#Hello and welcome all of you to the worst thing you’ll ever do.

[toomanyfandomsorkinafs]

Check me out!

ao3 - https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToManyFandomsOrKinaFS/profile

Twitter - https://twitter.com/FrozenaxoORicy

Wattpad - https://www.wattpad.com/user/2ManyFandoms0rKinaFS

Fanfic sideblog - @somanyfandomsorkinafs —

Upon realisation that I have not done a intro page, I’ll just put this here…

Hello to all of you, my name is Kina For Short, you may call me Kina, Axo or Chrissy. I do not care which one.

I’m biromantic, asexual

I literally don’t care what gender/pronouns you use for me. CALL ME WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT HONESTLY ❤️

I Write fanfics(links above) and poems and things.

#flowering ask - answering ask

#Did you know a flower bloomed? - Just random things I’m saying + poems on my other account

#rambles - answering rambles(please send rambles I love hearing people ramble)

I’m always willing to take request!

That is all.

[earthry]

hello love i hope you have an amazing weekend Can i ask about hc with insecure papas who thinks reader is with them just, because they're heads of the church and suddenly they're retired and have to tell about it reader?

Aw thank you, I hope you do too!

I was very excited to do this prompt <3

sfw, hurt/comfort, angst, tw self deprecation, low self-esteem, fluff

Primo

Considers himself good at handling stress but all he does is avoid the problem, distracting himself from what he’s feeling. So instead of going to you directly, he picks up gardening.

Has no clue what he’s doing, this is his first introduction into the hobby. He finds a little patch and asks if he can have it and when the Ministry doesn’t protest, he just starts digging up grass.

The problem becomes unavoidable when you seek him out after his continued absence. He’s always gone from the bed when you wake and doesn’t return until very late. Part of you was prepared to find the worst; that he’d been seeing someone else or something but when you find him, he’s up to knees in dirt tearing up the Ministry’s lawn.

The encounter ends with you holding his hand as he confesses the news and his fears of you leaving. You can tell he’s anxious from the stiffness of his posture and the tension in his expression. Leaning so that your forehead rests against his, you tell him he has no need to be afraid of you leaving because you don’t plan to anytime soon. His place as Papa isn’t why you’re with him, and you’ll do your best to show him that in the future to come.

You also joke that you’d better get your own pair of gardening gloves if this is gonna be a permanent new hobby.

Secondo

He believes in tearing off the bandaid quickly, and he doesn't allow himself the time to truly process things or grieve for himself. He just goes on as if everything's okay still and when he tells you the news, he might as well be telling you the weather forecast with how nonchalant he is when he brings it up.

You can see through him though, like stained glass. Can see just how tightly he's wound up, how stiff his muscles are as he braces himself for you to leave. He's playing it casual, like he doesn't care. Like he’s telling himself that when you leave, he'll just keep this facade and eventually he'll be okay again (though he can't even begin to think about a life without you, can't bear to think of you leav-- he stops himself from finishing that thought for fear it may shatter him).

And because you know him and because you can see past that stoney mask of his, the first thing you do is take his calloused hands in yours and press a gentle kiss to it— a reassuring gesture you often do when he’s feeling uneasy or nervous about something and it speaks for itself. You can practically see the tension seeping out of Secondo with how much he deflates and practically collapses against you. You don’t mind however and welcome him with open arms, embracing him as he falls back against you.

You tell him that he’s silly for thinking you’d ever leave just because he’s not Papa anymore. You list all the reasons off the top of your head on why you love him, Secondo, and not Papa Emeritus II.

He hates it when he cries, despises it with a passion because he was raised with toxic masculinity, but he allows himself to let it out in the safety of your arms with his head buried into the crook of your neck. He asks you to continue talking, asks you to tell him about your day, so you do. You tell him what you did that morning, what you ate, who you saw and what they said.

His kisses are the softest after, thankful and relieved and so in love with you. His energy has all been spent through the emotional whirlwind that is his coping methods and so you take him to bed early, tucking yourself into his arms and wrapping around him like a koala. He whispers that he loves you about a billion times, just in case you forget.

Terzo

He figures after he was dragged off stage, he would be retiring. Has a full blown panic attack, and you hold him tightly in his bedroom. Little whines and stuttered breathes as he tries to stop hyperventilating. It takes a little time but you eventually help him settle by putting his hand against your chest and telling him to follow your breathing.

You tell him so many things— that it’s okay and it will be okay. That you’re not going anywhere and that regardless of what happens, he won’t be alone.

You gently brush his tears away and help him clean off his papa makeup, kissing each patch of bare skin you reveal. You run a bath for the two of you with his favorite essential oils and let him curl up in your lap, clinging to you like a stubborn panda. You even tease him about being like one, and his cheeks heat up pink, flustered.

When you finally get to bed, you let him be the little spoon, enveloping him in your arms and holding him tight with the promise that you won’t let go.

Copia

To him, there is no question to whether you would stay or not. He just knows you won’t because he can’t possibly think of a single reason why you would stay if he were no longer Papa. To him, he had been worth nothing until he was Papa. Just the weird quirky cardinal that everyone tolerates because at least he gets his work done on time. He doesn’t know you’ve had a crush on him for years before he ever even stepped foot into the spotlight to lead the Ministry.

He lets himself have one more day. Just one more day where you’re all his and he’s all yours and everything is okay with the world. One more day he gets to hold you in his arms and make you laugh and kiss your lips that he swears taste of honey. To have your hand in his, fingers intertwined as if they were meant to fit together perfectly like soulmates. To hear you say “I love you” and mean it with everything in your heart.

He cries that night as the two of you lay down to sleep, but won’t tell you what’s wrong. Instead, he begs you to hold him the entire night, to stay with him until he wakes. And you do. You kiss his forehead softly and promise you’ll be there in the morning. You wrap him in safety and love until he finally drifts off into a fitful sleep.

In the morning, it’s the first thing he tells you and he fully expects you to get dressed and collect your things to leave. What he doesn’t expect is for you to drag him back to bed.

You snuggle him within an inch of his life and tell him you’re not leaving, not when he’s the perfect cuddle buddy. You’ll reassure him as many times as he needs to hear it and he cries again, soft relieved tears that you kiss away.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

“Hello,” Izuku said, looking up from his notebook. “Welcome to Hell. How can I get you to your level today?” the nineteen-year-old shut his notebook as a file appeared before him.

“I shouldn't be here,” snapped the woman in front of him. She was a white woman with dark brown hair in a bob with probably the tackiest jumpsuit he had ever seen. Around her neck was a cross glittering with gems. “I always obeyed the church and the gospel!”

“Yeah well, sometimes Churches stray from the actual word of God in an attempt to control people,” Izuku said dryly as he opened the file.

“Past David would never!” snapped the woman.

“Doesn’t have to be him, it could be anyone else further back,” Izuku hummed. He hesitated, seeing the file. It wasn't a bad file. He'd seen some doozies and his dad ran level 9- the level where the worst souls ended up.

But…

“It says here you lost your husband and son,” Izuku said softly. “Because a group of people decided a white woman marrying an Asian man was a bad thing.” The woman took a step back.

Explained why she went to Izuku.

“And I get it. You were justifiably angry, and took your anger out on others which isn't justifiable. But you were angry. You joined a Church meant to make you feel better and they twisted you. They taught you homosexuality is wrong, they told you that everyone outside the church is bad. They made you feel more justified in your anger. And I don't blame you for your anger or your hate.” Izuku looked at the woman who had to turn away. “But what you did is on you. Those people didn't deserve your anger.”

“… I just missed them so much!” the woman sobbed. She covered her face and sobbed. Izuku reached out to hold her hand, squeezing it.

“I know. And it sucks. It does. Your husband and son wouldn't have wanted you to become what you did though.”

“No,” the woman sniffed. “Level two?”

“Level two. And- ma’am. Your husband was Buddhist and reincarnated. Your son did too. I can't promise you’ll find them again- but they have good lives. Your son is a doctor.” Izuku told her. She nodded, giving a brittle smile before walking away. Izuku sighed as the file vanished.

“You handled that well.” Lily told him.

“She was hurting. She needed to know her anger and hurt was justified. Her church helped but they also majorly didn't,” Izuku said. “I think I was the first person to tell her that.”

“Yeah,” Sharkie made a face from where she’d been dealing with a level 9 soul. She still had blood on her teeth. “Churches suck sometimes at the whole ‘hey you're angry and hurting so lets deal with that’. It’s all ‘pray to god!’” Sharkie clasped their hands together. “He can heal you!” she batted her eyes as Izuku laughed.

“I’m glad I wasn't Christian,” Izuku said.

“Hey, Izuku,” Lily began, looking thoughtful. “Other than being told by everyone you're a bad kid, why did you pick Hell?”

“I wanted to help Sharkie. It’s all I ever wanted to do, be a hero. I didn't get that chance in life,” Izuku mused. “But I can now. I'm helping people- the demons at the gate, Dad with paperwork, even people like that woman who just need to be told ‘hey so your anger mattered’. I was Quirkless, and to so many people useless. I like being useful here.”

“You don’t need to be useful,” Lily sighed, but Izuku shrugged it off.

That was what therapy was for.

“Sup,” a voice said and Izuku turned to smile at Alx as the demon approached the desk carrying a drink tray. The demon didn't have a chest and the pronoun button said he/him for the day. “Hot chocolate for Sharkie, mocha for Lily and tea for Izuku.” he grinned at the three, eyes lingering on Izuku. “Hope you enjoy guys, I gotta get to work.”

“And yet you always deliver our drinks,” Lily taunted. Alx shrugged, smiling at Izuku before he left.

“You do know my dad is his boss right?” Izuku asked. “It's just… awkward,” Izuku said. A new soul approached the desk and Izuku groaned. “Oh boy, here we go,” he knew that look.

“Ugh, racists,” Lily grumbled. “Want the bat?”

“Eh, maybe,” Izuku said as the soul stomped right towards him.

He liked this job but sometimes… ugh.

[shittysawtraps]

Hello [redacted].

You know who you are. You have shown time and time again you feel no remorse for the hurt and pain you forced your own children through.

You abused your eldest daughter, constantly degrading were for being Autistic while claiming to were to be Autistic yourself. This psychiatric report says otherwise; you lied to were. You told were that were wasn’t as good as were younger sister and step-siblings.

But the worst crime isn’t even the abuse. You’ve now decided to hide behind a false name and persona to escape your crimes, while throwing the entire Trans community under the bus with 0 regard for the consequences your actions will bring to them.

Jail couldn’t hold you. And you were never going to learn a thing. But now, you will be forced to. Before you is a series of games that will push your senses to their limits. You will bleed, you will be blinded and deafened, you will starve and thirst, and yet it will not stop. The only way out is through the very little girl you abused all those years ago. But, if you are as “smart” as you think you are, you’ll recognise that the little girl is long gone and cannot help you now.

In other words; you burned your bridges. None of your family want you. Let’s hope your serial killer ghost of a ‘boyfriend’ will save you from the torment you enforced on your own child.

And don’t think death is an escape. Were Gods are waiting for you; Fenrir loves putting an abuser in their place. Specifically; into his jaws. Loki hates abusers with all his guts. You managed to make the chaotic neutral God of change and mischief infuriated. He loves playing tricks; who knows what he will do? Sigyn will show you no compassion. For you deserve none. Angrboda will show you the true rage of a mother scorned. Jormungandr will make you feel powerless. And Hel will not let you return to the living to “make amends”, no matter what you plead. And maybe, just maybe, that little girl’s grandfather, the man you scorned the minute you laid a finger on were, will watch. Silent. Unmoving. You rejected his help long ago. Why would he want to help now?

Make like Emperor Belos and die, you miserable excuse for a human being. No one will remember you. No one will mourn you. And, I hope that I shouldn’t have to spell this out; your spirit is not welcome around your “daughter”. Ever. If you try, then I know for a fact were will curse you. Show you the monster you created.

You will not see the light of day again.

[carpememes]

KLAUS starters

feel free to change pronouns

“Stop, don’t tell me. Let me guess…. I give up. Who are you?”

“Can I get your something to drink? Espresso, cappuccino?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in equestrian training?”

“No worries, I’ve got someone covering for me.”

“I’m gonna take one last look around the old place so I can forget it.”

“There you have it! But, hey, we gave it the old college try didn’t we?”

“Guess I’ll just go pack up and head home then. Too bad! Darn, oh darn!”

“You’re right! When will I grow up? When will I stop squandering these opportunities- that you so kindly forced me into- and become my own man?”

“I guess I must really hanker down and rethink my priorities.”

“You think I’m just going to watch you purposely fail and then let you waltz right back to a privileged life void of any purpose or meaning?”

“You can’t cheat, bribe or squirm your way out of this one.”

“Thank you, Dad! This is really wonderful, father, thank you so much!”

“I love this terrible coach ride. Thank you so much.”

“Nice boat. Any chance we might actually get on it today?”

“I thought there would be some sort of a reception.”

“This is no way to treat a person. Certainly not THIS person.”

“Come to the counter, I’ll be right out!”

“What kind of town has a Battle Bell?”

“Welcome to _, home ot the world’s finest feuds.”

“Are you gonna buy something, or are you just here to chit-chat?”

“Holy moley, that’s you?! What happened?”

“Mingling with their sworn enemy spawn? Can’t have that!”

“So now I’m reduced to doing this so I can get some money and start fresh far, far away from here.”

“Are. You going. To buy something?!”

“C’mon, sport! I saved the best for last.”

“Go home, you loser!”

“Oh, I get it. Did my father put you up to this?”

“Show me where I’m really staying. I’d like a hot bath and a look at the dinner menu.”

“That’s it! This place is the worst! I’m going home!”

“I hate it here! It’s so cold and icky and the people are mean to me!”

“Nice guy. Loves visitors.

“Hello? I’m in your house.”

“Better alive in the gutter than hacked into pieces! No thank you!”

“Please don’t chop me up and scatter my parts in the woods!”

“In there? What? No way. You must be kidding.”

“Please! Open this! Why are you doing this to me?”

“These better sound sad. Do they sound sad?”

“Probably not an axe murderer. Though, still is a possibility but, most likely, no.”

“Remember me from the nice breaking and entering the other night?”

“That is… totally normal!”

“Centuries of glorious hatred passed down through generations!”

“Now, I just know you didn’t mean to disrespect all of that heritage. Right?”

“Telling children to go to school to learn to write? What is wrong with you?!”

“I’m so close to getting out. I am not about to let you mess it all up.”

“Whatever you’re doing, leave me OUT OF IT.”

“Not a word. You just sit there and be all magical and awesome.”

“Are we going to learn something today?”

“Look, if you have to be here, at least be quiet.”

“Let’s make a deal- If I teach you something will you get out of here? Please?”

“Friends of yours, I take it?… They seemed nice.”

“A flying sleigh… pulled by magical reindeer?”

“Oh look. It CAN laugh.”

“What are you doing at our ambush?”

“So we must band together in peace… To help stop this peace?”

“Back home I’ve got pretty much everything.”

“Back home I’ve got pretty much everything. But here I’m just another irrelevant,pointless… nobody.”“

Hey. You’re a pretty good listener, y’know?”

“How many nights do you lie awake, in the darkest place?”

“If happy lives a mile away, a couple steps is all it takes.”

“If kindness lives in everyone, then all it takes is standing up.”

“Can’t touch it, see it- but you can always feel it.”

“The greatest things you’ll ever know are invisible.”

“How have we never defeated you?”

“We wanted children. Lots of them.”

“We kept waiting, but they never came.”

“Even now, sometimes, it almost like she’s still...”

“After she was gone, I guess I got lost.”

“Yknow what? No homework! Am I the best teacher ever or what?”

“I just thought I’d give the place an update.”

“Check it out, I think it looks pretty good.”

“Someone would have to be pretty stupid to want to leave this place now.”

“Oh, wow. You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

“Not quite the same place is it?”

“A true act of good will always sparks another.”

“Everybody’s out to get something, right?”

“Oh, well. Best leave it alone, I say. I’m sure it’s nothing that could fester and eventually become a source of regret.”

“He said he’d never been more proud of me... And he hugged me. Can you believe that?”

“This town was built on resentment and spite.”

“Let’s go. We’re done here.”

“Kids talk. And if kids happen to talk about their parents forming an angry mob then, y’know, teachers listen.”

“Then you showed up and made it complicated, as usual.”

“So all this was for nothing?”

“Shall we then?”

“What did you expect of course she loved me.”

