#I am a pathetic shell of a person whos just getting back into the flow of doing art stuff again after 4 years.

[0rionz-belt]

its hard to think that there was at least a week of my life where I balanced marching band, my rock band program, writing, drawing, and theater on top of high school. I talked to people, both friends and unfamiliar with no issue. And i never thought anything of it.

5 years later and I can barely function doing even 3 of those things. i miss being an artist.

[cruelsuhmer]

syzygy

This is a repost of one of the fics from my previous blog. I am the original author of this fic and thus have full permission to post it here. Minor revisions have been made.

word count: 1.6k

pairings: johnny x reader x jaehyun

genre & au: beach au

warnings: cursing, implied/referenced sex acts, implied polyamory

a/n: inspired by the johnjae w korea shoot. thank you romeo and juliet (1996) for saving my life.

syz·y·gy (n.) - the nearly straight-line configuration of three celestial bodies (such as the sun, moon, and earth during a solar or lunar eclipse) in a gravitational system.

Having grown up on the beach, you’ve seen plenty of strong, sun-kissed, shirtless guys in your life. But none like these two.

No one you’ve seen can even compare to these two.

You’ve never seen them before, likely a pair of vacationers, some out-of-state summer surfers looking to spend some time in the sun and the waves before having to head back to the mainland. It makes you almost sad, knowing your time to—not ogle, you’re more respectful than that, but at least... get to look at the two is limited.

“You should talk to them,” a voice—your friend—says from beside you suddenly, making you jump and nearly knock over your water bottle.

“What?” you ask, a hand automatically coming up to rub at your arm. “No. Nah. They know what they’re doing. See?” You motion to the pair, one of them already in the water, the other unbuttoning his shirt, his friend’s shirt tucked under his arm. Your hand gives another jab in their direction, as if you’re really driving your point home, but your friend just raises a brow.

“The one on the board just fell off,” she says, making you turn around to see him rising out of the water like Aphrodite, just... male... and not in a shell. And just shirtless. Not naked. Fuck. You nearly snap your neck with how fast you turn back to your friend.

“So? Maybe it’s windy.” Why are you defending him? Why are you avoiding talking to him? He’s a total stranger. Just hot. So what? Lots of hot people go to the beach. It’s fine. It’s—before you can get too caught up in your thoughts, a breeze flows through the small hut the two of you are standing in. “It is windy.”

“You know damn well that pathetic little huff isn’t enough to send a grown man off his board.” And she’s right. “Go talk to them. See if they need help, or something.”

You groan, echoing, “or something,” but give in. You feel undeserving of being in their presence honestly, but at this point, it’s not even a matter of personal attraction, you’re just doing your job. As you trudge over to the pair, you’re so in your own head that you completely miss the plastic shovel sticking out of the ground, catching on your flip-flop and sending you tumbling forward...

... right into the warm chest and strong arms of one of the hot vacationers. Fuck.

Near immediately you lean back, shoe still caught on the shovel, making you attempt to kick it off as discreetly as you can. It only makes the plastic drag against your skin. You hiss before realizing the guy still hasn’t let you go. While normally this would make you uncomfortable as hell, your discomfort at the shovel makes you instead simply take advantage of the situation, gripping at the man’s arms and using him as leverage, finally managing to get the shovel away from both your shoe and you. When you look up at the vacationer, he’s staring down at you with wide, honey-brown eyes.

“Uh,” he says.

“Your friend fell off his board,” you reply. One of your hands reluctantly lets go of a defined bicep to point at the water.

He whips his head around to see Hot Vacationer #2 now walking back to shore, water and sweat making his tanned skin glow in the sunlight.

“I was wondering if you two need help,” you continue, taking a step back, the other’s arms falling to his sides as he turns back around. “I... don’t actually know how to surf, definitely don’t know how to teach it, but I can get you someone who can.”

“That’d be nice,” the vacationer says. “Really, we’re here for pictures—my camera is in the car right now, actually—but we wanted to see if we could actually... you know, surf before we get that aesthetic.”

“You’re here to take pictures,” you echo, now looking between the two, the other finally walking on the sand, making his way steadily over to you and his friend. “Okay. So was that a... yes to learning how to surf or...?”

The vacationer is silent as you stare at him for another second before he turns to call out to his friend: “Jaehyun! Do you want to actually surf?”

“I just tried!” Jaehyun calls back. His voice softens as he gets closer. “It didn’t work.”

“I know someone who can teach you,” you tell him, making his eyes immediately move over to you. You take a step back at the natural intensity of his gaze, and thank you of the past for completely moving the shovel away from you, knowing that you would’ve tripped over it again had you not. “I was just asking...,” you trail off, not knowing the other’s name.

“Johnny,” he says. “Hi.”

“Y/N,” you reply before looking back to Jaehyun. “I was asking if you two wanted to learn.”

“Will you be the teacher?” Jaehyun asks, and you shake your head. Jaehyun glances to Johnny before shrugging. “I can go without them. We’re just taking pictures, right, John?”

The two of you look back at Johnny, who’s staring at some point over your shoulder—definitely not you, only breaking out of it when Jaehyun clears his throat. “Oh, uh, ha ha, yeah.”

Ack. You swallow. He has a really cute laugh. Okay.

“So, no?” you ask, one last time, just to be sure.

Jaehyun nods, and Johnny nods too, so you give them a smile, pivoting, ready to head back to the hut, content that you could stand next to them, even hold a conversation with them, but then Jaehyun calls you back.

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Actually, Johnny and I were thinking...,” he smiles, and you’ll deny it to anyone who asks, but you definitely lose your breath at the sight, trying not to faint at the appearance of deep dimples, “well, we’re going to be in town for at least a few more days, so maybe we’ll be back, you know?”

You nod, not entirely sure where this is going. When you glance at Johnny, all he does is smile, and you hope they assume the blush on your cheeks is... fucking sunburn or something.

Jaehyun continues: “So we were wondering if maybe you could give us your number? That way we can just give you a call if we change our minds about the lessons.”

Your throat is completely dry, heart pounding in your chest. Something doesn’t add up in his explanation, but maybe it’s the heat clouding your intellect, and you find yourself nodding and accepting their phones, putting your number in both. When you’re done, you give them a final smile. “All good, then?”

Johnny hums, locking his phone and slipping it into his shorts’ pocket. “Yup! Thanks a ton, Y/N.”

You give a small laugh. “Yeah. No problem.” You nod at Jaehyun, who simply smiles back, eyes squinting, and not only the already-breathtaking dimples appearing, but also (holy shit) whisker ones. You turn away, giving a little wave to the pair after you do. You don’t know if they wave back as you hightail it back to the hut where your friend stands inside still, grinning.

“What was that little phone thing, there?” she asks as soon as you reach her.

“Fuck off,” you answer, breathless, glancing behind you to see Jaehyun and Johnny nudging each other and laughing. “Shit.”

Your friend laughs, bright and loud. “This is too good.” She grips the edge of the counter tight. “What’d they say? They want to run a train on you?”

“What the fuck?” you immediately snap, though all the words manage to do is send even more heat to your cheeks. “No. They didn’t. They said they’d call me if they decide they do want lessons.”

“So that’s what they’re calling it nowadays,” your friend jokes, and you send her a desperate look, begging with your eyes for her to please stop. “Okay, okay,” she finally says, “I’m done.”

You let out a breath.

“But you really should’ve seen the way they looked at you. There was no way they had pure intentions in mind.”

Fuck.

The next day, you get a call from an unknown number.

“Hey,” the voice on the other side says, familiar, “it’s Johnny.”

“Oh,” you straighten up, fiddling with the hem of your loose t-shirt, “did you change your mind about the lessons?”

There’s a pause before you hear Johnny let out a breath. “Actually,” he begins, “we were wondering if you’d want to... hang out later? Or something?”

So that’s what they’re calling it nowadays, your friend’s joke from before echoes in your head. Shit.

It’s nothing like you—you’d never agree to meet up with two guys you’ve just met, but at the same time, this is too good of an opportunity to waste.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

A beat, and then what sounds like Jaehyun speaking, Johnny’s voice mixing with his as they talk over each other. You close your eyes for the briefest of seconds, wondering what you’ve just signed up for. Wasn’t it them who were supposed to be signing up for things?

“We’ll see you later, then,” Jaehyun’s voice comes clear through the speaker. “Sorry about the lessons, but this seems better, don’t you think?”

Holy shit. You agree, though.

The last thing you hear is Johnny saying be there or be square and a second of Jaehyun’s laughter before the call ends, leaving you with red cheeks and a racing heart, ready for whatever the rest of the day holds.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the events portrayed in this story are fictional and do not reflect on the actual people written about. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended.

[fanmoose12]

the devil you know

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Moblit Berner, Zeke Yeagar, Armin Arlert

Genres: Action / Drama

Summary: Can you still miss a person, if everything you knew about them was a lie?

Сhapter 4/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Every single night, she was tormented by the same nightmare. Every single night, the same memory replayed behind her closed eyelids. She saw that fateful night, the night when she had decided she couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

It was the night before the great battle, and, as always, Levi fell asleep in her bed, curled around her body, holding on to her almost desperately, as though he was afraid that should he let go even for a second, she’d vanish.

Levi thought that his embrace could keep her with him. Hange wished for it to be the truth.

Getting out of the circle of his arms was a considerable effort, he held her too close, too tight, and Hange… Hange didn’t want to leave that sweet embrace. Levi was wrapped around her like a vice, he was a poison ivy that had its twigs engraved so deep it reached to the very depths of her heart.

Hange had to cut it out, to cut him out. And, by gods, was it an unwanted progress.

But after a few moments of quiet struggling, of silent curses and pants, she slipped out from his embrace and their bed. That small victory was well-earned, but not enjoyed. Hange felt her heart break the moment Levi’s arms were no longer around her. Without him, she felt so cold. With every inch she put between them, the ice that began covering her heart continued growing.

Next, she packed her scarce belongings. She wanted to take more, she couldn’t do it. Everything she’d take back home – her uniform with Wings of Freedom splayed proudly on the back, her heavy notebooks with dozens of notes and sketches done by her beloved assistant, that book Erwin had once given her, the scarf Mike had knitted for her, the flower Levi had gifted her, the very same one she treasured just dearly as the memory of him confessing after the gift had been presented, - all of it was going to be looked at and thoroughly analyzed. By her Marleyan comrades, friends and possible prosecutors.

She could take nothing that could be conceived as dubious, but that jacket, the one that was shared by both of them and still held his scent and warmth— she wasn’t strong enough to leave it behind.

So she put it on, praying for it to give her strength.

A long way home was awaiting her.

And Hange couldn’t leave without giving him, the one man she truly loved, a goodbye kiss.

“I know you won’t,” she whispered against his brow, her fingers caressing his hair with a feather light touch, “but please try to forgive me. It was out of my control, Levi.”

It was his fault too. When Levi came, the ground had been kicked from under her feet. And a simple mission turned into a tragedy.

When she gathered enough strength to leave the room, the hallway was empty. Hange knew it would be, she was familiar with the workings of Survey Corps like the back of her hand. She strolled through the well-known hallways without fear, trailing her hand along the walls.

The Military Headquarters back at Liberio was better built than this building. Even Warriors’ barracks, despite being designed to hold Eldians, were built so much better. Those buildings were sturdier, more technologically equipped, much more comfortable.

But, god damn it, she was going to miss Survey Corps’ headquarters, this shitty building that was situated in the middle of nowhere.

Compared to Marley, everything in Paradise was ancient, outdated, useless. But it didn’t stop her from loving that fucked up little island. It didn’t stop her from loving people that were living there, despite them being branded as monsters by her nation.

She turned the corner, took the stairs, and, at the end of it, just near the exit Hange saw a shadow.

She meant to duck behind the corner, to run and hide, but the form of that shadow was all too familiar, and she was just as familiar to that shadow. Hange had no choice but to stop and surrender to another cruel twist of fate.

“Squad Leader!” Moblit ran up to her, smiling and endearing as always.

Fucking hell, and Hange thought that saying goodbye to Levi would be the hardest task. However, Levi, at least, hadn’t been awake.

“Are you nervous, as well?" he asked, curiously peering into her eyes. Was she nervous? That was an understatement. "Personally, I can’t sleep! I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I even wrote a letter to my Momma, do you remember her?”

Of course, Hange remembered Moblit’s Momma, the soft and caring Mrs. Berner, a far kinder woman than Hange’s Momma was.

“I told her about our mission and how proud I am for participating in it. And… I added a second part, the one that would be sent in case…”

“No.” Hange shook her head resolutely, her hands clenching into fists. No, no, no, she refused to even entertain that foul idea. Impulsively, she took a step forward, circling her arms around her sweet assistant. “No, Moblit,” she repeated, voice muffled by his shirt. If he heard the quiet sniffling, Hange didn’t care. Moblit never minded her eccentricities. “You will survive. You will survive this shit and the next one you will undoubtedly face. You will make your Momma and everyone else around you proud.” You will make me proud. “And you will leave a glorious, happy and long life. You promise me?”

“Squad Leader…”

“Promise me!” she demanded, bordering on desperation.

In that moment, the dream always divided from reality.

In reality, Hange waited until he had given her a promise, and then feigned exhaustion, leaving Moblit to use another exit. But in a dream, Moblit made her stay, coercing her to have a cup of tea with him. And in the candle-light lit mass hall, they met Erwin, then Levi joined their impromptu party, gluing himself to her side and blinking sleepily at everyone who had gathered.

In a dream, Hange never left. She stayed under Moblit’s care, was guided by Erwin’s wisdom, was surrounded by Levi’s love.

And that’s why that dream was a cruel, excruciating nightmare. It showed her things that could never be. It showed her the future she desperately wanted to come true. Escaping from the clutches of that fantasy was hard, painful. And if that was complicated….

Well, waking up in that bed was pure agony.

Every single morning, Hange woke up lost and disoriented, and had to spend a few long moments, making sense of it all.

Her first instinct was to stretch her arms, to yawn and reach out – to warmth and comfort, to loving embrace, husky voice and reluctant kiss. To him. To everything she had lost. To everything she never actually had.

But she was alone in that bed.

There was no Levi, lying next to her, complaining about her morning breath. There was no Squad Leader Hange, no four-eyes , who would smile and start singing in Levi’s ear.

There was only she, a broken, empty shell of a person.

A Marleyan who fell for an Eldian. A war chief that devised weapons for her enemies. A fool with twisted loyalties and convoluted goals.

She betrayed her homeland, she didn’t have a home.

She was abandoned by her fellow countrymen, was rejected by the people closest to her.

But, strangely, as pathetic as she was, as miserable and wretched, she was not alone. Even in her sorry state, despite her vile betrayal, she still had a friend.

He was by all means her enemy, a monster and a devil, and yet he saved her life more times than she could count.

Even now, when her lies had been discovered and her villainy uncovered, he remained by her side, continued to care for her.

If all Eldians were truly as monstrous as she had been told since her birth, then how to make sense if the existence of one extremely brave, inexplicably kind Moblit Berner? Hange, as genius as she was, couldn’t understand him, couldn’t explain why someone as good and bright as him had decided to stick with her.

“Good morning!” he walked into her room with a smile, carrying her breakfast on a plate.

He had been repeating the exact same routine every day for the past month. He had been doing this ever since Erwin had appointed him as her assistant.

In that room, that bed, nostalgia, memories and regrets were impossible to escape.

Hange tried telling Moblit that he didn’t have to this, didn't have to care for her as though she was still his comrade. But Moblit was relentless. And she was too lonely and miserable to cut off the only kind soul that remained loyal to her.

“I managed to get your favorite biscuits this morning,” he continued, moving around the room to put the cutlery down on a table and open the curtains to let the sunshine in. “Almost got in a fight with Sasha because of it.”

Despite herself, Hange snickered. Moblit always had that kind of an effect on her. He possessed the uncanny ability to cheer her up with a simple, but heartfelt and caring gesture.

There was only one other person who was better at it than him. But after everything that happened between them… the hell would freeze sooner than she would hear praise and a comforting word from him.

Waving those sullen thoughts away, Hange stretched her arms and rose from the bed. She followed the sweet aroma of biscuits to the table Moblit had set for her.

“Any updates on Gabi and Falco?”

That was the first question she asked every morning. And every morning, Moblit gave her the same disappointing answer.

“I’m sorry,” he ducked his head solemnly. “We didn’t manage to locate them yet.

Hange expected as much. And yet, the lack of news still troubled her. Where were fierce Gabi and adorable Falco? Were they—

She shook her head, pressing lips together. Of course, they were still alive. They were candidates, the best of all best. Mentally repeating that mantra a couple of times, she forced her mind flow into different direction.

“What’s our plan for today?” she asked through a mouthful of biscuits. “Are we going to work on a new uniform again?”

Working on that project was fun. Having Mobllit as her assistant once again was fun. In the moments, when her brain was too occupied with an idea, she could almost pretend that everything was normal. That she was Squad Leader Hange, working with Executive Officer Moblit on a new project. Sometimes, Hange got so lost in that little game inside her head, she even expected for the door to burst open to let a grumpy Captain inside. But, of course, that couldn't happen.

These distant memories, they were comforting. They reminded her of the rare times in her life when she was truly happy. But the past... was in the past.

“Eh, you see…” Moblit raised a hand to his head, scratching the back of it with an apologizing smile. “Armin asked me to look into something. I was actually wondering if you would like to accompany me. I bet you’re getting sick of spending days in these four walls.”

She was starting to feel like a wilting flower, that was true. It would have been nice to go outside. However…

“Am I even allowed to leave this room?”

Moblit winced. “I’m not really sure about it… But I was assigned to look after you. I think it wouldn’t hurt if you go with me. Besides…” he sat on the chair next to her, looking at her almost pleadingly. Oh, Moblit and his perfect puppy eyes, Hange could never resist them. “I’d like to have your company. And, perhaps, your advice as well…”

“Advice?” Hange frowned. “On what? What is your task about exactly?”

“Don’t know if I can tell you,” nevertheless, Moblit leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But they found out that one of the volunteers, Yelena, has been conspiring with Eren. They asked me to interrogate the other volunteer.”

“Oh?” that sounded both ominous and intriguing. Hange curled her lips into a grin and raised an eyebrow. “You want me to use my interrogating skills?”

“No!” paling slightly, Moblit frantically lifted his hands, shaking them from side to side. “No reaping out nails, please! No threats of bloody violence! Just… talk with him.”

She almost forgot how easy it was to tease and embarrass Moblit. Oh, how Hange missed him.

“Alright, I’ll do my best to control the violent urges,” she winked at him, laughing at his scandalous face. “And thank you for inviting me. It’s been ages since I saw the world outside that room.”

“There is another thing I have to ask of you...” Moblit cast his eyes down, playing with the sleeve of his coat. “Technically, I’ll be representing Survey Corps, so…”

Oh. Hange shifted her gaze to the wardrobe, where her old uniform was still hanging. That feeling inside her, she couldn’t quite identify it. Was it shame? Or trepidation?

She showed nothing of it to Moblit. As their eyes met, she faced him with an easy smile.

“Sure, I don’t mind. I do wonder if that thing still fits me.”

“It is. It always will.”

The remark was short, it could be read as meaningless. But Moblit’s voice was deep and gravely, full of conviction. Hange tilted her head, stealing a moment to study him more closely. He looked back at her, his hazel eyes honest and kind.

A lump in her throat was thick enough to make it hard to breathe. It brought tears to her eyes. Hange closed them tightly, to keep the tears from falling down.

“I need a moment,” she murmured, facing away from Moblit, “I’ll be ready in five.”

“I’ll be waiting in the hallway,” he said and let her be.

___

Walking through the streets of Sina was both pleasant and excruciating.

Feeling the sun on her cheeks and the wind in her hair after so many days of being confined to a one single room was enjoyable, enough to put a smile on her lips. And Sina, so very different from Liberio, was a lovely city with interesting architecture and narrow clean streets.

But these places were too familiar, the alleyways etched into her mind too deeply. And the uniform�� the long green coat fitted her too well, and, at the same time, suffocated her. The shiny Wings of Freedom were burning her even through the clothes.

This proud emblem, it wasn’t hers. She wasn’t worthy of wearing it.

And the looks people had been given her, the awe and pride— fuck, Hange would rather prefer they cursed and flanged stones at her.

“Their smiles make me uncomfortable,” Moblit confessed. “They used to throw shit at us after every expedition. But now that Eren has killed a bunch of people, they suddenly decide that we’re heroes.”

“You always have been heroes.”

You, not we. There was nothing heroic inside of her.

“Remember that tavern?” Moblit’s cheerful voice and excited expression didn’t chase away the shadows completely. But the shadows took a step back, frightened by his light. “We had a glorious fight with MPs there.”

The fond memory brought laughter to her lips. “You almost got your arm broken in that fight.”

Moblit chuckled along with her. “Thanks to you I didn’t. I thought that punch of yours would get that guy obliterated.”

Hange touched her knuckles tenderly. Moblit was right, that was one hell of a punch. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel how the force of the hit had reverberated through her skin, tendons, muscles and down to the bones. Perhaps, that time, she had overdone it. She always had troubles reining in her anger.

“And remember that guy Captain Levi kicked? I see him around from time to time. Because of his broken jaw, he still has trouble speaking clearly.”

Ah, Hange remembered that guy as well. He was red-headed and had an ugly moustache. He also left a nasty bruise on her cheek. Levi’s kick to his jaw was a payback for that.

“Those were the times, huh?” Moblit nudged her, offering a kind smile.

Hange averted her eyes, feeling her lips quiver. Yeah, those were the times. Distant times, now they seemed more like a dream. A dream Hange wouldn’t want to wake up from.

Sensing her discomfort, Moblit steered them to the side, taking their conversation in another direction as well. “Speaking of Captain Levi, I sent him the new uniform. He wrote back that he liked it.”

The uniform she accidentally created with Levi’s size in mind. It was in no way intentional. She thought of Survey Corps’ soldiers when she was making a design. And in her mind, the perfect example of the scout was Levi. She was surprised she still remembered his size. Although, considering how much time she had dedicated to studying his body…

The new uniform was a sudden project, a product of the abundance of free time on her part. She wasn’t going to show it to anyone. Even Moblit found out about it by pure accident, when he stumbled upon her crude drawings. She was surprised he liked it. She was surprised Levi liked it. Did he really, though?

“He actually wrote so?”

“Well, he wrote that it could be useful, and in his words…”

Oh. As high praise as one could get from Levi.

“You write to him?” truthfully, that was another surprise for Hange. She didn’t remember Moblit and Levi have any sort of relationships, especially this close.

“We talk a lot,” Moblit shrugged, looking anywhere but at Hange. She was starting to wonder why, but his next words quickly unveiled the mystery. “Technically, we’re the only adults in Survey Corps, and after you left, we… found that we have a lot in common.”

Well. At least, her betrayal had one good outcome. It gave birth to a new friendship. And destroyed several old ones. Hange winced at the last thought.

