#*whispers into the void* cowards

[lurkiestvoid]

just a personal note: I love DA and the fandom-positive community!

But I'm flat out not touching Neve art that explicitly hides or otherwise obviously+awkwardly avoids her prosthetic. like the otherwise really cool piece I just saw where I'm assuming the artist just 'left it covered by her pants' (still a whole copout) and didn't actually intend to just disappearify her disability like that. Or like the pieces I've seen keeping her pinned behind a desk/couch/whatever while EVERYONE else gets to run around in frame with their highly-detailed toesies bc 'its too hard to draw a golden snakefoot much :( I just didn't feel like it :( I only ever wanna draw her face/top half/from knees up what's wrong with that :('

It may not be my specific disability, and I will NEVER harass any creators over this kinda thing (rather grumble to myself here in my own space) but I am just too disabled for that behavior to not be fucking gross.

So I just simply will quietly not engage with those works, and instead continue to support works and artists who at least MAKE A REASONABLE/EQUITABLE ATTEMPT :)

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt ~ Honor to Us All ~ Gotham as one true the most haunted city edition

~~~~~

Instead of a welcoming banner in front of a city was an old column, so familiar to a boy, with a warning inscription:

"To outsiders mad enough to attack Gotham: You will be forced to understand that dead soldiers will also go into battle. And having risen to protect, they will be ready to perish all again, So no one of the living would die near them."

Danny smiled with love. 'I’m home, Mother.' Ghost whispered into the void. And Gotham answered.

~~~~

Danny: My Lady, I brought you the crown of Pariah Dark. And The Ring of Rage. They’re gifts to honor the Gotham family. Lady Gotham: The greatest gift and honor is having you on my side, child.

~~~~~

Danny Fenton was born in Gotham and lived here until his parents decided to move. The city didn’t accept them.

'When I die, I want to be one of the Gotham Knights.' Little Danny with pride and eagerly reported to his parents after visiting the Battle Glory of Gotham Museum on a school trip. This evening, Danny learned that not all his plans should be told to his parents.

Danny know his parents are crazy about ghosts. and that all ghosts are "bad". But obviously, the ghosts they talk about, and his, or rather Gotham's, ghosts are completely different creatures. The spirits of the defenders are those who, even in the darkest of times, make the shadows of the Gotham a protection to the citizens.

But that knowledge is his little secret for now. Because if he starts arguing he’ll be punished and he won’t be able to run off to the roof where he’s arranged to meet Robin. Robin’s cool! He works with one of the 'still-living' knights. And he knows more about the city than anyone. Danny doesn’t want to offend his friend.

~~~~~

Mr Lancer doesn’t understand why the lecturer about ghosts, Constantine, after seeing Danny, said something about the bloody gothamites and their inability to stay underground. It wasn’t nice at all. Mr Lancer doesn’t blame Mr Fenton for smiling at the man a little aggressive and viciously. Poor boy probably didn’t know how to respond to his behavior. Danny moved to Amity Park a long time ago and did not stand out at all. So what was this man’s problem?

Danny only half dies because Lady Gotham blessed him when he was a child. So when Danny sees snow-white hair and glowing green eyes in the mirror, he is not frightened but surprised that the Lady protected him even though he is not living in Gotham now.

~~~~~

Danny knows gothamites don’t consider that Gotham is a part of the USA. Even their Metropolis neighbors are just pathetic cowards, unable to withstand the hardships of life. No, really. Why the hell would they be patriots of the country that thinks they’re its dirty secret? This opinion is shared by old ones and children, rich ones and residents of Crime Alley, heroes and villains.

Danny loves Gotham. And he likes local jokes about how if one of their supervillains ever took power enough to threaten the government, he would be obliged to release them from that citizenship. Otherwise, he would be shamed and ridiculed by the inhabitants.

Phantom is not a villain. But for Gotham? For their common purpose? He is ready to pretend to be.

~ A ghost can bring his city ~ Great honor in one way ~

Gothamites remember that the child of mad scientists was the only person Boy Wonder was willing to call a friend. They remember how boys' laughter was heard from rooftops and from alleys on particularly dark nights. And they know whose restless spirit has returned to mourn the death of the second Robin.

The boy’s parents must be fools. Many outsiders are. They call their blessing a curse. People die in Gotham. And not all of them come back. Residents know that these ones are chosen by Lady Gotham herself.

The public enemy of Amity Park number 1? What nonsense. He is not theirs anything! In Gotham they will accept the Phantom as a guard, as a silent shadow, as a villain or a hero. In any kind. Because he belongs here. He should be part of their dance between life and death. He should be amidst dark alleys and acid rains, gliding between fear and laughter in the air.

Even local villains experience strange yearning. Like something’s wrong. Like a piece of a puzzle that’s lost. Therefore, the local abandoned observatory is empty, and none of them is in a hurry to call it their territory. Because it will be in demand, it will be loved and needed. It’s only a matter of time.

Let the spirit of Gotham guide you home, child. Dead gothamite is still gothamite. Which means there will always be a place for you.

~~~~~

When Danny first enters his favorite cafe in his Phantom form and with a wound on his leg, he doesn’t expect a cleaning lady to yell at him immediately for the blood on the floor. With a mop in his hands and with already bandaged leg, Danny feels as if all his worries had gone. They are not afraid of him. Of course. No one in Gotham would avoid him because of glowing eyes and sharp teeth. And that’s nice.

The waitress throws a tray of food on a table next to him: Welcome dinner for the wandering son of the alley. Red Hood said it's your usual order. He’ll be waiting for you on the gargoyle. You should know which one.

~~~~

If parents listened to his childhood stories about good ghosts, they would know that the Phantom is not special. He is not an anomaly of ghost nature and not a mistake. He is one of many who always were and will be defenders of the city. Danny stands in front of the costume that he admired years ago. He's ready to take another shift at work. The remains of his colleagues can rest quietly this night. Lady will wake them only when in dire need.

[azurem]

Inkmare but secretly married

They exchanged vows in OuterTale.

It wasn't— It was a simple thing. The inhabitants had suffered a terrible fate, their dust scattered, lost to the void aeons ago.

Even then, the stars remained as bright as ever. It was an oddity. Usually, they used to pale and die, as if they gave out on their shine with no one to see it.

Nightmare remembered it well. He had taken with him his best of suits, stolen the prettiest of flowers. He took with him rings and jewelry, honey and wine. He had never been in a marriage before, but he had an idea of how they were supposed to go. A promise. They were supposed to make a promise, weren't they?

He remembered feeling nervous. Incredibly so. They had decided on an hour, but Ink was coming late, later than he expected. He didn't want to succumb to doubt —knowing more than well that Ink would reject him face to face rather than taking the coward's way out— but it creeped out on him, cold and unyielding.

He was a fool waiting on an empty moon. What was he doing?

Ink's arms hugged him from behind. He fought not to react, to not let his tentacles pierce them where they stood.

Their voice was light, playful all the same. Not even a single apology. It ate him away. A whisper: "guess who?"

"My everything."

Ink's arms stuttered from where they cradled him. Their hands found the cloth of his chest, digging as if they were looking for his soul, unknowing that they already had it on their palms. Their forehead found his spine.

"...Right."

(They exchanged rings then. They still hang from twin necklaces.)

[pretzel-box]

God i need a part 3 to Sunkissed where we eventually get to meet him in his beautiful fishy glory

Bonus points if the reader says something along the lines of "You're as beautiful as the day i lost you" because that line goes so hard

SEQUEL TO SUNKISSED AND MOONBLINDED

Tags: Angst, gn!reader, mentions of attempted suicide

Words: 1k

Authors note: No >:) Maybe next part!

Sebastian had been hiding in the shadows, wedged into a tight crevice between rusted metal pipes, his fluorescent blue eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. He could see your form through a narrow gap, standing in the empty hallway, your back halfway to him and you still looked as beautiful as the day they took him from you. The faint light of the ceiling lamps casted a silver light down on you, making you look like bathed in glittering starlight. You stood still, almost frozen in place,like you were waiting for something or someone. Him, he realized with a pang of guilt.

“To be honest, I pretended it wasn’t a big thing that you died,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence with some words that must have been heavy on your tongue. Your voice echoed slightly in the empty space, soft yet clear, like you were confessing a secret you had kept for too long. Sebastian stiffened. You knew he was there, somewhere in the darkness, listening to every word you will say.

“I did it for your family's sake,” you continued, your voice steady but tinged with a sadness that was impossible to hide. “I couldn’t break down in front of them when they needed someone to keep them afloat.” Sebastian watched as your hands trembled, clenching and unclenching at your sides. The fingernails were digging uncomfortably into the flesh of your palms. You were trying so hard to stay strong, to keep up that cheerful front you always wore around him. It broke his heart.

He wanted to speak, to tell you he was here, but his voice was caught in his throat. How could he face you? After all that had happened, after what he had become. He was ashamed of how he looked now, the monstrous appearance he had taken on to survive in this godforsaken place. He couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing him like this. He would rather die than scar you with the memory of his newfound appearance.

“But it was anything but easy,” you said, your voice cracking slightly, still talking to the endless void. “It broke my heart.” You took a deep breath, your shoulders sagging under the weight of your own words. A small silence filled the space now before you continued with a pained hesitation. “I tried to… I stood in the waves, you know… And I tried to keep walking into them, but I got scared… I got so unbelievably scared of not being alive anymore.”

Sebastian’s chest tightened painfully at your words. The message hit him instantly as he realized what you meant. He could see the tears welling up in your eyes, could feel the tremor in your voice. You had always been so strong, so brave, and now here you were, breaking down in front of him, and he couldn’t do anything to help you. He felt like the coward he always feared he was.

“I was terrified, Sebastian,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. The words hit him like a physical blow, and he felt his own tears begin to form. “I was terrified of what you must have felt when they wanted to kill you.”

Sebastian’s hand twitched at his side as his eyes widened in another moment of realization. No matter what situation you were in, you still had the habit of putting him first. He wanted to reach out, to touch you, to pull you into his arms and tell you everything would be okay. But he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed by his own fear, his own shame. How could he comfort you when he couldn’t even face himself?

He watched as you stood there, alone in the dim lights, waiting for him. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, an endless chasm between the two of you. He wanted to close the distance, to take that first step, but his tail felt like lead.

He could hear your breathing, shaky and uneven, and it tore at him. He wanted to scream, to shout that he was here, that he had never truly left you. But his voice was gone, stolen by the fear that held him captive.

You finally turned, looking toward the shadows where you knew he was hiding. “Sebastian… please,” you whispered, your voice broken, pleading. “I need to see you. I need to know you’re real.”

And for a moment, just a moment, he almost did it. He almost stepped out of the darkness and into the light. But then the fear crashed over him again, a tidal wave of doubt and shame. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face you, not like this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. “I’m so sorry…”

He watched as your shoulders slumped, the last of your strength seeming to drain away. You took a shaky breath, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’ll come back,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. “I’ll come back tomorrow, and the day after that… until you’re ready. I promise.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, your footsteps echoing down the hallway until they faded into a painful silence. Sebastian watched you go, his heart aching with every step you took and he cursed himself in the comfort of his own mind. He wanted to call out to you, to beg you to come back, but the words wouldn’t come.

He was left alone in the darkness, the weight of his own fear pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the spot where you had disappeared. All he knew was that he had to find the courage to face you, to make things right.

Because if he didn’t, he knew he would lose you forever.

Sebastian sank to the ground, tears streaming down his face as he finally let go of the emotions he had buried for so long. His chest heaved with sobs that echoed through the empty hallway, his body trembling with the force of his grief. The shame, the fear, the guilt—everything crashed over him in waves, drowning him in a sea of sorrow. He buried his face in his hands, his three blue eyes wet with tears. “I’m sorry,” he choked out between sobs, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry���” His heart ached, knowing he’d pushed away the one person he loved most.

“Please, come back…”

[scuttlingcrab]

Regrets of the Living

Summary: Emmrich can barely keep himself together while Rook is trapped in the Fade. His routine is in shambles, his heart broken into a million pieces, as he tries to hold on to something, anything, to keep himself from drowning in despair.

Hello everyone! This is my first Emmrich and Dragon Age fic! Ahhhh!!! I really hope you guys like it, more to come... this damned necromancer has bewitched me, body and soul.

You can find it on AO3 too.

BTW! I'm open to receiving any/all prompts on Emmrich, so please send away! xx

Emmrich Volkarin was a man of practice. It was something he prided himself in, an attribute he knew aided most of his accomplishments throughout his time in the Mourn Watch. In truth, he had his parents to thank for that. What memories he had left of them, he clung to like an anchor. 

Their professions were not as glamorous as his current station, no, but all the same, they had approached their routines with meticulous passion. As a butcher, Emmrich’s father trimmed each slab of meat as if he was a sculptor crafting a piece for the Maker himself. And his dear mother, once a cook, prepared ordinary dishes with the care and attention befit for Nevarran royalty. He was transfixed by how they moved in perfect harmony, performing the same silent choreography day by day. 

And so, just like his parents before him, Emmrich was always the first to wake. No matter the occasion, he kept this tradition, making sure to give himself enough time to complete his own tasks before dawn broke. 

He began his mornings with exercise, of course, after getting a sufficient amount of sleep required for a man of his years. His preferred method was stretching, deep movements for flexibility, to keep him limber, his posture pristine and core in check. This was a must, he thought, there was nothing more important than being attuned to one’s body, as that itself factored into the very art of spellcasting. It baffled him how some of his esteemed colleagues failed to undertake even the most basic forms of physical activity.  

Once satisfied, he would promptly bathe, shave, and pick his wardrobe, all of which was concluded before the sun even began to peak its rays over the horizon in the lands above the Necropolis. 

Emmrich found comfort in this routine, in his solitude most of all. The stillness helped him concentrate, kept him grounded in reality as he mentally set the stage for what each day had in store. 

In the past these thoughts occupied lectures, composing bespoke lessons for his budding pupils, or perhaps even lingering on one of the recent cases of corpse whispering he had been assigned. 

Since arriving at the Lighthouse however, those thoughts had been replaced with worries about eventually fighting the Evanuris, and often simply trying to wrap his head around the ever changing fabrics of this part of the Fade he temporarily called home. 

But now… now in the days since Tearstone Island, all he could do was languish over Rook. His darling Rook. The woman who entered his life like a tempest, filling the void in his soul he never knew existed. Or perhaps he always did, but was too afraid, too much of a coward, to admit it had been there in the first place. 

Rook who was… who was gone, vanished from his life as quickly as she had appeared. 

Emmrich’s heart trembled as he went over the words he so desperately wished he could tell her. What he should have professed weeks ago. These residual emotions weighed the heaviest on his conscience, the pressure nearly crippling him. The quietude he once held so dear was deafening, replaced by the never-ending nightmares of his current reality. Of the aching loss. Plagued by his memories, his insecurities, and how he impetuously wasted his last hours with Rook on a petty squabble.

You fool. You stupid, miserable fool.  

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress. 

Emmrich kept this routine as best as he could, craving the familiarity, while time moved on around him. Each day he searched for Rook, for a tear in the Fade, for a sign of his beloved. The mere thought of her ripped through the cracks of his armour like a griffon. What he had spent years building and perfecting was so easily destroyed, his heart along with it. 

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress.

Repeat. 

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress.

Repeat.

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress.

Re…

Emmrich couldn’t remember what day it was. He had not slept, that much was for certain. His eyes were heavy, longing for a moment's respite, his movements slow and sloppy. A dull pain radiated from his tailbone, travelling up his spine and he flinched. If only he sat down, rested his head on…

“No.” He said aloud, his own voice startling him. 

He paced his room like a caged animal, focusing his attention back to the Fade. To the wretched prison that still held Rook. Emmrich had missed something. That had to be it. If only Bellara was here, he could’ve… 

Emmrich destroyed that train of thought before it became another weapon against him. He only had so much room for grief and he needed it for Rook, he owed her that much. He would mourn Bellara’s absence at another time. Properly. 

Footsteps suddenly came from the hallway, approaching his quarters. Emmrich froze, and for a fleeting moment, hope coursed through his veins as he imagined Rook barging through the threshold, toppling him with one of her many heated embraces. 