“I’m coming, Love.”

“It was as if he had just... faded away.”

“What happened to him after that... How, why... I can’t even begin to comprehend.”

“I stopped trying to make sense of it a long time ago.”

“What I do know is that, once a year, I get to see my friend.”

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 6

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Anyone who's ever played Neverwinter can probably guess where this is going. ***

Durge was no stranger to unpleasant welcomes.

There were many things they still couldn’t recall of their life as Bhaal’s Chosen, but it seemed quite likely that their arrival would be seldom welcomed by his victims. Then, of course, there had been more recent events that they remembered well; being caught in Jaheira’s vines right there at Last Light Inn was still, in their opinion, the worst welcome by far.

Until they opened the door to Raphael’s room to be greeted by a firebolt to the face.

“Ignis!”

Sonofabi--

Wyll was quicker to react than any of them; an instant before the firebolt made contact, before Durge could even move to counter, he’d grabbed their robes and pulled them down. The firebolt went right over their head, close enough it may have singed hair if they had any, and crashed against the opposite wall, causing several people downstairs to yell in alarm and more than a few to grab their weapons.

Well, look at that. The bastard could cast, after all. But he wasn’t getting a chance to do it again. 

“Dolor!”

Wyll’s blast shot forward in a beam of crackling energy, and Raphael had no time to even try  moving out of the way, or conjure up any kind of defense. The blast struck him and it would have knocked him back several feet, had he not been leaning against the wall. Instead, it just knocked back his head. Into the wall.

Hard.

Halsin stepped forward, lifting a hand to cast, but paused when Raphael promptly crumpled on the floor. He frowned and slowly lowered his hand, while Wyll leaned over the rails to let the people downstairs know that everything was in hand. 

“... He’s in no state to take on anyone in a fight,” Halsin muttered. “What got into him?”

“Not a clue,” Durge muttered, and stepped in, crouching next to Raphael’s still form. That he could cast was not overly surprising, but he thought the devil more clever than that, picking a fight he had absolutely no chance to win. He could be rash, yes, and overconfident, but never stupid… and this had been an astoundingly stupid decision. “If he wanted to try something, I’d have expected him to bide his ti--”

“Hello, love. I was awakened by the sound of-- oh, hi Wyll-- the sound of chaos, but it seems I missed all the fun. Seriously, did you keep him alive all this time only to end him without me?” Astarion sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m hurt.”

“He’s not dead,” Durge pointed out, turning Raphael on his back and cradling the back of his head in their hand. There didn’t seem to be skull fractures, at least, and he was breathing, if raggedly. That single firebolt must have taken a lot out of him; he probably couldn’t have cast another even without Wyll’s intervention.

“I suspect that’s going to change,” Astarion commented. “I bet someone went to fetch Aylin. You’ll need to be very convincing if you want him to keep that head attached to his neck for much longer.”

Ah, right. She was unlikely to take kindly to the fact he’d attacked them, and that he may very well have tried to attack Isobel if she’d been the one to step in. That was going to require some diplomacy, and definitely a compromise. It looked like Raphael would have to wave that cushy room goodbye. 

“... I’ll take him to one of the cells. Halsin, can you help me carry him downstairs? We lock him in, and then you heal him.”

“It sounds like a plan,” Halsin said, and stepped in to help, leaving Wyll to fill in Astarion on what exactly he was doing there.

***

It’s cold. 

Cold cold cold and it hates the cold, it’s shrouded in fire and somehow it’s still cold. The walls are made of ice but that’s not what bothers it. Something is cold inside, worse than ice, beneath the hellfire. A hole where something was, a lack of heat that’s unbearable and is never going away. Something is-- missing -- wrong and it hates and hates and hates and doesn’t know why. 

It hates it there. It doesn’t know where there is, only that it hates it and has to guard it, or else the cold will turn to pain and it hates that, too. It hates whoever put it there.

It doesn’t know who put him there.

It doesn’t know where it was before. What it was before. There was something. Someone. He was someone, they were someone and it’s all gone now. He is gone and it is all that remains, stalking hallways and rooms beneath vaulted ceilings. 

There are beings around, small and skittish, and it hates them and wants them gone, but it cannot harm them. Not unless they touch something they should not. They’re there to serve, same as it is, and if it kills one without reason or permission someone-- Barbas bastard oily bastard I’ll kill you -- will make it hurt.

It doesn’t realize it’s making a noise, a growl deep in its chest and chittering in the back of three skulls, but it does see the small souls working about the place turn, sees them back away, move to keep on their work at the farthest possible corner of the room. They disappear behind thick columns, behind doors.

Only one remains, unmoving before the flames. It has seen this soul before. Almost tore into it. But it did not because… because…

She steps forward, slowly. It can smell her fear, but she takes another step. “Israfel,” she speaks, quietly. “You know that name. He named you that. Did he keep you? Raise you?”

There is a stab of something in the back of its skulls, and one of its jaws clacks once, twice. Israfel. The sound of it, it’s heard it before. It doesn’t know when. But it heard it many times and there is the smell of a new book, the warmth of embers in a hearth, the clack of pieces placed on a lanceboard, the strings of a lyre, the taste of something-- almonds, always liked those almond sweets -- in its mouths. It’s warm as everything else is cold. It’s solace. It hurts. It wants it to stop. It wants more. But it’s gone and it can’t have it back, because-- your Lord father summons you, little duke -- it hurts-- time to join your kind -- and hurts and HURTS-- you’re loved here, promise your Nan you’ll remember that -- make it stop make it stop-- you’re but one of many whelps, the Lord of the Eighth shall see you when he wishes to -- make it STOP HURTING RIGHT NOW.

It steps back, chittering, shaking its heads, the flames within dimming, its knees bending. The soul who spoke the name pauses, staring, then steps closer, slowly. A hand reaches up and almost, almost touches its fused skulls. Almost.

She doesn’t. None may touch it, not if they value their life, and she steps away quickly, before anyone can see, leaving it alone in the middle of the room, shaking and growling, still so cold, a shriek coiling in its throat. It cannot let it out. It will hurt if it screams.

On another Plane, the missing half of its soul screams loud enough for both of them.

***

“Silvanus preserve us--”

“What the fuck .”

Durge wasn’t sure what they had expected Raphael to do once Halsin cast a healing spell on him and he regained consciousness; the fireball earlier had shown he was probably not in his best state of mind. They had sort of expected him to be unhappy about his current predicament, to strain against the robe binding his wrists. However, they had not expected him to scream and scream and scream, wordlessly, loud enough it must be tearing something in his throat. They and Halsin watched, taken aback, and he screamed again and twisted, eyes bloodshot, damn near foaming at the mouth, trying to throw himself at them. 

Did I look like this, when the Urge came and I almost killed Astarion?

The memory of that night was churning ice in their gut, and Durge chased it from their mind. Instead they lifted a hand and, with a quick gesture, cast to detect Raphael’s thoughts. They usually came in the form of words, but not always - Wulbren Bongle’s mind for one had shown only a column of fire reaching up into the skies - and this time, too, there were only images. 

Walls of ice, priceless artifacts protected by ancient magic-- Mephistopheles’ vaults, they were there there once, when they took the crown --and debtors at work cleaning, the smell of fear overpowering and yet dwarfed by hatred, all-encompassing, fueled by a continuous agony burning cold somewhere at the core of the being through whose eyes they are now looking. Multiple eyes, spaced unevenly, and all focused on a small figure. A word is uttered, a name; the empty coldness within turns into a void, pulling in all light, and everything explodes into pain. Of course it does. Two halves of the same soul will always cry out for one another.

“Get out of my head! Get out get out get out! ”

Raphael screamed again, and Durge was quick to sever the connection. They blinked, head spinning, to see that Raphael had slumped against the damp stone of the wall, trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps through clenched teeth. Halsin knelt beside him, and cast another healing spell; one more shaky breath and some of the tension seemed to leave Raphael’s body.

“Lay down,” Halsin spoke, voice even. “You’re safe here.”

Raphael made a choking noise that Durge could barely identify as a laugh. He opened his eyes, found Durge’s gaze, and sneered. “Why am I still alive, bhaalspawn?”

“There was no reason to kill you--”

“Keeping me for Mizora’s pet to finish, aren’t you?”

Durge looked at Halsin. Halsin looked at Durge. Both turned back to Raphael.

“... What?”

It was almost amazing, really, how quickly Raphael could revert to looking at them so haughtily, like he wasn’t a trembling mess only seconds earlier, screaming his lungs out. “You’re not as clever as you believe you are. You brought Wyll Ravengard to my room so he could end me himself. Tell me, what has my father promised him, or Mizora, in exchange for my head?”

Durge stared. “... Hold up. You think Wyll is here to kill you? Is that why you attacked?”

A glare. “I may be injured in body, but very much unlike yours, my mind is perfectly intact,” Raphael snapped. “I heard him thank you for your help with my own ears.”

Ah. Of course. Durge sighed, rubbing their forehead. “You imbecile," they groaned. “He wasn’t talking about you.”

Somehow, the insult seemed to cut deeper than the notion they had may be trying to kill him. “Don’t you dare mock me! I heard--”

“If we’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead. And against my better judgment, you still breathe.”

“What other devil would he come here expecting your help to ki--”

“Zariel.” Wyll’s voice rang out in the cellar, cutting him off, and Raphael blinked. 

They all turned to the entrance, where Wyll stood. He smiled weakly. “Hope you don't mind me joining you. Astarion stayed upstairs to smooth things over,” he said, and looked back at Raphael. From his part, Raphael was silent a moment or two before speaking again. 

“Zariel,” he repeated, as though trying out a foreign word on his tongue.

“Yes. Mizora said--”

“Mizora gave you the order to kill the archdevil of Avernus.”

“That’s the only Zariel I am aware of.”

Another pause, and finally a chuckle. Raphael shifted to sit more upright against the wall, and laughed. “What have you done,” he asked, the unpleasant smile still on his lips, ���for Mizora to come up with such a delightfully creative way to sentence you to a most painful death?”

Well. That was not encouraging. “It is a mission I am bound to complete, or die trying,” was all Wyll replied, arms crossed over his chest. “Her reasons are irrelevant. I have to kill Zariel.”

“You truly hope you have the faintest chance to succeed?” Raphael chuckled again, like the thought alone was hilarious. “Haven’t you learned yet that hope is the greatest lie of all? Zariel will sup with your soul, Wyll Ravengard, and perhaps sample your liver on the side.”

All right, time to put an end to that. “You were keen to sup on our souls as well, and yet we defeated you,” Durge pointed out, only a touch pleased by the obvious annoyance that twisted Raphael’s features. “If we could beat you, certainly we have decent chances to defeat her. Or is she that much more powerful than you?”

A scowl. “Your puerile baiting will not change the facts,” Raphael bit out. “All the power I had I clawed for myself, you contemptible rat. She has been given command over forces beyond your measly comprehension by Asmodeus himself. You may have beaten me, but I almost had you, with naught but a few foot soldiers at my beck and call. She has legions to call upon. She has been fighting the Blood War far longer than you've lived. If you fight her, you shall perish. Of that, you can be certain.”

“That’s why I asked to speak with you as soon as they told me you were here,” Wyll spoke up, and approached the cell. “If there is a way to better our chances - anything to help us succeed - surely, you must know.”

A scoff. “And…?”

Halsin sighed. “I suppose there is little chance you’ll tell us out of the kindness of your heart.”

Raphael tilted his head. “I am glad to see I don’t need to explain the obvious to you. I suppose the next thing you’ll do is threaten to take my life for my refusal - very well. I will die here before I help you. But by all means, go ahead and try, all of you, to destroy Zariel.” He smiled. “Get yourselves killed, lose your souls to the archdevil of Avernus. I hope you’ll scream loudly, rat,” he added, the smile widening as he met Durge’s eyes. “So that even I can hear the melody of it, wherever I’ll be.”

Durge met his gaze and smiled back, all fangs. “I won’t kill you, Raphael. I’ll let the flow of time do it, day after day to the end of this mortal life. After that, I don’t know if there is a place anywhere for the mere half of a soul, but I suppose that’s for you to find out,” they said, and to their satisfaction, Raphael’s smile wavered. They stood. “... Or perhaps we will let Mizora know where to find you, to collect a reward for delivering you to your esteemed father. Either way, we are done here. Good luck and all that. Wyll, we’re ready to leave when--”

“Wait.” 

Raphael’s voice rang out a moment before Durge closed the cell’s door behind them. They turned to look at him over their shoulder. They were not surprised: matters of pride were always quick to turn into matters of price when no other options were left. Dealing with devils - this one devil in particular - had taught them that much.

“I believe,” they said, barely holding back a grin, “that this is the part where you make an offer.”

It was.

***

“So, I see you’ve been, uh… reading?”

“Oh, yes. A lot of books here - most of them evil, and I mean, evil evil. But I’m hoping to find out where my sister’s soul went.”

There was the slightest waver in Hope’s voice that would have made Karlach’s heart clench, if it hadn’t been a clinky machine running on oil and sheer spite in her chest cavity. Even so, there was a knot in her stomach. She did her best to ignore it and turned back to what had been Raphael’s archive. Most of the objects on display were gone, but the books and scrolls were still there - many scattered across a long table. 

“I see,” Karlach finally said, choosing not to remark on the fact Korrilla had been all right with Hope being held prisoner and subjected to endless nightmares for… Hells knew how long. She had brought it up once, and the look Hope had given her had kept her up at night. 

“She’s my sister,” she had said. “And she loved me, once. Love doesn’t just go away, does it? I don’t think it does. I must hope it doesn’t.”

There was nothing Karlach could say to that because well, had she not survived ten years in Avernus thanks to just that? The hope that she could escape someday? So in the end she bit her tongue, and asked something else. 

“Did you find out anything?”

Hope sighed, shaking her head. “No. Well, not yet. You see, she was bound to Raphael, right? Meaning her soul was his, once she-- once-- well, after she died. But then Raphael died before he could properly collect it and that doesn’t usually happen, you know. What happens to the souls belonging to a devil when the devil is gone before he can claim them?”

That was definitely not something Karlach had ever wondered. “That’s… a good question.”

“I find that out, and I find my sister. I think. I hope.” Hope gestured towards the scattered books. “So I’ve been trying to find out. The souls have been very nice. I asked them to please not come here so I can read, and they’re keeping out.”

“... I see,” Karlach muttered. Personally, she might have set the entire place on fire herself in Hope’s shoes, destroying everything her tormentor had ever owned, but the slim chance to find her sister again clearly meant too much to her, and she didn’t bring it up. But gods, she was bored. Wyll had been gone for days, and she’d had no news yet.

“Oh! Maybe we’ll find something that could help you defeat Zariel, too?”

… All right, that was a better plan than ‘set everything on fire and laugh over the smoldering remains’. It was a bit of a long shot, but it made at least some sense. Devils were a bunch of scheming bastards, always looking to stab one another in the back or at least someplace painful. They collected information about each other the way one would collect Talis cards, cataloging each and every weak point. If Raphael ever had information they could use against Zariel, then surely this was where she could find it.

Karlach had never been big on reading, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do until Wyll returned with reinforcements. “That’s a great idea, really. Let’s get to it.”

“If I see something about Zariel, I yell. If you see anything on unclaimed souls, you yell. Deal?”

“Eugh, don’t use that word,” Karlach laughed, and turned to the closest shelves. Unlike many others, now empty, they were still filled with rows of books. “What about those? Have you looked there?”

Hope made a face. “Those are not books. They’re Raphael’s diaries going back a long time. But I’m not touching those.”

Considering the absolute bullshit she’d seen in the boudoir, Karlach could definitely understand why. Still - no pain, no gains. Or something like that. “Guess I’ll have to, then. At worst, I’ll get some extra mocking material about the dead bastard,” she muttered, and grabbed the closest diary.

***

“The Sword of Zariel?”

Sitting on the floor against the wall of a cell, hands tied behind his back and forced to look up at that gaggle of loathsome vagabonds, Raphael nodded. That was not precisely how he usually conducted negotiations, but he could bear it if it got him what he wanted. Then, of course, he’d kill each and every one of them.

“Exactly. If there is anything in the Nine Hells of Baator that can kill her, other than Asmodeus himself, it’s that sword.”

“Oh, of course. It sounds so very convenient.” The vampire spawn - when had he come downstairs? - scoffed, leaning against the bars. “A sword that can kill her, so very fittingly named after her.”

