#I actually did continue the save itself until they died. I got halfway through their kid's adult life and got bored tho

[vimbry-moved]

damn I have absolutely no memory of this, but apparently I made a quickly-abandoned blogger account where I was gonna chronicle my sims 4 legacy save.. ... 6 years ago ....

[cloudy-minded-idiot]

closing time

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female reader (kinda?)

warning: mentions of blood, a probably very inaccurate description of a wound being treated (lemme know if I should add anything else)

word count: around 3,000

a/n: wrote this before bed last night and edited it this morning. feedback would be appreciated, just pls don’t be too hard on me, since it’s the first fic i’m posting on here. i have a vague idea for a second part if anyone’s interested.

summary: a wounded stranger stumbles into your life one night, and you find yourself helping her out despite your better instincts.

next part

It was a slow night for a change. The last customer had left half an hour ago. An elderly man who had only bought two packs of cigarettes and some strawberry mint gum to go along with it. He was a regular, came in at least once a week, always bought the same thing. The kind of customer you enjoyed after a long day: quiet and quick to leave.  

You were all set to lock up for the day. All you could do now was wait for your shift to actually be over. A difficult thing for someone who was inherently impatient and had nothing to distract herself with. Your phone had died halfway through the day, and you had finished your book sometime around lunch. Any other night, you would at least have your co-worker or your boss to chat with, but Mr. Douglas had left early today. Something about his in-laws coming to visit. You hadn't question it.

A glance at the clock. Ten more minutes. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, just listening to the ticking sound. For a while, you counted along. It was calming. Almost enough to lull you to sleep. Not that that took a lot, you were pretty tired after all. You had long lost track of the seconds gone by when, in between the rhythmical tik-tok, a  shrill bell chimed. The one above the entrance you knew all too well.  

You had to suppress an annoyed sigh. Last-minute customers.

Whatever complaint you had on your mind was quickly replaced by utter shock when you opened your eyes. In, through the drugstore-door, staggered a woman with fiery red hair, covered head to toe in dirt. Bruises lined her face, and she kept one hand pressed to her abdomen in a futile attempt to stop blood from seeping out of a wound. Little droplets fell to the floor despite her efforts, marking her path to the counter.  

"Holy shit!" you breathed out, eyes probably wide as saucers. You continued dumbly, "I think you need to see a doctor."

An understatement, to be sure. If her sickly pale complexion was anything to go by, she was sure to keel over sooner rather than later.

The redhead shook her head determinedly, a pain-stricken look on her face.  

"No doctor. No hospital. Just need some medical supplies," her remark was accompanied by her slamming crumpled dollar bills on the counter.

"O-kay," you said slowly, leaving the counter and taking her by the elbow, "I'll get you your supplies, but you seriously need to sit down."  

You opened the door to the break room, guiding her to a chair that she more or less collapsed onto. She winced in pain, and you stayed a moment to make sure she was all set before hurrying back out. In a frenzy, you jogged along the shelves, mentally trying to create a list of supplies she could need. Rubbing alcohol, a first aid kit, scissors, tweezers. You also grabbed some painkillers and a bottle of water on your way back.  

Dumping all the supplies on the round wooden lunch table, you watched her nervously as she started to cut off parts of her shirt to get better access to the wound. Almost instinctively, you grabbed the trash can holding it out for her to dump the blood-soaked fabric into.  

"Water," she croaked out in between painful gasps, "Need to…rinse the wound." 

Mutely, you nodded. Rummaging through the cabinet of the small old-fashioned kitchen counter until you found a big bowl and filled it up. Dipping a towel into the lukewarm water, you knelt in front of the woman.  

"Let me do it. You need to save your strength."

She looked like she wanted to object, but, in the end, she gave you a curt nod. There was a lot of blood. You did your best not to irritate the wound too much. By the time you were finished, the water itself was a deep crimson. She had closed her eyes, sweat covering her brow. She grabbed you by the sleeve of your shirt when you tried to stand up, holding you in place.  

"Now with alcohol," she told you. Your eyes flickered to the bottle on the table.

You hesitate. Swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Are you sure?"

"Do it," the redhead commanded, eyes still closed. She let go of your arm then, returning hers to the armrest of the chair. Her fingers left behind bloody prints.  

You obeyed her order, wincing along with her in sympathy as you pressed the alcohol-drenched cloth to her wound. You could only imagine how much it must sting. Her grip on the armrests tightened until her knuckles turned white. When you were done, she inspected the wound, eyes narrowed to see in the dim light of the fluorescent lamps. A long silence stretched between you two. She looked up, meeting your gaze for the first time. Her eyes were a mix of greens with little specks of grey thrown in. Under different circumstances, you might have admired them a little longer. They were quite beautiful.

"Can you sew?"  

You nod slowly, sensing where she was going with this and not liking it one bit.  

It took a while to find sewing supplies. Taking deep breaths, you willed your hands to stop shaking and followed her murmured instructions. Put on latex gloves, sterilize the needle and thread. She sounded very calm as she explained how to make the first stitch, didn't even flinch when the needle pricked her skin. It helped calm you down a little.  

By the time you cut off the excess thread, you found yourself unable to recall doing any of the other stitches. The rush of the moment made the procedure seem to pass faster than it probably did in reality. She eyed your handiwork for a moment before giving a small nod of approval, a faint, exhausted smile tugging at her lips.  

“Not bad for a rookie.”  

“Thanks,” you breathed out, already preoccupied with sifting through the first aid kit.

Wrapping the wound was much more your forte. The redhead leaned back in the chair once you finished, washing some painkillers down with a big gulp from the water bottle. With the adrenaline wearing down, you felt as exhausted as she looked. Leaning back against the table leg, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your body relaxing as your apprehension lessened little by little.

You took a couple of moments to mentally catch up to what just happened, processing the sheer craziness of it all. Your brain was brimming with questions. Who was she?  Who hurt her? Why didn’t she get professional help? They were on the tip of your tongue. But the woman passed out before you had the chance to ask her anything.  

With tremulous hands, you cleaned the store for the second time that evening, wiping up blood from the floor, the chair, and the table. You discarded the rags with the rest of the used supplies. All the while, you checked on her multiple times, unable to shake the fear she might die right then and there. She looked unnaturally pale, but her pulse continued to drum rhythmically, her chest kept rising and falling with every breath she took.  

What now? Should you call the cops? The hospital? She seemed pretty set on not getting any authorities involved. Perhaps with good reason?  

You resolved to find out tomorrow, hoping you would not grow to regret it. Slinging one of her arms over your shoulder, you lifted her up and carried her bridal style, mindful of her injury. She wasn't too heavy, but you still were glad you had had the foresight to park your car nearby. After making sure she was safely strapped into the passenger seat, you went back and finally closed up the shop.

________________________________________________________________

The next morning, you were woken up by some clattering sounds coming from your living room. With a groan, you forced yourself out of your bed and stumbled through the door into the next room. The redhead was walking around in the dim light, rummaging through your drawers and dropping things left and right. You watched, for a moment, too perplexed to say anything as you rubbed your eyes tiredly.

“Shouldn’t you be resting or something?” you ask, voice rough from sleep. It was still way too early to be awake. You had thought the pain killers would help her sleep for a couple of hours more. Looks like you were wrong.

“Later,” she muttered just loud enough for you to hear. Crouching down, she opened the bottom drawer of the tv cabinet and pulled out some DVDs you had stored there, only pausing to look at the title of one of them with a smirk.

“Is this not a kids' movie?”

You had no idea what she was looking at, but you crossed your arms, feeling a bit offended anyway. Blame your lack of sleep for making you a little sensitive.

“Do you make it a habit to judge the movie taste of people who were gracious enough to let you stay in their home overnight?”

The woman didn’t answer verbally, just put the movie back and closed the drawer again. She turned to face you, her expression turning serious all of a sudden as if only now remembering where she was and how she got here in the first place. She looked apprehensive, taking a couple of steps in your direction.

“Does anyone else know I’m here?” her voice conveyed a sense of urgency, eyes staring into yours imploringly. Confused, you just shook your head. 

Her shoulders relaxed a little.

“Good,” she nodded, her attention already returning to her little scavenger hunt.

The redhead walked across the room, sifting through your kitchen cabinet next.

You sighed, picking up a couple of things she had knocked over in the living room and putting them back in their proper place. Every few seconds, you would glance at her from afar. She was still wearing the outfit she had on when she came into the drugstore. With her unconscious, you hadn’t seen any way of getting her into some new clothes, at least not without possibly irritating her wound or waking her up. She could surely use something clean to wear. Her current attire was dirtied and bloody, not to mention that her shirt now looked like a makeshift crop top since she had cut off parts of it last night.

“You know, if you just told me what you’re looking for you wouldn’t have to make such a mess of my apartment,” you winced as one of your spice shakers fell out of the cupboard and landed on the stove just as you finished speaking. Luckily, nothing broke.

The woman paused mid-motion, still on her tiptoes, body halfway turned towards you.  

“A radio. An old one preferably.”

Frowning, you picked up and folded the blanket she had discarded on the floor in front of your couch.  

“What for?”

The redhead eyed you for a moment, hesitant and unsure whether you could be trusted. In the end, she kept quiet, ruling against explaining herself. You reluctantly accepted her decision, tossing the folded blanket back on the couch cushion in resignation.

“I should have an old radio alarm clock somewhere in my wardrobe. Will that do?”  

It took you a couple of minutes to find the old thing, hidden away in the very back of your closet, underneath some clothes you hadn’t worn in forever. When you returned to the living room, your visitor was leaning against the kitchen isle, nibbling on one of your pop tarts which she abandoned as soon as she saw you. Eagerly she took the alarm clock off your hands, acknowledging you with a grateful nod. The redhead sat down on the couch, plugging the device into the closest outlet. 

You more or less kept an eye on her while you made yourself some coffee, but you had no idea what she was doing. To you, it looked like she was just fiddling with the controls, only static and a couple of high-pitched sounds filling the living room. It was grating on your nerves, but you made no comment. By the time she finished and turned the radio off again, you were already on your second cup.  

“Are you expecting any visitors in the next couple of days?” she asked casually, sidling up next to you in the kitchen.

 You raised an eyebrow, placing your empty cup in the sink.

“No. Why?”

“I need a place to lay low until Tuesday.”  

“Lay low?” you parroted, “What for? Who are you hiding from?”

Subconsciously, she glanced down at her bandaged wound, and you followed her gaze, slow realization coming over you.  

“Did they do that to you? Did they hurt you?” you asked more softly. She only shook her head in confirmation, “Then why not just go to the police? I’m sure they can help you better than I c-"  

“No,” she cut you off immediately, gripping your wrists tightly in both her hands as if to physically keep you from taking your phone and calling the cops. This only made you grow more concerned.

“No. We can’t go to the police. It’s not safe,” she loosened her grip on you a little.

 Your eyebrows were drawn together as you thought about what she said.

“Why would it not be safe? Unless...,” you swallowed as a possibility crossed your mind, “Are you in trouble? Did you do something illegal?”  

When she didn’t immediatley deny your statement, you started to jump to conclusions, your voice rising with panic.

“Oh, shit! You did. What was it? Were you in a fight? Did you kill someone? Holy shi- Does helping you make me an accomplice? Am I harboring a criminal in my ho-”

She cut off your rant by slapping a hand over your mouth, thus muffling your words.

“Be quiet, your neighbors might hear,” she hissed, gaze darting to the door, almost like she expected someone to burst through it. 

Your eyes were wide in fear, but you listened to her, your heart racing. She slowly removed her hand, giving you a warning look as though she feared you would start talking again. You didn’t.

“I’m not a criminal,” she told you earnestly, “I am, however, on the run, so I would appreciate your discretion.”

“On the run from whom?”

The question was no more than a whisper, too scared to raise the volume of your voice. She held your gaze for a moment before shaking her head.

“I’m afraid that’s classified.”

“Classified,” you repeated, incredulous, “So let me get this straight. You show up at my job, bleeding all over the place and telling me not to call the authorities. I help you out, let you crash at my place and you, in return, wake me up at an ungodly hour, make a big mess of my living room, imply that you might have done something illegal, and expect me to let you stay here until Tuesday without getting any information whatsoever?”  

“I know this isn’t fair...,” she admitted, and you laugh humorlessly.

“Not fair? I would be crazy to agree without at least having an idea what I’m getting myself into.”

The redhead nodded in agreement, looking away guiltily, teeth biting down on her lips. She seemed genuinely beat down, something even you, as a stranger, could tell was foreign to her. Oddly enough, you felt bad, although you knew, realistically, that you had done nothing wrong.

You let out a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Curse your empathetic heart.

“Three conditions,” you conceded, making her look at you in surprise. Holding up a finger, you started your list.  

“One. No more throwing my stuff around. If you need something, ask. I don’t want to have to clean up after you.”  

She nods, having the decency to actually look sorry this time. You put up a second finger.

“Two. You tell me your name. Doesn’t have to be your full name or even your real name if that’s a secret or whatever," you added with an indifferent shrug, "I just want something other to call you than ‘hey you’.”

“What’s the third condition?” she prompted, not commenting on the second one.

“You promise me that you’re not the bad guy in this situation and that helping you won’t land me in trouble somehow.”  

The redhead cocked her head to the side, an almost fascinated expression on her face.

“How would you know I’m telling the truth?”

“I don’t,” you countered without hesitation, “I’m just gonna have to trust your word here. Just as you will have to trust mine that I’ll keep your presence here a secret.”  

For a moment, she regarded you with some indescribable emotion on her face before nodding in concession. Letting go of the one wrist she was still holding, she took a step back. Caught up in the moment, you hadn’t even realized how close you were standing. Thinking about it now made your face heat up for some reason. The redhead raised one hand as though she was about to take an official oath. She held your gaze unwaveringly as she spoke.

“I promise you, that I will not make a mess in your home anymore. And I solemnly swear that you won’t get in trouble for helping me in any way whatsoever.”

Something about her demeanor told you she wasn’t lying. You shake your head satisfied, a small but relieved smile taking over, some of the tension and apprehension leaving your body. She smiled tentatively in return, extending her hand to you in greeting.

“The name’s Natasha.”

Glancing at her proffered hand, you took it and gave it a small shake.

“Nice to officially meet you, Natasha.”

[voidcat]

– a case of bad luck

1. spoke too soon

m.list ; prev ; next ; wc:1.7k

a/n: i’m trying to write one chapter ahead to have a little schedule in the near future so there’s that. there are no songs for this chapter. and i still hate writing dialogues + action based scenes. Oh and I don’t proof read so I may forget to type some verbs once in a while.

a/n 2: I know the title says “1” but this is actually the second chapter!!! ch1 is numbered “0”. This chapter probably doenst make much sense w/o its buildup

Crouching down to check on the boy, the one with bandages get up, his gaze directed at you. Like the boy, he seems young too, not any older than you most likely, but something about the way he holds himself contradicts what’s expected of someone in his age.

“Even Rashoumon is cast asleep before he got the chance to attack.” He leans in to touch his wrist and lets out a small hum at the lack of reaction on the boy’s part.

“Now let’s see how you got here.” And you take it as your cue, going back all the way you got through leaves a stale taste in your mouth, a feeble defeat, but your gut tells you to wait and talking like you did with the others will only make it worse with him.

Climbing all the way back, this time without being pushed by someone, feels like a walk of shame on itself. There really isn’t much to stop you from turning and running away. From the looks of it, the boy down by the door will be staying like that for another hour. And really, what can a possibly 18 year old boy do to you in the dead of the dark? A part of your brain screams at you. You didn’t spot any guns on him either nor any movement on his part, a hand at ready to draw out a weapon. And yet from the way he talks, looks around and talks, he is off. Everything about him is off and your brain keeps screaming ‘danger! Danger! Danger! Run for your life! Or die in the process.’

And he is awfully calm the whole way up, first coming behind you, probably a measure to make sure you won’t try to get away and by the time you reach the floor, he steps ahead, walk directly to the door you exited moments, maybe half an hour, ago as if he placed it there. Creaking it open and leaning in slightly, he examines for a second.

Then he pulls back and flashes a smile “Now go on, let’s see what you’ve created!” he says, tilting his head towards the door.

The sight of him is more unnerving with a smile.

Ambling to where he stands, you hear someone clearing their throat.

“Who were they?” you ask as you step inside, gaze locked onto him as he follows.

“Some small gang in the area, probably getting high schoolers involved with drugs.” He shrugs. Hah, it’s almost silly to have a somewhat victory in whatever you found yourself in but you want to smile at it anyway, look him in the eye and go ‘I knew it, I was right all along!’

The smile dies before it can make way to your face as you see his disfigured body cast aside, the other men laying around the room, all discarded as mere trash bags.

The smell of reaches you again, this time it’s worse, like a rock just fell right into your stomach.

The bandaged up boy squatting in the middle of the room, probably observing one of the men as you stare at the boy you saw several times before. When did they do this to him, what did they do, was the same going to happen to you-

The dizziness comes again and you take a step back to regain your composure. The bandages stand up then, you try to make something out of his expression but you can’t drag your eyes off what has become of that man.

If you were to ask another question, your words would die on the way out.

“Not sure.” He says, as if he hears the unspoken ‘what happened to him?’ in your eyes.

“It looks like his insides were carved out, not something that could be done without making a mess or cutting him out.” He sounds exactly as you first heard him. With nothing in his voice, not a part of identity or emotion. Like he’s just commenting on the quality of a food he has been served or a project he’s been presented.

“Which bears the question… aside from the obvious ‘what is your ability?’. What did you say to him exactly to create quite the work?”

Another step back.

You’re closer to the door, it’s unlocked and standart. The other boy still must be unconscious but can you make a run for it? Or does he have some inhuman power to get to you quick, maybe speed or teleportation, maybe something to grant control over you or objects around you.

Running away doesn’t seem to be a good option, when you’re unfamiliar with the area, not to mention it’s nighttime. But staying with whoever this is seems a lot worse.

The previous men were simple, easy to predict, open; but he is cautious, vary of his surroundings and it’s that smile that keeps popping up on him that creeps you out. You don’t want to imagine what might happen at the hands of him, especially if you try and get caught eventually.

The tapping brings you back, his foot this time, and he scrunches his nose. He asked a question after all.

“What do you mean ‘ability’?” you pronounce the last word as if it’s foreign. That only seems to annoy him apparently.

“Your ability! The thing you used to make-“ he turns sideways to show him with his hand “-this! And possibly to get out of here as well. This might be a low type gang but it’s not possible to make it out alive,-“ he takes a step toward you “-without a scratch,” another step in, you take one back, “-while everyone else is dead and a guy’s insides out like a carved pumpkin.” His voice drops with each word.

Another step in and he’s standing right in front of you, too close, his height over you makes the screaming inside your head worse, everything about him screams ‘red!’ now.

“So tell me again,” he nods with his head to where that guy was sitting hours ago, “was it the tragic death of your boyfriend that drove you to this?”

“he is not my boyfriend.” You whisper.

“was it witnessing his torture that did it?” his tone changes.

“I didn’t even know his name.” you look away.

“what was his last words? Maybe a declaration of love? Maybe a fight beforehand and his words were an apology for that? Maybe it was not proclaimed until now, wouldn’t that make things sad?” The more he adds on, the chirpier he sounds, almost enjoying this, ignoring each of your denials -maybe not even hearing them, too caught up in the story he fabricated.

“I didn’t know him!” You tell before he can continue his rambling. Eyelids halfway down, he looks down at you.

“No wonder you saved your own skin.” The coldness comes back.