“You missed breakfast. Again. ” A voice growled, as the door creaked open.

Emmrich's world turned back to ash when it was Lucanis who peeked his head inside. 

“Oh… yes, it seems I have. Don’t trouble yourself on my behalf, please.”

Lucanis entered the room regardless of Emmrich’s protests, trudging straight towards his desk. He held a silver tray, full of porridge, assorted fruits, and some tea. He replaced the tray that already occupied the surface, which still had yesterday’s untouched meal. Lucanis let out a pained sigh. 

“If you keep this up Manfred will no longer be the only skeleton in this Lighthouse.” 

“Spare your concern for someone who needs it, Lucanis. I will eat. Later.”

Lucanis twitched slightly, his eyes flickering purple as he allowed Spite to have the next words. Emmrich bit the side of his tongue, bracing himself for what complaint they might throw at him next. 

Spite vigorously sniffed the air, scowling at Emmrich. 

“He smells worse. Sorrow. I’m sick of it.”

Emmrich tensed, his temper bubbling to the surface like some form of blight. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself, to cease the corruption from growing within him any further. Of course Lucanis, the others, were only doing what they thought best. They were a team who had just lost their leader, their friend… but the longer he spent dawdling about in idle conversations, listening to their qualms on his appearance, was time lost. Time wasted. He needed to focus on the Fade. On Rook. 

Lucanis twitched again as Spite promptly retreated. 

“Spite. What did I tell you?” There was a pause as both Lucanis and Emmrich waited for another jab, but there was only silence in return. “Sorry. Spite is getting testier. We all are.”

Emmrich bowed his head in agreement, watching as Lucanis slithered back towards the doorway. 

“Neve and I are leaving soon, she’s heard new reports of Solas’ movements in Minrathous. We could use–”

“Thank you, but no. I’m afraid I still have some work to do. Taash or Davrin would be better suited to accompany you for the outing.”

Lucanis’ eyebrows furrowed at Emmrich’s words, his lips tightening as he reluctantly nodded. The door slammed upon his exit, once again leaving Emmrich alone. 

When Emmrich was certain he would not be disturbed again, he dragged himself towards the desk and sagged into his red leather chair, finally succumbing to what felt like the force of the entire world on his shoulders. His eyes caught sight of the food in front of him. He lifted a spoon questionably, picking at the porridge, digging through it as if he might find some hidden answer to this madness at the bottom of the bowl. With an exasperated breath, he shoved the tray aside, burrowing his head in his hands. 

“Ugh…” A shrill sound came from behind him, “What has become of you, Volkarin?”

“Johanna, must you start?”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Johanna began, “watching my life’s work tragically ripped from my fingertips, when I was on the cusp of greatness…” 

Emmrich’s ears were ringing, his head throbbing. The world began to spin around him, faster and faster, but he placed his hands on the desk, attempting to shake away the ailments. He reached for one of his notebooks, flipping through it as he pulled his thoughts together, refocusing on the Fade, on the task at…

“Or seeing you withering away, decaying… turning into a husk of your former self.”

Emmrich froze as he picked up a dip pen, fingers trembling as they hovered over an empty page. He could feel Johanna’s blistering stare on the back of his neck. 

“What do you hope to gain from these incessant protestations? Are you so desperate for attention that you would stoop so low, Johanna?” 

“Pah! I am only stating the obvious, as I’ve always done.” 

Emmrich squeezed the pen tighter, his fingers turning white. 

“Your feelings for that wretched woman will be your demise, Volkarin. I’m surprised it’s taken this long. Only an utter prat would allow themselves to—“

“Enough!” 

Emmrich’s voice reverberated through his chambers, slashing Johanna’s words like a knife. He had only raised his tone in front of her once in all the years they’ve known each other. He had regretted it then, but today he had no remorse. He paused, realising he was on his feet, breath ragged as if he just sprinted through the entirety of the Lighthouse and back. His vision blurred slightly and he blinked, focusing his gaze towards the fireplace to keep himself centred. 

A soft hiss came from the staircase and Emmrich turned towards it, eyes locking with Manfred. His ward stood there, watching him, mouth slightly ajar. He had not heard Manfred descend from the loft above as he carried a hefty stack of books, volumes Emmrich had requested a short time ago for more of his research. Manfred tilted his head cautiously the longer they stared at each other. 

“Hurt.” Manfred blurted. 

“Manfred, I…” 

Emmrich’s right hand felt warm, sticky. How peculiar. He glanced down only to discover his fist clenched, blood dripping on the desk, all over his notes, his books... The pen was broken in two, one end still remained lodged in his palm. The food Lucanis had so thoughtfully prepared lay strewn on the floor beside him. 

“Ah,” Emmrich whispered, his cheeks burning in shame, “what a mess I’ve made…” He opened his hand, it stung at the small movement, but he held it up towards the firelight, examining it. A minor wound, albeit reckless, no underlying tissues exposed… but it was deep, and he would need to stop the bleeding. 

Emmrich removed a handkerchief from a pocket with his uninjured hand. He carefully extracted the pen, before pressing the handkerchief to the wound. He healed himself with what available mana he had, finding that action exhausting in and of itself.

Manfred blurted out a few more noises and concerned hisses, and Emmrich ceased his movements; taking a moment to listen to him, nodding along to each point. Manfred’s worries, his unease at Emmrich’s current state… And in an instant, Emmrich’s heart softened. Looking at Manfred, a sliver of light peaked through the darkness, at what he had accomplished, of how much Manfred had grown since first floating into his life, of what he would one day become. 

“Alright.” Emmrich responded, giving into his pleas, “I shall. Yes, yes, I know. Thank you, Manfred.”

Emmrich retreated towards the back of the room, standing underneath the staircase. He faced the far end of his bookshelf, reaching towards a small golden skeleton bust. He pulled it towards him and it clicked. The bookshelf slid open with a low rumble, showcasing a small hallway that led to his bedchamber. He took a step forward, but not without stopping to look over his shoulder. Manfred was already by his desk, rushing to clean up the disorder he left behind without an ounce of judgment. Emmrich smiled softly to himself and continued inside.

His bedchamber was spacious, and decorated just as lavishly as the main area of his quarters. The room had a few circular windows, looking out into the expanse of the Fade that surrounded the Lighthouse. A large canopy bed sat at one end of the room, with thick lilac coloured curtains draped around it. The other end contained his lavatory, complete with a clawfoot tub, sink, and freestanding mirrors. 

As Emmrich walked towards the sink to wash away the blood, he halted, unexpectedly catching sight of his reflection in one of the mirrors. He gasped at the unrecognisable man who stood gawking back at him, at the state of himself, convinced it was some sort of sick farce, an illusion. His eyes first went to his clothes, how wrinkled they had become, how dirty. He cared for this ensemble once, how… how did he let it get to such a state? His shirt, which used to be a tight fit around his lean shoulders, hung over his frame slightly. He moved to his face, his eyes were hollower, dark circles carved under them… he raised his hands to his cheeks, his jaw, now covered in patchy stubble, weeks of growth left unattended. And his hair… unbrushed, frantic, maddening… he wouldn’t be surprised if he had gone greyer in the weeks that have passed.

Emmrich reached for his razor out of instinct, but stopped himself. Sleep beckoned him, his fingers quivering, eyes barely able to stay open. He needed to rest. He wouldn't be much good to anyone, to Rook, if he let himself continue to wilt. He washed his hands instead, changing into a fresh pair of clothes and collapsed into bed. 

---

Emmrich woke with a start, his shirt sticking to his damp skin, heart pounding against his chest. The same nightmare plagued him still. In his slumber he heard Rook sobbing, heard her pleading, to someone, something… he tried to reach her, convinced he could see her in front of him, standing alone against the bleakness of the Fade. But when Emmrich reached out to grab Rook, to pull her towards him… he was yanked back, forced to awaken.

As he lay there, taking a moment to recuperate, goosebumps sprouted on his arms, a chill running through his entire body. There was a shift in the air around him, a slight electricity buzzing, and that’s when he heard it. 

Rook’s voice. It continued to echo around him, as if she was slightly out of view. 

Emmrich pranced out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face as he quickly dressed, throwing on what available clothes were in front of him. He passed by Manfred as he ran out of his bedchamber. 

“Manfred! Assemble the others. Hurry! Tell them it’s Rook. I know how to find her.” 

Emmrich didn’t wait for Manfred’s response, he was already sprinting from his room, jumping down the steps as he approached the Lighthouse’s main library. 

He continued following Rook’s voice, so distant, as if an echo, finding his way to the music room. He came to a halt when he saw the grand piano. The instrument pulsed dangerously, vibrant colours sprouting from an irregularity as it resonated with the Fade. 

Taash was the first to appear, entering the room with a weapon held high, on the off chance there might be a fight ahead of them. Davrin, Lucanis, and Neve quickly followed suit, stopping near the threshold as they gaped in unison at the piano. 

“Quickly, Neve! We need to start probing… it’s thinner there, by the piano.”

“You better be right,” interjected Taash. 

“I’m certain of it.” 

Rook’s crying continued, her inaudible words intertwined with the pulsing hum of the piano. 

Neve’s eyes widened when she heard it and approached Emmrich’s side, positioning herself as she prepared her mana.

It happened in a blur, the magic coursed through his fingertips as he poured his entire heart and soul towards the piano. A light formed in front of them, growing bigger, and bigger, until it formed an opening wide enough for maybe one or two of them to enter. 

Without hesitation, Emmeric jumped towards the light, plunging both of his hands inside. There was a moment, when his limbs were merely suspended, floating in nothingness, until he felt someome grab hold of him. Rook. It had to be Rook. Lucanis soon appeared, and then Taash, grasping her arms. And together they pulled, and pulled… 

The light spit Emmrich, Lucanis, and Taash out, causing them to land on their backs and Rook on her knees beside them.

The opening instantly collapsed upon itself, vanishing in nothing more than a fizzle. There was a pause as Emmrich sat up, staring at Rook with concern. She was a bloody mess, wounds from the fight with Ghilan'nain still very fresh. Her dark brown hair was matted against her forehead, long scratches lined her cheeks, and her left shoulder lay slumped at her side.

Rook in turn inspected the room, meeting the gazes of the other companions huddling around her, until she eventually landed on Emmrich. He held his breath as the world slowed around him, as they stared at each other, their glances worth a thousand words, another thousand apologies. Rook attempted to smile, but the expression only looked pained, forced, her eyes dark with grief. 

She immediately fell towards Emmrich, hiding her face in his chest. He could only hold her in return, careful not to hurt her, to cause her any more discomfort. She began to shake uncontrollably as Emmrich registered she was sobbing. 

“Oh, my darling…” He whispered. 

A knot formed in Emmrich’s throat listening to Rook weep, feeling her tremble against him with each surge of anguish. He was convinced his heart would've been restored at Rook’s return, but it was only broken again, shattered into a million pieces at her suffering.

---

Emmrich watched over Rook as she dozed off, as her chest rose and fell, like the softest wave against the Nevarran Coast. After bathing and dressing her wounds, she slept soundlessly, at peace with whatever horrors she had faced alone in the Fade.  

Rook insisted Emmrich stay, until she fell asleep at least, and naturally he obliged, pulling up a seat next to the chaise lounge in her room. Not only would he remain at her side, but he’d be there all night if she needed him to.  

Emmrich told himself he remained to reassure Rook, that if she woke, he’d be there to support her, to ease her back from any night terror she might've had, but… the reality was, Emmrich stayed to comfort himself most of all, to make sure they would never be separated again. 

Later, when Emmrich was positive Rook would not stir, he finally allowed himself to weep, crying silently in his palms as a plethora of emotions unraveled all at once. Nearly a month's worth of pent up frustrations, anger, resentments, sadness, longing... 

But Rook was alive. That's all that mattered. She had returned. 

Tomorrow Emmrich’s routine would begin anew, and he would confess everything to her.

He had to be brave. To be stronger. 

For Rook.  

For them.

[ladykailitha]

Share with Me One Love, One Lifetime Part 4

Yay!! We are about half way there. Because yes, this story will end at eight chapters and I'm so happy to see it end. It's been a long hard road for this series and I'm grateful for all the friends I made since starting out on this journey.

But I'm not the same person who started writing a story to fill a void in the fandom to someone who has written almost a million words in the Stranger Things fandom.

So thank you!

In this chapter we have all the fun Lovers' Lake stuff and a little breakdown from Steve as a treat.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Cal,” Wayne snapped. “There was no way in hell that Eddie levitated Patrick ten feet in the air, snapped his bones and then did nothing to other two? If my boy could do magic, there are more than a few people in this town who would be dead by now and not three kids he didn’t have any connection to.”

“Wayne...” Powell huffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Think of what is at stake here! All those young lives snuffed out. Someone has to be punished for it.”

“And you’re not railroading Eddie to do it,” Wayne said gruffly. “Just because he’s a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks doesn’t make him responsible for their deaths!”

“And you’re saying that Victor Creel is?” Powell said slamming his hands on the table. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“It’s either him or his dead kid,” he said. “Which one do you think is crazier?”

Powell let out a long sigh. “Let’s say we entertained a connection between the two cases. Then it is way more likely to be a copy cat then Victor or Henry Creel.”

“If you’re saying Eddie is practicing evil magic based on a table top game,” he said with a sneer, sitting back in his chair, “then you’ll have to arrest Jacob Matthews, Kenny Martin, and Lonnie Byers because they all played Tactics growing up.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Powell said crossly, “as this Dungeons and Dragons the kids are playing now days.”

“One is playing with armies in fictional battles,” Wayne said, “and the other is playing a small band of heroes to battle evil in fictional setting. I really don’t see the difference. Jake liked being Germany, and I’d say that if far more egregious then playing a thief or rogue whatever they call it.”

Powell licked his lips slowly. “I’m not going to convince you to help us bring Eddie in am I?”

“No,” Wayne said, raising to his feet. “And you try to pin this on him, then you’re more than a coward then I thought you were. There is something evil and rotten in this town, no doubt about it. Hop knew and it’s time you got on board while you can still protect this town.”

Then he strolled out the door.

~

“I concur,” Eddie said leaping from the top of Skull Rock, deftly in front of everyone, “Dustin Henderson, that you are a total butthead!”

“Eddie!” Dustin cried and ran over to hug him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said as he gave hugs to Steve and Wayne, too. “This old man has taught more than a thing or two on how to survive in the wild. I was able to swim back to the house and change my clothes and grab my bag.”

Wayne nodded. “Damn right I did,” he groused. “It’s a good thing too, because when I saw you pinwheel head first into the water, I thought I’d lost ya for good.” He hugged Eddie, too.

Steve hung back, breathing heavily, trying to look everywhere but where Eddie was receiving the worried assurances from Dustin and Wayne.

Eddie leaned his head down to get a better look at his boyfriend. “Hey, Stevie...I’m okay. See?” He held out his arms and turned around, showing that he wasn’t hurt in any way. “I’m okay, baby.”

Suddenly he had an armful of Steve Harrington. A sobbing Steve Harrington, who gripped the back of his jacket in a white knuckle grip.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured gently. “I’m okay.”

“I should have moved you to my place,” Steve whispered harshly. “You would have been safe. You would have been safe!”

Eddie rubbed Steve’s back and made soothing noises. “You don’t know that for sure. But I’m safe now. Okay? Why don’t you guys tell me everything you learned at the Creel House?”

Steve nodded and moved to take a step back, but Eddie held on tight. “I didn’t say you had to let go, Stevie.”

Steve slumped against his boyfriend and they both settled against the base of Skull Rock.

“You say all the light bulbs in your flashlights exploded?” Eddie muttered darkly. “Do you know when that was?”

Nancy and Robin looked at each other. “There was a huge grandfather clock that was somehow still working, so yeah we’ve got a pretty good idea when it was,” Nancy said.

Eddie worked his watch off his wrist and tossed it at her. “That stopped when I hit the water, shortly after Patrick died.”

Nancy looked down at the watch again and her eyes widened.

“It’s the same time, isn’t it?” Dustin asked. “The surge of power we felt in the house was the same power that killed Patrick.”

“Wait, wait hold up!” Lucas said waving his hands. “Dustin’s compass wasn’t wrong. It was acting up.”