Really now? “Did the tadpole take a bite out of your brain before it was vaporized? It is named Sword of Zariel because it was Zariel’s sword, back when she was still a celestial. A Solar, to be exact, until her fall, when she lost it along with the hand that had been holding it. She is as powerful as an archdevil as she was then, but that sword? It can end her. I am certain of it.”

“And you just so happen to know where it is?” Wyll Ravengard asked, doubt etched in his features. Raphael met his gaze, lips curling. 

“Isn’t it a happy coincidence? The sword was taken by a Hellrider general and a hollyphant--”

“If you know where it is now, why haven’t you taken such a weapon for yourself?” The bhaalspawn crouched to look him in the eye. “Why hasn’t Zariel? Or your father, ever the collector?”

Ravengard blinked. “His father?”

“Mephistopheles,” the vampire spawn clarified. 

“... Huh. And here I thought I had to deal with a cumbersome family relation.”

Raphael elected to ignore them both, and met the bhaalspawn’s gaze. “There is power to that sword, one that protects it from devils - not that devils would manage to wield it even if they got to it. The sword is sentient, and will reject those it deems unworthy. Infernal beings are… unlikely to make the cut.”

“So even if we find it, there is no guarantee we may be able to wield it.”

“I agreed to tell you what can kill Zariel, and I can take you to where it is. Everything else is up to you. I’m not the one sworn to kill an archdevil - or die trying lest I become a lemure.”

Ravengard frowned. “Point taken, thank you,” he said, in a tone that indicated he was not thankful in the slightest. Raphael ignored him, like he ignored the vampling and the lumbering druid at the back. He kept his gaze fixed on the bhaalspawn, who finally, slowly, nodded. 

“Very well. That is fair enough,” they said, and stood. “We have an agreement. As soon as you’re able to travel, we’ll be off to Avernus.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “And, ah, how do we know he won’t turn on us the second we’re there? Because that's what I would do if I were a devil.”

“That’s what you would do regardless,” the druid pointed out, gaining himself a shrug. 

“My point stands.”

Raphael scoffed, making a mental note to kill the vampling first, possibly before the bhaalspawn’s eyes. “One could argue I’m the one taking the risk, considering your abysmal actions last time I offered you a perfectly good deal. I won’t pretend I wouldn’t love to slit your throats, but it would very much go against my interests. I want something in return if I’m to help you destroy Zariel, and you cannot give me a thing if you’re dead.”

“... The other half of your soul,” the rat spoke. “That’s your price, isn’t it?”

Raphael shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no to Mephistopheles’ head on a silver platter, if we truly get as far as killing one archdevil,” he said. “But first, yes. The other half of my soul.” Then, your lives. “Do we have a deal?”

They did.

***

“So, we’re all going to Hell. In the most literal sense, this time. It’s going to be an interesting experience, I’m sure. And I won’t have to worry about the sun, so that’s definitely a plus.”

“None of you is obliged to do this. I understand it is a lot to ask--”

“Wyll, darling, don’t be absurd. This idiot has already pledged their help and they are, quite regrettably, my idiot. I have to come along. They wouldn’t survive a day without me.”

“I am coming as well, if you’ll have me.”

“Halsin, this place needs you. And the children--”

“This place would still be cursed, and these children would be dead, if not for you. I could not live with myself if I didn’t help you now. They have Isobel and Dame Aylin to look after them in my absence, and-- you might just need a healer, after all.”

A sigh, and Wyll lifted his gaze from his ale to look back at them. “I’m more grateful than I can put into words. I would not have involved anybody else in what is my mission, if not for--”

“Karlach.”

“Yes. This is the best chance yet to win her freedom. I couldn’t live with myself if I failed her.”

“You won’t live at all if you fail, but let’s say I understand the sentiment. So, uh. Have you two, you know…?” Astarion leaned forward on the table, peering closely at Wyll’s face, grinning much too wide. From his part, Wyll pulled back, clearing his throat. 

“We have been fighting our way through Avernus-- and as she told you, we have made progress when it comes to her engine--”

“Oh, come now. Even you can’t be that pure of heart.”

“I… well… she is amazing, the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, but…” Wyll looked at the others, as though hoping one of them would bail him out of the conversation, only to be met with looks of very obvious interest. He groaned. “Listen, we’re fighting devils and demons and whatnot day in and day out. We’re covered in steaming blood and guts more often than not--”

“Sounds dreamy,” Astarion muttered, only half-jesting, gaining himself a snort.

“It���s not precisely the picture of romance, is it? No time for-- you know, a courtly dance, or--”

Durge chuckled. “That’s sweet, but she never struck me as someone for courtly dances.”

“Because she never got to try it,” Wyll said, leaning back against his seat. For some reason, he was utterly certain that everybody would love a slow dance if they ever gave it a try. “There are too many things she never got to experience, and I want to give her that chance. Even if she never looks at me that way.”

“You went to Hell with her. Seems plenty romantic to me.”

“That was the only right thing to do. I don’t want to use that to-- I don’t want her to think she owes me something for it. And--” he paused, and cleared his throat. “I, uh. I believe we’re getting sidetracked. We were discussing the mission.”

As much as they’d have loved to prod Wyll a bit further - Astarion, they could tell, was itching to do so - Durge could agree it was time they turned back to more pressing matters. “Very well. If Karlach is safe from Zariel as long as she’s in the House of Hope, I believe a detour to Baldur’s Gate is due before heading to Avernus. The Devil’s Fee was still standing, last we checked, and if there’s any place where we can find supplies to help us survive the Hells, that’s where we should look. The gods know we need all the supplies we can get.”

“And some reliable advice from Helsik, I suppose.”

Halsin laughed. “I assume we’re not trusting Raphael to be our only guide, then?” he asked, only to be met with variations of ‘Gods, no’ and ‘I can throw him farther than I can trust him’. There was some laughter, and a brief silence. In the end, it was Astarion who broke it. 

“... All right, since no one else is asking, I’ll bite - figuratively. Do you actually plan to help him take back the missing half of his soul?”

Durge shrugged. “If he holds his half of the bargain...”

“You’re aware that there is no infernal contract this time, yes? Just our word, mortals to mortal. Not having to face another archdevil for his soul after we do in Zariel would be rather nice. We can just… pretend to play along, and then ditch him. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“We could,” Durge conceded. “And I have.”

“And…?”

“I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Until then,” they added, picking up their mug and looking down at the dark ale inside, “I’m rather curious to see what happens once the human half of his soul has had a chance to stretch its legs.”

***

“Ugh, what I’d give to kill that creep a couple more times!”

Karlach made a face, dropping yet another diary that was full of stupid long words, shitty poetry, shameless boasting, self-celebratory bullshit and endless lists of people Raphael had cheated out of their souls. All that, and no mention of anything she could use against Zariel.

Of course, the dead bastard couldn’t be useful for once. Karlach made a face, and pulled the last armful of diaries off the shelf in one swoop - causing something to clatter on the floor.

“Huh?” Karlach paused, and looked down. Shoved at the back of the shelf, behind what looked like the oldest diaries, there had been a wooden box. She picked it up, frowning, and blew some dust from it. It looked old, but was richly decorated with a motif she had never seen before. Some kind of… spire? Yes, it looked like a spire, reaching up in the skies to pierce a star. Weird. “Hope, come take a look!”

She did come take a look, popping out from behind a stupid tall pile of books she had been sorting through, but she stilled when her gaze fell on the box. She frowned and, to Karlach’s surprise, she took a step back. “... I don’t think I want to touch it,” she muttered. 

Karlach blinked. The box looked harmless enough, but… well, it belonged to a devil. And nothing connected to devils was ever harmless. Maybe something awful would jump out of it if she opened it. “Why? Does this feel evil evil, too?”

Hope frowned, and shook her head. “No. Not that. It’s the least evil thing in here, I think.”

“Oh,” Karlach said, almost disappointed. She was so bored, she’d have welcomed some kind of abomination to smack around. “Then what’s the issue?”

A shrug. “Sad,” was all she said. “It feels sad. I like it best when I’m not sad myself. But I don’t think it’s dangerous, if you want to open it.”

“Huh. I mean-- yeah, thanks for telling me,” Karlach muttered, and just to be on the safe side she took the box to the other side of the room before she opened it. As Hope had said, nothing evil came out of it, no abomination to smack around. Inside was a pendant with the same spire-and-star motif as the box, a book in a language she didn’t understand but was clearly not Infernal, a letter written in what seemed the same foreign language, the black King from a lanceboard set, and… a lyre? A weird assortment, that. Why had it been shoved back there, out of sight?

It feels sad, Hope had said, but Karlach couldn’t say she felt anything about it. She put the box down on the table, and picked up the pendant. She had only meant to look, but the thing opened with a click, revealing a miniature portrait inside. A human woman, it looked like. Dark hair, tan skin, dark eyes - something about the shape of those eyes, and the cheekbones…

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Karlach muttered, but of course once it clicked she couldn’t unsee it. There she was, the human woman who’d forfeited her life to bring a fucking devil into the world. Baby’s first kill, in the most literal sense of the word. Karlach sighed. Whatever she got in return, it can’t have been worth her life - or the evil she unleashed. The price of dealing with devils would always be too high.

“... Sorry, sis, but it was a bad trade if there ever was one,” she muttered, and let the pendant drop back into the box.

***

[Back to Chapter 5]

[On to Chapter 7]

[Back to Start]

[oiladgivememoney99]

Chapter 1: The Party of Hope and the Hangover of Despair. Day 3

DING DONG BING BONG

“Masaru, quit having a-” Nagisa sighed as the boy was seemingly still crouched in the corner with his head in his hands, the rest of the Teachers were sitting on the couch with a drink. “Nevermind, it is now 8 AM, head to the cafeteria for breakfast,”

“I have no comments to make,” Kotoko blankfaced.

Jataro raised his oversized sleeve. “I-”

“Shut up,”

“Sorry…”

“Those guys are so weird…” Kaede said after she got out of bed. The Pianist stretched, and then left her room, and went straight to the Dining Hall, she encountered Shuichi in the hallway outside of it!

“Hey Shuichi!” Kaede waved at the man who seemed to be staring off into space as he walked.

“Ah, hello Kaede, how are uh, how are you doing?”

“Pretty well, way better ever since Monokuma’s been dead n’ all,” Kaede giggled as the two reached the Dining Hall. “You ready for that thing we planned?”

“I’ve been pretty ready for it since we decided on a time,” Shuichi said.

Kaede smiled as she and the Detective entered the Dining Hall, both sitting next to Tsumugi who was at the far end of the table.

“Hey Mugi!”

“Oh, hi Kaede!” Tsumugi smiled at the girl next to her. “What do you think’s gonna happen when we get to the Library?”

“That’s… kinda Shuichi’s question to answer, heh,” Kaede chuckled nervously.

“Y-Yeah, I don’t think the Mastermind will access the hidden door, but I have a plan in case they do,”

“Great! I’m sure whatever it is, it’ll be good,” Kaede smiled at the lightly flustered boy.

“Th-Thanks,”

“You’re welcome, Shuichi,”

“That is a plainly smart idea,” Tsumugi added. “I guess you’ll tell us your plan if the door ends up being used then?”

“Of course, yeah,” The Detective nodded.

“I can’t wait to see your investigation skills in action again!” Kaede smiled again. “You’ll reveal the truth behind who put us here,”

Shuichi lowered his hat, refusing to look Kaede in the eyes as she finished her sentence. “Yeah… the truth,”

“Hm? What’s wrong Shu-”

BANG

The whole cafeteria turned to see what made the noise, and much to everyone’s horror it was Monokuma!

…Wearing a weird cat cosplay including two burning orbs at his sides.

“Nyan, I have returned to this world in the form of a powerful Yokai, nyan,”

“That’s the worst cosplay I’ve ever seen!” Tsumugi exclaimed, with the most anger Kaede had ever seen on the woman’s rage. More anger than a 40 year old when her coupons aren’t valid.

“Monokuma, you know you aren’t as a real Yokai, right?” Korekiyo asked. “Furthermore, you’re confusing Yokai with Ghosts. Yokai covers a whole range of monsters, and creatures within Japanese folklore,”

Monokuma sat there in annoyed silence, the cosplay instantly came off and the bear began yelling. “My God! Can’t I have any fun around here without you damn kids yapping about ‘historical accuracy’ and ‘cultural appropriation’!”

“I mentioned neither of those topics,” Korekiyo said.

“Monokuma’s alive?” Kaito yelped like he’d seen the scariest thing in his entire life… which to be fair this was probably up there.

“I- we saw you die!” Kaede pointed at the bear.

“Oh yeah, that,” Monokuma looked upwards. “There’s a machine in this academy that can make another one of me instantly!” The bear chuckled as Shuichi quirked an eyebrow, before going back to his usual moping and being antisocial.

“Th-That’s impossible!” Miu accused.

Kokichi chuckled. “Of course the person who made it would know, I’m still suggesting we keep her tied up in the bathroom!”

“Wh-Where all the women here are bottomless? I-I’d be so vulnerable!” Miu moaned almost too hard to completely ignore… almost.

“It appears the Killing Game is continuing,” Kirumi shook her head slowly.

“That it is, Ms. Tojo… Tojo, why does that feel familiar?” Monokuma looked at the teenage Maid with confusion, who in contrast to her professional demeanour began to sweat just a little, just a few tint droplets of sweat.

“Probably just a coincidence,” Rantaro quite literally waved away the tension. “Sucks the Killing Game’s still going,”

“That’s the understatement of the century, heh” Ryoma chuckled.

“That mean, we still trapped here?” Gonta said.

Monokuma sighed. “Of course you’re still trapped here, big guy, killing is the only way outta here!”

“Bullshit, I bet you’re just saying that so we’ll kill each other,” Kaito smirked as he looked down at the bear. “Well I ain’t fallin’ for it,”

“Maybe you aren’t, but with the first blood perk you can go home right away with no trial!” Monokuma chuckled. “Puhuhu, it must be hard to resist the urge, right?”

“Shut up!”

“Ahh! So mean!” Monokuma complained. “I’m only saying what everyone’s thinking, puhuhu,”

Before Kaito could comment again, the bear had left the room, leaving the 16 students with nothing but tense silence to occupy themselves.

“Well,” Ryoma spoke up. “If anyone wants to get outta here just let me know, I don’t got anything to live for-”

“Don’t say that, Ryoma,” Kaede chastised. “We all need to survive this, or else we’re just playing into Monokuma’s hands. We all need to have each other to live for, or else-”

“Don’t you remember the tunnel, Kaede?” Maki quirked an eyebrow as she got up from her seat. “Some stupid speech isn’t gonna work this time,”

“H-Huh?” Kaede mumbled.

“You heard me, not all of us are as self centred as you to try to play the hero,” Maki grumbled as she left the Dining Hall. Kaede balled her fists in anger, but managed to get rid of it with a deep sigh.

“I’ll talk to her,” Kaito reassures as he leaves the Dining Hall.

“I’m sure Maki means nothing by it,” Tsumugi reassured. “She’s probably just grumpy…”

“That’s no reason to take it out on me, or anyone else for that matter, ugh!” Kaede grumbled.

“I agree, maybe you should talk to her later?” Shuichi suggested.

“Maybe,” Kaede mused. “We have more important stuff right now though,”

“Oh yeah the library, I nearly forgot… how embarrassing,” Tsumugi pouted.

“Right, let’s check that out,” Shuichi said. “I-If the door was used we’ll move into step two of my plan,”

“Sounds good, Shuichi!” Kaede smiled as the three got up and left for the library.

---

They didn’t encounter anyone on their way to the musty, dusty library, so dusty that it still made Tsumugi cough a little as the three entered, poor girl.

Shuichi walked towards the bookshelf door, the two women standing behind him. He opened the bookshelf, and turned his eyes to the card reader.

“No dust, that means this room was used, right?” Kaede said.

“Yeah… I think the Mastermind went in here to bring back Monokuma,” Shuichi mused. “Considering this is the only door of this nature I know of, it may lead to a control room,”

“That plain makes sense,” Tsumugi said.

Kaede’s smile got wider as she patted a now flushed Shuichi on the back. “Yeah, that’s a really good deduction, Shuichi; you shouldn’t doubt your detective abilities if you can figure out stuff like this,”

“I-It’s really nothing, plus I don’t really have much of a way to confirm my theory right now,” Shuichi said, Kaede pouted at his refusal to acknowledge how cool he was, but let him keep talking. “I do have a plan to… catch the Mastermind though,”

“Really?” Tsumugi said, an excited look on her face.