Turning away, he walks toward the pile of red again “but it doesn’t explain how-“ he grabs something in the shape of a stick, “you managed to pull this off.” He punctuates as he raises what you assume is a part of the intestines with the stick.

“I told you, I don’t know. I fell asleep by the time they started questioning him and that was it.”

Throwing another glance at you, pitiful maybe?, he takes off to a table with stack of papers spread around.

“Here, they have information on your boyfriend. I’m assuming you attend the same school- someone has been studying.” Throwing the papers back, he strolls to you.

“It won’t take long to get information on you. You probably live on the opposite side of the city. With parents, I assume.” He leans in, “-a pet, maybe few? And a little poking around would provide enough on your parents and friends as well. But we wouldn’t want that.”

Raising his hand to your face, an arrogant smile takes place.

“And I’m sure you’d not want to see what my subordinate below would do, especially when he realizes he has been knocked out by a high schooler.-“ his hand, now standing right next to your face, you pull away before he can touch.

All the fear and the lights in your head have already made way to anger, “I don’t like being touched.”

“Who does?” He says with a tiny laugh, hand by his side again.

And just like that, he takes a step back as if the last five minutes never existed in the first place. “It’s late, let me escort you to your house.” He waits by the our, one arm stretched out to make way for you.

And learn where I live? Hard pass. The two of you start walking back, him a step behind you. The halls feel emptier now somehow. Not a single ray of light creaking in. “I don’t need the help of some douche from-“ you stop.

“Mafia executive, Dazai Osamu.” He keeps walking as he throws the title into the air, the word executive echoing in your ears. Isn’t he too young to be in a position like that, let alone the mafia?

Taking a step over the still body of the boy -his subordinate, as he called him, he stands right outside the door just like you first saw him.

How long ago was it? It feels longer than it should be.

“Stop loitering around, we got a long way back! You can tell me all about your ability as we go.”

He is younger than you, you’re sure. Appears to pale too, and what you can make of his outfit from all you see plays into the whole sick Victorian era child look. despite his age, he must be as dangerous as this man, Dazai, is, if he is a subordinate tailing along with no other back up. And yet, his form looks defenseless, vulnerable.

“Leave him behind, that’s what he gets for not being alert-“ “And for being defeated by a mere high schooler, yes we get it.” You cut in, jump over the boy and follow the man everything in your body tells you to run away from.

[avengerscompound]

The Surrogate - Chapter 1

The Surrogate:  A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  3305

Rating:  E

Warnings: Injuries, smut (M\F, oral sex, vaginal sex, public sex)

Synopsis:  A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people.  When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want.  Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

A/N:  Just a reminder as this is a new series you must tell me (preferably by ask) that you want to be tagged or continue to be tagged.

Chapter 1

The sky was on fire.  Everything around you was chaos.  People running for their lives and parts of buildings crashing to the ground.  You were trying to not let the crowd drag you along with them because all you could think was there was nowhere you could go right now that would be safe and if you were going to die, you didn’t want it to be at the bottom of a pile of corpses.

You ducked down a side alley that stunk of trash but was blessedly empty of people.  As you took a moment to decide what you would do next, there was a cry from above you and a figure rocketed down from the side of the building, managed to grab hold of the fire escape just long enough to dislocate his shoulder and slow his fall, before landing on top of a dumpster with a loud crash and rolling onto the ground.  You rushed over to the figure that seemed to be trying to struggle to its feet.

“You probably shouldn’t move,” you said, crouching down and pushing him back a little.  It wasn’t until that moment that you realized this was an actual Avenger.  Not just any Avenger either, Hawkeye, one of the original ones.  You wondered what he was doing in your town and if there were any other Avengers here.  If there were, maybe you weren’t as doomed as you’d originally thought.

“Gotta,” Clint groaned trying to push you back off him.  “Need to get back.”

“You’re an archer and at the very least you’ve dislocated your arm,” you reasoned.

“Not dislocated,” Clint groaned, rolling onto his side.  “Broken.  And some ribs.  Might have bruised my spine.”

You helped him to sit up and furrowed your brow.  “I might be able to help you,” you said.  “A little anyway.  Help you get back.”

“What?  You a drug dealer?”  Clint asked, pulling his arm in against his side.

“No,” you said. “I’m enhanced.  I need you to kiss me.  And not like a peck.  With your injuries, it’s gonna need a full-on make-out session just to get you up.”

Clint’s face did not hide his emotions at all.  He furrowed his brow in confusion, then widened his eyes in surprise.  His lips pursed together as he considered if you were telling the truth and then a large smile broke out on it.  “If you wanted to make-out you just had to ask.”

You leaned in and licked your lips, wetting them well before bringing them to the archer’s.  The spark happened immediately as your powers engaged.  People often thought it was that spark that happens in stories where two people who are meant for each other finally kiss and fall in love.  The first time it happened you’d even fallen for that and you and the guy had ended up dating for a year too long before you realized that maybe there was no such thing as fate, and if there was it could go fuck itself because you weren’t spending another day with that jackass, destiny be damned.

Clint made a soft choked sound and his hand went to your hair drawing you in closer and deepening the kiss.  It was good really.  Even if he was caught up in the feel of your lips against his, and that spark that ran between you it would help with the process.  You teased your tongue into his mouth and he let out a moan as they started to actually do their job.

You were a healer.  Your powers worked perfectly in your own body.  You never got sick, if you cut yourself it would heal instantly.  One time you had been riding a bike and hit a rock.  It sent you sprawling and you heard a loud crack in your shoulder and a flare of white-hot pain.  People had come running to help but when you got back up, there had been absolutely nothing wrong.  Not even a scrape.

They didn’t work so perfectly on other people.  You’d figured out through some accidental trial and error that it worked through bodily fluid exchange.  Kissing could work on cuts and scrapes, but you’d normally need to donate blood to get to the level of healing Clint Barton currently needed, and that only worked if they were a compatible blood type.  There were other ways that worked better than kissing of course.  None you wanted to do right here in the street with a complete stranger even if you could talk him into it.

You swirled your tongue with his and licked over the corner of his mouth, dragging the kiss out as long as possible.  When you finally pulled back, his bruises were gone and most of his cuts.  The arm was definitely still broken but he seemed to be holding it a little better.

“Holy shit,” Clint said.  “I - uh -”

“You aren’t in love with me,” you assured him.  “Don’t worry.  Go save the world.”

He pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his bow from where it had fallen a few feet away.  “I wanna talk to you when all this is done.”

“If you save the world, I’ll meet you back here,” you agreed reluctantly.  You didn’t know if you'd just plunged yourself into deep water by outing your abilities to an actual Avenger or if he was stuck the ‘true love’s kiss’ groove and you were going to have to knock him out of it, but either way, you were dreading it, even if it did mean the world was safe.

You left the alley not long after Clint and ended up sheltering in a tunnel while you waited out the battle.  As the sounds of fighting and explosions died down and the sky began to return to its usual blue, you dared to set back out again.  Clean up crews and emergency services had arrived and it was a little difficult evading them, but you eventually made your way to the alley.

Clint was waiting for you alone.  It looked like he'd seen a medic.  His arm was now in a sling and he had stitches in his cheek.  “Was starting to think you weren't gonna show,” Clint said.

“They aren't letting people back into the hub of the damage,” you explained.  “Had to sneak past a bunch of barricades.”

“Well, aren't you resourceful?” Clint said playfully.  “You got anywhere we could talk?  Preferably where I could also get very, very drunk?”

“I doubt anything is gonna be open around here,” you said.  “Might have to go further out.”

Clint nodded and the two of you walked out looking for a bar together.  He was limping a little and you considered offering your services again, but the looming conversation held you back. You didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.

By the time you did find a bar that was open you had hyped up the conversation so much in your head, you were fairly sure he was going to either propose or send you to the raft for being unregistered and breaking the Sokovia Accords.

“Shots?”  Clint asked as you went into the busy bar.

“Yeah.  Definitely,” you agreed.  “And get food.  I’m starving.  I’ll find a table.”

It took a while to find anywhere to sit.  It was like half the city had decided to drink after the events of the day and this was the only bar open.  You ended up having to share a table with a group of women who seemed to already be halfway to fully drunk.

“So,” Clint said, placing a tray of shots on the table and sliding into the booth beside you.  “Enhanced, huh?”

 “Yeah,” you said and took your first shot.  He’d gotten Kaluah of all things, though you were grateful for the soft warmth of the coffee liqueur over a harsh burn of something like whiskey.

Clint chuckled and took his own shot. “Gonna make me beat it out of you, are you?”  He teased.  When you didn’t answer he shook his head and continued.  “How’d it happen?”

You shrugged.  “Don’t really know exactly,” you say. “I got sick as a kid, and they put me on this drug trial.  I got better and I don’t think I’ve been sick since, but it was such a long time between the trail ending and me noticing that I could actually heal myself that I can’t say for sure it was that or something else.”

You both took another shot and Clint scratched at his arm like it was annoying him. “So just healing?” He asked.

“That’s not enough?”  You shot back.

He laughed loudly, throwing his head back.  “No, that’s plenty.  More than I’ve got,” he conceded.  “You’re pretty defensive you know?”

You sighed and sunk back into the chair.  The alcohol was already making your head feel fuzzy and you were worried you were going to get into a fight with Hawkeye right in the middle of the bar.  “I can just see how this conversation goes.  You’re either gonna convince me to join the Avengers or you’re thinking about the kiss and that spark and you wanna ask me out.”

“That kiss was pretty great,” Clint teased.

“I know, it’s the powers,” you said.  “People think it’s some kind of soulmate thing.  I’ve had stalkers because of it.”

Clint waited as you took another shot.  One of the bar staff came over and put a plate of sliders and curly fries down and you both started to eat.  “God, I needed that,” Clint said with his mouth full.

“You did do a lot today,” you said.

“Yeah, I saved your ass and you won’t even date me,” he teased.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t date you,” you argued.  “I just don’t want an Avengers stalker.”

“Don’t worry,” he said.  “I mean, don’t get me wrong, if you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn’t fight you off, but I get it.  It was something to do with the healing.”

“Yeah,” you said.  “Energy transference I think it is.”

There was another pause and you both took another shot.  You were drunk now, you knew it.  Normally you would be more careful about drinking this much with a strange man but there had been so much today, and he was an avenger.

“Why don’t you want to be an Avenger?” He asked.

You sighed.  “I’d be useless.  What am I gonna do, follow you all around and make-out every time someone gets a scratch?”

He laughed.  “That’s the only way it works?”

“It’s a bodily fluid exchange.  I could have spit in your mouth, but I thought that would be hard to talk you into,” you explained.

Clint laughed and held his side.  “You kidding? I normally have to pay people to do that.”

You completely lost it laughing.  “Oh my god!”

“Alright, alright, don’t make me laugh,” Clint said.  “My ribs are still busted.”

“Want me to help with that?” You offered.

He looked you up and down and chewed his bottom lip.  “Dunno.  Next time we make out, I want it to be because you want to make out with me.”

You giggled and heat rushed to your face.  It was not a reaction you were used to but then you weren’t used to good looking superheroes hitting on you either.

“So, if it’s bodily fluids, would blood work?” He asked.

“Blood works best,” you said.  “But I can’t keep myself bleeding long enough to do a bleed into their wound thing, and if it’s a blood transfusion, they still have to match my blood type.”

“Well that could still be useful,” he said.  “Maybe you are the same blood type as some of us?  You could come and see?”

You sighed and picked up the last shot on the tray.  Since you got your powers you had wanted to help, but they were so limited you hadn’t been able to find a way to do that and have it actually work.  You gave blood regularly and hoped that might have led to some of the miracle recoveries some people go through, but apart from that, there wasn’t much you could do.  At least agreeing to go with Clint to see if you might be able to help was something you could do.

“Fine,” you sighed.  “I’ll go with you, but I warn you, my powers are so limited.  I doubt it’ll come to anything.”

“Great,” Clint grinned and put his arm around your shoulders.  “Now, to trying to get you to want to kiss me for real.”

You laughed and drank the shot.  Clint went up and got more drinks.  This time just a pitcher of beer for the two of you to share.  Whether it was the alcohol, the stress, the thrill that he was an Avenger or maybe that he seemed to be a completely likable dumbass, you weren’t sure but it didn’t take long until you were locked together, kissing passionately and finding yourself getting more than a little bit turned on.

You were practically sitting on his lap as his hands slid up under your skirt.  The spark that ran from you to him, was like a hot current, pulling you to him.  He moaned into your lips, completely uncaring that there were people around you.  It was likely that part of that was due to the fact you’d been at it for so long his bones were knitting, but he was definitely as turned on as you were, you could feel his erection every time he pulled you closer to him.

You gripped his thigh and he broke the kiss and began sucking on the pulse point under your ear.  “I want to fuck you so fucking bad.”

“My place was in the fall zone,” you whined.

He gripped your thigh and pulled you so you were almost straddling him.  “Bathroom,” he growled against your ear.

You nodded and he pulled you to your feet.  The two of you stumbled to the bathrooms, making out against the wall as you waited for one to become free.  As soon as it did, Clint pushed you inside, locking the door behind you.  He was still sore you could tell, but even with the broken arm and ribs, he managed to lift you up onto the sink.  You spread your legs and he dragged your panties down.  You were already soaking for him, and he dropped to his knees and ran his tongue up your cunt.  The spark you felt as your powers engaged ran hard through your cunt, making you jerk your hips.  You braced your arm against the mirror and gripped the side of the sink as Clint held your legs apart and greedily sucking on your folds.  He moaned loudly and his tongue pushed inside of you like he was trying to drink you up from the source.  You rocked your hips against his face and he began to focus on your clit, sucking and biting at it.  He thrust two fingers inside you and fucked you hard with them.  With the current that was running through you, you were barely holding it together.  You panted, your head resting back on the grimy glass of the mirror above the sink.  Clint’s fingers moved inside you, dragging over your g-spot again and again.  You weren’t sure you were going to be able to hold yourself up and your legs kept wanting to snap night around his head.  He held them apart and kept going and with a loud cry, you came, gushing on his face.  He let out a moan to match your cry and lapped up what he could.  He stood and began to fish around in his pocket.

“Jesus, I think my ribs have healed.  Should have eaten you out in the field,” Clint teased.

“What kind of girl do you think I am?”  You laughed.

“Fucking filthy one,” he growled.

You grabbed him by the belt and began to unfasten his pants.  “Clint,” you said, still breathing heavily.  “I’m on birth control and I’m a healer.”

A slow smile played over his lips and he pulled his cock out.  “Well, then,” he said and thrust deep inside of you.

You both moaned, the spark returning again.  There was a banging on the door and you buried your face in his neck.  “Fuck,” you giggled.  “Gonna need to be quick.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Clint teased, playfully.  “I can do ‘quick’.”

You burst out laughing and let your head fall back, he held you close and started fucking you hard and deep.  He shoved you up against the wall with every thrust and you bit into his shoulder, moaning into his skin.  Your fingers dug into his back and you braced a foot on the wall.  Everything came together perfectly, the place, the person, your powers, how deep and hard he penetrated you, you lost yourself to it.  Your body spasmed and clenched and you came again, holding yourself as close to Clint as you could as it shuddered though you.  He thrust hard into you, holding you in place as he came.  “Fuck,” he groaned as his cock pulsed with it’s released.  “That was…”

“Mm-hmm…” you hummed and he slipped from within you.  “The healing thing always makes it more intense.”

“How come it’s done nothing for my ears?”  Clint asked as he tucked his cock back away.  “I mean, everything it’s been working on, but I still have my hearing aids on?”

You shook your head as you straightened yourself back up and pulled up your underwear.  “Don’t know.  The worse the injury or illness the more exchange has to happen.  I can’t do things like regrow body parts.  It does nothing for scar tissue.  And the older the injury the less likely it is to work at all.”

“Huh,” Clint said and there was another banging on the door.  “You ready?”

You nodded.  “Yeah, better let the people pee.”

The two of you walked back into the crowded bar.  “You coming home with me?”  Clint asked as he took out his phone and tapped around on it.

You shrugged.  “I guess.  I mean, I don’t even think they’ll let me near my place.”

“Cool,” Clint said casually.  “To the roof.”

You furrowed your brow and looked at him.  He just pointed the way so you followed after him.  As you reached the roof a large black military jet approached and then hovered above you both.  The back end of it opened up and it began to lower itself down, when it was within reach, Clint jumped up into the back and leaned over, holding his hand out to you and helping you scramble inside.

You followed him up to the cockpit as the back end closed again.  “Thanks for coming to get me, Nat,” Clint said, kissing the redhead at the cockpit on the cheek.

She scrunched up her nose and ruffled his hair.  “What was I supposed to do?  Leave you here?”

You watched them as you took your seat and buckled yourself in.  There was an easy affection between them and you realized, they were together.  Together-together.  You’d just helped Hawkeye cheat on Black Widow.

Bile started to bubble up from your stomach and you weren’t sure what to do.  You could keep it secret and let it eat at you forever, or you could tell her and she’d probably stab you.  It wouldn’t kill you, but being stabbed still hurt and you didn’t want it to happen.

Your conscience seemed to be in control though.  The words bubbled up and burst out of your mouth completely out of your control.  With a yelp and covering your mouth with your hands, you shouted; “Clint and I just had sex!”

// NEXT

[rockthistowninsideout]

DigiWeek 2021

Day 7 - Home (Free Day)

The Story

   “Uh-oh as much as you want! Now the time is over for Digimon and all those supporting them!”, the blonde girl shouted and finally rounded the ledge. She wore a red-and-blue checked school uniform and a devilish grin on her face.

   “Why would you want to end the Digimon?”, Kamemon cried out.

   “Because they are destructive and cannot be trusted!”

   “Then why do you have a Digimon partner?”, Ryudamon asked.

   The girl, who still hadn’t introduced herself, laughed menacingly. _“_There’s no such thing as Digimon partner. Humans can never live in peace with them. Grizzlymon is merely a tool because it was stupid enough to think the same as you. Wanted to become my partner – Instead I made it my slave. It’s what Digimon deserve to be so mindlessly wrecking.”

   “You tested your black spikes on it, didn’t you?” I asked as I caught a glimpse of a sharp tip protruding from its fur.

   She eyed me with a gaze that swung between annoyance and approval. “Oh yes! It was really eager to be my guinea pig and I have to admit it’s doing an excellent job as my assassin. But then again Digimon are nothing but war machines.”

   “That’s not true!”, Kamemon cried out. It seemed to feel deeply offended by the girl’s sermon.

   And I understood that. Kamemon and Ryudamon had been nothing but kind and helpful, and Frezamon had only attacked us because the black spike had corrupted it. Something truly dire had probably happened in her life. To buy time, I asked “What’s your name?”

   Her eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. She positioned herself straddle-legged before us, hands on her hips, and declared “I am Tamina and you will soon praise me as the Extinguisher of Digimon!”

   Taki leaned into me “She’s got a serious screw loose. White people and their megalomaniac ideas.”

   While I wholeheartedly agreed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that some serious trauma bubbled close beneath the surface. Before I could elaborate on that note, she cried “Grizzlymon, attack!”

   Her Digimon, or better say, her brainwashed minion, unleashed a Heavy Attack. We could duck down and escape to the right, but the attack was so strong that it shattered the stony ledge we’d been hiding under. The shards were blown in all directions and we only stayed safe because Ryudamon threw itself before us and blocked the shrapnel with its armour.