“Oh, look where are we!” Moblit once again pulled her out of the abyss with his clear, loud voice. The wonder, added to it, however, seemed a little bit too faked. As smart and sharp as he was, Moblit could never excel at lying and pretending.

Not like she did.

Forcing these thoughts away, Hange followed the direction Moblit was pointing at. She couldn’t help but smile at what came into her sights.

Sina’s pastries. The best bakery in the city. In Hange’s humble opinion, the best bakery in the whole damn world. The one they had back at home, on the corner of the street in Liberio, right next to her apartment, didn’t even compare.

Just looking at the sign made her mouth fill with saliva.

“Moblit,” she grasped at his sleeve, her hold desperate. Her eyes were still trained on that shiny sign made in cursive. “Moblit, I know I’m asking a lot—”

He grinned. “Want me to get you that cherry pie you loved so much?”

Oh god, yes. Right now, Hange wanted it more than anything else.

“I understand it if you can’t. I mean, I’m a prisoner from a foreign country. Isn’t buying pies considered to be treason in this case?”

Moblit chuckled warmly. He looked at her, and his expression was kind and gentle enough to make the saints weep. He curled his hand around her shoulder, and from the place where he touched her, warmth spread through her body. “I wouldn’t mind committing treason for a friend.”

Fuck. Hange felt it once again. Her heart squeezing painfully, her throat constricting, tears welling in her eyes. She had to shut her lids to keep them from falling down her cheeks.

Her eyes still closed, with her voice cracking, she asked, “Would it be weird if I give you a hug right now?”

“Don’t know. Is it weird that I really want that hug?”

Her sob turning into a giggle, Hange surged forward, falling right in Moblit’s waiting arms. He pressed her close, his palm patting her on the back. Hange buried her face in his chest and relaxed against him, inhaling his faint scent of citrus and cinnamon. Sweet and pleasant, just like Moblit.

What was she doing all that time, without him at her side?

Moblit smiled at her as they separated. Hange meant to smile back, but in that exact moment— her stomach gurgled. Loudly.

She cringed.

“So… about that pie?”

“I’m on it,” Moblit promised and darted to the bakery.

___

Perhaps, it was fate. It was destiny, divine intervention, that led her to this moment. To the wooden bench in the park, to the bird’s singing in her ear, to the sweet, heavenly taste in her mouth.

The pie was perfect, so much better than Hange had remembered. It was soft enough to melt in her mouth, leaving a pleasant aftertaste. It was sweet, but not sugary, the cherry toping adding slight bitterness.

Fantastic, the pie was fantastic. If Hange could, she’d stay in that bakery until the end of her days, devouring those phenomenal pastries until she exploded. Ah, what a happy death that would be…

Moblit observed her with an amused grin. “Did they not feed you at all in your Marley?”

“Not like this.” Hange managed, despite her full mouth.

Food in Marley was more diverse than on Paradise. They had more resources, they had a bigger variety of products and ingredients. But Hange was a soldier. She either ate at barracks or she cooked for herself at home. Food, made by army cooks, was nourishing, but lacking in flavor. And the dinners, prepared by her, almost always consisted of something quick and extremely simple.

The only place where Hange could eat to her heart’s content, where food was made out of the best, freshest ingredients and prepared by the most skillful chefs, was the official events, organized by the brass. And as the leader of the research facility, one of the most recognized war chief and the only child of her father, one of the Marleyan’s biggest heroes, Hange was always a welcome guest on these events.

But they were so boring that not even a promise of good food could make her sit until the end of them.

“Well, wait until you try Niccolo’s food. He is a true master.”

“Already did,” her stomach once again gurgled, this time the embarrassing sound was provoked by the memory of Sasha and Connie treating her to some of the maestro’s masterpieces. Sasha certainly was a lucky girl. “I ate so much, I thought I was gonna puke.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” bashfully, Moblit rubbed his neck. “The first time he made food for us, I was eating like the man starved. I was so ashamed, but then I looked around,” he chuckled lowly, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “And realized I wasn’t the only one.”

“I see you had a lot of fun,” she said, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. She wasn’t one of them, and never was. The suddenly appeared sadness was foolish and unwelcome. She had her own friends back home. Perhaps, they still thought about her. Perhaps, they still cared. “And what about that guy you need to interrogate? Is he also an amazing cook?”

“No, he is a soldier, he taught us so much about your technology! He was the one who was in charge of controlling the airship we used to get to Liberio.”

So their new friend was a pilot? And, apparently, a skillful one at that. Navigating through Liberio during all that chaos was certainly a challenge. Hange wondered if she knew him.

“So what is the name of that ace pilot of yours?”

Moblit lifted his chin, something close to pride appearing in his gaze. "He really is amazing. His name is Onyakopon."

Hange's jaw dropped. Her precious pie almost dropped as well. Hadn't she misheard? Onyakopon? The same Onyakopon who had spent almost a year as her understudy? Who taught Hange how to pilot the plane? That Onyakopon?

Could it really be? Could they really meet here, after so many years, on Paradis of all the places? Or was it some other Onyakopon who also happened to be an ace pilot?

"Hange-san?" a worried crease lay between Moblit's eyebrows. "Are the two of you—"

"Don't know," she shrugged, promptly finishing the last of her pie. "Shall we go and find that out?"

Moblit nodded resolutely. Hange felt something like nostalgia stirring up inside her.

___

For a man who was supposedly under a close watch and a possible suspect, Onyakopon had the nicest of accommodations. Much better than Hange's single room.

The house was small, but cozy, surrounded by pretty garden and vast green fields. If one were to ignore the lonely guard who was munching on an apple in the shadow of the tree, the front yard possessed absolutely no flaws.

Hange immediately shared her observation with Moblit, telling it to him in a faint whisper.

"Let's hope Onyakopon isn't a traitor and we won't end up dragging him from this heavenly place," he answered her.

If their Onyakopon was the same Onyakopon Hange knew, they wouldn't need to take the drastic measures. He was a smart, honest and good man. And, judging by Moblit's set expression, he knew that too.

As they approached the house, a man came in their sights. Dark-skinned, tall and handsome, he was reading a book on the porch, a look of complete concentration on his face.

All doubt left her mind. It was the same Onyakopon. The bright, curious young man who wanted to learn from her and who taught her something in return.

At the sound of their footsteps, Onyankopon looked up. And recognized her too, from just one glance. As their eyes met, his grew in size, almost comically. So he didn't know she was there as well. Strange, Hange would have thought he overheard the commotion she had caused on their trip back to Paradis.

But, perhaps, Onyakopon was too focused on piloting the airship and keeping all of them alive.

"Hange?" his voice was no louder than the wind's song. Hange nodded swiftly, having troubles finding her own voice. She wasn't sure it would obey her. "Oh I'll be damned!" Onyakopon jumped to his feet and all but ran to her. He squeezed her elbows, peering into her face in disbelief. "I'll be damned, Hange! I've heard the talks about some Marleyan soldier, but I could never guess that it was you! No one told me that you were captured."

Well, captured might be a strong word to describe what happened to her. Levi didn't capture her, he simply caught her - unaware and unprepared. Hange saw the face that was haunting her dreams and didn't even think of fighting against him.

She thought that Levi came to kill her then. She was almost ready for him to do it, to finish it once and for all. Being killed by the humanity's strongest - was there a greater honor? Being killed by the man you loved so dearly - was there a bigger joy?

Gently, Hange pried Onyakopon's hands off her. "It's a very long story."

"I have—"

"You don't," Moblit took a step forward, partially hiding Hange behind his back. "We need to talk, Onyakopon. I'm sure you've already guessed why."

"Yeah. Your friend here," Onyankopon threw an accusing glare at his guardian who was enjoying the afternoon shade, not disturbed by their conversation. "Already warned me. Alright," he let out a defeated sigh, "Do you guys want tea or coffee? Maybe, some snacks?"

Moblit gave him a tight-lipped smile. "We've already eaten, thank you."

"I— I'll bring some tea anyway."

He disappeared inside the house without another word. Hange and Moblit watched him go, then, when he vanished from their sight, they shared a look.

"He doesn't seem nervous," Hange remarked.

Moblit seemed to be of the same opinion. "He looks rather disappointed. I really hope he is innocent. But..." he shook his head and mumbled, more to himself than Hange, "I was always bad at figuring out liars."

Ouch. If after everything she had been through, Hange still possessed a heart, Moblit's words would have dealt a fatal blow.

Alas... She felt but a small pang. It didn't make her wheeze with pain, only forced to cast her eyes down.

___

Onyakopon returned after a few minutes, carrying a tray with three cups on it. Jerking his head into its direction, he led them to a table on the backyard.

Once they all took their places, heavy silence hanged over them. Onyakopon was the one to break it.

"So, no offence," he tilted his head to the side, his gaze slowly switching between Hange and Moblit. "If this is the official business, then… why Hange is here?"

"It's a long story," Hange said at the same time as Moblit claimed,

"Hange and I have been working together before."

"Wait..." a frown appeared on Onyakopon's face. It was almost immediately taken over by the look of shock. "Are you telling me that the famed Marleyan spy I've been hearing so much about, the one who spent five years on Paradis and almost became the Commander of Survey Corps, is Hange Zoe, one of the brightest minds of Marley?"

"Something like that, yeah," Hange took a cup of tea in her hands, hiding her embarrassment behind it.

"Wow... that's certainly... a lot to take in. I heard so many things about you."

"Nice ones, I hope?"

The corners of Onyakopon's lips slid down. "Not really."

"Ah... Understandable, I guess."

"But if you're the famous betrayer, why are you here? Are you—"

"We've been working together for a long time," Moblit repeated. "I trust Hange's judgement."

"I have an exceptional talent of picking out bullshit. And," Hange grinned, the curl of her lips just this side of being feral. "I'm a master of reaping fingernails out."

Onyakopon promptly chocked on the tea he was drinking. Sending her the most disappointing of his looks, Moblit jumped out from his seat to help the other man to cough it all out. His panicked face did awake a bit of shame in Hange.

"It was a joke," she hurried to assure.

"A very bad one," Moblit grumbled, softly patting Onyakopon on the back.

"I see nothing has changed about you, Hange," after returning his breathing under control, Onyakopon raised his eyes, giving her a joyful smile.

Hange wasn't sure if his words held any truth, personally, she hadn't felt like her happy, curious and driven self from years ago, but, nevertheless, she answered his smile with the one of her own.

"Now, let's talk about you," Moblit returned to his place, sitting down on the opposite side from Onyakopon. His back was straight, his expression relaxed but solemn. He grew, Hange noted absentmindedly. He was no longer that timid, shy man she had met all these years ago. "Do you know what happened with Yelena?"

"I understand that she is in the same boat as I am right now."

"Not quite," Moblit retorted. "We've recently found out that she has been talking with Eren behind our backs."

Onyakopon put the cup down, his hands a little more unsteady than Hange remembered them to be. "I... didn't know about any of this. Do you know what they were discussing?"

"Commander Pixis and the others are attempting to make sense of it as we speak."

"And in the meantime you decided to interrogate me." Onyakopon's demeanor changed, his eyes flashing. "Have I not done enough, Moblit? For you and for the people of Eldia? Haven't we helped you enough? And yet, you still don't trust me. You come here with—" his gaze shifted to Hange, but whatever Onyakopon wanted to say didn't leave his mouth, Moblit's hardened expression stopping him.

"You know how hard it is to earn trust," Moblit spoke calmly. "Especially now. Personally, I don't think that you're involved in Yelena's dealings. But I have to make sure of it. Wouldn't you do the same, if you were in my position?"

"Besides," Hange chimed in, "Even Eren is imprisoned. Do you really blame them for not trusting foreigners?"

Onyakopon took his time before answering. His jaw clenched, as he fixed his gaze on the wooden surface of the table.

"Maybe, you're right," he said at last. At his admission, Moblit relaxed. But Hange knew that Onyakopon wasn't finished yet. "But I risked my life to help get Eren back. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Yelena took part in that mission as well." Moblit reminded.

"I'm not Yelena." Onyankopon harshly retorted.

Moblit scowled. Onyakopon was glaring back at him, hands crossed on his chest. Hange decided it was time to intervene once more.

"Are we thinking of the same Yelena?" she interrupted their staring contest, easing the air around both men. "Tall, blonde and absolutely crazy?"

Not taking his eyes of Onyakopon, Moblit nodded. "She also has a strange obsession with Yeager brothers."

"Ah," yeah, Hange knew her. How could she not? Yelena was... "A lovely girl. Even I get chills from her. I doubt that Pixis would be able to get something out of her."

"That what worries me," Moblit confessed, rubbing his temples. The gesture was familiar to Hange - Moblit always suffered from headaches when under stress. "The Queen is coming back soon. If we don't secure the capital..."

"Historia is coming back?" Hange wasn't aware of it. When she asked Sasha about a little girl that once was called Christa and then grew up to become a Queen, Sasha said that she was also getting ready to become a mother. Was bringing her to the capital a good call then? With everything in such state of disarray?

"It was her decision, not ours," Moblit explained. "When the Queen learned what is going in, she deemed it necessary to intervene."

"Hopefully, the Queen is loved more than Eren Yeager."

Yeah, that would be the best case scenario. For everyone - even Marleyans - involved.

"In these uncertain times..." Moblit hanged his head with a deep, weary sigh. "Hope is all we have. Thank you for your time, Onyakopon. We'll be heading back now."

Having said that, he stood up. Hange meant to follow his suit, but at the last moment, Onyakopon stopped her, catching her sleeve between his fingers.

"About what happened in Liberio," he stiffly began. "Marley destroyed my hometown," Hange solemnly nodded. She was forced to take part in that particular operation. She hated every second of it. "I can't and I won't forgive them for that. But..." his voice softened, his thumb rubbed comforting circles around her pulse point. "Liberio was your home as well. So I know what you're going through."

Taken by surprise, Hange blinked a couple of times, gawking at Onyakopon. She expected anger from him. In the worst case - pity. But he offered her only his understanding. She was grateful for that.

“Goodbye, Onyankopon,” she smiled sweetly.

“Hopefully, that wouldn’t be our last meeting.”

Hange could very well agree on that.

___

When they were back in Sina, the sun was already setting, painting the streets and buildings into shades of orange, red and pink. While walking through the town, Hange was once again reminded of how beautiful it truly was. The abundance of trees and flower bushes, the shiny cobblestone and petite houses added to its charm, making Sina look almost magical.

“Pretty as a picture,” Hange had once called it, during a walk through the town with Levi by her side. Her fascination, that careless mishap almost got her lie uncovered.

“You look like you’re seeing it for the first time, four-eyes,” Levi had thrown that line carelessly, but his had narrowed ever so slightly and his frown had deepened. “Didn’t you say that you have grown up in the city?”

In that moment, Hange had almost started panicking. She could almost see it too – Levi finding out the truth, Levi dragging her to Erwin, Erwin getting everything he could out of her, him, Mike, Nanaba, Moblit, Nifa, Keiji, Abel, Levi and countless of others feeling disappointed and betrayed. The story would have ended with her standing on the gallows.

Perhaps, this end would have been more merciful. But that day, her joyful, only slightly forced laughter and a meaningless ‘Don’t you know me, Levi? I always have my head up in the clouds?’ had saved her from the early demise. And doomed her to many years of torture, heartache and self-hatred.

“Hey,” a gentle hand on her elbow broke her out of the internal misery. Hange looked up, meeting Moblit’s hazel eyes. “It will take some time until we reach the headquarters. Can we talk in the meanwhile?”

“Sure,” she shrugged. “What do you wish to talk about?”

“I actually want to ask a question. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but…” Moblit trailed off for a moment, pressing his lips in a line. Hange smiled faintly, she knew that expression too – he always wore it when he was contemplating his next move. As soon as his mind was set, it vanished, the usual kind face returning. “I would like to know why… you came here in the first place.”

That was it? Hange almost exhaled with relief. She thought he was going to ask something truly awful.

“Didn’t I tell you already? Just like Hoover, Leonhart, Braun and Galliard, I was sent to retrieve the Founding Titan.”

“But you didn’t do it. You had countless opportunities to take Eren from us, and you never acted on any of them. So why did you really come here?”

That was… a question more complicated than Hange was ready for. She didn’t know what to tell Moblit, how much she was willing to share. She had never talked about this, not to a single soul. Her comrades and friends from Marley would never understand her anyway. But Moblit wasn’t Marleyan, he didn’t possess the same mentality. Perhaps, he wouldn’t judge her. Hange was counting on that.

Without another second spent on doubt, she began her tale,

“My father was a hero – a soldier, brilliant tactician, an even better politician. He was resolute, fearsome and absolutely merciless to his enemies. No surprise that many considered him to be an ideal Marleyan citizen. And I was his only child. Naturally, everyone expected me to be as brilliant as him. I began my training at the age of five, and by the age of twelve I was already a perfect soldier. However, that’s not who I wanted to be. I wanted to explore the world, to travel to distant lands, but as the child of my father, I had my whole life controlled by him, and then, when he passed away, by the expectations everyone had for me.”

Taking a pause, Hange chanced a look at Moblit, expecting him to be disgusted or annoyed by her whining. She had everything given to her on a plate, a bright future guarantied, and she still yearned for something more. It was pathetic, wasn’t it? She was pathetic. However, Moblit… didn’t seem to share that opinion. At least, his face didn’t show the signs of it. Instead of the outrage Hange had expected to see, she was met with sympathy.

It made the pain in her chest grew tenfold.

Nevertheless, she forced herself to continue.

“I could never decide for myself, my whole life was controlled by my father’s legacy. I wanted to break free of it, by whatever means necessary. So when I heard about the mission to retrieve the Founding Titan, I latched onto that chance, convincing the brass to send me there with the kids. But I’ve arrived earlier than them, and we got separated. And so… I decided to use that time to do what I always wanted. To study and explore.”

It was the most brilliant of her adventures. She loathed being a soldier and having to kill countless enemies of Marley. But there was no war at Paradis. The only enemies were Titans, and as much as Hange felt for their struggle, she managed to convince herself that she was killing them for their own good. That she was freeing them from their never-ending curse.

“No one knew me here, and I could be whoever I wanted to. And I liked being Squad Leader Hange, because Squad Leader Hange was allowed to be as weird and curious as I wanted. People here accepted me. For the first time in my life, I felt like I found the place where I belonged.”

Of course, that wasn’t true, a mere fantasy, a delusion on her part. She was a Marleyan, a child of the man who condemned thousands of Eldians. She had no place in their world. And yet, Hange was happy. It was the bitter truth she was afraid to admit for so long - she loved the persona of Squad Leader Hange. So much more than the persona of the Professor and war engineer, Hange Zoe.

But nothing could last forever. And when the time has come to return to Marley, Hange was devastated. She lost herself in playing her own game.

“That’s it, I guess,” she said, rolling her shoulders. Looking up, she saw they were almost by the stables where they left their horses in the morning. So deep inside her own head, she failed to notice how much time had passed. “I ran away because I was sick of my life back home. And I spent five years pretending to be someone else.”

“Were you really?” Moblit watched her, his gaze inquisitive. “Were you really pretending to be someone else, Hange-san? Or did you finally allow yourself to release your true self?”

That was… a scary statement. And much more loaded than Hange could deal with in that moment.

“I could be wrong, though,” Moblit shot her an innocent smile. Hange cursed under her breath, a true devil, that’s what he was. Getting her to admit to so much of her insecurities, Moblit surely had a talent for it. And to think he asked her to help him with interrogation. He seemed to be pretty adept at it himself.

“Stay here, I’ll bring our horses,” he started walking in the direction of the stables, but at the last moment turned away, and, meeting Hange’s eyes, added, “I’m glad that you took that mission, Hange-san. And I’m glad that I got to meet the real you. All of us are.”

Hange snorted, watching Moblit go. Perhaps, her father was right about something. Devils, all of them were. How else to explain the ease with which they wormed their way into her heart?

Her shoulders dropped as soon as Moblit had disappeared from her view, and she turned to stare at the setting sun. Certainly, it was one hell of a draining conversation.

But as her thoughts were still scattered in disarray, her heart felt so much lighter. She never shared this part of her with anyone, was afraid to admit it even to herself. But now she was glad she had finally done it. Perhaps, she should have done it a long time ago. Her life could have been easier then, the amount of regrets considerably lesser.

She swept her gaze around the plaza Moblit left her at. With the day coming to an end, not a lot of people were there. As far as Hange could see, the only ones still present were a happy mother with a two children, who were feeding the pigeons on the bench at the far side of the plaza, an elderly couple, and—

And a girl that sat at the edge of the fountain. The short stature, slumped shoulders, that luscious long black hair were familiar to the point of setting Hange's heart ablaze.

She couldn't see the face, was afraid to, but even so, Hange denied what her eyes saw. Surely, it was her imagination, her mind conjuring things that weren't there. This girl, she was—

A shadow, fathom. It couldn't be— it couldn't be her. Even the possibility of it was raising the hairs at the back of Hange's neck.

It wasn't Pieck, just a random girl. Hange was wrong, simply seeing things. Those familiar traits belonged to someone else. Pieck wasn't here, in Paradis, Pieck couldn't be—

"Hange?" she jumped, and whirled around so swiftly her head went dizzy. Before her stood Moblit, his eyebrows knitted together worriedly. "Everything alright?"

She exhaled with relief. "Peachy," she answered with a smile she didn't feel. Her eyes shifted from one side of plaza to the other, searching for the figure she had seen. But like all shadows do, she simply vanished.

"I brought our horses," Moblit gestured for her to follow him. Hange did, not looking back even once.

Even so, she felt someone's gaze burning into her back all the way to the headquarters.

___

"Sorry," Moblit stood at the threshold of her room, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "I need to report to Zacklay and Pixis."

His expression was nearly apologetic. Hange patted his shoulder, touched by his not so subtle concern. "Stop worrying so much, Mob. Nothing would happen if you leave me for one evening."

Moblit kept frowning, looking as unconvinced as ever. "I'll tell Sasha and Connie to bring you dinner,” he nodded to himself. “And if you need anything, just tell the guard to call for me."

"Alright, alright. Now go!" Hange gave him a forceful push. "And make me proud!"

She didn't get an answer out of him, but she did see a faint blush appear on his cheeks. That was enough for Hange to chuckle victoriously.

Once Moblit had disappeared around the corner, Hange shoved the door closed and leaned against it. It was an exhausting, eventful day. She wanted nothing more than to rest. She headed towards the bed to fulfill that exact goal.

But no sooner than she had seated down, she heard the knock on the door. Albeit quietly, it was repeated three more times.

Sighing, Hange stood up again and walked back to the door. She swung it open, expecting to see Sasha and Connie. She was hoping to get a warm meal inside while gossiping with the two teenagers. A second later, the door stood open. And Hange's throat was closed up.

On the other side of the threshold— there was no Sasha, no Connie. Only Pieck.

And so the shadow finally took form.

Pieck was dressed similarly to her, in the dark green uniform. Her hair was gathered in a low ponytail, a smile was playing on her lips. The subtle differences in her attire only added to the sense of disbelief.