“You’re cute when you’re excited,” Kaede giggled, Tsumugi blushed as the Pianist turned to face Shuichi. “What’s the plan, Shuichi?”

“Well, I want to set up hidden cameras in the Library, one at each entrance, and one at the hidden door,” Shuichi looked upwards, directing the other two’s sight towards a vent above a bookcase right to the left of the hidden camera. “That could be a good spot for it,”

“That sounds pretty good, Shuichi!” Kaede smiled.

“That’d just plain work, but…” Tsumugi trailed off. “How would we get the cameras to go off when they see something?”

“Ah, well I was thinking of getting Miu’s help, her Lab just opened up recently, so I assume she’ll be able to make them,”

“A-Ah, Miu…” Tsumugi looked down a little.

Kaede sighed, the vulgar girl didn’t really spark the best feelings within her. “I guess if we have no other option, where do you think she is?”

“She spends a lot of time in the Dining Hall, so probably there,” Shuichi said. “We should gather the materials from the Warehouse first, though,”

“That’s right!”

“Hopefully it’s nothing too heavy, I’m like Chiyo-Chan in PE when I have to carry stuff…” Tsumugi pouted.

---

The group made their way into the cold, grey warehouse.

“Alright: we’ll need disposable cameras, duct tape, and sensors,” Shuichi pointed to the general direction of the objects needed as he stood near a box of metal shot put balls.

“On it, c’mon Mugi!” Kaede linked her arm with the once again blushing cosplayer (She really had a temperature problem, jeez) as she practically dragged her further into the Warehouse.

“Duct tape, duct tape, duct tape��” Kaede mused as she scanned the shelves of the warehouse. “Hey Mugi, have you found all the other stuff?”

“Mhm,” Tsumugi nodded as she revealed the three cameras, a reciever and the sensors in her hands.

“Nice! We’ll be getting to setting these babies up in no time!” Kaede smiled. “You’re doing a really good job, Mugi!”

“I-It’s nothing, really,” Tsumugi waved the compliment away, Kaede pouted, no one knew how tired she was of hearing that exact sentence.

“It is something, jeez!” Kaede chastised. “Helping is helping, no matter how little you think it is, okay?”

“Huh?”

“Say it!” Kaede’s grumpy look got grumpier.

“Ehm… me helping is helping, no matter how little I think I’m doing,”

Kaede judged the statement for a moment, before shrugging. “Good enough for now, but I want you to be more confident in the future, okay?” she put her hand on Tsumugi’s shoulder.

“Uh… Uh… okay!” Tsumugi smiled.

“Good! Now you just gotta practice, practice, practice!” Kaede smiled back at the Cosplayer.

It didn’t take much longer to find the duct tape. The two women walked back to Shuichi, Tsumugi with a bit more pep in her step than usual.

“Thank you, now all we need to do today is talk to Miu…” Shuichi mumbled.

Kaede breathed a long breath. “Alright, let’s just… do this, do this, she’s not that bad,”

“Ehm… she kinda is that bad,”

“Now’s not the time, Mugi,”

Kaede handed Shuichi the materials for the cameras.

“Oh, and Shuichi!”

“Ah, yeah Kaede?”

Kaede smiled at the Detective. “I’m glad that you’re taking a leadership role in this, you’re doing a really good job!”

“A-Ah it’s-”

“It’s something,” Kaede pouted. “If you say ‘it’s nothing’ again I’ll be real mad at you,”

“A-Ah, sorry!”

Kaede sighed. “That’s better I guess, but I want you to be more confident in yourself too. This is a really good plan you’ve put together!”

“I-I’ll try,”

“Good, that’s a start,” Kaede smiled. “Now, let’s go get Miu to make us these automatic cameras!”

The three burst into the Dining Hall, encountering Miu instantly.

“What the fuck are you three in a hurry for? You havin’ a threesome with emo boy and forget your condo-”

“Miu, shut up we need your help,” Kaede said.

“Eeeek!”

Shuichi cleared his throat. “Kaede could’ve said it nicer, but we need you to make cameras that automatically take a picture when they detect something,” The man paced around the room as he explained. “We’d need it very soon,”

“Oh, well that’s- fuck no!” Miu yelled. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard, you should be glad-”

“God, Miu, would you just shut up?” Miu squealed as Kaede yelled at her. “I’m sorry,” The Pianist quickly covered her mouth.

“I-I-”

“Listen, Miu, we just need these. We’ll do anything you want,” Kaede quickly switched gears, getting on her knees and literally begging for Miu’s help, “Please!”

“A-A-Anything?”

“That’s what I said, right?” Kaede smiled up at the Inventor.

“W-Well, uh… gimme a hug, I-I wanna feel how pathetic your tits are!” And right back to the vulgarity, nice Miu was like a five year old playing Circus Gallop perfectly; the most rare thing known to man.

Kaede looked at the inventor utterly confused, she still accepted the offer, obviously. “O-Okay then,”

She uncomfortably wrapped her arms around the inventor, trying very hard to ignore the moan she let out as Kaede properly hugged her.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah that’s good~”

Kaede wanted to ask Miu not to make it weird, but, if this was any other women she wouldn’t mind that, so she didn’t.

The awkward hug went on for what felt like hours, even though it had only went for about 30 seconds.

“Okay, Kaeidiot, you can stop now,” Kaede breathed a sigh of relief as she let go of Miu. “I’ll have your shitty cameras done by tomorrow… afternoon,” The inventor snatched the materials out of Shuichi’s hands, excluding the receiver.

“Th-Thank you Miu!” Shuichi waved goodbye as the woman presumably left for her Ultimate Lab.

“You’re doing us a really big favour!” Tsumugi added.

“That hug wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be!”

The three heard Miu’s usual laughter as she left the room. “See ya around, fucktards, I expect a whole ass party as thanks for this little project,”

…

“She could’ve just said ‘you’re welcome,’” Kaede crossed her arms.

“That… wouldn’t be Miu though, that’d be some kind of Demonic Paradise Skinwalker,”

“I don’t get the reference, but that was probably funny,” Kaede smiled.

Shuichi smiled too at the two women. “Alright, now we just wait until tomorrow; I guess you’ve got the rest of the day to yourselves,”

“Oh yeah, hey Mugi, wanna hang out again?” Kaede beamed. “I had a lot of fun with the nail painting,” The Pianist showed off her nails, which made Tsumugi flush a little.

“A-Ah, about that; I actually planned to hang out with Rantaro today,”

“Fair, fair,” Kaede teasingly pointed a finger at her friend. “He better not steal you away from me,”

Tsumugi smiled and blushed. “Oh, I promise he won’t, ehehe,”

“Well, see you around Tsumugi!”

“Bai bai!”

“I also have to go, Kaede, I’ll be planning out where I’m putting the cameras today,” Shuichi explained.

“Sounds good, good luck with it, and…” Kaede held Shuichi’s hand while looking him in the eyes with a look that was both intense and friendly. “Be more confident in yourself, okay?”

“A-Alright, thanks Kaede,”

“You’re welcome, see ya around!”

With that, Kaede stood in the hallway outside of the Dining Hall, thinking about how she was going to spend the rest of her day… until-

“Yoohoo!”

Kaede was jumpscared by a certain dark skinned Artist, the ever kooky Angie Yonaga.

“Oh, hi Angie, how’s it going?” Kaede smiled at the woman, who was also smiling as usual.

“Well, you make music, riiiiight?”

“Yeah, it’s my talent,” Kaede chuckled. “Where are you going with this,”

“Well, I was thinking we could have a jam n’ drawing sesh! I brought some of the other girls with me too!”

“That… sounds really fun actually!” Kaede beamed. “I have some time to kill, sure!”

“Nyahahahaha, this is so divine!” Angie waved her hands in the air. “Let’s go to my dorm room, there’s enough room for all for of ya!”

Angie laughed as she grabbed Kaede by the wrist and led her to the room. Kaede felt her cheeks lightly warm up, God she was absolutely hopeless when it came to girls, huh?

The two quickly made their way to Angie’s dorm room. It was pretty much the exact same as Kaede’s minus the art supplies sitting on the bedside table.

Tenko and Himiko were there too, with both sitting on Angie’s bed, Tenko was as usual fawning over Himiko’s general existence while Himiko sat there staring blankly up at the sky, Kaede swore there was a faint smile on the Magician’s face.

“Alright, alright! Kaede take this!” Angie smiled as she handed Kaede one of those handheld mini pianos, not the best, but it was far better than nothing!

“Thanks Angie! What do you want me to play on it?”

Angie puffed up her cheeks as she grabbed her art supplies and kneeled down in front of a canvas held by an easel. “I dunno, I dunno; it is your choice, ya know?”

“Alright…” Kaede laid the piano on her knees. “Something casual, good for background noise, alright.” The Pianist beamed as she began to play, getting completely immersed in the song as Angie got totally immersed in her painting.

“Nyeh… why are we here again, Tenko?” Himiko groaned as she turned towards the woman. “Sitting here is a pain…”

“I came here to protect you in case any men were invited to this!” Tenko declared, raising a hand in the air in celebration. “But thankfully, there were none, so I don’t need to use my Neo Aikido to protect you from any degenerates,”

Himiko looked confused. “…Why would you need to do that?”

“Cuz all women are worth protecting!” Tenko whisper shouted, as to not interrupt Angie and Kaede while still making her point. “Especially you, Himiko!”

Himiko relaxed her shoulders as her face curved from its normal uninterested expression to a small smile. “I guess if anyone was gonna protect me, I’d want it to be you… cuz you’re really strong n’ stuff,”

Tenko blushed profusely beaming with delight at Himiko’s comment. “Really? Yes, yes YES! Thank you so much Himiko!”

“Nyeh, you’re welcome,” Himiko smiled, yawned, and then fell asleep on Tenko’s shoulder.

The Aikido Master’s blush grew to new heights, her whole face had turned red as she began to stumble over whatever she was trying to say like

Kaede giggled as she looked at the two women, continuing to play her pretty tune on the pretty little piano, Angie humming the song as she continued to excitedly paint whatever she was painting.

“Nyahahaha, I’m finished!” Angie giggled as she showed of her painting. Kaede moved closer to see it, while Tenko merely turned her head as to not interrupt the little Witch sleeping on her shoulder.

The painting was of two women with pale, light skin laying next to each other on a bad. It was a beautiful painting, the style completely stunned the two people who were awake in the room.

The two women each had differently coloured hair, one had green hair and the other had blood red hair.

“Nyahahaha, Atua has let me pain one of my most wonderous works!”

“Atua huh?” Kaede chuckled. “I’d say you did that all on your own,”

Tenko somehow managed to blush harder behind the two as they conversed.

“All on my own you say? But you clearly assisted me with your music, oh it gave Atua just the right inspiration!” Angie beamed. “Alongside… other events, nyahahaha~”

PLOP

Tenko suddenly fainted onto Angie’s bed, probably because her very obvious crush had been laying on her shoulder for more than ten minutes.

“I’ll handle them,” Angie shrugged. “Do you want to keep my painting, Kaede?”

“Hmm… nah, you can keep it,” Kaede smiled back at the Artist.

“Sounds divine, I’ll be seeing you around. This jam n’ draw session was wonderful!”

Kaede got up to leave the Artist’s room, smile still on her face. “See ya Angie, have a good night,”

Kaede looked through her monopad as she left the Artist’s dorm, 9:30 PM. It really was getting close to nighttime, huh?

With that news, Kaede headed back to her room.

DING DONG BING BONG

“YAYYYY, MONOKUMA’S NOT DEAD!” Masaru screamed as he stood on the couch inbetween every other Warriors of Hope.

“You don’t need to let the entire school know!” Kotoko complained.

“Isn’t that the whole point of these announcements…?” Jataro mumbled.

“Shut up, you’re ugly, you’re the ugliest ever!”

“Hehe, I know…”

Nagisa sighed for what was probably the hundredth time today, you could tell from his face. “It is now 10 PM, head to bed now, and get ready for a day of killing,”

“Monaca wishes you all good dreams!” Monaca gave her usual soulless, empty smile. “Even you Masaru!”

“Yayyy! I’m not a Bear Murderer anymore!”

“Those guys get weirder and weirder every night, huh? I almost feel bad for that Jataro guy,” Kaede yawned. “I have a pretty busy day tomorrow, gotta get rested up to set up those cameras!”

Kaede plonked herself onto her bed, falling asleep instantly with an excited smile on her face.

Tomorrow was another day.

[aamalaaa]

sunrises & liquor (m)| myg

interlude: disconnected

pairing: min yoongi x reader

series: sunrises & liquor

rating: m; cursing, alcohol consumption, future smut

genre: bar workers au, barman yoongi au, (kinda) forbidden relationship, angst, future smut, fluff

summary: after a failed academic pursuit and a few meaningless and disappointing relationships, you decided to go back to what you never thought you would: the bar industry. There you find a family, friends, heartache, misunderstandings and one particular barman who just won’t get out of your head.

a/n: well hello lovelies, I welcome you to another chapter of s&l. I've absolutely broken my own heart writing this wtv. I hope you enjoy, I won't say more. My only request is for you to listen to Stan by 6LACK for the last scene. Let’s gooooo.

a/n2: shout out to my beta reader and great friend @lilredtot who read this before I published it, love you.

warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption (duh), misunderstandings, angst, they both angry and act like children, it gets a little heated but that's all

chapter word count: 5.7 k

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If you had to choose one word to describe how you’ve been feeling the past week, it would have to be nervous, so goddamn nervous.

When you woke up after the wedding you had stayed in bed for far too long, like maybe if you didn’t go out of the soft covers enveloping you in their warmth, you wouldn’t have to face reality. Alas, things don’t work that way and you can’t just go on with life, pretending that nothing happened and that everything is fine.

Because it’s not fine, and something did happen. 

Nevermind you don’t really understand what it was. What you do know is that Min Yoongi had wanted to kiss you and probably would’ve if Namjoon hadn’t interrupted the both of you. And you would’ve let him, because as much as you tried to tell yourself time and time again that you wouldn’t fuck with the payroll anymore, you did grow attached to Yoongi. 

If you’re being honest, you did notice it a lot earlier than at the wedding, you just chose to mostly ignore it and blame it on animalistic sexual attraction and what not.

I mean how could someone not be attracted to him? And it’s not only because of his physical features, his sharp cat-like eyes, heart shaped lips and broad shoulders. Or even his soft blond locks and porcelain like skin.

No, though they are very nice to look at, that’s not what draws people in and locks them up in a Yoongi-like daze. It’s the way he listens so intently when someone talks and pays attention to each and every detail, bringing it up in later conversations, his way of telling you he always listens. 

It’s the way almost each and every time he speaks it’s to say something meaningful, though if you’re not quite hearing him the meaning could very well evade you. He’s subtle and sneaky like that, just like the way he crept up into your life, into your head. 

Subtly and all-consumingly.

It’s also the way he might not always say a lot, but his presence can still be felt in each room he finds himself in, like he’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time, overwhelming and dizzying in the best possible way. 

His quiet confidence takes up a lot of space, though you’re not sure he realizes just how much his presence affects people. Which is truly mind boggling to you.

You do know he realizes some of his effect on you though, with the way he smirks every time he makes you sweat or sends your heart rate into overdrive. And if you didn’t find him so fucking charming you might take offense. But you won’t, because you’re absolutely enthralled by the man, even if he annoys you at times (most times). 

And it was easier, when you thought he was with Sam. Because you wouldn’t do that, not to Sam, not to anyone. You know what it’s like to be cheated on, wouldn’t wish it on even your worst enemy. It tears your soul apart, brings your confidence levels so low you don’t even know if you’ll ever be able to get them back up again. Leaves you broken and bruised, a shadow of the person you used to be, who you’ll never be again. It changes you and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

But he isn’t with her, hasn’t been for a long time. Now you have no excuse, no reason to ignore the way your heart flutters every time he steps in the room. Or for a fraction of a second you let yourself think that. 

Because reality comes crashing down onto you, he’s your coworker, a barman at that and you’d be a fool not to notice that people cannot stop flirting with the man, how could they not. So why would he be interested in you when there’s so many people waiting in line?

He was probably drunk and not in control of his actions when he had tried to kiss you. That’s the only possible explanation for all of this considering his cold attitude towards you after realizing what he had almost done. 

And you had tried to come up with a less hurtful explanation, you really did. But nothing came up. You did want to talk about it with him, but once the night was done you couldn’t find the courage to bring it up again. Maybe you’re a coward, but it is what it is and you do the best you can with the baggage you have. 