Dustin stared over at him in shock. “Oh. Fuck.” He turned back to Eddie and Wayne. “The only reason compasses act up like that is in the presence of a Gate to the Upside Down.”

“You have got to be shittin’ me,” Wayne growled. “You think there is one of these holes in the universe nearby?”

Lucas nodded. Wayne threw his arms in the air and proceeded to let loose a slew of curse words that left Dustin mildly impressed.

“Well what are we standing around gawking for?” he growled and whirled Dustin the direction the compass had tried to direct them on their way here.

Steve and Eddie leapt to their feet and quickly gathered all of Eddie’s stuff, to follow close behind. They took each other’s hands and held on as they marched deeper and deeper into the woods.

~

“Dustin, Dustin!” Eddie shouted as Dustin rushed ahead from the group.

He barely made it in time to pull him back from face plant into the lake. “Shit, dude! Not every edge of the water has a shore line. Jesus Christ!”

“Whoa!” Dustin said. He pointed out to the water. “It’s got to be out there in the lake.”

“Shit that’s where Patrick was killed,” Eddie whispered back. “Look around for the boat, it should be around here somewhere.”

They finally found it and dragged it up to the shore. Dustin stepped up to the boat but Wayne put his hand on his chest.

“No kids,” he growled. “I should say no one under eighteen, but I have feeling the ladies are just goin’ to ignore me if I try to stop them from going.”

Robin and Nancy shared a glance and then they both shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

“Someone should stay here and watch the littles,” Wayne continued. “I volunteer. Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?”

Eddie grinned at him. “I can’t promise nothing. Especially with this lot.”

Wayne huffed out a chuckle and then waved them off. “Dustin, give Nancy the compass so that can find this hellgate.”

Dustin very unwillingly and loudly complaining handed over the compass.

The four teenagers got into the boat and Eddie looked back at the shore as the Party shrank the further they got from them. He had this uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that it would be some time before he saw them again.

~

Steve started untying his shoelaces and working off his socks.

“What are you doing?” Nancy asked, raising an eyebrow. “I was going to go. I’m a strong swimmer.”

Steve looked up from where he was shoving his socks into his sneakers. “Well unless you can beat co-captain of the swim team and a lifeguard for three years straight, it’s going to be me.”

Eddie let out a sigh. “He’s the best swimmer here, hands down. Plus, if something comes out of the Gate, he’ll be better able to fight it off.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “Because unless you have some magic power I haven’t been told about, Steve’s our heavy hitter.”

Nancy threw her arms in the air and turned away as Steve pulled off his sweater and tossed it to Eddie with a smile and a wink. Eddie pulled out a cigarette after that view, because, damn. His boyfriend was hot. But before he could even pull out his lighter, Robin snatched it from his lips.

“Gross!” Robin hissed dramatically, throwing the cigarette into the water.

Eddie wrapped the flashlight in the plastic bag and then handed it to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve said with a smile, taking the flashlight from him.

“Good luck, babe,” Eddie murmured.

Steve nodded and dove right into the water. He felt that rush that he always did when hit the water. It silenced the roar of his thoughts and narrowed his focus. He was more at home here then on land. With Eddie’s flashlight in hand he moved toward the glowing light.

He got as close as he dared to that thing. It was red and pulsating. Angry. Angry in a way that only the Upside Down could be. He swam backwards to try to get distance from it, but his foot must have brushed something as he swam to the surface, because as he was in the middle of explaining to the others that it was definitely a gate, something grabbed grabbed a hold of his ankle and dragged him back down.

He struggled and fought but it was no use, whatever had a hold on him was not going to let go. With that strange swoop that occurred when you moved from one dimension to the next, suddenly he was in the Upside Down. All alone. Barefoot and shirtless in a world designed to kill you as fast as possible. Yeah he was fucked.

~

Suddenly Steve was fighting for his life, but he wasn’t alone. Somehow all three of them had dived right in after him and were attacking the monsters with boat oars. Eddie was swinging his oar around with deadly accuracy. Even breaking the oar in two on the second to the last bat.

God, Eddie was hot when he was angry.

Wait.

He needed to focus so he didn’t die. He bit the tail of the demobat that had wrapped its tail around his neck, causing the beast to let go fast. But Steve was faster. He grabbed the tail and began bashing in whatever the thing had for brains and then stomped on it, ripping it in two.

He panted, spitting out the brackish goo that made up their blood, trying to get out as much as he could. It tasted vile. Even more so than his own. He looked up at the blood red sky dancing with lightning and his eyes fluttered closed.

“Eddie meet the Upside Down,” he breathed, “Upside Down has already met Eddie.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and then was suddenly giggling. Then they all were.

“I knew I shouldn’t have introduced you to Jeff’s humor,” Eddie said once he could breath again.

“Let’s get under cover,” Nancy said with a sneer. “Because I really don’t think we’re going to like what happens if more of them show up.”

Steve pointed to the ‘shore’ line where the trees loomed in front of them. “That’s as good a place as any. We know what a demogorgon and the Mind Flayer sound like and can avoid them as much as possible.”

Nancy led the way to the treeline with everyone else following behind.

“I hate that’s a thing we know,” Robin groused as she fell in step with Steve.

Eddie brought up the rear. He kept looking behind them as though he could feel something out there watching them. Or rather watching him.

~

Once they were safely out of the watchful ‘eyes’ of the demobats, Eddie relaxed his shoulders. But the downside to relaxing after an ordeal like that one is that the adrenaline wears off.

“Fuck!” Steve hissed putting a hand on his side and it coming back covered in blood.

“Shit, baby!” Eddie said, moving him to sit on a nearby rock. “That looks bad.”

“What if you get rabies?” Robin asked panicked. “Do Upside Down creatures have rabies?”

“Shut up, Robin,” Steve asked, leaning his head back and gripping his hair to fight back on the pain, “or I swear to god I will hit you!”

Robin hiccuped and then smiled. “At least your humor is intact.”

“Move,” Nancy said, the pieces of the bottom of her shirt in her hands. “We need to wrap that up so it doesn’t get infected.”

Eddie snorted. “Do you know first aid, Nance?”

“Well...” she muttered, chewing on the bottom on her lip. “I mean a little.”

“Well I know a lot,” Eddie said, yanking the strips from her. “Wayne was an army medic and I got into a shit ton of scrapes the first year I was living with him. So if anyone is going to treat Steve it’s going to be a Munson and as Wayne ain’t here, it’s gonna be me.”

Nancy stepped back to stand with Robin, her arms crossed over her chest.

Eddie looked up at Steve and gave his hand a squeeze. “This is gonna hurt a lot, but this is just to stop the bleeding until we can get you somewhere where we can do a proper job of it, okay?”

Steve nodded. “Just do it. I trust you.”

Eddie gave his hand another squeeze and started to wrap the wounds around Steve’s stomach and sides, neatly tucking the ends under the bandage to keep it in place.

“We need to get up high to see where we are so we can get out of this hell hole,” he said with a grimace as he got to his feet.

He looked around him and found a suitable tree and began climbing.

“Just don’t step on the vines,” Nancy warned. “They’re connected to Vecna.”

Eddie turned around to see that the tree was covered in them and he had somehow missed them on his way up. “Shit.”

“Remember when I said the demodogs where connected to a hive mind?” Steve asked as Eddie tried to figure out a way to get down. “Apparently all things in the Upside Down are connected to the rat bastard.”

“Great,” Eddie growled. “Just fucking great.”

“We need to get to my house,” Nancy said, “I have two guns in my bedroom, and I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

Eddie hopped down. “You, Nancy Wheeler, have guns, plural, in your bedroom?”

“I know, right?” Robin said gleefully, “She such a badass.”

“I have two,” Nancy said with smile. “I have a Russian pistol and an old revolver.”

Steve scoffed and grinned. “You almost shot me with that one.”

Nancy grinned back. “And you almost deserved it.”

THWUMP!

“For your modesty, Stevie,” Eddie growled, with a glare.

Steve realized that he was now holding the battle vest in his arms. He smiled up at Eddie. “Thanks, love.”

Just then an earthquake hit, throwing Nancy into Steve’s arms and Robin and Eddie to the ground. Once it stopped, Steve made sure Nancy was steady enough and then he began to walk in the direction he was sure Nancy’s house was.

Eddie expression softened as Steve happily put on the vest and then yes, he admired his boyfriend’s ass. Sue him, he loved that ass. He hopped to his feet and dutifully followed Steve out of the forest.

Nancy pursed her lips together and bit her tongue. Ducking her head to hide her smile, she fell in step with Robin.

~

Part 5

Tag List: EIGHT SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @beelze-the-bubkiss @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @themoonagainstmers

9- @steddieislife @chaotic-waffle

[atinyslittleworld]

The Void Series

Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

Summary: After discovering her ex used her for a cruel bet, Y/N seeks comfort from her best friend, Hongjoong

Word Count: 1,206

Genre: romance, hurt, comfort, angst, friends to lovers

Warnings: MDNI 18+, emotional manipulation, heartbreak

The night outside was dark and stormy, the wind howling as if echoing the turmoil in Y/N’s heart. She sat on the floor of her bedroom, her back against the bed, her knees drawn to her chest. Her phone lay discarded beside her, the last message from her ex-boyfriend still flashing on the screen, taunting her with its cruelty.

“It was just a bet, Y/N. Two months and I won. You were nothing but a game.”

Those words played over and over in her mind, each time cutting deeper, making her feel more hollow, more broken. She had believed in him, trusted him, and in return, he had shattered her heart without a second thought. She didn’t know what to do with the pain, how to make it stop, how to fill the gaping void that had been left behind.

In her desperation, she reached for her phone and called the one person she knew she could rely on, the one person who had always been there for her—Hongjoong.

It took only two rings before his voice came through the line, concerned and alert. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“Hongjoong…” Her voice cracked, barely able to get the words out. “Can you come over? I need you…please.”

“I’m on my way,” he replied without hesitation, and the call ended.

She didn’t move from her spot on the floor, too numb to do anything but wait. Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, she heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching her door, followed by a gentle knock. When she didn’t respond, the door creaked open, and Hongjoong stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto her.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides and knelt beside her, pulling her into his arms without saying a word. The moment she felt his warmth, the tears she had been holding back broke free, and she started sobbing against his chest.

Hongjoong held her tight, his hand gently stroking her hair. “I’m here, Y/N,” he murmured softly. “I’ve got you.”

It took a while for her to calm down enough to speak, her voice barely a whisper as she told him everything—how her ex had used her, how he had placed a bet with his friends that he could get her to date him for two months, how all of it had been a lie.

Hongjoong’s arms tightened around her, his body going tense with anger, but he kept his voice calm and gentle. “He’s a coward, Y/N. He never deserved you. Don’t let him make you feel like you’re anything less than amazing.”

“But it hurts so much,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Hongjoong pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes full of concern and something deeper. He brushed a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “I know it hurts, but I’m here, and I’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his, full of desperation and longing. “I just want to feel something else, anything else. Please, Hongjoong…I need you.”

His heart ached at her words, but he nodded, understanding what she was asking. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice gentle. “I don’t want you to regret this.”

She shook her head, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he were her lifeline. “I trust you, Joong. I need you…please, make it stop.”

With a soft sigh, Hongjoong leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, starting slow, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. But she didn’t. Instead, she melted into him, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

Hongjoong deepened the kiss, his hands roaming her body with a slow, deliberate touch, as if trying to memorize every inch of her. He wanted to make sure she knew she was safe with him, that this was about more than just filling the void—it was about giving her the comfort and care she needed.

“Y/N,” he whispered against her lips, his voice low and filled with intent. “I’m going to take my time with you. I want you to feel how much you mean to me, how much I want you.”

She shivered at his words, her body reacting to the promise in his tone. He trailed kisses down her neck, his hands gently guiding her onto the bed, positioning her beneath him. His movements were unhurried, every touch deliberate and precise, meant to build her up, to show her that she was cherished.

As he slowly undressed her, he kept whispering sweet, dirty things in her ear, his voice like velvet. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. So perfect. I’m going to make you feel so good. Just let me take care of you.”

Her breath hitched as his words sent a wave of heat coursing through her body. She had never felt this way before—so completely overwhelmed by sensation, by the tenderness in his touch, the hunger in his gaze. He moved over her with a patience that made her ache, every brush of his lips and hands against her skin setting her alight.

Hongjoong took his time exploring her, his hands caressing her with a reverence that made her feel worshipped, adored. He kissed every inch of her, his mouth lingering on the spots that made her gasp, that made her arch into him, craving more. And all the while, he kept talking to her, his voice a steady stream of praise and promise.

“I want to hear you, Y/N. Let go for me. I’m going to make you come so hard. Just let yourself feel it.”

His words combined with the relentless, teasing pace of his movements drove her to the edge quickly, her body trembling as he brought her closer and closer to release. She could barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensations he was pulling from her.

When she finally fell over the edge, it was with a shuddering cry, her fingers digging into his shoulders as her body clenched around him. Hongjoong held her close, murmuring soothing words as she rode out the wave of pleasure, his hands never stopping their gentle caress.

As the aftershocks faded, Y/N found herself wrapped in his arms, her body relaxed, her mind blissfully quiet. The pain was still there, but it was muted, overshadowed by the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of his presence.

Hongjoong kissed her forehead, his voice soft and full of affection. “You’re safe with me, Y/N. I’m here, and I’ll always be here.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, but this time, they were tears of gratitude, of something deeper. “Thank you, Joong,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he replied, his tone full of quiet determination.

And as the storm outside began to calm, so did the storm inside her. With Hongjoong by her side, she knew she could face the pain, that she could heal. The void didn’t feel so empty anymore, not when it was filled with the love and care of someone who truly cherished her.

[lumitoiile]

gorou : [night terrors.]

tw! : ptsd, war flashbacks. mentions of b!00d and d3.th, and while none of it is real, reader discretion is still advised to those who find this uncomfortable. reverse comfort. gn! reader (no pronouns.) ╱ word count : 1.4k.

gorou is strong.

even with the vision decree abolished, he works tirelessly every day to protect the people of watatsumi and command the resistance. their side has experienced considerable success thus far, and the troops are as vigorous as ever—especially gorou. he's determined. he's spirited. he's undaunted. 

but even the strongest people have to be weak sometimes.

the war in inazuma is finally over...but at what cost? the outcome was in watatsumi's favor, sure, and the stolen visions have all been returned. but after everything that has been taken from them, after all the lives that were lost, how can anyone continue to live their lives as they were before? 

how can gorou return to what was before? 

the night is quiet, with only the soft breeze and the gentle rustle of leaves outside. you're fast asleep beside your pointy-eared lover, your steady breaths mirroring the rise and fall of his chest. but his mind is far from at peace. instead, he's back on the battlefield, his vision obscured with smoke and dust. the air is thick with the metallic scent of blood, and the ground beneath him is uneven, riddled with the scars of war—filled with craters, broken weapons, remnants of armor strewn across the field, and, of course...bodies. the aftermath of the soldiers who fought and fell.  

shadows twist and writhe in the dust, shaping themselves into faces he recognizes—faces he knows he's seen before. a wave of dread crashes over him, because these are faces that he had to watch fade from life. 

lives he took with his own two hands. 

they begin to move slowly, eyes hollow and void of all feeling, of any sign of humanity. their limbs are broken and bent at unnatural angles, and there are weapons lodged in places they shouldn't be. a hand claws at the ground, followed by another as they reach desperately for him. 

the fingers against his skin are cold and skeletal, digging into his legs, fighting hard to pull him down and force him onto his knees. he tries to yell, scream, say anything, but the words die in his throat. all he can do is stare into the eyes of those who should no longer be here, mouths contorted into silent screams. 

"why did you survive?" a voice rasps, echoing through the field like a ghostly whisper. the sound sends a shiver down gorou's spine, and he has to swallow down what feels like bile building up in his throat. 

"you left us to rot," hisses another, face twisted and stained with blood. 

he stumbles back, heart pounding and pulse racing. the shadows close in on him from every side. cold, clammy hands pull him lower, dragging and pushing at him relentlessly. faces swirl in his vision, shifting in and out of focus—soldiers, villagers, innocents caught in the crossfire. some he fought for; others he fought against. none he could save. 