At the sight of her lovely face, all air left Hange's lungs. She desperately tried to take a breath, opening and closing her mouth rapidly. She wasn’t sure for how long she would have continued gaping like a fish fresh out of the water hadn't Pieck taken the matters in her own hands.

"It's been a while, Hange," as always, she spoke in a quiet, sugary sweet voice. Usually it calmed Hange down. Now it was sending shivers down her spine. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Pieck," Hange meant to sound leveled, controlled. But even a single word came out shaky and unsure. "Pieck," she tried again, this time with more success. "What are you doing here?"

Pushing past Hange, Pieck walked inside the room, heavily sliding down on a chair. "Serving my country. Something you have forgotten about."

Pieck stared straight at her, hands folded in her lap, a picture of friendliness and innocence. But the smile Hange always found so endearing, now seemed almost chilling.

"Tell me, Hange, is this the part of your plan? Have you decided to use your old history with these people to destroy them from the inside? Or," Pieck paused, tilting her head to one side. She didn't look angry, or disappointed. If anything, she seemed simply curious. But the atmosphere in the room was tense, air electrified with trepidation. Hange knew Pieck all too well, she knew how dangerous the shifter girl could be. "Have you already forgotten what they did in Liberio, in our city? How they destroyed it? How killed thousands of men, women and children? These monsters almost killed Reiner, Porco," her voice wavered at the names of her dear comrades. But even then, she didn’t drop the unassuming façade. "And do you know what happened to Udo and Zophia? Have you seen what become of them?"

Stunned, Hange could only stare at Pieck. The words left her, her mind unable to come up with anything she could have used to explain herself.

Indifferent to Hange’s internal struggle, Pieck continued.

"Do you even care, Hange? About Marley, about us?"

"Of course, I do." How Pieck could even doubt that? Udo and Zophia, those bright, adorable children Hange couldn't quite imagine them being gone. "Pieck, you misunderstand, I've been captured, I'm not—"

"Don't make me laugh." Pieck interrupted curtly. "You have your own room, you walk freely through the town, you wear their uniform. Is this how they treat all of their prisoners? Awfully kind of them then, considering the monstrosities these devils committed."

"Pieck, listen—"

Pieck didn't want to.

"You always were a strange one, Hange," gracefully, the girl stood up, taking a step closer. With her hands behind her back, she started pacing, circling around Hange. "I could never understand what was going on inside your head. I still can't. But, naively, I thought that I knew you. That after years of fighting side by side, we grew close enough. And after the disaster at Liberio," she picked up a sheet of paper from Hange's desk, gave it a quick once over before disregarding it in favor of focusing her eyes on Hange once more. "I kept looking for you. I was so afraid to find your body under a fallen building or see you with a hole in the head. But you were nowhere to be found. Everyone was worried sick, the brass was livid - the devils from Paradis killed the Warhammer, took our Beast and now our brightest mind was missing as well. And then I remembered what I have seen during the fight. A short man approaching you, the same one who nearly killed Zeke, that Ackerman. I thought he had captured you, I thought you needed saving. Seems like I was wrong about that, huh?”

Even now, Pieck was keeping her calm. Despite the harsh accusations, her voice remained gentle, almost soothing. The smile was still in place, and her head was tilted up, peering into Hange’s eyes.

Hange did everything she could to escape that unsettling gaze.

“I also came to because I needed you,” Pieck continued. “I thought you would help me with my mission.”

Would she? Should she? Hange didn’t know. She knew what Professor Hange Zoe would have done. She knew what Squad Leader Hange would have done.

But what would she do?

“I guess it doesn’t matter. Whether you help us or not, the outcome will be the same. Paradis will fall, Hange. Consider it my only warning. If you wish to witness its demise alongside these devils, I won't stop you. But," without looking at Hange, Pieck laid a hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "If your decision ever changes, I'll be happy to fight by your side."

After that, Pieck left the room, closing the door softly on her way out. Hange, however, didn’t move, remaining frozen in one place, too stunned to follow after Pieck and demand a more thorough explanation.

However... what was there to explain? Paradis will fall. Plain and simple.

Right now, Hange couldn't quite believe it, although she was supposed to expect it. What could possibly happen to that little island after Eren's desperate rampage? But even before that, Paradis was already doomed. The events that transpired at Shiganshina proved to the outside world just how dangerous the Eldians could be. And Shiganshina was simply a plant that had grown out of the seed of Grisha Yeager's crimes.

There was no hope for Paradis. There never was.

Paradis will fall.

What could she do to save it? Could she do something, anything at all? Could she help them, expose her nation's plans? Could she betray her motherland like that? If she shared the truth with people of Paradis, would they even believe her? Would her people forgive her?

Hange didn't know. Her mind was in frenzy, her thoughts flying from one horrible outcome to the other. It was in that catatonic state that Sasha and Connie found her.

"Hange-san? Is everything alright?"

Hange looked up, meeting their bewildered gazes. In that moment she realized - she didn't want these kids to die. She didn't want for them to suffer any more than they've already done. And the others - Moblit, Levi - Hange couldn't bear the thought of them in harm. But—

She didn't want for her fellow countrymen to die as well.

Fuck. Why was everything so hard these days, why it was so damn complicated? When would her heart stop tearing into two pieces? Why was everything out of her control?

It was always an issue of hers, the lack of control. This time was no different. Caught between crossfires, Hange didn't know which side to choose. Perhaps then... she shouldn't choose at all.

Perhaps, she should take the back seat. Let everything transpire the way it was supposed to be. Let them fight, let someone win.

And so, with a heavy heart and troubled consciousness, Hange came to a decision. She would not alert Paradis about the threat hanging over them. She would not help Marley in their fight.

But there was another side to all of this. Another warning, another trouble that couldn’t be ignored.

There was a danger of Marley invasion, but equally disturbing was the events transpiring inside the Walls. Something was brewing, a storm ready to swipe everyone in its path. And Hange had a nasty feeling that at the center of it, two figures stood – Yeager brothers.

Nothing could be done about Eren, Hange had doubts that even his closest friends had a single clue of what was going inside the boy’s head, what dangerous ideas were forming there. But Zeke, Hange knew how to deal with Zeke. She also knew someone who could deal with him in the most efficient way.

She didn’t know what Zeke was planning. But she was confident that Levi would be able to find out.

She just needed to give him a little push.

“Sasha,” Hange smiled at the girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “If you would be so kind, tell Moblit to visit me before he retires for the night.”

Moblit had mentioned that he was corresponding with Levi. The time has come to use this detail to her and the world’s advantage.

The world as they knew was changing, perhaps, it was already at the brink of collapse, horrible destruction. What did Moblit say? In these uncertain times, hope is all we have?

In that case, her only hope was Levi.

[armandclocksitall]

Watch The Night Go Up In Smoke (Chapter 2)

Paul(The Lost Boys) x Frog! Reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: underage drinking, some mind control, puking, driving under the influence

So you get to see the guys in this chapter, very little Marko which is sad but he’ll definitely play a bigger part once the story gets rolling so don’t worry, it’s coming.

>Previous Chapter<

Mikayla and (Y/N) climbed out of the vehicle and made their way to the beach where a giant bonfire was roaring away as teenagers and 20-somethings raged around it already completely wasted and ready to have the best night of their lives.

It was well past midnight when (Y/N) was sipping on only their second drink of the night, they were buzzed but still very much coherent and aware of their surroundings. Mikayla was a completely different story, she had jumped straight into drinking as soon as they reached the party. She had absolutely no issue socializing with complete strangers either. It was like she was a magnet for attention.

(Y/N) had prayed that tonight would change their social status but with every person that walked up and sparked a conversation with their cousin, they reverted further into their shell. Nobody even took notice of them and they had to admit, it kinda hurt.

(Y/N) had almost completely lost hope when a group of four boys approached them. They walked with such an air of confidence, (Y/N) begged whatever higher power there was for them to at least acknowledge them and it seemed that that plea might’ve been answered.

“Hey, you two look like you’re having fun,” the biker with the fluffed blonde hair said. Mikayla giggled drunkenly as her eyes wandered to the tallest of the group with the flowing dark tresses.

(Y/N) stood shocked, he was speaking directly to them. They quickly unfroze and stuttered out awkwardly, “Yeah, we’re having the absolute time of our lives right now.” The teenager cringed in embarrassment as the Twisted Sister look-alike laughed.

Mikayla, who was previously leaning on her cousin’s shoulder to stop herself from face-planting in the sand strutted up to the boy she was previously eyeing and wrapped a piece of his hair around her pointer finger flirtily, “I could think of something more fun that you and I could do. My name’s Mikayla.”

(Y/N)’s face lit up bright red at their cousin’s words as they rushed over to her and tugged her away from the leather-clad biker. “I am so sorry about her, she’s definitely drunk enough for tonight,” they apologized quickly.

The four boys laughed at the two of them, amused by their dynamic. The biker who stood closest to them smiled at (Y/N), “Don’t worry about it, at least you know she has taste.” (Y/N) laughed lightly at his statement.

The first boy walked up to (Y/N) and threw an arm over their shoulder, “I don’t know about that, Dwayne. I mean how could she possibly have taste if she didn’t even throw herself at me?” he laughed before turning to (Y/N), their faces only inches away from one another. “You get what I mean, right?”

(Y/N)’s face flushed as another member of the group, this one with a platinum blonde mullet and completely clad in black, spoke up, “Leave the poor kid alone, Paul. We don’t need them fainting on us.” He gazed at (Y/N), his bright blue eyes seemed to pierce into their very soul, “You two do seem like a good time though and you don’t seem to be having the most fun here. I know a place we could all go and let loose, just a little intimate party for the six of us if you’re down for it.”

(Y/N) felt their mind go fuzzy for a few seconds as they actually considered leaving with this group of boys but those thoughts were quickly torn away as they felt Mikayla’s body next to them start to fold in on itself. She heaved over and let loose the contents of her stomach all over the sand at their feet.

The four bikers all looked shocked at the scene in front of them as (Y/N) went into protective mode over their cousin. They held her hair back and held her up by the waist as she continued to gag.

The teenager looked up at the boys, “Sorry but we’re gonna have to pass up that offer, I really should get my cousin home. Maybe we can hang out some other time?”

They all nodded as Mikayla finally managed to get a hold of herself and (Y/N) began to usher her away from the party.

David spoke before they were able to completely get away, “Nice jacket by the way.”

(Y/N) nodded, confused as to why he’d bring up their jacket at such a random time, “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Aww come on, (Y/N), I wanna hang out with them,” Mikayla whined as (Y/N) readjusted the girl on their shoulder and continued the walk towards the girl’s jeep.

Mikayla was leaned up against the vehicle as (Y/N) searched her pockets for the keys to the car. Finally fishing them out, they unlocked the car and (Y/N) helped their cousin into the passenger side. They walked around the front and hopped into the driver’s side as Mikayla was struggling to buckle her seatbelt.

Her head lolled to the side as she looked at her cousin pathetically while holding out the buckle of her seatbelt, “Please help.”

(Y/N) rolled their eyes and buckled Mikayla’s seatbelt and then their own and started the car.

“We totally should’ve gone with them,” she pouted looking out the window towards the boardwalk.

“Kay, you literally hit on one of them and then proceeded to vomit all over the place. I’m taking you home for a reason.” (Y/N) said incredulously.

“Well yeah, my chances were completely blown, but I brought you here so that you could get a social life. The pretty one was totally hitting on you, what was his name again? Saul?”

“Paul. His name was Paul.”

“See you care enough about him that you bothered to actually remember his name. If you two don’t hang out soon, I’ll scream. You two would be so cute together, with him being all outgoing and flirty and with you being more introverted and shy. He could finally pull you out of your shell,” she rambled obviously still under the influence. (Y/N) shook their head, letting silence fill the vehicle.

“Where did you say we were going again?” Mikayla slurred, looking at her cousin.

“I’m taking you home, your dad would kill us if he found out we both snuck out and never came back home.”

Mikayla gasped, shooting up in her seat, “No! You can’t take me home, he’ll kill me for being drunk!”

“I think he’d prefer seeing you drunk than seeing you on a missing person’s poster. He might be mad but at least he’ll know that you made it home safe, I’m trying to be responsible here, Mikayla.”

The girl slumped in her seat, scowling at her cousin and their stupid moral compass. They had pulled into the driveway of the Emerson house as (Y/N) noticed the living room light on, “Looks like you’re busted either way.” Mikayla groaned.

The two of them hopped out of the vehicle, (Y/N) passing the keys to their cousin which she fumbled terribly. They walked up to the front door which was unlocked and made their walk of shame into the living room where Sam Emerson was lounged on a recliner watching reruns on the TV. He glanced up at his daughter noticing the kid of his best friend next to her.

He spoke to his daughter in a stern voice, “You had your mother and I worried sick when we found your bed empty and window open. We’ll talk about this in the morning, now go to your room.” He didn’t give her the opportunity to explain herself. She nodded her head solemnly and stumbled up the steps up to her room.

Sam turned his head to (Y/N), “Does your father know where you are?” They shook their head. Sam nodded in understanding, “Let me get my shoes and jacket, I’ll give you a ride home.”

They were driving through the streets back to the Frog household when Sam spoke up, “Mind telling me what tonight was all about?”

(Y/N), not used to being in trouble, immediately spilled the beans, “Mikayla wanted to help me sneak out so we could go to this party on the beach so I could meet people and become more social. Everything was going fine until she accidentally drank too much. Then she hit on this guy and ended up puking in front of him so I took her home.”

Sam looked at (Y/N) with wide eyes, surprised at how easy it was to get the full story out of them. He sighed and turned his eyes back to the road before stopping at the end of (Y/N)’s street, “I appreciate you telling me the truth, so for that, I won’t be telling Edgar what happened tonight. While I don’t approve of the way you went about things, I’m glad that you’re trying to open yourself to other people. Just be careful around people around the beach and boardwalk, there’s a lot of weirdos in Santa Carla that you don’t need to get wrapped up in okay?”

(Y/N) nodded quickly before throwing themself over the center console and hugging their uncle around the neck tightly, “Thank you so much, Uncle Sam. I promise I’ll be careful and hopefully, this never happens again.”

He smiled softly at the teenager, “Good, now you better get home before your dad realizes you’re gone.”

(Y/N) quickly hopped out of the car and waved goodbye to their uncle before walking down the street and creeping back in through their window into their bedroom where the lights were still off and the door still locked. They had made it back and nothing bad happened.

It was 3 am when (Y/N) finally settled into bed. Just as they shut their eyes, their imagination began to act up. What might’ve happened if they had gone with those boys. The thought made them queasy. They were so willing to go before Mikayla got sick, (Y/N) felt like their thoughts were completely out of control. Thinking of David made their stomach churn with uneasiness. Something about him seemed dangerous, even deadly. Then (Y/N) remember him, Paul.

His hand around their shoulder, the look in his eyes, everything about him seemed to reel (Y/N). It took everything in them to not lean in further when their faces were so close together.

(Y/N) felt their stomach flutter at the thought. Maybe Mikayla was right, they could be good together.

>Next Chapter<

[akishyff]

How Rose Became A Supervillain

I was bored, so I wrote this fun little story. Enjoy!

“Mnggggh...”

“I know, rosebud, I know.”

Rose straightened up in her hospital bed, reaching weakly for her phone. “But I gotta tell Juleka I’m okay...”

Her father seized the device, wagging his finger sternly at her. “No texting yet. You need bed rest.”

Mama grinned teasingly and held out a box. “Behave and we’ll give you a present!”

Rose’s eyes went wide and she sat still.

The box was handed over. Rose opened it and grinned at what was inside- a pair of... what, brooches? She wasn’t overly familiar with fancy jewellery. But they were pretty. Once was shaped like a butterfly, the other a peacock tail.

Mama smiled. “They’re a matching set. Maybe you can give one to that pretty girl you-“

Rose threw the lid at her, blushing madly. Papa laughed. “Alright, we get it. We’ll pick you up tomorrow, rosebud.”

Her parents left. Rose idly picked the butterfly brooch out of the box. It really was pretty. Maybe she could give the other one to Juleka?

She pinned it onto her hospital gown and was blinded by an eruption of brilliant purple light.

Understandably, she squeezed her eyes shut and screamed. “AAAAHHHHHH!”

“Wait, no, don’t be scared!”

She squinted ever so slightly, and... why was there a purple thing in the air?

She opened her eyes properly and was greeted with the sight of an utterly adorable purple moth fairy. “Greetings, mistress! I am Nooroo, Kwami of the-“

“SO CUUUUUUUUUTE!”

Rose seized him in a cuddle-hug, squealing. He was just so cute, she couldn’t help it!

“Ack! Mistress, please!”

She released him with no small amount of reluctance. “Sorry, sorry, you’re just so cute and tiny!”

The butterfly/moth/fairy blushed violet. “That’s alright, Mistress. Anyways, as I was saying, I am Nooroo, Kwami of the Butterfly Miraculous, which grants the powers of transmission and generosity. A pleasure to meet you!”

Rose tilted her head in confusion. “What’s a Miraculous?”

“The Miraculous is a magical jewel that will give you superpowers when its respective Kwami- me, for yours- inhabits it.”

“Huh.” Rose poked the peacock pin. “Is this a Miraculous too?”

Nooroo winced at that. “Well, yes, but it’s been damaged. I advise against wearing it- it’ll hurt you if you do.”

Rose frowned at the box. “Oh. Alright. Is there a way to get the Kwami out?”

“Only if someone wears it.”

“Well, that’s not fair! They should be allowed out, too. Is there a way to fix it so I can wear it?”

Nooroo frowned. “Well, we Kwamis aren’t allowed to know that information. If there is, it’d probably be in one of the Miraculous spell books.”

“Well, how do we find one?”

The Kwami perked up. “Oh, I can help with that! If you use my powers, you can give people superpowers, and-“

“Miss Rose?”

Rose’s eyes went wide and she pulled the pin off, hiding it under her bedsheets. Nooroo vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

The nice nurse poked her head in. “Sorry, dear. I thought there was someone else in the room.”

Rose shrugged. “Sorry! I was just thinking out loud.”

The nurse looked sceptical, but she nodded and exited regardless.

Rose sighed and put the pin back on. Nooroo popped back into existence. “Maybe we should wait until you’re out of... wherever this is.”

Rose nodded in silent agreement.

…

“Wait... so all of you are stuck in your Miraculous all the time?”

“Well, if we have an owner-“

“And if you don’t have one, you’re stuck in a box, unable to interact with the world at all?”

“...Mistress, I promise it’s better than it sounds-“

Rose’s eyes burned with blue fire. “It’s not right. You should be free to cuddle people and eat lots of snacks and watch movies!”

She turned on Nooroo. “Where is this box?”

“I- I don’t know, but Mistress-“

Rose tapped the pin. “Alright, Plan B. Don’t worry, Nooroo, I’ll free all your brothers and sisters so they can be pampered like the adorable little fairy creatures they are!”

“Mistress, really-“

“Nooroo, Wings Rise!”

A rush of light and power, and suddenly Rose was wearing a gorgeous purple and blackish-violet dress, with long silver gloves and a neat lilac domino mask.

The swarm of butterflies her transformation had created flapped around her, one nudging at her hand until she allowed it to sit eagerly on her palm. She cupped it in her hands and allowed power to flow. “Alright, my Lovely. Go find me a Champion!”

The now-purple Lovely flapped out of her window. Only a minute later, she found a connection. “Hello there!”

Oh, it was Ivan! Interesting. What the- who are you?!

“Oh, I’m... shoot, I didn’t think of a name... uh, Pixie! I’d like to help you! What’s wrong?”

It’s Kim! He won’t stop taunting me, and I’m the one getting in trouble for it! So I got a little confrontational, ignoring him wasn’t doing anything!

Pixie frowned. “That’s terrible! Can I do anything?”

I don’t think so.

“Well, I prefer to be optimistic! I can give you superpowers, so he can’t get to you anymore!”

...I feel kinda like I’m making a deal with the devil here.

“What? No! I only want one little thing in exchange- can you try to find some little creatures called Kwamis?”

What now?

“Or a big, ornate looking box-“

Um, yeah, sure, I’ll find your Kwamis. You got a deal.

Pixie smiled happily. “Alright! Good luck, Steelhead!”

…

Pixie, still transformed, stared at her television. Her Champion had, apparently, decided to kidnap a person.

She flared their connection. “Steelhead, what the-“ she said a word that most of her classmates probably wouldn’t expect her to use.

I told you, he’s been messing with me for too long!

“So you kidnap him?!”

Oh, right. I forgot.

Pixie pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel a non-illness-related headache coming on... “That’s alright, just put him-“

I’m supposed to find those Kwamis for you!

“Wait, that’s not- put him down first-“

WHERE ARE THE KWAMIISSSSSSSSSSSS?!

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all...

…

Ladybug whirled her yo-yo as the butterflies Lady Wi-Fi had barfed up (and wasn’t that a disgusting visual?) formed the face of their adversary. “So you’re Pixie! You’re the one who’s been terrorizing-“

Eeeeeee! Oh my gosh, actual superheroes!

....what.

Oh, you must have Miraculous! That means you have Kwamis! Oh, can I meet them? Can I hug them? Ooh, what do they like to eat? I know this great bakery...

Ladybug exchanged an incredulous glance with Cat Noir.

This was their adversary? Their supervillain nemesis? The Joker to their Batman?

...oh, but I’d like a talk with yours, Ladybug, see if she could change your costume, it’s horrible-

That got her attention. “Pardon me?”

No offence, but one of my friends is a fashion designer, and if she saw you just running around in a polka-dotted onesie, she’d probably cry!

“...Cat Noir. Stand back. I’m ripping that face apart.”

Her partner shrugged agreeably, she split her yo-yo’s shell open, and at once went to work.

…

The once-again-white butterfly flapped back to Rose, detransformed, as she spoke animatedly. “Now I know they have Kwamis! That’s two I don’t need to rescue already!”

Nooroo sighed. “Mistress-“

The butterfly landed on Rose’s finger as she thought out loud. “But I still don’t know where the others are, and I’m not sure how to find them.”

“Mistress-“

It hit her and she triumphantly threw her hand in the air. The butterfly promptly left its perch, it and its fellows placidly flapping across Rose’s room. “I just need to get one of their Kwamis! I bet if I can talk to them, they’ll be able to tell me where the rest of you are!”

“Mistress, please-“

“All I have to do is get my hands on one of their Miraculous!”

Nooroo sighed. “You’re just going to ignore me, aren’t you?”

“Nooroo, Wings Rise!”

“Yes, I thought soooooooooooo...!”

…

Reflekta, I am Pixie-

“Hold up, Rose?”

Juleka stared at her wrist mirror, glowing purple with the butterfly possessing it. There was no way her girlfriend was the supervillain terrorizing Paris-

Yes, moonbeam?

...welp.

“Rose, please don’t tell me you’re a supervillain.”

It’s for a good cause! There are these creatures called Kwamis that are stuck in the Miraculous- I’ve been making Champions to find them so I can free them and give them treats and cuddles!

