#'dying here would not only be really stupid and mean but it would also be completely meaningless :) ... oh no you're dying???'

[imavikingo]

I was thinking on when Steve lost Bucky for the 3rd time (1st when he was drafted, 2nd when he was told he was MIA, 3rd when he fell) he tried to get drunk to forget, right? If he did that then...

What did he do when he lost him for the 6th time? (4th when he escaped, 5th when Bucky was in cryo, 6th the snap)

I mean technically Bucky died twice, but Steve lost him six times already.

And of he tried to get blind drunk once of those times- did he self-harm in other ways too?

To dull the pain? He can't get drunk, he heals quickly, he can't die easily either, so what did he do?

He wouldn't want to die when he knows for a fact that Bucky is alive ofc, but I can't see him acting normally or without a little bit of reckless energy.

To dull the pain and disappoinment (he can't feel like that, that's Bucky's choice -Cryo-. But how it hurts him tho).

(unrelated to this line of thought but it is relevant to the idea regardless)

That's why I can't fathom the idea of Steve abandoning Bucky in endgame.

He lost him 6 six (6) times already and he just... Went away? To a woman he only kissed once? After all he did for him, the pain and loss?

Even if you don't ship them, you have to think that to be really ooc on Steve's part. Everything in his character arc in the MCU is related to Bucky (and loss). Yes he liked Peggy, but he didn't suffer nor mourn her the same way he mourned Bucky (She was alive, but had dementia and was also very old, and had her own life).

His feelings for Peggy were more a "what if" and lost possibilities than anything.

She was an idea, a fantasy (that's why Wanda used that when fighting with him, right?). Not something real.

He wanted to be with her, but he didn't really knew her or love her (at least I don't think so).

She was the first woman that saw him for him after all. Before everything. But that's it.

He liked her for that (and her strong personality too) but did he love her? He didn't try to get on dates after he was defrosted because he knew people would only see Captain America, not Steve Rogers. He needed to represent an ideal and knew no one would understand (the pain, loss) and have the patience to be with him. That’s why he also highlighted the shared life experience thing.

So she was comforting, reassuring in a toxic and unhealthy kind of way (memories and fantasy aren't healthy when used like that). But still a what if and lost opportunity. He had to let her go at one point. And he did(!) But they had to fuck it up…

I mean... it's the same thing when you're still hung up on an ex. You want to think of the possibilities, the what ifs, the "what could have been" But when you go back to them nothing is like you remembered, nothing is like you wanted and you are dissatisfied and disappointed.

(Because all of that was in your head, it wasn't real).

And besides, he knew she had a life of her own (a fulfilling one at that) so what, he was selfish enough to fuck that up too? Without helping HIM? Without saving HIM? Abandoning HIM? After just being brought to life? After grieving him for another five years? Bucky was his best friend, his companion, his best pal…

He wouldn't do that to him. He would die before hurting Bucky (as they already stablished for most of the fucking movies) He even was like “You don’t understand” when Peggy talked to him in the bars ruins.

I think in canon (not ooc/EG)Steve would entertain the idea, but would decide to just keep it as that: An idea, a fantasy. And move on like he already did before.

Also the idea that it was a Peggy from an alternative universe is flawed because he abandoned HIS Bucky, even if in the other universe he helped or whatever.

In HIS UNIVERSE he abandoned his best friend? Not believable. And the logic of “oh it didn’t change their timeline because it was another one” is also stupid.

They already fucked up with Steve fighting 2012!Steve and also telling him about Bucky (creating another universe more than likely). And they were supposed to be undetected. Not create new universes. Thats also why I’m so keen on the idea of Steve being in a prison or something. He already fucked up once, twice if you think he went to the past to stay.

How can he be free while fucking up the timelines? Yeah, nah.

Also… they implied Steve can’t age in a movie if I remember correctly…. How did he become old?

And the idea that he went to Peggy because “Tony told him to have a life outside of captain america” is fucked up. So what? He relates his Bucky’s existence with work? FUCK OFF. Endgame Steve is fucked up and the worst character assassination I’ve ever seen.

They were just too annoyed with the fans because we ship Stucky (even tho they used that to promote the movies in panels and stuff, hypocrites -​I remember clearly the producers? of the movie talk about gay characters and the actors talk about Stucky in those panels for then…be one of the russos in like 1 second and have that shit ass, fuck ass ending for Steve and Bucky. That shit was vile-).

im also annoyed with some people that now shit on Steve when umh… did you see the movies? The other movies? Not only Endgame? (Btw the only one that got a “good ending” was Tony because he died as a hero in front of everyone -even tho he didn’t want to help at first because he had a good life, the ONLY ONE OF THEM might I add-, everyone else got worse, is dead or they’re neglected and treated as haha funny character or haha funny moment)

Im all for ships and ideas and headcanons (even when I hate them with passion, you do you) but don’t try and use this character assassination as an excuse to shit on Steve. If you NEED to shit on a character for your ship to work, then you’re not doing a good job at it or your ship sucks. Idk what to tell you.

[moonlight-records]

Rich Boys Don't Have Hearts I LN4 (Pt. II)

pairing: Jock!Lando Norris x Nerd!Reader

summary: Formula Ivy Academy, or FIA for short, is the most renowned private in the world who takes such a select few. Usually those from wealth with status and secrets and so much to lose. Yet, you are selected to join the FIA on a full scholarship. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain scares a lot students, especially their star athlete who will do anything to protect those he cares about. Though, he didn't expect you to have as much of a...bite to you for a little nobody.

warning: jealous!lando. also possessive lando again, ig. bestie!charles, MESSY!FRANCO!!! god it becomes SO messy!!! franco is so smooth too. mention of make out. mention of eating out & fingering (f receiving). um idk after, kinda dying like ferrari's strategy by not having it beta read

fc: none!

a/n: since everyone is asking!!! here’s a new part!!! also once again, i opened a ko-fi! feel free to show extra love ���

wc: 4.5K

part 1 | current

“Has Lando’s attitude gotten any better since last week?”

“No.”

“Ha! Well, surely he’s been a bit better at practices, no?”

“That, he has. I think it’s because Max snapped at him and the coach backed Max up. Though he still gives me dirty glares during practice when he’s not speaking to me.” Charles shrugs, “though I am unbothered. I wasn’t the one who tried to bribe someone out of this school for people who don’t actually truly like me. Still baffles me that he did that considering how half the school talks poorly about him behind his back. Some are not as subtle as others.”

“Well, everyone has their reasons. Maybe he was more so worried about his friends. Max, Oscar, you—”

“I don't know if I would qualify as a friend anymore.”

“I would consider you a friend if I was Lando,” you admit with a small smile, “friends fight. That’s just the nature of any relationship, romantic or not. I bet he’ll let it go and muster up some apology for being such a dick to you.”

“And you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, “Lando apologize to me? My dear friend, are you sure you don’t smoke anything? Because that sounds like straight delusion. Did you find the delusion at the store? If so, did you get extra because I would love some.” You remark.

“Y/N. I’m serious here.”

“So am I, Charlie. Lando is never going to apologize to me for the shit he tried to pull on me last week.” You lean forward in your seat while making a face at the thought of Lando actually apologizing to you, “Him apologizing means that he was wrong and him admitting that he’s wrong is like hell freezing over or God admitting he was wrong to cast Lucifer out of heaven or like a guy actually knowing where the clit is or—”

“Y/N!” Charles almost shrieks before shuffling closer and murmuring, “you cannot just say things like that! You know how they are about language—”

“Oh bite me.” You groan softly while looking at Charles unimpressed, “The FIA only made that rule because Max was stupid enough to curse at his advisor. Though Marko totally deserved it, if you ask me. Besides.” You take a chance to look on either side of you before looking back at Charles, “we’re the only two here so I doubt anybody heard me. If they did, I think a lot of the girls would be agreeing with my statement and if it was faculty, I will happily take my community service hours because I am not apologizing for telling the truth.” You lean back in your seat with a shrug.

You watch Charles open and close his mouth as he tries to think of something to say and him growing increasingly frustrated because he really had nothing to say besides ‘you’re right, y/n’. You giggle seeing Charles huff and lean back in his chair, grumbling that “ you have some fair points.” You just nod before looking back down at all your notebook. You take a moment before tipping your laptop screen back as you go back to rewriting your notes as silence falls over you and Charles.

“I’ll be right back.” You tear your gaze away from your laptop looking at Charles who is gently pushing his books and laptop back onto the table. “I promised Arthur I would help him with piano and I have to meet him in ten minutes. I’ll be back soon,” Charles is rapidly telling you as he grabs his coat, hastily walking away. You stare, mouth a bit open before just accepting your fate and turning back around. Whatever, it’s fine.

You start finding your groove again as you see just a flash of color across from you. Still, you didn’t even acknowledge the other as you continued to take these notes down. You take a few more minutes to get through the section and let out a sigh of relief. That was one out of four, anyway. Leaning back, you rub your eyes and decide you can take a five minute break. Dropping your hands, you expect to see Charles sitting across from you once again. Instead, someone else sat in Charles' seat.

The universe just loves to test your patience. It has barely been a week since the incident with Lando that you had swore you were done. No more curly hair, greenish eyes, stupid contagious smile, friendly heartthrobs in your life. It was so oddly specific that you were certain the universe would listen but instead the universe decided to test you if you were really done since you now have curly hair, hazel green eyes, stupidly friendly and contagious smile sitting right across from you who was watching you with a gentle smile.

“Franco?”

“Y/N. There you are.” Franco leans forward and puts his elbows on the table, “Leave it to you to find the coolest hidden spot in the library.” He leans over to look at your laptop and then sits back down. “Are you rewriting notes? Gross. I am very sure you have an uh…” he pauses, “photographic memory. That is the word. You already know the things, please put the notes down and have social interactions?”

“Oh why thank you for thinking I have a photographic memory but I do in fact study a lot.” You giggle and feel a blush creep onto your face at the compliment. “I am having social interaction. Am I not talking to you?” You raise a brow at him smiling. “I can talk to you while rewriting my notes, you know.”

“Yes but I do not want you to do that but that means I only have half your attention,” Franco complains as he gently closes your laptop screen shut and grabs your hands. You look at Franco and feel your face turn as red as the school’s hoodie while looking at the other, “and that just will not do.” Franco brings your hand to cup his cheek while looking at you, “you’re always taking notes and talking. I want one hundred percent of your time. Just this once, please?”

You were not the universe’s strongest warrior. The way that Franco looked at you with those wide eyes and small pout. You had found yourself letting your resolve melt quickly as you gently shut your laptop, elbow on the table while resting your cheek against your palm. “Yeah,” you find yourself saying while smiling dreamily at your fellow classmate, “I can do that.”

“Wonderful!” Franco praises as he leans back slightly. “Now, where were we last time we talked?” Franco thinks trying to recall, “I think we were talking about Hamilton—”

“And Toto,” you add on with a grin.

“Right, right,” Franco nods while glancing around before leaning in slightly. “I’m going fucking insane. They have Hamilton coming in as the guest designer for the fashion students this year and they moved the fashion kids into the arts building after that fire. Which means,” Franco grumbles, “I have the fortunate bad luck of seeing Lewis four times a week almost all day.”

“Why is that bad? He’s like your biggest celebrity crush.”

“That’s the thing!” Franco hisses, “He’s a celebrity crush. A crush that was never to see my existence or anything. Now instead of kilometers separating us, it’s just one floor! You think a man that is perfect should be looking at someone like me?” Franco looks at you, horrified, “Y/N. Please. I’ve never been so stressed over my looks before going to class. I don’t know how much longer my fragile heart can take seeing Lewis in all his glorious outfits with all those lovely rings…and tattoos…and stay sane.” Franco drops his head in defeat before looking back up at you. “Well, what about you? How’s your celebrity crush on Toto?”

You sigh and look away defeated. “Sadly, he is no longer a celebrity crush. He’s…” You cover your mouth as you take a moment. You close your eyes before taking a deep breath in and out. “Toto Wolff is…off the roster,” you whisper dramatically while looking at Franco. Franco gasps loudly, covering his mouth.

“What?! Say it ain’t so! Toto Wolff has been on the roster since the day we created the rosters,” Franco stares in disbelief, “What happened? What did he do that was so…dirty that you had to take him off the roster completely.

You stare at Franco before looking away, shaking your head slightly. “He did the one thing that I was terrified of. The only thing that would have me kick a man such as Toto Wolff off the damn roster…he became a full time professor here.” You finally admit, covering your mouth again in disbelief that your worst nightmare came true. You hear Franco gasp again and you nod, “I know. It’s such a sad day. We lost one of our strongest.”

“Here lies Toto Wolff. That man saw the rise of your beautifully curated roster. A moment of silence for our beloved.” Franco whispers as he sits there with you. You two glance at each other and you two break out into laughter. You both lean in, giggling while trying to hush the other so you two don’t get in trouble for being so loud. “Though seriously, he became a full time professor here? Good for him but that truly is a shame. We got new eye candy but at what cost?”

“I know! But hey, at least his teaching style is unique so at least I am very engaged which is really a good thing plus him looking as hot as he does since he’s a psychopath. Who the hell has classes at eight in the morning? I can’t even be happy that it’s once a week because it’s a three hour class that starts promptly at eight in the morning on Monday. Maybe it is a good thing Toto became a professor because this is too much.”

Franco’s been laughing silently the entire time, silently getting more dramatic as you spoke so he wouldn’t scream in the middle of the library. You watch him for a moment before laughing as well, grabbing onto his arms as the two of you laugh.

You two calm down and lean back as someone clears their throat. The two of you look up and your face falls to horror when cold stormy green eyes land on you. You shift uncomfortably as you become defensive. Shoulder a bit further back. Back a bit straighter. Chin a bit higher. You force a smile at the British student while trying to explode him with your mind.

“Y/N.” Lando remarks while looking down at you with pure raging dislike, “Funny seeing you here.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Ha.” Lando looks at Franco and relaxes slightly. “Dude. Come on. I’ve been looking for you for the past ten minutes, we have to grab Oscar before meeting up with Max and Carlos soon. I really don’t need Carlos getting on me for being late.”

“Oh sorry. I just got so distracted.” Franco tells Lando and stands.

“What were you even doing? Speaking to Y/N?” You glare at Lando. Franco is way too sweet to be dragged into your bullshit with Lando before looking back at Franco. It seems that the Brit has a soft spot for your fellow freshman or something because Lando clears his throat before he keeps speaking, “I didn’t realize you two knew each other. Didn’t mean to sound so rude…sorry.”

Holy shit. Did hell finally freeze over? Maybe it’s pigs flying. Or he’s finally getting laid. It really doesn’t matter the reason why right now because you were still in disbelief that Lando apologized. You never thought you’d live to see the day where Lando apologized in general but apologizing because of the rude tone he had when speaking about you? Did you end up in the Twilight Zone? No no this must be a joke. Okay, cut the cameras. Seriously the cameras can STOP rolling.

“Oh of course I know Y/N! We’re in the same graduating class and we have a few gen eds together. It’s just hard given our schedules but,” Franco grins, “We make it work. Though! Before I leave I actually want to know if you’d be interested in grabbing lunch with me tomorrow” Franco announces as he looks at you, smiling, “could be a date if you want?”

Suddenly the world just freezes and you’re stuck at the library table staring in complete shock at the turn of the events. You hadn’t even told Franco about Lando, not having the heart for his poor heart to be crushed by how Lando could be so nasty. Still, you’re trying to figure out how the hell this conversation got onto the topic of Franco asking you out on a date.

In the heat of the moment, you can’t help but turn to look at Lando as if he heard Franco correctly. Maybe you’ve just fallen asleep and this is some weird dream or something. You come to the shocking yet unsuspecting realization that this is not a dream when Lando meets your gaze having the same idea. You both look back at Franco in a state of shock and confusion. “A date?” You and Lando ask in union.

“Yes.” Franco laughs and smiles widely at you and Lando before looking back at you, “well? Would you like to get lunch with me? As a date?”

“Yes.” You smile while nodding, “I would love to get lunch with you as a date.”

You stare at Franco with a stupid smile. You hadn’t expected this was how your evening would go but you were more than happy about it. You were so happy, that Lando’s look of shock turned to disgust didn’t even phase you. Finally, you’re crashing back to reality when Lando annoyingly clears his throat while looking down at the two of you. “Well, lovebirds,” Lando forces a smile but you can feel the burn his venomous words carry, “sorry to cut the moment short but we really have to leave now, Franco.” Lando manages through gritted teeth.

“Right! Sorry again.” Franco gathers his things and looks at you, “I’ll text you later. Bye Y/N,” Franco waves before Lando sends him off, telling him he’ll be right out.

You watch Franco go off and sigh dreamily. You glance away for a moment before doing a double take. Your smile morphs into a scowl while looking at Lando who—hasn’t moved yet. Looking him up and down, you raise a brow. “Can I help you?”

“Why did you say yes to Franco?”

“You really think you’re entitled to that after the shit you pulled last week?” You raise a brow while clicking your tongue, “besides. Why do you even care?”

“Because Franco’s a freshman and I don’t need him distracted,” Lando snaps and you roll your eyes. Here he goes again about distractions and shit. Lando glances away and huffs. “Also because he’s a bit of a player.”

“Takes one to know one, yeah?”

Lando glares at you and sneers slightly. “So what? I wouldn’t want him wasting any of his time on you.”

“Why?”

“You’d probably bore him to death.” Looking down at you as Lando gives it a beat. “Also I doubt you’d know how to get him off for your first time. Hell, I don’t think you’d know how to get anybody off. Not even yourself.” Giving you a condescending smile, “I would hate for him to be a part of your body count.”

“Oh.” You laugh slightly, “That’s adorable. Well. You know what? I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Lando’s a bit taken aback. “I—what?”

“You know. I’ve been doing some thinking. I think we didn’t quite see eye-to-eye.” You continue as you pack your things. “Which isn’t really fair because you were truly just looking out for your friends. Like you’re doing right now.” Standing straight, “which I just wanna say is the sweetest thing ever so. I want to thank you and I’ve figured out the best way to do that.”

“…Which is…?” Lando leans in slightly, waiting for your answer.

“Which is…letting you know in great detail not only how good Franco’s gonna fuck me this weekend but you’ll also have to listen how Franco’s not going to want anybody else when I’m done with him.” You feign innocence to Lando as you sling your backpack over your shoulders before walking away.

“Now, don’t you move a single muscle,” Franco kisses your forehead with a smile “You just focus on resting and I’ll handle everything for dinner tonight, okay?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good girl.” Franco winks before leaving your dorm. 

You lay in your bed staring where Franco had just left before rolling over, grunting as your legs failed to work with you. Fumbling around the messy sheets and pillows till you find your phone and immediately open the texts messages because you had to tell someone about the date you just had:

A MINX. HE’S A MINX I TELL YOU. - YN

WHO? WHAT? THE FUCK IS HAPPENING??? - CL

FRANCO. FRANCO IS NOTHING MORE THAN A MINX!!!!-YN

??????-CL

So Franco asked me out on a date for lunch today—YN

HE WHAT?! WHEN?-YN

Yesterday after you disappeared. He showed up and Lando came looking for him.-YN

LANDO? WHAT? Oh my god was he nasty to you? I’ll hurt him istg-CL

No. No he was…civil. Or civilish while Franco was around. But anyway, yeah Lando was asking like why Franco was talking to me cause we don’t really talk and like they had to go to Max’s place and Franco was like “oh we’re in the same graduating class” and stuff but before he left he was like “oh do you wanna get lunch with me tomorrow as a date?'“-YN

And I was gagged! I thought it heard it wrong so I looked at Lando who was LOOKING AT ME THE SAME WAY so we realize oh this is real. This is happening and Franco wants to grab lunch with me like a date. So I say yes, obviously.-YN

IN FRONT OF LANDO!?-CL

Yeah cause fuck him!!! If my happiness is his kryptonite to having a good day, then so fucking be it. But wait!! There’s more!-YN

TELL ME! TELL ME!-CL

So Lando hangs behind and Franco leaves. Then Lando looks at me all like “why’d you say yes?” Bitch what do you mean???-YN

Oh my god, he did not!!-CL

He totally did!!!-YN

Ew. Why does it have a jealous undertone?? possessiveness???-CL

It’s giving ‘you belong to me’ or like ‘nobody else can have you because I want you’ like some dark romance MMC. This is not a bully romance with a mafia subplot or some shit!!-YN

PREACH 👏👏👏. So what happened after?!-CL

Oh so I was like “i’m not telling you after the shit you pulled last week” and asking why he cares and he’s going on about how Franco’s a freshman and he can’t get distracted and how he’s a bit of a player, which he isn’t he’s just kind of a himbo, and I was like “oh takes one to know one, yeah?”-YN

YOU DID NOT. SHUT UP OH Y/N I LOVE YOU SO MUCH-CL

I did and that pissed Lando off. He starts going on about how I don’t know how to get anybody off and I’d bore Franco to death and how he would never want Franco a part of my body count. First off I got three bodies and I have pleased all three, thank you very much but also like fuck Lando!! His opinion? Doesn’t matter!! So I started bout how ‘oh we got off on the wrong foot’ and ‘you’re right’ to throw him for a loop before I told him I wanted to ‘thank him’ for ‘opening my eyes’ and his thank you is listening, in great detail, to Franco fuck me this entire weekend and then listening to Franco wanting nobody else 💋-YN

YNNNN!!! OH MY GOOOOOD I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!! Ugh yes that’s some queen shit. Though how does that tie into Franco being a minx??-CL

BECAUSE. It’s Friday. He has no classes. Mine got canceled so I decided, oh why don’t we stay in today, right? soooo like, we go to the cafe, i get food (that Franco paid for) cause he’s not hungry right now which is whatever, and then we head back to my dorm. We’re watching tv, we’re talking, and I finish eating. It’s great, right??-YN

Yes, correct.-CL

So as I’m talking, I start talking about Lando. Franco’s apologizing, I’m telling him he shouldn’t be apologizing. He’s asking if he should stop hanging out with Lando and you know me. I’m not gonna police people on their friends so I told him no. As long as he holds Lando accountable, then I don’t care. If Franco wants to drop Lando that’s his own doing.-YN

Anyway, we keep talking and laughing. We’re getting closer. And then…you know-YN

…What happened? 👀👀-CL

We start kissing. Then it turns into a lazy makeout. Hands start wandering, nothing real scandalous ya know?-YN

Uh huh…-CL

Then this mf pulls away and is like “Oh, I’m real hungry”-YN

FRANCO!!! WTFF!!!!-CL

OH WAIT!! Cause that’s what I thought. I was like “Oh really? Like now? I mean I guess we can go back to the cafe.” Meanwhile he’s actively getting off the bed. Then Franco pulls me by my ankles to the edge of the bed. so i'm thinking he’s really hungry so I go to sit up and he pushes me back down talking bout some “where’re you going mami?”-YN

SIR?? EXCUSE ME??? I can hear the accent now, oh my god that’s—wow-CL

OH BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE!!!-YN

So first, don’t be calling me mami unless you plan on making me an actual mom. Second, I’m looking at him confused like “you said you were hungry” and he’s like “yeah?” and I was like “Oh I’m sorry, I just thought you’d want me to join you going to the cafe to get lunch” and he’s looking at me like I got ten heads before going like “the cafe? Why would we go to the cafe?” He’s actively like leaning over me while holding my thighs and slowly pushing them opening talking bout “I don’t need the cafe when I got a full five meal course right here sprawled out in front of me.”-YN

FRANCO!?! OH MY GOD—I have to fan myself. Wow that was—🥵🥵🥵🥵-CL

RIGHT?!?!-YN

WELL??-CL

…Charles when I tell you. I do not believe in god but I am pretty sure I was knocking on his door. Two hours. I was seeing god for TWO HOURS!!! Charles when I tell you that man had me screaming crying throwing up I MEAN IT. Charles, I'm still in bed. My legs are still shaking. I can’t feel them.-YN

What I wouldn’t give to be sucked off like that—CL

But wait. There’s a cherry on top of all of this.-YN

WHAT COULD TOP THIS?-CL

Franco really had to make sure everyone knew what was happening. I mean, he’s on his knee with my hips hanging off. He’s got one hand gripping my ass like it’s his lifeline to this world. He’s between my thighs and eating me out like he is a man up next on death row and I am his final fucking meal. He pushed all the pillows away. Got my wrists pinned to my stomach with his other hand. I am solely at his mercy and I cannot keep quiet for the life of me and he ate it up. I was so loud, I heard banging from upstairs.-YN

Banging?-CL

Yeah. Like someone was hitting a broom against the floor. To signal to shut up, which Franco and I ignored. More Franco than me, I couldn’t see straight and that was an hour in. Do you know, what the banging was though???-YN

A disgruntled upstairs neighbor???-CL

Yeah. Do you remember who my upstairs neighbor is?-YN

…OH MY FUCKING GOD, LANDO LISTENED TO YOU GETTING THE BEST HEAD OF YOUR LIFE?-CL

Yes SIIIIIIIIRRRRRR. Dude Lando got so mad he CALLED Franco in the middle of it and he answered.-YN

HE ANSWERED?!-CL

Yes. He answered. Pulls back enough to start fingering me and hands be a pillow telling me to bite down on it which I do without a second fucking thought. But tell me why Franco put Lando on speaker and Lando asking “what are you doing right now??” and Franco looks me dead in the fucking eyes going on bout “Oh I’m just having lunch right now with Y/N.” and Lando’s like “oh yeah? Is that so? Then why the fuck is she screaming so god damn loud? Huh? Thought it was a lunch date?” and Charles. I shit you the fuck NOT, Franco without missing a beat goes, “It is. She’s my lunch and my mother always told me to finish everything on my plate and I plan to do just that.” THEN HUNG UP THE PHONE AND WENT RIGHT BACK TO EATING ME OUT.-YN

Y/N…you are the luckiest bitch around. Holy fucking shit. I need a man like Franco—do we know if Franco swings both ways??-CL

He does. Though you might not like him. He’s got a huge crush on Lewis—YN

Never mind. You keep Franco. Gives me an easier chance to steal Lewis' heart. Or just get one chance with him.-CL

I think you can do it. I believe. Anyway, yeah so that happened and—YN

You accidentally send your message to Charles early when a new text comes through. It’s by an unknown number and you click on it.

Lacrosse field. 8pm. We need to talk.-Unk

You think for a moment trying to figure out who this could be. No names come to your mind so you think that someone texted the wrong number. Typically, you’d leave unknown numbers alone but you got the impression that this was something important and urgent that you respond.

Oh I’m sorry, you have the wrong number-YN

I don’t-Unk

Excuse me?-YN

You look up hearing the familiar broom hitting against the floor. You scowl at Lando and his antics before looking back at your phone. Huh. That was…too coincidental. You lay there for a moment before the banging came again, this time a bit more urgent. You send your message before realizing it.

Lando?-YN

The banging stops. Suddenly, your dorm is eerily quiet and you hold your breath. You watch the familiar three bubbles appear and disappear before appearing again as your heart sinks.

Bingo. 8pm. Tonight. Lacrosse field. Alone.-LN

tag list: @dripostsstuff, @tinyhrry, @formulaho, @green--beanie, @brekkers-whore.

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[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 8 - Jason Fucking Todd

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Well, look on the bright side of things. You’re not crying right now. That’s nice. You’re not an intern anymore. That’s nice. You struggle to think of anything else. Oh yeah, you’re rich! That’s also nice. You’re not dead. Nice.

This is kind of pathetic. You just feel bummed after having to break up with George a second time. And getting smacked right in the face by him. Which you know, anybody would be, you think. You don’t think a single soul has ever known the George Lancaster Break-Up Special more than once. And you didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to fall for that asshole more than once.

You couldn’t fake a brave face anymore, you just didn’t have the energy for it.

…And let’s not forget almost dying via Joker goon. Not even the man himself, just a random lackey. You think of how he literally disappeared in front of your eyes, and decide you are going to stop thinking. It’s doing you no good anyway.

Instead, you just start walking. Letting your feet and your intimate knowledge of Gotham’s streets, even in this area you don’t often frequent, guide you. You find yourself at the train station. With little consideration, you buy a ticket to the southern part of the city. The bad side of town, the docks, where your apartment used to be.

You feel like a little rat scurrying back into the sewers as you hop on the subway, tucking yourself in between people who don’t recognise you, probably because of your general dishevelment.