"you were supposed to protect us," someone accuses, voice sharp and cold as a knife. 

"coward," a shadow spits, words cutting deep into his heart. "you should have fallen too. you should have died with us!" 

he wants to protest, to apologize, but they close in tighter and grip his arms. his legs, his shoulders, the weight of them all is suffocating. he can't breathe. gods, he can't breathe. hands reach for his throat, their nails biting into his skin as they pull him into the cold, unforgiving earth. "no," he whimpers, tears in his eyes as he thrashes against their hold. he struggles to free himself, chest burning with panic as they drag him down, down, down...

he jolts awake with a strangled gasp, his scream cutting through the peaceful quiet. "NO!"

the sound jolts you awake, your eyes snapping open just in time to see his trembling figure beside you. his chest heaves with shallow, frantic breaths as he presses a hand to his forehead. cold sweat dampens his skin, and a faint shimmer of tears cling to the edges of his eyelids. in all his terror, he hasn't even realized he's woken you. 

you sit up abruptly, groggily rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "gorou...?" you reach for him on instinct, frowning at the way he shakes and quivers. he barely even spares you a glance, his hand cupped over his mouth like he's forbidden himself to speak. he looks terrible. 

it doesn't take long for you to realize what's happened. nightmares aren't a particularly regular occurrence for gorou, but they're not exactly that uncommon either. they used to be worse, back when the vision hunt had just ended. when the wound was still fresh. 

"hey," you say softly, gently grasping at his arm. he flinches at first. "gorou...it's me. you're at home, see? you're safe." 

he looks over, his gaze finally settling onto you—and it's like something in him breaks. he turns to you slowly, drawn by the steady calm in your voice as if seeking shelter from the storm still raging in his mind. he's crying. he hardly ever lets himself cry, especially in front of you. 

his ears flatten against his head as he presses a trembling hand to his chest, desperately trying to soothe his racing heartbeat. "i...im sorry," he manages, voice barely a whisper. "i-it was...they were—"

your arms are around him in an instant. 

"shhh," you murmur, drawing him close and holding him tightly. you rub soothing circles into his back with one hand, cradling the back of his head to your body protectively with the other. "you don't have to explain, not right now. just breathe with me."

he leans into you, forehead slumping against your shoulder as his tears soak through the fabric of your shirt. you're not sure how long you sit there together, but eventually, his breaths begin to sync with yours, chest rising and falling at an even pace. each shaky inhale slowly brings him back to the present, away from the horrors of his mind. his tail, usually soft and calmly fluffed, is now bristling and curled tightly around his leg. you reach down to gently run your fingers along its length, providing a comforting touch that helps him ease the tension, bit by bit. 

"i'm here," you whisper, letting your voice drown out the sound of his hushed sobs. "it was just a dream, love. you're here with me. we're together, and we're home. none of that can hurt you now..."

he lets out a weary, hoarse sigh. his hands unclench at his sides, finally wrapping his arms around you and letting himself fully lean into your warmth. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breaths evening out as your touch grounds him back to reality. the feel of you, the scent of you... it's like a soothing balm to his troubled soul. 

"i thought they had me," he says, voice catching. "they—i killed them. they reached for me, grabbed me..." he nearly shudders. "it was so real."

the weight of his words is heavy, but you just hold him tighter, enveloping him in your warmth. "i know," you frown, giving him a small squeeze. "but they can't hurt you here. not with me around. i've got you...you're safe."

he doesn't try to stop the fresh wave of tears that spill over at your reassurance; he doesn't hide the way his fingers clutch at your shirt, desperate for something to hold onto. you stay there with him, unshaken by his wavering breaths and soft hiccups. you're here to carry his burdens tonight, to be his anchor. to help him feel secure and at ease. 

"i love you," he says, his voice muffled against your skin. it tickles your neck a little, and you smile, brushing your thumb along his cheek and gingerly pressing your lips to his temple. 

"i love you, too. you don't ever have to face these things alone," you murmur, delicately carding your fingers through his hair. "i'm always here for you, remember?"

he nods, lips curling into the faintest of smiles as he relaxes against you once more. this time, he finds himself drifting back to sleep, all tension fading from his body. you carefully lay him down beside you once you've realized he's dozed off, and it's not long before sleep claims you too. the night stretches on without any more nightmares, undisturbed by fear. 

for now, gorou is at peace. and you, his beloved, are here beside him, watching over him as he finally rests. 

© lumitoiile. please do not copy, steal, or edit my work.

[tortillamastersblog]

♕ No Matter What - Part 4 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, minor injuries and anxiety attacks

Summary: Following the fight, you run away, your mind spiraling…

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

________________________________________________

In my blind haste to get away, I bump into people which results in them spilling their drinks and shouting at me.

It’s muffled though because my ears are ringing and I have to blink rapidly to prevent the room from drifting out of focus.

I can’t faint now. Not here.

I push through my dizziness and finally make it outside where I stumble to my car. I fumble with the keys, trying to unlock it so I can at least lay down in the backseat, but my hands are shaking too much.

With a whimper I give up, my knees buckling beneath me. I have just enough sense left in me to slide down the side of the car and lean against the tire, rather than letting myself fall forward.

Coward.

The man’s voice keeps replaying in my head until it slowly but surely turns into my dad’s.

I wince and hug my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth with my eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Numb. It’s the only way I can describe how I’m feeling. It’s the only thing I felt for the last couple of days and now I’m at my parents’ front door.

My uniform feels tight and suffocating, and I have to clench my fist to prevent myself from tugging at my collar.

Harper is next to me and she isn’t looking to be doing much better. Her face is void of any emotion and she has the sunken eyes of someone who hasn’t slept all week.

Her blonde hair is slicked back beneath her cap and tied together in a regulatory braid and her uniform, not unlike mine, is crisp and clean.

“Good evening, Sir,” Sergeant Lane says once the door opens. The way he’s standing is shielding Harper and I from view, but when he steps aside, taking off his cap, my dad’s eyes land on us.

He freezes and his face falls. My mom appears a second later, taking in the scene with furrowed eyebrows.

“Y/N, Harper?” she says, her gaze—whether it’s consciously or not—darting to the empty space next to Heather. “What’s going on? Why are you home? Where’s Noah?”

The first tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away aggressively, but it’s only the first of many and a second later I’m sobbing. I clasp my hands over my mouth to muffle the sound and lean my head back against the tire.

“How could this happen?” my dad hollers, his voice cracking.

Harper and my mom are huddled up on the couch, crying.

I’m standing in front of the coffee table, my cap in hand, while my dad paces through the room.

“Dad, we did everything we could,” I choke out. I haven’t cried yet. I haven’t cried since I begged Noah to keep his eyes open. “I did everything I could.”

“No you didn’t!” My dad spins around and stares me down with so much hatred, I have to avert my tear-filled eyes. “You didn’t go after him, you—!“

“I couldn’t!” I interrupt with a pained cry. “We were under direct fire.”

My mom lets out a sob and buries her face in Harper’s shoulder.

“But you let him run off!” My dad fires back.

“I didn’t let him do anything,” I cry, “He disobeyed direct orders!”

“You were his superior officer!” My breath catches in my throat when I’m suddenly yanked forward by the collar of my uniform. “It was your job to keep him safe!”

I look up to find my dad baring his teeth, the vein in his forehead throbbing dangerously. When he speaks again, his voice is low and shaky. “He enlisted because he looked up to you. He did everything to impress you and get your approval, and now he’s dead because you did nothing.”

“Dad…” I whisper, the tears I’ve been holding back now dripping down my face.

My dad’s lip twitches and his grip on my collar tightens for a moment before he shoves me away. “Leave.”

Eyes widening, I straighten out my uniform and look at my mom for help, but she’s still crying into Harper’s shoulder. “Dad, please…”

“LEAVE! I DON’T EVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN,” he shouts, shoving me again.

I don’t fight back. I can’t. I look at my mom again and this time I can tell she’s purposefully not looking at me. Neither is Heather, I realize, which shatters my already broken heart.

They think it’s my fault, too.

I choke out a sob and run out of the room.

“You’re a coward, you hear me?” My dad shouts after me when I open the front door. “Coward!”

“Hey,” a soft voice rips me from the memory. My eyes snap open, and I scramble to get away, but then familiar green eyes find mine and I stop.

“It’s okay,” Lena says. She’s crouched down in front of me in her heels, a position I’m sure isn’t exactly comfortable. She reaches for my hand and I let her take it. “You’re okay.”

I gulp and clench my jaw, not attempting to hide the tears that are still running down my face. My heart is pounding in my chest and everything’s still a bit muffled, but I’m no longer on the brink of passing out.

Lena stays with me for what feels like hours, holding my hand in silence and running her thumb over my knuckles until the ringing in my ear finally stops and I feel like I can breathe normally again.

“Ms. Luthor,” I croak, my voice hoarse from crying. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have—“

Lena squeezes my hand and shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. Let’s just go. I’m taking you back to my place. I can’t in good conscience leave you alone after what happened tonight.”

I want to protest, but the headache that is starting to form has me agreeing with a dejected sigh.

I pull myself up, my knees still a little weak, before helping Lena who’s struggling to get up herself because of her heels and her dress.

Without saying anything, she reaches forward and roams around in the pockets of my jacket until she finds my keys.

The proximity makes my ears tingle, but I ignore it as best as I can because it’s super inappropriate. Not only because of what just happened but because she’s my boss. My very attractive boss…Of course I’ve noticed, I’m not blind, but she’s off limits.

It’s clear that she intends on driving, so I get in the passenger seat, my body slumping against the door as soon as I’m done putting my seatbelt on.

“Wait, what about the others?” I ask when Lena starts driving. I lift my head off the window and look at her.

She glances at me for a second before focusing back on the road. “We split up to look for you when you ran off. I texted them as soon as I found you. They’re probably on their own way home.”

Relieved and, admittedly a little touched that they all went looking for me, I lean my head back against the window. My eyes however stay on Lena whose profile is on full display since her hair is in a high ponytail.

She really is beautiful, especially now because her guard is down. Her face is relaxed and so are her shoulders. Gone is the raised eyebrow and the clenched jaw.

She looks younger like this and it makes me realize just how much stress she’s under all the time.

When we come to a stop in front of her building she looks over, slightly startled that I’m already watching her.

“Are you alright?” she asks, a barely noticeable flush making its way to her cheeks.

I send her a tired smile and nod, too exhausted to respond verbally.

“Okay,” she mumbles, ducking her head shyly and opening her door.

I get out myself while she hands the keys to the building’s valet. She also slips him some money and says something which I don’t catch because I’m waiting by the door.

The elevator ride up to the apartment is silent and when we get inside I’m unsure what to do. Lena’s by my side though and leads me through her bedroom and into the bathroom where she guides me to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

I raise an eyebrow, not quite sure what she’s planning on doing but then she wets a small towel and gestures at my face. “May I?”

I look past her to see my reflection in the mirror and grimace. The blood that ran from my nose earlier is now dried and all over my mouth and chin. Some of it also got onto my shirt and jacket alongside the beer and liquor stains I acquired when I was bumping into people.

My eyes find Lena’s again and I nod, showing her that I’m okay with her cleaning my face.

She starts a little hesitant at first, but soon the hand that is not holding the towel is on my chin, directing my head every which way.

Again, the proximity is making me nervous, but I can’t help but watch her while she works. Her brows are furrowed in concentration and she bites her bottom lip every now and then.

I gulp when she wipes the last of the blood away, her face now merely a couple inches from mine because she leaned in to get a better look.

Her eyes dart up to mine and when she realized how close she is, she freezes. Her breath is shallow and her hand drops from my chin to my chest.

I don’t move. I can’t. Not when her eyes are taking in every detail of my face.

Then, as if on cue, there’s a knock at the front door.

Lena snaps out of her daze, panicking slightly, and rushes out of the room.

My shoulders fall and I take a deep breath. This has never happened before. Yes, we’ve shared some small talk and coffee here and there, but we’ve never been alone like this. We’ve never been this close.

Before my mind can go down a rabbit hole and dissect every interaction I’ve had with the young CEO, Lena returns with a plastic bag.

“What’s this?” I ask to break the tension that her return has inadvertently created.

Lena pulls what looks to be a plain grey sweatshirt and some sweatpants from the bag and hands them to me.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to be sleeping like this,” she gestured at my stained shirt which now that I’m thinking about it smells like booze.

I get up and shake my head, attempting to give the clothes back. “I really can’t take this, Ms. Luthor. You’ve done more than enough and I— I should probably go home.”

Lena looks almost disappointed, but it’s quickly replaced by determination. “No, I’m not letting you leave. I—“ she hesitates— “know what it’s like to be alone after something like tonight, so I’m not letting you go home. You can stay in my guest bedroom. ”

I really want to say no and just go home, but the pleading look she’s giving me convinces me to give in with a sigh. “Alright, thank you.”

Lena smiles softly and pushes the clothes back into my arms. “Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do after the way you defended me tonight.”

This time it’s my turn to get all shy and squirmy. I feel my ears tingle and tighten my grip on the clothes. I could have just told the guy to keep it moving, but I did defend her to him and let’s just say that that is not something that falls within my job description.

“It was nothing,” I reply honestly.

“No,” Lena says lowly. “It was everything.”

I look up to meet her eyes again to find her already watching me with something I can’t quite place.

She takes a careful step forward, her eyes not leaving mine, and ends up placing her hand on my forearm after hesitating and not really knowing where to put it. My heartbeat soars at the contact and the skin on my arm where she’s touching me is heating up.

She squeezes softly and sends me one last smile before leaving me to change. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Ms. Luthor.”

________________________________________________

Again, not proofread yet but I wanted to get it out sooner rather than later.

I have an exam coming up, so I won’t be able to write as much, but I’ll try my best to keep updating this story.

Also, here you go @nuianced-tck-enby :)

[whosthere54]

Hey guys. It’s me. Ya boi. /ref/silly

I bring you a lil thing I wrote for my Royal AU and because I’m normal about Centross Mistvale rn so you get this. I might post it on Ao3 but it seems a bit short, even if it’s just a chapter of something.

(Writing below the cut)

There was something before this. He was sure of it. Something- family or friends. Something familiar other than the grip of the Reaver in his hands. Something before his work as Enderian’s trusted speaker- before his work as an assassin.

Something other than his skin tainted with blood (thick red or purple dripping off of the blade, glistening in the soft light the void provided).

The Reapers hands know nothing more than the swing, the smooth flow of the reaver easily crashing through skin and bone. The shape of his fists was instinct now, curling around the handle.

Some of his victims would flee- some would cry, some would scream. Some would look him in the eyes (and he would be too much of a coward to look back as he killed them too).

Squadrons, guards, armies all the same would try to fight back, he would have to give them credit for that. But he was more skilled. Stronger and faster than most, he would kill them in an instant, fleeing the sight in a flurry of a black cloak and creaking wings.

His name spread fast, word of mouth unexpectedly quick in a land of scattered islands. He would hear his name whispered as he walks through village streets, islands across islands his name was known.

The Violet Reaper

“I hear he is blessed by Enderian” people would whisper over flasks of whiskey. “What is he? Not man or Ender- still inhuman all the same.”

He became a thing of legends. A monster parents tell their kids about to keep them from going out after dark.

Rumors spread like wildfires- he would learn soon enough, when he couldn’t escape the sound of his own name.

“Y’know, I heard for the whole battle he would not stop laughing.”

“I hear he has smile so sinister that you would think the grim reaper himself smiles upon you. Maybe he is.”

“He has a reaver so sharp, it slices through you like paper- skin, bone, and all.”

“The Grim Reaper”

“The Violet Reaper”

Everywhere he went he would hear it. Every kingdom, every village, and every island. The legend spread across dimensions- a tale of the Violet Reaper, a man with bones for wings who has the skill of all of the overworld armies combined.

A man haunted by the souls of those he’s killed, voices in his head demanding more blood in the name of his goddess, a cycle to repeat many times more.

That is until it stops. The news slows after a while, no new fights, no new public massacres, and no new assignments.

The souls were impatient things, demanding a new target. Fresh blood to spill. But Centross Mistvale was nothing if not loyal.