Yeah, Rose was Pixie. Only she would become a supervillain for the sole purpose of pampering superpowered familiars.

“Wait, so these Kwamis are just stuck in these Miraculous?”

They can only come out if someone wears their Miraculous.

Y’know what? This was a crusade Juleka could get behind. “I’m in.”

…

“Cataclysm- oh no, my ring!”

Cat Noir spun in sudden fear, powerless as Reflekta advanced, only for a butterfly mask to flare over her face. “Yes?”

Silence for a moment, then; “Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you gave me these powers-“

Silence again- this was weird to watch. “What do you mean, you don’t control it?! You’re the one handing out the stupid superpowers, how can you not control it-“

Ladybug’s yo-yo lashed around the villainess’s arm. “Talking isn’t a free action, Reflekta!”

The pink abomination was on the ground in seconds. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

Cat Noir sighed as his appearance shifted back to normal, before tackling Ladybug for a hug. “Thank you thank you those heels were nightmare inducing-!”

“Cat Noir, your timer!”

Juleka, purified, held up a hand. “No, no, let him stay.”

Cat Noir shook his head. “No, I’ve gotta go before I turn into a clown for real!”

His ears twitched, but he must’ve misheard what Juleka said next.

Surely she hadn’t just said, “Well now how am I supposed to get that ring?”

…

Lila snarled to herself as she marched angrily down the streets. How dare that pathetic little bug try and get in her way...

What’s got you so upset?

“What the-“

Oh, I’m Pixie!

“...as in the supervillain?”

I resent that title. But yes, and I’m here to give you superpowers! All I want in exchange is either Ladybug or Cat Noir’s Miraculous!

Lila needed more information. “Why do you want the Miraculous?”

They have cute little creatures living in them called Kwamis! But I don’t like that they’re all cooped up, so I’m getting them out!

...so the sole thing that this superpowered terrorist wanted to do with magical superpower-granting artifacts... was cuddle the tiny animals that came with them?

...well, who was Lila to question the person giving her superpowers? “Fair enough.”

…

Rose stared in glee at the news. “Nooroo, Juleka, this is amazing! A new heroine! And that means another Kwami is free!”

Nooroo sighed. He didn’t bother trying to talk Rose out supervillainy- she was just too enthusiastic about ‘liberating the Kwamis’ to listen to a word he said. And neither would Juleka, who was completely caught up in her girlfriend’s ‘righteous’ cause.

Juleka frowned. “Yeah, but she hasn’t made an appearance for those four Mr. Pigeon fights. Maybe she had to give the Miraculous back to Ladybug or something?”

Rose’s enthusiasm died quicker than D’Argencourt’s political ambitions. “Oh, I hope not. That would mean the Kwami is still stuck! We’ve gotta find some way to find out...”

Juleka hummed quietly, then a sudden mischievous grin sprang over her face. “I’ve got an idea. Lovelize me real quick?”

“Sure! Nooroo, Wings Rise!”

“Oh, here we goooooooooo...!”

…

Luka knocked on his sister’s door. “Hey, Jules?”

“C’mon in!”

He ducked under the doorframe. He hated that he had to have this talk with her, but he really was worried.

Juleka looked curiously at him. “What’s up?”

Luka sighed and took a seat, running a hand through his hair. “Jules, I’m getting worried. You’ve been turned into Reflekta a bunch lately-“

“Mr. Pigeon’s been Lovelized like seventy-two times!”

“-and you’ve been doing so much weird stuff! Why did you even let those zoo animals loose? Juleka, please. Is something going on?”

Juleka frowned. Then she shrugged. “Eh, she probably wouldn’t mind me telling you. Rose is Pixie.”

“...I’m sorry, your girlfriend, a literal angel, is a magical superterrorist.”

“It’s for a good cause! There are these little creatures called Kwamis...”

…

Pixie nearly squealed when her Lovely made contact. “Queen Wasp, I am Pixie! I’ll grant you superpowers to prove you’re exceptional, but in exchange, you must give me your Miraculous!”

What- no! I’m not giving this up!

“I can give you any other powers you’d like!”

That was a lie. Pixie had no control over what powers her Champions received. But Chloé didn’t need to know that.

Oh! Well, in that case, deal!

Pixie cut the connection, then opened her window. “I’m gonna get a Miraculous~ ack! Stupid impractical dress!”

Once she’d recovered from tripping, she ran a good few rooftops away from her home just in time for Queen Wasp to land. Her Champion smirked as she pulled the Miraculous from her hair.

Pixie snapped her fingers and freed her Lovely. Chloé smirked and handed the comb over. “One Bee Miraculous, as requested. Now, my superpowers?”

Pixie nodded agreeably and began charging a new Lovely- she may not have liked Chloe, but a deal was a deal-

Zip!

Ladybug landed on the roof. “Hand it over, Pixie!”

Pixie helped and hurled her Lovely right at Chloe’s hair tie. “Hold them off!”

She ran for it while Chloé, transformed into some bright yellow banana-themed monstrosity, lunged at the heroes with a shriek.

She leapt down into the streets and detransformed quickly, clutching the Bee Miraculous close to her chest. A whirlwind of red and black and pink exploded over the city a few moments later.

But Rose was grinning as she returned home, throwing the Bee Miraculous to Juleka. Her girlfriend let out a yelp, followed by a whoop. “You got it!”

“I got it!”

Juleka hurriedly threaded the Miraculous into her hair, allowing the Kwami her freedom in a burst of golden-yellow light. “Greetings, my Queen! I am Pollen, Kwami of the Bee Miraculous, which grants the power of subjection!”

Rose squealed. “SO CUUUUUTE!”

Juleka smirked. “Cuddle her later, sunshine.” She turned to the Kwami. “Hey, Pollen, two questions- where are the other Kwamis, and more importantly, what’s your favourite food?”

…

Marinette finished crying and looked up at Master Fu. “I’m sorry, Master, if I hadn’t lost the Bee Miraculous-“

Master Fu held up a hand. “Do not worry, Marinette. Pixie has already activated the Miraculous, but Wayzz says her intentions with it do not seem harmful. Pollen is likely not in danger.”

Marinette sighed. “Well, there’s that at least.”

“And perhaps we can track Pollen through purchases.”

At that the secret heroine frowned. “Wait, how are we gonna do that?”

“Well... Pollen’s favourite food is somewhat... distinctive.”

And that was how Marinette and Tikki found themselves spying on a supermarket to see who bought jalapeños.

Honestly, given what Pollen was the Kwami of, it made sense her favourite food would be what could bring most people to their knees.

…

Pollen sighed as she stretched out in a patch of sunlight. “Nooroo, your owner is so wonderful!”

Nooroo smiled weakly. “Yes, but I can’t get her to listen to me.”

Oh dear. Pollen tilted her head, now worried. “What do you mean?”

“I keep trying to tell her, it’s not a big deal that we have to stay in the box, but-“

Pollen held up a hand. “Wait, you want her to stop kidnapping Kwamis?”

Admittedly, it had taken her some time to come to the conclusion that yes, she had basically been kidnapped, but given her luxurious surroundings and that Miss Rose allowed her to gorge herself on as many peppers as she liked...

Well, could she be blamed for not caring?

“Nooroo, you’re aware this is paradise and I never want to leave?”

Nooroo frowned. “...well, I guess if you like it...”

Pollen smiled. “If it’s still bugging you, we can get another Kwami to give this place their approval!”

Nooroo snorted. “Right, because Ladybug’s just going to drop a Miraculous right into the hands of one of Rose’s friends.”

…

“Luka Couffaine, this is the Miraculous of the Snake, which grants the power of Repetition. You will use it for the greater good.”

Luka stared. He was being given a Miraculous.

Huh. Well, guess Rose is getting a third Kwami.

He donned the Miraculous, knowing full well Juleka was transformed with the Bee Miraculous, hiding in the shadows. “I’ll do my best, Ladybug. Sass, Scales Slither!”

Pixie’s latest Champion was called Desperada, and she had the heroes on the ropes, until Viperion started using Second Chance. That, and he was pretty sure Pixie was telling Desperada to throw the fight.

And sure enough, Juleka snuck up behind him as Ladybug cast her world-healing wave. “Jules, make it look good.”

“Venom!”

Ladybug spun- he did as well, doing his best to look surprised- just in time to see the stinger strike his back.

He woke up a minute later, staring at his bare wrist. Ladybug was grimacing beside her. “I’m sorry, Luka, I didn’t think she was using the Bee Miraculous!”

Luka tried to inject fear into his voice. “You mean...”

Ladybug talked for a few minutes about the ramifications of what had happened, apologized profusely to Luka, and ran off to detransform.

Luka made his way back to the Liberty, dealt with Jagged, snagged an opportunity to play guitar for one of his favourite music artists, and finally went to Rose’s house with Juleka.

His sister grinned triumphantly and allowed Rose to slid the Snake Miraculous onto her wrist. A burst of cyan light welcomed Sass back into the world. The Snake Kwami stared at him in confusion. “Luka? What is going-“

Nooroo flew out from the little Kwami theatre Rose had set up in an old dollhouse, looking utterly flabbergasted. “How did you get Sass?!”

Pollen buzzed out of Juleka’s pocket. “Finally! Sass, it’s so wonderful to see you’ve been kidnapped!”

Rose, naturally, let out a squeal. “SO CUUUUUUUTE!”

Sass spun in confusion, then looked at Luka. “Have I just been captured by Pixie?”

Luka sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “Look, let me explain...

…

It only took a day in Rose’s Kwami paradise for Sass to crack. Unfortunately, it didn’t help much.

“And you can’t tell us where he is?”

Sass sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m completely certain he moved locations when you were able to bring me here.”

Juleka groaned and collapsed. “Well, we’ve gotten somewhere, but that somewhere isn’t getting us anywhere!”

Luka held up a hand. “Hey, what if we found a way to follow Ladybug to the Miracle Box? We could... I dunno, create a Champion powerful enough to force Ladybug to get reinforcements, one of us follows her really obviously to make her let her guard down, and another one follows her once she gets rid of the first tail?”

Juleka frowned. “It could work. But Rose can’t control what powers her Champions get, so there’s no guarantee that we get a powerful one.”

“Why not irritate someone who’s already become a powerful Champion?”

Five heads turned to Sass, who shrugged as much as a Kwami could. “If there is a Champion who has already forced Ladybug to bring in reinforcements, recreating that Champion could be the key to success.”

There was silence. Then Juleka picked up her phone. “Alright, I’ll get some paint balloons. When’s Chloe’s mom’s next fashion show?”

…

Ladybug gasped as she and Cat Noir ducked behind a knocked-over table. Carapace and Ryuko hid behind another, and Rena Rouge was out of sight, controlling her Ladybug illusion.

Apparently someone had snuck into the latest Bourgeois fashion show and decided to throw a paint balloon at Audrey Bourgeois. The conclusion was all too predictable.

Thankfully, she had an idea for how to deal with Style Queen.

Cat Noir pressed a darkly bubbling hand against the floor-

Style Queen tripped-

Ryuko erupted into Wind Dragon and blew the glitter woman apart, save for the flower on her crown-

Carapace fired Shellter as Ryuko blew away, leaving Style Queen trapped without her akumatized object on her-

And Rena Rouge burst down from the vents to crush the akumatized object under her heel.

Ladybug hadn’t even had to use Lucky Charm.

She grinned and hurled her yo-yo triumphantly into the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

It was the work of a few moments to collect the Miraculous she’d doled out and soon she was swinging back to Master Fu’s parlour when she caught a glimpse of something yellow-

She swung her yo-yo, and the Bee villainess who had been assisting Pixie sprang aside. “Ha! You’re not following me today!”

And with that, Ladybug wrapped the villainess up (not bringing her close, because she did not feel like being Venomed today) and hurled the Bee with all her strength in the direction of the Eiffel Tower.

She crossed her arms in a moment of brief satisfaction. Today was a good day.

And with that, she continued her run to return the Miraculous, riding that emotional high the whole way. What could possibly go wrong?

…

Master Fu had just retired for the evening when his door burst open, and a young girl walked in.

He recognized her pin at once.

“So the infamous Pixie has come to visit me.”

The villainess smiled cheerfully and did the last thing he expected from her. “Nooroo, Wings Fall!”

A rush of light spiralled away from her, and he was left staring at a girl wearing lots of pink, fumbling in her pockets for something. A girl he recognized from Marinette’s phone background. “Rose Lavillant?”

The girl perked up at once. “You know me?”

Fu shifted. “I’ve heard your name here and there.”

She smiled. “Well then I don’t have to introduce myself! Oh, do you have a Miraculous spellbook by any chance?

He ran a hand over his bracelet- this was getting too close for comfort. “Why do you ask?”

She finally fished whatever she was looking for out of her pocket. “Well, Nooroo says that this Miraculous is damaged and that a Guardian with a spellbook might be able to fix it!”

And she set the Peacock Miraculous on the table, blinking with wide, hopeful eyes.

Fu stared. “...very well, I suppose I can fix the Miraculous.”

Rose clapped joyfully. “Oh, thank you! Oh, one more thing.”

“Certainly.”

“Can I borrow the Kwamis, please?”

Fu got to his feet. “I’m sorry. You wish for me to give you the Kwamis?”

Rose pouted. “It’s not fair that they’re all cooped up in their box! They should be allowed to see the world! And play in the sunshine! And read books, and watch movies, and...”

Fu stared as the girl went on and on.

Had Pixie, supervillain, magical terrorist of Paris... only become evil to pamper the Kwamis?

Fu raised a hand. “You understand, I can’t just allow you to have access to the Kwamis without first ensuring they will be safe.”

Rose promptly stopped waxing lyrical about all the wonderful things in life the Kwamis should be allowed to experience. “Oh, absolutely! I’d never ask you to do that!”

Well, the good thing about this supervillain was that she was reasonable. “I will send my Kwami, Wayzz, to your home. Additionally, I will allow you to take a Kwami from the Miracle Box. Tomorrow evening, you will return here so the Kwami you select can make their report, and I will then choose whether to grant or deny your request.”

Rose smiled. Suddenly the entire world seemed warmer and brighter. “That’s fair! Can I leave this one with you, then?”

Fu agreeably pocketed the Peacock Miraculous. Then he opened the Miracle Box. “Rose Lavillant. Pick a Miraculous and a Kwami to pamper for all of tomorrow.”

Rose squealed. “Oh, there’s so many! What’s this one? Ooh, or this one! Oh, this one’s really nice- is the Kwami the same colour?”

Goodness, this girl was a ball of sunlight.

The Pig Miraculous was on her ankle a few moments later, and Rose squealed as Daizzi materialized. “SO CUUUUUUTE!

Daizzi squealed right back. “SO CUUUUUUTE!

Maybe he should offer her the Pig Miraculous permanently...

…

Marinette cautiously stepped around the street. “Tikki, do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

The Ladybug Kwami nuzzled Marinette reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Marinette! Master Fu said she’s trustworthy, and she’s returned all the Miraculous she took! I’m sure it’ll be fine!

Marinette nodded, let out a sign that took her tension with it, and opened the door.

Rose was in the hallway in an instant, the Kwami that must have been Nooroo flying over her shoulder, and Daizzi cuddling into her hair. “Oh! Marinette! You made it!”

Tikki cheerfully flew out of Marinette’s purse. “Greetings! I am Tikki, Kwami of the Ladybug Miraculous!”

Rose squealed. “SO CUUUUUUTE!”

Tikki was in a stranglehold before she knew it. Marinette stepped further into the house, entered Rose’s room, and-

Wow. It was a Kwami paradise.

An old dollhouse was set up as a little movie theatre. A table had been cleared off and a heating lamp set on it- Sass and Longg evidently liked that. A massive vase of flowers was inhabited by a giggling Barkk and Pollen, and Kaalki was having her mane brushed out by-

“Juleka?”

Rose’s girlfriend grinned and peeked up. “Hey.”

“You were that Bee villainess?”

“Yep.”

“...You kicked Gabriel Agreste in the groin!”

Juleka shrugged unrepentantly. “You delovelized Nino and Kagami before they could do it. I figured I’d pick up the slack. How’s that, Kaalki?”

The Horse Kwami sighed. “Oh, that’s lovely. Ziggy, you simply must try this!”

The Goat Kwami poked her head out of the movie theatre. “Once this is over! Now c’mon, the next episode’s starting!”

Kaalki zipped in with a cheerful neigh.

Marinette sighed and slumped onto Rose’s bed. Juleka patted her on the back. “I know, I know, we were under your nose the whole time.”

Marinette groaned. “How didn’t I see it? Of course Rose would be a supervillain dedicated to pampering Kwamis!”

“I mean, we never thought you’d be Ladybug.”

“Fair.”

Rose popped her head into the room. “Um, Marinette? Tikki’s buzzing.”

“Huh, Cat Noir must be calling me. Tikki, Spots On!”

She slid open her yo-yo the moment it formed. “Hey, Cat, what’s up- wait, slow down- what Eagle Miraculous- GABRIEL AGRESTE IS DOING WHAT IN NEW YORK?!”

Rose wordlessly held up a hand. “I’ll round up the Kwamis for you?”

Ladybug hung up, massaging her temples. “Yes,” she hissed, “please do.”

She had a fashion mogul to destroy.

[joopiterjoon]

Young Forever- JJKxPJMxReader

Pairing: sub!Jimin x dom!reader x Jungkook

Genre: +18,PWP, Smut

Warnings/Tags: threesome, f-fingering, blowjobs, anal sex, praising, cum play, teasing, making out, alcohol (participants are not drunk), house parties, drinking, I did not edit this, this is a wine-induced fantasy

wordcount: 3.4k

a/n: I am halfway through a bottle of cheap wine and this was created by coming up with a funny title that I’m not even using because honestly fucking at college parties reminds me of being young (fun fact about me) and then a poll so here it is this is just smut and it gets weird maybe? I’m not apologizing also if you ever want to have a threesome please have conversations beforehand with your partner and the person and know that in real life it’s actually pretty awkward the first time but I HOPE YOU ENJOY READING THIS ONE

You watch Jimin in the kitchen. The house is bustling with people, the base and mumblerap pumping through the house, broken by the laughs and cries of drunk people swaying and tripping.

You’re not drunk, only sipping on the drink in your hand. You’re too busy watching Jimin. Who needs to be drunk when you can look at him. He dressed exactly as you said. His tight leather pants hug his legs, showing off his figure each time he turns to greet someone new. He’s wearing that pathetic excuse for a tshirt, the sweat from the heated house making his collarbones glisten.

He looks delectable.

Especialy when he’s laughing. His eyes crinkled with joy, that innocent smile on his face at something someone said. You can’t take it anymore. You set down your drink and wedge through the crowd.

You bump into someone just in the doorway. You glance up, ready to fight, but you recognize the young man. Not by his strong build, noticeable in the way his pecs rise even in the loose shirt. It’s the baby face. And he recognizes you, eyes darting to Jimin. “Sorry.”

“Jungkook?” You ask. You remember him because of Jimin. One of the student’s in his public communications class he’s TA-ing for. Jimin had gushed, showing you the boy’s instagram. And now, in person, you can see why. The firm build is under your hands, too tempting to not touch. Jungkook’s eyes widen at your boldness, then he’s startling, stepping back. His eyes bounce back in Jimin’s direction, and he blushes.

Oh.

Caught watching, Jungkook doesn’t look back at you as he mumbles again. You smile at that. You give him a wink, and he only flusters more.

Jimin hadn’t been watching you. As you sneak up behind him, he jumps a bit as you slide your hand into his back pocket. He glances back, eyes drunk with attention. You giggle, happy to see him happy, a nose at his cheek. He says, a little too loud, “Hey babe.”

“Hi yourself,” you murmur into his ear, eyeing the way the two girls he was talking to wilt with disappointment. They bid their goodbyes when you smile. Jimin whines. “I thought I could have fun.”

“I have something more fun,” you say, turning Jimin to face you. With your eyes on him, the pout starts to fade. You slip your other hand into his back pocket and tug him close. His breath hitches. You can’t hear it, but you know the way his pretty, thick lips twitch at the inhale. “Someone’s watching you.”

Jimin’s immediately jerking his head around, one arm slinging over your shoulders to get a better look. “Who?”

“Jungkook.”

“Jungkook?” Jimin’s eyes go wide before he schools his face.

“Interested?” you comment. Jimin stops looking, eyes locking behind you. He licks over his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth. His eyes flick back to you. “I can tell.”

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whines, glancing down with pouty lips. Sometimes, Jimin can’t control himself. He’s a beautiful person and he likes beautiful things. You can’t blame him. Jimin likes to act out, if not for the attention of your scolding gaze and the punishment that follows. And you love it all the same.

You place your fingers under Jimin’s sharp chin, turning up those large puppy dog eyes to you. “Don’t be.”

Jimin’s eyes widen with surprise, and you pull him into a kiss. He melts into you,both arms wrapping around your neck. With everyone so chaotic with the alcohol and the music, no one takes note of your petting in the kitchen. You’re just another couple making out.

But there’s one person paying attention. You turn a bit, draggingJimin to pin you to the counter. He willingly complies, hands finding their way under the back of your shirt. As he moves to your neck, you look over his dash of pink hair.

Jungkook’s caught watching again. His cup is hugged close to his chest, pretty pink lips parted, eyes wide. He’s watching Jimin, unaware of you watching him eye your boyfriend.

“He’s watching,” you say just loud enough over the music. “You must look so good right now.”

Jimin groans, the sound vibrating against your lips as the base vibrates through the counter behind you.

“Bet he wants to be me,” you continue, raking your fingers through the back of Jimin’s hair.

“Stop,” Jimin mutters against your lip. There’s a furrow to his brow. “Don’t tease me.”

You lean forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and tugging with just enough pressure to have him leaning into you. “I’m not.”

Jimin’s fingers dig into your hip at the insinuation. His kisses grow sloppier, his hips rocking into yours. Always so needy, thirsty for attention. You know the idea of having two sets of hands on him is driving him wild as he starts nipping at your jaw.

“Is that a yes?” You ask, dragging one of your legs up the back of Jimin’s leg, feeling the muscles of his thigh and the curve of his ass before you hook your thigh over his hip. A couple of people holler in the kitchen, but you pay them no mind, giving them a wicked smile to show their heckling won’t deter you. They’d be lucky enough to see Jimin fuck you.

“Let’s go upstairs,” you say. You push Jimin back, and he unlatches from your neck with a whine.

“What about Jungkook?” he asks, turning to look over his shoulder. You turn him, pressing his back flush to your front. Jimin falls back, hand coming to hold the counter behind him as your hands travel over his tight torso.

“Look at him,” you say in his ear, nuzzling the piercings decorating the shell. This close, you can hear Jimin’s breathing pick up. You look at Jungkook, too, still frozen at the doorframe. “Do you think he wants to join?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin whines. He squirms when your hands travel lower, brushing over the hem of his pants.

“You sure?” Jungkook’s red solo cup crinkles under his grip. Large, entranced eyes follow your hands. 