So when Yoongi had canceled on you on monday, at the last minute, for your last practice before the gig, you were devastated. Not because you needed the practice, you both had rehearsed enough in the last month to go through the sets without problems. Or you hoped so anyway.

It’s because you had hoped you maybe built it all up in your head. But the last shred of hope you held onto was ripped from your hands when he did so. Because Yoongi never canceled on you, or anyone. Because he never showed up late for his shifts and never called in sick. Yoongi was reliable, as sturdy as a rock. 

Until he wasn’t anymore.

And that stings more than putting your hand on a hot stove or accidently plucking the skin under your eyebrow with a tweezer. 

After the initial shock passed, sadness set in like a pile of rocks at the bottom of your stomach, weighing you down, every move you made becoming slow and demanding. But then soon enough sadness gave way to anger, on friday, when things were clearly very awkward between you two and Yoongi had declined the invitation to go to Jimin’s place after work, like the lot of you always did. 

You watched the sunrise alone that night, and you’re not above lying about the fact that you did cry again that morning. 

That’s when you decided that, enough is enough. He initiated the almost-kiss, he made the move. If someone should apologize and get over their damn selves, it’s him. Not you. So you won’t apologize, not when you did nothing wrong. And he has no right to act like an actual prick about it and avoid you like the plague.

But if he wants to act like that, then so be it. It may be very immature on your part, but two can play that game. 

And you think you know how to play that game.

You strut to the bar’s entrance after spending exactly an hour and twenty-three minutes putting on your makeup and choosing an outfit. It never takes you this long to get ready but tonight is different. Tonight you’re singing in front of an audience, in front of your coworkers and a lot of clients you normally serve. 

You’re also singing with Yoongi, but that has nothing to do with it or the fact that he completely rejected you. Nothing (You’re so fucking petty it’s embarrassing.) 

Somehow tonight feels big, important. Your first actual paying gig, which sounds completely mad to you. Nevermind that you’re only doing this because Soobin and Yeonjun are on their honeymoon. You’re still doing it.

Namjoon’s standing at the entrance, bouncing from one foot to the other, gaze fixed on his shoes. 

You clear your throat. “You better stop doing that if you don’t want to faceplant.”

Namjoon startles and looks up, almost losing balance in the process, to which you can’t help but chuckle.

He adjusts his suit’s collar before speaking. “Are you nervous about tonight?”

“Just a little,” You send him a shaky smile.

“Ahhh, so you’re bricking it,” He clicks his tongue. “Don’t worry too much, most people are gonna be drunk and you guys are great. You’ll do well.”

You close your eyes and exhale slowly. “Yeah I’m just-,” You ponder your next words carefully. “I guess I’m anxious because we didn’t rehearse this week like we were supposed to. But you’re right, it’s all good, thanks Joon.”

He furrows his brows, a confused expression replacing his gentle one.“You didn’t? What happened?”

“Yoongi had something come up and he couldn’t be there. It’s fine really though, don’t worry about it.” You anxiously chuckle, not wanting to let anything that had happened in the last week transpire. 

Namjoon quirks his brow questioningly, but thankfully doesn’t push further. “That sucks, I’m sure you’ll both do great anyway. You didn’t even need practice at my place last month, I’m not worried.”

You feel relief flooding through you at his words. Namjoon always did know what to say to calm anybody’s nerves.

“I guess I’ll see you later, after the sets?” You smile warmly at him, which he reciprocates with a dimpled smile of his own.

“Yeah, I have to stay down here but I asked Kook to record you guys when he’s not busy. That way I can watch it later.”

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Cool, I’ll go hide now. Talk to you later.”

Namjoon laughs and holds the door open for you, only closing it when you’re already halfway up the staircase.

You greet Jimin, Sam and Jungkook as soon as you go behind the bar and quickly make your way to the employees room, laying your palms flat against the circular dining table in an attempt to ground yourself, head sagging between your shoulder blades as you take deep breaths.

You’re so focused on keeping your breathing steady that you don’t notice when someone enters the room, jumping as soon as you hear a deep voice breaking the silence hanging heavily around you.

“You nervous?” Yoongi croaks.

You snort in annoyance.“Nope, I’m feeling peachy.” You hear Yoongi stilling in his movements at the tone of your voice and immediately feel bad about your harshness. 

Maybe you don’t know how to play this game after all.

Your hear footsteps coming closer, but keep your eyes fixed on the table. You can’t look at him, lest you want your resolve to crumble all around you in pitiful pieces. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, concern lacing his every word.

And you almost break here and there. But you don’t, you can’t. Not now, maybe not ever.

So you look up, meeting his worried gaze and put on your best fake smile in order not to cause a scene. 

“Nothing, don’t worry about it. You ready to go on?” You say, doing your best to keep a steady voice.

He observes you in confusion before lifting his shoulders in a nonchalant way. “I just set up the equipment, we just have to do a quick sound check and we’ll be ready to start.”

You force another smile past your lips before replying. 

“Good, then let’s do this.”

You feel all tension leave your body after a few songs. Namjoon was right, as always, you didn’t particularly need to rehearse before this, you both know exactly what to do and when to do it. You’re in sync, working well together despite the circumstances. 

Your first set comes to an end before you can even realize an hour has passed, you feel a bit shy at the loud feedback from the customers, though you let out a small chuckle when you hear Jimin screaming loudly, a shrill piercing sound that makes a few people look his way in surprise.

“Thank you! We’ll take a quick break and be back in fifteen,” Yoongi announces in the black microphone that is perched on a stand right in front of him.

The crowd applauds again as you step off stage and head towards the bar where you both sit down and order a beer. As soon as you do, you’re both swarmed by your very enthusiastic friends.

“Amazing job guys,” Hoseok slams his palm against Yoongi’s shoulder, the older man winces.

“Did you hear how loud the crowd was?” Jungkook says, an astonished look adorning his face.

“I can’t believe that you never told me you could sing,” Jimin mutters in fake annoyance.

You sheepishly laugh, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the positive feedback. Of course it’s all very heartwarming and you feel so grateful to have all this support from people who genuinely care and you do very much appreciate it. It’s just that no one ever told you how to accept compliments, you never learned. Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re not really used to receiving them.

“Thanks guys,” You mutter under your breath, an awkward smile plastered over your face, which is all you can do considering your social inadequacy. It’s a wonder you’re as good a waitress as you are, really, all things considered. Or that you have friends at all, for that matter.

You’re too busy taking a sip to register in time a wild Taehyung heading straight towards you in hurried steps, like a man on a mission. You have just enough time to swallow and set down your beer on the counter before he crashes into you, bringing your face straight onto his chest in a protective manner. You let out a muffled groan of protest, much to your friends amusement.

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone to the restroom, now I missed the end of the set,” He sorrowfully says, stroking your hair and disheveling you while he does so.

“Tae, it’s all good,” You declare as you manage to push him away a bit, freeing you from the restraint of his strong arms.

You all chat for a bit, your friends not missing a single chance to praise the both of you. Yoongi looks absolutely pained by the attention, if his small groans and the constant roll of his eyes are anything to go by. And well, to be honest, it amuses you to no end.

You’re about to go back on stage when you hear a smooth voice address you, startling you in the process.

“Try to tone down the awesomeness will you? I don’t want to lose my job.”. You swirl your head around to greet the newcomer who’s busy giving Yoongi a friendly handshake.

It’s Taehyun.

“As if I could ever replace you,” You grin bashfully at him, feeling oddly invigorated by his comment.

Taehyun winks at you. “I’m pretty sure if you tried to, you could, love.”

And you don’t quite understand why it affects you so much, but the fact that someone else uses the same nickname for you as a certain blond barman, that you found yourself way too enthralled by, leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

“Ridiculous,” You sputter, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. He’s gotta be joking, ain’t no way.

Yoongi eyes the both of you, an annoyed glint in his eyes, and suddenly gets up, grabbing his beer. You quirk a brow at him.

He stares into your eyes for a few seconds before declaring in a seemingly bored tone. “We have to get back up on stage.”

“Alright then,” You send him a dumbfounded look and follow him towards the stage area, waving at your friends as you do so.

The second set goes pretty well but you can’t escape the looks Yoongi sends you from time to time, like he’s ready to smash his guitar and leave the stage or something. You expect it any moment, though thankfully, it doesn’t happen. 

What does happen is the man strums his guitar so harshly that he breaks a string and so, you announce your second break almost ten minutes before you were actually supposed to. Which isn’t a catastrophe per say, you just feel very nervous, his bad mood rubbing off on you and all that. 

The thing is, he’s very clearly mad or bothered by something. And yes you were a bit dry and aloof towards him, you can definitely admit that, even apologize if necessary. You don’t think it could warrant such a reaction though.

Maybe you two need to talk, maybe.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you almost miss the last step down the stage, which is why you’re very grateful for the strong hold that saves you at the last moment, supporting your arm so you can regain your balance.

“Woah, be careful there love.” A sweet yet pretty deep timbre utters close to your ear.

“Thanks Taehyun, I can be so clumsy sometimes I swear to god,” You timidly say, still clinging to his arm like it’s a lifeline. 

“I can see that” He airily chuckles, his voice ascending a few octaves higher. Damn, even his laugh sounds good. Yours sounds more like a pig/dolphin hybrid on a good day.

No, you’re not jealous, not at all.

“Did something happen? You were mesmerizing up there,” He continues, smiling from ear to ear.

Your cheeks heat up at his compliment. “Yoongi just broke a string, we’ll get back later. Thank you.”

You hear a throat being cleared behind you and you drop Taehyun’s arm before swirling around, almost colliding into Yoongi’s chest as you do. You take a few steps back, eyes widening in surprise.

And if he looked annoyed earlier, now he looks downright pissed off. You open your mouth to speak but Yoongi beats you to it.

“Can we talk?” He slowly says through gritted teeth.

“I um-,” You peek at Taehyun for help, only for him to smile and nod.

“Let’s talk later, yeah?” He gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before heading towards the bar, leaving you and Yoongi alone next to the stage.

“What do you want to talk about?” You ask, irritated and completely lost.

“Not here, let’s go somewhere else.” 

Before you can even answer he takes your hand and leads you behind the bar, earning you both confused stares from your friends as you pass them by, through the back door and into the employees lounge.

Yoongi lets go of your hand as soon as you both step into the lounge, he closes the door behind you. There's music and chatter coming from behind it, but the loudest thing of all is the silence between you both. Full of unspoken words and emotions too tumultuous to decipher and analyze. It’s all too confusing, overwhelming, stupidly loud. 

Yoongi slowly turns his body towards yours, staying a few feet away, one hand flat against the wall while he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. And god, you’re nervous, so fucking nervous. You hate confrontation, all stemming from bad communication in your previous relationships. You don’t know how to have a talk without all hell breaking loose and both parties ending up crying and emotionally bruised.

You don’t want that to happen, not with Yoongi.

He exhales slowly before speaking. “What are you doing?”

You stare at him, at a complete loss.

 “What do you mean, what am I doing? I don’t know, I’m singing, talking to people, drinking beer?” You summarize quickly, unsure of what he actually wants to hear from you.

“What’s going on with you and Terri?” He drops his gaze to the floor, seemingly embarrassed. His body is still tense, like he’s ready to burst at any moment.

“Uh? Who’s Terri?” You question.

“Taehyun,” He keeps his gaze low.

“What do you mean? He’s our colleague and he’s here to see us play? There’s nothing going on.” The pieces of the puzzle don’t add up, and you really wish he would stop being so fucking cryptic, you’re getting very annoyed.

He lifts his head, looking you right in the eye, making you shudder.

“He was literally flirting with you, and you didn’t seem to mind, which is like, totally fine I guess. But if you weren’t interested in me because of him you could’ve just told me instead of letting me almost kiss you,” He blurts out, carding a hand through his hair in a self-soothing motion.

Oh. So you’re really going there, right now. And you have absolutely no idea what to say because what in the actual fuck. No but, what in the fuck is going on. He’s avoided you all week only to say this now? How much more confusing can he actually be? Is he mad at you for being nice to the guy?

“What,” Is all you manage to respond. 

Minus one point for your communication skills.

There’s silence between the both of you for a short period of time, not the kind of silence you grew used to with Yoongi. No, it’s uncomfortable and charged, you absolutely hate it. You want things to go back to what they were before, you don’t want this.

“Maybe I misread the situation and thought we were on the same page, but then you pushed me off and now this? You could’ve just told me, now I feel like a whole ass fool,” He discloses, anger seeping out of his every word.

Hold the fuck up now.

“Oh this is fucking unbelievable,” You angrily start. “Maybe if you asked me instead of avoiding me we wouldn’t be here in the first place Yoongi.”

He stares back at you in shock, probably not expecting an outburst from you. Tough luck, you’re not about to let this slide. 

“I pushed you off because Namjoon appeared out of fucking nowhere and maybe you forgot, but I thought you were with Sam until recently, so I reacted on instinct when he interupted us.”

“And by the way,” You continue. “I’m not letting Terri or Taehyun, or whatever, flirt with me. I’m being polite and nice. There’s no flirting going on. But you had to assume things without asking, again.” You furiously spit out, shaking in anger.

“I didn’t-” Yoongi starts, coming a bit closer to you.

“You didn’t think right? Well I’m done, now you can think.” You snarl through gritted teeth.

And just like that you storm off, opening the backdoor and closing it shut with a force you didn’t even know you had in you.

You breathe in the cool autumn air, shivering as you realize you came outside without a coat on. Yoongi always makes sure you have a coat on when it’s cold outside. Fuck him and his stupid conclusions and stupid caring ways.

“Shit!!” You screech loudly, the anger and hurt proving to be too much to handle.

You kick the stone wall in the alley, wincing in pain as soon as your foot hits the wall.

Yeah, not your brightest idea. It seems like you keep making bad decisions lately, one more shouldn’t really make a difference at this point.

You push your back against the wall and lay your head on it, closing your eyes. A single stray tear escapes, sliding against your cheek treacherously. Ten minutes, that’s all you have to get your shit together and get back on the floor like nothing happened.

You take deep breaths, counting to ten while inhaling, then to five before exhaling.

You repeat the pattern a few times before you hear the backdoor swinging open, making you jump in the process. You turn your head to see who decided to take a fucking break while you were gone.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it’s him. Always appearing out of nowhere. In your dreams, in your inbox, in your fucking heart. The man knows no boundaries apparently. He quickly approaches you, walking decisively fast. You sigh.

“What do you want Yoongi?” You yelp loudly, you really can’t be bothered about being heard right now.

He stops two or three feet away from you, looking straight into your eyes, gaze sharp and focused.

“We weren’t done talking. I want to talk, can we fucking talk?” He grits his teeth, trying to contain his emotions. 

“About what? How you lashed out at me out of fucking nowhere?” You spit angrily. Yoongi steps closer, you stiffen at the proximity.

“How about how you were flirting with him right in front of me? At work?” He spits out just as angrily. You roll your eyes, throwing your hands in the air.

“How many times do I have to say it, Yoongi? I wasn’t! Plus, why do you fucking care? Because if you did, you wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions without talking to me first,” You stare him in the eye, unmoving. The both of you are wrestling in a staring contest, neither of you ready to back down.

He groans furiously and you stop shivering in anger, your mind completely frozen.

Then, he takes a step towards you, and another one, pressing his hands flat against the wall, caging you between his arms. Your heartbeat goes haywire, his eyes are dark and hungry and pinned on yours. You shudder, feeling oh so small between Yoongi and the wall, so damn small. He tilts his head to the side, slowly closing the distance between both your faces, stopping a few breaths away.

He licks his lips swiftly, gaze lingering on your mouth before coming back up to your eyes and you gulp, unable to do anything. Not that you would, given the chance. You’re captured, at his mercy. You always were, you just never realized it.

Then he closes the distance between the both of you, pressing his lips hungrily on yours, a spark ignites in your veins, spreading throughout your body like wildfire. 

It’s not soft, not sweet and comforting. It’s harsh, hard, irrational, all of his and your emotions mixed up together, tangled messily in a complicated web. It’s fiery, painful and healing simultaneously. You barely register his right hand coming to cradle the side of your face forcefully. It hurts, it hurts good. Your lips move in unison, battling for dominance, both losing and winning at the same time. It’s a losing game. Sometimes losing is all there’s left to do after all other options have failed.