He found ways to satiate them in the end. Finding himself often in golden fields of wheat, surprised when the act of farming seemed to quiet them.

After that, his home in the overworld was overgrown with wheat and berries, fields and orchards that he learned to take care of.

If the souls demanded blood, he would give it to them in the form of pigs or cows instead of people. The only thing red staining his hands anymore would be that of the crushed sweet berries he grew crushed under his fingers. (Sometimes, the man would find himself reaching for his blade in the comfort of his own home- hands curling around something not there.)

Soon enough, it had been years since he last heard his name spoken in villages. He wasn’t recognized here.

It was the closest he would ever get to leaving that title behind. (The necklace he wore (and eye of ender. Symbol of his loyalty that he couldn’t shake if he tried-) was still a heavy weight on his chest. The souls would tease him, but he couldn’t take it off. He was still her Speaker, after all. He will always be the Violet Reaper- no matter how much he shakes the acts and the name.)

—•=+=•—

Peace is a fickle thing.

As the Reaper, Centross almost didn’t believe in it.

But after years living in the sun, taking care of animals and crops with not a drop of human blood taken by his hand, he can feel it now.

But if course, as anything does, it didn’t last forever.

There was no fanfare to it, nothing but the crushing weight of the necklace against his chest when the book appears at his doorstep. Familiar purple and green leather and worn paper, twisted handwriting in that half cursive way Enderian writes.

Reaper,

Your next target is one Icarus Morningstar, prince and heir to the Gilded kingdom- and, my brothers child.

You are to find a way into the empty position of the prince’s bodyguard. I am making attempts to put your word in to my brother, but with how our relationship stands at the moment I am unsure he will trust a word I say.

The prince doesn’t care for their people, and cruel to others. They have killed a woman in cold blood. They have evaded a consequence for this long enough.

They are distrusting of my realm, and pose a threat to my people. If our negotiations of peace are going to last, they need to be taken care of.

I am hope to receive news of a successful mission, as you know- Violet Reaper- Failure is not an option.

I hope my trust in you is not misplaced.

- E

And just like that, his peace is gone.

He leaves for the Gilded kingdom the next morning, sun setting behind him and all too familiar weight of the reaver on his back and familiar roar of the souls reawakened in his ears.

He doesn’t look back. Nor does he think of the mug of coffee still sitting cold on the on the counter by the window, never to be drank or moved.

He doesn’t mourn the loss of peace, instead greeting the rush as an old friend.

(The weight on his chest feels more like a curse)

[arcielee]

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: A goddess comes to ask for help to save her friends. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4358 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest.   Author's Note: So, the whole Aemond as Hades trope has been done before BUT NOT BY ME so lets go. My inspiration came from this Aemond drawing: artist. It’s so nifty. Also, huge shout out to @aspen-carter for her ceaseless patience and helping me edit this. I am so grateful to have her as a friend because her writing is just top tier and her insight is so wonderful. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @aaaaaamond (slash means I am unable to tag you)  Series:  Act I -  Act II - Act III

ACT I

“Little goddess, you are far away from where you belong.”

This was the truth spoken, for she never before dared venture away from her mother’s watchful gaze, never pressing beyond the boundary she swore she implemented for safety. Today it was fate that propelled her soft steps to follow the trodden pathway that wove from her realm into his. 

His tone was low and voiced with authority, but she did not feel threatened despite the grim scenery she now found herself in. The Underworld seemed just a shadowed, desolate reflection of the mortal realm above; it was not shroud in darkness, mostly void of pigmentation save the veily blue hue that enveloped all around. She watched the souls make their way towards the ferryman, unaware their fluid steps were not solid against the grey sand that spread the shore of the river Styx. 

“Aïdōneús,” she used the ancient moniker, for who else would be present other than the lordship to the realm of death? She spoke his name as she heard from the hushed whispers of the mortals, who were afraid to misstate and bring unwanted attention from the king of the dead. For her, it was an ancient tongue known to the gods and it spilled like a sweet nectar from her wet lips. She pressed on the ball of her foot to turn and face him. 

Throughout the ages, many adjectives have been used to describe him and beautiful was the first to her mind. 

The contours of his face were sharp as the marble stones that the mortals would carve the gods’ likeness into and it gave a severity to his expression. She saw the left side of his face, marred from his heroism from the tales of the Titanomachy, with a gash that began above his brow and cut through, curling into his cheek. His bravery had been rewarded with his kingship of the Gō vys and a brilliant sapphire stone that was set into his scarred socket. 

Cold and stern, was often used, a firm accountability held for the laws held. Monstrous. Menacing. She assumed these descriptors were spoken by cowards, for all she could see was an esthetical deity.

He towered over her, his arms were tucked behind his back and it emphasized his broad shoulders. Silver scars littered over, brilliant streaks in contrast to the plum chiton draped over his lithe figure with golden thread knotted around his slender waist. The dark tones he wore gave a luminous intensity to his alabaster skin, like a godly beacon in the realm of grey. 

He kept his distance, but she saw his head tilt from the gleam of the red ruby set in his crown and the soft glimmer of his silver tresses that spilled forward with his subtle movement. 

“I have come to ask you something,” she continued, her voice unsteady, but her eyes boldly returned his steady gaze.

There was a haunting beauty to the mismatched coloring of his stare, his lavender eye and the glint of his sapphire eye, that caused her heart to reverberate within her chest.

“You traveled all this way to ask me a question?” His baritone continued and there was a flicker of amusement, the slight curl to his lips with his mellifluous words. “Please ask so I may best assist the goddess of spring.”

She felt the flush of pleasure. He knows who you are, the thought flutters throughout her head and she cannot stop her smile. “I wanted to ask if it was at all possible for a soul to be returned to the mortal realm?” 

A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he took a deliberate step to close the space between them; the flicker of amusement is gone, his expression now as cool as the marble it was carved from. “This cannot be done, little goddess,” his silver words carefully chosen for his silver tongue. “It is the fate of every mortal to die and once that threshold is crossed, they cannot return to that life.” 

Her renewed grief comes with its sickening hold, clenching her heart and the threat of tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed thickly, only then breaking her bold stare and instead she looked over the spirits that continued forward, awaiting their turn to cross. 

It should have been me.

“Who did you lose?”

His soft tone pulled her attention back and she can see his brow is furrowed. “My friends,” she refused to cry in front of the king, no matter the kindly concern etched onto his features in the moment. “They were taken suddenly and do not have the gold to pay the passage.” 

He hummed a second time, still low but thoughtful. “They are not yet lost, little goddess,” and the familiar curl of his bow lips gives her the flutter of hope. “Come back tomorrow and we can see what may be done, but,” his gaze rolled over her, locking onto her face once again. “I would advise not to return empty handed when you come to beg a favor from the king of the Underworld.” 

+ + + + + + +

He dared teased the goddess of spring and then he relished in her response to the reminder of such a timeless courtesy. The rose coloring flushed her ivory tones, her embarrassment clashed with the thrum of her vitality beneath and it brought out the sun speckles across her nose and cheeks. 

How divine the thought of his lips to kiss each one. 

She left chagrined and he was certain he would not see her again, save the movements when he would slip to the surface for a reprieve from the dead, a shadow in watch of the gods who resided in the mortal realm. He had not expected her to return the following day and with a basket she showed was filled with delicacies of cheeses, olives, figs, and more.

He saw her coming, her steps almost familiar with the pathway that led to his realm. “You returned, little goddess,”  it was a statement more so than a question. 

“I have, Aïdōneús.” 

Aïdōneús. A name long forgotten, spurned from the fear it held amongst mortals, but she was dauntless with her pronunciation, just as she was bold with her stare. It was the sweetest sound, both familiar and unfamiliar, a sound that he would spend his immortality to follow its every behest.  

Even though her tone was cool, he noted her white knuckled hold on the wicker basket. “I have returned and I have brought you an offering,” she continued, shifting her weight to rest it on her hip. “You also may call me by name or you may call me Kore, if you desire.”

Desire. There is an unbridled fervor in his gaze as it rolled over her curves, so sinfully wrapped in the peplos linen but his posture remained reserved, his arms crossed behind and one foot stanced.  

“As you wish, Kore.” 

He did not say another word and his hand reached for hers; he was pleased that she took it without hesitation and his skin prickled from the warmth of her palm. He whisked her forward and he felt her grip tighten, looking back to see her eyes wide from the abrupt movement. He pulled her closer to his chest, his other arm wrapping around her waist with a firm hold. 

He brought her to a pomegranate tree that is curled on a ledge overlooking the knolls of silver grass, decorated with aimless spirits. 

There was almost an ache when he released his hold and he kept his arms open, watching to make sure her steps are balanced on the solid earth. “I apologize,” his voice was almost sheepish with his realization. “I am so used to getting around and I forget…” 

He is grateful that she does not press him to finish his thought. Instead, he fell back and watched as she spread the cloth, the white billow of fabric that settled on the ground, and placed the basket in the center. She offered to pour him a glass of wine and only then does he take a seat, breaking the bread, while he shared that their view is the asphodel meadows where good souls reside, a neutral ground for peaceful spirits. 

He wanted to bring her here and show her. “This is where your friends will eventually be,” he finished, lifting his goblet to his lips. 

Her eyes watched the bob of his neck as he drank the wine and she admitted, “This seems so dreadfully dull for the good souls.” 

“They no longer have the tedious shackles forced on them from the mortal realm,” his lips curled upwards with his further explanation. “They feel nothing and this allows them contentment to wander these fields.” 

Her nose scrunched. “I understand this,” she breaks a piece of the bread, allowing the wine to dye it red. “That, however, does not change my initial opinion.” 

This is a moment that broke through the kingly demeanor that he carried with his every step, his every movement within the cosmos. She watched, wide eyed and rosy, as his laughter lines his cheeks with dimples, the king of the Gō vys has dimples! She savored the genuineness of this moment and she cannot help but giggle as well. “It is beautiful, though,” she continued with a shy smile. “I see why you chose this spot.” 

His demeanor darkened and he smirked. “Kore, this pales in comparison to your springly creations. I only brought you to show you the bit of vegetation that can survive within my realm.” 

She tilted her head upwards, looking at the deep burgundy of the ripe pomegranates that hung low on the branches. “Are they edible?” 

He leaned onto his side, propped up onto one elbow and his fingers traced the decoration of the gilded goblet. “It is, but without the same savory flavors as,” and he gestured towards the basket that slowly empties with their picnic. “There is a cost of their consumption,” he cannot help the edge of bitterness to his voice. 

Her eyes widen, not with fright but curiosity, to the animosity of his words. “What is the cost?”

“Anything eaten or drank chains you to the realm,” he answered, solemn, and was surprised by the glint in her eyes. 

It draws his gaze to her and, again, he can see the thrum of her ichor beneath her ivory skin, her eyes focused on him and framed with dark lashes, her stare as dauntless as earlier. 

“It is the cost to rule a kingdom,” she offered, blinking and it is seemingly gone, her expression now doleful as it looks over the silver hills that spread infinitely before them. “It is better than to be destined to be the forgotten goddess, tied to her mother’s shadow and just a decoration who nurtures flowers.”  

He was watchful in this somber moment; there was a silence that was not uncomfortable, but he felt the returned fervor from before to ask more, to understand more. There was a tingle in his fingertips to reach for her hand, to knit his fingers so perfectly with her own, just so she may remember she was not alone. 

Instead, he waited.

She pulled herself to stand and reached her hand towards him, the radiance of her smile returning, a divine glow amongst the eerie meadow. “Come and show me more of your kingdom.”

And he obliged her. 

+ + + + + + +

Time, she learned, was different in the Underworld. 

She allowed herself to tour the Gō vys, tucked so close to his side and allowing him to show his kingdom, from the Asphodel to the Erebus, to watch the passage of Acheron and learn the ferryman was men, twins who let a foolish misunderstanding result in the simultaneous slay and he offered them an alternative to serve him. She met Vhagar, the rumored three headed beast who in truth wished for belly rubs and she happily inclined. 

There was a panicked realization when she resurfaced and saw the moon bore overhead. Her steps were quick homewards, muttering prayers to Gaia, to Rhaenys, to whomever was listening and she begged her mother would be unaware of the time lost. 

“You smell of death.”

Rhaenyra was the golden goddess of harvest and fertility, her mother the very embodiment of the sacred laws of the cosmos. Her eyes narrowed on her arrival, but she managed only a hint of anger to touch her overwhelming interrogative tone. “Where have you been, Kore?”

She hummed a lie, something enough to dissuade further suspicion her mother may hold, just a silly little goddess who had gotten lost within the cosmos. She continued to add another promise she would never dare return. 

This was another lie. 

“Aïdōneús,” she greeted him the next day and was pleased with his expression, which was almost incredulous at her return. 

“Kore,” he responded with the same warmth, the curl of his lip when he reached for her hand. She allowed him to take it without thought, a blush crept over as he brought her knuckles to his lips, the tickle of his breath to her skin. “Please, I meant to say this yesterday,” he did not release his hold, his dichromatic gaze watchful. “You may call me just Aemond, if you wish.” 

“Aemond,” and she said his name with the same sweetness and reverence, enjoying her familiarity with the king and how the rose color dusts his cheeks when she repeats it. “I admit, I have come to ask another favor.” 

“More souls you wish to return to the mortal realm?” 

He regretted his words the moment they left his lips, when he saw the pain that danced across her eyes. His apology was caught in his throat, the explanation for his tasteless jest, but she already shook her head and that pain was gone. 

“I wish to show you a place that is dear to me,” but her tone is careful. “Are you able to come with me to the mortal realm?” 

I would go anywhere you asked of me, he does not say and instead he nodded, the shimmer of his silver hair. “I can leave, though not for long periods of time,” he shifted his gaze. “It is a tether to the Underworld. There is a pull, almost an ache, that grows the longer I am away.”  

A smile returned to her lips, pink and inviting. “I will not keep you too long from the duties of your kingdom,” she promised and offered her hand to him. 

Traveling within the Gō vys requires a celerity to his movements; there is a rush of wind with his quick motion from one place to the next, whereas she seems to frolick, pulling to keep him at her pace as they flit from the shadows and move towards a small isle. At first glance, it only holds the wreckage of the temple to appease the averter of evil, its ruin ironically from a temper tantrum of the gods. 

“But why here?” Aemond was curious as he looked over the cracked stylobate and the broken pillars split, with stone embedded into the soft earth around them. 

“There is beauty in the broken,” she smiled and pulled him to follow. “After Daemon and his temper tantrum, the mortals abandoned it, but I wished for it to blossom with new life.” 

He watched her climb over a fallen pillar and she peered up to him, beckoning him to follow. He dropped softly at her side, while the soft echo of her words, there is beauty in the broken, remained in his ear. Aemond saw her focus was ahead and he followed her gaze. 

His eye followed the curl of a turquoise moss that curled and decorated the stones, blooming with pastels. It continued to the reflection of the morning dew glittering off the almost iridescent petals, gleaming brilliant in the rising run; it showed the sea scheme of colors that stretched around them.

She was the goddess of spring, of vitality personified, and he is the darkness. But in this serene moment, there was an emotion, an almost tangible passion that entangled with the ichor of his veins when she reached for his hand again.

There was a spark as their palms fit together, as his slender fingers curled around her hand. “It is beautiful,” he said and his tongue wet his lips. 

She peered at him, the flutter of her own heart when she saw how his features softened in the intimacy of the moment, a satisfaction to be privy to the reserved pleasure that played on his face. There was the intrusive thought that begged her to touch his jaw, to press up to her tiptoes and dare to taste his mouth, and she wished to bring back a piece to his kingdom, just so she could relive the hint of his smile on his lips. 

“It is,” she agreed, tucking the thought away. 

+ + + + + + +

That night, she tucked herself into the athenaeum to pour over the scrolls her mother stored away, with Rhaenyra both pleased and proud of her rekindled passion for her role within the cosmos. 

Kore did not correct her. She needed her focus to return to what initially brought her to the Underworld, the fate she shelved and the growing burden with that neglect. She told herself that Aemond would be more amenable with an offering more tailored for the god of death, but in truth, she also wished to understand the growing thrum beneath her breastbone whenever she was within his proximity. 

There was a simple spell that would serve both. 