“Oh,” Jimin says. You aren’t sure if it’s your fingers brushing over his cock, or Jungkook’s drink flowing over his hand as he crushes the cup, jumping and glancing down before looking back up to meet your eyes, terrified.

You smile, letting go of Jimin. You take his hand. “Tell him to join us.”

You start to pull him through the crowd. As you pass Jungkook, you pause. Jimin’s behind you, staring wide-eyed at the boy.

“Tell him, if you want,” you say, watching Jungkook. Jungkook’s face pales at being caught. He opens his mouth, but you press a finger to his lips. They’re soft, pliable. “Not you. Jimin?”

“Join us,” Jimin says. You smile. So obedient. You take your finger from Jungkook’s mouth to grab Jimin’s jaw and drag him into a kiss. You watch as his eyes stay focused on Jungkook whose face is quickly regaining its color. Jimin’s tongue licks behind your teeth, curling, putting on a show.

You pull back, give him a wink, and head for the stairs. The rugby house is a fucking wreck, but you know from parties past that the bedrooms in the back are locked. For now.

As soon as you jiggle the knob loose, you have Jimin pinned against the door. Your hands span hot skin, tensing under your touch as your thigh presses between his. Jimin groans, grabbing at your face, hips already rocking against your thighs.

“Gotta get away from the door,” you say, dragging Jimin by the loops of his tight jeans. “Our guest can’t get in.”

“Do you really think,” Jimin kisses you as you guide him onto the messy bed, “He’ll come?”

“Please,” you yank his shirt over his head and shove his shoulders, taking in how good he looks splayed out beneath you on the bed. “Have you seen yourself?” You trace your fingers around sensitive nipples, giving a surprise tweak just to watch the way Jimin’s lips purse. “Who wouldn’t come running?”

Jimin tries to hold back a smile like you don’t know how much the praise turns him on. You start to rock your hips and Jimin’s eyes fall closed. He’s too lost in your touch to hear the door open tentatively, groaning loud to drown out the brief sound of the party as Jungkook slips in. You look over your shoulder and catch the boy’s attention. He freezes, his large frame looking impossibly small under your gaze. Not stopping the roll of your hips, you place the same finger that had been on Jungkook’s lips to your own now.

“Tell me,” you say, winking at Jungkook. “What would you do if Jungkook was here?”

“Fuck,” Jimin gasps. Jungkook shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I wanna suck on his tongue.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, watching Jungkook’s knees buckle. “What else? Want me to watch him fuck you?”

Jimin shakes his head on the bed. “Want to fuck him. Or, god,” Jimin runs his hands through his hair with a happy sigh. “We could, together, I don’t-”

Jimin squeaks as his eyes open and catch sight of Jungkook. The boys stare at each other, wide eyed. You stop the roll of your hips, wondering what will happen next.

It’s not what you’re expecting.

Jungkook swallows, blinking a few times like he also thought he wasn’t here. Then, he says in a clear voice, “You want to fuck me?”

You smile. Fantastic.

“I,” Jimin glances between the two of you. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Jungkook asks. “Well, I think you know what you want.”

“You,” Jimin’s mouth bobs. You are taken off guard. The boy had seemed so shy downstairs, but now he sat down on the bed next to you, drinking in every inch of Jimin’s exposed form under you.

“God, you are so fucking pretty,” Jungkook sighs. He reaches out, hands touching skin. Jimin’s core tenses, body arching into the touch. ���I can barely get through your breakout groups when you fucking wear pants like these. No one has a body like this. You fucking turn to write on the board and I just…”

Jungkook’s hands still, like he’s not sure what to say. Jimin’s body arches, more desperate for the compliments than the touches.

“Just what?” you ask. They both turn to you. You’re just as intrigued, this boy who came in and just touched your boyfriend. “Did you want to fuck him?”

Jungkook studies your face, looking for permission of sorts. So you give it. “He’d probably like you to fuck him.”

“Babe,” Jimin hisses, suddenly looking scandalized.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” You ask. “Imagine, both of us all over you. You said you wanted it.”

“I…” Jimin throws an arm over his face. He chuckles dryly. “I wish I was drunk.”

“No you don’t,” you say. “Jungkook, are you drunk?”

The boy shakes his head. “And I wanna fuck him.”

Jimin shudders beneath you. You swing yourself onto his side, you and Jungkook on either side of him now. You nuzzle in close to Jimin who is still hiding. “You want him to fuck you?”

Jimin nods. That’s not satisfying enough. You trace your fingers lightly over his ticklish spots. “Am I going to have to tease a real answer out of you?”

“Yes,” Jimin says, throwing his arm to the side. “Yes, I want him to fuck me.”

You smile wickedly, especially when Jungkook seems to let out a breath. “Want to eat me out while he fucks you?”

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook says from beside you. You nod your head in his direction.

“Shouldn’t you get undressed?” You ask. Surprisingly, Jungkook immediately reaches for his shirt, pulling it over his head. “Good boy.”

“Mhm,” Jungkook says, mouth twisting like he wants to stop a smile. Oh god.

“You know what?” You say, sitting up straight. “I think I have a better idea.”

“God, you have great ideas,” Jungkook sighs, fidgeting with the zipper to his pants.

“I think Jungkook here should fuck you, and I’ll jerk you off,” you say, reaching for the button of Jimin’s pants. “Otherwise, how is Jungkook going to see how pretty you really are when you cum?”

Jimin bites his lip against a smile, shoulders wriggling under the praise and insinuation. Jungkook whistles, shaking his mess of brown hair as he tugs his pants off. Jimin props up on his elbows, eyeing Jungkook’s cock.

“Wow,” he says, reaching for it. He pauses when you duck in, mouthing at his neck. He whimpers, hand stuttering short. Jungkook looks like he might whimper.

“You know,” you say against his neck. “Why don’t you show Jungkook how pretty you look with a cock in your mouth?”

You have no idea what Jimin looks like with a cock in his mouth, but boy are you ready to see. Especially as Jungkook turns to face the bed, hands twitching to reach for Jimin as he quickly shuffles over, always eager to please.

“Oh my fuck,” Jungkook groans, head immediately falling back when Jimin’s lips wrap around his cock. You can’t see it, but you can hear it. The lewd slurping sounds and the shuffle of Jimin’s hand around Jungkook’s length.

As Jungkook moans, you reach over grabbing Jungkook’s hand. “He likes it when you tug his hair,” you say. Jungkook immediately threads his fingers in, and Jimin moans deep. You glide your hand down his side, leaning into to kiss his shoulders. You can feel the bob of his head, Jungkook’s fingers brushing your teeth as you revel int he small noises Jimin makes whenever he’s not slurping and lapping at the cock.

“He takes it so good,” you muse.

“Fuck he does,” Jungkook says. Jimin goes faster, egged on by the praise. Jungkook hisses, holding Jimin by his hair. “Fuck, I’m going to cum if you do that.”

“Yeah?” Jimin asks, sounding hopeful.

“Fuck yeah,” Jungkook says. “You’re so fucking good at that.”

Jimin giggles as you roll him over. His lips are puffy and red, slick with his saliva. You lean over him and kiss him. He tastes like someone else, and you have a distinct desire to lick it from his mouth, to grab onto him tightly and pull him close before you give him up again. Jimin feels it, answering you with just as much energy. When his cock, still inside his jeans, presses into you, you finally let go.

“Let’s get you fucked, yeah?” you say. Jimin, a little dazed, nods. You smooth your palm over his cheek, gathering his attention. “You good?”

“So good,” Jimin says. He pulls you back in for a kiss. As your tongues twist, hot breath traded between wet lips, you feel Jungkook between your thighs. You hear the familiar sound of Jimin’s pants unbuttoning and the zipper. You smile into his mouth as he whines, lifting his hips as Jungkook tugs off the tight fabric.

Jimin raises his legs, feet propped behind his ass. You move to mouth at Jimin’s chest, watching Jungkook.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook whispers, fingers finding the plug between Jimin’s thighs. Jimin’s cheeks burn read and you giggle.

“We were planning on playing regardless,” You shrug. Jimin nods, covering his face again.

“That’s so hot,” Jungkook says. “You guys are so hot.”

“Thanks,” Jimin whispers, voice cracking.

“Is it okay if I…?” Jungkook trails off, nudging at the bulb.

Jimin nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, just carefully.”

Jungkook does as instructed. You take Jimin’s arm off his face as he pulls it out. “Let him see how pretty you look, baby.”

Jimin bites his lip, but he lets the pleasure take over, he doesn’t hide, even spreads his legs wider when Jungkook rips a condom open. He digs around in a drawer, finding lube. You watch as Jungkook slicks up his cock, and you grab one of Jimin’s thighs, pulling it higher.

“You good?” You ask again, kissing his cheek. Jimin nods again, taking a deep breath.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. You quirk your head. “For letting us do this.”

“Of course,” you kiss his lips a bit softer this time.

“Should I thank you, too?” Jungkook asks, leaning over the bed to balance his weight.

“You should fuck him,” you answer. But before he looks away, you drag him into a kiss. Jungkook yelps, surprised, but then he’s kissing you back. His lips aren’t like Jimin’s. They are faster, more aggressive. It takes your breath away and Jimin moans at the sight.

You let go of Jungkook and give a small nod. He positions himself between Jimin’s thighs.

“Breathe, baby,” you say. Jimin closes his eyes.

“Oh fuck,” Jungkook groans, just rubbing his head against Jimin’s hole. “Fuck, he looks so good.”

Jimin’s lips part at the words, soaking in the praise.

“You hear that?” You whisper and nip at his ear. “You look so good.”

“I do,” Jimin nods,a cocky smile on his face. He knows. He’s seen himself like this before, you recording while you peg him hard.

His smile vanishes as Jungkook pushes in slow. Jimin breathes in deep, hard, but breathes it out, not asking him to stop. His pretty eyes clench close, jaw tight yet held open. When Jungkook groans, letting go of his cock as it settles in deep, Jimin shivers, reaching out for you.

“Fuck me,” he whines, eyes barily open as he reaches for Jungkook’s arm as well. “Oh god, fuck me.”

Jungkook pulls out and snaps in. Jimin whines, head thrown back. You settle in, watching him from the side, an angle you rarely get to see. The low light of the room outlines the sharpness of his nose, the tilt of his chin as he rocks with Jungkook’s thrusts.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jungkook grunts between his teeth, sinking low onto one arm. The three of you are so close, Jungkook’s mouth inches from Jimin’s, your mouth on Jimin’s neck whispering praises.

You gasp when Jimin’s hands flits down your side, wedging between your legs. You spread them, twisting so he can touch you.

“Holy fuck,” JUngkook groans, glancing over.

“Feels good,” you moan, grabbing onto Jungkook’s other arm for support. Jimin’s fingers aren’t skilled, lost in the bliss, but it’s a light bit of stimulation you need while you watch.You rock into Jimin’s fingers in time with Jungkook’s thrusts deep into him.

“Shit,” Jimin grits, grabbing onto Jungkook, lifting his legs higher. His teeth dig into his lips, and Jungkook can’t seem to take it. He ducks down, taking Jimin’s mouth in his own. Jimin grabs onto you tighter as he whimpers into Jungkook’s mouth.

“Goddamn,” you moan into his shoulder. “You look so wrecked, baby.”

Jimin gasps as Jungkook pulls off only to brace on the back of both Jimin’s thighs, folding him over. Jimin wraps his free hand around his cock. You’ve never seen him touch himself without asking, without waiting for your permission. You would be pissed, but it’s too hot. “Fuck, fuck, I’m close. Fuck me, Fuck me.”

You and Jungkook both watch your pretty boyfriend in awh, hips rocking in time to your own ends. Jimin cums first, spilling over his flexed stomach and chest. You drag your fingers through the mess as he continues to work himself through it. With a good bit dripping off your fingers, you place them in Jungkook’s open, panting mouth. Jimin whines at the sight, Jungkook too lost in ecstasy to do more than lap at your digits on his tongue.

“Oh my god,” Jimin gasps. Jungkook’s hips stutter, plunging deep. Jimin’s cum drips off his chin as he grunts, body shaking as he cums inside Jimin.

Jimin looks over at you, suddenly, and his fingers work diligently. He rubs over your clit, already so close to the edge while you watched him come undone for a man, and you grab onto his wrist as the build up quickly has your orgasm overtaking you. Jungkook watches as you cum, as Jimin pulls you in for a kiss.

“Wow,” he breathes when you guide his fingers away from your oversensitive clit. “Wow, that just happened.”

“It did,” Jungkook says, voice hoarse. He pulls out slow, and you massage Jimin’s stomach as he winces a bit. “That was… I don’t know what to say.”

“How about see you next time?” You suggest.

© May 2020 JoopiterJoon. Protected by Creative Commons. If you repost my work in any form or say “credit to author” I will find you and ruin you :D Characters only borrow name and likeness from the members. Do not copy, translate, repost, or reuse this work.

[gaasaku-fanfests]

Broken Hearts (Empty Grave)

Title: Broken Hearts (Empty Grave) Author: ofhealinglove Rating: T Word Count: 2,940 words Summary: Haruno Sakura was killed in action fighting Akasuna no Sasori. While Konoha grieves the loss of a beloved shinobi and friend, Gaara is keeping her safe and secreted away until she falls in love with him. He's the one who saved her. He's the one who brought her back from the brink of death. Konoha couldn't keep her safe, so he will. Forever. Trope: Yandere.

.

Gaara attends the memorial for Haruno Sakura.

He, his siblings, and several council members who want to suck up to the grieving Hokage (they didn’t even know Sakura) travel the two days it takes to get to Konoha and stay for three days: one to rest and settle in, one for the memorial, and one for politicians to politick and Gaara to spend with Naruto, and then leave that evening.

The memorial is enormous; most of Konoha is in attendance. In her work at the hospital, Sakura had saved countless lives and it seems like there isn’t one family or friend her healing hadn’t affected in some way. The flowers come in all shapes and sizes; the mourners are genuine in their grief. ANBU, jounin, chuunin, genin—all of them have something to thank her for.

But it is the Konoha 11 that grieve the hardest. Some stoic, some with tears streaking down their faces, some still standing shell-shocked, like they can’t believe she’s really gone. These are the two blonds of the group, both with blue eyes: one is a Yamanaka kunoichi Sakura’s age, and the other is Naruto.

Gaara watches Naruto closely, a small part of his heart guilty for what’s happened. After all, it’s because of him that this memorial is taking place; if he had been strong enough to defend against the Akatsuki by himself, Sakura would never had fought Akasuna no Sasori—a criminal from his own village, at that—and been injured as she was.

There are other reasons why he feels guilty, but with a clan that has a mind-reading kekkei genkai in attendance, Gaara doesn’t dare to think of them.

The Godaime is one of the stoic ones, but there is more than that: she is furious. Gaara thinks, looking upon her face from his seat in the delegates box, that she has lost one person too many, and knows it when she announces all-out war against Sakura’s murderers.

Sakura’s death could have been prevented. Chiyo had been old and Sakura not ready to fight an Akatsuki with just a retired jounin at her side. They should have had back-up and they shouldn’t have been left alone, no matter what Chiyo said. When the old woman had crawled out of the wreckage of the fight, Sakura’s body lost to the cave-in and Sasori dead (by Sakura’s hand, Chiyo had solemnly emphasized with her head bowed, “I wouldn’t be alive without her,” and “She sacrificed herself for me”), Gaara heard that Hatake Kakashi, her team lead and jounin sensei, had just about killed her on the spot. It was only with the restraint of Maito Gai that Chiyo had been alive to revive Gaara, and Hatake still hasn’t recovered.

Naruto had told Gaara on the day of their arrival that “Kakashi-sensei” was on a two-month-long suspension and had mandated weekly appointments with a Yamanaka psychologist after he had attempted suicide, but Gaara had to keep it a secret.

(Gaara doesn’t feel guilt for that, not like he does for Naruto.)

After the memorial is over, everyone leaves except for the Suna shinobi and council, Konoha 11, and the Hokage and her assistant. They meet in a room in Hokage tower and drink and reminisce. Gaara doesn’t partake and doesn’t say anything. This isn’t a sad occasion for him, it’s a victory. While everyone else grieves over Haruno Sakura, Gaara doesn’t.

He knows she isn’t dead. She’s recovering in a secret room beneath the Kazekage manse, well enough that he was able to leave her alone for a few days.

Temari had said that Konoha deserved to know. Kankuro disapproved of what Gaara had done. But they’re both his brother and sister as well as shinobi of Sunagakure, loyal to him before all, and by the time they’d figured out what was going on, it would endanger the alliance to reveal the secret.

Now that the memorial is over and Haruno Sakura officially declared dead after weeks of excavating the rubble trying to find her body (long gone), there will be war if Sakura is ever discovered.

She won’t be, though. All the world needs to know is that she died a hero killing Akasuna no Sasori.

And Gaara is going to keep it that way if it kills him.

 When Gaara first noticed Haruno Sakura, she had been doing her best to defend Uchiha Sasuke and was going to pay for that with her life. She hadn’t been strong or particularly useful, either; just cannon fodder, likely as her council had intended. She squirmed and fought under his crushing sand but didn’t give up until she passed out from lack of air, but even in her unconsciousness, he had noticed that she still twitched against death like she was fighting to survive even when her mind was gone.

This had intrigued Shukaku and Gaara had hesitated, and then Naruto saved her life and changed his.

Shukaku had seen something in her, something he liked, and that was why Sakura had survived. Gaara had been fast enough even then to end her before Naruto arrived—it was Shukaku’s order to stop that had spared her.

Even moving forward on a different path to a different destiny, Shukaku kept going back to the pink-haired girl and Gaara found his interest piqued, as well. It started with wondering why Shukaku had hesitated, then soon enough, he was following the bijuu down the rabbit hole.

What led such a weak kunoichi to fight for her life like that? As soon as his sand was upon her, she had to know that it was over, and yet she struggled even near death. For a shinobi of some caliber, that was to be expected. To a pathetic little genin who hadn’t even made it past the preliminaries? It made no sense.

Naruto talked about her in his letters, and while Gaara did his best to be circumspect, he learned much about the kunoichi he’d grown so interested in. Shukaku praised every tidbit of information—except for the fact that she was in love with Uchiha Sasuke.

But he was kidnapped and she was killed in action.

After he was revived and Sasori defeated—they had found his body, or at least the splinters left of it—he thought he’d never see her again. Shukaku was gone but the obsession was not, and he had spent his time off during the rebuilding venting his fury deep in the desert.

That was how he found her.

 Sakura had not, in fact, been killed by Sasori’s poison.

When Gaara had found her, deep in the desert between Iwa and Suna going vaguely north, she had been grievously injured by the cave’s collapse, traces of poison flowing through her veins, fever, severe dehydration, and on death’s doorstep.

His first thought was that he was seeing a mirage but he went to her side anyways. Later, he found out she had kept herself alive through complex ninjutsu that she had subconsciously invented purely to survive just that much longer; her Will of Fire, but more importantly her will to live, had kept her going this long, delirious and confused and injured but alive.

She would have died within the day if he hadn’t found her.

Without hesitation, he hurried her back to Suna, but with hesitation, he didn’t take her to the hospital. He took her into the bunker beneath the Kazekage mansion and brought a traveling doctor in to care for her, supplying all his needs with the best money could buy. He hadn’t known what it was he was doing until the next morning when he woke up and realized that he should have immediately sent for Konoha to bring their med-nin to care for their kunoichi before bringing her back home, but…

She was alive—because he found her. She was going to recover—because of the money out of his own coffers. She had been found—because he grieved her.

Didn’t that make her his? And why should he send her back when it was her own team lead’s neglect of her that had gotten her declared KIA in the first place?

So he didn’t say anything, and killed the doctor (quietly, discreetly, no sand coffins or blood splatters) as soon as she was stable and Gaara knew how to care for her.

No witnesses.

 He remembers the moment she first opened her eyes. She still looked sickly and burnt from the sun, but they had opened with clarity and she had looked around quickly, assessing her situation even as her hands and feet flexed and twitched against the restraints holding her down.

She saw him and whispered in a croaky voice, “…Kazekage-sama…?”

He’d hurried help her sit up and drink a glass of water to wet her throat. She drank greedily but not too fast, not needing his advice to not make herself sick. A prodigious med-nin, to be sure.

Once he’d pulled the cup away, she’d blinked and asked in a clearer but still thready voice, “…Where am I? Why… why am I restrained?”

“Safety precautions, Haruno-san,” he’d told her. He would stay polite, even if he wanted to be able to speak the caress of her name on this lips and tongue. He would stay distant for now. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Where… am I…?” she asked again, eyes roving over the interior of the bunker’s main room.

“Safe,” he said.

She seemed wary of him but was too out of it to be outright suspicious, and once he let her drink a second glass over water, she fell back asleep. He laid her down carefully, determined for her to never feel any pain ever again.

It was Konoha’s fault she had almost died.

He didn’t want her to die.

She was better off safe down here in his bunker where he could protect her. He would never let any harm come to her.

Ever.

 It didn’t take her long after her first awakening to start asking questions. Her memory of recent events was spotty at first, but once she started remembering healing Kankuro, going to save him, bits and pieces of her fight with Sasori before her injury and ‘death,’ their relationship became strained.

He told her what he could, and most of it had to be lies. He truthfully told her that she had killed Sasori in the end and Chiyo had been a casualty of the fight. Gaara had had Shukaku taken from him, but he’d survived. She had been searched for, but only for a few days before her team headed back home. Naruto was going to try to come back for her body, but they all assumed she was dead and he heavily implied they didn’t care.

(Hatake didn’t, sending her in unprotected like that.)

Some of the lies she believed, some she didn’t. It took time and constant repetition to get it to sink in that Konoha hadn’t really cared about her. She fought against the lies about Naruto and Tsunade the hardest; she’d been suspicious of being restrained.

And then she found out she didn’t have chakra anymore because of Sasori’s poison, just enough to survive with civilian levels, and she’d just about broken.

He’d been sad to see it, but it was necessary. It was, in fact, a seal he’d discovered deep in the family’s library, used for subduing dangerous criminals for execution. Archaic and brutal, he’d gotten a sealmaster to bastardize it into being temporary. He was no Uzumaki, but he said the seal should hold. Gaara didn’t want Sakura in the bunker forever. Once he felt she could be trusted, she would ‘regain’ enough chakra to defend herself. Maybe one day, she’d ‘miraculously’ get all of it back.

But that would be after they were married, after they had children, once they were older and there was no chance of her defection. He had to keep her safe.

He made sure to repeat that to her. She was safe, he was always going to keep her safe. Konoha hadn’t kept her safe, and they didn’t care what happened once she wasn’t. She’d been left behind, by her team, by her village. No one was coming for her; no one cared enough.

That was apparently her worst fear and what started breaking down the fastest.

He brought her meals, took her to the bathroom, brought her knowledge and entertainment. He was her only source of social interaction, the only person she relied on for all her basic needs, by design. He needed her, so she had to need him.