Shoulders knocking against strangers, you feel the most at home since this whole disaster started. You stare across the train car, watching a baby babble to its mother. It catches your eye, gives you a big toothless smile, and some snot dribbles into it’s mouth. The mother notices and cleans the baby up with a tissue. When she catches you staring, you give a very awkward but friendly smile, and she smiles back.

A tiny weight lifts off your shoulders. Surrounded by the chaos of Gotham, as the subway exits the tunnels and heads up onto the sky rails, you find yourself warm by the rays of sun through the clouds. The view is beautiful, as it always is. Usually, you’d be looking at your phone, too busy to enjoy the sights. But it really is beautiful.

It’s only when you hear the announcer calling out that you realise you did this for a reason, and dart out of your seat and through the narrowly closing doors. The metal closes behind you with a small hiss. The Docks station, for most people, would be one of the better Gotham train stations. Newly built, and with all the tourist money it was clean. Well, clean as it could get. You’d read some article about the bacteria the rats were carrying being not found anywhere else on earth, and you’d decided to stop reading articles.

Anyway, for you, even the shining marble of the station was a sad sight. Because you only ever came here on your very worst days.

This seemed like one of them.

The familiar streets flit past you, barely something you’re even cognisant of. This part of the city was mostly new, the concrete fresh under your feet instead of littered with potholes. Still, it wasn’t at the centre of the blast radius, so it hadn’t been totally demolished.

No, that was just up ahead. And like everything else in this weird new world, you immediately noticed something different. Where your family had died was… still there, for some reason.

With confusion, exhaustion, and no small bit of despair, you stop in the middle of the pathway outside the remnants of what used to be an old diner and was now just a pile of rocks. Some very charred rocks. Looking at the wreckage, you raise your brows. Its crumbling form is still under construction after all these years. The yellow caution tape is only a deterrence to you because you don’t want to end up on the gossip reels for a second time today. Looking around, you find yourself further confused. Lots of other parts of the pier had been redeveloped, but this piece of the puzzle still lay bare.

It didn’t, in your home, your world. It had been replaced with high-rise apartments, and since they were so close to the water, so pretty and new, you had no hope of affording them. It probably wouldn’t be very good for your mental health even if you could. Still, you’d taken many walks past the street. Enjoyed the little bit of dirty white concrete that had survived. You and your siblings had signed your names into it, and you’d stroked the sidewalk like the weirdo you were many times.

Like you did today. And today, for some reason, the rest of it was here. Untouched. A remnant of the disaster. As you run your thumb along the sharp edge of Julie’s J, you find yourself once again lost in your memories. They were like honey traps to you these days.

The mum-and-pops diner had been run by your uncle. It’d been in the family for three generations, and he was incorrigibly proud of it. You’d all had your birthday parties there, because it was free and you were poor. It wasn’t like your uncle would let you pay for the food anyway, it was just one of the few times Mum could stand the generosity. She didn’t like it when you had disappointing birthdays, and no matter how much you tried to fake your happiness, she could always see to your core. Eventually, you and your siblings all gave up on trying.

You were late. You were often late, but this time it was… it was the difference between life and death. If you’d been a few blocks further, a little bit earlier, you’d probably be dead too. Or at least have some serious hearing loss instead of just suffering mild tinnitus.

You had felt more than seen the destruction. The earth had rumbled, and a deafening roar had swept through the streets. You remember falling to your knees, the worry about being late morphing to worry for your best clothes to a true terror when you realised where the blast had come from.

When you realised your family was in the epicentre.

You sometimes wish you were on time that day. That you’d gotten to see them all, even if you went with them. It didn’t sound so bad, really. At least you wouldn’t be alone. Hmm, you should probably stop thinking like that. Or maybe go to a therapist about it.

Not that you could afford it. Oh, right. Rich now. That was really taking some getting used to.

You wonder if people who won the lottery felt the same way. Probably not, because the rest of the world reflected the changes the person felt. They’d have to go pick up the check, go to the bank, and if they let their family and friends know, deal with the consequences of that.

You’d just woken up rich. No time to adjust, your new life was here and it was demanding your attention very loudly. And soup-ly, unfortunately. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the rubble, you look towards your left, where you know the Memorial awaits you. It’s in the centre of the new shopping district, built on top of the bombed parts of Gotham. It sits right next to the water, the cold breeze a comfort that you’d turned to on more than one occasion.

You’d feel bad if you didn’t change your clothes. You told Grayson you would, and you already felt bad enough about... everything to do with him. You suppose he was your brother. Your ex-brother. Ex-step-brother. The ex-step-brother of a woman who you weren’t.

Really, he was just a stranger. It seemed he didn’t feel that way, though.

You start the walk towards the shopping district, and into the first clothes store you see. The prices on the tags would usually make you flinch, but well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing seems to matter. Your survival is now guaranteed, might as well wear some clothes that feel nice on your skin.

You walk out of that store looking like you just robbed it. Even the clerk had given you a weird look but accepted the black card tucked in your phone without much complaint. It’s an improvement if a small one.

Once you’re done, like a moth to a flame, you drift towards the Memorial centre. You’re following all the steps you used to in the past, but somehow, it all feels a bit alien. The world looks a little different, a little uncomfortable. Your shoes are worn in, and yet they still feel too tight.

Uncanny valley. You feel unwelcomed here, unwanted. Like the very earth can tell that there’s something wrong in this scene, some intruder. You ignore the feeling as best you can.

The Memorial is just as unfamiliar as the diner was, maybe even more. You know that your mother was a Wayne before she died. You know that. But still seeing your family’s framed photos, right alongside Jason's is so shocking you nearly jump. It takes a moment of wide-eyed staring before you can manage to get past that. When you do, for some reason you still go back to your old habits. You walk by them, the bouquets and to where their names used to be in thin letters.

You count with your fingers, finding the fifty-second line.

A man’s name replaces the spot where your mother’s is. The little grooves the oil in your fingers had left behind were gone, and instead was sharp stone like when the monument was first erected. It cuts at your fingers. It no longer welcomes your touch.

James Whitaker. That’s the name of the man who took their spot.

You can already feel a rising obsession with the random dead man. If you were going to psycho-analyse yourself, you’d recognise that you didn’t feel that the images of the Waynes you’d created were no longer real, no longer safe to your escapist mindset. You’d realise, that this was all pretty unhealthy, and you really, really needed therapy.

Instead, you give the guy your condolences and start reading the other plinths. They seem largely the same. It’s not like you hadn’t read all of these towers of stone at one point or another, your eyes glazing over the many, many names. So much devastation, all in one moment.

And still, this was not even a tenth of all the lives the Joker had taken. You kinda wanna go take a kick at one of the Bat signals littered around the city. Maybe that’d make you less… broiling with incompetent rage.

Again, maybe you should just go to therapy. You should call Jeanine about that or something.

Eventually, you circle back to your family and Jason’s shrines. You know, back then you’d been jealous that Jason Todd had been so well mourned. You’d wished your family had gotten the same treatment.

Now, you… felt jealous again. Possessive, over their memory, their image. You didn’t really like that random strangers that never knew them… knew them. That Sam always got As in English and Art class but would sometimes skip math and would hide in the bathrooms to do so. That Chasey had struggled with going to school because of her anxiety but kept going because she had a friend going through the exact same thing. That Julie was the ace of her school’s soccer team, and that she’d almost gotten them to nationals even in the presence of all the super-rich schools in Gotham. That your Mum was a great cook but genuinely hated doing it, but for some reason, baking was her favourite thing even as she had never made a proper macaron.

They didn’t know them. They knew their faces and a facsimile of them, but they didn’t know them. It reminded you of the people at the orphanage. Nice, but not kind. They’d had their own lives, they didn’t want some bratty, demented teenager who was going down and planning on taking everyone with her.

You really couldn’t be happy, could you? Maybe you didn’t know what you wanted. What you want now. What you’d wanted for a while, actually.

Ugh. You close your eyes and let out a deep, soul-shaking sigh. It takes a moment for you to shore up the willpower to open them again. Come on, flower shop, finish your weird little ritual then you can go home and hide for the next millenia.

The walk there is the same as always, if a little more morose. It’s in a good spot, near the church just a block away and the memorial on its other side, as well as less sombre atmospheres down near the pier. Well, as little sombre as Gotham can manage.

You feel like you blink and you’re there. Too quickly, you find a rainbow of blooms in front of you, the scent of the blossoms washing over you. When you walk into the flower shop, the bell at the door rings the same as it always does. On autopilot, you walk over to the small, cheaper buds. Your hand clenches around the crinkly wrapping paper, a bundle of posies in your hand. You go to the counter with your prize in hand.

Larissa, the counter worker, smiles at you. Your breath hitches. It’s a working smile, not one of the real, toothy ones she used to give you.

“Oh wow, I thought all the posies had sold out. Lucky you!”

You think of something to say, but the moment passes and you don’t. She rings you up, tells you the price, and when you pay, asks sweetly if you want a receipt.

She doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t acknowledge how you come here every week and buy this same handful of flowers. She doesn’t ask about your job or the weather. She doesn’t cheerfully tell you about how her apprenticeship is going, or about the next sweet thing her partner has done. No, she just stares at you, growing more uncomfortable the longer it takes for you to answer.

She doesn’t even seem to recognise this other version of you. It feels like another string that tied you down to the earth has been snipped. You have an image in your head of a child losing a balloon, desperately grasping at the air. You’re going to float up into the atmosphere, and then you’re going to pop.

You can see the foil glinting in the sun’s light, so, so clearly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Yes, a receipt, please.”

Taking it blindly, you barely flutter your eyes open as you walk out of the shop. She didn’t know you, didn’t remember you. That doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. You hadn’t really known her. It doesn’t matter. There’s no real difference, it doesn’t matter.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it never really mattered. You keep telling yourself this as you walk back over to the memorial. As you lay your flowers down with the others, the little posies are dwarfed by the other donations. It didn’t matter. You didn’t know her. None of this matters. Their flowers don’t matter.

You don’t matter. You hit that errant thought with a mental fly swatter.

Exhausted, you sit down next to the monument. You used to be able to lay your head on the stone, able to feel your family in the warmth it had absorbed in the sun. Now you just sort of, awkwardly reached out to the small bit of uncovered plinth at the side. You have to stick your hand through a wreath to do so.

It’s not warm. You wonder if your family are sad. And then you wonder if you’re an idiot for attributing feelings to a literal rock.

After a while, you get up. Cross your arms. You stare at your family's portraits, eyes moving over their smiles. One by one. You recognise some of the photographs, those are your favourites. A smile cracks across your face when you see the picture of when Chasey lost her two front teeth. She still grins cheekily at the camera, uncaring for any changes to her appearance, as all kids shouldn’t.

Your shoulders fall just the slightest bit when you see the picture of Jason Todd. It’s one of his older pictures. Probably seventeen or something. He’d always been a lovely boy when he was younger. And he still was up till he died but you’d always thought you’d seen something start to change in him. That sparkle of innocence, dulled, just the slightest.

And then he’d died. And you’d wondered if maybe he’d felt it was coming.

You certainly hadn’t. It had been like a hurricane tearing through your life. You’d ended up on the other side completely abandoned, the only friend who’d bothered to keep seeing you being one who’d learnt to dodge train ticket costs like a damn ninja. And you’d had to decide whether you could keep doing this, whether you even wanted to.

You were an obsessive creature by nurture. It had been all you could do to hang onto the Waynes, pretend they would love and care for you even if they’d have never even noticed you in real life. You weren’t sure that was strength or simple human survival. Dying was scary. Of course, you were scared of dying.

Your whole family had died. So, you told yourself, that Jason Fucking Todd would be sad if you killed yourself, and somehow, you had made it all these years.

And now here you were, and the Waynes did notice you in real life. You were important to them. You didn’t want to be, but you were. And again, you have to ask yourself, what would Jason Todd ask of you? What would he want you to do now, in this impossible situation you’ve found yourself in?

You stare at the picture. Stare at the way the sun hits his dark hair and blue eyes. Stare very, very hard. Like he might crawl out and give you a detailed list of what to do. You’d really like a detailed list. Or any guidance at all. Maybe you could go hit up a seance or something.

Your head falls forward into your sun-warmed palms. This is so stupid. No answers are going to fall from the sky, you need to find them yourself. And you’re not going to find them here.

Someone walks up beside you to the old memorial, and you quickly tuck yourself back into an acceptable image. Fold in all the rough edges you can. A tall and well-built man, with a face mask, sunglasses and a trucker hat, he looks like he could be a celebrity or something. Someone important, much more than you.

And you weren’t, not technically, at least. The universe had done the equivalent of a shelving error, and now here you goddamn were.

He does an odd pose next to you, something military-esque, where he clasps his hands together and bows his head. With a quick flick of your eyes you confirm, yes, his feet are equal with his shoulders. It’s obvious that he’s paying his respects so you do your best not to judge him too hard.

And then he speaks to you.

“I’m sorry.”

You look up, startled and confused.

“For your loss,” the deep voice finishes, jerking his head toward the pictures in front of the two of you.

“Wha- oh uh, um,” you blink and then realise that this person has recognised you, which would make sense since you are literally in one of the photos in front of you, and manage to pull your fading conscious mind back together for a moment more.

“Thank you, uh-” you stare at him a moment longer, “You too?”

Almost worse than that time you told the barista who gave you your coffee you hoped she enjoyed hers too, but not quite. Well, you know, he’d probably lost someone here too. You don’t know why he’d be here otherwise unless he wanted an autograph or something. The thought almost makes you laugh.

He snorts at your words. You don’t know what to make of that.

He looks back down at the pictures and flowers. You think he does, at least, from the slight shifting of his head. He’s kind of mysterious. Pair that with the deep voice, the muscular and tall physique, and you’re an odd mix of attracted and socially anxious. Not that you’re not always socially anxious, but this guy feels… strong. Dumb again, you can see his biceps from here but…

You just can’t quite shake it off. Strong. Strong.

“They didn’t deserve it, none of them did,” he speaks again, and you wonder what the fuck he’s going on about at all.

You admit, you sound a little bitter when you mutter, “Well, that’s obvious.”

He lets out a bark of laughter, and you see his eyes flash to you from under his sunglasses. A shade of blue. There’s another odd pause, and then he turns to you. You don’t know why he’s looking at you. He crosses his arms, and seems to size you up.

“What are you doing here?” he asks you like he knows you.

Your brow furrows. Okay, kind of losing any hotness points here. Bothering someone who was grieving could’ve been seen as rude from the very start, but you’d just thought he was weird. Now, you thought he was weird and rude.

“…Paying my respects. Obviously,” you gesture downwards, “My mother, my siblings, and…”

Well, how would you describe the relationship between you and Jason Todd now? He was still just a stranger to you and-

“With who, that guy?”

Now, it isn’t often that you’re stunned into silence, but at the moment you can’t find it in you to do anything but stare and gape. Frankly, you’re astonished! You’ve never met anyone who spoke so rudely of the dead, and well, he couldn’t have picked a worse person to do it in front of.

“Excuse me?” your voice can’t seem to convey even half of your offence, even as you sound like you’re about ready to bite a second person for today. The man pauses like you’ve surprised him, which- what the fuck is going on? Why do you feel like an alien crash-landed on Earth these days?

“No, I just meant-” he huffs, shakes his head, and continues, his voice now offended too, “What the fuck am I saying? Yes, I did mean that. That little twerp was a naive idiot who was manipulated by the people he believed in most.”

You stare, absolutely speechless, as the stranger goes on a damn-fucking-near crazed rant about one of the people most important to you. Never met? Sure. Dead as hell? Absolutely. But still, he was one of your lifelines. Your candlelight in the dark, guiding your way even when you felt completely lost. And now he’s calling him a naive idiot? You can practically feel the steam coming out of your ears.

“He changed nothing, made no difference in the end-”

“Nothing?!” you practically shriek, finally able to find your voice just to use it to shout, “He changed… so much! He donated millions of dollars, did heaps of charity work, was practically a treasure to our city… He made multiple homeless shelters, an orphanage, helped rehabilitate criminals and countless other things.”

Your fists are clenched tight enough that they shake. You hide them behind your back, but you still feel like he can probably see them. Your emotions are simmering too close to the surface, bubbling over and onto the floor. About to burn his sneakers to ash.

“You seem like you care a lot,” he says, sounding reserved.

“Of course, I care.”

“…It’s just, you didn’t seem the type, on the TV,” he keeps talking, poking at you for some god-awful reason, and you bark out a harsh laugh.

“Maybe people need to stop making so many fucking assumptions, then? It certainly hasn’t gotten you anywhere,” you throw your hands up, damn sick of all the constant fucking surveillance you’re under. You can see why this version of you lost her mind. You’re near about to as well.

He stares at you for a moment longer, and you start feeling too uncomfortable. It’s a stupid and useless protectiveness that has you staying. Like he’ll somehow try and harm the shrine to your people. It’s happened before, Joker fanboys defacing it and such. This guy could be one of those bastards.

And yet… somehow you feel…

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he finally says.

“Good, you do that.”

“But in the end, nothing’s really changed. Joker’s still out and about, as you well know.”

You physically flinch like you’ve been slapped. For a good minute there, all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You raise one shaking fist, and lift one trembling finger, pointing. The man looks in the direction you’ve pointed, and when he doesn’t see anything, turns back to you. His sunglasses reflect the grey afternoon sun.

“Go,” you order, voice shaking just like the rest of you.

He just keeps staring at you. You wish he’d take off those dumb fucking glasses, so you could see this asshole’s face. Etch it into your mind. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t take any action. He simply waits for you to… Well, you don’t know what you’ll do. You haven’t known what you’d do since you left Dick behind two hours ago.

“You need to go,” you say again, and again, he doesn’t fucking move, “You… there’s… you have no right.”

You can hear the buzz of the city around you, the wind rushing by. His clothes rustle in the wind. Your voice sounds too loud in your ears, but he won’t just… he won’t leave. You don’t want this stranger here, watching you. Judging you. It’s all…

“Jason didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, and you think to yourself, desperately, ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

There’s a slight shift in the stranger’s posture. His shoulders tensed.

You think you’ve offended him.

“The Joker… That’s nobody's fault but the government for not just sucking it up and giving him the death penalty, or Batman’s for not doing it himself a long time ago. They’re all fucking useless, but they’re the ones who are supposed to be dealing with this!” you continue, your words growing more heated. It’s only the already looming threat of an assault case that keeps you from shoving the guy. Not like you’d be able to move him an inch, of course, he was huge.

You’re sure it would feel good, though.

“It was never some random teenager's responsibility, and it wasn't mine either,” you say, but find yourself pausing for a moment when you hear the end of your sentence. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious anyway.

You’d tied yourself and Jason up together in your head. To you, you were both two sides of the same coin. One foot in the grave. You’ve got one foot in the grave…

“Jason Todd was a good person, and he made the world a better place.”

You look down at the portrait of the boy, his toothy smile twisting at your heart. None of this was fair. None of this had ever been fair. Why was this guy acting like anybody here had ever been able to do anything about it? Like Jason should’ve been smarter, and avoided a fucking bomb blast?

It was stupid. This was stupid, and you were over it. You were tired.

“And I miss him.”

It’s quiet after you say that.

“I don’t know how you can think it’s fair to act like his death was pointless when… of course it was, all of this was pointless,” you say, throwing your hands wide and gesturing to the entire memorial. “This was a tragedy, but Jason was a victim. And I’m sick of people like you who think they can decide whether someone else’s life was lived right. It’s not your damn right.”

“Now… fuck off!” you announce, and to your shock, he does. He fucks right off. The man gives you one last lingering look, and then turns and leaves without another word. Not like you needed them.

You huff out a shocked breath, and then turn back to the memorial.

The framed faces of your loved ones stare back at you, and for all you know it’s stupid, you can’t help but feel embarrassed for the display. You know your mother would’ve scolded you for your language, at least.

“Sorry,” you say, and you’re unfortunately reminded of that irritating man again. Likely that won’t be the first time he pops up again in your head. He seemed well, insane. Which wasn’t that odd in Gotham but… god, you just couldn’t seem to let it go.

It pissed you off to high heaven. His rudeness was something you’d usually be able to shrug off, especially from some random stranger, but, but, but-! Argh, damn it all. And it wasn’t like that was the first time you had had that sort of conversation, but it was certainly the first time someone had been so bold as to bring it up in front of your dead mother’s smiling face.

Earlier today had snuffed out the fire in you, but that encounter had been the spark to reignite it. More than that, actually. It had made you so damn pissed, made your blood boil in a way you just couldn’t ignore, to the point that you wanted to prove him wrong.

Jason Todd had mattered and had made a difference and change in Gotham. He had made a change in you. You put your hands on your hips, stare down at the flowers, and make a decision.

You’re going to fix your goddamn life. For Jason Fucking Todd.

Your body feels like shit, your brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, and yet this is the greatest opportunity you’ve ever been given. You have a chance to save yourself, and save your friends, and fix all the tiny little problems in Gotham that you’ve suffered through since childhood. Surely just throwing enough money at all your problems would fix some of them.

You were rich. If you couldn’t fix your life with millions of dollars available, then you had no chance.

And yeah, you don’t know what you’re doing. You know you can’t really change what happened. Back then or even just a few days ago. But you hate that. You hate it so much. You hate how weak you are in the face of loss. How both then and now, there’s nothing you can really do. And maybe if just out of spite, towards that asshat, Batman, Joker and everyone else, you want to make a change.

You want to be able to do something about it. You want it, so fucking bad.

First order of business?

…You want more flowers.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[aquaticmercy]

The Catalyst

Summary : In this universe, you and Bucky are happy. In other universes, it might not be that simple.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, trauma, grief, cursing, non-sexual nudity. Lots of Angst. Fluff in the beginning and end. Multiversal Travel.

Word count : 8.9k

Note : This story is meant to resemble a What If? episode. It is an exploration of what would happen to you and Bucky if the other died. I will refer to the main universe (MCU) as Earth-616 because Marvel is stupid and has decided that it’s not earth-19999 anymore. The fic is inspired by the song of the same title by Linkin Park. Also, I hope this story makes sense? Enjoy!

Earth-616…

The bathroom was quiet, save for the soft gurgle of water and the occasional drip from the faucet. 

Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, bare and bruised, watching you with a tired smile.

The gash on his forehead was deep, an angry red against his skin, and his chest was peppered with smaller cuts and scrapes, remnants of yet another mission gone south. You stood in front of him, tilting his chin to clean the wound.

“You’re lucky this didn’t need stitches,” you murmured, focusing on your work.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Bucky said lightly, though you could tell he was exhausted. “I’m practically indestructible.”

You glanced up, narrowing your eyes at him, not finding any solace in his self-deprecating humour today. “No, you’re not, James.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he gave you that lopsided, charming smile, the one that always made your heart flutter— even when you were mad at him.

“Alright, my love,” you closed the tap. “Bath’s ready.”

Bucky stood slowly, groaning as he stretched. Before you could move away, he pulled you back toward him. 

“Come take a dip with me,” he murmured. 

You looked up at him. “I drew this bath for you—”

“Please,” he interrupted.

You hesitated, only a moment, before nodding. “Alright,” you said. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for almost dying.”

He gave you a faint smile as you undressed.

The water enveloped you in warmth as you both sank into the tub. Bucky settled behind you, his legs bracketing yours, arms wrapping around your waist. You leaned back against his chest, your head resting beneath his chin.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Your fingers absentmindedly traced his metal arm, feeling the ridges of the plating.

You closed your eyes, but the memory of his bloodied face lingered in your mind. The fear you felt when he walked through the door earlier that day—bruised and battered but alive—still held onto you.

Bucky’s lips pressed softly to the back of your head, pulling you from your thoughts. “You’re quiet today,” he murmured, his voice soothing your worries

You swallowed hard, finger frozen on his arm. “You just really scared me tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, arms wrapping tighter around you.

“Just… be more careful, please?” you said quietly. “There’ve been too many close calls lately. If something happened to you…” Your voice cracked as you drew in a shaky breath. “If I lost you, I don’t think I’d know how to put myself back together.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, grip strengthening on you. “Don’t even think about it.”

You tilted your head back, resting on his collarbone. “I mean it, James,” you whispered. “You’re everything to me.”

“You’ll never lose me,” he said, his conviction absolute. “I’ll always come back to you, no matter what.”

“You’d fucking better,” tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you managed a small smile. “Or I’ll find a way to drag you back myself.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

“Good,” you said, snuggling closer to him. “Maybe that’ll keep you in line.”

He kissed the back of your head again. The water lapped gently around you, the warmth easing the knots in your muscles, soothing the subtle throb in your heart.

After everything you’ve both been through, you were just happy he was here— alive.

•

Somewhere in a distant reality…

In this universe, Bucky Barnes didn’t cry at your funeral.

The rain came down in unrelenting sheets, soaking through the black suit he wore, but Bucky didn’t shiver. He didn’t flinch when the first heavy shovelful of dirt struck your casket, the dull thud echoing in his ears like a death knell. He stood apart from the others, an immovable statue at the edge of the grave, his hands limp at his sides, trembling ever so slightly— His face might as well have been carved from stone.

The sound of weeping surrounded him—your friends, your teammates, people you had saved. Each sob seemed to pierce his skin, sharp as broken glass, but still, Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t cry.

Bucky didn’t cry when the ground swallowed you whole.

He didn’t cry when Pepper, eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears, rested a firm hand on his shoulder. He didn’t cry when Sam placed a folded flag in his hands, whispering, “She was a hero.” He didn’t cry when Clint, voice hoarse, muttered, “She saved so many lives.”

He didn’t cry when Tony, uncharacteristically subdued, raised a glass to your memory that night, his hand trembling just enough to make the liquid ripple, Bucky stayed silent. He stared at the drink in his hand until it blurred into nothing.

But when he sat in the shadows of his apartment later, something deep inside him twisted.

He couldn’t stop replaying your death in his mind. Your final words, whispered through cracked lips and choked breaths, were for him. “You’re going to be okay, James.”

You had died saving them— saving the world. You had grabbed the infinity stones away from Tony, you had snapped so he didn’t have to. You did it because you couldn’t let anyone else make the sacrifice— you did it because Morgan needed a father.

But Bucky needed you.

And you were gone.

He had no more tears to give. He had shed them in the days leading up to your funeral, in suffocating quiet of the aftermath. He had cried until there was nothing left inside, until grief turned into a cold, sharp knife that carved your initials into his chest and refused to let him rest.

So he didn’t cry anymore.

But when the world fell away—when the comforting murmurs of others faded and he was left alone in the silence of the apartment you had shared—something inside him broke.

Bucky didn’t cry anymore, but that didn’t stop him grieving.

Bucky grieved like a soldier.

It was disciplined, bordering on mechanical. He scrubbed your presence from the apartment with clinical detachment, packing your things with military precision. Your clothes disappeared into boxes he refused to label. Your toiletries vanished from the bathroom like they had never been there.

He didn’t touch the photos, though. He left them right where you’d placed them. He didn’t move the jacket you always left draped over the back of the chair, didn’t even bring himself to wash the cup you’d left on the counter.

At night, when the apartment grew unbearably still, he would sit in the dark and trace his fingers over the curve of your handwriting in the little notes you’d leave him—Don’t forget milk! He would fiddle with the frayed fabric of the worn shirt that still smelled faintly of your vanilla perfume. He held it in his hands for hours, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Every mission after that was a blur of adrenaline and violence. As soon as he got pardoned, he threw himself into the fight with reckless abandon, his mind a haze of desperation and anger, his body moving like a machine, like no part of him remained human.

He fought like a man trying to outrun himself.

He didn’t care if he made it back, didn’t care if he took a bullet—or fifty. Every blow he took was nothing compared to his own pain. 

But nothing— none of the wounds, none of the cuts he sustained— brought him closer to you.

And when the fighting was done, in between missions when the world didn’t need him, he disappeared, abandoning your shared apartment because it made him think too much of you. He retreated to a remote cabin deep in the woods, a place so far removed from humanity where no one could find him.

No one, except for Stephen Strange.  

—

It had been nearly six months since your death when Strange appeared on Bucky’s porch, his portal crackling in the fresh mountain air.

“Go away,” Bucky growled, not bothering to glance up from the knife he was sharpening. He had gone hunting again, determined not to rely on anyone else for his survival.

Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the glowing portal and onto the weathered wooden planks. His expression was grim, his tone desperate. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“What do you want?” Bucky’s voice was rough, his patience worn thin.

“It’s not about what I want,” Strange replied. “It’s what the multiverse needs.”