Though he would never admit to waiting for her, she was still pleased to see him on the edge of the plane, close enough for the sunlight to touch and give an ethereal glow to his chiseled features. There was a gentle breeze through his silver, silk tresses and she stopped her steps so she could admire him, the glimmer. 

He tilted his head. “Kore, what is it?”  

“Aemond,” she breathed. “You really are beautiful.” 

His jaw steeled with the compliment and she was quick to grab his hand, leading him below like a silver beacon into the blue hue of the Gō vys. Once they were in the shadowed realm, she turned to press against his chest, her softness melting against him and with her whisper, “Aemond, take me back to the meadows.” 

He, of course, obliged her. 

There was a comfort with how his arms, so strong and lined with silver scars, wrapped around her waist with a hold she knew could be trusted. The jarring movement still caused her stomach to lurch, but it was quickly replaced with the exhilarating rush and her laughter spilled from her lips. Only when she felt the tickle of the silver grass beneath her soles did he finally release his hold of her and they were back beneath the pomegranate tree. 

She curled with grace onto its roots and beckoned him to follow. He paused for a moment to appreciate how her robes nestled against her curves before he sits, close enough, with one leg up to rest his forearm on and the other arm pressing himself upright, his palm resting on the earth. His expression begs curiosity, but he is quiet. 

Kore and her sweet smile elicited his hummed response and he watched as she began to rub her palms together. A soft glow emitted between and her focus returned to Aemond, a golden goddess with the light, before she pressed her hands to the ground. Her eyes closed for a moment, her thoughts poured into the practice incantation with the wordless flutter of her lips. 

She opened her eyes and smiled again, his gaze shyly dropped to watch her hands lift and reveal the bolt of green that begins to stem upwards. He watched as its leaves unfurled and the red bulbs bunched together began to blossom.

His expression is one of awe, his jaw slack from seeing the life sprout from the grey earth and flourish with color before him. Aemond looked pained when she reached to pluck one, cupping it in her palms with a whisper, the same golden glow, before she presented him the enchanted flower, the petals unbruised and a vibrant red. 

“This will match the ruby in your crown,” she explained, shifting her weight to look at him. 

His expression was stoic, just a red reflection in his sapphire eye. “What are they called?” He asked when she opened his palm, his fingers spread as if his touch would shatter it. 

“These are called snapdragons,” she shared, her pride aglow with her creation, her validation. “They are able to handle the cooler weather, but their lifespans are not very long, which is why,” and her fingertips tickled his palm as she picked it up, careful to pin it to his chiton, “I made this one for you. This one will never wilt.” 

His gaze fell to it, his slender fingers pressed into the fabric around where she snugly fastened it, still cautious to touch. “Is this magic?”

He did not see the touch of pink to her cheeks, how she hemmed for her words to reply to him. 

She sought out this spell in the archives of her mother’s anethum, that would allow a flower to eternally hold its blossomed vibrance with a condition in place, an emotion from the spellcaster, something that hinted its existence from the day they spent together at the temple.

An emotion she felt irresolute to share now. 

She had thought it to be carnal at first. Desire, the unbridled passion that hummed within her when she first laid eyes on the god of death and his aery beauty. It was a fervor that burned within her as she drank his deliberate movements, the glimmer of his silver hair, the perpetual smirk that played on his pink, bow lips. 

This will fade, she told herself. She returned, undeterred and with purpose to save her companions, the fate that brought her to the Gō vys to begin. With her offering rested on her hip, she allowed herself to be swept away in his arms, flitting further into his kingdom. It was his touch that sparked something more, the sweet candor of their conversation, how she swore his steady gaze able to see her bones beneath. 

She felt confirmation at the temple ruins, from the moment she watched the colors of her masterpiece absorb into the exquisiteness he carried with him. She saw something, she felt something. 

There is beauty in the broken.

He was a timeless deity that had seen the fall of Titans and she was only the little goddess of spring. 

In part, she was proud of her power that grew, the vibrant glow of the snapdragon, but she also knew it stemmed from an emotion from her that he would never reciprocate. 

So all she said was, “Yes. Magic.” 

Her cheeks grew warmer still with his steady gaze, her silent prayers that he would not press for the truth of it because she knows she would never be able to lie to him. Aemond seemed to accept the words and then said, “I accept your offering, Kore. Tell me your favor and I swear I will do the best that I am able.” 

So she spoke of the fate that brought her to the Underworld. “I wish to pay the passage for two souls.” 

Her question did not anger him, but there is a sadness that crept to his features. “Kore, I would not be able to allow this,” he sighed, unable to look her in the eyes. “If I am to make an exception for you, I would have to offer the same courtesy to the rest and…” there is a pregnant pause, a moment that allowed her to choke on the emotion that threatened to break through and she saw the glimmer of silver when he tilted his head to watch her. 

“Persephone,” he said with his low baritone. “Why do you ask for this? What brought you to my realm?” 

She wore her shame like the chiton draped over her curves. Her tongue wet her lips as her mind tried for the words to express the suffocating guilt that built with her every visit. Begin at the beginning. On that day, there had been an enchanted flower that she and her companions, Baela and Rhaena, came upon. 

“A flower,” Aemond hummed, his expression unreadable. 

His comment left her feeling childish, ashamed to admit what followed. The flower seemed otherworldly, its petals glittered in the sunlight and beckoned to her, but she balked and stayed within the parameters Rhaenyra had placed. Baela and Rhaena teased at her sudden shyness, pushing beyond and dared to pluck it. 

In return, the earth rumbled to split open and swallowed them both. 

“I know that it was planted for me,” she finished, her fingers fidget with the rope tied around her waist. “What other purpose would an enchanted flower serve than to lure the goddess of spring?” Her cheeks were tearstained. “It should have been me.”

Aemond hummed again, the severity returned to his gaze and he looked away. She allowed herself a breath, the slow intake and exhale through parted lips, to relax her posture and rest her hands into her lap. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it.

It was with his touch that she could admit she loved him. There was a tenderness to his large hands, how his slender fingers were gentle to hold her own and the soothing gesture of his thumb making circular patterns on her palm.

“Kore,” he began and she looked up at him. “I will look further into this. I meant what I said that I am unable to return souls to the mortal realm, it is beyond my power, but I will find…” he hummed again. “Will you please come back tomorrow night?”

I will always find my way to you, but instead she only smiled, nodding her head. 

[cherrysurf]

Try again (osamu miya x f!reader)

Chapter 5; True love never dies?

contains; angst, smoking, angst, a tad bit of fluff.

also! the note is from “to all the boys i’ve loved before” lol.

When you arrived home, you broke down. It was all too much for you; all in just a couple of hours, it went from one extreme to another.

You sluggishly walked to the bathroom, opening the door to wash off all the energy from today.

You sit in the bathtub as the hot water hits your back, thinking about Osamu.

"What a coward," came out of your mouth. As tears slowly escaped your eyes once more, this time no cries were heard—just water falling down your face from the shower and your eyes. Soon after, you stepped out of the steamy shower, feeling slightly better than before.

You now sit in your living room with freshly washed PJs and a cup of your (his) favorite tea, staring into the void; with no thoughts, no feelings, just sitting on the couch.

You get a shudder down your spine, remembering how you felt this way when you and he ended things, but now it was because you were aware of how weak he was, not because you were hurt.

Then you hear your phone buzz next to you.

“Atsumu,” it read. You let out a heavy sigh.

“Hi.” You put on a smile as you spoke, hoping he wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Hey.” A voice that wasn’t Atsumu’s, but similar to his, spoke.

“You’re not Atsumu.” You deadpanned, dropping the act.

“You can tell that easily?” Osamu sarcastically let out a forced laugh.

“Unfortunately, yes, I can. Now, why are you calling me on his phone?” A response filled with attitude was given to him.

“He’s home now and sleeping. I'm leaving; you can stop by anytime except the nights I’m going to be there.” He gave you the same attitude right back.

“Okay, sure, whatever… bitch.” You whispered the last part.

“What did you say?” he replied angrily.

“What did you hear?” you pretended to be clueless.

“I don’t know.” He huffed.

“Then I guess I will never know, huh? Anyway, I gotta go get dressed and make him some of his favorite sweets.” You swiftly hung up the phone afterward.

“BITCH ASS LIAR, except nights because I’m going to be there. OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP, OSAMU.” You yelled out in an annoyingly mocking voice as you tossed your phone onto the other couch.

You decided to collect yourself from that small outburst because letting your emotions take over wasn’t good for you. Plus, you had to start planning what to bake for Atsumu.

You loved baking things for the people you loved. Osamu was very well aware of that; after all, it was one of his favorite things about you.

You didn’t first start getting into baking until your first year of high school. Osamu was there throughout all the trials and errors of your baking history. From the salty cookies to the undercooked cake, he was there for it all. He was one of your biggest supporters throughout everything, and now it felt almost like his brother took that place in an instant.

You wonder if Osamu is feeling jealous about how you and Atsumu have gotten close again, but does it matter? Yes. Yes, it does.

Although Osamu is many things, knowing the reason why he left you makes your heart ache. Maybe calling him a coward and a bitch was just to mask the fact that you’d forgive him and try to get back with him.

Even though that ship probably sailed a long time ago. I mean, who knows what he’s up to these days? You got so mad and let your emotions take control that you have no idea how he is. Perhaps you shouldn’t try to be too harsh on him, but it is hard not to.

Suddenly, you hear the beep of the preheating oven go off, snapping you out of your drowning thoughts about Osamu.

You put the cinnamon rolls into the oven and go off to get dressed. You wear something casual since it’s just a small visit and to make sure Atsumu’s house is clean and easy for him to manage.

The drive over is quiet; today your thoughts have been so loud that it was enough to keep the radio off.

When you arrive at Atsumu's house, you shoot him a quick "I’m here" text and receive an instant reply with "doors open." You walk in, taking off your shoes.

“Tsumu, cinnamon rolls are here!” you yell throughout the quiet house.

“Bring them to my room, please,” he yells back.

You make your way towards the kitchen to pull out a plate from the cupboard so you can serve them.

“Do you need milk or anything to drink with it?” you yell once more.

“No, I have water right here,” Atsumu says.

“Kay,” you nod to yourself as you set the cinnamon roll down on the plate.

You start walking down the hall to head to Atsumu’s room. Seeing the door wide open, you let yourself in to find him with a beaming smile. You couldn’t tell if it was for you or the cinnamon rolls, but regardless, you’re just happy he’s smiling.

“Thanks for stopping by,” his hands reach out for the plate of sweets.

“Of course. Did Osamu give you food before he left?” you pull back the plate just in case he didn’t eat regular food before shoving his mouth with junk.

“Yeah, he made me onigiri. You know that’s his whole thing now,” he says, finally grabbing the plate out of your hands.

“Oh, that’s good you ate,” you say, pausing for a moment because you did not know that was his “whole thing” now.

“Yeah, there’s leftovers in the microwave if you want one. I’m sure you haven’t eaten since the hospital; that’s been like hours ago, so you should eat. Bring it back to my room so you can keep me company,” Atsumu speaks with a mouth full of gooey cinnamon rolls, which makes you laugh at the sight of him looking like a squirrel.

“Okay, I’ll go get some. I’ll be back,” you tell him as you make your way out of the room once more, down the hall and then to the kitchen.

You hesitate before opening the microwave door, and you don’t know why. Seconds later, you open it and are met with the wafting smell of cooked salmon-filled onigiri. It makes you salivate instantly.

You pull the plate out to serve yourself two because one is never enough with Osamu’s cooking. You always wanted more; I mean, who wouldn’t?

You leave the rest of the leftovers behind in the microwave. You take the plate and make your way out of the kitchen and back into Atsumu’s bedroom, where he is bedridden because of his leg.

As you step in and make your way to the edge of his bed to sit, you both now indulge in the silence of chews, being next to each other without speaking as proof of the comfortableness you two had regained, just like back in your younger years.

After 10 more minutes of silence, you collect your and Atsumu’s plates and quickly walk back into the kitchen to wash the dishes so Osamu won’t have to do anything once he comes back for his night shift to take care of Atsumu.

You walk back in to find Atsumu looking a bit on edge as he bites into the hangnail on his right thumb.

“You’re going to end up with an infection if you do that, ya know...” you speak slowly while walking back to his bed.

“Yn, there’s something you should see. Get the light gray box from underneath my bed and go outside. Just come back when you're ready.” He sets his hands down at his sides as he tosses his head back into his pillows to stare up at the ceiling.

“Uhm... okay.” You look at him weirdly before crouching down to peek under his bed to find the box there by itself. You slowly pull it out and take a look at it as you sit on the floor by his bed.

It had nothing on it that looked like a shoe box or something to store papers in. You carry it in your arms as you stand up while walking to the door, turning your back to see Atsumu still in the same position as before you went down to get the box.

You make your way out to Atsumu’s backyard, where it is quite spacious and peaceful, as if it were a zen garden.

As you sit down comfortably in the large, quiet, and comfortable chair he has, you open the box to find a card addressed to you with the date from a few years ago, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes. Not just any old cigarettes, the ones you and Osamu had smoked back in high school up until college were the ones from college. It was so recognizable because the red lipstick-stained kiss was still on the front of the box.

As you put the lighter and cigarettes to the side to pull out the card, the back of the card says, “Light up a cigarette as you read this.” You sigh at this stupid thing but do as you're told, because maybe you would need it—I mean, who the fuck knows what this could contain?

You rip open the letter to find Osamu’s initials at the top of the page. The letter smells of the cigarettes that were in the box. It had a yellow stain due to the time it had spent in the box.

A large inhale of smoke fills your lungs as you prepare yourself for another hit to the face from Osamu’s late confession. Maybe this is payback for slapping him.

“Dear Yn,

My memory of the first time I met you. It was our sixth-grade assembly. You were sitting in the row in front of me, and your name was written on your backpack in glittering letters. Principal Kyo called you up on stage to receive an attendance reward, and your hair got caught in your chair. I helped you untangle it, and you smiled at me. My heart somersaulted in my chest. I didn’t know hearts could do that. I had no clue then that you would become who you are now. The most important person in my life. Sometimes I can't believe how lucky I am that you chose me. We’ve been through so much together. Yn, I never should have doubted that we’d get through this too, but I got scared and I hurt you, I am so sorry. Of course, you should go to the states. You should do all the things you want to do. I never want to be the guy holding you back. I want to be the one by your side. It won’t always be easy, but I would do whatever it takes to make this work.

Because that’s what you do when you love someone. Besides, when you think about it, if we’re going to be together forever, then two years of college isn’t such a big deal.”

You set the letter down at your side as tears trickle down your face; the agony that your heart, soul, mind, and body feel is worse than anything you’ve gone through. Osamu did care. He always had.

Your face falls into your shaking hands as the cigarette slowly burns in between your middle finger and index. You couldn’t see anything you didn’t want to as the words from the letter ran through your mind.

The thoughts in your brain were too much to sit and think about. Everything was moving too fast for you to comprehend after 15-20 more minutes of talking in that position you gathered the letter and everything else and placed it back into the box.

With the box under your right arm, you head back inside and walk your way into Atsumu's room with your head hung low until you reach the side of the bed he was lying on to face him. He can see everything by the look and tears on your face.

He sits up from his lying position and extends his arms out for a hug that you quickly fall into wishing they were his brothers. You softly cry once more in his embrace wondering if the pain would ever stop.

“Yn maybe my brother was a coward but he still loves you. He never stopped. He told me to give you this once you stopped by. I don't know if it’ll change anything but it’s worth a chance.” He sighs as he slowly pats your back in an attempt to comfort you.

“This changes a lot. Thank you Atsumu for being the mediator and fixor of a mess that isn’t yours,” you speak into his chest.

“Anything for the two people I love the most.” he smiles sadly.

You lift yourself off of him and wipe the rest of your tears.

“I should get going. I have a lot to think about. I’ll see you tomorrow Tsumu.” you reach for an embrace by him once more as you bid him farewell since you figured Osamu would be back in the next couple of hours.

You drove the rest of the way home numb and confused.

fucking yapperilla ahh ho rn.