   I looked to Kamemon. “Are you ready?” It nodded. I gripped my DigiVice tightly and as Kamemon started to glow, it vibrated in my hand. When the evolution was done, it identified the new Digimon in our ranks as Gwappamon. Gwappamon was roughly a head or two shorter than what I remembered DexDorugamon to be. Instead of Kamemon’s helmet it had brown dreadlock-like hair that was crowned by a CD. Around its neck a pair of headphones was slung and its belly was stitched and patched up. It parried Grizzlymon’s attack with a Gwappa Punch.

   “See, you’re also only using the Digimon as fighters”, Tamina yelled in triumph.

   “Well, we don’t want to get ourselves killed by you poor Digimon!”, Taki shouted. “I can only pity it, both of you, actually.”

   “Why do you pity me? Pity yourself for being led to believe that Digimon are good!”

   We jumped apart when Grizzlymon launched its next attack. I ran towards the rocks where the ice sheet was wedged when an idea struck me. We were four and they were only a pair. We should have an advantage here.

   Tamina was concentrated on directing Grizzlymon against Gwappamon who was sparring exceptionally. So I had the chance to communicate with Taki and Ryudamon, at least non-verbally. Taki agreed with my plan: I wanted to lure Grizzlymon away by letting myself be reflected in the ice mirror. That was suppposed to irritate Grizzlymon enough to let its focus slip. Hopefully that gave Ryudamon enough time to jump on Grizzlymon’s back. Then Gwappamon could join forces with Ryudamon and we could pin down Tamina.

   I bent down and started forming snow balls. When I had a small battery of them at my feet, I threw them at Grizzlymon with force. After the third, it turned around annoyed. To be on the safe side, I threw a couple more, one hit it straight between the eyes. With a roar, it charged at me. Well, what it supposed was me, but it actually was my reflection it ran towards. Before Tamina could order it to stop it had hit the ice with a sickening crash, the impact was enough to let the ice splitter into a million pieces.

   Immediately, Ryudamon was on its back, clawing into its think fur. Grizzlymon roared in agony but before it could shake Ryudamon off, Gwappamon had thrown it into the snow. Tamina was shouting, she tore at her hair, until we were at her sides and gripped her arms tightly. “Let. Me. Go!” she yelled repeatedly, though her voice grew smaller and smaller until she was mere wax in our hands. Uncontrolled sobs were shaking her body. Taki and I looked at each other, we both simply felt sympathy now. We led Tamina towards the yurt where she collapsed in front of the entrance.

   I wanted to enter but the darkness that had risen from the chimney had now filled the entire hut so I quickly drew the curtain back and told Taki and Tamina that we had to evacuate right now. Tamina was unable to walk, it seemed that only her rage and misguided mission had been holding her up, so I scooped her up bridal-style and hurried down the mountain as fast as I could.

   In passing Taki shouted towards the Digimon to destroy the yurt – Grizzlymon had now been freed from the spike and was looking around confused. Gwappamon sent the CD on its head spinning which tore open a slit in the fabric of the yurt and Ryudamon set the hut ablaze with its Tera Burst. The yurt exploded and the shockwave pushed me several metres down the slope.

   We took shelter behind a particularly sturdy looking ledge. I sat Tamina down who was sobbing. “Shh” I said. “You are okay now.”

   “Yeah, it’s alright”, Taki seconded. After a brief pause she said “And whenever you’re ready, you can tell us why you hate Digimon so much.”

   Tamina was quiet for a few moments, only furiously wiping away the tears from her eyes. I gave her a handkerchief from my school bag. She took it with a grateful expression but she wasn’t smiling yet. Finally she whispered “My mom.” She hiccuped before she could continue “My mom died when Parrotmon and Greymon fought in Hikarigaoka. She was the only victim when she got hit by fallen debris that’s been, well, I don’t know if it came from a bridge, or an apartment building, of it it was a car. It also doesn’t really matter. I wasn’t afraid to see these two creatures fight when I watched them but when I learned that they were responsible for Mommy’s death, I swore revenge. And over the years, my anger only grew whenever I saw Digimon running rampant in the city and all across the globe. They caused malfunctions and destroyed everything. But as far as I know my mom was the only fatality in all those year. I always felt that the government wasn’t doing enough so I itched for a chance to right it myself.”

   She paused to inhale deeply. “And some time ago, I don’t if it’s been hours, or days, or weeks – time works different in the Digital World – I walked home from school when someone called me down a stairwell between two streets. The voice came from behind a gate between two houses, and when I stepped through it, I was in the Digital World, right in front of the yurt, with Bearmon waiting beside it. The voice told me that it understood my sorrow and wanted to help me with my revenge.”

   A few minutes ago, the girl had wanted to dominate the world but now I could feel nothing but sorry for her. Out of an instinct, I hugged her tightly, and Taki on the other side did the same. Our Digimon came back from their battle, they had evolved to their previous levels.

   When Tamina spotted her former slave she called “Oh Bearmon, I’m so sorry!”, and teared up again.

   Bearmon came towards her to hug her, saying “It’s alright now.”

   Kamemon walked over to me and said “We told Bearmon what happened. It was very understanding.”

   “Thank you for tel-”. Before I could finish the sentence, there was a blast that shook the earth. We flinched, then I peaked over the ledge to discover a huge crater where the hut used to be.

   “That wasn’t us!” Kamemon declared.

   From the crater rose smoke that transformed into tentacles halfway through. “Ah shucks!”, I muttered.

   “Did you really think it was over? What you defeated was merely a puppet, a disposable I would have gotten rid of anytime if the time had come. And the time has come!”

   “That’s it! That’s the voice that called me here. Oh my God!” Tamina wailed, shaking vigorously.

  “Stop it!”, I said firmly. “We need your help now. If we want to win against – well, whatever that is, we need to stand united.”

   Tamina looked frightened at me. “I don’t think I can.”

   I lifted her head gently at the chin to look directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. I’m really sorry what happened to your mom. But the Digimon are not to blame for her death. And neither your vendetta nor your indecision will bring her back. What we need to focus on right now is to save the Digital World, and probably our human world too. I don’t know who’s behind the voice but I’m pretty sure they don’t want to spare us. What Ryudamon over there told me was that the Dark Forces had always aimed for the human world too. It’s the rest of your family who’s in danger now. This is your chance to save them!”

   She stared at me like a hare. Her shaking stopped, she swallowed hard before she nodded. “Okay.”

   “Wonderful.” I briefly hugged her, then pulled her up on her feet.

   We gathered together, back to back, gazing up to the sky. It darkened by the second, the clouds spun faster and faster until some sort of vent had formed. “Prepare for doom!”, the voice thundered.

   Taki grabbed my hand on the left side, Kamemon on the right. “Ready?”, she asked.

   I nodded. “Let’s do this

Gwappamon

Also:

HAPPY ODAIBA DAY!!

Thank you so much for organizing the event @earlgreymon​ and @tangledupblue! It was wonderful to see us Digimon fans reunited again and to share our love for an anime that’s been with us for more than 20 years. 

[prolestariwrites]

Open For Me [5]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/Reader Tags: Explicit sexual content, First time, First love, Violence, Death, Implied dubcon, Implied drug-induced sex Rating: M Part: 5 of 5

Summary: Vergil's life has been difficult as far back as he can remember, until he meets a young woman who saves his life. Can she save it again when he learns the truth of who he is, and bring him back from a dark and dangerous fate? A five-part story of pre- and post-canon Vergil.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and to my friends @wordborne and @solynacea for their feedback. Please enjoy the final part.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Be gentle with me, for my heart hides so many wounds that never bleed. —Alexandra Vasiliu

There is a man who sits on the bench in the park across the street from your house. That in itself is not terribly strange: the homeless often find refuge in the public space. And he certainly seems homeless, draped in dark clothes that are little more than rags, his posture drawn in as if to hide.

You wouldn't have noticed him at all if it wasn't for the feeling he gives you when you walk by. Something familiar, maybe his shoulders, maybe his hands. It isn't unease, but the opposite: a driving curiosity to find out who is underneath the fabric. You don't see anyone anymore, not really, not since Vergil had left. He had been the only person you ever trusted, and that had been a mistake.

So you don't dare to ask or to offer. You watch him from your window, as he sits day after day. No one even seems to see him there, not even a cop as he strolls by. You start to wonder if he's just a figment of your imagination, until you hear his voice.

You are at your door, keys in hand, checking the mailbox when you hear one word: "No."

Coldness douses your spine and you drop the envelopes on the ground. You are afraid to turn around, not of him, never of him, but afraid he's not really there. It has been so long since you heard that voice, more than two decades, but at once you are a girl of nineteen desperately in love with someone who does nothing but lie. Tears blur your vision as your mind pleads with your body to turn around and look. Just look.

Slowly your head turns. Someone had offered him a bottle of water, and rebuffed they are now moving on. The figure settles back into itself, and your hands are trembling as you stare, waiting for more. But he does not speak again.

A minute slips by, then another. Does he see you? Why is he here, on that bench, that fucking bench outside of your house? You had left the apartment as soon as you were able, moving into this house in the city, the top half of a duplex you bought when the owner died. How did he know, how did he find you? Did he find you, or is this the biggest cosmic joke of the universe? Because you never forgot him, never moved on, prayed for days and nights he would come back until the pain of losing him turned you into stone.

Your feet are moving and you are halfway across the street before you notice. A car blares its horn at you, jolting you back to reality, and you dart to the sidewalk. The figure hasn't moved, not even when you were nearly hit. It can't be him, he would have moved, he would have saved you.

You approach slowly until you are standing in front of him. You realize your purse is gone, dropped somewhere, but your keys are still in your hand, like a weapon. Your eyes dart to the side and you note there is no sword. You can still remember the diamond pattern of the hilt, could draw it in your sleep.

Drawing in a shaking breath, you feel your lip shaking. "Vergil?" you whisper.

There is no answer, not even a movement indicating he had heard you. You swallow painfully, still waiting. "Vergil, is that you?" you ask again, a bit louder this time.

Slowly he stands. You step back, shaking now, his height so familiar that you let out a soft sob. "Vergil?"

"Do you know where it is?"

Blinking rapidly, you shake your head. "What?"

"Do you know where it is?"

His voice is different. Maybe this isn't Vergil? It's harder, rougher, like broken glass.

What has happened to him? "Vergil, come with me. Let me… I live right over there." You reach out and tug on his sleeve. "Vergil, please? Let me help you."

You pull harder and grab his hand. With a gasp you feel it is cold: cold as ice, his skin like stone, and when you look down you must swallow against the sight of gray skin that is cracked and broken. You remember so vividly that night in the kitchen when his face and arms had healed from an attack; in the years following, you had turned this over again and again, realizing he had never once been sick or hurt, no cuts or colds, no flu, no headaches. Demon prince, he had said to you, and some part of you had started to believe it, impossible as it is.

He snatches the hand away and turns. He moves quickly down the street, so quickly that it doesn't register for a moment. "Vergil! Wait!" You take off after him, tears blurring your vision as you try to keep track of the dark fabric. At the next intersection, the light turns green, and he disappears.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

You almost ignore the knock on your front door, frowning at the clock. Nothing good ever came after 9:00, that's what your mother always used to say. But when it comes again, firm and insistent, you put your book aside and pull the blanket around your shoulders, cautiously opening the door with the chain still on.

At first you don't recognize him. You frown and take in the tall build, the angles on the handsome face, the dark coat. But when he shifts and you see the glint of his blue eyes and the silver color of his slicked-back hair—silver, not white or blond, he had scolded once—you let go a gasp. "Vergil?"

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. Your fingers fly over the locks until you can swing the door open wide, your mouth open as you stare. It's him for sure, just older now, a bit more… tired? You remember the cold, gray stranger from years ago, but this person is more like the boy you loved in your youth. Something wells in your throat, still filled with disbelief. How long has it been? How many years?

"It's been a while," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice makes you shiver.

"A while," you echo.

"You remembered."

Shaking your head, you say, "Of course I remember you."

"Can I come in?"

You blink, nodding, and step aside. Vergil's eyes sweep through the room as you replace the locks, and you realize how little has changed since he last stepped foot inside your home. A new ottoman, a couple of throw pillows, but other than that it is the same. The only thing that has changed, in fact, is you.

Wiping your hands nervously on your jeans, you ask, "When did you…?"

You don't even know what you are asking, but Vergil still answers. "Two days ago. I had some business to take care of, with my brother."

Your hands clench at your sides, the ease in his voice making the hair on your neck stand on end. "Business with your brother?" you hiss. "You've been gone for years! You left me! And that was you on the bench, wasn't it? That was you, after all that time, you came and sat outside of my house just to go again! Why? Why are you doing this?"

It actually looks like that got through. Vergil blanches, just slightly, and without asking he sits on the couch. His back is straight and he unbuttons his coat, the air of formality only stoking your anger. You've seen him hurt, and sick, and nearly half dead, you've heard him moan and cry and laugh with tears in his eyes. And he wants to sit on your couch as if he's a visitor from the local church making a social call?

"Vergil," you snap, moving in front of him with arms folded. "Tell me the truth."

"The truth." It's his turn to echo you, and to your surprise he reaches up and takes your hand. The little bit of affection catches you off guard, and all you can do is watch his thumb stroke the back of your hand, and remember. Vergil, sitting up late at night, reading books yellow with age as you dozed next to him. Listening to him talk about the places you would visit together, trying to picture him as you could never see yourself. Running his hands through your hair as he talked of his plans, the spark in his eye so lovely that it helped you ignore the lies on the surface that left you so unsettled at times.

You try to tug your hand away gently, but he holds firm. "I owe you an explanation," he says.

The laugh that huffs out of your throat is quick and humorless. "You owe me more than that."

Vergil glances up, and you see there is something different. A part of him you haven't seen since you were barely adults, something that is warm, something you stopped associating with him. "You're right," he answers.

The confession, as small as it is, catches you by surprise. "Since when are you so self-aware?" you say before you can stop yourself.

But he only shakes his head. "This feels strange," Vergil murmurs. You frown as he continues to stroke the skin of your hand, but his expression is thoughtful. "I'm feeling things that… well, I'm feeling, anyway. And I needed to come and see you, that much was certain."

It is sweet to say, even though you don't trust him, not yet. "Where did you go?" you ask.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he replies, glancing away.

"Try me."

Clearing his throat, he asks, "Did you see on the news the story about Red Grave City?"

"Yes," you frown. "What about it?"

Vergil nods, easing back on the couch, and you sit next to him. He talks for a while, the most you've heard from him since you were young, and he goes on about legacies and power and all kinds of fantasy, leaving you enthralled without understanding why. He tells you about the sword he had lost, that belonged to his father—Yamato, you remember the name clearly, another detail he had shared you never really understood. There is hesitation on the next part, something he hides as he glosses over years spent "away", but the pain in his voice keeps you from asking more. He tells you about leaving his human self behind, of becoming a monster, only to be patched back together by his brother. Demon prince, that's what he had called himself, but could any of this be possible? He tells you of heading off to fight off Hell in order to save his son.

"Your son?" you interrupt.

Vergil nods. "It was unexpected."

That… stings. More than you're willing to admit, even to yourself. If he has a son, then that means… You shake your head, not ready to think about that. "You were right. I don't believe any of this."

He seems hurt by that, which catches you off guard. "I don't blame you," replies Vergil, although the cool timbre of his voice contradicts the very uncomfortable look on his face. "But I'm done with all that now. I tried to become something I'm not, and it didn't work. So now I'm going to try to just be…"

"Yourself?"

Vergil chuckles and meets your gaze. "I was going to say human. But I suppose myself is apt."

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile, and against your better judgment, your heart softens. "I don't understand," you murmur. You reach up and stroke your fingertip against the side of his brow: something he always liked, and as always Vergil sinks just a bit, pressing against your touch.

"I know you don't." He hesitates, and you wonder: is he searching for the right words, or is he convincing himself they are true?

"What do you want?" you murmur.

He swallows, his eyes down. "Another chance? I keep asking for one from everyone." Finally his gaze lifts, and there is a warm sensation inside of you that swells because there is sincerity there.

"I'm older now," you say.

Vergil laughs. "So am I."

"I'm different," you clarify. "You broke my heart. You hurt me."

"I know."

Why is this so easy? It shouldn't be, not after so long, but he looks like the same boy who needed a place to stay on a cold night and felt so warm in your bed. "That was you on the bench, wasn't it?" you murmur.

He looks into your eyes and nods. "I don't know why. I came back and was dying. I needed to find someone, and I followed my instincts. I thought I was finding Yamato, but I found you."

You close your eyes and shake your head. "That night when you healed," you whisper, afraid of hurting him.

"I never wanted you to know," he says.

"Why?"

"It was too dangerous. Things wanted me dead."

The tone in his voice sends a shiver through you. But there is no lie in his eyes, not this time. "And now?"

"It's over, I suppose? I don't know. But… that part is over." Vergil swallows uncomfortably. "There is too much to say, I don't know how to explain it all."

"It's okay," you sigh. "We have time."

On instinct you reach up and press your palm to his face. The last time you did this, you were still barely children, and he had flinched away from your touch. But now he presses against your palm, sinking towards you, and Vergil wraps his arms around you to hold you closely. You press your cheek to his, feeling him tremble. He feels so strong and yet so vulnerable at the same time, and as you card your hand through his hair you wonder just what really happened to him.

You whisper his name and he turns to press his mouth on yours. It is unexpected, but when has Vergil ever not surprised you? Your lashes are wet as you kiss him back, the sensation so familiar it almost hurts. Your heart aches remembering the last kiss, the last touch, the last time you were together. It feels like a lifetime ago; it probably was.

He pulls you closer so you are practically draped over his lap. His hands slide up the back of your shirt, warm and firm and smooth. The last image you have of him as that figure on the street is fading like a dream as you press against his body. The kiss turns more passionate as one hand slips into your hair, and Vergil sighs as you open your lips to slide your tongue along his. The taste of him awakens the part of you that had gone cold and quiet when he left, and you cover his body with yours, needing to be close.

His heart is beating wildly when you push your hands under his shirt and your palm finds his chest. Vergil helps you remove his shirt, and then he pulls off yours. The look on his face is nothing but reverence, but you blush a bit, suddenly self-conscious. "I haven't…"

He looks up at you and nods. "About Nero… it's hard to explain, but I will. Just know I've never been unfaithful to you."

Your brows draw down slightly, wondering what that means. But he pulls you into another kiss, his hands roaming you now, and you decide to leave that until he can explain.

It takes no time for him to remove your bra, and then he turns to lay you back gently. Vergil was never a rough lover, but he could be hard, so the soft care makes this moment feel strange. His mouth presses to your neck, and he whispers how beautiful you are as they travel downward. Your own heart is fluttering by the time he kisses your breast, your eyes sliding closed when his lips tug on your nipple.

Again, he is not demanding, instead soft as he sucks on your flesh. He teases you with his teeth as your body melts with pleasure, his fingers caressing you tenderly. "Do you want to stop?" he asks, his voice strained as he presses his forehead to your chest.

"No, no, of course not," you laugh.

He kneels up and takes hold of the waistband of your leggings. "I love you," he says as he pulls the fabric down. "I never stopped."

You lift your hips and his hands travel back up your bare legs. "I didn't either," you reply.

It goes on like this, slow and quiet, his demanding touch now so tender, his searing kisses a sweet gentleness. He lights your core on fire with his touch, until you are moaning and reaching for him, gasping for more. "Please Vergil… I need you…"

"Open for me." Your eyes close and a tear rolls down your cheek as your thighs spread and he presses inside your body. It's been a long time since the last time you were together, and it's uncomfortable at first; but he uses just as much care now, his shallow thrusts making your back arch from the cushion.

You slide your hands on his chest, fingers searching his skin for any signs of the cracked and gray skin. But he is perfect and whole and solid, and once his hips are flush with yours you look up at him, eyes wide and searching.