Bucky finally looked up, his blue eyes still sharp but exhausted. He’d been running on empty for months now. You weren’t there to steady him, to breathe life into the fragile space beneath his ribs when the nightmares were too much to bear. You weren’t there to wake up next to him. You weren’t there to pepper him with kisses when he thought he wasn’t good enough. You were gone.

“The multiverse can save itself,” he muttered, turning back to his blade.

Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”

Bucky let out a scoff, his hands gripping the sharpening stone. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly, his words landing like stones thrown into water.

The desperation in his voice made Bucky pause. He set the knife down with care, leaning back in his chair to glare at the sorcerer. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Strange wasn’t the type to hold back words, but even he seemed to hesitate. And then he said it—the name. Your name. The one Bucky hadn’t heard in weeks.

“Don’t,” Bucky snapped, feeling like an arrow had struck his chest.

Strange pressed on, undeterred. “A version of her exists in another universe. But she’s… no longer her.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

With a flick of his hand, Strange conjured an image: glowing strands of the multiverse weaving together, spinning until a vision appeared. 

It was you—but… not you. Not his version of you. 

Your face was twisted, your body cocooned in violent energy. Behind you, planets crumbled, swallowed by the raw power radiating from you.

Bucky reached out, his hand floating near the image that magic had willed into life.

He couldn’t fully grasp it—this alternate reality where you were alive, suffering, destroying. It didn’t make sense, how this could exist. 

You were gone. You died in his arms. 

The heart that beat for him— he felt it stop beneath his fingertips. 

How could he possibly wrap his mind around this? That a fragment of your soul—some version of you—was out there, breathing, enduring. 

Alive. 

His throat tightened as he tried to speak, to force out even a single word, but he choked on his own tongue.

The multiverse. Or whatever Strange had called it. A few years ago, he’d have laughed it off as some nonsense, he wouldn’t’ve believed it. But after being snapped out of existence and then willed back into it by a handful of glowing galactic stones, Bucky Barnes, man out of time, knew better. 

Now, he’d believe in absolutely anything. Especially if it meant he was believing in a world where you still existed.

“She’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice laced with dread. “A being of grief, capable of destroying entire worlds. If she’s not stopped, she’ll collapse the multiverse.”

Bucky stared at the image, his chest tightening. Was this really you, destroyer of worlds, of universes? 

You couldn’t be capable of this. 

You were kind, you were incapable of harming an innocent soul. He remembered the day a poisonous spider had wandered into the room. You refused to kill it, carefully guiding it out to the garage.

But now, as the memories came flooding back, doubt began to settle. 

He had seen glimpses of another side of you, when you were alive. The fiery rage that consumed you after losing an old friend. The anger you brought into battle, wielded like an iron fist. It had been terrifying—a force of nature that no one could stand against. It was how you wielded the infinity stones long enough to do what needed to be done.

Now, looking at this image Strange had conjured, he wondered if that force had finally consumed you.

“You want me to go after her,” Bucky said flatly. He was certain of it. 

“I want you to stop her.” Strange nodded. “Talk to her. You’re the only one she might listen to.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Strange’s gaze was unyielding. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.”

The words hit Bucky like a hammer to the chest. He turned away, gripping the porch railing until his knuckles went white. “I can’t lose her again.”

Strange stepped closer, his voice soft but resolute. “She would want you to do it.”

Bucky’s voice rose, his eyes filled with tears he would not let Strange see. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“No,” Strange admitted. “But I’ve seen what happens if no one stops her. Entire universes will fall. Countless souls will die. If you won’t do it for her, then do it for them.”

—

Bucky didn’t sleep that night. He sat on the edge of his bed, the room blanketed in suffocating silence, broken only by the occasional creak of his wooden single bedframe as he shifted nervously. 

In his hands, his gun seemed to glow under the moonlight filtering through the window. 

He turned it over and over, fingers brushing the worn grip, the faint scratch on the barrel— one he remembered you making during a standard recon mission. You had scratched it, accidentally catching it with your knife. 

You apologised profusely, and he said it was no big deal. 

He then teased you for being too attached to your weapons— how your knives had little personal inscriptions, how you had cared for it like it had a soul. He, on the other hand, said that he felt indifferent to his weapons— said he didn’t want to get too sentimental. 

You laughed, saying he was too dramatic. "It's just a tool, James. You’re the one who decides what it’s for."  

Now, he wasn’t so sure what he wanted to use it for. 

Strange’s words looped in his mind like a broken record: You’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.

The thought of pointing a gun at you made his heart drop. 

He once promised to protect you, to be your safe haven. And now, a sorcerer had tasked him with destroying you in another universe. How could he ever make peace with that? 

How could he pull the trigger on you?

But then another thought struck him: Strange was right. You would want him to. 

You would forgive him if he had to kill you.

You always forgave him, no matter how many times he swore he didn’t deserve it, because you would understand that this needed to be done. If the situation were reversed, you’d do what needed to be done— because that’s who you were.  

You were good— everything he aspired to be. 

If you were alive, if you knew you had turned destructive— you would kill the Catalyst yourself.

As the hours dragged on, Bucky tried to think of another way, to fantasise a different ending for the sick story he existed in. What if there was a chance— however slim—to reach that version of you without violence? To pull you back from the brink and remind you who you were? 

He knew he had to try, but he also knew what failure meant: countless lives lost, entire universes wiped from existence.

If he failed, this universe would be gone, along with all the memories of you. Along with your legacy.

Your sacrifice would be in vain.

He couldn’t let that happen.

The gun in his hands felt heavier now, the future hanging like a noose around his neck. The sun was just beginning to rise when he finally stood.

He had made his decision. 

He didn’t bother to pack much—just his knife, the gun, and the dog tags he always carried, the ones you had once traced with your fingers when you thought he was asleep. 

He knew he needed to do this mission.

Not for the world, not for the universe.

The multiverse could burn, for all he cared. He’s doing this because he knew you would want him to. 

—

When Strange arrived at the cabin, the swirling portal casted an eerie light over his mostly empty living room.

Bucky’s face went grim. He didn’t say goodbye to the cabin, didn’t look back at the life he had built in solitude. 

He never liked this cabin. Never liked this new life— he only went here because it was what you always wanted. You wanted to be away from the city, one with nature. You always wanted to build the rest of your life here. Back then, Bucky had agreed— but now it was just a reminder that he was living a hollow existence without you.

He stepped through the portal. 

The overwhelming surge of energy as he entered the alternate universe was nothing compared to the pain his heart endured.

The world he had stepped into felt like the aftermath of a nightmare.  

The sky was a sickly yellow, streaked with ash and smoke. The sun, barely visible through the haze, poured a dying light over the desolation below. 

Buildings lay in ruins, their remains clawing at the sky. The ground was a wasteland of debris, littered with the wreckage of battles fought long before he arrived.

Ultron's remains were everywhere. His drones twisted, mangled, scattered across the landscape, half-buried in dirt or wedged into crumbling walls, some buried under concrete slab. Their empty eyes stared at nothing— stared at Bucky with emptiness.

Bucky adjusted his grip on his rifle and took a cautious step forward. The air was thick, stinging with the stench of burning metal and organic decay. He moved carefully, scanning his surroundings.

This wasn’t his world, but it was familiar enough for him to navigate through. 

“Strange,” Bucky muttered under his breath, though the sorcerer had closed the portal. He pushed through, putting his Winter Soldier mask on “What the hell did you send me into?”  

—

It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened. In this universe, Ultron had won, but not by slamming Sokovia into the Earth like an asteroid. Instead, his drone army had swept across the world, decimating everything in its path. 

He found more evidence in a hollowed-out bunker near the remnants of what would have been Central Park. His name was scrawled across a rusted memorial wall alongside hundreds of others. His dog tags—this world’s version of them—hung from a nail driven into the cracked concrete.  

Bucky stared at the tags for a long time. He could imagine the moment you had hung them there, your fingers shaking, your heart breaking.  

This was the universe’s cruel twist: in this world, he had died in the battle against Ultron. 

He had been the one ripped away from you.  

The rest of the story came from whispers, fragments of information he gathered from the few survivors he encountered. Most were too broken, too terrified, to speak more than a few sentences, but they all spoke of one thing: the Catalyst.  

“She wasn’t always like this,” one man had said, his voice trembling as he huddled in the corner of a makeshift shelter from scrap metal. “She used to be a hero. Fought against Ultron with everything she had. But when he killed Barnes—”  

His breath hitched, knowing the mask obscured him from this civillian’s view.

“—She lost it. Hunted Ultron down, tore him apart with her bare hands. But then she… she took his parts. Built something with it.”  

“Built what?” Bucky pressed, his stomach twisting.  

“Armour. Weapons. Something stronger than anything the Avengers had. But it did something to her—got in her head, twisted her. She’s not human anymore. Not really. Just anger and grief and—and…”  

“And power,” Bucky finished grimly.  

The man nodded. “She destroyed Ultron. Destroyed his whole army. But she didn’t stop. She just kept tearing down everything in her path. Now she’s… she’s…. If you see her, you run. You don’t fight. You don’t talk. You run.”  

—

That night, Bucky sat alone in the ruins of what would’ve been the Avengers tower. He stared at the fire he’d managed to build. 

The image of you—this you, the Catalyst—was burned into his mind. He’d seen a glimpse of it through Strange’s portal, but now the reality of it was just starting to sink in.

You had always been so full of life, so determined to make the world a better place. How could you be the very thing tearing it apart in this universe? How could you let grief do this to you?  

He clenched his fists. He should’ve gotten here earlier. 

This version of him had failed you. He should’ve fought harder, been faster, or something. Maybe if he had been, you wouldn’t have had to face Ultron alone. Maybe you wouldn’t have—  

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault.”  

He knew he could not control what this universe’s version of him did. But the guilt ate him up anyway.

—

The next day, he found the first sign of you.  

In the centre of the ruins stood a towering monument of burned metal, forged from the remains of Ultron’s drones. It was a grotesque structure, its sharp edges gleaming like shark teeth in the dim light.  

He looked around, realising this would’ve been the Rockefeller Center�� where he had taken you on a date, ice skating in the cold winter with Christmas lights surrounding you. 

Bucky approached cautiously, his eyes narrowing as he studied the details. The surface of the monument was etched with symbols—some binary, some human words. 

This wasn’t just a monument. It was a warning.  

She’s close, he thought, gripping his rifle tighter.

The ground trembled beneath his feet. Suddenly, a low hum rose in the air. He turned sharply, his heart pounding as the shadows moved around him.  

And then he saw you.  

You descended from the sky like a vengeful god, clad in sleek, silver armour forged from Ultron’s technology. It clung to you like a second skin, pulsing with an unnatural light. Your eyes glowed with the same energy, and the air around you crackled with raw power.  

For a moment, Bucky couldn’t breathe. It was you— but at the same time, it wasn’t. It was the face he loved, the lips that once kissed him goodnight, the eyes that soothed him after he woke up from one of his nightmares. Yet something was wrong. This wasn’t entirely the person that had been his world. This version of you was twisted— destruction incarnate. 

But he could not stop the leap of joy his heart made. At least you were alive.

“You’ve come to stop me,” you said, not even lifting your eyes. Your voice echoed unnaturally. It was layered, as if a hundred versions of you were speaking at once.  

Bucky stood his ground, heart pounding as you, —no, the Catalyst— stood still. The pieces of Ultron’s remnants shimmered with an almost ethereal glow, stitched together into a terrible masterpiece that trapped you like a tomb. Your face—once warm and full of life—burned with an inhuman intensity, flickering like a dying sun.  

“I’ve come to bring you back,” Bucky replied, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. Slowly, he took off his mask.

Your expression flickered, just for a moment. As if he was a crack in the armour.  

You recognised the voice. 

“You’re— ,” you whispered, your voice layered and fractured, distorted by grief and the technology that had consumed you. Your eyes snapped up to meet his. “You came back to me.”  

The words hit Bucky like a blow to the chest. I did, doll. He wanted to say. I will always come back. 

But he knew this version of you wasn’t his, so he swallowed hard, keeping his rifle lowered.

You froze, your head tilting slightly as you studied him. You weren’t satisfied without an answer. “James?”

Bucky’s heart twisted. For a moment, he saw a glimmer of the person you had been, the love you had shared. 

Kill me now, he thought, before I have to kill you. 

But he knew the cost of that. He knew failing would mean he had failed you. 

“I’m here to help,” he said softly. 

You stepped closer, unsure whether to reach for him— a fragment of your old soul begging you to stop this madness — or strike him down— an instinct the Catalyst had developed. Your glowing eyes traced every inch of him, lingering on the scars lining his face, the haunted look in his eyes. 

Your fingers twitched, and for a moment, you looked lost.  

“You’re different,” you muttered to yourself. “The scars… the way you stand”  

Realisation dawned, and with it, the fragile hope in your expression shattered. You took a step back, the electric storm around you surging to life again. “You’re not my James,” you hissed, your voice bitter.  

Bucky didn’t flinch. “I’m not,” he admitted. “But I know what he meant to you. What you meant to him.”  

“Why would someone else’s James come to me?” you demanded, your voice rising, the ground beneath you cracking with the force of your grief. 

“Because I couldn’t save you in my world,” he said, his voice breaking. “But maybe I can save you here.”  

For a moment, the storm faltered, the energy around you dimming. But then your eyebrows furrowed, hands curling into fist, your grief boiling over into fury.  

“You think you can save me?” you snarled, your armour shifting as weapons emerged from its surface—cannons, blades, and glowing surges of energy. “You think you can take my pain away, make it disappear? You have no idea what I’ve done. What I’ve become.”  

The first blast came without warning. Bucky barely had time to dive behind the concrete of a collapsed building as a searing beam of energy scorched the ground where he had stood.  

“Don’t make me do this!” he shouted, rising from cover and firing a warning shot. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off your armour.

“You came here to kill me,” you spat, advancing the attack with terrifying precision. “Just like everyone else!”  

“No!” Bucky’s voice cracked as he dodged another strike, rolling into a crouch and raising his hands. “I came here to stop this. To stop you.”

“And how do you think that ends?” you snapped, the storm of energy around you growing more volatile. “I know what I am. I’ve seen what I’ve done. There’s no stopping it.”  

You lunged at him, your speed too quick for him to process. Bucky barely managed to block your strike, your armoured fist colliding with his vibranium arm in a deafening clash of metal. The force sent him skidding backward, but he held his ground.  

“I know you’re still in there!” he shouted, his voice desperate. “I know you don’t want this!”  

“I didn’t want any of this!” you screamed, unleashing a wave of energy that knocked him off his feet. “But he left me! He—he died, and I—” Your voice cracked, and for a brief moment, the storm flickered, your grief breaking through the madness.  

Bucky scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving. “He wouldn’t want this,” he said, his voice softer now. “I don’t want this.”

Tears streamed down your face, glowing faintly as they fell. “I can’t stop,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “It’s too much. It’s too—”  

The storm surged again, and Bucky knew he was losing you.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, gripping his rifle tightly. “I’m so sorry.”  

You raised your hands, energy crackling between your fingers, but instead of attacking, you froze. A look of clarity crossed your face—a moment of realisation.  

Bucky lowered his rifle once again.

“You can’t let this happen again,” you said quietly.  

Before Bucky could respond, you turned your gaze to the glowing core embedded in your armour—the source of your power.  

“No,” Bucky said, stepping forward. “Don’t—”  

“It has to end,” you interrupted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Promise me, James. Promise me you won’t let another version of me become this.”  

“I can’t—”  

“Promise me!”  

His throat tightened, and he nodded. “I promise.”  

A faint smile touched your lips, and then you placed your hand over the core. The energy around you flared brightly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Thank you,” you whispered.  

And then, a blinding light flashed before his eyes. You cried a violent shriek as you cast yourself into nothingness.

When the light faded, Bucky stood alone in the ruins, the air eerily still. Your body was nothing but ash, armour scattered across the ruins. The glowing core was shattered, its energy dissipating into nothing.  

Bucky dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he stared at the spot where you had stood. He had lost you all over again. 

He had failed you all over again. 

—

Bucky stumbled through the portal Strange had opened for him, his body worn, his breaths shallow.

“It’s done,” Bucky said, his voice hoarse. He dropped a silver shoulder piece, a part of your armour—a fractured piece of the nightmare you had become—onto the floor of the Sanctum Sanctorum, in the space between them. “She’s gone.”  

Strange nodded, but said nothing.  

Bucky glared at him, his grief rapidly turning into anger. “You knew, didn’t you?” he growled, “You knew she went mad because she lost me. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Strange met his eyes, “Because it wouldn’t have changed anything.”  

“That’s it?” Bucky demanded, his voice rising. “I’ve lost her twice now, Strange. Twice. And I—” His voice broke, and he turned away, rubbing a hand across his eyes.  

No crying today. He’s grieved over you. He’s done. 

No crying, Barnes, he insisted again.

“I wish it ended here,” Strange said quietly. 

Bucky’s head snapped back sharply, his heart sinking deeper in the abyss it was already stuck in.

Strange hesitated, his hands clasped behind his back. “This wasn’t an anomaly,” he said finally. “In every universe I’ve observed, when you die, she becomes the Catalyst.”  

He stumbled back a step, shaking his head. “That… that can’t be true.”  

Strange’s gaze softened, but there was no comfort in his expression. “It is,” he said. “Her love for you is not only her greatest strength, but also her greatest weakness. Without you, her grief consumes her. It changes her.”

“So what?” Bucky spat bitterly. “You’re saying she’s doomed to destroy the multiverse?”  

“No,” Strange said, his voice firm. “Not if you intervene.”  

“You want me to… to do this again?” Bucky froze, his blood running cold. “To watch her die again?”  

Strange’s silence was answer enough.  

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, raking his fingers through his hair, wanting to pull them out so badly. “How many times, Strange?”  

“As many as it takes,” Strange replied solemnly. “If we don’t act, the Catalyst will dismantle the multiverse, piece by piece. She doesn’t stop at her own world. Her grief is a hunger—a need to destroy everything, to erase the pain.”  

Bucky sank onto a nearby chair, burying his head in his hands. The thought of facing yet another version of you—of seeing your face twisted by grief again, of failing to save you again—was unbearable. 

But what choice did he have?  

“Are you ready for this, Sergeant Barnes?” Strange asked.  

“No,” Bucky admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He lifted his head, his eyes red. “But I’ll do it anyway.”  

— 

Every time Bucky stepped through another portal, he braced himself for the inevitable. Some universes were barely recognizable—worlds where humanity had advanced far beyond what he’d known, some were distant worlds ruled by psychopathic overlords.  

But in every one, you were the same. You met him. You fell in love with him— some evil villain decimated Earth, and this world’s version of Bucky perished in the fight.

When he was gone, your grief forged you into the Catalyst— destroyer of whatever force had destroyed earth, salvaging your victims’ weapons to make you more powerful.  

Sometimes your armour was made from Ultron, like before. Other times, it was pieces of Thanos’ gauntlet, or the living metal of Ego the Living Planet. In one universe, you wielded the shattered fragments of Mjölnir. 

You weren’t even close to worthy, but your grief was so powerful that you had bent enchanted Asgardian steel into submission. 

Each encounter started the same way.  

You mistook him for your James. There was always that flicker of hope in your eyes, that fragile moment where you thought he had come back to you.  

But then you noticed the differences—the scars, the way he moved, the subtle sadness in his eyes. 

And the hope turned to rage.  

“Who are you?” you would demand, furious. “Why do you look like him?”  

Bucky tried reasoning with you every time, pleading for you to stop, to let go of the grief that consumed you. But it never worked. The madness always took hold, and the fight always began.  

In the end, you always destroyed yourself. It’s as if he was doomed to watch— doomed to be a captive audience to your death— over and over and over again.

—

The first time Bucky killed the Catalyst, it nearly broke him.

He had spent weeks, maybe months, tracking you in this icy universe. In this universe, Frost Giants took over. Bucky had been killed somewhere along the lines, and you took Loki’s staff and matters into your own hands. 

When he saw you there, standing in a cloak of fur and leather, you radiated power.

And yet, behind the glowing eyes, he could still see you. The way you tilted your head when you studied him, the smallest flicker of hesitation before you struck.

He had prepared for this. Every movement, every breath, every strike was calculated, the result of months of relentless study. He’d learned how to predict the devastating surges of energy you unleashed, how to exploit the brief seconds when your guard faltered. You were stronger, faster, almost unstoppable—but almost wasn’t enough.

When he finally got to you, he only hesitated for a second before stabbing you.

No. What have I done?

A desperate wail tore from his throat as tears burned his eyes, spilling over like a shattered dam. He cried— for the first time in months— as he watched the light in your eyes fade. 

Bucky knelt beside your dying body, whispering useless apologies as he cradled you in his arms. You looked up at him. You didn’t look at him with grief. Not anger. Not hatred. Maybe relief. Maybe love. 

And then, as life drained from your eyes, the multiverse seemed to hold its breath.

You were gone.

Again.

He had finally convinced himself that he had to kill you. He could no longer endure your suffering. Every moment of your self-destruction had been nightmare fuel—your anguished cries, your desperate screams— It was unbearable. He loved you too deeply to continue watching you suffer.

Now, he was certain— ending your life, giving you a swift death,was the only way he could stomach this mission.

—

The Catalyst was powerful in every universe, but Bucky learned how to fight you better. Most times now, he was able to kill you, to put you out of your misery because he outmanoeuvred you, predicting your attacks like a ghost of every battle you’d ever had. Other times, he got there too late, and you destroyed yourself, unleashing a final burst of power so immense it annihilated your very existence. 

Those times were harder. 

Watching you choose to end it. Watching you fall apart in his arms, whispering words he couldn’t always hear.

Still, everytime, he took a piece of you.

He didn’t know why he reached out to gather the shattered remains of your armour. Sometimes it was a gauntlet, still glowing faintly with residual energy. A shard of the crystalline crown that marked your reign as the Catalyst. Sometimes it was Loki’s scepter. 

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was guilt. He tucked the fragments into his pack and walked away, feeling like he had salvaged a part of you.

At first, he thought it was a way to remember you. The woman you had been, not the Catalyst you had become. But over time, the collection grew into a monument to his failure. Each weapon, each ruined piece of armour was a reminder of what it cost to keep going. To try and save you. To survive you. To kill you.

And still, he couldn’t stop.

The multiverse demanded it. The Catalyst always returned, more powerful, and Bucky would be there, each time, with the weight of a hundred battles on his shoulders and memories of the woman he loved. He’d fight. He’d win. 

He’d lose you again.

And he’d carry another piece of you, knowing it would never be enough to make him whole.

So, over time, missions chipped away at him, piece by piece.  

He didn’t smile anymore. He barely spoke, even when Strange tried to comfort him. His humanity felt like a distant memory, buried beneath the endless cycle of loss.  

Once, in a rare moment of quiet, Strange tried to reason with him.  

“You don’t have to do this alone, Barnes,” he said. “I’ve talked to Clint, Bruce, and Sam. They said they’d help.”  

Bucky shook his head, his expression hollow. “It has to be me. I’m the only one she listens to. Even if it’s just for a second.”  

Strange didn’t argue.  

—

This time, he was so devastatingly close to saving you— it was the only time you had let him reason with you. The only time you had let him talk longer than a few seconds.

In this universe, you had taken the remains of Ronan the Accuser’s hammer, merging it with Kree technology to create an unstoppable weapon. You were a force of nature, cutting down armies and leaving entire planets in ruin.  

Bucky fought you for hours, trying to get through because he saw a chance. His body was battered and broken by the end. But as he stood over you, your armour cracked and your face visible beneath your helmet, you looked up at him with tears in your eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice faint.  

Bucky dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for you. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “There’s still a chance—”  

“You’re still my James, aren’t you?” you interrupted, your hand brushing his cheek. “You love me in every universe, the way I love you.”  

“Don’t leave,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t leave me again.”  

Your smile was soft, bittersweet. “I never really left, James. I’m always going to be a part of you.”  

And then you were gone again, an agonising cry as you self-destructed.

He was alone again.

—

As long as there were universes to save, as long as there was a chance to save you, he would keep fighting—no matter the cost.  

Today shouldn’t’ve been any different.

He stepped through the portal with his usual grim frown, expecting to face another version of you consumed by grief, transformed into the Catalyst.  

But what he found instead… was peace.

The world was whole. The sky wasn’t scorched, cities still stood tall and bustling, and the air hummed with life. It felt… normal. 

And then he saw you.  

You were sitting at a small café on a sunlit street, your hair loose, a soft smile playing on your lips. There was no armour, no glowing energy, no storm of grief around you. You looked like the person he remembered—the person he had loved.  

He died in this universe, too— he knew as much. You had his dog tags around your neck, carrying a piece of him everywhere. 

It took time for him to piece together what had happened, but he eventually got it.

In this universe, Bucky had been the one who took the gauntlet from Tony. He had been the one who snapped the stones.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. 

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt something other than pain. He watched you laugh, the sound a beautiful melody he thought he’d forgotten. 

In this universe… you were happy.  

For days, Bucky stayed hidden in the shadows, watching you from a distance. It was wrong, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He followed you through your routines—your morning coffee, your walks through the park, the way you waved at the children playing by the water fountain. 

You hadn’t become the Catalyst.  

Strange was wrong, Bucky thought, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. Not every version of you succumbed to grief. In this universe, you had found a way to move forward, to live.  

And maybe… maybe he could, too.  

The thought crept into his mind slowly. What if he stayed? What if he stepped into this world and introduced himself to you? Would you recognize something in him, a fragment of the love you had shared in another life? Could you fall for him again?  

Could he be happy?

Could the two of you put the pieces back together again?

For the first time in years, Bucky allowed himself to dream of a life beyond grief and guilt. A life with you, as he once had.

He imagined walking up to you at that café, asking if he could join you. You’d be confused, maybe a little wary at first, but he’d win you over. He’d tell you about the man he used to be, the battles he’d fought, the people he’d lost. He’d tell you how much he loved you still. And you’d tell him about your James, how similar he was to him. 

Maybe, in time, you’d fall in love with him again.  

But then he saw Steve coming home from a mission.

It was a perfect day— the sun was warm, the breeze gentle, the streets alive with chatter. Bucky stood at a distance, watching you in the park, his heart full of hope, something he thought he’d never feel again.

And then Steve Rogers appeared.  

He walked up to you with that shy confidence Bucky had known since they were kids. You stood when you saw him, your face lit up in a way that made Bucky’s stomach twist.  

Steve pulled you into his arms, and you went willingly, laughing as he spun you around.  

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs.  

He watched as Steve kissed you, his hands cradling your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. And you kissed him back.  

It wasn’t fair.  

Bucky's knees nearly buckled, as he turned away. His chest caved in, feeling like his heart had been ripped out and crushed into a million little pieces. The fragile hope he'd clung to for the last couple of days was torn from him as quickly as it appeared. 

Your laughter echoed faintly in his ears, a cruel reminder that chased him as he stumbled toward the portal Strange had opened. His head hung low, his shoulders slumped. 

He was no soldier, no saviour—just a broken man, haunted by dreams that would never be his.

—

When Bucky returned, Strange's eyes lingered on him for too long.

Bucky wasn’t covered in bruises or cuts like he usually was, but somehow he looked…. worse. The exhaustion ran deeper this time, as if the scars were invisible. “You stayed longer than usual in this one,” Strange observed.

Bucky ignored his statement. “You were wrong,” he muttered instead. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, unable to meet Strange’s. “She wasn’t The Catalyst in this one.”

Strange froze. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s happy here, after my death. W-with Steve.” He finally looked up, the emptiness in his eyes enough to make even Strange flinch. “She moved on, and she’s... she’s still… her.

Strange’s eyebrows softened. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his tone measured, regretful. “But this is the exception, the rule. The Catalyst is still out there.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, but it held no humour. Only defeat. 

He ran a hand over his face before dragging his fingers through his hair. His shoulders slumped under the weight of this endless mission.“I…” he started, his voice strained. “I’m never... I’m never gonna be happy. Am I?”

Strange had no answer for him. 

—

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed in Kamar Taj, staring at the collection of armour pieces he had gathered from the other universes. Each shard was a reminder of the battles he’d fought, the versions of you he had lost.  

And now, he had been cursed with the knowledge that not every version of you that lost him succumbed to grief.

The knowledge that you were happy in that world. That you had found love again, and it wasn’t with him. That no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many universes he visited, it seemed there was no version of him that could have you.  

It was cruel.  