It was basic conditioning. He was sad he had to use it on her, but there was no other way to make sure she’d willingly stay by his side. The first time he had touched her, she’d flinched. The day he’d left for the memorial, she had initiated a hug goodbye.

(He knew she would fall for him eventually, just like he’d fallen for her.)

Telling her about his three days away for her memorial service had been very, very difficult. Of course, she hadn’t known it was her memorial service, but she had still cried and pleaded for him to stay. She didn’t want to be without him, she said. What would she do, all alone? What if the food ran out? What if something happened to him?

It was hard to leave her, but he did.

 He’s eager to get back to her more than anything else, but he doesn’t show it. He worries that if he’s away for too long, some of her conditioning will start to wear off and she’ll regress. If she thinks too long, she might untangle some of his lies; after all, he knows she’s extremely intelligent and it’s only been a little under a month. There’s a large margin for error here, leaving so soon, but it would have been more suspicious if he hadn’t come. She’d killed one of his village’s own missing-nin in the conflict to save his life. If he’s not there, barring an emergency, it’s a blow to the alliance.

Gaara needs this alliance, but he might not always. If Sakura were to surface back from the dead in, say, five years or so, Konoha’s reaction might not matter.

(She won’t want to go back anyways. He’ll have made sure of it by then.)

When he comes back to the bunker, Sakura is pacing the room. It doesn’t look like she’s tried to escape and there’s no damage speaking of any fits of pique or defiant anxiety, which is somewhat surprising.

“Gaara-sama!” she calls with a smile once he’s sealed the door behind him.

“Sakura-san,” he replies, finally able to call her by her given name, a small smile quirking his lips. He doesn’t necessarily expect her to run up and hug him, but it’s nice anyways.

His sand doesn’t even try to keep her from him. He thinks it’s a sign.

(A sign that they’re meant to be. He’s doing the right thing, keeping her here.)

“Don’t leave me like that again, okay?” she demands. She’s still got a temper, which is something that is so integral to who she is that he’s glad it’s not completely conditioned out. Still, she hadn’t destroyed anything. It’s a sign of progress. And the desperation with which she’d run up to him…

Maybe he should leave her alone more often, but his heart says otherwise.

(He has to keep her safe. He loves her, he loves her, he loves her.)

“I’ll do my best,” he says. He’s always been a man of few words.

“Did you bring any food?” she asks. “I’m pretty hungry—I ran out this morning.”

No, Gaara had not brought food. He’d been too excited to come see her.

“I’ll go get some for you,” he tells her, and turns for the door. Sakura steps back to give him space—she always does—and he unseals the exit.

He doesn’t see her coming from behind him and his sand doesn’t react when she hugs him again; she doesn’t mean to harm him, if the sand isn’t reacting. “Don’t take too long, okay? I’ve missed you.”

“Stand back, Sakura-san,” he orders her quietly, warmed by the fact that she’s so desperate to touch him, feel him, hold him.

Sakura nods against his back. “Okay…”

In a move he hadn’t expected and therefore was unprepared for, Sakura’s hands snake up under him and grab his throat.

He chokes on her inhuman strength. She shouldn’t have chakra! What is going on?

“Next time you put a seal on someone, you should make sure you know it’ll hold,” she snarls, and her hands clench brutally.

 When Gaara wakes up, it’s three days later in the hospital. Sakura had crushed his windpipe, but Temari found him in time to get medical treatment and survive.

He grieves that Sakura got away, but he swears he’ll find her. She can’t have gotten back to Konoha yet and therefore he still has time to find her and bring her back. He’ll leave her in isolation for much longer this time, a punishment. He’d hoped to never have to do that to her, but Sakura has a strong will (Naruto had emphasized that so often and Gaara had seen it firsthand when she fought against his sand coffin) and it needs to be broken down more… thoroughly this time.

“I’ll find her soon enough,” he tells Temari.

And then Kankuro rushes in with a crumpled missive with the Hokage seal in his hand, announcing with worried eyes that Konoha has declared war.

[hannitizer]

To Have a Home Part 18

Summary: After Draco is found guilty of an attempted murder, he is  sentenced to the Lupin’s house with hopes he’ll finally understand what  it means to have a family. Only problem? Draco doesn’t want it.    

A/N: Hey Y’all! I’ve successfully survived my first few weeks of school! It’s going to be a lot, but you know what? It’s going to be okay. Anyways, here’s the next part of To Have a Home. As always, I hope you all enjoy!

Here’s Part Nineteen!

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The breakfast they shared was delicious to say the least. Fred had blown them all away with his cooking skills, something even George seemed surprised about. But slowly, one by one, each member of the party left the Lupins’ house.

First was Sirius, who left with no fanfare. He simply stood up from the table, thanked Fred for the breakfast, and ran to the fireplace before Isla could yell at him for not including her in his thank you. 

Next was Isla. She gave Abigail one last hug and ruffled through Draco’s hair one more time. She promised everyone that she would return soon “and next time,” she said, throwing the floo powder into the fireplace, “I will have good news about your mother.” To this, Draco allowed himself to smile. Just a little. 

Finally there were Fred and George. They took their time saying their goodbyes to Draco, promising they were only one call away and if he ever needed anything, he knew where to find them. A part of Draco wished that they were going to stay there forever; that they would move in and help him face the Lupin’s. That he would be a little less alone in this house. 

That left the three of them sitting at the table: Draco, Remus and Abigail. They sat in silence for a while, no one daring to say even a word. If you looked at it from the outside, it might seem like there was peace at that table; that they were just a happy family finishing up their breakfast. That the fidgeting Draco had was simply because he was itching to go about his day. The smile plastered on Abigail’s face was meant to ease instead of hide. Or the stillness of Remus was a contended father, but they were far from it.    

Draco was fidgeting. His heart was racing, breaths coming in more and more shallow than they were a few moments ago. And was it suddenly hot in there? He felt like shedding his long-sleeved shirt in favor of nothingness. He was studying his hands with utmost care, avoiding looking at either of the Lupins. He couldn’t leave the table, at least not in a graceful manner. His crutches sat a few feet away, leaning against the breakfast bar. And, that blasted bracelet on his arm. A constant reminder of how pathetic he truly was. As if the crutches or boot wasn’t enough. He picked at it, hoping neither Lupin noticed. He wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead. It must be very hot in this room, and the bracelet really was not helping him. 

And there was the itch in the back of his head telling him that it was worthless. He was worthless. Everyone thought that. Everyone knew that. How worthless could a person be until he was rubbed down to nothing? Now that itch was festering. 

His head snapped up when he heard Remus talking to him, but he couldn’t register what was being said. It wasn’t until he started getting up from the table and heading towards the back door that he realized what was being said. He was going out to the garden. Alone. With Remus. Abigail was handing him his crutches when his brain caught up with the rest of him. 

He shook slightly, his eyes glancing up to Abigail, a silent plea for her to follow. She gave him a reassuring nod, smiling slightly. It was a sign that he knew well; one that read everything was going to be alright, that at the end of the day, she still loved him. But with Remus…

“Come, Draco. I need to talk to you.” He stood at the door, holding it open. Expecting him to walk through with him, but Draco was shell-shocked. Numb, even. 

“Hey,” Abigail said, drawing his attention back to her. She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. In any other situation, Draco would have recoiled, taken aback by the physical contact, but he couldn’t find it in him to respond. He just took the crutches in his arms and, with the help of Abigail, got up and towards the door. 

“I’m right here, if you need anything Draco.” She paused as he made it to the door, hovering around the table. 

He took one last glance at the house, and then walked outside. Remus was beckoning him towards a garden of some sorts. It seemed peaceful enough; the flowers were all in full bloom, a myriad of different colors all jumbled together. 

Draco stopped just short of the garden, his crutches touching the outskirts of it. Remus sat in the middle of it, his fingers twirling around one of the flower’s stems. 

“This one is Abigail’s favorite.” He said, mostly to himself. “It’s called an Ausmas. It’s very pretty, don’t you think?” 

He picked it close to the base of the plant. With it, he gestured to the ground next to him. 

“Come here. I don’t want to hurt you, I just need to talk.” 

Every part of Draco was screaming to run. Drop the crutches and rush into the woods. Maybe he could make it far enough to get lost in there before Remus could find him. 

As if he could read his thoughts, Remus said, “These woods go out for miles and miles in every direction. Your bracelet will stop you from going that far, however. I think it’s spelled at… oh, fifty meters or so. I haven’t tested it, but I assume it’s like a wall stopping you. Now come.”

Draco felt himself move closer, and as if on auto-pilot, sit down next to Remus. He was far too close for comfort, but where else was he to go? He wrapped his arms around his legs, bringing them close to his body like he was a roly-poly. 

“You remind me of myself when I was younger.” Remus mused, laying the flower down on the ground next to him. “Shy, timid… Afraid of everything.” 

“I am not afraid of anything.” Draco’s mouth opened faster than he could stop himself. If Remus heard him, he decided not to react. His gaze was still dropped on the flower. He sighed, finally turning his attention to the shivering boy next to him. 

“Draco, I want to apologize for snapping… Are you okay? Draco, you’re shivering… Can you even hear me? Draco?” 

But his head was pounding, ears ringing out a bizarre melody. The world suddenly felt like it was coming down on top of him, heavy and hard. 

Before he could think, his head was being pushed in between his knees, the sun suddenly not as bright as before. 

“Draco, breath for me, okay? Can you do that?” 

And he did. At first, jaggedly, sucking in air that seemed scarce, but soon it started coming easier and easier to him. After a few moments, he dared to look up at Remus. He was watching him closely, but stayed where he originally was. 

“Draco, it’s okay to be afraid sometimes. For a while, I was scared of you.”

“Scared of me?” Draco tried to sense if he was lying. “I don’t know whether I should take that as a compliment.”

Remus didn’t react. “I’m sorry that I frightened you last night. It wasn’t my intention, but I was so angry and mad that I acted out.”

“It was an accident…”

“I know it was an accident now, but last night, I was distraught. I know you don’t know what it’s like, but Draco, without that wolfsbane potion, I lose myself. I can’t control anything I do… Anything I think. It’s like sitting in the backseat of my mind, watching myself do things I’d never do in my own free will…”

Draco could feel the tears coming. “Remus, I didn’t mean…”

“And I have a family I need to look after,” Remus continued, not hearing Draco’s remark, “If anything happened to Abigail, or to you, I don’t know what I’d do. If I ever hurt you Draco, I don’t know what I’d do.” He stopped, unclenching his hands. There were welts there now, not out of anger towards Draco, but himself. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a good father, Draco. All I wanted to do was show you what a loving family is… What a loving dad is, and I feel like I’m failing.”

With that, Draco threw himself into Remus, wrapping his arms around him. Tears were flowing freely down his face; he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. 

Remus, shocked, hugged him back. He was surprised at Draco’s response. It wasn’t everyday that his enemy’s child threw himself at you willingly, but if that’s what Draco needed, he was here for him. 

After a minute, Draco raised his head to look at Remus. 

“I’m sorry” was all he managed to get out before he hiccupped himself to tears again. He wanted so desperately for this to be his father. That he would look up again and see the long blonde hair and grey eyes of his father rather than the scarred face of Remus. That this was not a never ending nightmare. That he and his father would get up from the garden and walk back towards the Malfoy manor, to where his mother would be reading in the parlor and the house elves would be scampering around, going about their daily tasks, and yet…

Part of him was okay that it was Remus here with him. In fact, he would go so far as to say part of him wanted this. He wanted it to be Remus. He wanted to be at this house with him and Abigail. That this could possibly be his home.  

All of this was hurting his head: the question of what he really wanted. It made him shudder away from Remus, recoiling back into himself, clutching his head with both his hands. 

“All I want is to be your father, Draco,” Remus said, letting his hand drop on his shoulder. “More than just in the legal sense of the word. I know that it’ll take time for you to feel the same way; there’s so much that happened to you in the past month, but I want to know that whenever you’re ready to see me as your father, I’ll be right there waiting for you.” He bent over to plant a kiss on the top of his head. 

“I love you, Draco.” He stood up, extending his hand to Draco, which he accepted. 

“Now, should we pick some Ausmas for Abigail?”

[bangtanblurbs]

abyss

song: abyss by jin

first experience: as a relatively new song, i remember clearly abyss’ drop. 12/2/2020 - several months into whatever quarantine had come to mean by that point, thanksgiving had just past and christmas was coming up in a matter of weeks. those few weeks between the holidays often pass by in a blur for me. holidays are hard. they’re not the romantic times they always were when i was a child. once again i’d been sitting at home in my tiny studio apartment, freezing, trying to crank through work and school obligations. i can assure you my headspace was less than great, between the cold, the holiday season, the deadlines that had piled up... abyss dropping was the perfect medicine for how i was feeling. 

feelings: when i listen to abyss i can’t help but feel emotional. of course. naturally the accompanying note that came with abyss was heartbreaking enough. but at the same time, the song feels like home. it feels like walking into my apartment after a long day and slipping into my favorite hoodie that desperately needs to be thrown into the wash. the familiar feeling brings about warmth despite the sobering reality that i’m still here, by myself, slipping into my ratty clothing and climbing into bed to disassociate from the self-hatred, stress, obligation, and grief i carry daily. the reality is, listening to abyss is like listening to my inner voice. i’m not saying i understand jin, or any of the shit he’s obviously gone through and dealt with in his very colorful life, but i feel close to him whenever i put the song on. i feel like as i grow older - i grow into myself - i grow into the pain i’ve harbored for years now. while i sometimes feel like i’m drowning in the abyss, at least i have the comfort that my feelings aren’t as alien as they seem. especially for someone who has been fortunate in life in many ways - this song shows me that i’m still *allowed* to hurt. i’m still allowed to carry my pain and feel it flow through me. 

i must also say, that my heart broke many times know that jin feels the emotions that abyss conveys. the self-doubt, the anxiety... how we all must wish we could wash it away. i only hope with all of my heart that he’s been given time, space, and resources to process his emotions fully. i can’t imagine carrying what he’s carrying and having the schedule he has. bless. 

personal connection: as alluded to, i’m not the most stable person. i can post happy photos online, i can breathe my idealism into others, i can love with the full capacity of my heart - but i have plenty of demons. i’m not sure where they came from, i noticed them around the time i became a teenager - that sinking feeling that all aspects of my existence are ugly, undesirable, annoying. these demons have never gone away. no matter how much i strive for my dreams, no matter what i accomplish, the amount of solitude that exists in my life allows for the cracks in my heart to rip open forcefully. 

it’s this very thinking that limits me. i don’t believe in myself. i don’t really believe in anything if i’m being honest. everything feels dark. there’s ups and downs. much how jin describes in the song - i desperately want to be a part of a more vibrant existence. i deeply want to connect with others, but the anxiety, the self doubt, the hatred i harbor, they’re paralyzing. simple tasks - texting a friend to make plans, following through with plans, speaking in a group setting, advocating for myself, they’re all things i’d rather shut the door on. vulnerability? i can’t open myself up for any more pain. in my mind, i’d rather retreat to the darkness, convincing myself i’m not worthy of taking another’s time, space, efforts. and i get overwhelmed, the feelings that jin is describing perfectly - having someone take an interest in me - having someone show me love... it feels false, it takes my breath away, only makes me question more. it makes me wonder how long i’ll indulge them before i push them away and move to my own abyss. 

in abyss jin isn’t even talking about another person. he’s speaking to himself. there’s not a romantic or even friendship he’s speaking of in the song. it’s more about like - is it okay for me to feel happy or hopeful? am i someone who should be allowed to meet happiness? this is something i relate to even more profoundly than the previously mentioned worries over letting new people into my life. ever since i went off to university from my kinda shitty hometown i wondered... is this life something i’m allowed to have for myself? am i worthy of it? did i do anything to deserve the place i’m at? i feel often like my work, my thoughts, my actions -- they’re not enough to place me in some of the places i’ve been lucky enough to have a seat. these doubts can cripple me with inaction and keep me chained to the present, or at the very least held back from progress and moving forward. these feelings were exactly what i was going through in december. do i deserve to be pursuing my phd? am i worthy? i haven’t accomplished near what my peers have, and i probably never will... i’m not as passionate as the others i pass by in the hallways, those i share a floor with at meetings... i’m a shell compared to them. should i retreat to my abyss rather than continue to occupy space where i don’t feel i’m allowed to be? am i allowed to celebrate and feel happiness when i’m not really doing as well as i could be?

obviously this sounds like whining, it sounds pathetic. and perhaps to someone it is, but it’s the reality of my mind. it’s something i bear and it’s something i’m finally okay sharing with others. i don’t know how to overcome these emotions i harbor - but that feeling of feeling most comfortable in my abyss, in the dark, in the little world i’ve created in my lonely haven... that’s my reality. that’s the feeling that i’ve connected to when i listen to abyss. it’s those moments when you look our your window, at your phone, and you see the outside world moving rapidly in the sunlight, and you can’t help but feel you don’t deserve to be a part of it... you can’t help but know that your true place is in the abyss. the pleasure i receive from escaping reality is unexplainable. and sometimes, it’s pleasure in the fact that i’m punishing myself, putting myself in the dark and ugly place i think i truly belong. that abyss - it’s my haven. it’s my sanctuary. 

song breakdown:

musically: abyss is beautifully understated musically, but not in a way that makes it a stripped vocal song... but instead in a way that highlights the emotion laden in jin’s voice. the piano backing picks up with the song and brings in some effects along the way to highlight the emotional pauses between the heavy lyrics. its the perfect ballad. truly. the incorporation of a steady beat track at the second verse also ads to the emotions of feeling like something is dragging, the monotony of these emotions as one carries through each day. 

the dramatic pauses that lead into the verses and highlight the pure emotion carried in jin’s tone also bring emphasis to the powerful refrain in the chorus - it’s almost reminiscent of personal realizations, personal *epiphanies* one might say. that moment where you draw in a big breath and gulp it down before confronting your demons. while the track keeps it’s steady pace, it does what it should for this piece - highlights the beauty of jin’s voice, and carries the weight of the emotions in the lyrics. 

vocally: honestly, just wow. jin’s voice, is absolutely stunning in this song. completely breathtaking in the best kind of way. i say this with nothing but complete respect - jin’s vocals have done nothing but improve and grow in strength over time to the complete crisp perfection they are today. the amount of emotion he carries in his tone is also perfect to deliver such a profound ballad as abyss. i hope he knows that we can feel every ounce of truth and healing he put into the song. 

we all know jin is the high note king, but he honestly ops for more of a storytelling vibe in this song, keeping within his lower register throughout the verses. it really isn’t until we are mid-chorus that we get the breathtaking high note during the line “ 잠기고 싶어 가보고 싶어.” this is perhaps the most profound lyric of the chorus as well, since it’s the moment in which jin expresses a desire. most of the lyrics up to that point explain a state of being, his emotions, but at this point - he is almost calling out his desire. his painful desire. to stay lost within in his abyss. it’s painful and stunningly beautiful at the same time.

the genius of the entire song was jin delivering abyss in a way that we don’t always hear him sing in BTS songs. the buttery smoothness of his voice is on full display, with no need to stay in his high register for long we can really hear the weight in his tone, the pleading in his voice, the sincerity. it’s sobering, and it’s powerful. and i must say, i can’t wait to get more songs like this from jin in the future. i hope he continues to share his heart, his voice, and his talent with us. 

lyrically: oh man. this one is a deep cut. you can really feel jin’s voice throughout the lyrics of abyss. the accompanying note that he released with the song brings a lot of context and understanding to the lyrics. in the note jin explains feeling inadequate and insecure in light of the amazing accomplishments that BTS had made over the years, specifically highlighting the #1 on Billboard Hot 100. he explains that he felt like his passion and talents were lacking compared to others in music, and felt undeserving of the love, joy, and recognition he received. his emotions seem to be similar to those of imposter syndrome, feeling like he doesn’t belong in a space he inhabits and actually receives accolades for existing within. what’s more telling is in this note jin expresses his apprehension to share these sadder emotions he harbors. this song is so incredibly raw for being a place in which jin finally found a space in which to express his feelings, let them run freely and beautifully without the concern that he needed to stay strong for ARMY.

to jump right into a closer analysis of the lyrics - the song begins with a story like vibe. the first lyric “i hold my breath as i walk into my sea” brings about the image of the speaker (i apologize in advance if i alternate between speaker and jin) beginning their descent into deeper waters of the ocean. the speaker is bracing for this though, as they are the one propelling it forward with enough pacing to prepare and hold their breath. to me, this is alluding to jin knowing that he’s falling into a darker space in his mind, consciously allowing himself to slip into that space. he then moves into describing his state “i face myself who is crying beautifully and sorrowfully.” jin is describing that he’s taking account of his state, speaking to himself and seeing the distraught state that exists within his mind -- seeping into his outer appearance. 

the pre-chorus moves into a different vibe, jin addresses the duality in himself. he recognizes both the parts of himself that are strong - that can shoulder and carry the parts of him that are deeply broken and sad. “myself in that darkness / i’d like to go find him and tell him” this is jin speaking with clarity to his broken self, his rationality coming through to speak to the parts of him that are insecure and hurting. “that i’d like to know more about you today, yeah” perhaps this is jin’s way of saying that he wishes he understood himself better, that he wishes he could more confidently identify the emotions he was feeling and process them fully. the pre-chorus in my mind is jin using some clarity to check in with himself and take inventory of his state when he’s in his darkest moments.

the chorus picks up and delivers a few devastatingly beautiful and sobering lines. “still, i remain with myself / with my voice unable to come out, i just circle around him.” this is where we see the ultimate conclusion of the engagement in the pre-chorus... jin’s insecurity and pain keeps his strength from winning out. the duality in his being still exists, but in this moment it’s the pain, the insecurity, the feelings of inadequacy that have won out. “that dark place, / i’d like to be submerged in it, i’d like to go to it / i’ll be there” jin then places us back into the story he started in the beginning of the song - he’s submerged in the abyss, the darkest and deepest point of the ocean. he speaks to taking the time to really feel the emotions that he is harboring, causing him pain. while this could be a conscious decision he is making to better understand and process his emotions it’s also likely that this desire is rooted in self-loathing, a desire to self-punish for his perceived shortcomings. the pleasure that sometimes one can gain from fully feeling pain that they believe they deserve. the line about being submerged also brings about the image of an anchor in my mind - like these emotions are weighing jin down. while anchors may sink slowly (like slowly taking a breath and walking into the sea) they’re hard to pull back up -- they want to stay seated to the ground, where they belong to do their job. perhaps jin is in some ways alluding to this. either way, the chorus is about a desire to remain in the dark place, where it feels safe, where he feels he deserves to be. the final line is “today as well, i circle around you again.” which brings us back to the pre-chorus dialogue between jin’s duality - the part of him that may rationally understand that he deserves love, that he works hard, that he is worthy... but yet this part can’t seem to gain control over the darker feelings within him... so there’s this idling, this perpetual circle of inaction. 

moving into the second verse this interaction occurring within jin’s inner being continues. “the closer i get to you, the more breathless i become and the father away you feel” while this line is a bit more difficult for me to completely understand what i think he is speaking to is that as he begins to think he understands his emotions, when he thinks he might be regaining his confidence he realizes he is only scratching the surface. he realizes that there’s more to his darker emotions than he’d initially thought. perhaps he thought he was just having a bad day or feeling in funk, but then he realizes that there’s a piece of him that he doesn’t quite understand and perhaps isn’t ready to understand as the word “breathless” invokes a feeling of overwhelm. the second and closing line of the verse is “wouldn’t it be that you went deeper into the sea, yeah” invoking that these darker emotions only continue to grow, evolve, and perhaps overwhelm. he feels like he can’t quite pull himself out of the place he’s in, no matter what he tries. 

the pre-chrous as analyzed above then repeats, although the meaning is somewhat different when following the second verse. this is because the nature of the second verse is more hopeless in nature, therefore while jin would like to be able to regain some control over these darker feelings -- he’s just expressed that as he tries he finds it more overwhelming and difficult. finds himself moving further into the dark emotions. 

the final chorus is different that the previous - the lyrics change and while they continue a deeply sorrowful theme, they also bring about some hope. the first line, “still, i remain with you” is telling. jin is reminding himself that even if he feels consumed by these emotions, the other components of him still exist. he isn’t just the darker feelings that have taken precedence. he can have his confidence when he’s ready, he can maintain his duality. all aspects of jin, even if he’s feeling broken. “with my voice unable to come out, i just circle around him.” even if he feels he can’t gain control of these emotions, he can be patient with himself, he can know that there’s the potential that he can overcome, but also he knows that it’s okay in this moment to just feel. “that dark place / i’d like to be submerged in it, i’d like to go to it” this line is re-emphasizing jin’s desire to stay in the place where he feels comfortable, where he can feel his darker emotions, where he things he truly deserves to be. “today as well, like this, i close my eyes to get to you.” this is the final line of the song and it delivers a sense of comfort. no matter what, jin knows that he can be at peace - he may have these darker emotions, but he can close his eyes, he can rest and carry all aspects of his emotional state. the dark, the light, the highs and the lows. he can take his time in the abyss when he needs to. 

tl;dr? abyss is one of those songs that anyone who has struggled with self-doubt, dabbled or dipped fully into self-hatred can identify with. many people i’m sure have their own abyss. their own place in their mind where they’d like to lock themselves in - a prison of their own design that in one way might be one’s punishment for their perceived shortcomings, but also can be a paradise when a beautiful being seemingly undeserved reality feels like too much to bear. jin’s artistry both in terms of lyrics and vocals are on full display in the song - showing his amazing range and delivering a piece full of emotional tones. abyss is a stunning piece of the man’s mind and heart that i am extremely grateful to be able to experience. 