taglist; @sahrii @dearru @angeleilee @gumims @istann @chlosology @loveyislost @kameyyy @tiramizuloz @hemmotivos @chososcamgirl @sakusasbadger @rekua1

[mel0-dy]

SEPTEMBER @SANZU You lost motivation and yes you are staring at the place where Haru just rejected you. Funny, i guess boys will be bugs. You had that love drug which you never crave but swallowed instead rotting to your chest down to grave. Honestly it was a whole shocker but now you just feel the void until you found out his unsent love letter.

You sighed once more and sat on the bench where the two of you lost spoke. At this point, you don't know what to do anymore. You feel so empty, so empty and even felt sorry for yourself, you can't help it. He's like a parasite. A parasite, you repeat. But no matter what you do, it's all in the past now and he's not coming back. No second chances nor no second meetings. Just a full unrequited love, that was the love drug. It took effects like days when you met him. And my oh my, you crave it like a thirst man. Love shits. But on the other side, he really did cared. In fact, he wrote you a letter but was never sent in person because of his cowardness. It was just only found lying down, wet in the rain with few scratches. It was hidden at the very same bench.

"Dear (y/n)," he wrote first as he only knew or even remember a nickname. Not a full name, but damned to be a nickname. His memory of you slowly fades as his pain and suffering ate him whole.

"Life is so fucked up now and god I can't believe I'm loving you at this state. I'm so tired and I don't know what to do. I guess I never really knew ya. I needed someone to hold on, someone to feel, someone to love for," Haru continued writing with his sloppy handwriting. He was kind of scribbling and trying his best to convey his true feelings. He wanted you to know that he badly want to be with you but he thought that he was never the best boyfriend or man to ever deserve you.

"was it even casual when you wrote that?" you muttered to yourself as you continue reading, "..maybe.." you answered to yourself because you know you won't even heard something from him again

The thing that really piques your interest was the text under the letter. It was 'months'. You arch your brow and continue reading. He wrote:

September, October, November, December

January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December

January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December

January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December

There was no any context, no additional notes underneath. You were so confused and sighed. You continue reading again the months, over and over until you wish you'll get a clue but nothing. Blank as a vacuum. You tried your best to decipher it until it finally hit you, those were the supposed months of dating or talking stage. You remembered your conversation with him that you can't have a boyfriend because you were still studying. "I'll wait for you even for four years," you heard his voice one more time echoed. A beat start to your chest causing you to grip your heart. "y-you idiot..come back to me.." you just whispered and unintentionally grip the letter more. Tears slowly fell and slightly smudging Haru's handwriting, the even last evidence that love might had exist between you two.

[toiletwipes]

Whenever I'm Alone (With You) | clinic!wilbur

MOUTH SO SWEETLY TELLING LIES — PART TWO

5k words. / [Two months after the festival you're left in the dust of what to do with yourself when you've been ghosted by a really cute guy. Depression hits and it's not a good mix.] [watch out for self-deprecation, slight suicidal ideation, kind of an unhealthy relationship brewing out of pain]

Part 1 — Masterlist

fic title from Lovesong by The Cure but the chapter title is from Cut by The Cure

thank you @drop-of-void for proof-reading!! and i'm tagging some lovely folks now. @sleeby-anon @loversj0y @struggling-with-delia @l0veb0mb1ng @boiled-onionrings

xxxx

After the first month, it’d been easy to slip into the same old routine. Wake up too early, stare at the wall until your alarm goes off, manage either the longest shower ever or brush your teeth, then go to work and come home exhausted. Maybe eat. Stare at the wall a little more, go to bed. Music was optional.

And Seff wasn’t having it after the second.

“If men do this to you, then they don’t deserve you.” You grunted, listening to him ramble as you sat on the couch, arms feeling like noodles as you fold towels that sat on your bed a little too long, with Seff mopping your floor, the rugs rolled up and against the wall. The room smelt like fabuloso. “I’m serious. They don’t get to have a great night, express that they want to get to know you more, exchange numbers and then do jackshit with it.” He stops mopping, opting to lean against the length of it, eyes staring straight at you. You don’t make contact.

“Well it’s not up to me what they do, remember?” It’s hard not to be mean about this, you’re all too aware that when men do this, it’s not your fault. (...Entirely.)

“Vividly.” He says, before finishing up the last corner and putting the mop back in the bucket and putting it off by the laundry room. When he joins you, you’re halfway done. He helps you with the rest of the towels, getting you off the couch and forcing you to tuck the towels into the cabinets. When you get back almost ten minutes later, you find the living room fan turned on high and the floor drying faster, Seff himself back on the couch with gummy candy. He offers some to you when you join him on the couch. You dig a hand into the bag and pop them into your mouth, chewing on them as you let the cleanliness of the place wash over you.

“Doing anything feels like I’m moving through- through a thick goo, like tar. And I can’t get out of it.” The words come out only a smidge louder than a whisper but it was so loud between the two of you. Seff doesn’t say anything. So you continue. “It wasn’t… just him. It was all of those guys. Like, how could all of them have one night and change their mind so fast, like it wasn’t real for any of them.” But it was him. He was the last straw. He made the choice to come up to you and spend the last of the festival with you, it was him that wanted your number. It was all him and then- and then- tears prick your eyes again.

And it was him again, ghosting you, just like the others. They were so different from each other, how could they all do the same thing? There had to be a reason and the only logical one is that it was you. They regretted what they did, what they said, and they regret you.

You feel the hazy feeling wash over you, the tar-like substance coating your limbs and mind as Seff hums, wrapping an arm around you. He knew you so well, you wondered why he stayed. “They’re jackasses, don’t forget that, no matter how nice they were or how they smiled at you, they decided that being a coward was easier, it had nothing to do with you.” You nod, not really listening… but still, it’s a little nice to hear the words. Even if they didn’t stick like they should’ve.

He rubs your shoulder, offering you more candy and letting it sit in his lap when you decline. “Here, let’s finish up cleaning and then you hop in the shower. Vick wants you over for dinner tonight, she’s making your favorite, okay?” You nod, Vick was always so nice and sweet to you, snarky towards her husband. And on good days it didn’t hurt to be around them, to see them in love like crazy people.

“How’d you do it?” You don’t recognize the words coming out of your mouth, foreign and sickly tasting. He hums, sighing as he breathes out while he looks around the apartment.

“How’d I do what?” He asks.

“How’d you know it was her, I mean, you guys moved so fast, how did you- just- how?” Words failed you and you wanted answers but even on autopilot, you’re unsure of what you want to know. Of what you want to hear.

Silence grows as he mulls over the answer. Then he starts standing, getting you up on your feet with him, speaking as he pushes you to the shower, “I’ll tell you when you’re done, how about that?” He smiles as you reach the middle of the tiled bathroom floor, turning to him helplessly as you shiver.

He’s about to close the door when you stop him, reaching out with a hand. He stands there, unmoving, eyes moving up to meet yours and you gulp.

“Thanks.”

He smiles and he shuts the door with a click.

You undress, making no attempts to look at the mirror as you step into the shower, closing the curtains. The water hits your scalp and you try to picture your ails being washed away with the oils in your hair. You try to follow your old routine as best as you can but when thirty minutes pass and all you have to show for it is clean hair and nothing else, you turn the shower off. You’ll take a win where you can. You don’t entirely know it’s been thirty minutes to be fair, but when the water turns from hot to cold you can take the hint it’s time to get out.

Getting dressed and drying your hair with a shirt, you exit your room to find Seff on the couch, finishing the bag of gummy candy off. The corner of your lips twitch up as you toss the shirt at his head, snorting when he shouts and somehow falls onto the ground. “And after all that I’ve done for you!” He says as he wrenches the shirt off his head, throwing it right back at you. “I’ve rolled the rugs out AND I’ve got your bag and keys, and this is the thanks I get?!” A small smile plays on your face, wrapping your arm around his neck in a limp headlock as he continues to mumble about how unfair it was.

“Come on, you big baby, let’s get you back home to Vick,” and at the mention of his wife, he perks right up, handing your things over as he rushes to the door. You follow after him but as you lock the bottom lock, you hear a banging on your window. Your head snaps to the living room, just barely catching the dimmed blue sky of the night, nothing to be seen in the glass. You’d check it out but then you hear Seff call for your name. Turning away, you finish locking your door, following your best friend down the stairs and breathing in and out as your thoughts try to race ahead of you. Despite the genuine fear of a burglar… you couldn’t be bothered to worry too hard about it. One, there wasn’t a thing you could do now, pulling the seat belt over you as Seff started the engine. Two, and you’re sure it’s a bad thought but your mental health has never been known to be particularly okay, but you almost hope there’s somebody waiting for you. Whether they’d kill you immediately or to kidnap you, you’re clueless to which you want more, both are fine options. Maybe torture. Maybe you’d come out of this haze your mind seems to be stuck in.

You hardly notice the car parking, only when the door unlocks and you, automatically, take your seat belt off, opening the door and watching with blinking eyes as Vick, the beautiful woman she is, finds the two of you and hugs both at the same time. It’s a nice hug. Her soap smells nice. Makes you feel sleepy again.

Dinner is filled with laughs and despite your small fears, she doesn’t bring up Wilbur and she doesn’t bring up anybody and she doesn’t say that you deserve better. She just finds ways to make you laugh, make you gasp with the drama she’s heard, helps you with setting the table as Seff finishes off the toasted bread.

Wine is poured in your glass and Vick’s, juice for Seff. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he raises both in return, “what?” he asks as he lifts the fancy glass to his nose, swirling the liquid and then smelling it, with a satisfied nod.

“Pregnant?” He hangs his head in shame as Vick snorts, getting the salt and pepper from the kitchen.

“We wanted to be sure it was hers,” he sends a wink your way before beaming at Vick, accepting the bowl being passed for bread.

The night passes fast and before you can soak the warmth and happiness in for the long run, Seff is already dropping you off, double-checking that you’ll be okay for the weekend. “We’ll be at her mom’s place and you know her mom, middle of nowhere. No signal and—” you cut him off with a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything else until you let go. Until you’re sure the wine isn’t the only thing warm in your chest and belly. You’re slow to pull away but when you do, you walk backwards into your apartment, hand tight around the doorknob. The fear from before is back and though you know he has to leave, you wished he would stay. But that would mean asking. And you can’t ask that of him, not when he’s done so much for you already.

“See you when you get back.” He nods, tight-lipped.

“See you.” He starts the walk back to his car when you call out to him.

The words choke up in your throat but you manage to force them out, tasting bitter like vomit, “love you, be safe.” He parrots it back and tears blur your vision as you wave, watching as he disappears down the steps and then out of sight when his car drives away.

You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping you wouldn’t throw up on the floor after he mopped it, the fear of a familiar pit in your stomach as the door closes behind you. It’s quiet.

Way too quiet.

You turn your TV on, just loud enough to cover the ringing silence in your ears as you sit on the couch, not daring to check your bedroom or the kitchen for any intruders. You’re not sure what you want to find.

Head falling to your lap, phone open, your hand trembles as you press the icon for Wilbur’s contact. Despite him not answering before, you kept texting him and everyday it would stay on delivered, nothing would change. It felt maddening. Lonely. Desperate. You start typing a message out, speaking as your fingers moved, “Seff came over… helped clean and everything. I don’t know… where I’d be without… him.” Tears dripped onto your cheeks as you felt stupid and pathetic and- and- you couldn’t breathe, not around the sobs that escaped your mouth, covering it with one hand as you sent the message. He was just a guy and he only spent one night with you. It wasn’t even that special- you weren’t that special- why would he ever think-

It’s hard to focus but when the tears stop falling and you can breathe, at least through your mouth, you wipe the snot off with your sleeve.

Burglar be damned, you walk into the kitchen, tearing a paper towel off the roll and blowing your nose. It’s loud and it’s warm when you pull it away, groaning at the sight. “Fucking hell,” you mumble, tossing it into the trash.

The floor is cold beneath your feet walking back to the couch and when you sniff, you catch a whiff of that fabuloso again, pressing a hand to your forehead as you reach down to grab your phone. Your breath catches in your throat.

They’re- the messages- they’re not delivered anymore. He’s opened them. Thousands of emotions run through you in the matter of seconds. Air lodges itself in your throat, leaving you dizzy and unable to breathe as you think about it. Shame, humiliation. He’s seeing this pathetic, sad and lonely person vomit in his messages. Shock. Did he- did he lose his phone? Briefly angry, why couldn’t he just open it that night why did he have to wait till now? Staring down the phone screen, you can hardly recognize your thumb pressing on the call button. Without question, the cold press against your ear brings you to the moment, your mind clears of the haze as you’re forced to think, in milliseconds of a game plan. You thought of one over the last two months, wondered what you’d say to him, given the chance, but with your self-deprecating ass it was hard to think at all right now. Taking him back so quickly definitely was wrong, as was assuming he wanted you at all. Oh what to say?

As the call goes through and rings, hearing a vibrating noise outside the window you stiffen up. The one where you heard a noise from-

And the phone picks up, the vibration stops and all you can hear is the distant city noises, and perhaps the quietest panting you’ve heard. You approach the window, holding both hands at your phone, clutching as you whisper, “Wilbur?” Turning around until your back meets the wall beside it, you try to see if looking out would do anything. It doesn’t. It’s just as dark as it is inside of your living room, the only thing disturbing that inky blanket of darkness is your TV. You’re almost scared to turn it off. “Wilbur, what- are you there?” You didn’t know if you meant in general or right outside your fucking window but you can only imagine the answer when you see a phone drop onto the fire escape, a body falling to its knees, you can barely make out the silhouette. You drop your own phone when a hand smacks against the glass, dragging down as it smacks again and again. The shake in your hands makes it hard for you to flip the locks and you slide it up, just barely asking the question: just what in the hell are you doing??

But the hand falls off and a head of fluffy brown hair sticks in and he falls in with as much grace as a limp noodle, groaning all the way. You move him enough only to reach out and grab his phone, looking around to make sure nobody caught him sneaking in. You hope that in the case they do, they assume you’re only sneaking in a boyfriend— even if the assumption hurts to ache for.

“Fuck, Wilbur, what happened to you?” You hiss as you close the window, crouching as you help him sit against the wall, trying to look over him as his head rolls back. His eyes stare up at the ceiling as you look back at the window, catching sight of the red tint dragging down in the shape of his hand. Picking his wrist up, you do see the drying blood coating his skin. Your chest coils tight, thinking the worst of the worst. You try asking him what happened, where’s he hurt before his eyes drift down and find you, his face softening and a deep sigh rattles out of him, interrupted by a hiss and an attempt to press against his ribs. You need to call the ambulance, hell, take him to the hospital yourself but the way he’s sitting on your floor, already adjusting himself seems a little too… relaxed. As one can be relaxed when, no doubt, pain is at the forefront of your mind. “Wilbur, say something,” you beg with gritted teeth. You need a reason to not kick him out, to not pull him into your arms and kiss the wounds away no matter how tempting and how useless it would be. “Say something before I kill you myself.” And then he passes out.

You groan out in frustration, having caught his head in a panic when his body slumped over again and making a dive for the tile. “I cannot be doing this, Seff will kill me-” and then the sudden reminder, of oh yes, as of right now, you cannot call him. Despite more than likely being in the city together, you didn’t want him worrying over you again. You cannot keep doing that to him, he has a life of his own, Vick needs her husband and they’re going to visit her mom— and in your panic, a minute has passed and his head is still in your hand. You, out of nerves, started carding your free fingers through his hair, finding it… wet. You sniff close to his head and nearly groan again, yeah, his hair is wet with sweat.

You push his head back and reach around him, mumbling to yourself about how you should do it. Picking him up by the waist doesn’t do you any favors, neither does pulling on his arms. Bad idea in the first place. Sighing, you make a note to apologize later if he doesn’t die on you when you drag him to your room. It’s no question that he lies on your bed- after a towel has been laid out for him. If he’s bleeding, you don't want too big of a stain. You had considered leaving him on the floor… but then you couldn’t do it.

You check his arms, pushing his sleeves up and finding none of that. You check his head, nothing bleeding there. You take his shoes off but… that’s about all you do besides getting the first aid kit and setting it next to you, along with water and painkillers. If he was bleeding in the legs or chest or hell, even his feet, you needed him awake for that. And despite him literally being on your fire escape, which raises all sorts of questions mind you, you couldn’t undress him. You couldn’t.