You had once told him he was the strongest person you knew, but in that moment, he felt like anything but. He had fought armies of aliens, faced death over and over again, but this… this was too much.  

Bucky clenched his fists, his metal hand creaking under the pressure. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to let out the unbearable weight crushing his chest. 

Instead, he picked up one of the shards of your armour—a jagged, glowing piece from an Ultron world. He held it in his hand, his reflection distorted in its surface.  

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered, his voice cracking, insincere. “Even if it’s not with me.”  

Bucky placed the shard on his shoulder, the first piece of the armour. 

It felt right— like the power of a thousand suns starting to surge towards him.

He didn’t cry. 

He never did anymore.  

Because no matter how many universes he visited, how many battles he fought, how many versions of you he saved or lost, he knew one thing would never change:  

You would never be his again. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you kissing Steve, your laughter echoing in his skull.

Why should they have happiness, when he was condemned to grieve for eternity?  

Why should any universe be allowed to thrive, when his own existence was empty, meaningless?  

He began by rearranging the pieces of your armour he had collected from the other universes. Each fragment gleamed with a faint, residual energy— remnants of the immense power you had wielded as the Catalyst. He spent weeks forging his own armour.

What started as just your shoulder pieces extended to more. 

He reforged the chest piece a version of you got from the Kree, then a gauntlet you ripped off of Thanos when the Infinity Stones had been destroyed. It grew and grew until every piece of him was covered in fragments of you.

When the work was done, he stood before a mirror, clad in the armour of his own making. It was a haunting reflection of yours, humming with fragment stolen power. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him.  

“That’s the point,” he muttered to himself, almost annoyed.  

When the destruction started, the first universe fell quickly.  

Bucky tore through its defences like a force of nature, his new armour amplifying his strength and speed. He dismantled its protectors—heroes and villains alike—efficiently. He left the cities in ruins, their skies dark with smoke, their people screaming in terror.  

No one deserved peace when he couldn’t have it.  

—

Stephen Strange felt the disturbance immediately. The multiverse’s fragile threads started to unravel as Bucky’s rampage spread across realities. 

At first, Strange couldn’t believe it.  

Bucky Barnes, the man who had fought so hard to save the multiverse, was now its greatest threat.  

Strange had hoped that by guiding Bucky, he could break the cycle of grief and destruction. Instead, reversed it. 

James Buchanan Barnes was now The Catalyst.

— 

Strange arrived in a quiet, dimly lit apartment in yet another universe. The air was filled with the scent of coffee and rain, and the sound of your muffled sobs echoed through the space.  

Yet another version of you sat on the floor, clutching a photograph of Bucky—your James—to your chest. In this universe, he was gone, just as Strange had calculated. 

“Get out, Strange.” you demanded, your voice hoarse when Strange stepped through the portal into your living room. Your eyes were red and puffy, so utterly defeated.

Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the portal and onto the ceramic tiles of the apartment. His face was grim, his tone measured. He called your name to draw you out from the grief, even if only momentarily

“What do you want?” Your voice was raw, your patience long gone.  

“It’s not about what I want. It’s what the multiverse needs.”  

You finally looked up, your eyes sharp with exhaustion. You had been running on empty for months. You didn’t have Bucky here to hold you. To kiss you when you needed him to. To ground you in this existence. “The multiverse can save itself.”  

Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”  

You scoffed, turning back to the photo of Bucky you cradled in your arms. “You’ve got the wrong person.”  

“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly.

The desperation in his tone made you pause. You set the photo down and leaned back, staring at the sorcerer with narrowed eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”  

Strange hesitated for a moment before speaking. 

Then he said it: the beautiful name you haven’t heard in weeks— “it’s about Bucky.”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice a low growl.  

Strange pressed on, unflinching. “A version of him exists in another universe. But he’s not who you remember.”  

“What does that mean?”  

Strange conjured an image with a flick of his hand, the glowing strands of the multiverse twisting together to form a vision. It was him—but not your James. His face was twisted in anguish, his body surrounded by a swirling storm of energy. Planets crumbled in the distance, consumed by the raw power emanating from him.  

“He’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice heavy. “A being driven by grief, powerful enough to destroy entire worlds. If he’s not stopped, he’ll collapse the multiverse.”  

You stared at the image, his chest tightening. It wasn’t possible. Bucky was gone. He was dead.  

“You want me to go after him,” you said, your voice flat.  

Strange shook his head. “I want you to stop him. Talk to him. You’re the only one he might listen to.”  

“And if he doesn’t?”  

Strange’s gaze was unrelenting. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing him.”  

—

In the vast expanse of the multiverse, the roles have reversed but the tragedy remained unchanged. 

Somewhere, in a distant reality, Strange watched the threads of the timelines twist and tangle. He knew the truth, the one neither of you could see:  

That as long as one of you lost the other, the cycle would never break.

•

Back in Earth-616…

After some playful back and forth splashing, you both decided it was time to get out of the bath.

You stepped out first, shivering from the cool tile beneath your feet, grabbing a towel. Bucky followed, water dripping from his hair onto his chest.

He took the towel from your hands and draped it around your shoulders. He wrapped the fabric tightly around you, as if he was protecting you from whatever evil may want to reach you. 

Without warning, he pulled you into a hug. His lips brushed against your damp hair as you closed your eyes, sinking into the safety of his embrace.

After a while, you shifted in his arms, your hands finding another towel that hung from the wall behind him. 

The corners of your lips tugged up in a playful smile as you began patting him dry, earning a soft chuckle from your supersoldier boyfriend. He didn’t stop you— he never could when you insisted on taking care of him. 

So instead, he just watched you with that lovesick expression that made your heart do cartwheels. 

Neither of you spoke; you didn’t need to. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, and your fingers traced patterns along the scars that marked his skin. 

As much as you hated seeing him hurt, you knew that he was safe. And that’s all that mattered. 

Because, in this universe, you were so blissfully unaware of the fragility of this peace, the fragility of your emotions. You remained unaware that in countless other universes, losing each other had broken you both. Unaware that in most other realities, there was no escape from the sadness that came with the death of one and not the other.

But in this one, none of that mattered. Because here, in this small bubble of love, you would keep each other grounded.

So as long as you both lived, you would stay blissfully unaware of the horrors your variants had to endure.

-end.

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 5

<-former chapter -AO3 link -next chapter -> Call of duty. My ko-fi, Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. WC: 6.3k

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, it dies later on, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

MDNI. MDNI. Dead dove do not eat.

Authors note: do note there will be the use of prong collars in this. Just like all the other fucked up stuff in this, i don't support that irl, but this is fiction. On a different note, it will probably be at least a week before I can give you another chapter lol, shit is happening, my sinners and im holding on. Also thank u to all the nice asks and comments ive been sent. means a lot <33. ENJOY!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You could only stay in the farmhouse for so long; even though you desperately wanted to stay inside, Price dragged you outside, talking about fresh air and enjoying nature. 

To you it was nothing but lies and the smell of animal shit.

There were no pavements, no cars flashing by, no advertisements or shops, no scents of food or sweets trying to lure you in. There were no hybrid clothes shops, where John would play dress up with you for his next party. Show him how the lingerie set he picked out looked against your tail.

He would make sure your nails were always perfect and manicured. Without the claws, he made sure you knew you were loved anyways, your nails adorned with expensive nail polish and gemstones. Anything that his Daisy, his princess, his darling, his puppy wanted, she always got.

Now you were here, following him into the stables, to see how far Nikolai - who had forced himself into your life - was with the tractor.

Warily looking out for the hybrids, staying close to your owner.

The stitches were gone and everything was healed all nicely - that didn’t mean that you wanted to start over and get more bites that would need stitches. Once was enough. Hopefully Price and Nikolai understood that too.

Also, you didn’t want to get fucked dumb by those mutts again; they didn’t deserve your pussy. Especially not Ghost or Gaz. Not really Soap either, he had just been nice because he had to. You were sure. They were nothing but stupid working dogs, who didn’t know how to behave.

Your owner, John Price, looked in love; he was watching Nik just as much as he was watching the tractor. The stress that had sometimes followed him home when you lived in the city was no longer visible. It had left his bones, made him happy and pliable, clearly blossoming in his new role as a farmer. You loved him but what the fuck were you supposed to do with this whole situation? Pretend to be happy?

You were a pet, so it wasn’t like you had any options. And your attempts at persuading him to move back to the city hadn’t gone well. Resisting your ever present urge to let him fuck you, would probably not do you any good. Earn you a spanking from both him and Nikolai. They might even throw you to the hounds.

One of those said hounds were getting closer to you, the hybrid making you tense up a little.

“You’re looking good, princess,” Gaz said casually, shooting you an awfully charming smile, his tail wagging while you tipped your ears backwards instead of replying.

“Feeling better?”

You didn’t reply, merely stared at the tractor, boring as it was. Maybe if you ignored him, he would go away. He stepped closer to you, his dark gaze resting on you, while you stepped closer to John, growling as a warning.

“Behave,” Price said over his shoulder, clearly more interested in that Russian man of his, than your safety.

It only took another step and Gaz’s teeth a tad too close to you, to send you bolting out. Back inside it was then, you concluded, enough farming bullshit for today.

Only to meet Ghost in the way, his scarred face grinning smugly, ears tipping towards you.

“‘Ello pup.”

Nah, you weren’t fucking with that today. You managed to see the shadow of Soap before you bolted again.

Running still wasn’t your best talent; so though you knew it was stupid, you decided to do what you weren’t allowed to anyways. You crawled the wooden fence, ignoring the male hybrids' shouts and barks — as well as the fence’s slight squeak - and landed on the other side with a grunt. 

The corns were tall and you took a breath, looking over your shoulder, only to see a worried looking Soap being the closest.

He let out a concerned whimper.

“Dinnae lass,” he warned, a softness in his voice that you recognized from your moments inside.

You would deal with the consequences and the punishment that Price would give you for leaving the ground. It was better than getting your shoulders bitten to pieces - so you got up and rushed into the tall corn field. Abandoning the male hybrids.

Stupid. They were all stupid.

Maybe this should be your new go-to hiding spot. You could hear them bark aggressively but not getting nearer. They weren’t allowed to leave either. You felt your chest swell a little with pride over the idea. You wouldn't be gone for long, just until they lost interest in you.

It was several seconds before you stopped, panting with your tongue out. You couldn’t see the fence or the farm from all the corn by now, which finally meant some peace. Your tail wagged and your body relaxed, a soft wind playing with your fur for a moment, making the corn move around you, like waves in the ocean.

However, that peace didn’t last long.

“My my,” the voice almost appeared out of nowhere and you turned slowly, unsure but still afraid of what you would see, “what are you doing here, perrita? On my property?”

You knew Alejandro and Rodolfo had gotten a hybrid, but you had been too swept up in your own nightmare to ask about her; now, as she towered above you, seeming more wolf than dog, you would rather have one of the mutts on your own farm. A scared little whimper escaped you.

“You must be Price’s precious lapdog, no?” She asked, slowly moving in between the corn with ease, as she circled around you, fear making you stay still, “a little city puppy, forced to be out on a farm. How sad.”

There was no trace of sympathy in her voice. It took you a moment to swallow some spit and another moment to take a proper breath.

“I’ll go home again, I’m sorry.” You tried your best to seem submissive, leaning forward a little, tail tugged along your leg. You at least had your owner at the farm - but here? Here, with this new, wolf-like hybrid, you didn't have anyone. You weren’t even supposed to be here, weren’t allowed. Sure, you knew Alejandro and Rudy, but they also knew you weren’t supposed to be there.

“Hmmm,” she answered in a rumble, licking her teeth slowly, casually showing off her fangs, “what’s your name, perrita?”

She screamed danger. Her energy screamed ‘I can make worse wounds than them’ and you certainly didn’t feel like testing that. In fact, you would rather get as much distance between you and her as possible.

“D-Daisy.” It was the name Price had chosen, not that you were really called it. But you weren’t going to tell this hybrid woman who looked like she could swallow you whole, that you were usually called princess, pretty girl, puppy or sweetheart.

“I’m Valeria,” she replied, finally stopping her circling, only to step closer to you. She wasn’t really that tall, but her energy was as if she was,  she had strong arms and legs; scars littered her too, her hair short, ears big and tipped forward without a care in the world. Her collar was thick and sturdy, opposed to your own fancy one.

You almost wanted to point out that yours was prettier. That you were a lapdog, not one of the working ones, that you were not made to be played rough with. That you were no threat.

You could hear barking in the distance. Voices calling out for you. Even though you hadn’t met Valeria for more than a minute, you already knew you wanted to get a good distance between you and her.

“Uh nice to meet you, but I better get back home, sorry-“ you turned around quickly but before you could even think to bolt, strong arms were around you and the other dog hybrid pulled you close to her chest.

“Eres tan linda e ingenua,” she almost lovingly growled into your ear, and while you didn’t understand what she was saying, you were much more distracted by her tongue. She licked your cheek a couple of times, slow and wet strokes; you got the feeling that she might eat you raw without regret and you twisted a little in her grip, letting out a louder growl. She laughed, one of her hands pawing at your tit, claws sinking into the fabric. She smelled of danger and lust; like the mutts at home when they first got their dirty paws on you.

“I’m gonna enjoy me—“

“VALERIA!” Her name echoed through the fields, making both of you freeze. Like a warning rushing in between the corns, her name couldn’t be ignored.

She growled deeply, seeming annoyed with the disturbance, while you wanted to kiss whoever of your neighbors it was. She rolled her hips, humping your ass twice, before she was interrupted again.

“Valeria!” It was Alejandro, you realised then, who yelled once again, “ sé que la tienes! Let her go!”

With one deep sniff of you, while you whimpered, the wolf-looking hybrid finally let go of you.

“I won’t be as nice next time, perrita - now go, before I change my mind and take you from your boys.”

You didn’t need to be told that again and didn’t want to argue that they weren’t your boys - the moment she let go, you bolted towards the way you came. 

How they knew that she had gotten a hold of you wasn't clear, but it wasn’t like you were gonna turn around and ask Alejandro or Rudy.

The answer came to you anyways; one angry looking John Price stood with crossed arms, phone in hand. A grinning Nikolai next to him and three growling hybrids moving back and forth along the men and the fence. Every single one of them stilled and stared at you as you sheepishly walked to the fence, tail between your legs and ears tipped down.

You stood, just for a moment, with the fence in between you and the others. Considering staying there, as if that would be a good solution.

“Get your arse over here,” Price snapped, his voice stern and dark, as he put his phone in his pocket, marching towards you. 

You hastily and in a rather inexperienced manner, climbed the fence and got to the right side. Instantly, tears welled up in your eyes and you let out a whimper, almost ready to tell about the horrors you had just been through - only to bark loudly at the hybrids as they all charged towards you, hands touching you, only stopped by a sharp whistle. 

“Nyet,” Nikolai called harshly, “off her. Now.”

Soap and Gaz instantly let go, stepping back as John reached you, but Ghost didn’t move. His hand rested on your neck, pressing your collar against your skin, his nose almost fully pressed against your temple. 

“Let go.” Price’s voice was sharp and you let out a little whimper- not sure who of them you would rather deal with right now.

“She smells wrong,” Ghost replied, not moving, but his voice not as harsh as it could be, “smell of her.”

Her. You didn’t know whether Valeria would be in trouble over this or not. You had been the one to step into her territory anyways. She wasn't the one who had jumped a fence after all.

“We will fix that.” 

Ghost let out a grumble but after two seconds of staring at each other, the hybrid finally let go of you, earning himself a swift “Good boy.” 

Then Price grabbed into the ring in your collar and pulled, ignoring how you instantly broke into tears, excuses and explanations spilling from your lips like a waterfall, desperate to avoid punishment. You didn't want to stay with Valeria, but you didn’t want this either.

You were dragged past Nikolai who shared a short glance with Price - and they gave each other a short nod.

“C’mon boys,” Nikolai then called, the hybrids instantly moving to him, even though you could feel them staring at you, “we’re gonna join them.”

They were what? You cried harder, tugging at John’s arm, your owner ignoring your pleads and cries.

“I’m sorry sir, I got scared, I didn’t mean to run away,” you babbled, every second word followed by a small sob or whine, tail between your lets, almost making it hard to walk normally, “ they scared me, I was gonna come back, I’ll be good sir, I’ll behave! I wasn’t running away!”

There was no mercy from your owner, who just marched you towards the farmhouse that had almost become home by now.

If someone had told you a year ago that you would be a dog on a farm by now, surrounded by working hybrids, you would have laughed in their face. Loudly and impolitely.

You? Pretty lapdog living in the city out on a farm?

You weren’t even at the house yet, somehow crying harder because you felt so sorry for yourself in general. You were such a perfect lapdog, such a perfect being, forced to be out here, in the cold countryside. A tragedy.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The prong collars looked like they would choke too and you wanted to scream merely at the sight.

“I’m not running the risk of having my darling all bitten to pieces again - this will hopefully help you to remember.”

None of them seemed too happy about it; you couldn’t blame them, you wouldn’t want those either, but you were horrified by the idea of getting bitten as harshly as they did last time. If both Price and Nik hadn’t been there, you doubted it would be possible to get the collars on them.

You were still crying yourself, from the shame of having jumped over the fence and creating chaos, only resulting in this.

The moment they were allowed, they were on you, ignoring your whimpering and fingers trying to push them off - Soap was the nicest, helping you get your clothes off instead of letting the others rip them, even if all of them were obsessed with your smell. Or well, with how you smelled of Valeria to be exact.

Soap licked your cheek and you growled at him, tipping your ears back, trying to push him away, fingers against his chest; but he didn’t move, only pressed himself closer, growling back to prove he was stronger than you - that you were supposed to be submitting to him.

“They shouldn’t be this aggressive,” you heard Price point out to Nikolai, but you were too distracted by Soap grinding his still clothed crotch against your poor, exposed cunt - you whined his name, but he didn’t stop. 

“Gonn’ mark ye, hen,” he promised in a murmur, teeth sinking into your jaw for just a moment - a warning tug in the leash made him let go almost instantly, instead licking the spot a couple of times, “gonn’ make ye smell all bonnie again.”

Both Gaz and Ghost were barking, but they were both held by the collars by Price and Nik, kneeling next to them, clearly antsy.

“-are working dogs-” it was hard to hear them, over your own mind buzzing so much, over the barks and the pleasure that you hated, “-hierachy is importa-”, one of Soap’s hands disappeared and a moment later, you heard his fly get tugged down, “show them where the line is, so–”

You howled in a high pitched tone as he forced his cock inside you, making you twist and try to push Soap okay. The stretch was intense, burning despite how wet you felt. “It's okay, bonnie lass,” Soap growled, forcing his cock a little deeper into you, nosing at your shoulder, near one of your scent glands, his hands moving to grab onto your thighs, “we’re nae gonna hurt ye.”

You both knew it was a lie - but you at least trusted Soap a little more than the two other mutts who were watching, knowing he could control himself. They were barely able to sit still, tongues out, almost drooling, while their eyes were dark in a way that reminded you of that time in the shed.

He forced his cock deeper, the knot finally reaching the opening of your poor, stretched cunt and you let out a sound at the fear of it sliding inside you. The scent of Soap was already beginning to overwhelm the scent that Valeria had left behind against your will - a part of you wished you had fought her more, had attempted to hurt her more.

The cry that left you was pained and afraid - his fangs almost having forced its way through your skin; you were only saved by John, who pulled Soap back by the collar, the prongs digging into the hybrid’s skin.

“Behave, boy,” John snarled while a mixture of a whine and a growl left Soap, as he helplessly pawed at the collar, “No breaking skin - already told you.”

“‘m sorry, sorry,” he promised, a pained tone to his voice, “dinnae mean tae.”

You doubted it was true; there was a darkness in the air despite the way your owner tried handling them.

He was let go off and the moment the prongs didn’t painfully dig into his skin, he was on you again, tongue on the indent he had left, his cock pressed into you again, his tail wagging.

“‘m sorry,” he barely managed to say in between his licks and moans, before his hands were back on you, his moaning louder, as he ignored your whines of slowing down. Your own hands grabbed onto his mohawk and ears, but the hybrid did nothing but moan even louder, moving his hips a little upwards and fuck - he hit the perfect spot, grinning like a feral hound when he noticed and heard your sounds.

You came against your will, crying out and spasming around him, his hands grabbing harder onto your thighs, claws teasing the skin.

He was panting and moaning like a hound, mounting you like there was nothing in his mind but the feeling of your cunt.

“Gonna fill ye up,” Soap promised, words barely escaping his mouth, drool dripping down on you; not like you cared, too gone yourself to really do so.

“DON'T knot her,” Price’s word cut through the air like a sharp knife, slicing into your mind; you wanted him to knot you, a part of you realized, no you needed him too - while another screamed in delight of not having to be stuck to him.

“Nnngh,” his hips were going so fast it almost hurt as they clashed against your skin, “please sir, please plea—“

“No.”

The hand that appeared made you shudder - and then a second later, Soap came, almost a guttural scream leaving him; you could feel Price’s fingers near your cock, stopping him from sliding his knot into you. 

“Later,” Price answered, then pulling Soap back by the collar and hair, your own hands slipping easily from him, “we don’t have the time to wait for all of you to knot her right now.”

The moment he was pulled away, you moved, whimpering and curling to the side, wincing as cum slid out from your pussy; it wasn’t John’s, you wanted it to be your owners. You barely had time to breathe before Nik released one of the others. Gaz pushed you onto your stomach - one hand on your neck to keep you down as you snarled.

“Wait,” you barked, ears tipping down “lemme breathe, for fucks sake—“

“Need you, puppy,” Gaz merely replied, grabbing onto your collar and tugging, his other hand pulling on your tail, ignoring your yelp, “gonna make it all okay again.”

“Nothing happened-“ you snarled, trying to make him let go, but you separately rose to your knees in order to levitate the pressure on your tail.

“Why did you smell like her then, huh?” He all but snarled, finally letting go of your collar, to push down his own pants, “stinking of her lust!”

You tried twisting to grip onto his ears to tug at them, hoping it would make him let go of you but he merely let go of you fully for a moment - your wrists were caught by his hands and he slammed them against the wooden floor.

“Be nice, собака,” Nik warned him, “I’m in no mood for broken bones.”

You barely heard him nor Gaz’ aggressive reply; you were too busy, having a realization. 

They were jealous ; you weren’t sure why it had taken you so fucking long to realize. The three mutts were jealous somebody else, somebody they didn’t know, had touched you and hadn’t you been so fucking upset, you might have laughed.

Instead, you felt a cock forcing its way into your cunt, making you howl in pleasure against your will; the slide was easier this time as Gaz fucked you, as you were already wet from the round with Soap - and now with his cum as well, Gaz fucked you almost smoothly. If not more aggressively than Soap had.

It didn’t take long before his teeth sank into your skin, the first two seconds it was nothing more than an extra grip, his cock roughly thrusting into you as if attempting to move your organs, his drool sliding along your skin, mixing with your sweat. His claws were digging into your skin slightly, but even more into the floor - while you were a mess, panting and attempting to growl in between your pathetic moans, barely able to see straight.

The pressure he bit you with changed quickly however and suddenly you were whining in pain, so loudly that you almost didn’t recognize your own voice.

Apparently Gaz had tried to bite Price in aggression over being ripped away from ‘his bitch’ as Nik called it, and you heard the harsh words and slaps, while you sank down a little, your tits pressed against the cold floor, your cunt empty. 

He was back as soon as he disappeared though, pulling you up again, only to almost instantly try to bite you again – halfway pulled away once more. You looked over your shoulder, seeing how the prong collar dug into his skin for a short moment until Price let go of him again.

The moment he was back, you turned however, using the moment to grab onto one of his long, dark ears and tug; it was almost a squeal that left Gaz and you heard both the hybrids bark and growl, Nik saying something – but it was the harsh spank from the leather leash that made you loosen your grip. 

“Behave, Princess,” John was squatting down next to you, strong hand on your pretty collar; it stood out so violently when compared to the others’ current prong collars, “or I’ll get you a collar too.”

“They’re mean!” you whimpered, giving him your best puppy eyes, before sending Gaz an angry look, as he was barely held back by John.

“Well you’re not quite playing nice either, eh?” There was a slight amusement in his voice but you didn’t get to comment on it, before he moved again.

Price gave Gaz more leash and the hybrid was instantly on you again, but this time Price didn’t let go of the metal ring in your own collar, keeping you in place, as if to remind you to behave; to remember he was right here, calling the shots.

“Yeah, Princess,” Gaz mocked, pushing into your cunt again with a moan, the movement in his hips exposing the fact that he was wagging his tail, “Behave.”

“Shut up!” you hissed angrily, a tug in the collar reminding you that Price was right there. 

Gaz’ hands were mostly on your hips - he nuzzled against your back and neck, licking your shoulders and in between your shoulder blades - he bit you a couple of times, but they were barely anything more than nips, a gentle tug on his collar reminding him to behave.

Then one of his hands moved, almost catching you off guard and making you whimper - it slid beneath your stomach, pawing at it for a moment, before it found its way to your cunt where the two of you were still connected, his thrusts still hard; he touched your clit without hesitation, snarling out words you could barely recognize. Mercilessly forcing you towards another orgasm.

Price let go of your collar and you let your head slumber down against the floor, wincing at the small pool of drool that had been created, hating how you pushed back against Gaz, the dual pleasure of his cock hitting that right spot and the fingers on your clit, so good you could barely breathe.

You barely heard Price’s command of not knotting you, from the mere tsunami of pleasure that overtook your body as you came, a howl that barely made any sound, snapping of your teeth and the pawing at the floor. You tightened around his cock, the knot having been so close, oh so close to being forced into your over oversensitive cunt - but then it was pulled out of you, almost making you sob.

Cum spurted on top of your lower back and ass cheeks, before Gaz willingly went - you could hear the almost instant sound of him and Soap making out with each other. And there was only one person back, which meant you had to go now.

A hand grabbed onto your ankle, dragging you backwards as you managed to crawl forwards a few steps - you turned around, back on the floor, raising your opposite leg to kick Ghost in the face, but the other hybrid caught it easily; grinning at you, almost feral-like, lust heavy in the air. Sometimes you forgot they had been in the military for so long.

Leather connected to your skin once more, this time on your raised thigh, a whine leaving you, your eyes flickering to look up at John who stood with the leash curled in his hand, ready to spank you with it once more.

“behave,” John hissed at you, while Ghost chuckled. Idiot.

You didn’t have much time to argue, Ghost letting go of your ankles, just to grab onto your thighs and pull you closer; he was kneeling, almost pulling you into his lap, that feral grin still there, fangs exposed.

He leant over you much quicker than you had anticipated, ignoring your growling and snapping with teeth - one hand resting next to your head, the other pulling down his boxers, pants already open.

Was his cock this big last time? It was like you couldn’t remember the last time right now, you could barely think, in fact, your mind was overwhelmed with so many things. Pleasure, oversensitivity, pain and anger - his dick seemed inhumanely long.

“Not so snappy now, huh?” he crooned, voice low, his free hand grabbing onto your plush thigh, fingers digging into the fat, ears tipped towards you as he spoke, “cockdumb already?”

“nnngh,” you tried pushing at his clothed chest, twisting in his grip, but it was no use; it was like the cock inside you kept you from doing anything. Somehow you managed a small “shutup” and that was enough to set Ghost going.

“Gonna teach you to not go whoring again,” Ghost snarled against your skin, tongue sloppily leaving a wet trail of spit over one of your bouncing tits, simply ignoring your hands trying to push his face out of the way, a plethora of moans and small yaps leaving you as he didn’t stop fucking you with that monster cock of his. You knew you were being watched, both by your owner and his boyfriend, as well as the two other hybrids, it only added to the humiliation of being turned on.

“Belong to us,” his words were barely audible as he growled them, the wet sounds and rustling of his clothes seeming to overtake it, “not her.”

“I won’t, won’t go, won–” you were barely aware of the words slipping from your lips, the volume rising as you felt his teeth scrape against a spot on your shoulder over your right breast, “nonon, please, I wont–”

“Ghost–” Price’s warning was stern, the little tug in the prong collar making him grumble, licking over the spot a couple of times - your eyes met. 

Ghost’s eyes almost seemed like they wanted to own you too; as if it was no longer John who you bowed to, but the pack that you didn’t want, on a farm you didn’t want to be. His thrusts quickened and then his eyelids lowered together with his head – biting down into your skin.

Despite his fast attempt at breaking your skin, mauling your flesh into his, Price was quicker – pulling him back by the collar. He held an extra grip on his hair and you managed to look up, see through the tears.