[mhafanfics19]

Blue-eyed devil

"She was like lightning, beautiful and quiet yet destructive and painful."

"Stop villain! I need back up! I'm in pursuit of the suspect, I need pros and police units to my location stat!"

"Son of a bitch." Furiously pumping your legs, you desperately try to widen the gap between you and the Pro hero hot on your tail. You agilely dash through the large crowd of people that is blocking your path to freedom.

You ungracefully stumble around a corner, the need to escape driving you forward even more. The wailing of police sirens, forces you to pick up speed, as you perilously try to ignore the agonizing burning coursing through your lungs and unbearably tired legs.

What did you do to get yourself into this lovely situation? For once, not a damn thing, you had been at a coffee shop downtown and a pro hero just so happened to recognize you. It's what you had previously done that resulted in this little mishap, the police had spent months tracking you down for the murder of two pros and four cops, plus a whole slew of other crimes.

Now, going out in public during the day when you're a wanted criminal, was not the smartest idea you've ever had. You're the first to admit that, you had gotten a little too cocky after the cops seemingly stopped looking for you, as far as they were concerned you vanished.

Until much to their satisfaction, and your displeasure, you had suddenly popped back onto the radar. The sound of an all to familiar booming voice, rips you from your thoughts and stops you dead in your tracks, "You're out of places to run Y/n L/n! This will be much easier if you surrender!"

Towering in front of you is the brute of a man known as the one and only number two hero: Endeavor, out of every pro it could have been it had to be him. You had been trying to avoid using your quirk as much as possible, you really didn't need any extra crimes on your already extensive record, but now you were completely out of options.

The endless flow of electricity surrounding you, triggers your quirk, thankfully you don't have anything that indicates to others when your quirk has been activated. However, when you absorb electricity it's obvious, considering the fact that it literally races along the ground towards you.

Rapid flashes of electricity rush at you and straight into your body, the zapping sounds of electricity quickly cease, complete silence falls over everyone, the crowd of on lookers, the pros and the police. They watch as silent flares of lightning dances from the tips of your fingers all the way up your arm, your voice breaks the silence.

"Endeavor, I don't want to hurt you or anyone else but if you don't move I won't have any other choice." The pro lets out an obnoxious laugh as he and the other pros ready their quirks, "You think you can hurt me little girl? I'd love to see you try!" An annoyed sigh slips from your lips, how is one person so arrogant?

"You asked for it." Slamming your palms to the ground, large bolts split the concrete as the white-hot lightning barrels just beneath the surface. The power of the buildings around you, goes out as you continue to draw in electricity, and expel it as lightning.

Anguished screams ricochet through the street, the smell of burning skin wafts around the now smoking and charred bodies of the people that got too close to your ruthless attack. None of them were the intended targets, they were innocent civilians caught in a war between two very dangerous people.

Your eyes immediately travel to the sky, where the answer to how you missed Endeavor and the other pros with your attack is revealed, Hawks. The number three hero had shot out feathers moving them to safety, just a hair faster than your attack.

Annoyance creeps it's way on to your features, as sparks of lightning flicker around your hand. "All you had to do was let me go Endeavor, but because you refused, innocent lives have been lost. I wonder what that will do to your pro hero image you so pathetically try to keep up."

Your words set the flaming hero into a rage, bursts of fire comes rocketing towards you, in response you discharge a thin bolt of lightning that strikes Hawks sending both heroes crashing harshly to the ground. Taking advantage of this, you spin around and run in the direction you came, the whooshing of fire following closely behind.

Darting down an alley way, an abandoned looking bar comes into view, having put enough distance between you and Endeavor you barge into the building hastily slamming the door behind you. The yelling of the number two hero and the other pros pass the building, minutes pass before you let out a sigh of relief, you lost them.

Turning around to survey the bar you had entered, you are greeted with seven shocked and aggravated faces. Realization smacks you in the face as your gaze lands on a shaggy blue haired male with a hand planted on his face, the league of villains.

"Uh.. Sorry about that? I needed somewhere to hide for a few minutes, had a little run in with Endeavor. I'm going to head out now." You turn around and as you're about to open the door a harsh raspy voice stops you.

"You're Y/n L/n right?" You cautiously turn around preparing to use your quirk if needed, your eyes flicker to who you already knew was Shigaraki. "Yeah? Ah fuck, please tell me I didn't fry a family member of yours." A deep chuckle resonates through the bar, crossing your arms, you lock eyes with the male responsible for the almost guttural  sound.

"Is something funny about that, Scarface?" The male laughs tauntingly this time, what a dick, the sound of the news derails any reply he was going to give you.

"Y/n L/n, or as the heroes have dubbed her: Inazuma. She was apprehended earlier this afternoon, an intense  fight lasting only fifteen minutes was had between her and Endeavor, resulting in the unfortunate end of twenty lives. Hawks was caught in the cross fire, but he is said to have only minor burns. If anyone sees this woman the authorities urge you to contact police, she should be considered extremely dangerous."

"How the hell did you kill twenty people, and injure the number three hero in a fifteen minute fight with Endeavor?" The male who had previously laughed at you is now looming over you, blue eyes piercing straight through your soul.

You raise an eyebrow in amusement at how confident he is in his "intimidation" tactic. Smirking, you decide to use his cocky facade against him, letting out a long, uninterested sigh before responding.

"Easily, my quirk gives me an advantage not everyone has. You mean to tell me you can't do what I did? Huh, guess you're not as good as you look." A smug smile tugs at the corners of his stapled mouth, he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you pinning you to the wall.

He leans down right next to you, his hot breath fanning against the shell of your ear, his sultry whisper gives you goosebumps. "I'd be careful if I was you, doll face. Keep talking like that and I might have to show you just how good I am."

Your eyes widen for a split second before your own smirk reforms, "Like you would ever get the chance, I can promise whatever you think your good at, I'm much better."

Tomura's disgusted voice interrupts the teasing between the two of you, "Dabi, back off her, how am I supposed to get her to join us if you keep trying to screw everything that looks at you."

A snort slips from you as Dabi backs away, you turn your attention to Shigaraki, "Yeah I'll join you, it's not like I have shit else to do anyways." The hand on his face shifts slightly, in what you assume is a smirk. "Perfect, I have so many things to discuss with you."

As you slip into the stool next to Shigaraki, you are very aware of a certain set of eyes studying you. The moment you looked into those eyes, you should have known.

Nothing good ever comes from a blue-eyed devil.

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found -Chapter 22

Author’s note:  This story is NOT coming to an end. There’s still things I want to do with it, like add past chapters to show how they met and how she blended in to the (slightly adapted) story line.

That being said, I am working on a small companion piece that takes place five years in the future. So look out for that!

Warnings:  mentions of blood and gun violence

Tagging:  @valkyrie-of-the-light  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007

She estimates the exact spot.

 The sidewalks and roadway have been cleaned multiple times in the course of a year and many rains had fallen. Yet there remains several dark stains that mar the cement: a slight possibility of being the remnants of human being. There had been so much. More than she had ever seen in her entire time of the or during her postings overseas. She can still smell it. Feel its smooth texture as it seeped through her fingers and clothes. And she could still her that unmistakable gurgle; the choking and the sputtering.  The sounds that accompanied someone drowning in their own blood.

 She places her palms on the cold metal railing and stares out at the Buriganga. Watching the way the  sunlight glitters on the rippling surface and the way the boats -both commercial and personal- effortless glide through the water. She had thought her reaction would be different. That she would be hit with a tsunami of suppressed rage, trauma, and bitterness that would take her breath away and bring her to her knees. But instead there's peace. A sense of calm that spreads from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Realization surging through her, like a warm, cozy blanket being draped across her shoulders. Perhaps it is closure. Being able to stand there a year and realize that they had made it. He had made it. The initial horror finally behind them; the long gruelling months of healing and rehab now a thing of the past. All that lay ahead of them now was the present. And the future. That last page of a hellish book finally being turned.

 “Sorry we're late.”

 She turns to face him. Jason has gone to the extra mile to make things more believable; a dirty Farhad by his side, a hand firmly grasping the young man's arm, Fahrad's hands trussed into front of him with plastic zip ties. Her initial instinct is to confront Jason right away! To hell with the kid! She wants to throw the photographs in his face and punch him in the throat and kick him when he's done. Keep kicking him. Until he's begging her to stop. He seems so damn proud of himself. A cocky smile plastered across his face, as if presenting her with the kid is deserving of hero worship and praise.  She wants to laugh at him. To call him a stupid sonofabitch and let him know he's not going to get out of there unscathed.  It is way too late for that. There's things he has to answer for and she's going to make sure that happens.

 Instead she smiles. Hoping it doesn't look as phony as it feels.

 “You arranged this?” Jason asks her, as he nods towards the barricades that have been set up at either end of the bridge.

 “I had help.  A friend that owed me.”

 “Must be a hell of a friend. Going through all that trouble. Well,here's your chance...” he uses a shoulder to shove Fahrad towards her. The kid is confused; wild eyed in a mix of terror and nerves. Apparently this wasn't what was planned. Fahrad just as much being thrown to the wolves as she is.  He's not as confident now. The minions that follow him around are nowhere in sight. He's unarmed.  There's no Asif to impress. And he's now reduced to a frightened boy scared of his own shadow.

 “You can go,” Esme says to Jason. “I don't need you now.”

 “There's no way I'm leaving you alone with him. Who knows what's he capable of. If he has buddies just watching and waiting to jump in he gets in trouble.”

 “Then wait over there,” she jerks her head to the left. “This kid and I need to have a chat.”

 He relents; holding his hands up in surrender and then moving down the bridge. Until he's several feet away, leaning back against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes focused on his feet. For once he isn't wearing a suit jacket; the Dhaka heat and humidity too much to bear. Instead he wears a simple pair of beige linen pants and a burgundy golf shirt.

 She doesn't think he's armed. No holster on the hip or attached to the thighs and no discernible bulge at the back of his pants.

 “Do you remember me?” she asks Fahrad. “From a year ago? You and I stood on this very bridge. About fifty meters apart. You looked right at me.”

 He nods.

 “I'm not here to kill you,” her voice is low, barely above a whisper. “And I need you to listen very carefully to me, okay? This isn't about you. It was. But this is about him,” she casually nods over her shoulder in Jason's direction. “I know that you're working together. That you know each other. He told you that I sent him here? To find you?”

 Another nod.

 “I was going to come here and put a bullet in your brain,” she admits. “But then I realized that that changes nothing. It doesn't erase what happened. It would only put an even heavier weight on my heart. But I can't forgive you. Not yet. Maybe not ever.  Do you understand what I'm saying? At least blink if you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth.”

 “I understand.”

 “I need you to help me. Can you do that? I promise you that you'll make it out of here. Nothing will happen to you. I just need you to play along with whatever I say or do. I have a gun in my bag...”

 Fahrad blinks; shifting nervously from foot to foot.

 “It isn't loaded, but he doesn't realize that. I need you trust me and just go with it. You do that and you walk out of here. If you don't and you try something funny, there is someone that won't be as merciful as I am. He will kill you. In a heartbeat. You cooperate, you live ? Got it?”

 “Yes,” he issues a huge sigh. Of relief? Bad nerves? She can't completely tell.

 “If I say the name Tyler Rake, do you know who that is?”  her voice is louder, so Jason can overhear them.

 “I do,” Fahrad confirms. “He's the one that got the kid. That embarrassed Asif.”

 “He's also the one that you shot. In the throat. And nearly killed. My name is Esme. Esme Rake. Tyler is my husband. Now do you know when I'm here?”

 “I think so.”

 “A year ago, you almost took everything away from me. I'd just met the love of my life. Totally and completely unexpected. You know the saying, love comes when you least expect it? That's what happened to me. And no sooner did I meet him, I almost lost him. I was here. Do you remember? After you shot him, you looked right at me. While I was down there on the sidewalk begging him to stay alive. Begging him to just hang on a little while longer. Telling him I loved him. He was dying. In my arms. And you stood there and you smirked at me. Do you remember that?”

 The tears threaten. The wound is so raw and so fresh. Stripping away that blanket of peace that she had been feeling just minutes before.   Those same feelings of horror and paralyzing fear returning; the way her body had seemed to switch to autopilot and act on its own accord while hysteria took over every other part of her. Up until that moment a year ago, she'd learned to harness those emotions. She'd learned long ago had to bottle them up and prevent them from over flowing. There was simply no room for fear when you were in the desert, fighting for your life, or when faced with dire consequences and decisions while on the job. There were times she'd felt sorry for someone; moved by families' stories and pleas for help, by the gratefulness show by those who were rescued. But she kept it pushed down deep inside.

 Where wounds linger and fester the longest.

 That day on the bridge, she'd been stripped down to a shell of herself. A once confident, fearless, and independent woman reduced to a pathetic, weak, and hysterical little girl.

 That was the almost hardest thing to accept. Tyler may not have died that day. But a huge part of her did.

 “I was holding him while he was dying,” she continues. “Have you ever seen something like that? Have you ever had to sit back and watch the person you love more than anything in the world struggling to stay alive? And you just looked at me. And smirked. Like you felt nothing. Is that what it was? You felt nothing ? Taking his life was some kind of badge of honour, wasn't it. His life was trophy. A way of impressing Asif.”

 Farhad nods.

 “Did you really feel nothing? When you looked at me, did you really not feel anything at all? Because you weren't just watching one person dying. You were watching two.”

 “I felt nothing,” he admits, and the calmness and the finality in his voice sends a chill down his voice.  “He deserved to die. For what he did. Humiliating Asif like that. Humiliating me.  He deserved to die. And he should have died.”

 “But he didn't, did he. He didn't die. Because you completely underestimated him. Two weeks before, he would have just let it happen. He wanted to die himself and was looking for a way for it to play out. But suddenly he had something to live for. A future he was looking forward to. And that's why he held on. That's why you failed. That's a bitter pill to swallow, isn't it? That you failed not once, but twice.”

 She can tell he's not sure how to react. He's trying to figure out if what she's saying is the truth or just part of the game they're playing. Truth be told, it's both. A way of allowing Jason to think there's nothing out of the ordinary, and a way of her bearing her soul. This kid is her confessional. Whether he realizes it or not.

 “You almost took everything away from me. And now it's time for me take everything away from you.”

****

  The gun is light in her hand; magazine long discarded. Yet part of her wishes that that one bullet still remained in the chamber.  The rage and the sadness so strong and consuming that she would have had no problem pulling the trigger.

 It is placed underneath Fahrad's chin; a kill shot that she'd learned from Nik.  One centimetre to the left and she was hitting the femoral artery and he'd be left to die an excruciating death as he bled out on the sidewalk. Straight up and back towards the throat, his demise would be instantaneous. Painless. Part of her said that that was too good for him. After everything he'd done...everything he had put them through...he deserved as much suffering as possible.  But the other part...the human and rational part...reminded her that this was just a kid. One that had grown up in poverty and subjected to neglect and inhumane living conditions.  And the need to impress Asif directly came from his upbringing. Or lack thereof.

 There's trust in his eyes. Trust that she probably didn't deserve. And for a brief moment she sees his own glitter of humanity. That if given the chance to thrive, would lead him to making better choices. To wanting more for himself.

 “Okay...that's enough...” Jason steps in now, and she's finally able to get a good look at him.  Determining that he is unarmed and will no doubt use the gun that she had on her to take his shot. That had been the plan; let him think he had the upper hand, and then totally turn the tables. “...there's no need for this...you said your piece...leave the kid alone...”

 'She's right,” Farhad speaks up. Fuelling the fire. “I do deserve it.  I feel nothing. I felt nothing when I shot him and I feel nothing, listening to her sad story. Are you going to cry, lady? Are you going to break down in tears over what I did? Because I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

 She presses the gun further into his chin. The truth of the words sting; he is probably telling the truth. He had felt nothing. And feels nothing at this very moment.

 “You shut your goddamn mouth,”  Jason orders, and then turns to Esme. Voice quiet, his smile comforting. “The kid isn't going to die today. Now give me the gun..”

 She puts up some light resistance, then reluctantly hands it over.  She remains calm. Stoned face. Yet deep within her chest, her heart hammers wildly.

 *****

 “You were right you know,” he says, as he paces back in forth in front of her.  “When you said that Tyler staying in a different place when you got here was a mistake. It would have made you a much easier target.  You would have been all alone in that house with no one to protect you. Do you really think the armed guards would have been able to do it? They couldn't even stop you from leaving the place this morning. You would have been a sitting duck. Which would have made things way too simple. Which isn't the way we like to do things.”

 “Who is 'we' Jason? I saw the pictures. The ones under your mattress in your hotel room.”

 “Why am I not surprised you went there. I had a feeling you would. I made sure that people saw Farhad and I together. I knew they wouldn't keep their mouths shut. “

 “I had nothing to do with this,” Farhad pipes up. “He gave me money. Said he needed me to meet with someone. To pretend like we were friends in the market. But I had nothing to do with this. What is wrong with you, man? She's a woman. Why would you do this?”

 He ignores the kid.  “I knew you would head there, Esme. You can take the girl out of the job, but not the job out of the clear. You're clever. Way more clever than you give yourself credit for. Old habits die hard and I knew once you thought something up, you wouldn't resist just jumping right back into the game.”

 “Just how much of this is your idea?” she inquires. “The threats to Ovi? The letters? The phone calls? The dead animals on his doorstep.”

 “There were other people for those jobs. There's a lot of us. Hiding in plain sight. Where you least expect it. My job was a little bit harder. Because I had to fool Nik first. It wasn't easy, you know. Getting one over on her. But my people  have people and they were able to make me look real good on paper. So good she couldn't resist. After that I just had to wait. Just sit back until news got to Tyler that Ovi was in trouble.  We all know the bond he has with that boy.  We knew he wouldn't be able to keep away.”

 “So why not take your shot? All the chances you had within the past two weeks to take him down. Why didn't you do it?”

 “Oh come on,” he chuckles. “You're a smart girl. You know how these games are played. We had to get inside his head first. We had to stir the pot, so to speak. Remember when you said that the bad guys would strike where they know would hurt him the most? Well that's you.  You're the one thing in this world that he loves. The person that came along and rescued him and gave him another chance.  So what better way to get to him then going through you?”

 “This is crazy,” Farhad frets.  “Don't do this. She's a woman. Just let her go. There's no reason to do this.”

 “Now I know what you're going to say,” Jason continues. “You're going to say that your little girl is the one thing that he loves most in this world. Even more than he loves you. But even we won't stoop that low. A baby is completely off limits. After all, what has she done to deserve something bad happening to her? It's not her fault who her father is.”

 “You're insane,” Esme informs him, stoic despite the anxiety and the nausea surging through her. “You'll never get away with this. Nik knows. She knows you're here and that I'm the one that asked you to come here. Anything happens to me, she will know it was you. And there will be nowhere you can hide. She will find you. And Tyler will find you. And you'll be praying it's Nik that finds you first.”

 “That's a bridge I'll cross when I get to it. Bridge? Get it.” he laughs. “How does it feel. Esme? To be here.  To be in the spot where your husband nearly died. Where he should have died.  How does it feel? Hurts like hell, doesn't it. Reliving it all.  It's kind of ironic that you'll be the one that ends up dying here, don't you think? Alone. With no one to comfort you like you did with him.”

 “I think you're fucking crazy,” she declares. “I think you're certifiably insane and that you're not thinking things through. You won't get away. There will be nowhere you can hide. He has found people bigger and better than you and they didn't live to tell about it. So how does that make you feel?”

 “See, that's what I like about you. How feisty you are. I can see why he fell in love with you. I definitely don't blame him for that. I think you're personally too good for him, but that's just my humble opinion.  Do you remember how you said that the bad guys would try and break him ? Make him vulnerable? That's when I knew you were smarter than you looked. That you aren't just a pretty face.  So tell me...” he calmly presses the barrel of the gun to her forehead. “...how does it feel to know that you're his weakness? That you're possibly the only person that effectively bring Tyler Rake down? Doesn't it give you some sense of power? Knowing how easy it is going to be to destroy him? There has to be some kind of perverse pleasure in that.”

 “You don't want to do this, Jason. This is the last thing you want to.  It won't end well for you. You know that.”

 “Maybe. But I’ll die knowing that I brought him down. What better revenge than taking away the one person that loves him the most? That saved him. Quite the love story if you ask me. Two broken people finding one another when they least expected it. Losing you will make him vulnerable. Which will make him weak. Which will make him an easy target. He won't be thinking right. Maybe he'll go back to the pills and the drinking again. That would be a nice touch. That would make killing him even easier. So again...tell me...” he places his finger on the trailer. “...are you ready to die for him?”