You feel Yoongi’s body flush against yours, grip his shoulder as hard as you can, aiming to leave bruises. Your hand print, no one else’s, yours. He grasps your hip with his left hand, pulling you even closer, never letting go of your face. You unwillingly let out a moan, quickly swallowed by Yoongi’s unrelenting mouth. He squeezes your hip even harder, surely leaving marks in the process.

You slowly drag your teeth over his bottom lip before latching onto it, biting forcefully, painfully. Yoongi hisses and rolls his hips against you, letting you know how much he’s enjoying this. It’s sick, twisted, it’s good.

You whimper in pure need, and he uses exactly that moment to slide his tongue against yours, his movements harsh and bruising. You don’t care, it’s exactly what you need right now. Your tongues fight for dominance, intertwining together in an harmonious and sloppy mess. You slide your fingers through his hair, tugging and relishing in the gruff moan it elicits from the man.

You get lost in the moment, feel his left hand crawling up under your shirt, up your ribs, cradling the side of your breast, gripping forcefully. You shiver, your heart beating a thousand miles an hour. You feel completely lost, your mind fogged up, hazy, the only decipherable thing is Yoongi, only Yoongi. Always Yoongi. 

“Hey guys-“ 

You both freeze, detaching yourselves as fast as you possibly can, almost falling face first on the concrete as you do. 

Jungkook is staring at the ground, visibly embarrassed. You feel heat all over your body, most prominently in your cheeks. Fuck. 

“Yeah um.. we need you inside.” The younger one says, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here. Your legs are quivering, barely holding you into place.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. You stare at him, his lips are puffy and reddened by what you both just did. You swallow harshly, unable to stop staring, lust still coursing through you in an unrestrained manner.

“Alright, I’ll be there in a minute.” Is all he says. Jungkook nods before closing the door.

Yoongi turns to you, an apologetic look in his eyes. You smile weakly.

“Go, I’ll be there in a few” You gently say, voice shaky and uneven. He looks conflicted, but ultimately decides to step closer, tenderly pecking your cheek before pulling away, the gesture making you positively melt. A puddle, that’s what you are.

“We’ll talk later, yeah? Just…” He says, half whispering. You nod.

“Yeah, we’ll talk later..” And with that, he heads inside, leaving you outside, alone and confused, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Yoongi kissed you. Not just any kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had. When writers talk about a kiss like the one you just shared, they talk about fireworks, they talk about everything falling into place. 

That’s not what it felt like. It was like ambers, all consuming, being trapped in a cage you couldn’t get out of. It was like falling apart, the pieces of your soul scattered to the wind. The only thing holding you into place being a strong hand, soft lips. It wasn’t fireworks, it was a ticking bomb.

You both finish your last set, a heavy feeling sitting at the bottom of your stomach. Funnily enough, that’s when you give the best performance of the night, when you feel so overwhelmed by all the contradictory emotions that inhabit you that you have no choice but to let them pour out uncontrollably into the microphone.

You let yourself get lost in the music, forgetting your worries. And for a moment there’s only you and music, and that’s comforting. Music’s always been a safe space to you, a place to retreat when things go completely out of track. 

You leave the stage to the sound of eager applause. You can’t bring yourself to enjoy it as much as you probably should. There’s just too much weighing you down right now.

The kiss you both shared was enough to communicate what you both feel, hurt and affection tangled together in such an intricate way that you don’t even know how to untangle it without causing damage. 

But it’s not enough to resolve the issue at hand, that takes words. You’re not good with them, you always let your emotions dictate the words you speak. Sometimes that’s good, most times you need a bit of time to sort through your feelings before externalizing them.

You get to the bar before Yoongi, who’s busy packing up his guitar. As soon as you get there, Jimin hurriedly bounces towards you, concern etched upon his beautiful face.

He takes your hand in his, you smile at how similar in size they both are.

“What happened?” He inquires, his tone so gentle you almost cry right on the spot.

You manage to keep the tears at bay, thankfully, because that would be way too fucking embarrassing. “I’ll call you later, I just need to go home right now.”

“Are you okay?” He squeezes your hand in support.

“I will be, I just need to go,” Your bottom lip quivers as you let the words out. You’re so tired.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for a few seconds, like you’re too fragile to bear it. You’ll be okay, you just need sleep.

“Text me when you get home, please?”

“I will,” You shoot him a weak smile before you head into the employees lounge and quickly grab your things. You wave your friends goodbye as you walk towards the stairs and out the door, promising to call Taehyung tomorrow to tell him what happened. You’re not sure you’ll be able to, but you can still try. 

You explain to Namjoon how tired you are and he swiftly lets you go, though he looks concerned. You’re halfway down the street to your car when you hear your name being called by a deep voice you’d recognize anywhere, in any setting. You stop in your tracks and slowly turn around to face the man who’s the root of all your conflicting feelings.

There’s a pained look in his eyes, you just want to erase it, take it away so he can never feel this way again. But you can’t, there’s no magical solution to this, it’s all too fresh and too confusing to be tackled right now. And you don’t want to hurt him, you’d never forgive yourself if you did.

“Can we talk? Please?” He asks pleadingly, his voice higher pitched than usual. 

God this is hard.

“We can and we should I just-” You stop to take a deep breath, trying to stop your tears from falling. You fail anyway, one warm tear rolling down your cheek in contrast with the cold air. “I need to think.. I’ll go home tonight, we can talk next time yeah? I just need time, Yoongi.”

The latter nods understandingly, though he still looks in pain, but there’s nothing you can do to help.

“I’m sorry.. I shouldn’t have let myself come up with all this stupid shit,” He murmurs, the sound almost getting lost in the quiet of the night.

“I know,” You smile hesitantly, though it does nothing to tame the rumble in your mind, or the deep ache in your heart. 

You just need time.

“Have I fucked this up already?” He seems so small, so different from usual.

You take a moment to think carefully before responding. But you don’t really know what to say and it certainly wouldn’t be something he’d want to hear.

“I don’t know..” You shift your gaze to the ground, not willing to see the look in his eyes. Though you can imagine it just fine, which may be worse.

He audibly gulps, overcome by emotions. “Okay.. Get home safe, yeah?”

“Thanks, I will,” You whisper.

You turn around to leave, but find yourself overcome with the desire to be close to him. If this is to be the last time you get the opportunity to do this, then you won’t waste it. 

So you turn on your heels and cross the distance between you as quickly as your legs permit it. You hold out your hands, cradling his cheeks as you plant a long, sorrowful kiss on his soft lips. The salty taste of your tears mix with the taste of beer on both your breaths, it’s bittersweet, just like this exact moment. 

You don’t say a word when you detach yourself, or when you turn around leaving him to his thoughts on the side of the street, cold and bruised.

It’s exactly what you didn’t want.

Sometimes there’s no other way.

-

-

a/n: :’D see you next timeeee, love you

a/n2: if you read this story and liked it but don’t want to like or comment, my inbox is always open and feedback is what gets me going<33

// to be added to the sunrises & liquor tag list click right here and interact with the taglist post, thank you for reading <3

taglist: @vesperbells @tarahardcore @tea4sykes

@bonitaangel @kthstrawberryshortcake-main

@princesspiineapple @funkylittlebisexuall

@kikaninchen-2 @diorjgguk @purplelo

@lil6nmrll @bwormie @fragmentof-indifference

[spinachandhoney]

SnakeFace episode 14 script

[prone to change]

[script under cut]

  The five rushed through the rain to the York manor, which was the closest option though it was still a far way to run. Kim unlocked the front and ushered everyone inside before slamming the door against the wind.

  “Mom!” Ivan shouted as he hung his coat up. “You home?”

  “I’m upstairs!” Jamie replied. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Kim gathered some towels for the five of them to dry off in the den. Joey fixed a fire while Kim left to make some hot cocoa.

  “Hey, kids,” Jamie smiled. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Hans,” Ivan said, towelling his hair dry. “His mom runs the cafe.”

  “Well, hello, Hans. I’m Ivan’s mother.”

  “Hello,” Hans smiled, hanging his letterman up in front of the fire. 

  “It doesn’t look like the storm is going to let up until later tonight,” Kim said, coming back with a bundle of steaming cups. “Hans, do you want to let your parents know you’ll be home late?”

  “That’s probably a good idea- as long as it’s okay with your parents?”

  “It’s fine with me,” Jamie said. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Hans.”

  The wolf smiled.

  “Oh!” Val sat up. “My stuff should be coming in tomorrow, so there’ll probably be some packages delivered here.”

  “Oh, rad?” Joey looked up. “What theme are you going for?”

  “Probably something similar to my room at home.”

  “Laaaaame.”

  “I mean, I like how my room looks. It’s always dark because of the blackout curtains, so I like to have a lot of candles for a more subtle light source.”

  “Look at you caring about room decor,” Ivan said. “I just threw stuff on the shelves and called it good.”

  “Why would anyone ever let you decorate your own room.”

  “You’re the one with sconces and dead roses as your choice of decoration.”

  “Don’t have to worry about watering the roses if they’re already dead.”

  “He has a point,” Joey admitted.

  “Says the guy who panics at the sight of a wilting leaf.”

  “I pride myself in my gardening skills.”

  There was a pause. “So how long have you all known each other?” Hans asked.

  “Well, I’ve known Ivan and Kim for about two weeks now,” Val said. “And Joey joined the gang on- was it Monday?”

  “Yeah, about two days ago, then,” Joey confirmed.

  “You guys act like you’ve known each other for years,” Hans chuckled.

  “I think that might just be because of Joey’s sarcasm,” Val muttered.

  “It’s a gift,” Joey said confidently.

  Kim let Hans pick a room to stay the night in, bringing out some of the inflatable mattresses for him and Val. The wolf happened to choose the room next to Val’s, which shared one of the master bathrooms. Two sinks, a large bathtub, and a double-wide shower. The rooms were direct across the building from Ivan and Kim’s rooms, which were on either side of the second bathroom on the same floor. Joey’s room was on the adjacent wall with its own balcony. Kim made sure to cover Val’s window with the closest thing to blackout curtains in case the sun happened to be out the next morning.

  “The storm isn’t supposed to let up until around eight in the morning,” Kim said as she covered the window. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Yeah, I’d hate to wake up to third-degree sunburns,” Val joked. Kim rolled her eyes.

  “I still think it’s amazing how well you all get along not even in two weeks of knowing each other.”

  “You’re relevant to that comment too, you know. I mean, I’ve known you not even twenty-four hours and we’re practically sharing a room.”

  “There are worse ways to get to know someone.”

  “Alright, that should be good,” Kim stepped away from the window. “Sorry, it isn’t much, but it’ll keep you safe.”

  “That’s all that really matters right now. If worse comes to worst, your parents are literal witch doctors.”

  Kim laughed. “This is true.”

<bonus comic>

Literally just Joey crying over a wilted plant (Shinji pose)

[moon-kitkat134]

Hi hello! Welcome to my page! Here’s a lil about me for those interested.

All my other socials:

For starters, I’m currently 23. I like to watch anime and binge nostalgic shows from my childhood (ncis and leverage being two big ones). I also enjoy reading and writing. I got my start into drawing by wanting to draw my warrior cat ocs back in middle school, and man I’ve come a long ways. I’ve had this account since highschool so feel free to look at my old stuff, I know I do! I’m a huge fan of LoZ, Gravity Falls, and FNaF if that tells you anything about my interests 😂😂

I get art block easily so if I disappear I either forgot to update my queue or I’m stuck- so feel free to drop a request!

I mostly draw feminine characters because it makes my brain buzz, though you’ll catch me drawing other stuff too from time to time.

I do sfw and some nsfw, and I do take commissions, though I’d prefer to stick to concept design when I can-

Speaking of concept design, I have a whole thing I’m working on right now where I take inspiration from Steven Universe characters and try to make a fusion from them. Don’t ask me why it’s giving me the happy chemicals when I haven’t sat and watched the show in a while, but I’ll take the inspiration lmaoooo! 😂

I like doing shop art too, I just have little motivation to past my own characters or friends characters, but I will draw them more if they get requested!

Dms? They’re conditionally open. If I’m getting a lot of spam at any point I may ignore them (scammy or rude kinds of spam) but other than that feel free to reach out with questions or if you ever need to vent to a stranger

Tipping? I have cashapp ($Repheric) and I haven’t set anything else up yet since I’m still a bit newer to this whole thing.

Safe space? Absolutely! I don’t do hate here to real people or issues, the worst you’ll see is me not enjoying my art or a character I drew, but I plan to keep this page free from being problematic, same with my main! Speaking of, it’s just a bunch of reposts from my timeline

That’s all I can think of for now, but feel free to ask if y’all have

[house-strong]

— 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 ʾ ⋆

⠀⠀ ༉ hello! welcome to my little hotd blog ♡

⠀ ⠀ my name is makayla, i’m twenty, my zodiac sign is a cancer, and i’m an enthusiast about star wars, game of thrones, and the last kingdom. my favorite characters from got/hotd are; daenerys, jon, tyrion, jaime, rhaenyra, alicent, daemon, aemond, rhaenys, jace, and luke. i’m a rhaenicent shipper before anything else!!!!!

⠀ ⠀ this is my secondary blog and my main blog is @obiwns – this is where i interact; like reblogging and liking things. that’s kinda my star wars/everything blog. i don’t write on there anymore, but i do occasionally edit gifs and reblog cool stuff.

⠀ ⠀ i have two husky’s, both are two years old and from the same litter. my favorite color is blue, and my favorite artists are lana del rey, the weeknd, and frank ocean.

⠀ ⠀ i’m a huge procrastinator, as you’ll see once you traverse through my blogs, and i sometimes get overwhelmed easily and need to take a step back. i’m in college right now and my major is psychology so i’m trying my best to even out my workload!!

⠀ ⠀ i do not condone character bashing, at all – i don’t care if they’re the worst person to ever exist, i will not accept any negativity on this blog. following that, this blog is a safe space for everyone of different backgrounds. if something i post bothers you, please bring it to my attention. i would HATE if i accidentally make someone feel unwelcome or uncomfortable with my blog.

⠀ ⠀ that’s all,

⠀ ⠀ thanks for taking the time to get to know me!! ♡

[acsanpascual]

TO ALL THE FRIENDS I HAVE SINCE THEN

Life, as we know it, is always full of surprises. It’s full of inevitable challenges, countless failures, infinite choices, and thousands of confusing emotions. But most of all, life, as hard as it could get for us, is always surrounded by different people with different personalities and values.

Truth be told, among the billions of people in this world, it is hard to find someone who shares our interests, thoughts, hopes, and dreams. It’s a priceless present that any of us could ever receive, and one could never be so lucky to have such people in one's life.

Friends, as we call them, are the family that we unknowingly build from nothing. But it is something that we all must continue to work on with effort and patience. It doesn’t require us to have any proof. Trust, understanding, enough care, and a little bit of fun are all that is ever needed. Speaking from experience, becoming friends with people is one of the most challenging things. We will undoubtedly experience new things, discover new life lessons, and deal with various personalities daily. What is more, we will be faced with many issues, which, at some point in our lives, could become one of the ultimate reasons why we begin to draw a line and even end the friendship we nurtured for as long as we can remember. However, the gift of friendship is also the best thing that could ever happen to us, even on the most ordinary of days. It will give us moments to treasure, memories to keep, and things to hold on to when we are down and unmotivated. Being friends with people will make us realize that there is something more to life that even our own family couldn’t show us. Friends - they don’t bring out the version of you that most people think is what you only are. Instead,  they allow you to explore more about yourself. They help you bring out the person you never thought you could be for yourself. With them, you will meet both your best and worst versions. But don’t worry, because that’s precisely where the fun is. And if you’re lucky enough with your friends, you’ll find yourself not alone even when that fun has ended.

Some people might wonder about the difference it makes when you have your family as your friends and your friends as your family. To answer that, I’m not sure about what difference it does make, but I do know a thing or more about friends and families. The thing is - while the family is the friends with whom we share our life in this world, friends, on the other hand, are the chosen family with whom we share our life in our world. Indeed, both sides have ups and downs, and one can never be too careful when dealing with all the dramas. Regardless, we can count on many more remarkable things about these two. Things to be grateful for. Things that are, indeed, worth living for.

And so, to all my friends since then, I give you this message of love. Life has always been challenging for all of us, and that’s precisely the reason why it’s pretty rare to find a friend in someone who has always been fighting his own battle. And so, in light of all these, my ever-dearest friend, I thank you.