He stares down at you almost in awe as he starts to move. You press your hand to his cheek again and he winces, and you see the pleasure and pain in his face. Your palm grows wet as he kisses your skin, and before long he is thrusting with a deep, steady pace that has you both moaning. You twist underneath him as the pleasure mounts, the anticipation building until it snaps inside and your body begins to pulse. Vergil groans, long and loud, and as your muscles tighten around him he spills inside of you. His seed is hot and thick as it fills you up, making you cry out as wave after wave of bliss has you holding to him tightly.

Vergil sinks against you, laying with his head on your chest, another thing from years ago that you remember well. How is it two decades pass and yet it feels like no time at all? You stroke his hair as he grows soft inside you, his hands clenching and releasing against your back as your breathing slows.

"I won't let you go again," he says.

"Okay," you reply. Vergil raises his head and you kiss his lips. "We can start over."

"I have so much to explain," he sighs.

You stroke his cheek. "No more secrets. I am ready to hear it all."

He nods and leans in for another kiss. As he moves over you, you remember the red pendant and how it had pressed against your chest your first night together. That Vergil had been just as strong, and just in need of help. But this time, you are stronger too.

[tsukuna]

Side by Side

Summary: You wandered into Red Grave City to warn the "Legendary Devil Hunter" of a certain... negative shift in the area's energy. It was an energy you knew to be demonic, and it grew stronger by the day. But on your way to meet with the intermediary, a noisy bird caught your attention. A noisy bird that would bring you to a frail man on the brink of falling apart.

Rated M • Female Reader • Before the Events of DMC V• Under the Cut • Part 2

The backstreets and dark alleys of Red Grave City were a seedy sort. There were assaults and robberies aplenty, and yet it was there you slinked around. It wasn’t like you were too good for such a sketchy area or anything, you also carried a hidden dagger on your person. Experience told you that was at least one precaution someone had to take. Something was about to change in Red Grave City though, you could feel it prickling on your skin.

In the couple days you had been in the area, you managed to locate a man by the name of Morrison--a man who would help you meet a devil hunter. The two of you scheduled a time to meet once more at a quaint bar to further discuss the issue you were bringing to the plate; however, that time wasn’t till later in the evening and there was nothing you could do to kill time. Any money you had was to be saved for the job ( hopefully the intermediary would buy you a drink at the bar ). And so you walked around, kicking rocks and passively looking about.

When you first saw a dark bird flying about in the sky, you thought nothing of it--until it began to talk. Your eyes squinted incredulously. The fuck? Clearly, this ‘bird’ was no bird. Quickening your pace to follow it, you whistled and called to it, “Hey!” Considering it stopped in place, you guessed you caught the creature’s attention. At that moment, it turned into a mere shadow falling down, and a short moment later, it perched itself upon your shoulder. Ah, a demon.

“Babe! ( Babe?) You gotta help me!” The demon squawked, his voice reminding you very much of a cartoon. It continued to speak after you quirked your brow at it. “I got a dying guy over there! Come on!” If he could’ve dragged you by the arm, he would have. You sighed in resignation and followed, nodding for the demonic bird to lead the way.

The destination was an abandoned, destroyed building that reeked of demon blood. Your eyes caught sight of a collapsed man, who you assumed to be the ‘dying guy.’ Again, the bird was blabbering about something, but you let it fade into the background noise. Cautiously, you made your way to the boy with black hair, hand on your dagger. It was unnecessary though. The man was truly out cold, his body shivering, sweating, and covered in demonic fluids.

You sat beside his body, gently pulling the man’s head onto your lap. You brushed the ebony hair away from his face. Cute. With a deep breath, you focused yourself and reached your hand out over his abdomen. “He’s not in good shape. What the hell happened to him?” You furrowed your brows.

“We were fighting demons and he worked his little body too hard!” He paused, “Is Shakespeare gonna live or not?” Was that actually the man’s name?

“I think so,” you affirmed, “I will do what I can.” Once more you reached out, pouring your own vitality into the cracks of his fractured energy. It wasn’t the most comfortable of procedures, so you hummed songs to keep your mind off the unease.

“Babe, just what are you,” the bird sat on your shoulder and questioned.

“Shh,” you put a finger to your lips without even bothering to look at the source of the voice and continued singing softly. You were not only too busy healing the man, but also trying to figure out just what he was. There was a faint demonic energy inside of him, but everything else appeared human--perhaps even weaker than that. You weren’t quite sure why you were pouring your energy into healing a seemingly doomed person, but it simply felt right--not that you ever cared what was right before.

It must have been nearly an hour before you were done working and certain that he would live through the toll his body had taken. However, he still laid there unconscious, and so you continued to sit there and idly ran your fingers through his hair. “He will live,” you softly spoke.

The demon let out a sigh of relief, “Thank fuck. Though I have to ask, how did you do that shit?” You explained the process without giving away just what you were. Considering you stumbled upon the two just that day, there was no trust there and there wasn’t a chance in hell that you would spill your secrets to strangers.

The chatty creature seemed disappointed in your answer, but pushed it no further.

Next to the man’s body lay a book with a ‘V’ on the cover. Curious, you reached out and picked it up. It was a book of poetry you noted as you skimmed through. Shakespeare indeed. You began to read. After all, there was currently nothing better to do, and considering the fact that it was still light outside, there was plenty of time till you had to meet with Morrison.

After a time of reading long enough for you to get over halfway through the book, a groan came from beneath you. Finally, the man had woken up. The atmosphere certainly became more awkward as he once again gained consciousness. With an uncomfortable smile, you let out a tense, “Yo.”

Dark green eyes blinked a few times and looked back at you with shock and suspicion as he shot up to a sitting position.

“You sure gave me a scare!” The black bird exclaimed before the man could address you. “Thought you were dead for realsies.”

“I just ran out of power,” the stranger spoke in a low, groggy voice, still looking at you out of the corner of his eyes.

“And that still means death to us right now, so be careful,” he responded. Ah, this demon must be his familiar.

The two of them talked further while you sat by watching. Finally, the man focused on you. “And who are you,” he warily questioned.

After you gave him your name, the bird butted in. “Babe here--”

“Don’t call me babe.”

“Sorry. This lady here is the reason your sorry ass is still alive!” This time, he flapped his wings and perched on your head, an action that made you frown. The dark haired--and tattooed, you noticed--man quirked his brow.

“I suppose I owe you a gratitude,” he spoke once more. If you had to admit it, it was quite a pleasant, handsome voice.

You shrugged. “I think this demon here would’ve scratched my eyes out if I didn’t try after walking all the way here.” The chatterbox wasn’t wrong though. I’m almost certain he would’ve died without aid. “Oh, I assume you’re V,” you guessed due to the initial on the book and slid it over to him. “Hope you don’t mind that I read some while waiting for you.”

He appeared to be thinking before responding, “Yes.. my name is V. I hope its contents are interesting.” V began to stand up but it seemed his legs weren’t ready to support him, so he nearly tumbled over.

Quickly, you reached out to pick him back up. “I’m more of a fan of prose,” you admitted, as you assisted him, “but I can appreciate poetry as well.” V was back and steady on his feet, to which he offered a nod of thanks. A moment of silence passed by. “So can I ask what the name of your talkative familiar is?”

Said familiar materialized from the ink of V’s tattoos, “The name’s Griffon.” Much to your surprise another creature formed as well. “And this girl here is Shadow.”

You looked at the demon who took the form of a panther with glowing red eyes, and she looked back at you. Your eyes widened as she brushed herself against your legs like a house cat, which wasn’t a bad thing. Tentatively, you reached forward and scratched the creature behind the ears, a gesture she appeared to enjoy.

Once again, a pair of dark green eyes (much like the colors of a forest) were staring at you rather intensely. “Looks like you’ve got some interesting company,” you tried to lighten the atmosphere.

“Damn right he does!” Griffon squawked.

“I’m a bit jealous, I must say. It has been me, myself, and I for many long years,” you said with downcast eyes. “I think this is the most interaction I’ve had in quite some time.” V merely nodded at your comment, to which you sighed. I won’t get much out of this guy.

A loud groan and gurgle came from V’s stomach, cutting the tense feeling. You couldn’t completely suppress your giggle. “I’m hungry myself.” It was an honest comment. “Wanna find something to eat in Red Grave?”

“I don’t have any money,” he replied, looking to the side with a chagrined expression.

You knew you really needed all the money you had to pay Morrison to pay the devil hunter, but you made an offer anyways. “My treat as long as you don’t expect anything expensive.”

“I already owe you a debt, and it seems I’m about to tack on another expense,” V sighed.

“Don’t worry,” you laughed, “I don’t expect anything. Not that there’s anything you can do to repay me for your life anyways,” you winked.

The comment actually garnered a small smile from the man. “Let us be off then,” he gestured forward. “I should be able to walk just fine now,” V reassured you with a spin of his cane as you moved closer in case you had to catch him again.

The two of you walked in step with one another. Despite it being quiet, you were actually quite comfortable. It amused you when V was the one to break the silence. “What are you?” He asked, still looking forward.

“Hmm,” you hummed as you pondered upon your answer. “How about instead of answering straight up, I propose a little game.” Finally turning to look upon your face, V quirked his brow. “We can do a little quid pro quo. You tell me something about yourself, and I’ll tell you something about myself--and vice versa, of course. The only catch is that our answers must be equivalent to what the other said,” you explained, pointing a finger in the air.

V grinned. “Fair enough.” Again, the two of you fell into silence once more.

Deciding to get the ball rolling, you piped up, “I’m in the city to find a devil hunter. Perhaps you’ll think I’m crazy, but something is coming.” It was a comment you said in all seriousness.

His reply astonished you. “I am as well. I hope to enlist the help of the same devil hunter before the damage comes to pass.”

“Perhaps we should continue being together for the day if that���s your goal. I’m meeting with the intermediary today,” you clarified.

“I hate relying on others,” V put a head to his forehead. “But I agree that is for the best.” You nodded in agreement.

Again, you found yourself in the back streets of Red Grave City, but this time, you were with a companion. You absent-mindedly fiddled around with your most precious treasure--an intricately twisted black-metal ring set with a blue opal. But it wasn’t long before a woman’s panicked voice brought you back to reality. The two of you peeked around the corner to see three men robbing a woman. You took a step forward, but Griffon opened his wing ahead of you.

“Things will get messy if you get involved. Stay out of it.” He then warned V, “And you’re not a demon. If you get shot, you’re dead.”

The men demanded her necklace. “Please, anything but that… It’s a memento of my mother,” she nearly sobbed. But she gave it up as one of them put a gun to her head. You felt a sense of disgust bubble up in you as you thought of your own memento, the ring. V seemed to share your sentiment as his face paled and brows furrowed.

Suddenly, V was slipping, knocking over a trash can and catching the people’s attention. “I should have fed you some mice after all!” Griffon screeched. It wasn’t long before the men began approaching V. You slowly began to reach for the dagger hidden in your boot; however, you tsk-ed at the fact that guns are certainly faster than knives. One of the thieves continued to threaten your tattooed companion over money he didn’t have (you were footing the food costs, after all).

Your eyes widened as the man smashed V in the face with his gun. You rushed and held him before his head could smack across the concrete. “Ha ha. You’ve gotta treat yours and your girlfriend’s life with more care…”

The sound of flesh being pierced hit your ears, and a rush of sharp, black tendrils continued to lash out. “That’s my line,” V coldly replied. “And it looks like you’ve put it in a bad mood.” The black matter continued gurgling, bubbling, and growing around you two. Repeatedly, it punctured the three men’s bodies. Their cries of agony rang out. Soon enough, they were bloody and debilitated.

“Huh, neat,” you softly spoke. V bent over to begin picking up the money, and you followed suit. Three thuds and a cries of agony sounded behind you. You looked over your shoulder to see them lying in pools of blood.

“Why are you moaning like it hurts? It’s just a dream,” V looked at them with disdain in his eyes.

Your gaze turned to the original victim who was trembling with fear. “Stay away stay away stay away!” She screamed. “Please don’t kill me! I’ll give you money.”

“That money is already ours, nobody’s asking for your--” You squeezed Griffon’s beak shut as V carefully dropped her necklace in front of her. Did she even notice? Or was she too busy shuddering? You didn’t really care about the answer, and soon enough, both of you were turning and walking away.

“You look kinda angry,” Griffon pointed out.

Putting a finger to your chin in fake thought, “His expression is pretty sour, huh?” You laughed with the bird. V only sighed and kept walking. Curiosity swelled up in you. “Are those guys gonna die and bleed out or somethin’?”

“And if I said yes?”

You shrugged. “Can’t say I care all that much. It would be a bit hypocritical of me.”

V simply stared at you for a moment. “You’re… amusing.” The compliment surprised you.

A laugh passed from your lips. “I don’t think anyone's ever said that about me. I think people find me to be more along the lines of scary.”

“Hard to find the person who saved me scary.”

“You just haven’t seen enough of me yet,” you gave him a wink. “Ah, there!” You pointed to a burger stand. “It’s probably cheap as shit, and now we have some extra cash to actually get separate meals. But first, let’s clean this up.” You brought your shirt sleeve to his face and wiped the blood off him. “Much better.” It was soft, but you were pretty sure you heard a ‘thank you.’

As one would expect from fast food, the two of you finished the transaction quickly and found a wall to sit against. It didn’t take long for you to dig into your food, starting with the fries. On the other hand, V sat there examining his burger. A confused expression took over your features. “Is there a problem?”

“I don’t want to get sauce on myself,” he stated matter-of-factly. You snorted and even Griffon came out to laugh.

“Seriously, that’s your damn problem?”

“I don’t want to be dirty.” Despite his words, hunger seemed to have won the battle of eating versus worrying about sauce. V had predicted it correctly though--sauce did indeed drip on his pants. Silently, you set napkins in his lap. “Thanks,” he said through a mouthful of food.

As the two of you finished your meals in quietude, you took notice of the darkening sky. With a stretch, you stood up and shook your legs out. Noticing he was still sitting down, you offered your hand to V. He stared at it for a moment, but took it anyway. You flashed him a soft smile. “We should probably get going if we hope to meet with that man Morrison today.”

Making your way to the bar, you observed more and more things about your partner for the day. Firstly, he didn’t need his cane--for walking at least. Other than his moments of fatigue, his gait was entirely normal. But if he didn’t need it for walking, what did he need it for? Secondly, you noticed that when his familiars Griffon and Shadow emerged, the ink of his tattoos came out with them; however, some color remained. Did that mean there was another you had yet to see? There was no denying that V was a man of mystery. You reached the bar before you could ponder further.

“You comin’ in?”

V shook his head. “I’ll wait out here.”

“Alright, shouldn’t take too long,” you nodded to him. You squinted as you stepped into the dimly lit room. At the bar itself, you noticed a man in a hat. It seemed like he was trying to keep a lower profile, so it was likely that that was your man. “Morrison?” You approached him.

“Ah,” Morrison called out your name. “Nice to see you again,” he shook your hand then lowered his voice. “So you have a job?”

“Yes, it is very important that I see this Dante. I have the money,” you showed the bills to him. “Oh, and I also met another man who wants to propose the same job to him,” you added.

“Is that so?” This Morrison man did seem surprised by what you said. He turned around to say goodbye to the employees. “Let us be off then.”

You and Morrison exited the bar, and you reunited with V. “It’s all set up,” you informed him, to which he nodded in response.

Soon enough, the three of you arrived at your destination--Devil May Cry. Morrison went ahead of you two to deliver the job to the legendary hunter Dante. Your gaze turned to V, but he appeared to be having an inner dialogue going on. Eh, I don’t care to interrupt. It was V who broke the silence. “Are you ready to go in?”

“After you,” you gestured, pulling the door open. A mere moment after, you finally looked upon what would (hopefully) be the man to take on your job. Dante was a ruggedly handsome man with silver hair, blue eyes, and a bit of stubble. All in all, he was pleasant to look at, even if his eyes were full of skepticism as he sized you and V up. Dante’s gaze flicked up to Morrison once more though when he told the devil hunter that he was bringing two other people onto the job. The notion seemed to offend him, but he took it with a huff anyways.

A quiet moment passed. “Alright, so for starters… What are your names?” You offered yours up then looked to V.

“ I have no name; I am but two days old…”

Both you and Dante looked at him strangely. Oh, I see. He's reciting a poem. You recalled the pieces you had read while waiting for him to wake up.

“Just kidding. You can call me ‘V,’” he said with a seemingly amused expression before closing his book.

“Okay then you two. Why don’t you tell me everything about this job?” Dante wore an expression that seemed to scream boredom.

You turned and allowed V to explain the situation. “A powerful demon is about to resurrect, and we need your help, Dante.”

“Ha!” Dante exclaimed. It was a reaction you were not expecting. “Now that’s a familiar tune.” He began listing off the requests he’s been given with a certain cockiness. “All of them were kind of a let down.”

“This is special…”

“What’s so special about this one?” You were curious yourself, you didn’t realize how much more V knew about this situation than you did. You were acting on feelings and intuition, but this ebony-haired man seemed to know the issue intimately.

“This demon is your “reason,” V continued, “Your reason for fighting, Dante.”

Dante was quiet before asking, “This demon got a name?”

A smile graced V’s lips. “Vergil.”

[felixnation]

THE TOP 10 WORST KPOP SONGS OF 2020

(WARNING: I DON’T LIKE THESE SONGS AND WILL BE MEAN AT THEM. I DO NOT HAVE ANY PERSONAL BEEF WITH ANY OF THESE GROUPS OR ARTISTS SO DON’T COME FOR ME IF YOUR FAVE MADE A STINKER TRACK THIS YEAR.)

Ah, 2020. The year where disco came back, the 80s came back, and everyone was titling their songs after nonsense words. It was a good year for k-pop overall, with a lot of new trends entering the game towards the end of summer. However, there were some real clunkers that refused to get out of my head this quarantine and pissed me off to varying degrees each time I heard them. This list is an attempt to chronicle all of those.

So without further ado, let’s get this shit done.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

NCT 127 - PUNCH This isn't actually a bad song, hence it only making it to the honorable mentions section. In fact, I think this could've easily made the best list had it not been for one thing, and that's the presence of NCT 127, namely their rap line. The instrumental on this thing is absolutely killer and one of the best productions to come out of SM in a long time. The entire thing is bizarrely structured and incredibly gutsy, and therefore I think it's a travesty that an instrumental this incredible was drowned in ASMR-esque whispers and EYYYY WE BALLINs. There are a few salvageable sections, namely the first post-chorus, and we see glimmers of NCT 127's true potential, should they choose to explore this sound further.

CIGNATURE - NUN NU NAN NA Similar to Punch, I admire the production choices here - there are a few sections that blast you with 100gecs-esque womps, and that's always something I enjoy. The vast majority of the song rarely dips below decent territory, but since the entire thing hinges on the titular hook, it ends up falling apart right when it needs to bring the hype the most. I mean, building a hook around those notes was...an interesting choice, I guess. It reminds me a lot of fromis_9's FUN!, which also constructed the entire song around a terrible set of notes. Listen to them yell that hook at you and tell me it doesn't sound off. Most frustrating song of 2020.

ONG SEONG WU - GRAVITY Have you ever heard a drop this weak? I sure haven't. I hate the way he says DIVING INTO YOUR LOVE, the over-enunciation kills me and there's one syllable too many. Also, thanks Ong Seong Wu for giving CRAVITY the promo they deserve.