It was like there was a flood in your ears, Price looking mad, Ghost’s ears tipping backwards as he spoke.

Fighting to get some air into your lungs, you panted and tried wiggling free. Ghost’s fingers merely dug deeper into your plush thigh even though he was currently pulled back by the prong collar, the tips of his claws pressing against your skin as a warning.

The moment he let go, Ghost was back at it, staring down at you with a dark smile, grunts and small moans even leaving him. It took a couple of moments before Price let him have enough leash to bend down over you again and this time Ghost growled into your ears instead of your skin. Licking your furry ears while you whimpered at the feeling and the words.

They owned you; were going to breed you, use you, keep Valeria away, and do whatever they needed to keep you. You were theirs. The moment you let us, he had panted, we will love you.

There was an odd feeling in your stomach, almost as if you were going to piss yourself, but with no mercy from any of the men, one of your hands dug into his short hair and the other grabbed onto his shoulder as you screamed.

It had been a while since you squirted and it took you by surprise, just as it did the others. There were several barks, voices but then Ghost was fucking you even harder than before, bordering on painful, forcing his mouth against yours. You came a second time, this time not squirting but it almost felt more intense.

Ghost came just a moment later, perhaps caught by surprise himself, but he made sure not to knot you. 

The world was spinning around you. There were teardrops in your lashes as you squinted up at the hybrid, who was still pushed inside you. Price’s hand petting him shortly on the head before pulling him back.

There was speech but you barely noticed - then strong hands pulled you up into a lap. The overpowering scent of leather and oil told you who it was and despite your slight hate for Nik, your tail wagged as he pulled you into his arms, cooing at you.

“Such a strong puppy,” he praised, one of his hands drying away some of your drool, caressing your cheek as he sat on the floor with you on his lap, cum no doubt dripping onto his clothes, “you deserve treat for being so good, da?”

Compared to the first time you had met Nikolai, you didn’t want to bite his hand anymore - he clearly didn’t fear you doing so either. You snuggled into his hand, nodding as you squinted up at him, a  small “uh-huh” leaving you.

His hand disappeared and then there was a faint rustling of plastic - even without seeing it, you smelled it. It was that mouthwatering scent that made you weak in your knees that first time and your nose instantly sniffed, almost trying to sit up further to get a look of where it was - to get it before the boys did. Nikolai laughed, letting out a “there you go, milaya,” letting you grab the piece of jerky from his finger, instantly sinking your teeth into it with a pleased sigh. Your tail wagging a little again as you heard Soap whining over not getting a piece.

You even had to take a bath with them afterwards. Your life was officially over - you made sure to tell Price that, who just huffed and rolled his eyes. Sure, you weren’t the biggest fan of showers, but you wanted the cum off and you wanted a bath in the tub… alone. That was your thing.

“- ‘nd they’re gonna use up my shampoo and my conditioner -” you continued overdramatically as Nik carried you in front of John, the russian man merely snorting at your pitiful complaining. 

“We’ll buy more-” John tried to point out, but to no avail, life might as well be over for you right now.

“- ‘nd my brushes - all my nice brushes!”

“I will be sure tae use yers, Mo ghràdh,” Soap happily proclaimed, sending you a wink, fully naked as he was, his usual collar back on, small red marks on his neck from where the prongs had been, “I will use theim the wrong way. Just fer ye.”

Gaz snickered and even Ghost let out a chuckle.

“Jooohn,” you whined, only struggling a little as Nik sat you down in the tub, the water already nice and warm, your poor body having needed this, “I’m gonna need new brushes.”

“I doubt that, Princess,” he cooed, petting your hair, “Now who wants to join in th–”

Soap was in the tub, sliding in behind you before John could even finish his question, happily ignoring your pout and growl.

“Dinnae be like that,” he crooned, “where is yer special shampoo?”

This day had been awful.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Princess.”

You almost jumped as the voice called for you and you turned, squinting slightly in suspicion at the sight. Gaz stood in the doorway, all calmly, looking at you, playing a little with his gloves. He didn’t look aggressive and didn’t smell turned on; in fact, he looked pretty harmless, his tail wagging ever so slightly, ears turning towards you and an almost shy smile.

“What?” you asked, sitting up in the dog bed, crossing your arms, not caring about sounding nice, looking him over for a moment before adding, “you’re dragging in mud.”

He looked down at his shoes, letting out a little ‘oh’. They weren’t really supposed to be in here, so you didn’t really understand why Gaz stood there. You didn’t really care either.

The other might be beautiful, but he was still not one of your favorite people. 

“I - want to show you something,” he finally said, one of his charming smile appearing, though it was a little more careful this time, “Soap said you would probably like it.”

“What is it?” You didn’t sound too impressed.

“It's a surprise,” he smiled a little more.

“If it's your knots, then you can–”

“Jeez,” he rolled his eyes, as if they weren’t fucking you silly on the livingroom floor the other day, “it’s not. Nothing like that.”

“Promise?”

“I do,” he answered, wagging a little more than before, “Swear on my tail.”

"Hm. Where is it?”

“In the barn.”

You scrunched your nose at the mention of the barn, the idea of being stamped to death by a horse already scaring you.

“It’s nothing scary - I wouldn’t bring you if it was.”

You let out a sigh, before getting up - he went to the hallway again and you followed, stealing one of John’s jackets as well as a pair of his boots, before following Gaz outside. 

“Some air would do you good once in a while, ya’ know,” Gaz said after a few moments, “we’re not that bad all of the time, Princess.”

You huffed, wondering for a moment if you should just turn around and go back. “You haven’t really proved me otherwise.”

He let out a hum that almost sounded agreeable but opened one of the doors to the barn, ushering you inside.

“It’s all good, I promise,” he said once more and you reminded yourself, that if he tricked you, you were going to snap off his tail. Pretty as it was.

He steered you to a booth where you noticed the heat lamp at first, more than anything else - but then you saw them, letting out a little gasp.

Tiny baby goats, all snuggled together in the hay beneath the lamp. A few of the mothers stood nearby and one of them came to the door of the booth, sniffing at Gaz’ hand, before letting out a bleat - then turning around again.

“They’re adorable,” you whispered, looking back at the babies, some of them looking at you, others sleeping with no worries in the world. 

“Aren’t they?” Gaz asked with a smile, “They were born yesterday night. Come.”

You let out a scared sound as Gaz opened the door to the booth.

“Won’t the mothers attack us?” you didn’t like how Gaz chuckled to your genuine, fearful question but he shook his head.

“Nah, me ‘nd the others hang out with the animals all the time.” He explained, petting one of the mothers who came to greet him for a moment.

It was cute. You had to admit that, even with your limited love of the farm animals.

“But I don’t.” you pointed out, still standing in the door of the booth, afraid to step into the hay and join the other as he sat down next to the baby goats.

“No, but the mothers know I won’t let a predator near,” he explained gently, “Not at daytime and not during the night.”

“Oh.”

There was something special over this that you could not explain. You didn’t want to explain it. You sat down next to Gaz as he patted the spot, still a little unsure about the momma goats - but none of them battered an eye as Gaz took your hand and made you gently pet one of the babies.

“They’re so tiny,” you whispered, almost to yourself, for once not hating or fearing Gaz. At least for right now, you were just in a moment together with him, doing something that you hadn’t expected would be that nice.

[maybeiwasjustjade]

The amount of morons I’ve seen on twitter that insist ‘a son for a son’ is still owed because Jaehaerys wasn’t Alicent’s son, so Rhaenyra somehow has rights to Aegon’s head is baffling.

Actually, scratch that. It’s not baffling at all, because this isn’t the first time I’ve seen such braindead takes from that side of the fandom.

Last I checked, Aemond killed Luke. Not Aegon. Alicent served up Aegon’s head on a platter, without even once considering that should Aemond live then Rhaenyra will come for his head too. And not only did she betray Aegon, Alicent’s actions may very well lead to both Gwayne and Criston’s deaths. And Daeron, who has done nothing but be born to her.

As for the stupidity of the insistence on ‘a son for a son’, maybe Condal and Hess should remember that the last time Rhaenyra sought revenge for Luke, a toddler was beheaded in his bed because of her husband!!! And if that son wasn’t enough—the poor, innocent baby son of Helaena—and a debt still needs to be repaid, does that mean Aegon now has rights to kill one of Daemon’s children then?

Same logic right? Rhaenyra didn’t get Alicent’s son’s head for Luke, but Aegon lost a son. So if Rhaenyra has rights to Aegon’s head, then Aegon has the exact same right to murder one of her remaining children yes? Baela maybe, when Aegon claims Dragonstone. Or Joffrey even, should he survive till the end. Maybe Rhaenyra can even choose and then watch, like Daemon made Helaena.

But that’s not right is it. Aegon would be a monster if he did that. No sane person would do that. No good person should want that kind of revenge.

But when it comes to Rhaenyra, TB will justify anything right? She indirectly yet directly causes the deaths of nearly 100 dragonseeds—oh that’s fine, they consented to being in the pit knowing they could die! She’s not responsible at all! It’s not as if she ensured they couldn’t escape right? The death of a toddler wasn’t enough because it wasn’t the right son, so of course she gets to ask for another too.

As if Jaehaerys wasn’t worth a life at all. Then again, what can be expected when even after his death, in a fight about his murder, she only ever refers to him as ‘boy’, ‘child’, and my favorite: ‘it’.

Rhaenyra was always going to have to kill Aegon for the throne. And that was at minimum, unless she went for Aemond too. Daeron I could see being spared by being given to the Faith or the Maesters. It was very, very, very obvious to anyone with even a shred of media comprehension (which seems to be very little given the amount of stupid comments I’ve seen). The issue is that she had to go on and make it very clear that Aegon will die, not for taking her throne or whatnot, but as penance for Luke dying. That is where she crosses the line. She can’t and won’t spare Aegon, but the least she could do was not be a lying liar about it.

Also: I never subscribed to the theory that Alicent will be the one to poison Aegon in the end, because I never considered that a mother would be so cruel to do so. She ruined his life; placed him on this goddawful path to war that he never wanted. The least she could do was not betray her own son that way. But after today? Not a chance in hell she won’t be the one to kill him for her precious Rhaenyra. I hope when all is said and done, and she’s locked in a tower for the rest of her life, she knows that it was all her fault.

Because F&B made it clear that Aegon had a legitimate claim. Is it a usurpation if by all laws and tradition he’s the rightful heir? The show decided to go the idiotic route of making it an outright usurpation. The Dance was inevitable in F&B. Here, it seems to have been caused purposely, with one of its leading causes becoming a major turncloak. And it’s sad really, because the Dance has barely even started. HOTD could’ve waited to make Alicent a traitor. Wait until the Gullet and Jace and Rhaenyra’s inevitable fall to madness, to make Alicent’s plea more realistic because it happens when the Greens look like they are losing. Instead, they did this. Unbelievable.

[l-in-the-light]

Law didn't know about the kids in Punk Hazard

This will be an unpopular opinion, because fandom loves to think Law is so shocked here because of Strawhats crazy antics. But I believe that the actual reason why Law looks so horrified is because of the kids. He didn't know Caesar was experimenting on kids and right under Law's nose. He spent months there and yet he didn't know.

How is that possible? Because Law had to agree to two conditions so Caesar would allow him to stay on that island: 1. give up his heart in exchange for Monett's 2. not be nosey about Caesar's research. And if Law would break that deal, his heart would get crushed at any moment. So why would he break the deal before he would figure out how to get his heart back? He stayed there for months and I doubt he needed to stay there for that long, he was just stuck there because of that stupid condition. And yet soon after he found out (thanks to Strawhats), he reacts like this and betrays Caesar:

I still have no idea who Caesar reminded Law of. At first I thought "Doffy, right?" but Doflamingo despite being manipulative never had to actually drug people not to leave his side, that's exactly why he is so scary in the first place. My current bet is Vegapunk, for two reasons:

1. Everything Caesar does or did is implied to be a copy of Vegapunk's inventions, just worse quality: artificial zoan fruit dragon = smile fruits, that's why Caesar knows how to "respawn" devil fruits as well, don't think it's his own achievement. Also we're being fed to a lie for the whole duration of Punk Hazard: Caesar isn't the only person capable of producing SAD, Law reveals it on Sunny on their way to Dressrosa: "he only found an use for Vegapunk's lineage factors" - which means any other scientist could have done the same as long as they knew the method. At first Vegapunk was also part of the illegal science group of Punk Hazard, which means both him and Caesar did experiments on humans (prisoners, Kaido, Alber, but not kids, but it's still experimenting on humans). All things considered it doesn't have to be a stretch that Law might mean Vegapunk here, after all he did read a lot about world government's experiments that were previously done on Punk Hazard (he did share a bit about gigantification for example and that was also an experiment Vegapunk was involved in!).

2. It could have been Judge, but I don't think Law ever met him. His surprise at seeing Stealth Black for real was enough of a proof to me, he never met any Germa before.

Remember Flevance and all the kids dying? Or Law's novel when one of the first feats Law does after forming Heart Pirates together with Bepo, Shachi and Penguin is to rescue people from pirates? I even think it mentions "rescue kids" specifically.

Staying on Punk Hazard and having a deal with Caesar who experimented on kids and Law having no idea about it must have been a big blow to him. He probably thought he's partially responsible for that. And despite the fact we don't see much of his emotions in that arc, we do see two little hints of it:

Overreacting much? He didn't really need to cut them up, seems like he released his anger there.

This one's easy to miss. He eats while looking at the kids, gulps his soup in one go and throws away the bowl. For someone so calm and composed that seems like such an uneccessary display and has like nothing to do with his talk with Smoker. But if we compare it to a certain someone having a flashback to his trauma, it all suddenly makes sense:

I see the parallel here, even though it's subtle.

In summary: Law wasn't a cold bitch, he was actually genuinely traumatized after Punk Hazard. That line between "good" and "evil" the marines painted feels even more symbolic, all things considered. Law believes himself to be a villain there and hates it.

Bonus: Yes, I remember that Law told Strawhats to forget about the kids when they told him they want to save them. He probably thought they can't pull it off or maybe he still felt bound by his deal with Caesar. Instead of being a counterargument I feel like it just makes the whole thing worse: he thought there's no way to save them which in turn for sure made him feel even worse about himself. He ended up being what he hated the most: the government's decision of not even trying to help Flevance and dooming it, just like Law himself doomed the kids.

Strawhats literally saved his heart a little bit there, in Punk Hazard. Didn't help him feel better about himself, but made him believe slightly more in miracles.

[silverskye13]

Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

[blujayonthewing]

melliwyk has pissed something off and pulled a retaliation attack that nearly kills her in, I think, every single boss fight we've ever done and I cannot emphasize enough how much I love that

I know I've already bitched about this but it's so frustrating that if it was just my glass cannon rogue, who was designed on purpose to get in over his head and be chewed up and spit out in combat, dying very badly over and over I'd be having fun

[pixiecaps]

Heres a portion of Maxo’s ending monologue and some meta commentary.

q!Maxo: And what if I stay? At least they won’t have that planned out. How can I be so stupid? Of course, they know about the bomb. They literally know everything, see everything, its an all seeing eye, of course. They already knew about my plan.. But there’s a plan they don’t know. And it’s that I’m going to stay here. It’s over. Besides, I’m a danger to everybody, I’m turning into a code. I know now that I’m not the only one but at least it’ll be one less, right? It’s the desperation of not being able to do anything against the Federation. They always get away with it, man. They always get what they want. I don’t- I don’t know why I’m even still walking. … They’ve taken my bomb and stolen my idea and now they’re exploding it. They don’t care. At least, we found a way to escape. (Timer runs out)

cc!Maxo: (Closes game) And like that is how he dies. “Are you coming back as a ghost?” As of right now I am not thinking about returning as a ghost. (Plays sad music) Rest in peace qMaxo. Rest in fucking peace. I did all I could chat. I did all I could. … If I had reached the boat I would not have gotten on. I think what I would’ve wanted is to reach the boat, say goodbye to everybody, and die. But I suppose due to the timer the bomb blew up before that could happen. … So I’ve died. That is how it goes. This was the only thing I could do that the Federation could really not control. Killing myself.

cc!Maxo: (When a chatter mentioned the people who didn’t reach the boat) Chat I only know that I’ve died, it’s what I wanted for my lore. That I would’ve stayed there with the atomic bomb. In a fantasy world like the QSMP, of course I could revive, finally turn into a code, or whatever but for the moment all I know is that I’m dead. And I don’t have anything else scripted, from this moment on I’m dead and thats final. Thats the reality, and thats why I’m not… happy because I will for sure miss the QSMP. But since I personally take roleplay very seriously, for me there is no going back. I am dead. I cannot return as cubito Maxo. I can return as a spirit that haunts Roier once in a while, periodically, I could, I could but qMaxo is dead. It’s sad, I’m not super happy because obviously I spent a really great time on QSMP but by my own lore, man, I couldn’t do it any longer. I couldn’t handle returning to Quesadilla Island knowing I couldn’t do anything against the Federation. If I made a fucking atomic bomb and the boss of Purgatory goes and says, “Oh you have an atomic bomb? Okay. In fact, that’s a good idea. Let’s explode it, run to the boat, returning again to the island that you were in, because thats likely what will happen, and you’ll continue suffering.” I can’t do it anymore. I’ve lost Trump, my son, I’ve lost- I no longer trust people who can kill each other amongst themselves, by the lore.

cc!Maxo: The players themselves are super fun people and I’ve had a good time. What makes me feel shame is that, that I can’t roleplay with them anymore. To say it one way or another. Well, there could be things in the future the admins offer but as a player it makes me feel shame. Also, while it is true that recently I hadn’t been logging in a lot, the times I did I had a good time. I did a lot of cool things with these people.

cc!Maxo: I lost SOFIA, I lost.. everything. Everything that I’ve done, every idea that I had thought of for myself and others has been taken by the Federation. … I think that the Federation has so much control that is impossible to do anything against them. And everything you do against them they’ll use to further confuse the people. … For me I will no longer play [as qMaxo] because I am dead, that’s serious to me, I’ve decided my character has died in an explosion. Another thing is that I could occasionally log on as a spirit or something. If they allow me that then great! But if dying means not being able to play on the QSMP anymore then so be it. … This was necessary for the roleplay. … I didn’t die thinking, “Wow I found the answer.” I didn’t want to die because I found any type of answer. I died because of desperation. To say, look man I couldn’t find any answers.

Maxo mentioned it did leave him with a sour taste in his mouth that he didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to everybody since he ran out of time. So a chatter suggested he does canonical pre recording goodbye video to everybody. He said he’d likely consider it and do it so that his character gets the chance to tell the other characters goodbye and that he’s gone.

Rest in peace qMaxo, the original founder of the Theory Bros, and someone who gave his all to escaping the island no matter the cost.

[guiltyreverie]

Remedy

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader

Content tags: enemies to lovers; slow burn; afab!reader; clan issues; LOOOONG fic (check word count), there will be another part

Warnings: slow burn, gojo being a dick (even geto can’t save him here), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, pain :)

Word count: 17.1k

A/N: I need to cope with current manga events and distracting myself with gojo content works best also why do I have the fucking the tendency to never get to the point (at least explains the length of this fic ._.)

There weren‘t many consistencies in your life, if you were being honest to yourself, after all being a jujutsu sorcerer meant having to predict the unpredictable and be prepared for any possibilities, at least thats what those stupid clan elders drilled into your brain at every possible moment but honestly speaking absolutely nothing could‘ve prepared you for Gojo Satoru to be the worst fucking asshole you have and probably will ever meet. You knew since you were a toddler you were promised to this asshole; binding vow infused with cursed technique and what not, basically it meant you keep the promise to get married and stay with Gojo Satoru or the cursed energy will kill you. At this rate though, you‘d consider just dying instead of marrying him, that‘s how insufferable he is.

For as long as you can remember all your family relatives would tell you day in and day out that you were lucky, you would marry the person that‘s guaranteed to have a successful life and you should be grateful for that but honestly, the moment this spoiled toddler looked at you like you were a cockroach and then called you ugly you have felt anything but grateful. In fact that was the first time you felt such inexplicable rage that you straight up threw your ballerina shoe at him and all your mother could do was pick you up and carry you as far away as possible from each other all while you stuck out your tongue at this dummy that called you ugly. Once you guys were far enough away from each other you had to listen to your mother rant about how you shouldn’t treat the treasure of the Gojo-clan like that or she might get in trouble. It felt unfair and this was only the first of many other scoldings to come.

The second time you meet him, your mother specifically asked you to behave, if not, you wouldn‘t be allowed to have dessert and god you‘d die for that dessert. Keeping the dessert in mind you tell yourself you can do this, he‘s just a spoiled baby after all but the moment he looked at you it already felt like he was itching for a punch. He turned around towards his caretaker and actually asked her: “if he really had to marry you“. This time only the dessert your mother told you about protected him because otherwise he would have tasted both of your ballerina shoes. You almost spat at him that you didn’t want to marry this brat either but your mothers warning glance was the only thing keeping your mouth shut. Then Satoru decided he had enough of looking at your ugly face and just turned around without a single word and left you guys. God you really wanted to throw a stone at him. Your mother looked at you and said: “not to worry because boys are mean when they like you.“. This was the first time you actually contemplated your mothers sanity bc why would someone be mean to someone they like. That’s how you decided to hate your future husband and show him exactly that, no matter the consequences.

The third meeting was actually longer than the other two, simply because this time your caretakers decided that a picnic would be nice and good for you two to get to know each other and familiarize yourselves with one another. This time you were prepared for the inevitable, when your nanny asked why you needed a rock you‘d simply state that it was a gift for Satoru and she gushed over how adorable you were being, what she failed to realize was, that it was anything but a gift for him but rather a meanie hitter in case he‘d be a jerk again. Now you two were facing each other and forcefully greeted one another and the nannies both unpacked their lunch and set it up in the middle for all of you to eat. Now, being the respectful child you were raised to be, you thanked them but Satoru let out a simple „hmph“ and began to eat only to spat it out right into your face. He started to complain about how salty the food was and if it weren‘t for your shock in that moment you would‘ve already hit him with your ‚gift‘ but lucky for him your nanny was already distracting you by wiping away the food in your face and then turning to Satoru to apologize since she didn’t know his food preference. Satoru looked at her in disgust and complained about how she lacks basic cooking skills for a mere nanny. That was also the last time you‘ve seen her on your estate and that really made you hate Gojo tenfold. After that day you vow to yourself to make his life just as miserable but the elders decided to stop letting you guys meet until you both were more mature.

The next time you see Gojo, you were both 8 years old and to none of your surprise he still was the same jerk only this time he pulled your hair and called you a pig but there was no one to hold you back from attacking him with a stick to the point you chased him through the entire estate until you actually tripped and hurt yourself and with tears in your eyes you had to listen to Gojos demeaning laughter while he insulted you one more time for good measure.

That’s how you‘d describe your entire childhood with Gojo Satoru up until you are both in Jujutsu High. After not seeing him for about two years, you could argue that he might‘ve changed but it‘s Gojo Satoru, your hopes are as low as believing this arranged marriage can be canceled.

The first time you see him again was while your teacher was introducing you to the other teams and just seeing his face gave you shivers of disgust. He‘d grin obnoxiously at you and all you can do is scoff, while the teacher talks about teams and what not. You were so enraged at seeing him you couldn‘t even listen to what Yaga was saying.

„Yo, did ya miss me? Bet ya did, it‘s not like you can see a handsome face like this every day.“, Satoru grins and it takes your entire might not to just punch him square in the face.

You grit your teeth at the pest you‘d have to see every day now and take a deep breath to calm down: „I might start to miss your face, when it‘s actually handsome, Gojo.“ you shrug and then glance at the guy with long black hair behind him losing his shit and slapping Gojos shoulder.

„Can‘t say I disagree, Satoru.“ he‘d press in between laughters and Gojo would immediately protest, turn around and kick him while he whines about him not having his back.

You just stare at the long haired guy with an amused grin, then look back to Gojo, almost cringe at him, then turn back to the guy standing beside him, „Geto Suguru, nice to meet you, Y/n. I‘ve heard a lot about you.“ he‘d bow slightly and your eyes almost widen in surprise, how can Gojo be friends with such a respectful guy.

„Knowing Gojo, it was probably only bad stuff“, you chuckle and bow to him as well. You raise an eyebrow, provocatively: „rather it surprises me how Gojo managed to find an actually respectful friend.“ you glance at Gojo one more time for good measure, only for him to grin then stick out his tongue at you

„Not all of us are incapable of making friends.“, he states nonchalantly, but the provocative and amused grin on his face betrays him. It really took almost everything in you not to smash his pretty face into the ground and beat it black and blue, but it seems like Geto was one step ahead by smacking him on the back of his head while he scolds him about being respectful to your fiancé.

Gojo in return simply mocks him, then whines about how you two are ganging up on him while he crosses his arms like a child. You‘d just shrug and then say; „it‘s not our fault, you‘re simply insufferable.“

His pout grows even bigger and you had to giggle because he looked like a bubbling fish, that‘s how ridiculous he was getting. He stopped pouting and kept staring at you, his face neutral. Gojo Satoru always was unreadable to you but in this moment he felt like another mystery of the world. Just what is going on in his head? You stopped asking yourself that a long time ago, there was no point in trying to understand him because you simply never would. The silence between you three was turning awkward very quickly and you decide to pull away from this meeting, deciding that you have much better things to do than have Gojo gawk at your face and most likely start to point out all your flaws and insecurities. You bid them farewell with an awkward smile and head to your designated room for the school year.

With a new place came a sense of loneliness that could hardly be described, it‘s comparable to a lack of warmth that flows from the blank walls that have absolutely zero memories attached to them, but you were determined to fill your heart up with beautiful memories in this place as well. This wouldn‘t remain a blank space; you refuse to allow that. You take a deep breath, your clenched jaw unclenching and your shoulders start to relax; the tension, you didn’t even realize had built up, slowly releasing and you felt like you were able to clear your anxiety slowly. This is going to be fine.

You unpack everything from your belongings and decorate the room, make it feel more like yours. The walls slowly are filled with small photos or gifts from clan members and friends. You smile proudly to yourself and put a frame containing a picture of you and your mom and put it on the desk. You hum happily: „I should buy some decorations whenever I have the time to check out the city“. You start to plan what you‘d like to have and whatnot. Some small plants would be nice but a low maintenance plant would fit your busy schedule more, maybe a cactus, at least you wouldn‘t have to worry about watering it, you chuckle to yourself.

A small knock at the door interrupts your planning process. You turn around and walk towards the door and open it swiftly, only to be faced with one of your teammates, Haname. She smiles and gives you a small wave: „Heya, I was done with setting up and was bored out of my mind, so I figured I should check out how my fellow mates are doing.“, she winks and basically barges into your room and looks around in curiosity. Your eyes widen in surprise when she pushes you away to enter the room and you can‘t help but think of a familiar white-haired pest at her boldness, but hers was more adorable, you didn‘t mind.

You continue to observe her, while she is looking around. Her cheeks seem naturally flushed and she had a round face, she reminded you of a squirrel, but it made her look very adorable. She had a small scar on her chin, it made her cute appearance seem a little more serious. You shake your head at your own thought process, it's rude to observe someone to this extent.

A loud sudden gasp interrupts your thought process, „is this your mother?“, Haname asks wide-eyed, „she‘s absolutely gorgeous, you obviously got those good genes from her, oh my god!“

You widen your eyes for the second time in the span of a few minutes, there‘s a small heat growing on your cheeks at her implied compliment, you knew you weren‘t bad looking but someone complimenting you so straight-forward was a rather rare occurrence.

„She‘s breathtaking, isn‘t she“, you smile in fondness, cheeks still flushed and you couldn‘t help but slowly grow fond of this bundle of energy in front of you.

In response she almost beams: „Absolutely! You‘re very similar to her, y‘know?“

You shake your head a little flustered and grin at her, you might‘ve found a new good friend in Jujutsu High: „You‘re also very cute, y‘know?“

She seems to beam even brighter at your compliment and grins and she throws her hair back in an exaggerated manner: „Thanks, gorgeous.“, she winks at you playfully. „So, do you have any plans for today, or can I kidnap you for the day? I heard from a second year there‘s an insane soba noodle restaurant nearby and I can‘t be bothered to go if I‘m alone.“

You tilt your head at her enthusiasm and seeming extroversion: „Just when did you meet a second year?“, you wonder out loud and laugh. You gesture towards the door: „After you.“, you smile looking forward to this unexpected event.