After a few minutes, you shake his shoulder, giving his face a few smacks when he wakes up with a jolt, looking around until he finds you and then he groans, clutching at his side again, eyes shut tight. Then he tries to sit up. “Hey slow down there,” you say, holding onto his shoulder when it seemed he would stand up.

“Please, I should-” he swallows and you despise yourself for looking at his throat move, “I should go.”

“You shouldn’t be moving at all, now where’s the blood?” You speak fast, hoping to hide the shake in your voice if you were mean about it. He tried to fight you on it but when you pushed on his chest, stepping between his legs, he couldn’t move, head flung back as he tried to reel the grunts of pain in, trying to be quiet. “If you needed the hospital- or- or a clinic, you should’ve gone there first. But you didn’t, so you’re gonna tell me what’s hurting so I can help you.” He lays limp on your bed, unable to look at you as his mouth dropped open and snapped shut several times. “If you don’t tell me where it hurts, I’m going to stab you and then stitch you up myself and then throw you out my window so fucking- say something.”

It’s silent. Until it wasn’t. “Everywhere,” he rasped, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It hurts everywhere. I can’t-” he gasps, hand coming up to where your own still processes, in the middle of his chest and over yours“-think.” You retract your hand immediately, backing up as you give him space. Space for yourself.

“Is there anything bleeding?” You ask and when he shakes his head, you think back to the clear blood on his hands, on your window. It doesn’t add up but taking it with a generous fistful of salt, you want to scream. “Okay- okay. Fuck.”

In the end, you have him sit up, half-apologizing for the pain and the other of you lets him have it, he can handle it just this once. He could’ve called, he could’ve texted, anything, but no, he had to wait until he was literally too hurt to move.

“Did you break anything?” You ask, digging through the first-aid kit while you waited for him to take his shirt off, “because with the way you’re bitching about these bruises—”

“—bitching?” He cuts you off, shirt halfway over his head.

“— yes, bitching, you’re not bleeding, if anything was broken you would’ve, surely, gone to a clinic. A healer, just, fucking anybody. No, you had to come to me.” You say, pulling out the self-adherent wrap and opening it up, unable to fault yourself in finding a battered, bare-chested Wilbur on your bed and losing your voice for it. The hair on his chest that leads down his stomach that leads further down into his pants… you breathe in as he himself is quiet. Starting at his ribs, you have him hold it down as you begin wrapping it around his torso, dedicated to ignoring the heat of his skin, how close you are to him. How you have to stand with one leg between his and lean into his space.

With each go-around, you make sure it’s not too tight, just enough to keep pressure and when you tape it down, you have him lay back down, gathering the first-aid kit to put on the nightstand. Heading into the kitchen for an ice-pack. In the middle of making one in a ziploc bag, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. You’re patching up a guy who fell into your living room after having ghosted you for two months.

You want to be mad at yourself, you want to punish yourself so badly for letting him in so easily.

“Listen, I just wanted to say—” he says when you walk in and you couldn’t help yourself, you chucked it at the bed and snatched the throw blanket on your dresser, ignoring any other attempts at conversation.

“Get some rest, don’t call for me unless that bag is melted.” You say over your shoulder, closing your bedroom door shut and you can’t help the pathetic slide down against it. Tears try to fall but you wipe them furiously. He does not get to wander in and fuck everything up. For goodness’ sake, you’ve just mopped.

Setting up camp on your couch, you lie down with the knowledge that yeah your neck will be shit in the morning, but you don’t care. You don’t care. It won’t matter in the morning because in the morning, he’ll be okay enough to get up and stand somewhat straight and maybe without help and he’ll insist on leaving. That’s just how it’ll go. He’ll say he never meant to end up on your fire escape and in the morning, he’ll apologize for taking up your bed. Because that’s just how it’ll go. And then he’ll go. And you’ll never see him again.

That’s how it’s going to be. It’ll never be anything more. You sniffle, can’t even stop crying for a night. How fucking useless. You bury your head into the throw pillow and shiver under the thin blanket. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over and he’ll be gone and you can pretend that you never intended on letting someone murder you. You can pretend that you’re normal and pretend everything is okay. Breathing out, you let sleep fall over you.

You rub the ache in your neck, grimacing as you flip another pancake, successfully burning it. It goes onto a stack of burnt pancakes. Turning off the stove, you don’t even pull butter or the syrup out of the fridge. Maybe your bitterness will fade away with time… maybe you’ll be able to look back in time and say, it’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be. For right now, you get to be petty and serve your bruised guest burnt food.

Opening your bedroom door, you halt in your footsteps; finding him fast asleep. The ice-pack is nowhere to be found. A sigh falls out of your mouth, the sound of the plate that knocks against the dresser is almost as loud as your defeat. You take the blanket you’d slept with and drape it over him, tucking the edges under him. The idiot slept on top of the cover. Standing up straight, you look at him. This is the first time you’ve seen him in two months, and you feel hopeless. He looks so peaceful, so handsome, so pretty, so helpless you can’t help but want to stay. But he’s hurt you. No matter what he has to say.

You breathe in deep before turning to leave and you would’ve made it out the door had he not reached out for you, grasping your wrist with cold fingers. You shiver under his touch as his head falls to the side, his hair falling into his closed eyes. “What you do to me is cruel,” you whisper, sliding down to the floor and letting him hold your wrist. You don’t know how much I regret meeting you and you don’t know how much I cherish meeting you at all.

It takes twenty minutes for him to wake up, two minutes after that for him to let go. You stand up, throwing a new shirt at him. This one happened to be completely oversized and old for you, perfect for him. “Get dressed and eat, I’m either taking you to a hospital or a healer you know, fifteen minutes.” You don’t give yourself time to loiter in the room, you don’t give him time to explain himself. (You know that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mean to ghost you but let’s be real, you’re you. And he’s Wilbur. The math isn’t adding up. He just wasn’t that interested.)

About ten minutes after you walk out of your room, he stumbles out, gripping onto the walls and he groans with his mouth closed. You don’t let him see your flustered face at the sound, just walking out and letting him follow you to the stairs. You pull one of his arms over your shoulders and make a point not to talk to him, even when he tries to get you to let go. Saying all about how he can walk on his own and stairs are no problem… you couldn’t resist it though, he was pretty insistent that he’d be okay and maybe you’re still upset. You let go and watch as he falls down one step, catching him before he scraped himself up even more.

“And you said you had it under control.” You mutter and you can see he wants to say more but you send him a look that has him clenching his jaw again.

“Look, you don’t need to take me to a hospital.” He begins after the two of you are settled in your car.

“So you know a healer?” You turn to him, giving him a blank stare.

“Well- maybe- I-” he stumbles over his words as you start the engine.

“You have very limited options right now. Either I take you to someone who will help you or I will dump your ass on the front step of the nearest doctor. Pick one.” His jaw sets and you make it a point to stare ahead as he gives you directions.

In no time, you find yourself in front of an apartment building, helping him get out of the car and into the lobby. You barely helped him into the elevator before turning to leave, watching as he leaned against the elevator doors. He stumbled over his words again.

“I couldn’t text you. I wanted to, so badly.” He says, with the wettest eyes known to man.

“So you’re telling me, you saw I was texting, couldn’t respond  for some mysterious reason and you expect me to tell you it’s okay?”

“I’m not saying it was.”

“Two months, Wilbur, you left me alone for two months.” You say, throwing it out there and he wants to say more, you can see it so clearly. You can see he wants to say why, wants to tell you everything. His big, sad eyes stare you down, tears close to falling. You look behind you, holding onto the elevator doors as you lean closer into the enclosed space. “And we’re only talking because you showed up at my window, bruised to hell and back with someone’s blood on your hands. Talk to me when you’re healed. Because yeah, I have questions. And if you can’t answer them when you’ve healed up, just go back to ignoring me. It worked perfectly fine for the both of us, didn’t it?” You don’t know why you said any of that, bitterness and hurt chokes you up, your words coming out stilted or too fast. Because no way in any version of reality were you okay. You wanted the truth. You wanted to know exactly what went wrong that night for him to ignore you.

And if he’s being honest with you right now, you’re not sure what to make of it.

But you’ve said your piece and the first tear falls down his cheek. So you lean in, palm smacking the button for the doors to close. You don’t wait a second before turning around and heading back to your car. Breaking down right in front of it.

You were so far from being okay, so, so fucking far.

[marloree]

𝓐𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮

Pairing: Soobin × Reader

Genre: angst

Word count: 0.78k

Throughout your life, you felt like you always were running away. From your problems, from your friends, from yourself. You felt like a traitor in your own skin sometimes: always making up excuses, saying that "it's for the better".

But was it really for the unknown better or were you just too much of a coward? Was it right to always try to escape, to ignore and shut out everyone and everything? You never thought it was, but you never knew how to act differently, "properly", either. You never knew the "right" way.

Why couldn't you just be like everyone else, live your life peacefully, without having to struggle to even keep up the mininum contact? Sometimes you felt like your life would just come to a stop, your energy completely disappearing, making you unable to properly respond to a person, even if you treasured them more than anyone else.

This would lead to constant blaming, blaming yourself for being the way you are, for not being like normal people. But you couldn't push yourself into talking, either. It felt too suffocating, too difficult to bear.

This time it happened, again. It came on you almost out of nowhere, basically strucking you. You were living calmly and, even, happily just a moment ago, only to get into the void once again. In an instance, you room felt too suffocating, like there was no air, at all.

In an attempt to cool your racing brain you rushed outside. It was pouring like crazy, but you didn't care or even notice at your state. The loud thunderstorm somewhat filled the void inside you, the cold rain cooling you down a bit. The raging weather made you feel slightly more alive, a bit more open to emotions.

As an attempt to gather your mess of thoughts, you tried to focus on something. It didn't take you long before you noticed a tall figure on the other end of the street: the man was the perfect focus point for you at the moment. You wouldn't have much difficulty watching him in order to not lose the last bits of grip you had on reality completely.

Your eyes slowly focused on the figure, still rather absent-mindedly, as the rain was pouring on your uncovered head. But, you barely felt the cold from your soaking wet clothes at the moment. You barely felt anything at all.

However, when you realized that the tall man who you chose as a resource of focus was making his way towards your house, you felt tiny emotions rising in you. Was it surprise or confusion? You couldn't fully tell at the moment.

As the figure got close enough for you to see his features, you noticed that the person looked a bit too familiar. Was it...Soobin? It's not like you could mix his height with anyone else's.

So...it was him. He came. But, how did he know?

Why even make a fool of yourself, he always knew, even better than you ever knew yourself.

You suddenly felt the urge to hide or disappear, once again. But you wouldn't be able to, now. You waited for the figure to get closer, your eyes trying to avoid his at all costs.

A worried voice cut through the deafening silence. "Y/N, what happened? Are you okay?"

As you reluctantly looked up, Soobin already stood just a few steps away from you. Then, the void you felt suddenly bursted out through uncontrollable tears. All the blaming you would put onto your head, all the negative and anxious thoughts that would race through your mind, everything came out within a moment. You broke down, completely.

Upon seeing you in such condition, Soobin's strong warm arms instantly wrapped you in a tight embrace.

"I'm here, with you. Y/N, you are safe", he gently would whisper into your ear, trying to sooth the worries he knew nothing about.

And it helped. He, really, was there. He wouldn't let you run away, he held you close. And you were grateful for that, for the comfort and support he gave you. You didn't feel so scared in his presence. Soobin, unbeknownst to him, gave you the so needed comfort and, most importantly, hope. He gave you hope for the tomorrow's day, that it will and shall come, that, with him, everything shall be okay. Perhaps not now, not even in a week, but with his help, with him you will get out. He won't abandon you like you abandoned yourself numerous times. He will be there, by your side. He will help you get through your hardships. With him, you'll get to see the happy and calm future.

A/N: I'm working on "your muse", I promise!! But, while I was in the mood for something angsty, decided to write this. <3

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| In A Week ||

frank castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: sad, angsty, reader is um... dead, Frank is not dealing well, implied sort-of suicide attempt/lack of care.

I recommend reading the short fic Seeya first if you want to amp up the sadness! 😜

It's been a while since he's been here, usually it was almost everyday without fail but lately…

When he places his hand on the earth it feels warm, but only from the waning afternoon sun. The sky is that heavy, stormy yellow-grey colour now, and as he tilts his head up and closes his eyes he can feel the pressure change in the muggy air. 

You loved storms. Told him countless times there was magic in them but damn, he'd swear the magic was all you as you had dragged him out on the balcony and kissed him stupid in the pouring rain. 

And then, not long after, God had said no. There would be no more dancing in the storms, no dinners out, no weekend adventures, no more sleepy mornings wrapped up in each other. No more anything for you, for his girl. 

Whatever purpose this God had in mind for you, it was done, but he wasn't yet done with Frank.

take me you motherfucking coward, take me.

He wishes so hard that it was the sound of your laughter echoing in his ears instead of the fading of your final breath. He tries picturing the brightness of your eyes and the warmth of your smile, but all he can see is the jolting of your  vulnerable body as the bullets ripped through and took you from him.

I'm so sorry, baby. Should've done better by you. It should've been me.

He's not asking for forgiveness as he whispers those words into the soft wind. If you could reach across the void he'd eagerly listen for your punishment, he'd beg you to tell him exactly how to suffer, because he'd do it a million times over and it still wouldn't be enough. It can't ever be enough.

One minute you were there, smiling, laughing, screaming, loving him, and then you just… weren't. 

It's okay, I'll see you…

He didn't understand, despite the myriad of lives he's taken he couldn't get his head around how this had happened. How he'd let it. It wasn't supposed to happen to you, you were meant to be different, separate to all of that, untouchable.

He hunches over, his fingers digging hard into the wet soil like you'd just reach up through it and he could bring you back. Or that you'd pull him under with you.

But you don't. His throat closes up, his body shakes but his sobs are muted by the thunder, and tears are lost in the rain.

He presses his fingers first to his lips, then to the letters of your name carved in the headstone.

Seeya.

He leans up against it as comfortably as he can with the way he's bleeding out. 

It's over. It won't be that long until he's with you again.

Things are just starting to get murky and go dark when he feels his body being lifted up.

Stop fighting me Frank, I'm trying to help

no… 

A weak murmur at first, then louder as he regains consciousness.

"NO! Leave me here, let me be with her! Let me be with her!" Even in his weakened state he's roaring, furious desperation cracking his voice as he's pulled further away from you.

"You know I can't do that."

So then, this was his punishment, to be dragged back into a living hell by the devil. To suffer a life without you in it.

"I'm gonna… kill you," Frank rasps, "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Red."

The devil wasn't for listening, hoisting him over his shoulders and staggering up the hill. "Yeah okay, but later. Gotta get you to a hospital first."

"Just let me fuckin' go Red, let me die. I'm done."

~

The incessant steady beep of the heart monitor was mocking him. The holes in him now stitched and taped up, proof of life soaking through the stark white dressings.

"Hey." Red says from the corner of the room.

Frank winces. Goddamn fucking self-righteous prick was always interfering. Taking his choice from him. He wanted to wring his neck but the fight in him was quickly draining away as he remembered just why they were here.

"I- I can't, can't do this without her." Frank's voice was quiet and hoarse as it broke. He didn't give a fuck if Red could smell his fucking tears or whatever, he was just full on crying rivers now. It was one thing at least that had been getting easier.

Matt comes closer to the side of the bed.

"She'd want you to live for her, you know that Frank. You're strong, you can survive."

Frank scoffs and shakes his head before wiping tears away. "Sh-she was it for me, made me strong… an' I don't know… she was everything."

Matt's hand is gentle on his shoulder.

"And that's why you have to keep on going, for her. Ask me how I know."

Frank didn't need to, he knew what Red had gone through, brought to a low place he almost hadn't come back from. 

Matt sighs, remembering. "It's not easy. It takes time, but you're not alone, and you've got help if you need it."

Frank's in a daze, doesn't know if it's the blood loss or what but he just keeps on shaking his head. "I dunno Red, I dunno."

I'm lost. I'm so lost.

"It's alright, we'll figure it out."

Frank feels gutted out, vacant. Memories of you like they happened yesterday reel through his mind and sting the backs of his eyes like someone has jammed fucking razorblades in there.

Sure, whatever you say Red. 

"Yeah, yeah."