BTS - FLY TO MY ROOM I can't relax while listening to this, the beat is so sparse and has this nauseous sway to it that really makes me feel like I'm reliving these past 9 months of quarantine all over again. And just like quarantine, it really feels like this goddamn thing never ends. That final set of choruses is really a chore to get through, and I'm not the only one who thinks so - shout out to Taehyung for serving taste and I'm sorry Jimin convinced you to sing out of your natural range yet again.

TREASURE - MMM Ew.

I*ZONE - FIESTA It's a pretty standard girl group song up until that chorus hits and oh my god, who on earth produced this? Are they actively trying to trigger my psychosis? There are so many sounds happening that it feels like three or four demo tracks laid on top of each other, it makes me confused even trying to figure out what's going on here. And that post-chorus drop is horrendous, it's like the instrumental is literally screaming into my ear STREAM BLOOM*IZ!!! STREAM BLOOM*IZ YOU DUMB CUCK!!! YOU LOVE IT!!!

NOW FOR THE REAL LIST.

#10: TAEYEON - HAPPY

I do not like this. Taeyeon has one of the most powerful voices in the industry and instead of putting it to good use, she decided to put out the musical equivalent of eating a stick of butter. Bland, horrible texture, seems to go on forever and ever, you know you shouldn't be consuming it and you don't know why you're doing this to yourself, etc.

The MV contributed to my dislike, with Taeyeon whitewashed all the way into uncanny valley as she lounges around her beautiful apartment. Well of course you'd be happy if you lived in a place like that, I know I would. The sad thing is that there's some really nice vocal work here and there, but for the majority of the song, Taeyeon decides to serenade us in the most nasal tone that she can muster. I know she can sing better than this, and I'm disappointed in her for creating this and unleashing it on the world.

#9: WEKI MEKI - OOPSY

Whereas Picky Picky was annoying in the best way possible, Oopsy is annoying in the worst way possible. The instrumental legitimately sounds cheap, the drums sound so tinny and artificial that it's hard on the ears. Not to mention the hook, wherein the girls force their voices as high as they can go as they proclaim OOPSY! 

I'm a huge fan of cute concepts, but when it comes to putting out a high-energy sugary track like this, you're walking a fine line between adorable and irritating. Weki Meki didn't even try to walk the line, they just dove headfirst into irritating territory without a care in the world. It literally feels like the audio equivalent of having to hold a whiny toddler and then it pisses itself and the mom is just cooing about how her little darling made an oopsy.

#8: VICTON - MAYDAY

It feels like for most of the year, the vast majority of boy groups were stuck in a rut, knee-deep in sludgy EDM and leather harnesses. You know the songs I'm talking about, and I could've put any one of them here, but I chose this one purely because that chorus makes me feel like I have a concussion. I don't like this song nor the trend it's representative of - I spent most of quarantine having the same dark BG concepts thrown at me over and over and I'm glad things are starting to take a bit of a turn.

The bridge on this is actually pretty great, and the guys in VICTON do know how to sing, as can be seen in the final post-chorus. But man, there's just nothing fresh being brought to the table here, just the same stale trends in their worst form yet. The hook is so slow and drowsy, the same few notes just repeated over and over. I have not seen the MV because I feel like I can picture it well enough in my head just by listening. Are there harnesses? Don't forget those, boys.

#7: MCND - SPRING

Only Pentagon are allowed to do these concepts.

#6: HYO, LOOPY, SOYEON - DESSERT

This is genuinely unlistenable as soon as the drop hits, with a vocal stitching job that might be a horn synth, I'm not sure. That's how annoying it is. The producer is clearly incompetent and the performers are oozing with personality, though not the pleasant sort. The hook is  bratty and the raps here are beyond generic. After the halfway point, there are a couple interesting sounds thrown into the mix, but it's not enough to save things.   

Soyeon in particular sounds awful here, with her iconic nasally tone morphing into something genuinely irritating and borderline spiteful. Age up the toddler from the Oopsy comparison to around 7 or 8 and that's basically what you've got here. All I can hope is that this song is not influential in any way, shape or form, because I just had a vision of Blackpink imitating this production style and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

#5: SECRET NUMBER - WHO DIS?

I'm not sure how many Secret Number fans are out there, but I'm about to make all of em real mad at me right about now. However, it must be said.

This is basically Your Turn by Kaachi again.

I don't think I need to explain that hot take, just listen to the song. It's surprisingly amateurish, to the point where I feel like the vocals aren't in sync and they just used the first take they got from each girl. The raps in particular are awful, and I swear they even sound like they go off-key a couple of times. How this blew up in any aspect is bizarre to me. Anyways, stream Photo Magic and stan Kaachi.

#4: BAEKHYUN - CANDY

Did you want a k-pop version of Yummy by Justin Bieber? No? Well, Baekhyun decided to make it anyways! At least Yummy was sort of funny in how bad it is, this is just...a somber affair. Inexplicably, he manages to oversing the final third of the song, which I don't get the point of, but okay. Lazy, underproduced and overproduced at the same time, bland, boring, annoying...

Wait, did he just say...

Okay, I changed my mind, this is hysterical. Like Pop rocks, strawberry, bubble gum...

#3: (G)-IDLE - DUMDI DUMDI

I'm so sick of this group's 'ethnic' schtick, it's like they never learn. They just don't give a fuck - after a string of genuinely great tracks like Hann, Lion, and Oh My God, they just decide to put out this shit and expect me to listen to it? They're a group with a lot of potential, with some brilliant vocalists and the talent that is Soyeon (who really loves being on this list, apparently) but if they continue down the path of using different cultures as concepts I can't support them any further.

The song itself has salvageable parts, a recurring theme on this list, but the over-the-top tribal influences are so obvious and tropey that even listening to it feels gross. (G)-Idle have more creative control than most groups, and the fact that they're capable of creating works of art like Lion is what makes me harsh on them. Instead of moving forward, they continue to regress into their comfort zone of cultural appropriation.

#2 YOOA - BON VOYAGE

Speaking of cultural appropriation...are we gonna address this? Nah? Okay.

Oh My Girl, YooA's parent group, has a history of blatant cultural appropriation (and arguably some legit racist moments depending on how you look at it) and they seem like they're not changing anytime soon. That's why this particular song stings even more than it probably should. If you thought Dumdi Dumdi's tribal influences were a little too on the nose, take a listen to this chorus.

YooA has a bad voice, is wearing tribal face paint, and is running around the wilderness whitewashed into oblivion while a choir of nameless voices chant vaguely tribal things behind her. Even in an industry like k-pop, this sticks out as something in bafflingly poor taste, and I can't see how she got away with this in 2020.

#1 BLACKPINK & SELENA GOMEZ - ICE CREAM

Well, this is a predictable pick. 

I don't know why or how Blackpink thought they could get away with drip-feeding blinks content for 4 goddamn years in the lead-up to their first album, only to drop this big fat clunker on them. I honestly felt insulted by the song, from its cheap, tinny production to the god-awful lyrics. I don't know how anyone could find any value in a piece of music this soulless and hollow.

Lisa's raps are by far the worst part of it, with FIRE BARS such as "you're the one been chosen, play the part like moses" and "mona lisa kinda lisa". Unfortunately, these raps take up a good portion of the song, and there's nothing going on in the instrumental to distract you from them, save for that little ice cream truck jingle. (or at least I think that's what the producer was going for)

Selena is a non-presence and essentially blends in with the girls, who WAIL that awful hook like their lives depend on it. Also, there's some really cheesy innuendos here that're sung with all the sex appeal of the actual ice cream truck driver from literally your neighborhood. 

I loathe what this song represents - the only good thing about it is that the girls look stunning in the MV. And that's exactly the thing - this song represents the exact moment in time wherein Blackpink admitted to their audience that music is no longer their main focus. This is the peak of their influencer-ization, and only time will tell if they'll redeem themselves. (Spoiler: They sort of did, goddammit.)

[amarantine-amirite]

The Seven Gates of Hell, a Seven Little Monsters fan fiction

Summary: Could a stupid ghost story turn out to be true?

According to local lore, there used to be a mental hospital in a remote location halfway between Centerville and Atlantic City, New Jersey. They constructed the hospital there so as to isolate those deemed insane from the rest of the world. Just before what would eventually be “Victory in Japan” day, a fire broke out. Due to its remoteness, firefighters could not reach the hospital in time to save it. Many patients died in the flames. Only a handful of patients managed to escape.

The local search party erected seven gates to trap these few remaining inmates. Only one gate, the first, is visible during the day. The other six can only be seen at night. No one has ever gotten past the fourth gate, but if they passed all seven, they would go straight to Hell.

As the taxi sped away from Whooton School, Renata Wiggum sat there surprised that she successfully snuck out of the window during third period geography and called a taxi.

“So, did you clog a toilet or something?” asked the cab driver.

“No,” Renata said, laughing, “not this time. I have somewhere important that I need to be.”

“So, what was so important that you had to sneak out?”

Renata’s thoughts came to a dead stop. She had to sneak out for two reasons. The first was that her third period geography teacher was in the middle of giving his class hell for cheating on a map making assignment. If she didn’t get out soon, she’d never make it in time.

But the second reached far further: she couldn’t tell anyone that she did ballet. Why? She had Asperger syndrome, and she was on an IEP. In order to stay on the IEP, she had to use a wheelchair. The only reason she took ballet was to stop her legs from atrophying from sitting in the wheelchair all day.

And no one at school could ever find out. If they did, she could at best, lose her IEP; or at worst, get expelled for faking a disability. She pushed it down for so long, that even though someone independent of the school asked her, she couldn’t respond. All she managed to get out was, “My, uh, geography teacher got mad. Kept us all past dismissal time.”

“And why is that?”

Renata felt herself begin to loosen up. “This is kind of funny,” she said, “but we had a map making assignment, and a bunch of kids in my class went to the bookstore, bought an atlas, and turned it in as their own work.”

“So they cheated?”

“Pretty much” she snickered, “he went on this rant about how his son is in college, and in college, they come down extremely hard on cheating”

Before the cab driver could say anything, he slumped forward, his head hitting the horn. The noise made Renata jump. Uh oh, she thought, this isn’t good.

It got worse extremely quickly. Not only did the driver pass out, he very quickly drove off the road.

As the cab veered off the pavement onto the ground, Renata couldn’t help but look out the window. She really should have called 911, or at the very least, AAA, even though the last time she called 911, she and the operator were on two very different sides of the International Date Line.

Renata looked out the window as the cab wound down the hill. She’d kind of been here before, but only during the day. At night, it looked different. The church, the gas station, and the empty fields felt like they were different, like a picture on the internet versus what you see in real life.

The closest they got to civilization was when they drove across the infamous “Black Rd” - the last paved road before the location of the seven gates of hell. The cab blew through the first and second gates, and it came to a stop at the third.

When Renata got out of the cab, she was surprised. The third gate was nothing like what Renata pictured. She half expected a door barricaded by axes that weighed about a thousand pounds. Not only was it not a gate in the woods, there wasn’t even a forest - just an open field. The gate itself turned out to be a small, chain-link gate (but no fence) halfway through a footpath. Driven by curiosity, Renata walked around the gate and followed the footpath. She discovered that it came to a set of stairs. She went down the stairs, and found herself entering a hallway. The hallway had an exit sign that flashed every 1.5 seconds and wall-to-wall carpet on the floor. Given where it was, the carpet was surprisingly dry.

Renata then went up another set of stairs, hoping that they led back outside. They didn’t. Instead, they lead somewhere with a green glow, wallpaper all around, and a dead end where the light was. The hall continued on in the dark.

Almost like she was on autopilot, Renata bolted down the dark corridor until she came to a ladder. When she climbed up the ladder, she found herself in an increasingly decrepit room with exposed wires. Renata side-eyed them hard. The wires appeared to move all on their own. Lights flickered on and off with increasing frequency.

Renata got to the end of the hallway, she turned left. Instantly, the hallway turned into something resembling a steam tunnel with milk crates scattered around, and concrete walls and a round ceiling. The deeper Renata went, the more and more dilapidated the hallway became.

And then, out of nowhere, “Da da da”. Her phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hey, Renata, it’s me.” One answered. “So, I just flew over the area where your cab broke down, and I saw you get out.”

“Yeah, you’re not gonna believe this” Renata said, “I had to sneak out of school to go to my own ballet recital. How embarrassing is that?”

“I think now would be a good time to tell you that your recital was cancelled for some guy’s funeral.”

“Really?” Renata said frustratedly, “Oh, balls!” She kicked the air and pulled her lips inwards from all directions. “How did you know my show was canceled?”

“Because Six showed up, argued with the guy’s next of kin, and now it’s all over Twitter.” One responded.

Renata laughed. Because, why not? In a weird way, it’s actually pretty funny.

Regardless, something else was on her mind. Renata felt smug. She was the first person to get past the fourth gate of the seven gates of hell, and she owned it.

At that moment, One hit some heavy turbulence. She dropped about 200 feet.

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Four: War (Gladiolus x Reader) Chapter Sixteen

The day of the rite arrived. (Y/n) stood atop one of the many buildings near Yureil Plaza. Noctis was among crowd gathered, listening to Lady Lunafreya's speech. Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis were assisting Death, Famine, and Pestilence in evacuating the citizens of Altissia. War wanted to help, but her sisters advised her to watch over the plaza in case the dullahan made its presence known.

Soon, the Horseman's gaze was turned to the sky when the low humming of engines could be heard. She glared up at the imperial dreadnoughts as they soared above her head. Her fingers twitched, itching to destroy the airships. She held herself back, knowing an attack on the airships would cause widespread panic.

When the speech ended and Lunafreya headed to the altar, (Y/n) watched the citizens disperse. She remained where she was until imperial forces poured from the dreadnoughts and into the streets of Altissia. She took it upon herself to annihilate any imperial troopers she came across.

Summoning her crimson-bladed sword, War jumped down from her perch and charged into the streets. She cut down a few imperial troopers who were threatening a crowd of people and preventing them from escaping. Once the enemies were defeated, she escorted them to the docks. She repeated this process a few more times and wound up guiding a large group of people to the docks. She helped them board a boat and ensured they set sail without any issues.

Just as another boat left the docks, (Y/n) heard a familiar roar. Spinning around, she saw the Tidemother looming in the distance. The sky slowly becomes engulfed with dreary storm clouds and a light drizzle rains upon the city. More imperial dreadnoughts flew in the direction of the Astral. She held out her hand towards the airships and shot them done with a few fireballs. However, she wasn't able to shoot them all out of the sky.

All of a sudden, War's body tensed as the odor of the dullahan reaches her nose. She ran off, eyes scanning the streets in search of the monster. The scent grew stronger as she ran in the direction of the altar, but she came across Prompto and Gladio fighting against a large horde of imperial troopers. They were holding their own but were quickly being surrounded.

Tossing her blade, (Y/n) pierced a single soldier in the back and warped. Her body disappeared and reappeared in a flash of crimson shards. Killing the enemy, she yanked her sword from the soldier's body. Her sword vanished and was replaced by six javelins. The weapons appeared around her before she raised her hand. The javelins followed her movements and surged forward. One by one, the javelins pierced several magiteks and imperial troopers. In seconds, all the adversaries surrounding the two boys were dead. She dispelled her weapons with a sigh.

"Thanks for the save, (Y/n)," Prompto expresses his gratitude.

"Glad I made it in time," she said. "Where's Ignis?"

"We were separated, but Pestilence is with him," Gladio explained. "How's it going on your end?"

"I was in the middle of hunting down the dullahan when I stumbled upon you two. With the city evacuated, there's only four possible targets the dullahan will pursue."

"You don't mean..." Prompto swallowed fearfully.

"You two, Ignis, and Noctis are the only possible targets. I doubt it'll go after any of the imperial troopers since the high commander made a deal with the damned thing. But I've a feeling its main target will be Noctis."

"Th-Then we gotta head to the altar!"

"Then let's get moving."

Prompto, Gladio, and (Y/n) ran through the streets of Altissia towards the altar. They could see the extent of Leviathan's destruction the closer they got to the altar. It also became difficult to find a path leading forward due to the collapsed buildings.

They eventually came across the remains of a bridge. It was blown apart, but there was a narrow path that remained intact from whatever destroyed it. Gladio went first followed by Prompto. When they both were safe on the other side, War was the next to cross. She carefully put one foot in front of the other, keeping her balance as she crossed. The light drizzle made the polished stone a little slippery, but she remained steady on her feet.

Halfway across, (Y/n) froze when the smell of rotting flesh suddenly became much stronger. She frantically looked around in search of the dullahan. Gladio, unable to smell the monster's presence, shouted at her. "What's the hold up?"

Before she could answer, a black puddle of sludge manifested behind Prompto and Gladio. She watched in horror as the dullahan emerges from the inky substance. Throwing caution to the wind, she summoned a dagger and tossed it between the two boys. It pierced the shadowy horse, causing it to rear up and neigh in pain.

Prompto and Gladio immediately turn around to face the monster. The shield didn't hesitate to summon his greatsword and stand his ground against the dullahan. Prompto, although frightened by the horrid creature, conjured his pistol and aimed at it.

(Y/n) threw a second dagger, warping to stand between them and the dullahan. She switched out the dagger for her sword, slashing at the creature and forcing it to back away. Once it put distance between it and the trio, the Horseman addressed her companions. "You two head to the altar. Noctis' safety is top priority."

Prompto nodded. "Right!"

"Think you can handle this, firecracker?" Gladio asked with his signature smirk.

She grinned back at him. "Who do you think you're talking to? You're not the only one who's grown stronger." Gladio and Prompto left, leaving the Horseman to deal with the dullahan. War gave the creature her full attention. "So tell me, did you really make a deal with the empire?"

The dullahan was silent for a few seconds before his demonic, distorted voice echoed out. "Yes. My head...for the prince..."

The redhead was slightly taken aback at its response. She knew the dullahan was able to speak due to its high intelligence, but she didn't expect it to actually answer her question. "So those bastards really do have your head..." She then pointed the tip of her sword at the creature. "Sorry, but there's no way in hell I'll let you kill Noctis."

The monster didn't reply. It only cracked its spine whip against the ground before digging its heels into the sides of its steed. It rode directly towards her and used its whip to grab the girl. Unfortunately, she easily slashed at the whip and deflected it before it could wrap around her torso. She then sidestepped in time to avoid the horse barreling towards her. She swiped at the shadow animal, nicking it in the thigh. It neighed and attempted to kick her.

Dodging again, War summoned a dagger in her free hand and jammed it into the horse's thigh. It bucked widely and wound up knocking its rider off. Using her sword, she stabbed the horse in the head and killed it. Its body discorporated into an inky puddle before evaporating. It would take days for the dullahan to recover its steed, which meant it couldn't flee so easily.

(Y/n) smirked at the monster as it pushed itself off the ground. "Looks like you'll be steed-less for a while."

The dullahan released a demonic howl. It twirled its whip above its head, creating a powerful vortex. The girl winced from feeling the powerful winds drag her body towards the creature. She stabbed her sword into the ground, anchoring herself. Thinking of a way to stop the vortex from consuming her, one idea came to mind. She conjured a pistol from her vast arsenal and aimed at the hand the dullahan was using to spin the whip. Holding her breath to steady her aim, she pulled the trigger.

The headless horseman hissed in pain as its hand was blown to smithereens. The vortex faded and its whip fell to the ground. (Y/n), once the winds died down, pulled her sword from the ground and charged at the creature. Setting her sights on its chest, she ran as fast as she could towards it. What nearly causes her to stumble was witnessing the dullahan grab its whip and run away. She blinked in shock, ceasing her approach. Pushing the feeling aside, she pursued it through the destroyed streets of Altissia.