She nods and takes a step forward: „I just met them while I was checking out the training grounds. They‘re humongous, especially considering the lack of Jujutsu students, anyways they were there training and I watched them. Y‘know get some training ideas by observing and when they took a break I talked to them about the school, classes and so on. They were really nice and helpful! I hope everyone here is like that but you never know.“, she shrugs, as if to say, maybe there are assholes here, too.

You laugh at her enthusiasm and her willingness to talk to just about anyone: „You really do have a way with people don‘t you? I bet you could even make Gojo be nice to you.“, your left hand immediately starts to itch when you think about Gojo being rude to her but that‘s a matter for when they actually meet, which will probably be not far into the future, considering that first year students have classes together, despite being in different teams.

She halts in her movements, turns towards you, tilts her head a little to the right and looks at you in confusion: „Who the hell is Gojo? Do I have to know him? Sorry I don't come from a clan or something so I‘m not that good with sorcerer connections.“, she sighs defeated and grabs the back of her neck apologetically.

You furrow your eyebrows slightly, wondering how to explain Gojo Satoru to her, without complimenting his sorcerer abilities and sadly these go hand in hand; that jerk is a confident bastard and he has reason to back it up sadly. „Well, how do I put this,“, your fingers reach for your chin in a thinking manner, „Gojo Satoru, is the next clan head of the Gojo-clan, he has inherited two insanely strong Gojo-clan techniques, the infamous Six Eyes and the Limitless technique. He will most likely become the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer in the future, but I beg you with my entire combined pride, don‘t ever tell him I said this, or I might have to either kill myself or him.“, you explain and warn her. You sigh already feeling a headache forming at the image of his sly grin, if he ever got to hear you say this about him.

She grumbles in response to the new information: „Oh god, an overconfident man and he has valid reasons for that?“, she massages the space between her eyebrows, „i can already imagine just how annoying he is.“

„The. Absolute. Worst. And because of our insane luck, he is also a first year student,“, you smile at her sarcastically, your voice dripping with fake enthusiasm, „and knowing him, when he finds out you hang out with me, he���ll also probably try to bother you to no end.“, you grumble at the thought of him bothering Haname, but you know it‘s inevitable, he‘ll probably pester all of the students, it‘s just a matter of time.

She sighs: „Well at least you warned me.“, now she grins at you and takes your hand to lead you out of the building and you follow her lead, shaking off the negative feelings that come with Gojo Satoru. At this point it‘s really just a buy one take two for free deal.

Soon the two of you arrived in the heart of the city, you were surrounded by crowds, people were walking by, tourists were reading a map, children were laughing and running around. You grin to yourself; now this is definitely the heart of this place, a new city means a new you. You can work towards improving yourself, become a better sorcerer, nothing is gonna stop you now.

You look at Haname and smile seeing that she‘s just as infatuated with the city as you. You link your arms together so you won‘t lose each other in the crowd. It would be an immense pain in the ass if you lost each other and you really didn‘t want that to happen on the very first day. When you link your arms together she seems to snap back to herself and she drags you forward, probably towards the restaurant she mentioned earlier. Thus your first day concludes with exploring through the city, buying some plants and decorations for each other's room and getting snacks for late nights while gossiping and wondering about the following school year.

The first day of classes started off pretty hectic, you were the type of person to prefer to sleep in for longer than you probably should, so when you realized you woke up an entire 20 minutes after you initially planned to get up, all hell broke loose. You cursed at your habit and got up as fast as possible. After all, you should at least try to look decent on the first day of school. You silently praise yourself at doing overnight curls, at least this would save you a lot of time. You brush your teeth quickly and do your make up so fast, you‘re finished almost entirely 20 minutes earlier than you usually would. You quickly put on your school uniform and check the time, it‘s 7:40 am. At least you were gonna be punctual and not embarrass yourself on the very first day.

While you put on your shoes there‘s a light knock on your door, you can bet it‘s most likely Haname. You open the door, smile a ‘good morning’ at Haname, take your backpack and step out of your room ready to face the first day of classes.

Soon the two of you arrive at the class, which you managed to find easily because Haname also checked out the rooms yesterday. You find yourself being more and more grateful for her presence in your life; she makes it 20 times easier to navigate through everything.

The both of you step in and are immediately faced with the rest of your classmates, one of them being your new teammate. You smile at him and he gives you a small nod back. Even when you first introduced yourself he didn‘t seem like much of a talker, so a small nod seemed like a good sense of appreciation from your teammate and you nod back at him. Haname went ahead and sat herself down in a free spot behind him, so you shrug and decide to do the same and sit next to Haname. The pest- Gojo still doesn‘t seem to be here and you let out a small relief, unsure if you could handle him and his shenanigans this early in the morning. If you were to be honest, if there ever were to be a bounty on Gojo Satoru‘s head you‘d be the one who‘d have put it up.

The devil seems to work hard today because the moment you thought of this, the door flung open and his pesky voice greeted everyone, his teammate Geto seemed to be with him and greeted everyone in a much quieter tone as well. You grumbled as if someone had just threatened to kill you and your entire family and mentally prepare yourself for the incoming headache which comes kind of hand in hand with Gojo‘s presence.

Gojo turns to look at you, probably already having sensed your death stare from thousands of miles away and grins at you and then the seat next to you. You widen your eyes at him and can already imagine his train of thought.

You shake your head at him: „Don‘t you dare even think about it, Gojo.“, you threaten your voice dripping with the intention to kill him

He looks at you mischievously and hums: „it‘s a free country, though? I can do whatever I want, whenever I want.“, he smiles, his eyes glinting provocatively and he pulls up the chair next to you. „Besides it‘s not my fault you can‘t focus in class when you‘re next to me.“, he grins slyly and it takes absolutely every inch of self-restraint in you not to push him off from the chair.

„Sometimes I feel like you were born just to piss me off“, you sigh in defeat, knowing that it‘s impossible to stop him from whatever he set his mind to.

„Please, honey“, he chuckles and leans closer to you while he rest his head on his hand, you scoff at the nickname and you already knew Haname would have to restrain you in the next few seconds, „you should stop being so self-centered, not everything revolves around you and that includes my birth.“, now he is fully smirking at you in victory.

You narrow your eyes at him and retort: “honey, if the world revolved around me, I wouldn’t have to marry you.”

The rest of the class who had been listening to your bickering, now visibly widened their eyes in surprise. Out of all the things that were to be expected, this wasn’t one of them. Your eyes slightly shifted around and sighed at your slip of the tongue, god you really didn’t want everyone to know this early about your predicament. You take a deep breath and start to take out your materials: “Let’s drop this, Gojo, it’s too early for me to be arguing with you already.”, you say almost pleadingly.

Gojo stares at you for a few seconds, which feels like an eternity to you, waiting for his response. Surprisingly he just slightly nods and drops the topic and you almost narrow your eyes at him again in confusion; Gojo never bothers to listen to you after all. You give him a small nod of appreciation and glance at Haname, who is already looking at you as if you had two heads and you almost sigh out loud again and curse yourself once again for already letting everyone know about your engagement with Gojo. She looks at you as if she was expecting an explanation and you whisper that you’ll tell her later about it all and soon after the teacher enters the room and the lesson starts.

While Gojo isn’t actively bothering you, you can feel him constantly glancing or just straight up staring at you, his constant gaze bothering you, you have enough and take a slip of paper and write down ‘Can you stop staring at me?’ then push it towards his table while still focusing on the teacher.

Gojo almost immediately takes the note, scribbles something down and you can see his spreading grin from the corner of your eyes. He pushes the note back towards you and you read his reply ‘Does my attention distract you that much?’.

Your eyes roll almost automatically, you should have expected this, though, he wouldn’t have stayed nice for too long, it’s too out of character for him. You scribble down ‘yes, you’re like a mosquito’ and push it back to him, this time you were the one grinning in satisfaction.

You can see him pouting and then he suddenly pokes at your side. You let out a yelp in surprise, drawing in the attention of everyone in the room. You grit your teeth in embarrassment and tell the teacher you just hit your knee at the table while adjusting your seating position and as soon as his focus is back on the board you glare at Gojo.

He grins at you and whispers: “That’s what you get for calling me a mosquito”

You glare at him again for good measure and whisper back: “i hate you”

He smiles and winks at you and then decided to focus back on what the teacher is saying, as if he’s ignoring you and your response, his lack of proper response seems to irk you even more and you kick him -not so hard to draw attention- under the table, this time you were the one smiling and he was glaring at you. Now you tried to focus on the lesson but the smile never left your face. As much as you hated Gojo you did love when you annoyed him.

While you copy the board Gojo slips a piece of paper towards you which states ‘it’s not over’ and you look at him from the corner of your eyes and start to wonder just what is going on inside his head when he smirks at you but you knew you had to prepare for the worst; when Gojos little head is completely functioning it doesn’t do small actions. You turn around the piece of paper to respond ‘I’m absolutely terrified :o’ and grin to yourself and push it back on his desk.

He gave one small look at the teacher to check if he was still facing the board and then came closer to your face, specifically your ear. Goosebumps ran all over your neck at the sudden close proximity and you had to fight the urge to scream at him and push him away, you didn’t want to get scolded by the teacher on the very first day. You turn to face him- big mistake- he was so close to your face, your noses almost touched and you could feel his breath on your face. Your eyes widen in surprise and you gulp, ‘why did he have to have such pretty eyes’, you start to think to yourself and you almost catch yourself getting lost in them and you flinch back, you turn around to face the board again and put some distance between you, you are more than ready to pretend this never happened. This was completely new territory you didn’t wish to explore with Gojo.

While you did put physical distance between you guys he had reached something today you never knew he could and that idea of vulnerability terrified you, this man isn‘t to be trusted and liked, at least that‘s what you can be sure about. Even if there was something going on you can still pretend it never did you tell yourself.

The only problem is that reality is a bitch and Gojo Satoru is an even bigger bitch and he notices the faint blush on your ears and has to smirk to himself and you really were unsure if you were ready to face whatever is gonna happen next because you knew showing vulnerability to Gojo never leads to anything good.

The class soon ends and you turn to Haname, ready to pretend like the last few minutes never happened. You link your arms together and as soon as you open your mouth ready to say anything, you feel an arm wrapping around your shoulders and a cinnamon like sweet scent fills you.

Gojo‘s pesky voice fills your ear: „Didn‘t I tell you this won‘t be the end?“ you almost shiver; he is too close.

„Don‘t you have anything better to do than pester me?“, you try to untangle yourself out of his arm but his steady grip doesn‘t let you, ‘oh how you wish you had the strength to crush a man's skull right now‘, you mentally grumble and pinch Gojos arm.

He whines about how you‘re bullying him and that is clearly unfair all while pulling you even closer towards him to the point your entire upper body is touching his and you can feel your heart heavily thumping against your chest; it‘s simply because you‘re not used to seeing Gojo like this, you tell yourself and decide on your next course of action: Ignore him.

You turn towards Haname, completely aware of Gojo‘s arm still wrapped around you, you look at her with a defeated gaze as if telling her ‘do you see what I have to deal with?‘. She raises an eyebrow at the irony of the situation, for people who hate each other, you sure were close to one another.

Geto seems to join your small circle with a chuckle and you have to sigh in relief: „Get rid of him. Please.“ you look at him pleadingly. He was your only chance of getting Gojo off of you. Meanwhile the latter is just chuckling at your demise.

He looks at you with an amused grin and then slightly shakes his head no and you grumble at him; you should‘ve expected this, he is friends with Gojo, he has to somewhat be an asshole as well.

„What happened to your inner moral compass?“, you whine while still trying to get rid of Gojo‘s death grip.

„It left the moment, this got a little too amusing for me to interfere.“, he just chuckles and faces Haname, „i feel like we should get used to this, if we‘re gonna hang out with them.“, he hums.

You glare at Geto: „and here I was genuinely respecting you yesterday.“, now you turn towards Gojo, „if you decide to do this regularly, at least put on some deodorant or shower regularly, you stink.“.

Gojo scoffs at your words: “I’m anything BUT stinky, and you know that. I bathe in more oils than some people ever see in their lives.”, he brags like the spoiled brat he is.

“At least something good about marrying you.”, you glint at him in amusement.

The playful mood suddenly changes and he rolls his eyes and whispers something about being a gold digger and suddenly lets go of you and steps away without a goodbye or anything. Geto looks at both of you confused and you wish you could give him an answer but you didn’t have one either, ‘did you do something wrong?’, you had to wonder to yourself. He follows Gojo after saying his goodbyes with an apologetic smile and your side suddenly feels cold.

You shake your head in a weak attempt to sort your thoughts; this is Gojo, he was never easy to understand and never will be. You have to admit, you hated this, this feeling of doing something wrong but you don't understand what. He knew you were joking, right?

Haname snaps her fingers in front of your face and finally gets you out of your thoughts. She looks at you with concern: “You alright? You look a little shaken up.”

“Yes- no, I'm just confused? Like what was that?”, you say unsure of yourself and about the current situation.

She shrugs: “I don't know, maybe you hit a nerve? I still don’t know the guy but he definitely seems like he has some sort of heavy mood swings going on. Anyways I thought you didn’t care about him?”, she looks at you as if she’s hinting at something.

“And I still don’t.”, you stare at her as if she should immediately disregard that thought, “It was just an odd situation and I don’t know how to interpret it.”

“Mhm, sure you don’t.”, she hums, “anyways, what’s the deal with you guys getting married to each other, despite seemingly not getting along?”, she wonders and waits expectantly for an answer.

“Clan matters, really. We were promised to one another before we were even born.”, you sigh, “so it wasn’t really either of our decisions.”

“Have you never tried to make it work?”, her eyebrows wrinkle up in curiosity and she seats herself on top of one of the desks, “I mean there’s no way out. Might as well try to get along.”

“With Gojo?”, you laugh in disbelief and sit down next to her, “hell would freeze over first.”, you grip her shoulder, “besides, you saw him earlier, he’s ten times worse usually.”, you sigh, still wondering if your little comment actually struck him that badly, Gojo was one complicated human to read, besides you shouldn’t care this much about him, it shouldn’t matter, you hate him and that will never change.

The only thing you want to know is if what you did was wrong so you decide to ask her.

“Anyways, did I go too far? He seemed pretty offended by my comment.”, you wonder.

“Nah”, she drags the word and makes a ‘pff’ sound, “you were joking around obviously, and so was he, he shouldn’t get his panties twisted so easily.”

She is making sense, you nod along, slowly getting reassured by her words. “Yeah, I’m probably just overthinking this.”

“Yep”, she smiles, “so don’t worry.”.

Soon after the first few weeks of classes pass and not much happens between you and Gojo, instead of annoying you like on the first he simply didn’t acknowledge your presence. You couldn’t help but welcome this peace but you also couldn’t deny that it made you uncomfortable, it was too odd, too out of place, something was missing and you hated that you felt this way and you would never admit that.

Now that the basics have been taught the school deems you all fit to finally go on your own missions with the supervision of a teacher and of course the missions would depend on your skill levels and teamwork. Your first mission went pretty well considering that this was the first time you guys were facing curses on your own. Actually fighting and seeing them was completely incomparable to reading about them, especially facing the ones in Tokyo. They are stronger here, even if they’re considered a low rank simply because of the quantity of humans in the city. Nonetheless if you wanted to grow your strength as a sorcerer just fighting curses isn’t enough, you have to train regularly and evolve your techniques, being weak and unfocused can easily lead to your death, you knew that. Hence why you were sparring with Haname right now, with your other teammate, Shinsuke, observing the both of you.

You both wanted to try out your hand at various weapons and improve your hand to hand combat, even if you don’t need a weapon, it’s not bad to have several aces up your sleeve and Haname apparently uses dagger, that she can cut herself with any time, it works best with her blood manipulation technique you only got a small glimpse of it but it seemed to have enormous potential despite being quite self-harming, she mostly only needed a small amount of blood and with further training she’d be able to manipulate the blood of other curses as well without even drawing their blood.

Ice manipulation was your cursed technique and with your vast amount of cursed energy you have inherited thanks to your bloodline, you barely had any limits. Your biggest problems apparently will be facing drawn out battles and having teammates, you can manipulate the ice easily but it needs more refinement, saving your cursed energy and instead of targeting the entire area you should learn to just target the enemy since it could freeze your mates as well. But you figured this will be easier following with the experience you will gain from your missions. That doesn’t stop you from still training in your spare time.

The three of you build up this system where two would spare and and the other observes and gives criticism and possible improvements and then you test them out. Sometimes the seniors or other teams would join and the same system repeats. The only ones who you haven’t seen were Gojo and Geto, heck even Utahime and Shoko have joined you all except for them. It irked you, it felt like he was avoiding you and Geto simply followed his nonsense ideas but you shouldn’t let his childish behavior affect your state of mind nor your good time at Jujutsu High, at least that’s what you try to tell yourself; your mood still gets sour whenever you think of him.

At least Geto is still acknowledging your presence whenever he sees you and gives you a smile or wink as a greeting. He’s like the sunshine that follows your broody mood whenever Gojo is nearby but all in all your interactions with the both of them didn’t exceed 2 seconds. On one hand you were relieved and on the other it still pisses you off that Gojo took a small joke this serious and personal when he jokes and pisses you off all the time and you were supposed to get over it.

‘This guy needs to grow up’, you grumble internally.

You were ready to take up a wooden spear and familiarize yourself with it; this daily training for several hours has helped you immensely with your stamina and focus and it actually helps you relieve some inner pent up anger, you don’t even realize you have until you start hitting something.

More and more weeks go by like this: School, Train, sometimes you add a sprinkle of going out and having fun and there are also the occasional missions you guys have and complete with success and only small casualties.

Your team has grown closer and closer to one another to the point you guys spend almost every minute, except for sleeping, with each other and they’ve grown to be your second family; already saving each other more than you can count and a non describable trust has formed between you.

Currently you were seated in the backseat of a car and boredly looking at the constantly changing scenery outside while silently humming along to the music on the radio. The song was just about to reach the refrain when the passenger princess decided to switch the radio channel again.

“For fuck’s sake, Gojo, this is the fourth time you’re switching the song before it gets good.”, you complain. This guy always manages to ruin any type of peaceful mood you could ever have. “Just connect it to your phone if you don’t like the songs playing”, you offer in hopes you can enjoy at least one song before you have to face your pesky and annoying elders.

Gojo and you were invited to a ‘small’ family dinner involving both of your close family, you didn’t know why but you got called and told to bring Gojo with you no matter how and it was no easy feat. As much as you hated your elders or these family gatherings you still could gulp it down and still attend even if you’d rather die than go to one of these. Gojo on the other hand never attends these and they know that, which means this gathering is important as hell and you’d rather face Gojo’s wrath than your mother’s for not obeying the elders.

The deal was: Gojo attends the gathering and you basically get him at least 20 Mochis daily for two weeks. How this man doesn’t have diabetes yet, is something you have to ask yourself daily; his daily sugar intake is worse than an unsupervised toddlers.

The grown toddler in question faces you and rolls his eyes: “These songs are boring, how can you manage to enjoy them?”

You could feel your eye twitching in annoyance: “Just connect it to your phone then, Gojo. It’s not that hard.”

He shakes his head, and switches to another station, provoking you even further, and he takes a small second to consider his next words, “then I wouldn’t be able to keep pissing you off.”

Your entire body tenses up in annoyance, you can basically feel your fingers tickling, basically demanding to choke him but you have to contain yourself, if he’s dead before you even arrive at the gathering, your mother is gonna scold you. All you can do is scoff and face the window again, if he was hoping for a bigger reaction out of you he wouldn’t get it tonight.

For the rest of the car ride, you ignored Gojos shenanigans, except for a few eye rolls here and there; in the end you were also just human and there’s only so much rage you can keep in.

You guys arrive at your not so humble abode; Gojo rushes out of the car and you have to question his next action, specifically his motive, because not even a second later he is making his way towards your door and you have to hold yourself back from opening the door and hitting him in the face with it. The reasonable part in you, knows a clan member is probably watching you from afar and this is the only reason he’s doing it but it still feels incredibly odd.

Satoru opens the door and holds out his hand, waiting for you to take it, he’s lightly and impatiently tapping his foot, which basically tells you he can’t wait for tonight to be over and done with so you take a deep breath and put on a smile before you grasp his hand and let him lead you out of the car. When you step out, he lets go of your arm and puts his hand on your back while simultaneously closing the door.

He leans down to your ear, his lips lightly touching it; you feel tingles run down your spine, physical contact really wasn’t your strong point, you almost curse at yourself and at the effect he can have on you.

“Let the show begin.”, he whispers and you have to cough slightly in a weak attempt to pull yourself together at his raspy voice being so close to you.

You nod to reassure yourself and repeat: “let the show begin.”

The both of you head towards the house, his hand never leaving your waist and you can’t help but feel comfortable, at least you aren’t the only one suffering tonight; the thought makes you chuckle out loud and Gojo looks at you as if you’re about to go insane. Mischievously you just keep looking at him but it’s only in moments like this you realize just how much he towers over you, he’s almost an entire head taller than you, if he wanted to he could spit on your head and you wouldn’t even see it.

This thought makes you slightly mad and you have to narrow your eyes at him: “Don’t even think about spitting on me or anything like that or I will get you Mochis only for a week.”

He genuinely looks lost for a moment, “Just what goes on in that stupid pretty little head of yours?”, he shakes his head but then grins as if he realized something, “thanks for the idea, shortcake.”, he hums, now happier than before.

In response you groaned, you just had to open your mouth. Now you wish you could unwrap his arm around you.

“Don’t you dare or I’ll spit on every meal you’re gonna eat for the rest of our lives.”, you threaten and you mean every single word.

He hums and pulls you closer towards him before he winks and blows a kiss in your direction. Leave it to Gojo Satoru, to make you feel like you’re on an emotional rollercoaster and have your fight or flight mode activated all the time, and right now, you wish you could fight him, he is basically asking for it, but sooner rather than later you already arrive on the front door and ring the doorbell.

You both take a deep breath and you warn Gojo to behave once more for good measure. Soon the door opens and you’re faced with the clan elder greeting the both of you. Albeit they can’t let you guys step inside without a small side comment about how an engaged couple should show up together more often and you have to strengthen the grip on your purse to hold yourself back from either rolling your eyes or pushing the elder away in annoyance. You fake a laugh and respond that you both are very busy people and rarely can make it together to events like this then head inside and greet the rest of your families.

The two of you engage in small talk with the different family members and go from group to group together. Whenever you guys part from one group Gojo whispers small side comments in your ear as if he was a gossiping auntie and you can’t help but laugh at some of them, no matter how much you hate him, you have to admit he does make wonderful company for events like these.

During the passing of the night Gojo’s hand never left your body, even if he let go sometimes his hand always found its way back to your waist and you can’t help but feel giddy at the realization, if you were in the unknown about your feelings for one another you’d genuinely think the both of you were in love given the plain intimacy between you guys. The worst part is, you could get used to it, in fact you are getting used to it, and you don’t like this. At all. Being vulnerable with Gojo Satoru is never a good sign and you dread whatever comes with being comfortable around him. It’s like you are waiting for the killer to finally catch the unassuming victim and waiting for their impending doom but right now you aren’t in a spot to put distance between you guys.

Finally the both of you are done talking to everyone and make your way towards your and Gojo’s parents, after all they’re the ones who are most likely the ones to be the happiest to see the both of you well and happy together.

Your father looks at the both of you and lets out a small whistle before he looks at Satoru and his face wrinkles up in a huge smile: “Did you finally tame the dragon?”, he asks Satoru teasingly then pulls him into a hug, “I hope she hasn’t been threatening you too often. That anger of hers is unstoppable.”

You gasp at your fathers betrayal and Satoru grins at you victoriously, his eyes basically telling you that he’s got your parents wrapped around his finger and you can do absolutely nothing about it.

“Don’t worry about her, give her a little affection and all her worries and anger are gone within seconds.”, he hums happily.

You fake a smile, wrap your arms around his waist in a half hug and subtly step on his foot with your heel, “How can I be angry at you, when you’re this adorable.”, you coo and your mood genuinely brightens up when you see him slightly hiss in pain.

He wraps his arm around your waist again and slightly pinches your side and you have to hold tight onto him to not show a physical reaction towards your parents.

He then looks at your mothers and grins, “she’s such a catch, isn’t she?”

They laugh at the both of you before they stop and start scolding the two of you: “You should attend these events together more often.”, while the other says: “Do you know how awkward it is to always come up with excuses for why you never attend our gatherings?” and much more until they finally hug the both of us.

Satoru’s father now steps in to greet the both of you and then looks at you apologetically: “I hope Satoru hasn’t created any trouble for you.”

You have to genuinely laugh at this, if he only knew, albeit you didn’t want to give neither your nor his family a bad impression but still wanted to keep some type of honesty so you simply answer with: “Only his usual shenanigans, but don’t worry, he’s improving.”

This time Satoru gasps, “I’m not that bad, I’m a fucking delight and you know it, darling.”

“Satoru!”, his mother looks at him pointedly, “no swearing!”, she scolds him.

He apologizes, but you can see from miles away he doesn’t feel the slightest bit sorry about the slip of tongue.

You engage in further small talk, answering all their questions about your wellbeing, your stay at Jujutsu High and basically everything else.

At one point the gathering seems so normal, so ordinary that you can’t help but wonder why they insisted so heavily on the both of you attending together. There’s no way they would have been this adamant about it if this was just a normal gathering.

Satoru beats you to it, though and asks the question you’ve been dying to know and skillfully mentions he had important stuff going on tonight, “so, what is the purpose of tonight’s event? I even had to ask my teammate to take my mission for tonight”

You had to physically restrain yourself from patting Satoru’s head proudly for coming up with this excuse, at least he can sometimes make that brain of his work.

“Oh,”, your mother smiles, “well there are two things planned on today's agenda. First of all we wanted to announce future plans that would follow your guy's marriage in the future, that involve both of our clans and then we wanted to discuss details of your future engagement party, i mean we still haven’t officially celebrated it.”, she explains.

You look at her surprised: “I thought the official engagement announcement would be after we graduate?”, you wonder out loud and Satoru nods along.

Now Satoru’s mother chimes in: “Please, everybody already knows you two are going to wed each other, might as well get the engagement over and done with.”, she chuckles and you can’t help but gulp.

You knew it was bound to happen at one point or another but actually deciding on a date and being engaged officially makes this entire deal so real and it feels like you can’t hold on to the bubble you’ve been living in for the entire time you’ve been at Jujutsu High. You and Gojo Satoru are actually going to be engaged and there’s no actual change to your situation but something about this feels so much more different to your situation before and you can’t pinpoint why yet.

You take a deep breath and for the first time genuinely look at Satoru. He has a blank expression and even though you can’t read minds you just know he’s going through the same predicament as you right now.

You slightly squeeze him in a weak attempt to get him back to reality, you guys still need to pretend everything is alright between you two. Lucky for you it works and now he’s looking at you. You can see the hidden dark look in his eyes; he didn’t want this and your heart feels like it twists in pain, this is probably the only time you’d be the one who could understand Satoru’s thoughts and feelings better than anyone else and you slightly nod and squeeze his arm in a reassuring manner, no matter what, it’s gonna be ok, you try to convince the both of you. This is the only thing you guys won’t be able to change; you two are gonna end up married, whether you liked it or not.

Satoru takes a deep breath then suggests to discuss these matters in a more private setting some time next week and excuses himself before he goes anywhere but near our parents. His mother looks at you confused and worried.

You grasp her hand and squeeze it lightly to reassure her, “he’s fine.”, you smile and follow after Satoru.

He is outside, sitting on the edge of the terrace currently ruffling through his hair, while you slowly walk towards him. The cold of the night breezes against your naked shoulders. Never in your life before have you had to comfort Gojo Satoru nor did you ever think you would but it seems like there’s a first time for everything. Every fiber in your body is screaming to leave him alone, telling you that it’s not worth it, but you can’t, not when you know, not when you understand and you really hated your caring heart in this exact moment so you bite your teeth and swallow down the cold you’re currently feeling and sit down next to him.

He notices you and lets out an annoyed huff: “can’t you leave me alone? At least for now? Before we actually have to stick together side by side for forever.”, you tense up at his sudden rude behavior, you knew he wasn’t exactly ecstatic about the current events but you failed to predict that he’d be pissed enough to let it out on you and you suddenly wish you hadn’t come outside but you grit your teeth together; you both needed to talk about this, whether you liked it or not.