Fate. Not fate. Whatever brought us together, I thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me. Thank you for choosing to stay despite meeting a part of my worst version. But most of all, thank you for entrusting your life and story to me. It is true that with everything that has happened, we build walls to protect us against pain and sadness. But knowing that you shared a part of your life with me as your friend, is something I will always cherish.

     We may be saying goodbye to another year that gave us all the happiness and sorrow we could ever feel, but know that saying goodbye is welcoming another chapter of our story. And with all of my hopes and prayers, may we live life to the fullest as we say hello to a new year. Let’s be strong together as we face yet another ride of life. And please remember, my friend, I will be there for you.

Truly,

AC San Pascual

[ellana-ravenwood]

How terrible it is to love something that death can touch - Batfam x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : The story of the heartbreak brought by the dreaded news that one of your son just died...

Hello everyone. Long time no see ☺️ Was very busy IRL (in a good way), but I don’t intend to stop this blog anytime soon 😉. So here’s a story. Angst in coming haha. As usual comments and other reblogs are always very welcomed ! Hope you’ll like it : 

My masterlists : @ella-ravenwood-archives

TW : Angst, death of major characters 

_________________________________________________

You wanted him to shut up.

You’d do anything for him to not utter another word.

Punch him in the face with all your might. Leave and never come back. Duct tape his mouth, or force him to close it with your hand. Sing loudly as to drown his voice. And if only you were able to speak yourself, you could scream at him to shut up. 

Shut up, Bruce, shut up. 

Just shut up. 

You’d do anything for him to stop talking. For you not to hear what he’s about to say.

If only...

If only you were able to move. To speak. But you couldn’t. You were frozen on the spot, unable to stop the disaster that was bound to happen. 

If only this was a dream. 

If only...

You’d wake up, and tell him about this awful nightmare you had. About how you wanted nothing but for him to shut up because you knew that he was going to announce a tragedy you weren’t sure you could handle. 

But this was reality. And he was right in front of you. And you could do nothing, but listen to what he had to say. 

“Jason…”

You could feel your legs buckle under you, as if they just turned into cotton. And you couldn’t control them. You couldn’t control anything. A fuzzy dark fog took place in your brain, knowing exactly what was about to happen, while at the same time refusing to accept it. 

But you knew. 

You knew what he was going to say. You knew ever since you saw him come back alone, his face emotionless. A face he would make only when in great distress himself, trying to tuck away his emotions in order to survive through the crisis. 

He only kept this emotionless attitude around you when the situation was dire. When he felt the worst. So you knew. You knew what happened.

And you didn’t want to hear it.

“Jason…”

Thanks God Alfred was right next to you, or you would’ve fall.

You grabbed the butler’s arm, and he catches you.

He knows too what your husband is about to say. He knows too, how broken you two are going to be, and he knows he has to be strong to try and mend you back together.

And so when your weight falls on his side, your surrogate father catches you.

He’ll always be there to catch you.

Bruce finally says it. After his explanation of how the Joker got your boy…He finally says it. Those few dreaded words.

“Jason…Jason isn’t coming back.”

He tries to stay stoic, to not bow down. To not fall apart, to not feel overwhelmed and destroyed by the death of his son. 

He tries to stay strong, for you.

But he cannot hide the sadness filling his eyes when he looks at you. He cannot hide the guilt he feels, as he came back without his son. Your son. 

He tries, really hard. Because he can’t break right now. But it’s hard. It’s too hard. And what he thinks will follow makes it even harder. 

You’re shocked. And devastated. 

And he waits.

He waits for you to regain a semblance of your senses. He waits, trying to stand tall, for you to...get mad at him.

Furious, because it is his fault you lost your son. 

He waits for you to come to him, and hit his chest as hard as you can. He waits for you to let your hatred for him flow. He waits for his sentence, as he committed an irreparable crime. 

It’s his fault your son died. His son.

He should’ve never allowed him to become Robin, never. It was so selfish of him. Dick left, and went to do his own thing, and he found Jason and…The boy was so enthusiastic. So happy to be there. So eager to please, and be part of your life. Part of bettering Gotham, too, knowing full well how much the city needed help. 

Bruce couldn’t resist him. Couldn’t resist that pumped little boy who wanted so desperately and wholeheartedly to help. He trained him, took him in as his son.

And now he was dead. And it was all his fault.

You pull away from Alfred, wiping tears off of your cheeks. The man you came to see as your father hands you a handkerchief, and you take it, trying to dry the ever flowing stream of salty tears coming out of your eyes.

You finally take a step away from Alfred, and look at Bruce.

Your eyes are so full of pain and misery that he cannot hold your stare. He bends his head down, trying as hard as he can to remain stoic. Wrongfully thinking that he has to be the strong one. That he has to endure everything on his own. 

He feels you coming close to him, and he’s ready for you to hit him with all your strength. To yell at him that it is his goddamn fault if Jason was gone.

You’re right in front of him.

His eyes close automatically, awaiting your well deserved hate towards him… Awaiting for the last bits of his heart to be trampled on, as he’s sure he earned your loathing.

But instead... 

He jumps at the feel of your hands on his cheeks.

You force him to rise his head, to look at you. There’s so much sadness in your eyes that he feels like his heart is going to burst, but there’s also…determination ?

He doesn’t understand why one of your hand strokes his cheek while the other tangles in his hair. He doesn’t understand why you drag him down to you, so your foreheads are touching.

He doesn’t understand why you’re not yelling at him, why you’re not trying to hurt him…With a broken voice that makes you wince, because it’s filled with grief and hopelessness, he says :

“I killed our son…”

It’s barely a whisper. You can hear him only because you’re so close to him.

Your fingers massage his scalp, you know he always found the gesture soothing. Although in this instance, maybe he didn’t even notice it...

With your other hand, you brush his mouth with your thumb, and bring him ever so close to you. Flush against your body. His arms automatically wrap around you, and his head buries itself in your neck.

“I killed our son…”

He repeats. And you can’t take it anymore. Tightening your grip in his hair so he doesn’t look away, the hand that was on his cheek moving to go around his shoulder, you say :

“No. Bruce. No.”

“But I…”

“It isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault but the Joker’s. He’s the one who took our son away. Not you. Hell, if you’re guilty then I am too, I didn’t do anything to stop him from going out there as Robin either…”

“You’ve got nothing to do with that ! I won’t allow you to even think about it !”

“Then it’s not your fault either. It’s the Joker’s. You know it is. It is his fault. His.”

The anger rising in you scares you. You can’t allow such feelings to install themselves inside you. And yet…you see it happen with frightening clarity. 

Bruce’s voice brings you back to reality :

“It is still my fault. I am…”

You shut him up with the softest kiss on his lips, trying to convey to him that no, no he’s not responsible for Jason’s death. It’s the Joker. It’s all him. He killed your beloved son. It is his fault. He has to pay.

You feel the furry climbing inside you, how it overshadows even your sadness.

Turning your grief into hatred. You want to kill him. You want to kill the Joker…

God, you want to annihilate him so bad. 

But you know it’s not the solution.

You know it’s exactly what that psycho wants. And Bruce does know it too. He can feel your anger as well, and inside him, it’s a turmoil of emotions.

In your arms, he understands though.

He understands that he cannot kill the Joker for what he did to his son. Because if he does, then not only did he lost his boy, but also his soul.

If he kills the Joker, then the clown wins. Everything the Joker ever did was to taunt the Batman to kill him. He will not give him this satisfaction.

For Jason. And everything that boy stood for. 

He cannot let that happen. For Jason. He’ll never let that happen.

He won’t let the Joker win.  

He can feel you loosing all your strength in his arms, and he goes down on his knees with you, holding you tight against his heart.

“It is not your fault my love, it is not your fault…”

You repeat that for hours and hours. You repeat that until he almost believes it.

Here, on the floor of the batcave, you repeat it, while you hug him with all your might, and let him burry his face in your neck. 

He needs it.

He needs to let go. You make him understand he doesn’t have to be strong with you. He just lost a son. You just lost a son.

He doesn’t need to be strong all the time. And certainly not when with you.

“We…we lost our son…”

His voice cracks, and finally, his tears run freely, his arms strengthening around you, bringing you even closer to him. You let him. Of course you let him. You let go too. And together, you let your grief run fully out of you.

You can feel at some point Alfred coming close to you, wrapping the both of you in a warm blanket. Even in pain he makes sure you don’t catch a cold…you want to tell him “thank you”, but all you can say is :

“It’s not your fault.”

To Bruce. Over and over again. Holding him close. And he almost believes it.

You repeat those words, until you’re both too tired, exhausted because of the sorrow, and the heartache you felt.

“We just lost our son…”

************

It was the same nightmare all over again.

Jason came back to you years ago. It took him a long time to forgive you and Bruce for not killing the Joker. It took him ages to realize why you didn’t do it. And though he finally understood, the boy he used to be, the cheerful and mischievous boy he was, had forever disappear.

Sometimes, you could see some remnants of what he used to be. Some fleeting moments, when he was with you or his brothers. But it was often gone rapidly…In a matter of seconds, he was all serious and broody, just like his father. 

Just like his father, though your Bruce would give anything for him not to be.

Jason came back to you years ago, but the boy he was died that fateful day. Your boy was gone, forever, replaced by a man. But at least, he came back…

And now, it was the same nightmare all over again.

“Damian…Damian isn’t…”

“Please Bruce. Shhh. Don’t say it. Please. Don’t say anything else.”

The wave of despair that hits you right there and then, makes you fall to the floor, hard. And Bruce can barely catch you before you hit the ground heavily.

Here you are again. Laying on the batcave’s floor, in his laps, grieving a son.

Damian isn’t coming back, you already know it.

His own biological mother killed him, to prove a point to herself. 

A point that hurt her. Because no. She wasn’t as emotionless as she thought. No, she couldn’t just kill “her” son and move on. She wasn’t her father...

But she killed him. She did. Keeping yourself from killing her isn’t as hard as when you decided not to kill the joker. Because you know she suffers too, more than if she was dead. And in a twisted way, this makes you more satisfied than if she was gone. 

You resent those feelings. This is not who you are...And yet. It is. The hatred you feel after the death of your little boy will forever be part of you. The need for the person responsible to suffer is unfortunately something you truly feel, to your core. And honestly, who could blame you ? 

Unlike the Joker, you knew Talia felt things. And, good. 

Because she doesn’t even deserve to die. It would be too easy. 

And oh, oh how you don’t recognize yourself in those ugly feelings. But...She killed Damian. She killed “her” son. She killed your son. You cannot hide this dark part of yourself that needs revenge. 

You cannot. 

You feel Bruce shake while he holds you against him. Sat on the floor with you in his arms,  not ready to ever let you go.

You can see Alfred collapsing in Dick’s arms. Your beloved butler cannot handle it this time. He cannot be the strong one everyone needs. Not again.

On your oldest son’s face, there’s nothing but misery, but he tries to keep it in, because it’s his turn to take care of you, of Alfred, of his father…He wasn’t there for you guys when Jason died, busy doing his “own things”, not even knowing his little brother died. Maybe if he was there at the time, he could’ve saved him ? Maybe if he didn’t “selfishly” decide to leave ? 

But there is no point in dwelling in the past. He wasn’t there before, he would be there this time. He would be there this time…

You can also spot, in the blur of your teary eyes, Jason holding a shaking, crying Tim. It wasn’t always the biggest love between Tim and Damian. They drove each other crazy on a regular basis. But he was his brother. The teasing didn’t mean there was no love. On the contrary, their constant bickering was their own way to say : “I care deeply about you, dumbass”, their brotherly love language. And Damian was so young. Damian was so young…He wasn’t even able to protect his little brother, how could he help protecting the city ?

You don’t see Cass, and in a way, that’s good. You’re not sure you could handle seeing her heart broken You vaguely recall, in your painful state, that she’s away on a school trip, and you dread her return...

(A/N : Duke was not yet part of the fam when Damian died, which is why he does not appear in this story). 

Your eyes meet Jason’s, and the strength in them makes you feel a tiny bit better. You know he’ll be here too. You know he’s not going anywhere. Not this time. It took him a long time to forgive you and Bruce, but now, he wasn’t planning on leaving ever again. Especially not now. He knows you need him more than ever, and he’ll be there. Yes. He’ll be there.

This time, no words are exchanged between you and Bruce. You just hold onto each others, because that’s the only thing you can do, the only thing you can bear. His breath warms your forehead as he holds you close to him. 

This time, no words are exchanged between you and your Bruce. No. This time, you can’t speak. Surrounded by your grieving family, by your sons who are shaken to the core, by your surrogate father who was dying of sadness, by your Bruce…You can’t utter a word.

You can just hug your husband tight, making sure he won’t go.

He can just burry his face in your hair, not holding back his tears and sadness. Once again, he lost a son, and it was his fault, because he wasn’t able to protect him.

This time, you don’t have the strength to tell him it isn’t his fault. This time, years after you lost Jason, you don’t have the strength to handle it anymore.

Couldn’t your family catch a break ? So much grief, so many bad things happening to your beloved sons, to your Bruce…

This time, you don’t have the strength to reassure Bruce.

You just lost a son. He just lost a son.

“We just lost our son…”

You hear him whisper, so lowly that you’re not sure he actually said it, or if your brain is playing tricks on you. If it’s some kind of flashback from Jason’s death.

Damian isn’t coming back. He’s never coming back. You lost a son. He lost a son. Your kids lost a brother. Alfred lost a grandchild.

The World lost one of its greatest and brightest inhabitant. 

The reality of all of this delves on you, and the same sadness you felt when you thought Jason was gone forever washes over you, taking away all of your hopes, all vision of a bright future.

Damian. Your son. Your youngest little boy. Isn’t coming back.

He’s never coming back.

Yes, how terrible it is, to love something that Death can touch.

To be continued ;) (because yes, Jason and Damian’s death were super hard to deal with...but let’s not forget about how Dick, Tim and Bruce faked their death and it must’ve been as equally horrible to think you lost your loved ones just to realize they were fine all along, re-writing this story made me want to write a sequel about those guys so bad :). And also talk about other very close call with death, admittedly an endless subject with this family haha). 

_______________________________________________

Maybe some of y’all noticed, this is a rewriting of an old story of mine (which I accidentally erased...I need to stop being on Tumblr on my phone 😬). I liked it so I just...rewrote it (I still had the original story tucked away in a word document, thanks God I saved everything from the first time I accidentally erased something haha). The original story was almost 5 years old, and although I’m still insecure in many ways about my writing, I do believe I improved since then (mainly thanks to this blog, and y’all <3). I’m pretty happy I re-wrote it, I made some massive changes to it which I think better it :). I don’t know if any of y’all read it before this re-write, but if you remember it (again, it’s old and pretty much went under the radar amongst all my fics), you’ll realize how vastly different it is now. And I like it better...I hope you do too.  

Yup. I do hope you liked it, and if you did, comments and reblogs are always beyond appreciated, and motivating :). 

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Project Zomboid (Rook Hunt)

Thank you for 1000 followers! Hope you enjoy the Horror Event!

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Horror Event Masterlist

Requested by the lovely @zozomind (hello again!)

Rook sighs longingly, missing his lover.

It’s been about a week or so since they both woke up in this world, and this is the first time they’ve been apart ever since that day. It had been a bit of a struggle for Rook to get used to not using any magic, but out of most NRC students, he’s one of the few who have sharpened skills outside magic control and athletics. (Y/N), his beautiful muse, had helped him with the transition, both from magic to magicless and from Twisted Wonderland to this world.

“I think this is the world inside a game I played long ago,” she had confessed that first night as they slept inside a tightly shut room, the footsteps of the undead their lullaby. “I know it sounds odd, but that’s the impression I had. Well, it’s not like it matters, at the end of the day, our objective is still to survive.”

Her tale was outlandish, but the blonde huntsman knows better than to discard possibilities, and the way her eyes lighten in recognition every now and then proves that her theory might have some merit.

Rook isn’t one for apocalyptic fantasies, despite recognizing the beauty they have, so he’s glad that his lover carries a lot of information in her beautiful brain. It had taken no time for him to settle, and today he’s proud to say that their progress is beyond impressive. His hunting skills adapted beautifully, and even now they sharpen as he takes his bow and aims an arrow at a zombie’s head.

“Bows are great weapons for zombie apocalypses,” she tells him when he finds one inside a random house. “They’re ranged and silent, and arrows are much easier to craft than bullets. If it’s you, I know you won’t miss. Remember to aim for the head.”