The light drizzle soon turned into a downpour. Panting, the Horseman continued to chase after the dullahan. She jumped over piles of debris and slid under bent streetlights. She splashed through puddles, drenching herself further. She didn't know how long she was running or where they were in Altissia. Her eyes were focused on the monster's back, the passing scenery going unnoticed.

The dullahan plowed through one of the gondolas that had washed ashore due to Leviathan's rage. She followed it through the path it created and found herself in a part of the city with crumbled buildings lining the waterway. The vast courtyard in the center had a destroyed fountain. There was plenty of room to allow movement even with the debris from the destroyed buildings littering the ground.

(Y/n) switched from her sword to twin daggers the moment the dullahan's hand regenerated. She carefully paced around it, her daggers at the ready. She didn't want to leap in for an attack and only be impaled by its whip. However, she froze when it twirled around its whip and it transformed into a sword. She couldn't deny that she wasn't impressed since this was the first time the dullahan was going to use another weapon besides its whip.

Closing the distance between her and the monster, War surged forward. She was determined to hold it off long enough for Noctis to earn Leviathan's favor. Her daggers clashed with its sword over and over again. She managed to push it back and force it to remain on the defense for what felt like hours. Because of her attention being focused on the dullahan, she failed to detect the imperial ship above until it was too late. A ripping pain in her chest caused her to shriek out in pain and stumble. Her daggers fell from her hands, allowing the monster to attack. He drove his blade into her gut, causing another screech of pain to escape her throat.

(Y/n) fell to the ground, her vision blurry from the bullet wound and gaping hole in her abdomen. She managed a weak glare as she spotted the imperial dreadnought hovering a few yards away. An auburn-haired man who she recognized as Ardyn exited the airship and sauntered over with a pleased smile. She coughed up blood as she attempted to curse him. "D-Damn you..."

"'Tis not ladylike to spew such horrid words," Ardyn states.

"Go...to Hell..."

He chuckled in amusement. "Now, now. There will be time for that later. As of now, I fear I've other matters to tend to." He looked over at the dullahan, bowing slightly. "As promised, you shall claim your reward."

War coughed up more blood, trying to figure out what the chancellor meant. "R-Reward...?"

He smiled maniacally down at her. "You, my dear. I've shown this abomination just how to claim you as its own."

"Th-Then you're...the one..."

Ardyn nodded his head, knowing exactly what she was going to ask. "Indeed, I am in possession of its head."

(Y/n) struggles to fight against the pain. She managed to summon an array of swords, javelins, and daggers, but each one clattered to the ground when another blood-filled coughing fit erupted from her throat. Her attention was drawn to the dullahan when hearing its battle cry. She watched in horror as its armor retracted and revealed the black, fleshy body hidden underneath. Using its sword, it cut open its flesh with a demonic howl. The Horseman couldn't understand what it was doing even as it approached her.

Unable to move, (Y/n) gritted her teeth the moment the creature's foul hands grabbed her. She strangled out a gasp when feeling its rotten flesh begin to engulf her body. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. The last thing she saw before falling unconscious was Ardyn's wicked smile.

<-------------<<<<<

A couple days after the rite, Altissia was in ruins. Only certain parts of the city remained intact from Leviathan's wrath. Lunafreya was dead and Noctis and Ignis were both unconscious. Gladio and Prompto were waiting for their friends to regain consciousness.

However, they weren't just worried about the prince and his advisor. Neither of them had seen any sign of the Four Horsemen since after the rite. Gladio tried numerous of times to summon (Y/n), but she didn't heed his call. They were wondering where the immortal sisters were and if they were safe.

After a few hours of trying to distract themselves with cards, Gladio and Prompto were soon visited by a familiar golden-haired Horseman. The marksman flew to his feet, dropping his cards in the process as he hastily made his way over to Famine. "A-Are you okay?"

She smiled at him. "I'm fine, but..." Her smile fell when meeting Gladio's stone gaze. "We can't find War anywhere."

The shield's eyes narrowed. "Have you really checked everywhere?"

Prompto heard the anger in the brute's tone. "Can you not talk to her like that?"

Gladio tossed his cards down, some scattering across the floor. He didn't even bother to answer the blonde's question. "I'm going out."

Famine sighed as she watched the man leave. "Let's go with him. I haven't given up just yet."

The sharpshooter nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Let's go."

They followed Gladio out of the hotel and through the ruined streets of Altissia. Watching the shield, they could tell just how much worry he was carrying on his shoulders for Noctis, Ignis, and (Y/n).

The trio searched the alleyways and near the waterways for any signs of War. They scavenged through piles of debris to see if she's been buried underneath one.

Their search lasted for nearly four hours before they found an inkling as to where she might be. They followed the clues and they led them to a vast courtyard. There, they found blood splatters near the crumbling fountain.

Famine didn't react until she saw a familiar crimson-bladed sword wedged into the ground. She ran over to the weapon and couldn't understand why (Y/n) would leave her favorite sword behind. She dislodged it from the ground, examining it closer. "Why is this here...?"

"You don't think she was...?" Prompto couldn't finish his question.

"No way in hell she's dead," Gladio hissed.

"Gladio's right," Famine said. "If she was, my sisters and I would know. We are connected, after all."

"Can't you track her or somethin'?"

She shook her head with a sorrowful frown. "I'm afraid not. I'm sorry, Gladio."

"Useless," he growled.

Prompto wouldn't stand by and let the shield talk to Famine in such a manner. "Hey, she's not useless! Stop treating her like-!"

The emerald-eyed girl placed a hand on the blonde's arm. "It's okay, Prompto. I know why he's acting this way and I don't blame him..."

"B-But still..."

"Don't worry about it," she smiled. Then, she held out the blade to the shield. "Please, take her sword, Gladio."

Without arguing or snapping back at the Horseman, Gladio took the sword. When he felt how heavy it was, he couldn't believe (Y/n) was able to swing it around with ease at such high speeds. "Damn, thought this thing was lighter."

"Let's keep looking around."

The trio looked around the destroyed fountain and buildings. Besides the blood and the sword, they had yet to find anything else.

Another hour passes before Famine was able to locate a third clue. She picked up a hat, shaking off the small pieces of debris. "Maybe an evacuee dropped it."

"Dropped what?" Prompto came bounding over.

She showed him the hat. "Found this hat under some debris. It's kinda old-fashion now that I think about it."

Gladio overheard their conversation and joined them. He looked at the hat in the girl's possession. His eyes narrowed in a sharp glare. Prompto also realized who the hat belongs to. "Wait, isn't that Ardyn's hat?"

"Who's Ardyn?" Famine inquired.

"The imperial chancellor," Gladio clarified. "Damn bastard probably has somethin' to do with (Y/n)'s disappearance."

The girl turned the hat over in confusion. "All of us were in Altissia. Why go after only War?"

"The empire has their hands on one Crystal already. I wouldn't put it past them if they wanted to control the Vanaheim Crystal too."

"But wouldn't they have to go to the bottom of the ocean to do that?" Prompto asked.

A grave expression appeared on Famine's face. "War is able to directly control the Crystal because of the shard embedded in her body. If someone were to remove it and place it in their own body, they just might be able to control the Vanaheim Crystal."

"Might?" The marksman reiterated.

"Vanaheim's Crystal, just like Lucis' Crystal, can only be wielded by one of royal blood. If anybody else attempted to use it, they risk corruption." She used a weak fire spell and burnt the hat to a crisp. "Now that we know the empire has War, we know what to do next. I'll tell Death and Pestilence of our discovery. You two should head back to the hotel to check on your friends."

"You three aren't planning on taking on the empire by yourselves, are you?" Gladio asked.

"There's no way the three of us could storm Gralea and search for War ourselves, especially with the dullahan still on the loose."

"Then what will we do?" Prompto questioned.

"Wait for Noct and Iggy to come around," the shield stated. "Until then, we can't leave Altissia."

"War may not have time. Who knows what the empire will do to her. Pestilence, Death, and myself will go on ahead," Famine explained. "Goodbye for now, Prompto, Gladio."

The two boys watch her vanish before turning around and heading back to the hotel.

[holycatsandrabbits]

Dead Eye

Original fiction ficlet, rated G

Written for the Morning Coffee zine, a free, original art and fiction zine on the topic of coffee. The art pieces were even painted in coffee! Thanks to @yummi-gummi-zines for modding!

It took Gayle an embarrassingly long time to realize that something was off about a certain customer at the coffee shop where she worked. It should have been rather obvious. For one, the man, Craig, spent time every day in the shop, but he didn’t drink any coffee. Craig carried a silver travel mug with him, but he never bought anything to go in it. He didn’t even use the free creamer like a lot of rude people did, bringing coffee from home just to help themselves to what extras the shop put out for free. In fact, Gayle had never actually seen him take a drink from his mug.

For another thing, Craig didn’t talk to anybody. That in itself wasn’t so strange, some people just weren’t social. But it was also the case that nobody ever talked to Craig. When people sat at the table he was occupying, no one ever said Excuse me or Mind if I sit here? And if Craig continued to sit by them instead of moving, they completely ignored him. Gayle only knew his name because she’d tried to strike up a conversation once. He’d given her a bit of a surprised look and introduced himself, but he hadn’t seemed to want to talk to her either.

And finally, Craig was dressed like someone who was employed— nice slacks, dress shirt, and a tie— but he showed up in the coffee shop at all kinds of weird hours, and he never brought any work with him, not a computer, or notebook, or even a phone. He just sat in a chair, usually the one by the window, with his mug in his hand, and watched people.

Even with all that, it still didn’t dawn on Gayle that the man was dead. It took her co-worker Maggie mentioning the coffee shop ghost for Gayle to finally put it all together.

“What ghost?” Gayle asked, as they were cleaning up after closing.

“Oh, I should have figured you hadn’t seen him,” Maggie said, with a dramatic sigh. “You don’t have a psychic bone in your body, I can tell.” She pointed to the table by the window. “I saw him, right there. Wish I hadn’t, though. He’s bad luck. Right after that I broke two china mugs. Jess saw him and she twisted her ankle on her way home. Grant dropped his phone and cracked the screen. It was a couple of days later, but it still counts.”

“What’s he look like?” Gayle asked.

“Nothing scary. Just like a customer. Brown hair, brown eyes. Handsome. Grant saw him twice, and says he carries a silver mug. Nobody ever sees him come in or leave, he’s just in here sometimes.”

“So how do you know he’s a ghost?” asked Gayle.

“Because he doesn’t order anything, doesn’t work on anything, and doesn’t talk to anybody.”

“Oh,” said Gayle. “Huh.”

Maggie went into the kitchen then to mop the floor, and a voice spoke up behind Gayle. “The ankle and the phone weren’t my fault. But I may have been responsible for the mugs. I don’t like Maggie. She always makes the half-cafs full-decafs.”

Gayle turned around to see Craig sitting on the counter she’d just cleaned, his mug beside him and his feet swinging in space.

“You, on the other hand,” he said, “I like. You only sabotage the orders of rude people.”

“Huh,” said Gayle, again.

“Want to know what happened?” Craig asked.

“Sure.”

“I had a heart attack.” Craig pointed to that table by the window. “Right there. Five years ago, before you or Maggie started here. I never saw it coming. I was an athlete, ate a good diet. Maybe I drank too much coffee.”

“You do look healthy,” Gayle said. “I’d never have guessed you were dead.”

Craig nodded. “I was wondering how long it was going to take you to figure it out.”

Maggie hollered from the kitchen. “Who are you talking to out there?” She poked her head out into the seating area. “You better not have let in a customer—” She looked around— counters included— and apparently saw no one.

“Just thinking out loud,” Gayle said, and Maggie went back into the kitchen.

“Nobody sees or hears me as well as you do,” Craig said. “Not a psychic bone in your body, my ass.”

Gayle started cleaning the glass display case. “So how come you didn’t pass on? You know—” She waved her hand. “Go upstairs? Downstairs?”

“No idea.”

“No grander purpose? Unfinished business? Didn’t commit some atrocity and get damned to stay here until you make amends?”

“Huh,” said Craig slowly. “I didn’t think of that last one.” He slid himself off the counter. “I mean, it wasn’t an atrocity.”

“What did you do?”

Craig put his hands up sort of defensively. “Well, look, nobody died. But I may have… possibly… robbed a bank.” Craig looked slightly remorseful.

“You robbed a bank,” Gayle said.

“Well, I worked at a bank. Made it easier. I just used a computer program.”

Maggie came out from the kitchen. “That’s good enough. Let the morning shift handle the rest.” She frowned at Gayle. “Are you okay? You don’t usually talk to yourself about robbing banks.”

Craig popped up again the next Saturday morning when Gayle came in by herself to start the baking. He appeared by the oven, wrinkling his nose at the orange-cinnamon scone batter. “I never liked those,” he complained. “So how does one make amends?”

Gayle gave him a surprised look. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because there’s literally no one else I can ask.”

“Well— I guess you apologize to the bank.”

“Can’t. Most people can only see me for a few minutes at a time, and nobody can hear me except you.”

“Well, then you swear not to to it again.”

“Can’t do it again, I’m dead. What would I even do with money now?” Craig scowled at a platter of blueberry muffins. “This doesn’t make any sense. If I’m supposed to make amends to the bank, why am I not haunting the bank?”

“It does seem like poor organization,” Gayle agreed.

Craig looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he said, “Well, maybe I’m supposed to help you. Since you can see and hear me so well. I mean, you don’t want to work in a coffee shop all your life, do you? You’ve got to have dreams.”

“Oh, I do,” Gayle assured him. “One of them is owning this place. I’ve always wanted to have a coffee shop. I’m going to school for my MBA right now.”

Craig stared at her a moment and then said, “Huh.” He seemed to sort of phase himself through the counter until he was sitting on it again.

“I’ve already included you in my plans,” Gayle said. She pointed out toward the seating area. “When the shop is mine, I’m going to put a sign on that chair you like— Reserved for the Ghost.”

“A haunted coffee shop?” Craig said, looking rather impressed.

“If we get TV crews in, could you give them a bit of a show?” Gayle asked.

Craig nodded. “I can do stuff like with Maggie and the mugs if I try really hard.”

“I’ll probably have themed drinks, too,” Gayle mused. “Ghost white. Phantom Frapp. Dead eye already works.”

Craig cocked his head. “That all sounds nice, but I have to say that helping you make money doesn’t really seem like a good deed on my part. Not exactly making amends.”

Gayle frowned. “Well, I was thinking of having a policy of giving all my day-old food to the needy.”

Craig snapped his fingers. “That could work.”

Gayle paused halfway through filling a muffin tin. “Do you think you’ll move on, then, when I’ve got it all set up?”

Craig shrugged. “I guess we’ll see. I’d almost hate to, though. Sounds like it would be fun. So how long do we have to wait for all that?”

“Well, I’m almost done with school. But I’m going to have to save up enough to buy the place.”

Craig looked thoughtful. “You know— I might know where you can get the funds.” When Gayle raised her eyebrows at him, he said, “The bank never caught me! I died before they could. Money’s just sitting around in an account I set up and nobody even knows about it.”

“Well,” said Gayle, “it’s certainly not doing anything sitting around in some account, is it?”

“Definitely not feeding the needy,” Craig agreed.

The door to the kitchen banged open as Maggie came in. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I didn’t want to be here. Are you talking to yourself again?”

“No,” said Gayle. “I’m talking to the ghost.”

Maggie gave her a confused look. “Don’t try to be funny. You aren’t.”

That day Maggie broke three mugs.

Find me at DannyeChase.com and on my Linktree

[ak47stylegirl]

Sick Days: Chapter 9

So I ended up working on this chapter instead of my IRrelief fic...oops? 😅Anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this chapter, huge thanks to @willow-salix for giving it a read over and helping me edit XD

The other chapters can be found here. 

---

Scott POV

He parked his car in the train station car park, turning the engine off. Today had not been an enjoyable day; he thought as he prepared to wait for John's train to arrive, leaning forward against the steering wheel, chin resting on his arms.

He still couldn’t believe he didn’t notice how sick Alan was this morning. Like the kid had been telling him that he wasn’t feeling well, but did he listen? 

No…

Some guardian he was, he thought with a frown, unintentionally glaring out his windscreen at the deserted train station. For all he knew, sending Alan to school could have made the cold even worse, and it was all his fault!

His frown shifted to a look of sadness as his mind went to Alan, who he had left at home. He hoped Allie was still asleep; he didn’t even want to imagine how upset Alan would be if he woke up and found out that he wasn’t there. 

Alan was...in a word, a sensitive kid, who needed a gentle and caring touch.

They were Alan's security blanket, himself in particular as he was the closest thing the kid had to a parent. He was Allie’s brother, father and mother, all at the same time….Because there was no one else to take up those roles… 

And, being honest, sometimes it was tough being all three of those things and often one gets forgotten among the others. It was usually the brother role that slipped; he was more a parent to Alan then a big brother at this point...

He sighed tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a slight headache coming on. He glanced up at the station as the overhead speakers announced John’s train arriving soon.

He undid his seat belt and stepped out of the car, so John would be able to see him when the train arrived. He watched as John’s train pulled into the station, stopping with a loud screech. It seemed really packed tonight...

After a couple of seconds, a sea of people flooded off the train. There were people in suits, people in uniforms and people in casual clothes, all tired from the long day. 

Must have been a busy day at work.. or school, he added, spotting a couple of school kids chatting as they got picked up by their parents. Everybody looked so tired…

He was having difficulties spotting John in the crowd, which in itself was a rarity…Usually, John stands out like a sore thumb in a crowd; He thought with a small smile as he scanned the crowd for his brother. It was mostly because of John’s bright carrot red hair. 

Which John had inherited from their grandfather on their mother’s side. Other than Gordon’s slightly red-tinted blond hair, John was the only one in the family with the red hair gene. 

He couldn't help the small smile that formed as he scanned the crowd for his brother. The red hair definitely suited John..

While he looked nearly identical to their father, brown hair and dimples with his mother’s blue eyes. John, Gordon and Alan on the other hand were the most like their mother, in looks anyway…

Though both himself and John had inherited their father's height, both reaching the six foot mark easily. 

In fact, he remembered his Grandma joking once that Alan was their mother’s little twin. Alan looked so much like Lucille Tracy; it was almost eerie, although Alan was very much a mix of all of them when it came to his personality. 

If any one of them were the most like their mother in personality, it would be Virgil and John, he thought, his small smile becoming a full grin as he spotted his little brother getting off the train, his black laptop bag hanging from his shoulder.

“Hey, John!” He called to his brother, waving his arm in the air to get his little brother’s attention. “Over here!” 

---

He didn’t know how, but John always seemed to make his car seem small, he thought, glancing over at the front passenger seat to see John with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Which didn’t make sense because he was taller than John… 

Though he didn’t blame John for stretching out a bit, he thought as he drove his car around a corner. Those trains don’t really give you much space to move, and John looked drained. 

It wasn’t hard to imagine why... John wasn’t a real people person and an hour train ride, surrounded by lots and lots of other people, could really drain a person like John. 

That's why he waited until they were halfway home to ask John how his day was...

“It wasn’t that bad, but it was very busy, spent most of-” John yawned, his orange eyelashes blinking sleep from his eyes. “-of the day in the library studying for my astronomy exam..” 

“I’m sure you’ll ace that, John” He smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “You know the stars like no one else...except maybe Alan, kid definitely getting into that stuff…” 

He has definitely caught the kid trying to sneak out at night to stargaze, way past his bedtime, he may add…

And most of the time, Alan completely forgets that it is cold at night and forgoes a jacket, resulting in an Allie popsicle by the time he realises the kid is out of bed…

Honestly, no wonder he’s going slightly grey...