You sigh in order to somehow gather your thoughts and consider your next words, you need to stay calm.

“I don’t like this either, Satoru, just as much as you do. But we can’t change the inevitable. It is going to happen and the best we can do is try to get along and make the best out of it.”, you shrug and look at him, waiting for his reply.

He chuckles coldly, his face unreadable, the only thing visible in this dark terrace that’s only lightened by the moonlight are his furrowed eyebrows, and he snaps: “Make the best out of it? Did you forget all the past years we have spent together so far? I fucking hate you, y/n,”, he stands up and you get up as well, you wrap your arms around your body, is far too cold out here for your type of attire, “that’s not gonna change any time soon, so stop trying to act all high and mighty as if this doesn’t bother you.”, he takes a step closer to you, you two are only a few inches apart now, “Don’t fucking lie and say we fucking make the best out of it, when we both perfectly know this is literally the worst shit anyone can pull on the both of us.”

You scoff, ignoring the small peng in your chest, clearly offended and annoyed by his attitude: “I’m not trying to be high and mighty, I’m trying to fucking deal with this like a mature human being and you snapping at me isn’t going to change our arrangement, Satoru. Grow up and accept it.”

His hand runs through his hair and you can’t help but let your eyes follow his movement and you gulp, realizing how attractive he looks pissed off and you want to hit yourself for being distracted by this in this type of situation and then the realization hits you, you are attracted to Gojo Satoru and it feel like someone suddenly punched the air out of your lungs.

You are attracted to Gojo fucking Satoru, your future husband, who hates you like the fucking pest and the feeling should be likewise; you almost start to curse out loud at yourself, just why did you have to realize this now out of all moments, while he’s expressing his unending hatred for you, why did you even have to be attracted to him in the first place?

“You see, y/n”, you can see he’s clenching his jaw, “right fucking now, i’d rather wish one of us died, rather than grow up and accept it.”, he almost spits out and you know, he is just angry and he just wants to hurt you right now but something about your sudden realization and then Satoru immediately spewing these harsh words out combined makes you snap and you slap him. Satoru widens his eyes in shock and you almost were surprised at your own actions too, at least you would’ve been, if you were in a normal state of mind.

It's just like you thought earlier, being vulnerable around Gojo Satoru is not a good thing.

You shake your head in disappointment and remark harshly and visibly angry: “Out of all the things I expected when I stepped outside, you stooping this low, wasn’t one of them, but I guess there’s a new low every day for you, isn’t there, Gojo?”, you turn around and step away from him. You can’t be near him, not now, not like this. You both needed to cool down, before this gets even worse than it already is.

You step inside and take a deep breath, you need a distraction, anything will do, you can’t even bear to look at your parents right now, you know when they did this deal, this wasn’t what they were expecting for you, and yet you still can’t help but feel angry at them. They took your right to love and be loved like you deserved from you, instead you had a future spouse wishing your death rather than be with you. Anger is slowly starting to be replaced with sadness and the urge to cry is growing stronger and stronger.

What a fucking fun night, you grumble and do your best to keep your inner tumult together, you can’t afford a breakdown in front of your families.

Your cousin approaches you, having noticed you’re not so okay, she tugs you by your hand and pulls you somewhere more private, “you okay?”, she whispers and she knows you’re not okay but how else would she be able to approach this?

You shake your head: “I need to leave, before I break down this entire house, either with my tears or my anger, I haven’t decided yet.”

She nods, barely following along, “okay”, she goes and grabs her car keys, “where are we going?”, then walks out of the house with you following right behind her.

“Bring me back to Jujutsu High, please. And no questions, I’m begging, I can’t form answers right now.”, you plead and step into her car.

She nods affirmingly, “no questions” and drives you home.

The car ride is quiet, only quiet music playing through the car speakers, your cousin leaves you to sort your own thoughts and even after the car ride when you’re already at Jujutsu High you still feel lost about everything. You thank her and step inside, you’d take her out to lunch one day but now you’re in no state of mind to properly converse or do anything else other than think.

Why are you even so affected by this, this is what confuses you the most, yes Gojo is attractive, you established that earlier, but he hates you and you hate him, nothing has actually changed between you guys, or has it? You groan out loud in frustration. No matter how much he hates you or how angry you are in a certain moment and no matter how much you actually don’t mean it, you don’t wish someone else their death, that was a real low blow of him and you don’t think you could ever look at him the same again.

You sigh, you had no intention of solving this situation, this wasn’t your fault and yet you were still standing in front of Geto’s room. Seems like your feet automatically carried you here while you were deep in thought. You contemplated if you should knock or not but apparently Geto didn’t even let you think about that before he opened the door and looked at you in confusion.

“What is bringing you here, princess? I know I’m attractive but I’d rather not do something with my best friend's girl.”, and now you notice how this might come across but you couldn’t care less right now and he winks apparently not realizing that you are here for everything but sleeping with him.

“Bad timing for jokes, Geto.”, you shake your head, “speaking of your best friend, though, fucking fix his dipshit brain or something and give him something against emotional constipation.”, you grumble, clearly frustrated.

He looks at you even more confused before it dawns upon him, something happened and given that you went to him, it was bad, like horribly, only Gojo fucking Satoru could do this, type of bad.

“I’m going to leave it to him to tell you but punch him at least twice for me, please, I already hit him once, but he doesn’t care about me.”, you sigh and you swear you could see the gears turning in Geto’s head.

“That bad?”, he asks genuinely concerned and you only nod, then apologize for disturbing him, wish him a good night. You don’t even give him the chance to ask any further questions before you turn around and head to your room.

You were absolutely done with Gojo Satoru, you grumbled and cursed him all the way up until you arrived at your room. Once you reach the small space you take a deep breath. Feelings come crashing down like a barely holding up dam broke loose and you curse Satoru even more.

It hurt, it hurt seeing him so pissed off about this, about you and you can’t help but feel like your self worth is completely lacking, thoughts start to spill you never thought you’d think and you know tomorrow you probably won’t care and it’ll just be back to Gojo being Gojo but tonight you cared, you let him in even if only for a split second and it was already enough to make your lips quiver and your eyes threatening to spill with tears, Gojo Satoru is your own personal and he proved that to you tonight. You still can’t believe his implication; he’d rather choose death than get along with you, what does that say about your personality? Your desirability? Were you that ugly or was your personality that unlovable? Your insecurities grow bigger and bigger and you’ve put yourself into a circle of constantly demeaning yourself without even trying to.

You don’t even know how or when you fall asleep; only in the next morning when your alarm bell rings and you’re still in your evening dress with completely smeared makeup do you realize you fell asleep. You look like absolute shit and you also felt like it; but you can’t go on like this. In an attempt to get rid of your pathetic behavior you slap your cheeks hard and mutter to yourself: ‘Don’t give Gojo Satoru the satisfaction of having power over you.’ and you pull yourself together even if it’s out of simple spite, if it keeps you going, it keeps you going.

The dress is being discarded and so is everything else, you take a quick shower and put on your daily makeup and blow dry your hair, you’d simply leave it straight today and out on your uniform; you didn’t feel like attending classes but you’d only repeat yesterday’s events if you stayed in your dorm room, and the circle of toxicity would continue. At least classes would serve as a good distraction.

As punctual as always at 7:40am Haname knocks at your door and invites herself in, she gives you a double take and looks at you, or well, more like analyzes every inch of your body before she simply states: “You look good but you also look like shit, I can’t describe it. Was last night that bad?”, she wonders out loud.

You grasp her hand and lead her out of the room with an exaggerated groan: “an absolute fucking disaster.”, you repeat yesterday's events and she listens attentively and proceeds to curse out Gojo with certain insults you can’t even properly pronounce. Now for the first time you genuinely felt like smiling and reassured, your feelings finally felt valid and you were glad you decided to open up to her.

“Anyways”, you shrug, “let’s stop talking about this, or him, he is simply not worth it anymore, I learned my lesson, I have to put my guard up before I fall into a rabbit hole I can’t get myself out of.”, and you sigh, this won’t be as easy as you hope it will be and you knew that but you have to, otherwise you might actually not make it out of this alive.

The both of you arrive at your classroom and you sit down at your regular seats; the room is quiet, everyone either being occupied with their thoughts or still trying to get a few minutes of sleep before the teacher steps in.

Gojo’s seat is empty, so far, you have to wonder if he’s going to show up today, considering how angry he was yesterday. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to see him and yet here you are checking the door whenever it makes the tiniest bit of noise, you really wish you could slap yourself right now in frustration; stop caring about him, you chant like a mantra in your head.

Then the door opens again and you face the sunglasses Gojo wears every single day; your body tenses up and you catch yourself holding your breath, he is looking at you while you are looking at him and everything stops for a few seconds; you really don’t know how to face him or what to do. Do you behave like usual? Are you even capable of doing that? Or will you ignore him, god, you hate this uncertainty.

The tension between you guys breaks when Gojo is being pushed from behind, Geto steps into the classroom and you’re finally able to look away from them, from him. Your head turns towards the window while you rest it on your arm and you know he’s still looking at you but you don’t think you can handle another fight at the moment.

He seems to be sitting down next to you and you can feel yourself tense up even more, you didn’t think he’d actually sit next to you today and thought he’d switch seats with Geto, but it seems like he’s mature enough for that at least, you think to yourself bitterly.

His gaze doesn’t leave you this entire time and you’re almost about to tell him to stop staring at you, when jumps up and mutters something along the lines of ‘Fuck it’ before you can feel your chair being pushed back and Gojo right in front ouf your face. He was so close you could see his sparkling blue eyes hidden behind the sunglasses and his severe eye bags, to be specific, he looked worse than you this morning and it made you feel some sense of satisfaction, at least you weren’t the only one affected by this last night.

He stares at you and then whispers: “We need to talk.”, the eye contact between the both of you doesn’t break and he keeps looking at you so deeply you could almost think he can read your mind.

“Classes are about to start, Gojo”, you barely mutter out; you don’t trust yourself, your voice to properly speak out right now.

“I don’t care”, he says in a hoarse voice, “what I care about is fixing this.”, he looked at you almost desperate and pleading and you feel your entire strength leave your body when he pulls you up by your arm and drags you out of the classroom and you let yourself be carried away.

The only thought screaming into your mind is ‘I don‘t think I hate him‘, you care for him in a certain way because all he has to do is genuinely look at you and your determination is crumbling at his demand.

When you‘re just about to leave the classroom you can hear a faint whistle; it‘s Geto probably.

Gojo‘s hand is softly wrapped around yours while he still keeps tugging you to wherever he wants to go and you follow him silently while your eyes keep following his tall frame. You don‘t know what you‘re going to face, an apology? An explanation? Neither?

Your entire body is tense, and you doubt the tension will leave you any time soon, before you can even realize you already are in an empty classroom and you‘re anxiously waiting for Gojo to say anything.

He clears his throat and takes a step closer towards you, you take a deep breath and step back -you swear you can see a glint of hurt guilt in his eyes- you know that the physical distance won‘t actually put distance between you guys but you don‘t trust yourself being too close to him at the moment, leading to you perfectioning the mask of indifference towards him, even if you feel anything but indifferent towards him on the inside.

His hand grabs the back of his neck and he looks away, probably contemplating his next choice of words. It‘s rare to see Satoru at a loss for words and you didn‘t think you‘d ever be the reason for that but here you were, waiting for him to open his mouth.

Your foot lightly taps on the ground, your pride not letting you even think about being the first to say anything, he was still the one who screwed up so he should take the first step.

After you wait a few more minutes expectantly, you‘re starting to grow disappointed, if he decided he could cut you off from classes and then proceed to just stand there and look at you; you weren‘t gonna have it.

You raise your eyebrow, impatiently before you finally decide you have enough and then make your way back towards the door ready to go back to class.

“Wait..”, you stop and look back at him expectantly, “I’m sorry, okay?”, he grabs your hands and slightly tugs you towards him, “I went too far yesterday, I was angry at the world but then let it out on you, that was wrong of me.”

“I know, Satoru,”, you make no motion to move away from him, “and I understand, but even if I understand, there are certain things I just can’t overlook.”, you sigh, “I’m not a punching bag nor will I let myself get treated like one.”

“And I won’t treat you like that, I promise”, he pleads and steps even closer, “I really mean it when I say I regret it.”, his hands cup your cheeks, “I’m genuinely sorry, y/n.”, and he looks at you with so much sincerity you have to genuinely question if you aren’t dreaming right now; his hands are warm and you suddenly felt like you needed more of this, more of him.

You need to get rid of this thought, you can’t have more of him, no matter how much you want it; Satoru is unattainable like that.

“It’s okay”, you manage to whisper, afraid that if you would speak too loud, you would ruin this bubble the both of you have surrounded yourself with, “well, it’s not okay, but I accept your apology.”, he lets go of your face and smiles brightly, on a whim you decide to grab him by the collar and pull him really close to your face, his smile slips a little and you can see him glance down at your lips, then look back into your eyes. “You pull this shit one more time and I will make sure, there will be no heir of yours”, you whisper your face traitorously getting closer to his, he gulps, “understood?”

“Understood.”, he whispers, the space between your faces getting smaller and smaller.

You let go of his collar and pat out the wrinkles: “good.”, you back away from him and start heading back to your classroom.

As you make your way back to the classroom you don’t spare a single glance back to Satoru, all you can focus on is your heart beating loudly and rapidly as if you had just sprinted through the entirety of Japan, and your mind wanders, you let yourself think about what would’ve happened if you didn’t stop whatever happened in there. Would he have pushed you away? Kissed you back? Those are questions you’ll probably never hear the answer to and you have to almost physically fight yourself from looking back at him; you were afraid that you wouldn’t like whatever is written on his face.

The class is vividly discussing something and you bow to your teacher and apologize, clearly embarassed for being this late. However the teacher just shrugs you off, someone -probably Geto or Haname- explained why you weren‘t there despite your stuff lying on your desk, Satoru is a few steps behind you and grins sheepishly at the teacher, he then stops Satoru him and warns him to solve private issues out of class time.

You have to hold back a shit-eating grin at being treated much nicer than him and Geto doesn‘t even hold his laughter back and you almost start laughing, too. These guys will be the death of you, you can feel it. Geto grins at you, and you know that‘s his way of checking up on you and you feel grateful for him; he was most likely the one to get the stick out of Satoru‘s ass.

While you and Gojo sit down Haname explains what you had missed during the time you were gone, apparently you guys would be divided into different teams for the next three months. It‘s basically going to be a rotation system, where two members of each team will go to two different teams every two weeks; The reason for that being that we need to get used to working with different types of people and training our flexibility, after all the teams weren‘t going to always be the same either when we are grown up.

The two of you look at each other, you knew you didn‘t want to switch teams so early but their reasoning made perfect sense and you could hardly disagree with them.

They were discussing the importancy of team dynamics and what they need to pay attention to even when you aren‘t used to your team members yet; they even made a list of the do‘s and don‘ts when it‘s the first time you‘re working together.

This also led to the big debate going on right now, who would go where in the first round and because the class was being so indecisive the teacher simply decided to draw lots.

While he was drawing the lots Satoru chuckles beside you: „Don‘t worry, y/n, I‘ll take very good care of you, when we‘re going to work together.“ and you groan in response, but he‘s right, you‘ll have to work with this goofy clown for two entire weeks at some point.

He grins and ruffles your hair, leading to you scoffing at him, while Geto chirps in: „He is as bad as he seems.“ and you have to bury your head in your arms in frustration.

Whatever was out there hated you and loved to see you suffer at the hands of Gojo Satoru. At least they took mercy on you and decided that today wouldn’t be the day you’d have to suffer. You almost sigh in relief when your name and someone else's gets called out and it wasn’t Satoru’s.

Another few weeks pass and you have to admit, it’s incredibly exhausting to always get used to new team mates once you get used to the ones you just got paired up with, you at first thought, yes it would be mentally taxing but not to this extent. The entire dynamic changes and with new members, one minute you’re the main act and then the other you’re the support and then the next second you have to save your teammate from getting annihilated by a blast they didn’t see, and then the same game over and over just with other people.

At one point you work together with Geto and you find out you guys actually get along even better now that you weren’t constantly annoyed by the white-haired manchild, they do usually come only in pairs of two, after all. If you were to describe your relationship with one another it would be like two grannies sitting next to each other and gossiping about everyone and everything and you were actually kind of sad when you guys had to part ways but all good things have to come to an end unfortunately.

Just like the good things have to come to an end, the bad things have to show up sometimes too, you think to yourself, while you can only dread your existence for the next two weeks, Satoru is grinning from ear to ear next to you and almost jumping up in excitement. You don’t have enough migraine pills for the upcoming weeks, you were 100% sure of that.

“Hello, partner.”, he stretches out his hand to you, as a form of greeting, with the same grin as before, reluctantly you stare at it before you take it and he abruptly pulls you towards him; you crash against his chest and almost hit him in the chin for being so rash with you. He lifts his hand towards the other person and waves at them: “Yo!”

He has his arms so tightly wrapped around you, that even when you try to push him away, you can’t escape his death grip, ‘at least he smells nice’, you grimace and greet your other partner. He only lets go when your assigned team leader shows up and even then his arm remains wrapped around your shoulder.

The leader frowns a little upon the physical contact but says nothing and you wish you could bury yourself six feet deep; sadly Satoru will never cease to embarass you.

Even when you guys are on missions he keeps calling you weird nicknames and every time he does, another curse would be sent flying towards his direction but this lucky motherfucker doesn’t even have to dodge since his infinity stops them from touching him and it irks you even more, especially when the teacher scolds you afterwards for being reckless and that you shouldn’t throw back curses at your teammates, no matter how annoyed you are.

Today you were sent to a particularly hard mission because, obviously, Gojo Satoru was in your team and the elders decided that since he’s there nothing is impossible. Curses after curses were coming at you, it was like an entire army of them, they weren’t particularly strong but the sheer quantity of them was what exhausted you - no matter how many times you freeze and crush them many more appear, there has to be some kind of power source but even Satoru’s six eyes can’t figure out where its at at the moment; there is so much to analyze, he needs time, is his explanation and you wish his stupid brain could work faster, your output was slowly getting weaker.

Finally he comes up with an idea, he teleports next to you and asks: “Are you capable of freezing the entire area?”, you look around the incredibly large area, it should be doable, but you doubt you’ll be able to stand properly after that but that’s a matter for later.

You nod at him: “Just step behind me.”, you start rushing towards a relatively empty area and wait for everyone else to step behind you. When they are, you freeze absolutely everything, including the walls and ceiling, leaving only the area behind you, where your team is, unfrozen.

Satoru quickly looks around, then teleports away and shortly after the curses that have been surrounding you disappear into thin air; he did it, you smile proudly and then everything starts to spin and you prepare yourself to get down on your knees but you feel strong arms wrap around you holding you steady.

“You okay?”, Satoru’s voice suddenly appears next to you, he must be the one holding you right now.

“I’m fine, give me a second.”, you hold yourself up against his arms; when everything stops spinning you slowly get out of Satoru’s grip only for your knees to finally give in and at lightning speed he is once again holding you securely.

He puts your arms around his shoulders and lifts you up and carries you piggyback style, you rest your head on top of his shoulder, you blame it on your exhaustion although the faint blush on your face could tell everyone else, it wasn’t just because of that. Maybe if you hadn’t closed your eyes to relieve the trembling headache slowly appearing you also would’ve noticed the slight tinge of red on his ears.

Before you even know it, you fell asleep and wake up in the middle of the car ride back to the school, you look at Satoru sitting at the other side of the car, looking out of the window, it seemed like he was thinking about something and you couldn’t help but stare at him. Your eyes wander from his drop dead gorgeous eyes, to the slight crease between his eyebrows then towards the frown on his face that’s usually covered in a smile or grin and it makes you want to frown as well - the mission went well in the end, why does he look so bothered?

“Good work out there.”, you say in an attempt to make that crease between his brows disappear.

He looks at you and then finally smiles: “Good morning, sunshine.”, now he completely turns towards you, “You okay?”, the crease between his eyebrows appears again, “You went off to fantasyland not so long ago.”

“Yeah, I’m fine”, you smile at him, “just used too much of my powers, too quickly, a little rest and I’m back to the usual.”

A little longer than necessary he keeps staring at you, analyzing you and then finally spills out in a sing-song tone: “You went a teensy tiny bit overboard, didn’t you?”

Now you were the one frowning: “You said freeze everything, that’s what I did.”, you shrug, “besides at one point I did have to let out all this pent up frustration I get from working with you.”

Suddenly he grins at you like a pervert: “There are so many different ways to let out your frustration on me and that’s how you decide to do it?”

Your eyes widen in realization and you hit his shoulder: “I did not mean it like that!”, you grimace, “Fucking pervert!”

Unfaced by your hit, he just playfully rolls his eyes and hums: “Uh-uh, sure you didn’t”

Too embarrassed to even look at him anymore you now face the window and have to scoff, leave it to him to ruin any type of nice moment between you guys and you can see from the reflection of the window, he still has that shit-eating grin on his face - how you wish you had slept through the entire car ride now.

When you arrive back at the school you still feel slightly wobbly on your feet but it definitely was better than before, the driver told you to go and visit the infirmary just in case and of course Satoru volunteered to bring you there; if you were strong enough to properly walk on your own, you definitely would have protested with your entire might but you weren’t really in a place to argue so you just let it be and used Satoru like a crutch and weirdly enough he let you.

Once you were in the infirmary they did a general check up on you and already sent you back to your dorm telling you, you just need to charge up again.

Satoru insists on walking you back to your room and wraps one arm around your waist, you stare at him in confusion.

“You do know I can walk by myself now?”, and attempt to wiggle yourself out of his arms.

He doesn’t let you go and just smiles: “No risks; better to be safe than sorry.”, he winks at you and you swear you could feel his arms wrap even tighter around you.

If you or someone else would ask you ‘When did you get so used to him always touching you in one way or another’, you wouldn’t have an answer to that; it just happened, when or how, you didn’t know either, all you know is at some point it felt odd not having his hand somewhere on your body whenever you were together.

Satoru brought you to your room and when you prepare to thank him and say goodbye to him he walks past you and just sprawls on top of your bed, without a single care and you just stare at him, too shocked to do anything else.

A few seconds later you finally get a grip on yourself and scowl: “Out of my bed, Gojo.”, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

He just moves a little more to the side, probably making room for you, “Don’t wanna”, he pouts and pats the spot next to him, initiating that you should just lie next to him.

‘He’s going insane’, you think to yourself, there was no other explanation for this random clingy behavior; you were sure that if you’re going to lie down next to him you would be going insane as well and sigh, “did you hit your head?”, your head tilts slightly to the left in a questioning manner.

He moves his head towards your general direction and opens one of his eyes, he doesn’t say anything but his facial expression definitely says ‘are you being serious right now?’; you look at him with the same expression until you finally realize he isn’t going to move any time soon.

“At least take off your shoes on my bed”, you grumble and step towards your occupied bed and lie down next to him.

Satoru quickly takes off his shoes and then lies back down facing you, the two of you were so close that whenever you guys breathe out you’d feel the other person's breath on your face and it takes everything inside of you not to freak out or curse at Satoru for putting you guys in this awkward position - two people in a bed made for one person.

At some point you close your eyes and try to sleep but you can’t; not when you know Satoru is lying right there in front of you in your own bed. The two of you weren’t actually touching but it sure didn’t feel like it, instead it felt more like he was touching your entire soul, his presence consuming all of your senses and at one point the only thought you were capable of thinking is ‘Gojo Satoru’.

In frustration you turn around, your back is facing him now - a weak attempt to escape his presence - you perfectly know it’s useless but you’re tired and your head is aching and all you wish is to sleep.

Finally you get used to the heat and soft snoring behind you, at some point it even seems like a lullaby and you drift off to sleep.

When you wake up the first thing you notice is the lack of warmth next to you. You turn around to the spot Satoru lied in earlier, of course he left, before you could even wake up. It was a weird situation to begin with but you still can’t help but taste the sour aftertaste it leaves on your tongue. Satoru isn’t the type to stay, you don’t even know why you’d delude yourself into thinking he would in the first place.

Your warm feet hit the cold ground and you almost wrap yourself in your blanket again but just put on your slippers and a sweatshirt from your closet until you get ready and dressed for the training ground today - the classes today will focus on physical combat and honestly, you were in need of pummeling something to the ground today.

Haname, as always picks you up and you walk together; you contemplated telling her what happened last night but telling her would mean it is a big deal - and it isn’t, you convince yourself. Gojo was just tired after carrying you back to the car and then dragging you to the infirmary so he decided to nap in your room and leave as soon as he got up, it’s completely sensable.

She interrupts your train of thought when she asks: “How was your mission yesterday?”, she nudges you, “I heard you exhausted yourself completely.”

“I’m okay,” you sigh, “just went a little overboard. Not really that bad or anything.”, and nudged her back as a comfort.

The look she gives you clearly says that she doesn’t believe you and gives you a once over before she decides to drop the topic, noticing that you don’t really want to dwell on it.

You look around and see some of your other classmates gathered, some are sitting on the ground and some are warming up and stretching; you decide to follow them and gesture to Haname that you are going to start stretching and she joins you quickly.

You decide to stretch your legs and sit down and touch your toes with your hand, after a few times someone pushes you from behind deeper towards your toes and you curse at them ready to punch whoever is messing with you like this.

Gojo’s wide jerkish grin greets you, you push him away and flip him off - the audacity of this guy. For a second you consider asking why he left but you decide it’s not worth mentioning and you once again push down the tight feeling in your throat.

Geto is right behind him cackling while you glare at him: “Piss me off and you’re next.”, you scowl. They really are going to be the key reasons if you ever switch to the dark side.

These two don’t stop, though instead they join you and sit right beside you; one mosquito on each side. At first you try to ignore them and go back to stretching but then they decide to - as childish as they are - make faces at one another and basically yell loud jokes and there’s only a certain amount of patience you have and you’re running out of it.

You flick the both of them on their forehead: “either stretch or go somewhere else.”, you glare.

They stare at each other for a few seconds and then they continue to bother you; one pokes your cheek while the other pokes your side and then Gojo asks, while he's digging his finger deeper into your cheek: “What’s gotten you so grumpy today, hmm?”

A loud scoff leaves your lips: “How can I not?”, you slap their fingers away, “it’s way too early for your shenanigans.”

The both of them chuckle and you wonder what you have ever done to deserve this until they both get slapped by someone on the back of their head: “leave the poor girl alone.”, the teacher scolds them and you sincerely thank him before you grin at the both of them in satisfaction.

They both grumble but don’t say anything else - they better not- they’re already on your bad side today, you weren’t sure if you could handle more of their relentless pestering.

The class immediately starts after this incident and you can finally let out some of your inner pent up anger.

In your head the training dummy is Gojo and he gets the beating of his life; it’s almost therapeutic to beat up dummy!Gojo and you really wish you could do this more often.

Your life continues the same as always: you attend classes, train, sometimes go on missions, are pestered by dumb (Geto) and dumber (Gojo). Well in Geto’s defense; he’s okay sometimes, especially because he’s the one who stops Gojo from overstepping too much but he sure loves teasing you too and they don’t miss out on their daily intake of annoying you.

Now you guys have reached your second year at Jujutsu High, sadly not all of you have made it and when the first one of your classmates died you felt like the world is about to end but you had to recover and continue this path; you knew sorcerers die daily and sometimes it’s the ones you know.

Everything went fine and you had your daily routine, you had improved massively compared to your first year and even got promoted to Grade 1 - you’ll probably become a special grade in the future if you manage to get a better hold of your reverse curse technique.

Then the incident happened and you weren’t really sure if things were fine by then. Satoru and Geto failed their mission and Geto started to spiral into someone you didn’t recognize as Geto. When you first heard of it you tried your best to console him but nothing you ever said really went to his head and you decided to let him; it was something he had to realize on his own.

As it turns out leaving him alone wasn’t the best of ideas because not long after Geto steps towards the wrong path and kills more than 100 people and turns towards the wrong path. You wish you could scream at him, beat him, do anything to make him regret his actions but he had chosen his path and now he was considered to be your enemy.

Gojo was even more closed off right after this, even more unapproachable, yes he still talked and bothered you to no end but you knew he had closed off his heart and had his walls up as high as possible. He hid himself behind his mask of cheeriness and dumbassery but you couldn’t stop him.

