten them to it. His phone buzzes in his coat, he holds them up for a moment. “Roman Reial!”

“Ro?” It was soft, almost a squeak but he knew who was on the other line. Virgil.

“What is it?” He felt commanding, a fierce tone as he demands an answer. He could hear the sniffles, the desperation and he softened. “Virge?” He whispered.

“I...I need to talk to you please” He begs, Roman could feel the heat rise. Logan furrows his brows but allows them to continue the conversation. “Just later? A-at some point?”

“Sure, yeah, of course” He rushes, the phone falls into his pocket. Had he hung up? Thank god he hadn't. They approach the door, swinging it open with charm. “Alright we hav-” His heart fell flat, the scene couldn't have played out like this. “James” Roman barely breathes

“That does appear to be my name” The judge says, Logans lips tremble angrily

“And you do appear to be pointing a gun at my fiance” Logan growls

“Well he just won't die” James claims, a quick click.

The safety's off

#objection au #logicality #prinxiety #remile #demus #logan sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #youtube #sanders sides #remy sanders #emile picani #write #writing #ao3 #archive of our own