“The astronomy exam isn’t just stars, Scott...” John explained, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. John always hated it when people had facts wrong.. “It’s asteroids, black holes, planets and complex situations that can only happen in space…” 

He smiled in slight amusement, not really understanding what his brother was going on about… Space wasn’t really his area of expertise, give him a plane and the clear sky and he was fine but space…

Completely out of his comfort zone...He was a sky bird, not astronaut... 

“You’re going to go up there one day, aren’t you?” He asked quietly with mixed emotions, keeping his eyes on the road so John wouldn’t see the conflict in them, even though he was sure his brother could hear it in his voice. “Like Dad…”  

Space ran in their family, their father being the first man to step on Mars. However, the stardom of being the sons of the first man on Mars didn’t really help them in the long run. The money his father had earned from NASA had gone into his and John’s education. 

His father was hoping to start a business but had died before he could get it off the ground. The little money that their parents had saved and put away went into supporting them until he could find a job to support him and his brothers. 

“If I can graduate and get accepted into NASA, yeah…” John smiled, looking out the car window at the stars in the sky. John turned to face him, “so, how has your day been? Heard it's been pretty rough...”

“It’s been…” He sighed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “Yeah, rough is probably the best way to describe it..” 

He should have seen that Alan was sick, he thought with a little scowl, his grip on the steering wheeling getting tighter. How could he prioritise getting to work on time over actually taking time to check if Alan was telling the truth or not? 

Maybe if he had listened, Alan wouldn’t be-  

“You had no way of knowing that Alan was sick, Scott,” John spoke up suddenly, snapping him out of his self-loathing thoughts. “so stop beating yourself up over it…” 

He blinked at John in shocked surprise before focusing back on the road, slowing his car down to a stop as he came to a stoplight. “You don’t get it, John..” He sighed dismissively. 

“He told me he wasn’t feeling well and I didn’t listen...” He hit the accelerator, driving the car around the corner. Admittedly he may have hit the pedal a little too hard in his frustration. “What kind of guardian does that?” 

“Did he look obviously sick this morning?” John asked, blue-green eyes regarding him calmly, not even commenting on his slightly speedy turn. “Because I find it very hard to believe that you would send him to school if he even looked a little bit sick, so?”

He sighed, letting his shoulders drop. 

“Well, he didn’t look very sick this morning, no...But-” He answered reluctantly, shifting his hands slightly on the steering wheel with a frown, “-but he was harder to get up than unusual…”

“which in hindsight should have told me something was wrong,” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a slightly pained sigh, the headache from before coming back full force. “but Alan has never been an easy kid to wake up anyway, so…” 

John’s eyes watched him in silence, beckoning him to continue. John may not be a people person, but he knew people, knew when to speak and when to listen. John was very good at listening...

“Like I checked his temperature and it seemed normal..” He explained with a frown, letting himself properly reflect on the day’s events.  “So I thought he was just tired this morning and that once he was at school, he would be fine..” 

But Alan hadn’t been fine… 

“But then I got the call from the school and-Oh John, he sounded so sick...” He sighed, running his hand through his hair in slight distress. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it…”

“You know...You are too hard on yourself sometimes Scott..” John sighed wistfully, shaking his head slightly as he spoke. “You did nothing wrong, yes, you sent Alan to school when admittedly he should have stayed home…” 

He snorted dismissively to himself, “I don’t know about you John, but that sounds pretty bad to me…” He said as he turned off of the main street, home starting to get closer by the minute. 

“I haven’t finished yet..” John scowled at him, greeny-blue eyes giving him a slight stink eye. “Anyway, what I was trying to say, is that at the time, it wasn’t obvious that Alan needed to stay at home. So how could you blame yourself for something you didn’t even realise was an issue?”

He shifted in his seat slightly, feeling a bit uncomfortable as John’s reasoning stood up and he didn’t want to admit it...John was right but…But he needed to be the best for his brothers, he couldn’t make mistakes. 

Mum or Dad would not have made the same mistake... 

John sighed, very clearly seeing his refusal to face the facts. “You made that choice based on the facts you had at the time, it may not have been the right one but that’s okay Scott...” John gave him a small comforting smile, “you’re allowed to make mistakes..”

No, I’m not…

“Sure, whatever...Can we just drop this?” He asked as he turned his car onto their street, home just minutes away. “I’m really tired, it's been a long day…” 

John’s shoulders dropped, eyes filled with disappointment, “Sure..” John sighed softly, turning his head to look outside his window. He was sure John was already planning to get Virgil involved, knowing his brothers…

He pulled into their driveway... 

[abaddons-right-hand-queen]

Strings

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: spoilers of/before season 8

This was one of the best times of the year. You loved the holiday spirit (because not everybody celebrates Christmas, Karen) and the decorations. It was amazing how even a divided world could come together and celebrate its own traditions and partake in customs.

You had been hunting with the Winchesters for years. At first, it was just helping out on a few missions whenever they needed back-up, but then the apocalypse came, and they needed more than only themselves.

For three years, you pined over Sam Winchester. It was damn near impossible not to. He had a certain charm about him, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Perhaps it was the selflessness, or maybe it was the compassion and empathy. Or, maybe it was his warmth toward everybody. Regardless, you fell for him silently.

Dean had always told you that he was into you as well. He just had a hard time accepting it because everybody else in his life had died.

You, somehow, never died. It was hell watching Sam, Dean, and Cas die time and time again, not knowing if they’d come back. It was horrible seeing Sam without a soul, Dean with the Mark, and Cas being possessed by Lucifer.

But, in the fourth year, you finally broke the silence. It was rushed and seemingly out of nowhere, but it was worth it. It was Christmas of 2009, and everybody was drinking (it was debatable if it was for the occasion or to forget the world’s problems). Cas had left, Dean had gone to bed, but you and Sam stayed in the map room.

The music was loud, and Sam was drunkenly dancing around, and it hit you all at once. The emotions were louder than the song, so much so that it seemed to deafen the noise around you. You were captivated by Sam’s smile and the way he satirically serenaded you, and your heart was beating harshly inside your chest. “Sam, I love you,” You had blurted. He slowed to a stop, took a second to comprehend what you said, and then he pulled you into him for a kiss.

Now, it was Christmas of 2013. You and Sam had been together for four years, but the relationship still held that same spark. Sure, the butterflies may have gone away, and you had both said those three little words more times than you could count, but those feelings were replaced by warmth. It wasn’t nerves that you felt around him; instead, it was safety.

“Did you get the beer?” Dean’s voice called, snapping you from your thoughts. You looked up from the kitchen counter and saw Sam coming down the stairs with a few bags.

“I never forget it,” Sam smiles. You put down the oven mitt and meet him halfway down the stairs, helping him with some of the bags.

“Is this all the bags?” You asked. He hums a yes and presses a chaste kiss to your lips before you both head back into the kitchen. “Dean, get out of the filling!” You scolded. Dean looks up at you with a cheeky smile as he pops a finger in his mouth, licking it clean from pie filling. You swat him away and place the bags on the counter.

You enjoyed the domestic feeling that Christmas in the bunker brought. This was the first Christmas that you had a place to call home, and you made damn sure to take advantage of that. Therefore, you already had dinner made, and you were working on dessert right now. Sam had gotten liquor and eggnog for everybody. Cas was gonna be here any minute, and you made food for him, too (since he lost his grace a few months back).

It was gonna be perfect.

Sam helped you set the table while Dean fetched Cas. The four of you sat down and ate an amazing meal, and then you exchanged your gifts. You had made a deal a few years back to just get small ornaments or keychains for each other, and you stuck to that.

For Dean, you had engraved a bullet casing for him. For Cas, you got him a baby angel ornament with some cheesy saying along the lines of “our angel isn’t in heaven”, and then crossed out the word angel and put “human” over it (Cas had appreciated the joke). For Sam, you put a vampire tooth on a chain. It was from a hunt earlier in the year; you saved him and never let it go.

Dean and Cas got you normal-ish ornaments that held a memory from this year, but Sam’s was a little different. It was a string on a hook. He said that he’d explain it later, but for now, it was just that--a string.

You guys continued the night’s celebrations by having dessert and drinking the night away. Nothing warmed your heart more than seeing these men, who were normally had so much bullshit on their plate that they were constantly preoccupied with saving the world, smiling and laughing. They were letting everything go, if only for tonight.

There was a point where the music got slower, and the four of you settled down a little bit. You were surrounding the table, which now only held your drinks and a speaker. Dean and Cas were seated in two of the chairs, you were on the table itself, and Sam was making a drink. When he came out, he set the glasses down and then held the string from earlier.

There was something about the way Sam was looking at you. You knew that look--it was full of love and it said “I would do anything for you”. At first, you thought that it was just the liquor hitting him, but then he started talking.

“I have hated almost everything on this planet at some point or another,” He started. “But never you. Even when I was soulless, even when everything was falling apart, I had you.”

“Sam, where are you going with this?” You asked cautiously. He wasn’t sober right now--not entirely drunk, either, but definitely inebriated.

He gives a soft laugh before continuing. “You’ve been there for me through everything, even when it would’ve been safer for you to leave. What I’m trying to get at, I guess, is that we don’t know how much longer we’ll be around. And I really want you to be here, with me, until we don’t have any more tomorrows.” He looks down at the string, sets it beside you on the table, and then pulls a ring out of his pocket. Getting down on one knee, he looks up at you with the most hopeful eyes you had ever seen. “I know that legally we can’t get married since I’m on the FBI’s most wanted list, and we don’t have the money for an actual wedding, but will you marry me?”

“Sam, are you serious right now?” You asked, a large smile on your face. You took a quick glance to the three men in the room, seeing their equally big smiles. You look back at this man in front of you, on one knee, holding a ring up to you and asking for your hand. Words aren’t coming to you right now, so you just nod your head and wait for him to stand up so that you could hug him. You hold each other tightly, enveloping yourself in everything Sam has to offer. After he pulls away, he puts the ring on your finger and kisses your hand, and you have to stifle back tears of happiness.

Sam then grabs the string and forms a loose knot with it, holding one end out for you to take. You do, and together you pull it tight. The string made sense now. He wanted to tie the knot with you.

Dean and Cas are cheering you both on, which makes you laugh. “Alright, get over here,” Dean said, waving you to where he was. “I gotta get a dance with my new favorite sibling,” He smiles.

You and Dean share a dance while Sam and Cas talked on the opposite side of the room.

“He’s been wanting to ask you for months,” Dean mentioned. “He was just waiting for the perfect moment.”

“I love you guys so much,” You smiled. After the song was over, you did the same thing with Cas.

“I’m happy for you guys,” Cas smiled.

“I want you to walk me down whatever make-shift aisle we have,” You tell him. “I know you aren’t exactly a father to me, but you’re my best friend.” It was true. It wasn’t like you had any family to witness it or walk you down the aisle. It was just you, Dean, Sam, and Cas. And that was all you needed. The most important people were there to celebrate with you.

Finally, after your dance with Castiel was over, it was Sam’s turn.

“Thank you,” He muttered, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” You responded, leaning into his touch.

“I love you, too,” He smiled, gently kissing you.

Sam was absolutely right when he said that tomorrow is never promised. You fought monsters for a living; there was no telling when one of them would win. But, as long as there was a tomorrow, you would spend it by Sam’s side.

[raja-myna]

yesterday is long since lost

FINALLY got this thing done!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25070434

Anakin – and he is Anakin, even if that name feels a little bit like putting on a shirt he had thought he had outgrown – knows that he’s messing up. When he first realized what had happened, that he really had come back, he had been grateful that his body had collapsed under the weight of his future memories, leaving his subconscious mind to slowly make the connections and let him wake up again. He had thought he was prepared for it, when he shook off the last of the sleepy haze. The phrase ‘rude awakening’ turned out to fit almost too well.

The two weeks that it had taken for his body and mind to acclimatize to each other proves itself to be so far from enough. He’s jittery, uncomfortable in his own body (and it’s his body again, more flesh than metal, inescapable marks of betrayal (but whose was it really? Not Obi-Wan’s, he knows now, and that thought cuts impossibly deeper than ever) erased) with its lack of aches and pains, and reflexes that no longer match flesh limbs.

Rex knows something is up, but military discipline keeps him from asking, at least for now. Ahsoka knows something’s up, but she’s still too relieved that he’s okay (and hah, if only she knew) to push.

He thanks the Force that Obi-Wan isn’t here, because even though they’d made some sort of peace at Anakin’s funeral pyre and after that, he doesn’t know how he would react to seeing his former Master with them both alive again. Obi-Wan also likely wouldn’t hesitate to call him out on his poodoo. Oh, he’d be diplomatic, and he likely wouldn’t push if Anakin reacted badly, but Anakin still isn’t sure he could take that.

When they had been dead there hadn’t been much to do but make peace. Now, alive and with the Clone Wars barely halfway through, Anakin is realizing that a lot of their peace had come from the fact that nothing they could have done would have affected anything in the end. That calm understanding that had come with being one with the Force is gone as well, and Anakin’s love for and rage at his old Master are dueling for prominence. His guilt wants to land on the side of his love, but his anger has always run hot. He fears seeing Obi-Wan, for he truly cannot tell whether he’ll be angry, snappish and rude, or if he’ll want to fall to his knees and cry.

There’s enough of Anakin wanting to cry as it is.

It had been hard, seeing Ahsoka, seeing Rex when he first woke up and truly getting hit with how he had failed them. But they had been the lucky ones, in that awful future. They had gotten away.

Seeing Coric in the medbay, seeing Kix… that had been worse. Kix had been gone before Anakin Fell and Order 66 was executed, they hadn’t even found a body. Coric had died two years later, two years of living not unlike a battle droid covered in flesh, with only the barest glimpses of the man he really was underneath the weight of orders and grief he wasn’t allowed to understand.

Grief that none of the clones were allowed to understand.

(Vader had seen Bly. He had seen Shocker. He had seen Cody.)

(He had seen all those who had eaten their blasters as the chips died, never actually intended to survive past usage – just like the clones themselves.)

Vader hadn’t cared, or at least tried to tell himself that he didn’t. Anakin does care. And Force, but it hurts.

The first day Anakin just avoids everyone, using Kix’s orders of rest as an excuse. Facing everyone is… something no amount of preparation could help him with, a punch to the gut and a knock to the head that leaves him reeling. The effort it takes to not simply flee for his quarters actually leaves him winded when he finally reaches the corridor, enters the room, closes the door behind himself and locks himself in.

There’s something wrong with him. Anakin is not reacting the way he should – the way he ought to, having seen so many ghosts in so short a time. His mind is a mess.

Meditation does not come easy.

He forces himself into it, in an attempt to reconcile the different parts of himself. He is Anakin, jedi general, student, teacher, husband, lover, twenty years old and so arrogant. He is Vader, sith apprentice, failure, world-weary, beaten down, a monster shackled to a madman… a father, in the end.

He is Ani, slave boy, who cares so much and loves so deeply but doesn’t know how to handle it, never learned how to grow it, only hoard.

(If you love something, let it go.)

(He let Luke go, in the end. Let his son choose his own path and…)

I am a jedi, like my father before me.

Sleep doesn’t come at all.

Vader has spent literal decades hating his past, weak self, disgusted with the man who couldn’t even save the single most important person left in his life, who had lost everyone else along the line. Past-(present-?)Anakin is horrified by what he became, by what his future self allowed himself to be twisted into. Ani doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to understand how it could have even happened.

It’s a good thing self-hatred is nothing new to him, he thinks, because that is the common point that finally allows him to reconcile the different facets of himself.

That’s kind of sad.

It’s also awfully appropriate, in a twisted sense.

 The second day he tries to play at normalcy and heads to the bridge. Ahsoka tracks him down when he’s alone during a quiet moment and hugs him until he stops trying to make her let go. Her relief broadcasts in the Force and their bond alike. Anakin… lets himself hold her, and heal, just a bit. Then Kix finds them and sends him back to bed. It’s enough to make Ahsoka laugh and think everything’s back to normal. Anakin lets her believe it.

He heads back to his bunk, and since Kix is a suspicious one, wise to the ways of his jedi, Anakin has company the entire way.

“Forty-eight hours of rest,” says Kix dryly, “and a visit to medical. Neither of these has been completed, and you’re still obviously tired. Get some more sleep, sir, or I can’t clear you.”

“How about just the visit to medical?” Anakin tries to bargain.

“Sir, I know disasters tend to strike like clockwork around here, but please. Nothing will happen if you just get some more rest.”

And despite Kix all but punching fate in the face and yelling ‘come get me’, nothing does happen. Anakin meditates some more and actually manages to grab a nap as well.

When he wakes up it’s shipboard afternoon. He heads down to the hangar, and instead of attempting to work on the Twilight like he planned to, he finds himself drawn into a discussion with three of the troopers (Lyn died on Umbara, Bell was lost on Mandalore, while Flipper had marched on the temple and not died until after more than five years of atrocities in the name of the Empire).

He failed them. The thought hovers in his mind even as he gets more involved in the debate. He failed them like he failed all his men, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan. Like he failed his mother. Like he failed Padmé. Like he almost failed Luke, like he did fail him several times.

The storm of emotions is like a vibroblade to the gut and Anakin claws desperately at it, keeping it from showing either on his face or in the Force. He almost pulls away again, until Bell’s words cut through him like shards of glass.

“-but not this time!”

Bell punctuates his words by punching the air. They’re talking about marksmanship contests now, but Anakin cannot fully restrain how deeply it hits him. His expression must twitch, because Bell turns to him, eyes wide with feigned upset.

“You think I can’t, General?”

Flipper nudges him. “The General simply knows better than to put his credits up on the word of such an… unreliable source.” The grin is contagious, and Anakin finds himself smiling as well, grounding himself in their gentle teasing and free-flowing affection.

His failures feel further away and, desperate to keep that feeling, he does what he always did best – jump without looking. “Well, maybe I can help make it less unreliable.”

“Sir?”

Anakin’s mouth really ran away with him this time, but something tells him that this is good. A comfortable warmth that sits in his gut, the Force whispering in his ear, Bell’s disbelieving – but growing – excitement. “You’re off duty. I have some spare time. There are several training halls available.”

Not this time. He failed them all then, but not this time.

It is with a strange sort of budding contentment that he puts Bell and several other clones through their paces in a training hall. He’s doing something, changing something, and it’s such a tiny difference but it’s a difference. Anakin can’t do a lot from here, not yet, but this – being with the men, helping them – is something he can do.

For the first time since he woke up, Anakin feels like he’s doing something right.

Nearly an hour after they began, Anakin catches sight of Rex by the door. The expression on his face is one part amusement, one part ‘I know what you’re doing’ and about five parts exasperation. It’s familiar despite the years, comforting, and Anakin laughs before he can even register the urge to.

The next moment he freezes because – how long has it been? He catches himself almost immediately and excuses himself from the practice session. They can continue without him anyway.

By the door, Rex’s amusement sharpens into instant hyper-awareness. Anakin starts running through the excuses he’d hoped wouldn’t be necessary.

Rex’s care for his jedi is something Anakin has been in turns awed, perplexed and humbled by. Now, his worry is just as humbling, but it is also troublesome. In the end, Anakin finds himself released to medbay only because Rex too is still shaky after his coma. None of them are fully back to normal, so Anakin’s issues are easier to hide.

They won’t always be, but Anakin will get better at hiding, too.

He runs into Ahsoka again in the hallway and she immediately attaches herself to his side. The last time he had seen her in that other time flashes in his mind – tall, strong, grieving – and he rests his hand on her montrals, his tiny, beloved padawan who the galaxy has barely even started to break yet.