Today was another day you were paired up with Satoru, the only difference now to before is that he didn’t bother with team effort; he’d kill the curse in a few seconds and call it a day.

You grumble at him: “Y’know, you can at least try to let us take part in exorcizing the curse.”, you raise your eyebrows in annoyance.

He shrugs: “it’s not my fault, nor is it yours. I’m simply out of your league.”, he grins and you weren’t sure if he just said that to get under your skin or actually meant it.

Your head shakes in response: “It’s still a team effort, Satoru.”, you scoff, “how am I ever supposed to increase my reverse curse technique efficiency if you always clear the job by yourself.”

He just walks away from you before he turns his head around to face you and smirks: “Now that’s not my responsibility is it?”, he interlocks his hands behind his head and you wish you could kick his knee caps, “besides, look at this from a positive perspective - i finished the job for the both of us.”

“I wouldn’t be attending Jujutsu High if I wanted others to do the job for me”, you grumble and slap his arm in offense.

He chuckles and shakes his head: “Chill, once in a while you can lie low and let me handle it.”

You grumble at him but don’t respond anymore - it’s pointless to argue with Satoru; he'd never bother to see your point of view, not anymore at least. Another thing that had changed; you knew it wasn’t really his fault but there’s only so many times you can excuse him.

At one point you do point out his changed behavior; it was a normal Saturday evening, you were on the way to his family's household to finalize the small details of your engagement party, the car ride was silent - which already was unusual in itself but you expected some complaints from Satoru and it took one faint bitter chuckle on your side for him to question what’s wrong and you drop the bomb on him.

“You changed, Satoru, in some ways for the better, in some for the worse.”, you point out.

He didn’t take it that well; he furrowed his eyebrows in anger and scoffed: “Yeah, it’s called growing up, maybe you should try it, too.”

“You know exactly, that is not what I meant”, you roll your eyes, he knows what you mean he’s just deflecting.

“Maybe, it’s none of your business, y/n?”, he snarls and it feels like he punched you right in the guts; you had expected this but still nothing could prepare your heart for this, “Nobody asks you to care for me or my -apparent- lack of emotional well being”, he snarls defensively.

“But I do care, Satoru!”, you respond, or maybe even yell back, you don’t know, you mostly hear your thumping heartbeat and not your own voice.

He rolls his eyes: “Well then fucking stop,”, he scoffs, “it’s annoying.”

It felt like he stabbed you in the guts, took out your organs and tried to put them back in in the wrong places; you know you relationship to one another is complicated, one time you try to murder the other and another time you’re joking around as if you never had a care in the world and despite these complications you thought he cared -at least to a certain degree- about you, but Gojo loves proving you wrong it seems.

A switch got turned off inside of you and your entire demeanor changed - Gojo wasn’t the only one with his walls up now.

You snicker coldly: “You’re right, caring about you isn’t worth it.”

For a faint second you swear you saw something flicker in his eyes but you refuse to believe it was actually real and it was just all in your head - he doesn’t care, he has proven that already.

He turns back around to face the front and the car is once again filled with silence.

You don’t even want to speak anymore but you had to settle at least one thing: “Remember to act when we’re at your place.”, you sigh, hoping he listens to you for once in his life. “I don’t want to hear our parents nagging us because we can’t get a grip.”

He doesn’t turn around but you can see him nod stiffly - at least you’re on the same page on this matter.

Not long after you arrived at his mansion and you almost felt like hurling out of the car; it felt too exhausting to be in there - it took everything inside of you to wait for Gojo to open the door for you.

When he opened the door, he held out his hand - the same tense expression on his face as earlier and you almost grimaced at him; nonetheless you took his hand and stepped out of the car. You were stiffer than a stick to release the tension, you take a deep breath and try to relax.

‘This is going to be terrible’, you sigh to yourself and a coldness fills you the same way Satoru’s cold hand is wrapped around yours.

One of the servants greets you and invites you in, you glance at Gojo out of habit but he doesn’t even bother looking at you and stares straight ahead. You hold back an eye roll - if this man could be any more stubborn you’d actually blast your own head off.

He puts his arm around your shoulder and you have to tense up, it feels weird to be at odds with Gojo and yet so close to him; you two couldn’t be any closer and further apart at the same time.

He silently whispers: “C’mon, we don’t have all day” and guides you to the dining room.

Once inside you both greet each other's family and sit down to eat; not long after the plans already begin - the choice of flowers, other decorations and so much more, well it’s not like you had much of a choice just like almost everything else that involved your and Gojo’s future. It was incredibly frustrating but you knew it was to no avail - you’d just have to bite your tongue.

The evening is getting worse and worse and the more time passes the more you’re tapping your foot impatiently - you just want to get home as fast as possible and sleep; all you want to do is sleep.

Every time someone commented on something Satoru would give passive-aggressive back-handed compliments towards you, like “weed would look best on y/n” or “she should wear something bright to balance out her personality” and you’re one comment away from actually slapping him - he’s going too far with his sappiness.

When they’re finally done with everything you almost jump out of your seat until Gojo’s mother looks at you with those pleading puppy eyes and you curse your nice heart for always bending to other people’s wills.

You keep staying for even longer than necessary; to the point your back even starts to hurt and you’re almost close to begging Gojo to leave; gladly he beats you to it when he slaps his thighs and calls it a night - you would kiss him thank you if he wasn’t the reason why you were in such a sour mood.

The moment you leave the house you speed walk towards the car - you couldn’t handle anymore of his nasty comments nor his nasty attitude; you just want, scratch that, you need to get away from him.

Without a word you sit down in the car and wait for the driver to start driving. You were beyond pissed but mostly hurt, you wanted to scream at Gojo but it wasn’t worth it, he wasn’t worth it, at least not anymore.

[nikkotinamide]

my observations and take on some nuances not conveyed in translation

my drawn out summary part 2!

*Disclaimer: I'm not critiquing existing translations, I think the translators have done a phenomenal job! Just wanted to add my 2 cents worth.

Part 1

Language Use in Kiseki

Ep 4 Cont

More tears. This scene hurts so bad. Ai Di actually says "Blind or what? Having followed him for so long, it's not as though unaware of whom he likes..." It's difficult to translate these lines because there are no first person pronouns used. On one hand, it's Ai Di scolding himself for holding on to his unrequited feelings for Chen Yi (seen in the translation above). On the other hand, he is also scolding Chen Yi for the same thing with regards to CDY.

Ep 5

Time for some comedy to soothe the angst. Our boy really went to school punning and naming himself Edison (and I think the intent was with Thomas Edison in mind lmao).

Ep 8

There's so much we don't know about Ai Di. Here Chen Yi actually asks if Ai Di wants to return to school. Coupled with how Ai Di deflected and told him to stop joking around, and how he told Zong Yi he doesn't need to attend school because he's a genius, it suggests that Ai Di has some regrets about not having the normal life peers his age lead.

Ep 9 💔

This was the most heartbreaking scene imo. Here Ai Di says "你再怎么喜欢他，你再怎么努力，他看的永远不会是你。" - "No matter how much you like him, no matter how hard you try, the one he looks at will forever not be you." While it's clear it's directed at Chen Yi, to a degree it's also Ai Di directing it at himself.

He goes on to say "会看着你的他妈只有我。" 他妈 is a vulgarity (essentially meant to insult someone's mother) which the subtitles and translation have censored, and this line translates into "The only fucking person who will look at you is me."

Let's make it angstier. Ai Di says "只有我，从小看到大。我蠢，我猪。", which has been translated into "Only I, for all my life...I'm such a stupid fool". The translation is fine but it doesn't reflect just how vulnerable Ai Di was in this moment, as though he heart was breaking right alongside Chen Yi’s. My translation would be "Only I, since I was young till now when I am old, have been looking at you. I'm naive. I'm foolish."

This is the line that has made me tear every single rewatch. Ai Di isn't stupid but he is aware that he is being foolish, chasing so desperately all his life after someone who doesn't see him as anything more than a brother .

Ai Di regrets and he says "这件事我帮你扛，抵昨天晚上的事情行吧。我说行就行。" which has been translated into "I'll take the blame for you to make up for what I did to you last night. It's a deal." I felt it was more of a resigned question Ai Di poses, "I'll carry the blame for you, to make up for yesterday night's affair, alright? If I say that's fine, then it's fine."

I was surprised to see this! Here, because Ai Di will not follow willingly, Chen Yi picks him up, and he purposely steps over the pot of burning coal on Ai Di's behalf. I'm not too sure if it's a Chinese thing or religion thing, but in my home country, some Chinese (esp the older folks) say that upon returning home after incarceration, one has to step over burning coal to wash away the bad luck. Very neat that they included this custom!

The same thing Ai Di tells Zong Yi not to say "再见" - see you again; they wouldn’t want to see prison again (which has been translated into goodbye).

This is why people think ChenAi switch, also courtesy of Hsu Kai who pointed this line out. Ai Di says "做回来就不欠啦" which translates into "Do it back and I'll no longer owe you". (more context in comments)

Ep 10

Matt Lee's character who was Ai Di's friend at the bar before jail mentions that Ai Di even dyed his hair blonde upon going overseas to further his education. Meaning, Ai Di's friends were told that he was schooling overseas when he was actually in prison 😢

Ai Di tells Chen Yi "应该多培养一些人在你旁边了，被开枪的时候，才有人帮你垫背" which translates into "You should cultivate relationships so more people will be by your side, so that when the gun is fired, there will be someone to take the bullet for you". Ai Di's done it once, he doesn't want to do it again. And Chen Yi smiles weakly after Ai Di says this because Ai Di just confirmed that he went to jail in Chen Yi's stead.

Ep 11

Like Xiao Jie says, Chen Yi really sucks at wooing someone, so much so that even Xiao Jie is better. On receiving the signature, Ai Di asks if Chen Yi thinks he is BTS (bangtan) and that he can sell his autograph 😂

Ep 12

Chen Yi says "我是在你离开之后，我才发现自己真正喜欢的是你" which has been translated into "It's true I realised you are the one with whom I'm in love while you were gone." I would prefer if it had been "It was only after you left that I realised the one whom I actually love is you". Keyword 真正 - really/actually.

Ai Di uses more heart-rending words. Instead of "Don't make me your rebound just because you can't get the one you love", it would be better translated as "Don't randomly use anybody as a substitute just because you couldn't have the person you love."

Cake scene translations

The most heartbreaking line of this scene. 再 - again. Ai Di actually says "Never again will I step aside for anyone." Implicitly, he was previously going to give up on Chen Yi for CDY.

ok this was a longass post but I wanted to keep most of the angst here

[reaper-in-reverie]

Chuuya was a fiery person.

He learned that the only way to be truly respected was to be irritable and commanding — it worked. He was right. Being weak and folding to other people's will was not part of him anymore, he was Chuuya with a capital C and he was the untouchable executive of the Port Mafia — he didn't need anyone else, he had himself, respect, relative safety, and a stupid mackerel to kill.

Oh, and he had you.

OR

chuuya nakahara's loving written by a chuuya kinnie projecting herself into her work.

Warnings: nothing much, just chuuya's thoughts on love and himself. A dash of angst if you really think about how lonely he is...

Chuuya was a fiery person.

He learned that the only way to be truly respected was to be irritable and commanding — it worked. He was right. Being weak and folding to other people's will was not part of him anymore, he was Chuuya with a capital C and he was the untouchable executive of the Port Mafia — he didn't need anyone else, he had himself, respect, relative safety, and a stupid mackerel to kill.

Oh, and he had you.

And the untouchable executive had to rest, too.

Chuuya had his arms wrapped around you while your head laid against his chest, and his on the pillows. He was so tired, you could feel it when you were this close to him — but you could also feel he was content with just being here with you, holding you in silence.

He couldn't begin to imagine how he even got himself here. He loved you so much, he was so sure of that — you were everything to him. You understood him so deeply, sympathized with him, cared for him, been there to listen to his shitty childhood, been there when he was drunk and tired and mean. Been there through both his best and his worst.

There was a silence he couldn't fill with words. He didn't know what to do with these feelings half the time. You were just so, so precious to him. He didn't want to lose you. He couldn't lose you, it'd ruin him forever. Losing you now would be like dying.

He'd sacrifice his life for you, he'd dedicate his soul to you, and if the world was against you — then he was sending a goddamn planet out of orbit. But Chuuya knew you didn't even want that. You wanted him to love and to be loved — to be human. He never had someone like you before, you proved to him so many times you didn't want his power, or his position, or his potential. You wanted him, you liked how human he was despite of what he was. You commented on his care and loyalty and his compassion — you separated him from the other vile humans, you said he was so much more than them. You loved him without obligating him to love you in return.

You were his proof of humanity. What a joke. Did you even know what you were getting yourself into? What it meant to love someone like him — someone who was just lines of code, stuffed into skin and bones? Someone who had accepted that they couldn't be truly loved long before you? Someone who's very existence flawed them? Someone who wasn't even human? Didn't you know — or did you not care?

Chuuya sighed against you now. He could feel you were asleep in his arms. He needed to protect you, he needed to keep you close to him — you made him feel human. You were proof he could love, he could feel, he could live. That he didn't have to feel guilty for existing. He didn't have to have a purpose — he could live and laugh and love without being useful. It sounded like a fever dream to a boy who was made to be a weapon.

Chuuya started lowly humming a tune into the cold air of the room. The song was familiar — his mother had sung it to him. He could barely remember it. He definitely had a life before this. He probably had a mother, a father, old childhood friends, even siblings —

— but this was okay, too.

He couldn't believe you were here with him. He couldn't believe he had someone that could accept him. Someone who didn't just tolerate him, or use him — someone who loved him. You loved him so genuinely and deeply that you would sacrifice your happiness just like he would his own. You gave him more than respect, you gave him stability. You gave him the feeling of home he had never truly felt.

Chuuya Nakahara was a fiery person.

But he had always yearned for a gentle love.

║Ⓒ reapkusho on tumblr. 2024. all rights reserved. refrain from translating, copying, or stealing in any way, etc.

[itiswormtimebaby]

Here’s what I’m thinking about:

Biker!Bucky (who also happens to be your brother’s best friend) comforting you when you accidentally get way too high and think you’re going to die. 

TW: Recreational drug use (weed), talks of death (reader feels like they’re dying), virgin reader, suggestive

The illicit baked goods were handed over with very clear instructions, only eat HALF. But you were so hungry, and the brownie was surprisingly good, and what would really be the harm in eating a whole instead of a half? Death. Inevitable death would be the harm. 

There’d been a very pleasant twenty-five minutes where it felt as if you were dancing on air, now you could barely get any- breathing shallow, chest tight, head heavy. This was it. Goodbye, cruel world. You knew there was little to be done so you decided to embrace the inevitable, if you acted quickly maybe you could go in your sleep. So you filled your cats food bowl, pressed a quick kiss to her head, and crawled into your hammock to await the end- but wait, wait you couldn’t go with regrets, that was a sure fire way to come back as a ghost and you did not want to haunt your crappy walk up forever. No, no regrets. 

So you called James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, your brother’s Bucky. Bucky who lived only a few blocks away, Bucky who could send you off without regret. He picked up on the third ring, and didn’t get much in edgewise after a hesitant “Hello?” 

“Bucky! Bucky I’m dying and I need you to come over right now. The doors unlocked.” You’d hung up before he could ask any questions, best to save your breath, you reasoned. For his part Bucky had politely but firmly asked the girl currently occupying his bed to leave, and made for the door, tugging on gray sweats as he went. While he was positive your dumb ass wasn’t dying he wasn’t willing to leave you in a distressed state. 

When he kicked off his bike and made it inside he’d found you curled up in your hammock, clinging to your cat, eyes squeezed shut; he’d grabbed your attention with a gruff “Bug?” You’d shot up, furry feline friend taking off with a displeased hiss at the sudden rocking motion; “Thank God, Bucky! Get over here, I don’t have much time.” He’d crouched down next to your hammock, bringing his cool metal hand to your cheek, brushing away some stray hairs and taking note of your blown out pupils; “What the fuck are you on?”

“It- it was supposed to only be half the brownie, but I ate it all, I’m such an idiot and now-” He bit back a laugh realizing you were just stoned off your ass, not wanting to add insult to injury as your eyes welled with tears “-now I’m dying but I can’t go yet, Buck, I can’t, because if I die full of regrets I’ll have to haunt this stupid place forever.” 

“For Christ’ sake, Bug, you’re not dying, you’re just stoned.” 

With an adamant shake of your head you reached down and grabbed his flesh hand, pressing the palm of it flat to your chest as the tears in your eyes finally spilled over with a warbling hiccup; “I- I’m not, I am but I’m not- I know what death feels like.”

His mouth popped open in mock surprise; “Oh, you do? Because you’ve experienced it so many times?” 

Your bottom lip quivered as you glowered pathetically at him, “D-don’t be mean to me. Not right now.” Torn between pushing the issue and humoring you he chose to go with the latter. 

“Okay then, Bug, no regrets. How can I help?” 

With a small watery smile you turned in the hammock to fully face his kneeling form; “We’ve got to have sex-”

“Jesus fuck!” Your sincere expression, tear stained cheeks, and glassy eyes awakened something dark within him, pleasure spiking within his groin and pulling him to half mass even as he adamantly shook his head no. Seeing his refusal you began teetering on the brink of tears again; “Please Bucky, please, you have to fuck me, it has to be you. I don’t want to die a virgin and I love y-” 

Quicker than your sluggish brain could process the cool fingers of his left hand wrapped around your mouth, silencing you as his other hand smoothed across the top of your head and down to cup your cheek, thumb stroking it in small even passes. He took three steadying breaths, eyes clenched shut, before he met your gaze; “Shut up. We are not having this conversation right now.” You whined behind the gag of his hand, but he just shook his head firmly in return, so much for humoring you. “Bug, you are high as a fucking kite. So here’s what’s going to happen; I’m going to go get you a drink, and then you’re going to sleep. End of.”

He stood abruptly, moving towards the door of the bedroom as you pleaded with him to come back and take you, promising he could do whatever he wanted as long as he was inside you. You didn’t stop rambling until he stormed back in with a glass of water, towering over your prone form. “Listen to me,” he hissed “when I finally fuck you the only thing you’ll be high on is my cock, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up about it so I can take care of you until then.” 

AN: In hindsight I’ve taken some liberties with the use of the word “comforting.” 

[damianbugs]

in remembrance of that anon that i tragically lost, here are some recs for THE most underutilised duo in the batfam. i could write ridiculously long essays about the tragedy of these two characters, and how they could become something great, if dc would get a grip a let tim grow up, preferably in the next decade. no complaints about damian. he is perfect.

this is also a cry for HELP. PLEASE write more big brother tim fics i am literally on the verge of collapsing as i ask. he is so unprepared but well meaning big brother so let him carry out his duty towards damian and duke PLEASE.

right then, anyways:

TIM AND DAMIAN FIC RECS ON AO3

miles and miles (in their shoes) by JUBE514

Where is Damian? Why can’t he see anything clearly? Where is the little brat? Damian had been by him in the cave when everything had exploded, they had been arguing like always when the two of them had gotten the punishment to go clean the trophy room, stop yelling at each other, stop being at each other's throat for two minutes and go clean the goddamn trophy room-

They had been cleaning, got into another knock out drag out argument, and it had come so close to blows and they had been screaming more than cleaning and-

The stupid fucking shoe, in the magical section- exploded out-

--

Tim and Damian switch bodies, the two of them realize exactly why the other does the things they do.

MY NOTES: i know body swap aus can be a little worrying, but this is a phenomenal fic on not just the complicated relationship between tim and damian, but also their own individual struggles and how that brings them closer together in an unspoken yet profound way. a must read if you appreciate the characters in their entirety.

Biphasic Reaction by renecdote

People may have allergic reactions all the time and be fine, but they can also die from them. He has a flash of sudden, morbid curiosity about what the exact statistics for fatal allergic reactions are.

MY NOTES: secretly protective big brother tim u mean the world to me. they are so fun in this, even with the medical emergency occurring alongside the sillies.

i only sink deeper (the deeper i think) by call_me_steve

Drake clicks his tongue and tilts his head off to the side. “This really isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

Oh, really? Damian starts furiously finger spelling, just to be annoying. You know, I thought the floating platforms would be of the utmost excitement.

“I caught a solid half of that and I think you’re making fun of me.” Drake goes to shift before remembering that he can’t - his face beneath his domino contorts into something unpleasant. “My legs are falling asleep, dude.”

You move, signs Damian, for real this time, and I go under.

“You talk,” Drake shoots back. “And I go under."

MY NOTES: it wouldn't be a real saki fic rec post without at least one kidnapped and almost dying in order to escape fic. i think about the conversation about love and danger at least once a week at random intervals and do not know how to be normal about it. at all.

The Wound Begins to Bleed by audreycritter

Now that Tim’s moved back to the manor, he just wants a few afternoons a week without Damian around.

Funny how getting that was the catalyst for him becoming a better big brother.

MY NOTES: okay so maybe i've read this a billion times and maybe it's my favourite tim and damian fic ever to exist but isn't that just proof you need to read it too? such a real fic. so personal. can't think of anything else but u must read it

picture perfect memories by Fandom_Trash224

“I… require assistance with something. I believe you are best-suited for it.”

Tim raises an eyebrow, but motions for the younger boy to enter his room. As Damian does, he slowly closes the door behind him, and Tim notices a small piece of what Tim assumes to be paper in Damian’s hand. Then, he realizes it’s not just a piece of paper: it’s a photo.

Damian approaches Tim, holding out the photo at arm’s length once he’s close enough to do so, saying, “I would like you to explain this photo to me.”

Tim glances down at it, and to both his surprise and mild horror, he recognizes the photo.

MY NOTES: oh... oh. Oh i am on the ground dead forever. damian and tim bonding over the shared fact that they got a version of bruce they'll never, ever meet. finding a common ground in grieving something they never had. oh.... how marvelous.

The Study of Birds by MaskoftheRay

Tim and Damian have hated one another since the day that the youngest Wayne arrived in Gotham City. A few years later, that hatred has cooled into a mutual disdain and somewhat-wary tolerance. If necessary, they can even work together— though neither likes to. Then Tim discovers that Damian enjoys bird-watching too.

Or: sometimes the difficult things are the most rewarding.

MY NOTES: truly something so special about stories where tim and damian find comfort and something to cherish in animals. a middle ground born from compassion and empathy perhaps. so sweet.

[aetlasx]

prologue

pair: eddie munson x witch!reader

summary: Ah, memories. You journal your first day of high school, but things quickly take a turn just a few weeks later.

tw: menstruation, pad/tampons, bullying, name calling (pls lmk if there’s anything I missed)

a/n: just stick with me lol. he’ll be in the first part. Also, this is an AU!! For spooky season!! thank you so much for reading!!

*the chat font is the diary entry and it goes back to normal at the end*

August 22nd, 1983 It's been a few months since i've written in this thing. I thought it'd be a good time to start now since I finally made it to high school!

You know what that means? Four more years till I leave this shithole!! Better than five. June was actually waiting by the door when I got home, she really wanted to hear every detail of how it went. I told her about my classes, I have Jonathan in two and Nancy in several. I told her how the school and people were so different from anything I was used to. But, it doesn't take her long to find something wrong with the way I think. She started with her usual warnings and advice, all the things I need to avoid, all the mistakes I shouldn't make. I know she's just trying to protect me, but it feels like she can never have trust in her little sister.

On the other hand, at least Teddy asked if I had fun. He's always been the one who knows how to lighten the mood, especially knowing how his wife is. He asked about my teachers and any clubs that looked cool enough to join. He even asked about Jonathan and Nancy.

Jonathan was definitely not as excited as me. He's quite, but he's always been that way.I know that his mom was excited for his first day of high school, she even convinced him to bring his camera. Right now, I'm trying to convince him to join the newspaper but he just shrugs me off. And Nancy, well, although it's been one–girl is practically glow. Within just 8 hours of the school day, she was able to meet a boy. She kept gushing about him and is pretty excited for the rest of the school year here. I'm genuinely happy for her.

Before June could add her two cents, I interrupted her with how I stopped by Aunt Claudia's after school to see how Dustin's day went. He was already sprawled out on the couch, 'exhausted' from fighting with his new math teacher. It had been a bit since I had seen them, I slaved away my summer at my job so stopping by, I felt grateful that they weren't even mad. I'll have to start hanging out with him again.

Anyways, I’m determined to make the most of freshman year with my friends. I’m ready to prove that I’m more than just a product of this stupid town.

Wish me luck!!

September 16th, 1983

I think I lied. I don’t know where to start…but a four year wait is too long. I don’t know where it all went wrong but it started over the weekend.

Sometimes I’d like to think that if my mom was still around, this wouldn’t have happened. Hell, June is like my mom, why did it happen. I’m talking about mother nature’s gift. It seemed as though no on thought to inform me that a girls first period would be this chaotic.

Nance and I had a movie night planned. I hadn’t really talked to her much, only in class, because her new boy toy or whatever—Steve Harrington, was taking up most of her time. I thought this would be a good time to just catch up and gossip, I was wrong. That Friday was horrible. I ended up throwing up, getting the chills, my body ached to no end. But I was still determined to make movie night happen, especially since June and Teddy were gone for the weekend.

As I was dying on the couch, Nancy finally showed up. But to my disappointment, it was only to cancel. Her and Steve were going out on their first date. I don’t know if it was how hot I was feeling or my intestines twisting, but black spots started clouding my vision. I just remember her screaming for Steve and once I knew it, I woke up in the hospital.

What I’m about to write, I’ll say with confidentiality…probably because I’m the only one reading this. Whatever.

A period is probably normal for all females. What’s not normal is having to go to the hospital and having your best friend’s boyfriend make fun of you because the doctor called you a late bloomer. I mean, she apologized but, if I could’ve just died on that bed, I wouldn’t be here.

Even June lectured me when I interrupted her weekend getaway. The whole ride home she kept complaining and saying ‘how could I not know’ and ‘you just gave us another unnecessary bill’. Like, sorry my baby’s natural response has ruined something for you.

Fuck. That’s not even the worst part. When Monday came back around, everyone was looking at me when I walked in. I know how cliche it sounds after what had just happened but knowing how popular Harrington was and who his friends were, he had already told the whole school by now. During gym, Carol and a few other girls threw pads and tampons at me. I got called ‘Bloody Mary’ and ‘Leak Freak’ in the hallways, at lunch, and anytime anyone had the chance. I tried to stay strong, I even hoped Nancy would say something to me during class or at least when she saw me but she just looked at me with sympathetic eyes. It’s just hard to believe that a few weeks ago, everything was fine. We were making fun of our teacher, gossiping with Barb, and even went shopping but I guess things change. Now when I look at her I’m just consumed with rage.

Jonathan has been supportive, though. The evening I got out of the hospital, he had actually brought over some of my favorite snacks and listened to me cry all night. Even when the mocking was bad, he’s stuck by my side. He’s told some kids to fuck off, walks me to class, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong but knowing that I have to wake up and go through it again doesn’t really ease my pain.

I feel like my chances of making friends and actually joining some clubs are ruined. When I try talking to some new, they give me dirty looks. When I go to ask about different clubs, they turn me away. I’ve lost hope. Thought this was suppose to be a fresh start but I guess not.

And just to add more salt to the wound, I haven’t been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes and drift to away, I’m met with such an unsettling environment. The atmosphere is thick, groggy, red. It’s coated in fog, but a man I’ve never seen before always walks through it. He says his name is Henry, he starts talking about my worries and pain. It’s always the same—he says he’s ‘there to help me’, he’s there to ‘take away the pain because he knows what it’s like’. I truly don’t know what has caused my subconscious to create things like this but I guess I’m just tired of feeling like shit.

I don’t even know why I bother keeping a journal around. Sometimes I feel like I won’t even be here in the future to reminisce on the shitty days like this. Why would I even? I guess it’s just easier to write these things down than having to say them out loud. I thought I’d be able to make my sister, aunt, cousin, and friends proud, but I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for this.

Closing the diary, the blonde places it back in the shoebox you hid it in. Pushing it back under your bed, standing from the place he sat. A satisfied smirk on his face.

He’d been following your turmoil closely, knowing that this was just the turning point. Your struggles were feeding into his plans. This entry was straw that broke the camels back—your vulnerabilities, your fears, and your desperations. It was almost too easy.

“Your suffering is almost poetic,” Henry said to himself, walking out of your room, your house, determined to take action now. He planned to finally confront you, to force you to acknowledge the full extent of what your destiny could be with his help—with what he had to offer.