Oh, his beloved girlfriend is so incredibly gorgeous when she smiles at him and bestows on him her knowledge! She had told him it all, all ways zombies could possibly work and how to figure out what type of zombies they’d be facing.

Zombies in this world have a terrifyingly good hearing, and some will be attracted even to the smallest noise. Those that still have eyes are also very much capable of distinguishing a living being. Their sense of smell, however, seems to be terribly lacking, and their rotting flesh is incapable of feeling even the most excruciating pain. (Y/N) had thanked her God for that, saying that zombies with a sense of smell were the worst and she did not want to cover herself in guts and blood just to be safe.

Another good thing is that they are what she calls “shamblers”: zombies that are silent walkers and retain their human-like appearance for longer. Moreover, they’re not in a world with mutated zombies, like lickers or even the molded. He has zero idea what they are, but he chuckles when he remembers how she made him promise to not face any zombie out of the ordinary before he left for this expedition.

Ah, there’s a hammer in the hands of this corpse, poor thing. At least they’ll go knowing their weapon will help others.

Rook leaving for this expedition is a subject they kept on disagreeing even as he put his feet out of the door of their “base”, as she calls it. The house had long been properly barricaded, and together they fix whatever they can to make sure their every need is met until they figure out a way to return home. Yet, the pace they do things would greatly increase if one were to be in the house at all times while the other goes out for supplies runs and hunting for clues on why they’re here and how to leave.

“But it’d be safer if we were together!” she insisted, handing him a bag with things he might need on the journey. The way she still takes care of him despite not agreeing with his choices warms his heart. She’s just so beautiful. “What if something happens? You’ll be all alone and I won’t ever know!”

“My dear,” he had answered then, taking her hands in his and kissing them tenderly, cherishing the blush that rises to her cheeks despite the age of their relationship, “There is simply not one thing in all worlds that will keep me from coming back to you. If it is proven that it’s too dangerous to be alone, then we will return to how we were. I promise you.”

He had then pressed their lips together before stepping out of the house, chuckling at the grumbling under her breath that reached his good ears.

Oh, how he misses his beloved gem, his breathtaking muse, his most cherished. He can’t wait to go home—he can already see it in the distance—and greet her with a kiss that will hopefully steal her breath away as much as her mere presence steals his. He’ll show her the fruits of his travels, the last two days he spent alone under the skies and away from her resplendence, and ask her for a kiss at every new item, knowing they can’t deny each other. He’ll take off his clothes and clean himself so they can share a moment together in the kitchen, make and eat dinner, and then share another one in the living room, bodies intertwined in comfort on the couch. He’ll kiss her once and twice and thrice and how many times it takes for her smile to make the stars blush in defeated awe, and then he’ll kiss her more to make sure those pesky stars know she is all Rook’s, and he is not a selfless man.

He’ll throw his bag on the floor and rush to the busted front door just in time to hear her scream from the bedroom.

[charaznablescanontoyota]

“marn, i missed sgdq 2022! which runs should i watch?”

hello and welcome back to another rec list curated by me and my very subjective opinions. a couple weeks ago was summer games done quick, an annual speedrunning marathon raising money for doctors without borders and also a great way to get into watching speedrunning. a lot of their content is tailored towards being both clearly explained and fun to watch for an audience outside the speedrun community, so you can jump in with basically no knowledge besides “this person is gonna play a game really fast”. here are my personal highlights that i think you should check out!

kirby and the forgotten land: it’s always great to see a game that’s just been released in the past few months hit gdq!! this was my first time watching a forgotten land run and my takeaways were that: a) this game is beautiful and b) the runner was having a GREAT time sharing it with everyone.

spyro the dragon: spyro is one of those early games that has a lot of weird cool movement tech that is still being discovered to this day, and the fact that it shows up at gdq every couple years with some completely new strats to showcase is awesome, imo.

phasmophobia: if you are staring at this link wondering “how the hell do you speedrun the co-op ghost hunting game that relies entirely on randomization and luck”, just trust me and click it. the ghosts did NOT want to cooperate with these runners at ALL.

pokemon emerald randomizer (evolution chaos co-op): i am not usually a person who has the patience to sit for all 3 hours of a pokemon run, and i figured i would just tune into this one for like half an hour while i got some other stuff done, but i was immediately enraptured. it’s a modded randomizer where your pokemon evolves into something random Every Time it levels up, with 4 runners passing the controller around on every evolution. the game was not kind to these runners. it’s one of the funniest things i’ve ever seen at gdq.

donkey kong country: tropical freeze: spikevegeta’s tropical freeze run from gdqx a few years back is still The speedrun i love showing to people, but this one is an INCREDIBLY clean run that is just a joy to watch. spike is also a GREAT runner/commentator who you’ll notice pops up on a lot of gdq commentary couches, he loves to explain not only what’s going on in the game but little anecdotes and fun facts about the community around the game/speedrun.

banjo-tooie: i love duck and hagginator’s banjo-kazooie race from 2019 and have watched it multiple times since it happened and i am happy to see duck back at gdq running banjo-tooie. :) the community around the b-k games seems really nice and if i had to pick a game to get into running myself this might be in my top 5 choices.

mi scusi: you should watch everything from this early morning silly block, i shotgunned basically all the vods for it and loved them all, but this one was the standout. a speedrunner who woke up way too early in the morning plays a spectacularly broken, floppy physics game that was a student project that is about [checks notes] a guy dealing with the mafia, stealing the world cup, and going to space. if you like this one, watch the rest of the silly block, esp turnip boy commits tax evasion and jimmie johnson’s anything with an engine.

stepmania/noitg doubles showcase: what if dance dance revolution was evil and the only way to defeat it was a 45 minute synchronized dance routine

happy’s humble burger farm: stressed runner makes burgers as fast as he can while janky jumpscare horror game tries to give him the worst rng imaginable. i watched this one kind of on a whim because i like teddyras (the runner) a lot and his commentary is like. laugh-out-loud funny. if you have an hour or less to kill and want to watch one of these vods, this is the one. if you like this, you should check out teddyras’s run of gone golfing, a similar janky horror game set at a minigolf course (sort of).

control: this is an all bosses run and something about hearing the extremely sparse 6 am crowd politely golf clap after every boss fight just took me out. also this game has SO many cool out-of-bounds skips and sequence breaks that are SO fun to watch.

mario 64: m64 is basically a staple game at gdq at this point and because it’s basically the grandfather of speedrunning they often try to dress it up with new challenges like the runner being blindfolded, or the game being randomized, or it being a race. this is not that. this is a guy playing regular vanilla mario 64 very nearly on world record pace, pulling off tricks that have never been successfully completed on the gdq stage before, and casually showing the audience completely new movement tech and clips that have been discovered while the commentators lose their fucking minds in the background. also he never died a single time in this run.

mario maker 2 relay race: two teams of 3 highly skilled mario runners go head to head in a blind relay race of 9 extremely fucking difficult mario maker levels. it’s SO cool to watch them figure out routing and strats in real time, and the level designers shoutcasting the race have some really great insight into the design of the levels themselves.

[annesthaeticc]

His Constant | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

His Constant | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

| a uni!Sherlock fanfic

| FLUFF (and pining that kind of stuff idk)

| 2088 words

| NOTE: hello, how u doing in this trying times? here's a good comfort/fluffy piece for u. comments, hearts, reblogs make me happy so pls do !!

“He stepped down, avoiding any long look at her as one avoids long looks at the sun, but seeing her as one sees the sun, without looking.”

Your eyes traced the familiar words and you recited them under your breath, already memorized it by heart. Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina was firm in your grip; your copy tattered and worn. You flipped the page and slumped back in your seat, enjoying the peaceful late afternoon. The early fall breeze swept through your hair and your cheeks. The leaves lightly fell down from the trees and it was a calming sight. You watched as a red-orange leaf fell in front of you, watching it slowly descend to the ground. The leaf was soon replaced by a pair of black Italian loafers, a crunching sound was heard when he stepped on the leaf. You looked up at him and his face remained expressionless, and you knew exactly what he wants. He placed his bag on the farthest side of the bench and finally sat down. He loudly exhaled before making himself comfortable; half his body laying down on the bench, his legs hanging on the iron arm rests. Then, he slowly reclined himself, letting his head fall into your lap.

Just like the falling leaf, he was gentle.

The familiar and comforting weight of his head on your lap was welcome to the both of you. You smiled to yourself and he closed his eyes. Then, his hand shot up; his pale, lean, yet beautiful hand, crawled up to hold yours. You let him, and your hand landed on his head, on his brunette curls.

You always marveled at how soft and pretty his hair is. Especially when the early morning or afternoon light hits it, glorious brown shades just come out of his wild mess of curls. You’d always tell him how pretty they are and you’d say you envy him. He would always roll his eyes and tell you “If you want the same hair color as mine, you should let me color your hair then.” But you’d always refuse, turn down his offer of playing hairdresser. “If I did, then I’d be unrecognizable and you’ll forget me.” you would say. “Oh please, me? Forget you? Not a chance.” and that’s how the discussion ends, he'd always have the last words.

One hand on your book, one hand on his hair, you gently ran your hand through his curls, gently tugging and playing and he hummed in content.

“How bad was it?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“The worst.” he replied, his deep baritone voice vibrating.

“You always say that. Does it ever change?”

“The real question is; will it ever change?” he scoffed.

The last few weeks, Sherlock was grumpier than ever. To say that a rainstorm was always brewing above his head was an understatement, no, it was always a thunderstorm. He’s finding it really hard to connect with others, especially his new classes had been posting activities that required partnering up or team building and shit. He hated it, of course. Socializing was not his forte and it was proving to become a real trouble for him. You shared classes with him in the past and it was all fine, but now, it was different. Yours and his schedules became complex, making it hard to meet in between and take classes together. And everyday since the new semester, he was like this, brooding. And everyday since the new semester, his answer was always the same.

It was the worst.

The only thing that wakes him up in the morning was the possibility to see you after classes in the late afternoon; sitting under your favorite tree and reading a book. He was always looking forward to meet you and tell you how awful his day was, and at the same time, listen to you read Tolstoy. He’ll never tell you this of course, it’s a well-hidden secret, buried right in the pits of his mind palace where light and darkness meet halfway.

You, on the other hand, were feeling the same. The days were tolerable, yes, classes were bearable, but you always hoped for that moment he’d show up. Excited to see him and spend an afternoon with him.

Because the world is a chaotic mess; but you’ve always felt safe around him.

The sun slowly sunk between the high-rise buildings of the campus, disappearing to make way to the moon. You softly tapped his shoulder, bringing him out of his mind palace. He sat up and slung his bag over his shoulder, he waited for you as you packed your belongings in your bag. You stood up and walked along the gravelly path, unto the smooth concrete. Then, the two of you began your walk through the campus.

“Do you really want things to change, Sherlock?” you asked out of the blue, kicking the stone by your shoe.

“It depends. How about you?” he replied, burying his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Same as you, it depends.” you said with a smile.

You and Sherlock continued to walk in companiable silence, just letting thoughts come and go. And this is the part of your day you enjoy most, the long walks and talks with him. You’d never run out of things to ask and to say to him, he always indulged you, challenged you and made you smile. And for someone small, you really walk fast. Sherlock could choose to keep in step with you, matching your cadence and the rhythm of your walk but he’d always choose not to.

Because moments with you were golden and worth the time. He doesn’t want to rush.

Once your walk starts to become quick, he’d always tug your backpack, bringing you back to his slow pace. Then you’d smile, secretly happy at the gesture. But it all changed on this particular night. You were speaking, talking about your latest project proposal for your major subject and he just listened. Your pace was becoming quick and you expected he’d tug your backpack, but no, he chose to surprise you. Instead of doing that, he caught your hand in his.

Sherlock was holding your hand.

You stopped and slowly turned to look at your hands linked together. His hand was warm and firm around yours and you cautiously locked your fingers with his, testing the waters. You looked up at him and saw a faint smile starting to form on his lips, you did the same, but your smile was wider and your cheeks were rosy. He saw you blush, even in the dark early evening, only the streetlamps illuminating the path. He saw your pupils gradually grow darker but glossy and shining against the little lighting in the night.

You were unbelievably beautiful, he mused to himself. You were still wearing your uniform; blouse, skirt and blazer, your dark hair in a bun; a few pieces of hair sticking out in odd ends, softly blowing in the cool night breeze, your eyes shining and your lips were pink. You were his definition of beauty.

“You were walking too quick.” he said, clearing his throat.

“And you were walking too slow.” you smirked at him and let out a laugh. A throaty chuckle escaped his lips and finally moved forwards, walking with you.

Now, it was your turn to quietly think.

Your mind was a jumbled mess, a great contrast to the peace and quiet that surrounded the two of you. No, you were not confused, you were just having trouble organizing your thoughts about him. You didn’t know what to think first. But you were greatly aware that it’s all about him. Ever since the first day, your world quietly revolved around him.

As if he was your sun.

His presence was inevitable, he was always there. His presence in your life required no change, as if he perfectly fit in your life. He was meant to be in yours and over time, you secretly hoped, you were meant to be in his. You’ve always felt something for him, you weren’t sure what to call it but all you know is that he is your home, your comfort and safe place. You were always guarded when it comes to how you feel about him, you didn’t dare to say it because you know how icky he gets when it comes to talking about emotions. But you just can’t seem to stop showing him how you feel; the secret touches and smiles, the intense gazes and comforting silence.

Your feelings for him were in the shadows, only coming out when he’s nearby. Again, as if he were your sun.

You’ve tiptoed around him for a long time, ever cautious and somewhat tired of hiding what you feel. But on a particular October night, Sherlock finally let you touch your feet on the ground, and walk with him. Not in front of him, or behind him, but with him; side by side.

“I don’t know what I want to change, Y/N, but I know things will change, eventually.” he spoke.

“Yeah, it will.” you exhaled.

“You want to know what I want?” he said, and turned his head to look at you. The pace slowed down as you waited for him, you gave him a nod and squeezed his hand lightly. Then, he finally stopped, and you did. There stood under the streetlamp of Cambridge University; two best friends who love each other, with a secret promise to love each other forever.

“I don’t want you to change.” he said, his voice almost a whisper. A breath was caught in your throat and tears started to well up in your eyes.

“As a psychology major, I think that sounds wrong.” you giggled and step closer to him carefully and he pulled you closer to him, not caring if you step into his personal space. That hesitation and holding back was long gone the moment he held your hand and threaded his fingers with yours.

He rolled his eyes at your remark and said, “The point is, I want you to be the only constant in my life, in this ever-changing world.” A hint of hope shone through his eyes, reflected by the golden glow of the streetlamp. It was true, always has been. Because you, oh you, you were his home. And in this crazy world, where almost everyone mocks him for being who he is, you were his comfort. There’s nothing he’d want but to always come back to you, and to be with you.

“Oh, Sherlock…” you gasped, a wave of emotion tiding over you, knocking you down. You have no desire to fight it, you let yourself get carried away. You embraced him, wrapping your arms around him, around his neck, and he reciprocated. He gently swayed your bodies and breathed in your scent. He felt it first before he heard it, you were crying. He pulled away and gently ran his thumb across your cheeks, wiping off your tears.

“Where’d you get that from?” you joked and he chuckled.

“Have you no faith in me? If I’d known then I shouldn’t have said anything, then.” he said.

“I’m just kidding.” you smiled up at him and held onto his arms, afraid of falling.

“I know you are.” he replied, took your hand in his, and spun you around before catching you. You ended back in his arms and there it is again, the overwhelming emotion you feel for him, you fear it might burst.

“What do you say, Y/N?” he asked you, a boyish grin threatening to form in his pretty lips. You stood up in your tip toes and his face met you halfway, his forehead bumping against yours. You took a deep breath in and closed your eyes, just enjoying him and the closeness between you.

“You are my sun, Sherlock. My constant. And I’d be utterly happy to be yours.” you whispered against his lips. No words were further needed, he leaned down and softly kissed you, lips against lips. When you pulled apart from the kiss, you grinned at him, beaming and brimming with happiness and Sherlock painted a picture you; happy and smiley, before hanging it on the wall in the room in his mind palace.

Once again, he linked his hand with yours and together, you ran. Young and in love, with a thousand changes to face, a hundred plans to make, all sealed with a promise and a kiss.

READ THE NEXT PART OF THIS FANFIC ; HIS PROMISE

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( very very soft and fluffy yeah? lemme know if its good and i'll try wrack my brain for more if u ever like it, have a wonderful day u lovely being and stay safe, all the love, anne )