She’s here.

She is here and he hasn’t lost her, not to his own madness nor her iron-clad conviction that he’s gone forever.

The poisonous thinking that came with the Dark Side is still haunting him, and for a moment he wants to drag her even closer, make sure she could never leave – and then the thought leaves him sick, his hand drops down to squeeze her shoulder and then he lets go.

She follows him to the medbay, where Kix clears Anakin. The clone is clearly reluctant, going by the grumbling, but Anakin is free to return to duty. As such, he is free to check out exactly when it is he has returned to.

The answer… staggers him. It’s the early days of the war, that much had already been obvious in the many presences that had been long gone, but… so many of the bad things haven’t happened yet, so many things he can change, disasters he can undo, lives he can save –

Sidious.

And even though he knows he can’t just rush in, the scene plays out in Anakin’s mind. Since he’d learned about Luke, Vader had ever entertained the thought of killing his Master. And even before that, before Padmé and Obi-Wan and Mustafar, Sidious’ survival had never counted in Anakin’s plans. More than once he had tortured himself with what-ifs… and now he has the chance to make them come true.

Still, striding up to the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic and attempting to cut him down, for all that it would be satisfying, would more likely end with Anakin fleeing from the Coruscant Security Forces with his task still not accomplished more than anything else.

It’s nothing but wishful thinking and Anakin waves it away.

A quick talk with Yularen confirms that they’re heading back to Coruscant. They’re still six days out, at current velocity, something Yularen relays with an apologetic look, since Anakin tends to be eager to get planetside. In this case though, it means there’s only six days to prepare for seeing the temple again, seeing Padmé, seeing – Force, seeing the younglings.

“Master?”

Ahsoka’s voice pulls him out of those dark musings.

“Yeah, Snips?” The nickname rolls off his tongue with reflexive ease, and it is not until it already lingers in the air that he realizes how much it grounds him.

“Is everything all right?”

He could lie. She would see through it, and either let it be or keep digging until she thought she had found out every little detail.

“No.” Ahsoka stops dead and he turns to look back at her, her big eyes even wider than usual at his uncharacteristic honesty concerning his own state. “But it’s getting better.” How can it not?

“…If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

The ringing silence that follows is belied by Ahsoka’s slow reach for him through their bond, and Anakin’s hesitant reach back, to meet her halfway. Ahsoka smiles at the contact and runs ahead. They’ve ended up by the mess hall and, though it’s still relatively early, there’s more than enough people moving around, grabbing an early meal.

“Glad to see you’re doing well, General!”

Anakin looks up to see Echo. The young ARC trooper has raised a hand to wave a greeting, precariously balancing his rations tray with only one hand. Smile tugging at his lips, Anakin raises his own hand in response. Another fate he would hopefully be able to change. Echo didn’t deserve what had happened to him.

Realization comes a second too late.

Echo slides down on the bench by Anakin and Ahsoka, and Fives sneaks up only half a step behind him. Ahsoka immediately vaults over the table and seats herself opposite Echo.

“Going to join us, General?” asks Fives. Anakin almost chokes. For an instant, Fives has all Anakin’s attention, but just as quick, Anakin turns away.

“Sorry.” he says choppily. “Sorry, I- I have something- I need to- I’m sorry. Later?”

He whirls around and practically flees the hall.

Fives. Oh, Force, Fives.

Anakin hears a hesitant “Is… something wrong?” from Echo, but escapes before he can hear Ahsoka’s response. Yes, something’s wrong. Something he’d managed to avoid thinking of entirely, but that he now can’t escape.

You died for the knowledge that might have saved everything and I didn’t believe you.

Fives had been – is – one of his men and that alone would be enough guilt to drown in but… that isn’t all.

Anakin firmly blocks the thoughts from his mind, refusing to wander down that old path of what-if. He had entertained enough of them, after Fives’… death. Even more after Echo had been found. So much more, in stolen moments with Padmé and occasionally Sabé or Rabé as well, staying up late nights with more alcohol than was probably advisable.

Force.

Three hallways down, Anakin finally stops, leans against the wall, and covers his face with his hands. He slowly sinks down, ending up sitting and pulling his knees close so he can hide in them instead of in his palms.

Smooth, Anakin. The internal reprimand takes on Obi-Wan’s voice, which is almost a step too far. Anakin’s eyes sting.

Eventually Anakin manages to gather himself enough that he can paste the mask back on. He can’t quite push the thoughts back into the box where he hadn’t even known that he’d stored them, however, and from that point on he can’t decide whether to run from Fives out of shame or never let him out of sight again. Over the coming days the result of the impulses leaves Anakin looking like a shy adolescent from a holo-drama, constantly keeping track of Fives, but ducking around corners, hiding behind bulkheads, and on one occasion, making a Force-assisted leap up a staircase (accidentally sparking a game of tag with Ahsoka, but he managed to make it look deliberate, so he counts it as a win) to avoid the clone.

Whatever explanation Ahsoka had given the two ARC troopers must have been unsatisfying however, because suddenly it seems like Fives is everywhere. Anakin tries to distract himself, mingling with the troops, burying himself in the Twilight, catching upon the present, but whenever he senses Fives just a little too close, he’s running again.

Anakin fears he will keep running for a long time.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Middle of Summer - Gerard Way x Reader

Request: Hi :) could you please do a Gerard x reader based on “when the day met the night” by P!ATD? Hope you’re having a nice day Word count: 1 737 A/N: if you think it’s so unlikely that people sit down in a park with you to talk about weird stuff in their life, please know I once sat in a park, reading, and this elderly lady sat down on the bench next to mine, so we talked a little about books, and all of a sudden she told me her husband had died, and that he had just dropped dead in their living room. So I obviously offered my condolences and asked if it had happened recently. She said it had been over ten years, stood up and left.

Gerard ran his hand over his face. This was it, he thought, the end of the band. Mikey had left halfway through recording the new album, and without him, there was no My Chemical Romance.

Of course Gerard understood why Mikey had left, hell, with everything that was going on with the poor guy it would have been foolish not to do it, but that did not mean Gerard did not worry about the future of the band. He turned off his mobile and slid it back into his pocket.

After Mikey had left, he had heard no news for a couple of days, and since there was no signal in the Mansion, he had actually taken the car and driven out a bit, until he finally found a signal. Now, after the call to Mikey, and knowing that he was at least safe for now, he felt exhausted. Whatever was going on with this Paramore Mansion really fucked with his mind, and not having his brother around anymore made it worse.

Tiredly he looked around, finding he had wandered down the street from where he had parked the car, and now was standing in front of a sweet little park. Deciding a park would be the right place to take a relaxing walk he crossed the street and entered.

Between the trees the noise of the city got drowned out quickly. It was a hot summer, but the shadow and the pond helped to cool down the air. Soft, green grass and thousands of beautiful flowers grew next to the small path he was walking along.

Spotting a small pavilion that seemed to be used as a café, he suddenly realised how long it had been since he had last eaten anything. Checking if he had some cash, he walked over. The small building had an open front with small, filigree tables and chairs in front of it. Pots with flowers and small palm trees surrounded the sitting area that was covered in the shadow of the large trees next to it.

He had almost entered the pavilion already, when suddenly he spotted a movement from the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he found the most beautiful person quietly sitting at one of the tables. Had they not moved, he would not have noticed them, even though their silvery white shirt was basically shining in the shadow. Something about that person drew him in, and he found himself unable to take one step further away from them again, so he slowly walked towards them.

On the small table in front of them stood a small tea pot, made from porcelain that was painted in tiny, pink and red flowers. The cup and the milk pot matched the design, and the small spoon that was resting on the saucer, was engraved with small stars.

Carefully Gerard approached the person, who tore their glance away from the pond they had been watching. A smile spread over their angelic face, not the smile of recognition, like Gerard had seen thousands of times on the faces of fans, just a smile as if they were happy to see him.

“Hi,” the person greeted friendly, apparently not even surprised that in an otherwise empty café the stranger had walked up to them.

“Hey,” Gerard greeted back, feeling awkward as he lifted his hand as a greeting.

For a while the person just looked at him curiously, as if they expected him to talk, but when he did not find any words that made sense to string together, they reached over the table, and pushed the other chair back a bit.

“Wanna sit?”

“Oh thanks,” Gerard blushed, and quickly sat down.

“I’m (y/n),” you introduced with a smile, encouraging the stranger to do the same.

“Gerard, I hope I’m not bothering you,” he continued.

You liked his voice.

“Not at all! In fact I was starting to feel a bit lonely,” you admitted, “So what brought you here?”

Gerard blinked a little, his gaze wandering through the park and back to you.

“I- I was a bit upset earlier, and thought this would be the right place to calm down a little, and then I saw you and-“ yeah, and then what?

“Wanna talk about it? About what upset you,” you offered, your eyes holding nothing but concern and sympathy for the stranger.

Gerard hesitated a bit.

“Not really,” he confessed, “I just… is it okay if I just sit here a little and we talk about completely unimportant stuff?”

You laughed quietly.

“Of course it is,” you replied, “but only if you order something too, I feel bad having my tea without you having anything to eat or drink.”

Your request made Gerard remember how hungry he was so he ordered some coffee and both of you decided on some strawberry cake. For a long while you just sat and talked, ate cake, and watched the ducks on the pond. The park was peaceful, like something out of a fairy tale.

Gerard caught himself staring at you time and time again. He was not sure if it was your otherworldly beauty, or the kindness you treated him with. You had been so excited when he had told you about the comic he was currently working on, and he marvelled at the aquarelle painting you had only painted earlier today, obviously from this spot at the café, looking out over the grass to the pond. Eventually, although he had tried not to mention it, he even ended up telling you about why he had been upset earlier. He told you about the band and about the Mansion. And about Mikey.

“It just… seems to fell apart,” he confessed, and bit his lip.

The warm touch of your hand on his made him look up to you.

“It’s gonna be alright,” you assured him, “you just… need to go with the flow, and do what feels right. If fighting against where fate carries you feels wrong, then maybe it is. But if fighting this feels right… don’t be afraid to walk this world alone. If that path feels right, it is.”

Gerard looked at where your fingers were gently brushing over his skin, soft and warm, and somehow feeling so familiar, while your words echoed in his mind.

“That line… about walking the world alone… can I use that for a song,” he asked, still stuck on the strange poetry.

“Sure, if you like,” you laughed light heartedly, but did not pull away.

For a while you sat like this, your fingers seeking contact with his, until he eventually turned his hand to take hold of yours, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.

You did not know what pulled you to him, it felt like vulnerability, a pain that had settled in Gerard’s heart, which he was fighting to get rid of. You wanted to help him, wanted to make sure he would be happy again. You knew what it felt like, that black grip around someone’s soul. Gerard had not been the only one to have talked about their problems, so maybe you two could help each other out a little.

Just when you wanted to ask if maybe you wanted to meet up some other time, Gerard spoke.

“This is probably really weird, because we don’t really know each other, but… I would love to see you again some time, preferably soon,” he nervously looked at you, “so… if you’d be interested, I could give you my number?”

You smiled softly.

“I would love that.”

For the first time in hours his hand lost contact with yours, as he pulled out his phone to search for his own number, so you quickly did the same, and quickly opened a new contact, into which you typed the numbers Gerard told you. Saving the contact, you pressed the call button to make sure he had your number too, before packing away the phone again.

It had gotten late by now, as the waitress reminded you when she started packing up the tables around you.

You had paid a long time ago, but you made sure to leave an extra tip, then Gerard and you both got up.

The sun had started setting, and in the dimming light your silvery shirt shone like the moon itself.

Golden light fell through the leaves, and tiny insects chased each other in the last beams of the sun. Side by side Gerard and you stepped out of the park. For a second he got scared that you would suddenly be gone, that everything had just been a perfect hallucination, but when he turned his head, you still stood by his side, a soft smile on your face.

“I need to go that way,” you explained, pointing over your shoulder.

“Me that way,” Gerard pointed in the other direction, where he had left the car.

“So, talk to you soon?”

“Yes, please,” he answered with a small grin on his face.

“Call me when you’re back at the mansion safely, it’s going to get dark quickly now,” vaguely you gestured to the golden sky.

“We don’t have a signal up there,” Gerard reminded you, “But you can send a text when you get home, (y/n), maybe I’ll get it while I still have a signal.” Damn, your name tasted so sweet on his tongue.

“I will.”

Quickly you leant forward, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, before you turned around, and started walking down the street.

Gerard just stood there, and watched you walk away, before you turned one last time, and waved at him, a beautiful smile on your face. Your silver shirt reflected the warm light of the setting sun, almost blinding Gerard a little, but he still saw how you blew him a kiss before you turned the next corner, and disappeared.

The whole way back to the mansion he kept wondering if you had been real or just a complex reaction of his brain to calm him down from the stress. Back at the mansion, he immediately went to his room and pulled out his phone. Sure enough there was a new text message.

“I’m home now, and I hope so are you. See you soon, good night.”

Gerard smiled. So he had not imagined you. He really had met the most amazing person, here in the middle of summer.

Taglist (if you want to be added or taken off, please let me know):

General: @robinruns​ @justawriterinprogress​ @jayloverthe3rd​ @lookalivefrosty​ @butterfly-writes​ @angelevansfalls​ @rene-royale​ @500240​

[margoshansons]

Hold On Tight: q.b.

Quentin Beck x Summers!Reader // Yours Truly, 2095: 01. 02.

Summary: --You’ll get everything you want, one way or another

Warnings: Manipulation, slight angst

Notes: 

__________________________

Every instinct in her body was screaming at her to restrain herself, to not yell at the man who had recruited her, to keep her temper in check as he debriefed the Queens hero.

But something deeper, darker, and more guttural wanted to unleash all the anger coursing through her onto Fury. 

How dare he recruit a sixteen-year-old? 

Peter Parker just lost one of his mentors. He just came back from the dead and Fury is determined to get his help with something he never asked to be a part of.

She agreed with Peter. Why couldn’t Fury get anyone else?

Why did it have to be him?

She disagreed with Fury’s methods, with his subtle manipulation, using Peter’s admiration for Tony against him.

She breathed in through her nose, empathy spiking as Peter’s emotions flowed through her, her extrasensory perception picking up the anger the teenager was feeling.

“Hey” Y/N offered, moving closer, “Is everything okay?” “Can I be honest with you Miss Summers?” Peter asked, eyebrows creasing in worry, “I, uh, really don’t feel like saving the world this summer. That probably sounds really awful--”

Y/N placed her hand on his shoulder. “Peter? It’s not selfish to want to have a normal life” She assured him, carefully placing her finger on the bare skin between his neck and his suit, “You’re a teenager, it’s alright to want certain things for yourself.”

The spiderling nodded, his features glossing over as his worries transferred from his body to hers. Anxiety ran through her, sending jitters up her spine and a knot forming in her stomach. Holy shit, she thought, is this what Peter felt every day?

“After Prague, you’ll be able to get some rest,” Y/N told the kid, her own guilt wracking her body at the current state of things, “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be going, but I only have a certain amount of say in things--”

“Can you at least try?” Peter asked, hope filling his weary, sunken eyes. Y/N brought her hand down, the overwhelming emotions too much for her.

“I will,” Y/N promised, cursing herself for not being able to do more. 

Not for the first time in her life, she cursed her mother for passing on the worst mutant gene to her. She was aware that Scott would never be able to see anything but red for the rest of his life, but at least he got to destroy shit.

Alex had been the luckiest of the three of them, genetics wise, and she had resented that about him up until the day he died.

Now she barely saw Scott, let alone talked with him, and her mother was nowhere to be found. She scoffed to herself. Typical.

She shows up to pass on empathy to the next woman in her family and then disappears, leaving Y/N to pick up the pieces and raise her brothers. 

Fuck, she hated that woman. 

Her empathetic perception prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Someone was watching her. 

Y/N whirled around, meeting the bright blue stare of Quentin Beck, newly dubbed Mysterio. She had to wonder if he was also a mutant based on the powers he had exhibited. She made a mental note to do a DNA test later for SHIELD’s records before striding over to the interdimensional man.

“Are you okay?” He asked, “You seem a little...tense.”

Y/N chuckled mirthlessly, “That’s a bit of an understatement,” She sent a look toward Peter, worry still evident on his face. “I just can’t believe Fury would recruit a kid when he has a plethora of other superheroes on call,” Y/N shifted her eyes to the man beside her, “Not to mention someone who has experience with these creatures.”

Quentin nodded, a slight smile tugging on his lips.

“He wants us to stand a chance,” Quentin defended, “With Peter, we might.”

Y/N sent him a disapproving look.

“I’m not saying I agree with him” Quentin backpedaled, “If it were up to me the kid wouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous. But Fury makes sense.”

She let out a resentful sigh. Of course, Fury made sense, but it was that kind of reasoning which had brought Scott and Alex to Xavier’s. That kind of reasoning got her brother killed.

Quentin punched through her thoughts with a startling revelation, “You were always great with kids back on 833”

Y/N chuckled, her chest warming at the compliment, “What does that mean?”

Something passed over Quentin’s face, an echo of his thoughts projecting toward her. “Whatever you want it to mean.”

He strode away to discuss the plan for Prague with Fury and Peter, leaving her struck with confusion as she watched his figure retreat.

Y/N stood in the same place for far too long, trying to decode the thought Quentin had unwittingly projected at her.

Be Cryptic. She can’t know too much.

She shook her head, erasing any doubtful thoughts that had entered her mind. She wasn't even sure if she had heard it. Xavier had told her that she could develop the ability as an Empath, but after the events seven years ago, she didn’t know if she trusted a word that came out of his mouth anymore. 

Quentin was here to help, she told herself. If he was hiding something, it wasn’t anything malicious. It couldn’t be.

***

This was going to be easier than he anticipated.

Y/N was already halfway to falling for him, and Peter, the pest he was, was playing his part as the reluctant hero perfectly.

Quentin almost felt bad for the kid.

He had been tracking Peter since his own termination from Stark Industries several years ago. He resisted the urge to scoff.

Stark had fired him and hired a fourteen-year-old in his place. It was laughable really. As smart as Peter was, he lacked almost any common sense or people skills.

Something Quentin had an abundance of. 

Stark chose this kid, over some of his most loyal employees? 

No wonder he didn’t live past fifty.

Peter was the same way, except Quentin supposed he had a soul, unlike his former employer. Peter actually cared about the people he could potentially hurt, which made it harder to pretend to mentor him.

The kid was bright, overlooked, everything Quentin had been in his youth. Except he had the irritating tendency to try and save everyone. He hoped through some quick mentoring sessions he could quell that part of him.

He figured the best way to get rid of the insect was to convince the kid to go back and enjoy his trip. 

He already had Y/N helping him out on that front. The kid practically hung on her every word. Although, the connection struck him as unusual. 

She never worked at Stark Industries, wasn’t even friends with Stark if he recalled correctly. He sighed, chalking it up to her older sister complex and continued to dream up ways to solve these hitches in his plan.

Y/N really was the saving grace. The reason the equation worked. She had planted the seed of doubt in Peter’s mind, fallen for his act, and grown further from Fury and Hill. Now he didn’t see a reason to kill her. 

Instead, he could keep her by his side. He could let her in. Her credibility would be vital in his formative years as a hero.

“Patience Quentin,” He told himself, a smirk drawing itself on his face, “You’ll have everything you want. One way or another.”

_______________________________

God, Quentin is just peak bastard in this and I love it. But like he said, every hero has a love interest, but that also means he has a weakness. Oops, can’t say too much.

Tag list:

@thefuriousquake @osric-the-l3m0n-l0v3-demon @rizamendoza808

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