 “I don't know, Jason,” she smirks. “ Are you?”

  *****

 One shot. That's all it takes to bring him down. The nine millimetre round passing through the right side of his throat and passing through to the other side. Tyler doesn't hesitate pulling the trigger; he'll slip the magazine back into the Glock and return one to the chamber and tell Nik that it was a clean kill. That Jason had a gun to Esme's head and was going to kill her. It was a simple explanation. One that she would buy thanks to the cell phone in Esme's bag, recording the entire confrontation.   There's no adrenaline rush that comes with killing now.  He hasn't felt that in a long time; since way before the incident in Dhaka last year. Taking a life had become easy. Never blinking, never flinching. Just doing what he had to do to survive. Or help others survive.

 The shot hasn't killed him. Through and through's rarely do unless they hit an artery on the way out.  And he's writhing on the ground in agony when Tyler approaches, the soles of his boots passing over the layers of dirt and debris that line on the bridge.  He's bleeding out; death will be slow. Agonizing. And he hopes that kid is feeling even a fraction of what he'd felt. When he'd been dragging himself across the cement, attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his own throat, growing weaker by the moment,  choking on his blood.  Those seconds had felt like hours.

  Time passes at an excruciatingly slow pace when you're waiting to die.

 “You okay?” he asks his wife, as she leans back against the railing of the bridge. Jason's blood splattered across her face and over her clothing.

 She nods, eyes riveted on the suffering figure moaning in agony on the pavement in front of her.

 Tyler stands over him, placing a boot on his chest. “I told you not to fuck with me, didn't I. I told you not to go near my wife. But you couldn't resist, could you. You couldn't resist pissing me off.”

 The younger man attempts a response. But it's nothing but a gurgle. Rivers of bright red blood pouring from the sides of his mouth.

 Tyler chooses mercy over vengeance.  And puts another round between his eyes. It's then that he realizes Farhad is still there; eyes wide in shock at what had played out around him.  He isn’t so big and brave now. With none of his friends to back him, without the safety net of Asif and his hired thugs.  “Where the fuck do you think you're going?” he growls, and advances on him. “Do you remember me, you little shit? The one you shot in the fucking neck a year ago? Yeah, you remember me, don't you.”

 “I had nothing to do with this I swear,” the kid is visibly trembling. A far cry from the little hard ass wannabe that had ambushed him in the alley a year ago. Or when he'd pulled a bitch move and shot him from behind. “I wasn't going to hurt her. I was just here to talk. I...”

 Tyler places the barrel of his gun against Farhad's forehead.

Revenge is a fickle beast. One moment you are on the side of forgiveness, the next you're willing to take a life.   His eyes never leave the kid's'; watching the way the younger man violently trembles and tears fill his eyes.  A  satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when he realizes that she's actually made the kid piss himself.  

 He holsters his gun. And pulling the knife from the pocket of his pants, uses it to slice through the zip ties binding Fahrad's wrists together. “Go,” he orders.  “Get the hell out of here. Before I change my mind.”

 “But you...I...”

 “I said go!” he barks, and the kid gives a startled blink and then turns on his heel.

 Tyler's never seen someone run that fast.

 “You sure you're okay?” he asks his wife, as he joins her on the sidewalk.  Using the front of his own t-shirt own clear the blood from her face and neck. “Probably stinks like hell,” he says in way of apology. “It's hot as fuck here today. But it's all I have so...”

 She gives a tiny smile of appreciation, her eyes locked on his as he tenderly cleans her face.  Such a juxtaposition; stone cold killer one minute, caring and doting husband the next.

 “We need to move,” he tells her. “The bridge will be opening back up soon. It's going to be crawling for cops. We'll find a place to lie low until Yaz comes for us. We...”

 Her lower lip begins to tremble, and she draws in a shaky breath as it all becomes too much. The memories of a year ago. The extent of the danger she'd not only put herself in, but also their unborn baby.  And she gives a choked sob as she drops her head to his chest, arms circling his waist.

 He holds her and lets her cry; body wracking sobs that he can feel to his very soul. All of the pain and the heartache of the past year flowing out of her all at once. The nightmare that she'd witnessed -and living with its consequences- finally coming to an end.  It's a relief; to have that weight off of your shoulders. He knows far too well what it's like to hold onto the pain and allow it to drag you down.  And he tangles his fingers in her hair and holds her head tightly to him, his other arm curling around her waist.  Feeling the tears soaking through his t-shirt and the way the shivering finally begins to subside.

 “It's okay now,” he says, and presses a kiss to her temple before backing away and taking her face in his hands.  “It's over. You can let it go now. You need to let it go.”

 “I want to go home,” she sniffles. “I just want to go home.”

 He knows it's impossible. That there's still people out there looking for them. That the troubles will never fully come to an end. But he can give her a home. In a new country. A new place.  

 He can give her a future.

 ****

 “So what now?” Yaz asks, a half an hour into their flight.  

 Tyler had been dozing off; leaning back against the wall of the helicopter, legs stretched out. He's exhausted. Emotionally. His brain tired from reliving the day he nearly lost his life. From the flood of memories that had come surging back with a vengeance.  From the stress and the rage and the worry that been eating him alive all day.  Esme is fast asleep beside him; curled up in a fetal position with her head resting on his thigh,  Yaz's jacket keeping her warm. He hasn't let her out of his sight since they left the bridge; keeping a protective hold on her, even now.  His hand on the top of her head, softly stroking her hair.

 “I have no idea,” he admits.

 “So no going back to Australia?”

 “That ship has sailed, mate. It's time to move on to bigger and better things.”

 “So this is it, yeah? Your last job?”

 “Suppose to be.”

 He's surprised that he's used those words.  It was only intended to be a one off.  His last mission. But he'd been surprised at how much he actually missed it. The surge of energy and power you get when going into a dangerous situation; relying on your skill and your wits to get yourself and others out alive.  He'd felt in complete control for the first time in a long time. Confident. As if the old Tyler was making a permanent reappearance instead of a temporary one.

 Maybe there was a way. Of safely balancing two vastly different lives. One in which he was a husband and a father. Another where he was a soldier for hire.

 “Do you think it's over?”” Yaz asks. “All this stuff with Ovi? What Jason did...”

 “He said there's more of them out there just like him. I doubt he was running the whole show himself.  That would have been too much ground to cover for one person.”

 “Kind of fucked up, huh? The extents he was willing go to get to you.”

 “Yeah...” Tyler agrees. “...just a little fucked up.”

 Esme stirs; mumbling in her sleep and rubbing her cheek against his thigh. And he runs his palm over her hair and down onto her hip, his hand moving in slow, comforting circles.  

 “I don't think it's over,” he says.  “This bullshit with Ovi. I still think there's someone out there  just waiting for their chance. I've made a lot of enemies over the years. It's foolish to think that they won't come after me.”

 “Not if they can't find you,” Yaz points out.

 “They'll find me. They always do.”

 “So what then? Do you spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder? Waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

 “No,” he says. “I spend it protecting my family.”

 No matter what it takes.

[writer-and-artist27]

After Snow Comes Spring

Theme is here. Or here’s a piano alternative. The song’s what gave this oneshot thingie its name, really. 

This was originally written as a way to help better utilize my social anxiety in a productive manner, and now that it’s here, I’m going with it. Studying can suck, but it’s necessary and to be honest, I’d rather not sulk all day. So, writing. Here you go. Briefly inspired by Shell Game Chapter 25 from Lang and Silent Feathers Chapter 18 from Os.  

Very distant sequel to this thingie, I suppose. Everyone’s 18. It makes the post-writing embarrassment more bearable.

--------------------------------------------

Crane would sometimes stop by the Nagareboshi Café and find himself peering past the veranda a bit longer than he should. Even if Crane couldn’t be his Uchiha self right now, he still kept that part of him around, as miniscule as it was when the mask was on, just for one person.

Someone would probably call this activity “stalking,” but to be honest, Crane couldn’t care less.

Especially when it came to her. 

The rain was cold and unbearable, but Hoshino Tomoko was still standing underneath the patio of Nagareboshi Café to stare up at the cloudy sky with darkened eyes. Even after half an hour of being alone, away from all the hubbub of her home, she hadn’t twitched aside from the usual heaves of her chest telling of breathing. Even when her café had already announced its closing time, she still stood there, watching the rain and barely moving from her spot near one of the windows.

In fact, even from his vantage point, Crane could see how her blue eyes were uncharacteristically dim to match the silence. The red hoodie on her black kimono dress helped with the cold, not to mention the veranda, but it still seemed like she was close to crying.

Something was screaming inside him as he continued to watch.

Tomoko continued to stay silent the entire time he sat there on his electric pole watching. Her eyebrows then furrowed as she gently brought her hands to her mouth, breathing warm air onto her whitened fingers. “Another day,” she exhaled softly, shaking her head. Her gaze was sad as she glanced back towards the dark clouds. “It’s been years.”

Years since what? 

“…What would you think of me now, Ty? Have I become ‘worthy’ in your eyes? Or am I still pathetic to you?” 

Crane froze.

A chilling, sad, and broken laugh reached his ears even through the rain. It was hard to believe that it was Tomoko’s voice. “Who am I to know? You’re gone. Yet why do I miss you?” She shook her head again, bitterly. “There’s no way to get an answer now. Not after so long.” Then there was a sniffle. Tomoko wiped at one of her eyes with her kimono sleeve, the black cloth coming back wet. “I’m horrible, huh, Ty?”

Crane’s fingers twitched through his armor.

“Crane,” the voice echoed forebodingly into his ear from his neckpiece. 

Crane paused, barely noticing his voice having deepened from the lack of breathing and the sudden surge of anger flowing through his veins until he spoke. “Yeah?”

“We have to go soon.”

Crane sighed, adjusting the volume of his voice with a turn of the dial around his choker. The mission. Right. “I know, Turtle, give me a minute.” His heart was pounding again, like his Uchiha self. The self that was yearning to be at Tomoko’s side, to hold her hand and hug her and tell her she wasn’t alone. “…She’s out in the cold again.”

“She’s what?” A pause. Turtle inhaled. “Again, huh?” A sigh then rang through his eardrums. “Star’s sads are horrible.” 

“K—Turtle. Can’t we do anything?” 

“Crane—”

“Listen to yourself, Crane.” Wolf’s voice this time crackled through his other ear. Jackass professional. “You know we don’t have time. As much as you want to, Hokage-sama’s orders are absolute. Dry up and get going.” 

“Do you even hear yourself?” Crane snapped, trying to hold back an exasperated huff to not alert anyone nearby of his presence. “It’s Star. She doesn’t stand out in the cold as fuck rain unless something’s wrong. And Moon’s on hospital shift today. For all that we know, Star’s alone.”

A pause followed again.

“She was talking about that guy again, Turtle,” Crane pleaded. “We have to do something.”

“…Wolf,” Turtle said finally, a tiny hitch in her voice, “I think we can spare a few minutes.”

There was a clicking of a tongue. “Five minutes,” Wolf acquiesced quietly, rustling over the line. “No more than that, Crane.”

“Thank you,” Crane huffed irritably, and his hands twitched while fumbling with his mask. Darn the rain for making everything slippery. “At least you’re not a total jackass.”

“I have my priorities straight,” Wolf interjected dryly, more rustling to signal a shake of his head. He paused, exhaling before admitting, “but you’re right. When the mission is done, we can all comfort Star if she needs it.”

“Good,” Turtle finished, a bit of pride leaking into her voice, “Crane, do your thing.”

The single crackle over his headset signaled the end of that conversation and Crane was left by himself on top of the electric pole again.

Tomoko sighed softly, closing her eyes and he took his chance. 

A single leap was all it took to stand in front of her, shielded from the rain by the awning, and years of chakra control training softened his step enough for her to not notice him. Instead, Tomoko kept her eyes closed as she pressed her hands together in front of her chest. 

“Mirror,” she sang quietly to herself, “tell me something. Tell me who’s the loneliest of them all.” 

The last bit of Crane’s reasoning finally snapped. 

He nearly threw off his mask when stepping forward, but he clasped onto whatever common sense was left inside to speak. “You’re not the loneliest of all.”

Tomoko’s eyes flew open and those soft pink lips opened to gape. Her big blue eyes were wide enough to reflect his image in the irises. “E-Eh?!” her voice shook, echoing in the quiet with that familiar high pitch of hers that spoke of her turbulent emotions. And indeed, there was no mistaking the hint of fear lacing her words. Of course. She hadn’t recognized him. “A-ANBU-san? When did you—” 

Crane shook his head, cutting her off while loosening the straps of his mask. “I’ve been here the entire time. And normally, I’d be Operative Crane, a ninja who can’t even talk with civilians. But I would’ve thought you’d know who it is behind the facade, considering you’re not running away.” 

Once the straps were off, he let the darn thing fall to the ground and Tomoko’s cheeks flushed pink from surprise. 

With Crane gone, Uchiha Obito grinned wryly in his place. “You make it really hard to go without worrying about you, Tomo-chan.”

“O-Obi?!” 

Obito couldn’t help himself. He only had five minutes after all. 

A single squeak was the last thing left between them as Obito lurched forward and captured Tomoko’s lips in a searing kiss. He didn’t even care that his armor was soaked through, that the wind was cold and that people could be staring. All that mattered was pushing that scum’s name out of his girlfriend’s mind, to erase whatever scars Tai left, even if it meant compromising his security. 

Obito had a promise to keep and he couldn’t do it as Crane. 

A moment passed and once the oxygen was running low, Obito gently nipped at Tomo-chan’s bottom lip in a quiet reprimand. It was enough to startle another, smaller squeak from her mouth as he pulled back. 

“O…Obito?” Tomo-chan inhaled shakily, cheeks flushed and lips now somewhat swollen from the kiss. Her red hoodie had long since fallen back to rest against her neck, probably from the force Obito used to push her back. Oops. He got too into it. “Don’t you have to go on a mission?” 

Awwww. Wait, no. 

She yelped once he leaned back in for a quick peck, her resolve wavering as fast as it came. “H-Hey!” 

Obito could faintly hear his headset crackle from microphone static in the back of his mind. Probably Turtle or Wolf. But that was Crane’s responsibility. Right now… 

“I do have to go, probably in the next minute or so,” he mumbled, a smile barely hanging onto his face. But Tomo-chan was still in his line of sight, looking up at him with those cute big blue eyes of hers, so Obito couldn’t help himself. He pressed a hand against the window to lean in, pressing a softer kiss to her forehead. “But don’t think you’re ever unworthy and horrible, Tomo-chan. You’re cute and I love you, so at least remember me before Tai.”

“Oh.” Tomoko’s eyes narrowed weakly at him in spite of the dark red staining her cheeks, her breath coming out in shaky puffs. “Y-You’re not going to bother remembering his name, are you?”

Obito grinned. “Nope!” He pressed one last lingering kiss to her lips. “I love you, Tomo-chan. Not him. He doesn’t deserve anything. And if you believe otherwise, I’ll come back and make sure you remember that.”

Tomoko could have easily resembled a tomato with how red she had turned in the span of a moment. She opened her mouth, letting out a funny noise akin to a small horse before nodding to herself and taking a breath. “G-Got it. Okay.” 

“Crane.” Wolf’s voice interrupted him through the intercom. “It’s time to go.”

Of course. Goddammit.

The moment Tomoko took to reorient herself was enough to give Obito time to take a step back to pick up his mask, snapping the straps back onto his head. Once he did, Tomoko raised her hand to gently wave at him. “I-I love you too, Mr. Crane.” Her smile was definitely exasperated but still all the more real. “Be safe.”

“The same to you, Ms. Star,” Crane said in Obito’s place, hiding his matching smile behind the white mask as he stepped out and back into the cold downpour. “Expect a visitor in the near future.”

A single leap and the pole was back underneath the soles of his sandals. Crane inhaled.

Obito could still feel his lips tingle from the moment.

“Mr. Crane?”

Crane paused. He swiveled his head back, and Tomoko was still smiling. “Do you and your guest like the piano?”

Crane tilted his head at her. “What do you think, Ms. Star?”

With that line said, he leapt away and the moment was over. It was time to get to work again.

By the time he reached the village gates where Wolf and Turtle were, Crane could’ve sworn he saw a twinkle in the sky. 

[ironjohnred]

Attraction

h/t @TRP gurus 

the extreme ends of a woman's sliding scale of attraction and revulsion. At both those ends, her feelings are independent of how much you love her. Only in the middle does it matter, and it can push her feelings either to the good end, or the bad end. That's what the man really needs to pay attention to.

When I say love, I ought to add I am not a huge fan of the word because one word includes so many different phenomena at work serving totally different goals -- these can basically be classified into either attraction or devotion. Attraction is ultimately a self serving thing even though it is the glue of a relationship. Devotion doesn't need a relationship to exist. Failure to distinguish the two can be fatal.

I think virtually every man has been in this situation where a woman isn't attracted to him anymore and expresses Stage 4 betaization behavior. The poor man responds by giving her more and more and it's never enough. I've been there too. The guy is left broken at the end, because he failed to realize a simple truth.

How much he loves her will never be enough, because it's not about that at all. How much she loves him, how much attraction and desire she has for him, how much she needs him, that's the real thing that matters.

Women and men love differently, Rollo observed it, we know it. Men are idealistic fools for love. They evaluate a woman only for sex and have to learn how to evaluate her for anything more. Nature binds us easily by giving our dick a huge head start over our brain. It takes years of getting one's ass kicked at times before the brain finally catches up.

Women love pragmatically and are always aware of their needs when choosing a man. Women disguise their true intentions with a simple trick. They claim they like someone who is nice to them, ties their shoelaces for her, makes her feel loved etc...they approve of the one who loves her. But look closely -- in this scenario the woman really only loves herself.

In this interaction she actually does not have any kind of pure desire to the man herself. Now go back and read all those social media messages and all their relationship advice on quora and Twitter and Facebook and reddit and the rest. Do you see the fine print in the contract now? If you see people who say they want someone who likes them, how much they like you isn't even in the picture. All these women talking about love do not talk about love, they talk about being loved.

Every single man who got into a relationship with one of these women realized the truth the hard way, but not many have figured out what really went wrong.

In the story of the lion that deserves gold IMHO, the lioness is initially attracted to the lion from the beginning and the lion just needs to work with that and escalate it. It was fine as long as he was just attracted to her. The problem starts the day the lion becomes comfy with the food she brings him. Soon he thinks he does the right thing by paying attention to all her needs, and it's only a matter of time before he's collared up, his claws trimmed, he's reduced to a helpless fat housecat and a pathetic shell of his former self. And the lioness now clearly likes herself and he's just a burden to her. He on the other hand has forgotten who he once was and is afraid of leaving.

A man given his sex drive, hardly needs to try to get attracted to a woman so his side of the story is a given. So that's another thing why your attraction to her is not really so important or urgent as you think. Nature does most of the work for you.

So let's say she says she loves someone who does anything like tying her shoelaces for her, the thing you ought to pay attention to is whether she actually wants to tie your shoelaces.

The men who failed tried their best to please their goddesses, but it was not enough because that was irrelevant to her - she was looking for her god. They were in fact supposed to be the ones loved. They did not realize they were actually supposed to be the gods their women wanted.

Anything she expects, turn it around and ask yourself if that's what she would voluntarily do for you and if your relationship is at that point at all. That'll show you the truth. Love only flows in the direction of giving.

The best thing to do is not to entertain these relationships with this unhealthy dynamic in the first place. Sniff it out when a person is only concerned about how they are loved and is only giving you the cupboard under the basement space in their lives. For these people, you're just there for their ride. There's no way they'll revere you no matter what you do, because if they did, they would try to fulfil your desires instead and take pride in it.

But if you are already in a relationship and the relationship gets into this dynamic where she only wants to get loved, but cannot love you, everything you do becomes just an expectation, not something special she ought to be grateful for. You fail to meet it, you get contempt. She says she needs more, you give more, it only raises the bar and increases her contempt. And downhill it goes.

She does need something more, she needs to love you. How much you love her is irrelevant. Time and again women say they love it when they are being loved and they say they're not being loved when they do not love you. Don't be fooled. When she's attracted to you, she can get wet without you even looking at her. A poster of you can do it. Get that into your skull. It dangerous for a woman to love herself so much it's no longer about you anymore.

When she's on full attraction mode towards you, you do not have to do anything. That's another reason why I say, your love for her can be irrelevant. Ideally you want to be at a point where anything you do for her is like God's causeless kindness that we are grateful for rather than an expectation of God being our slave (lots of people actually are religious with covert contracts too btw). That is a theoretical maximum and you need to get to as close as is humanly possible..

The higher your SMV (strength+looks+game+style+frame+status+money) gets, the less you need to try, and the more natural you can be

Time and again women go after jerks who don't treat them well not because they love the abuse but because regardless of how much he likes her, she likes him and is attracted to his SMV. It may be possible she is in some way addicted to the pain patterns too.

How much you love her is for her comfort basically. She wants to feel loved true. Part of it is that she gets turned on by your sexual desire for her, but that's attraction. The rest of your devotion is only for her comfort. There are men whose body, looks, inner fire, game, frame, body language, status, success and pre-selection popularity can stoke sexual attraction women on their own just by existing - so high is their SMV. You think they are falling and pleading and trying to please her even more for her to want them? They're not even trying.

Nevertheless I have observed that no matter how much a woman is attracted to you, she can't love without a covert contract. She does get into a relationship for her needs. Her attraction is at its purest when she loves you and you haven't yet noticed her. But the every now and then no matter how much she loves you she wonders how much she is being loved and her pain body awakens at these moments. You holding frame and presence is the only way out of that. But if you know the drill, you would know how to deal with that. You can read the best posts here and mrp and see how to take that to the end she really needs, no matter what she says.

You need a relationship for your needs so you get into one, so does she. As she gets into the relationship, it becomes more and more about her and less and less about you and as you bend down, she looks up and wonders where the original man went. Her needs keep increasing and you also think you're doing the right thing in complying. Unfortunately love only flows in the direction of giving. When she becomes too important to herself, pride and contempt develop. That's the end of it.

That is, if you let her.

Women's attraction is at it's purest when you're so hot she is dripping attraction for you and you might have not even noticed her. In any romance novel, it always goes like this - woman meeting a hot hero who's basically aloof in the beginning, but slowly warms up to her. A woman's attraction then escalates peaks at the exact moment she has won his heart and made her man's commitment exclusive to her. That's the climax. Everything after that is ... after the end. Or else the hero might die or leave around this point and she pines for him afterward. A man's attraction peaks at sex.

In old texts, it was said that separation is even greater than the Union in terms of intensity for a reason, it's vital to reacharge the attraction battery. The story of Krishna, possibly the greatest romantic hero who's probably the only character who has mastered polygamy, hypergamy and exclusivity is a masterpiece of the psychology of attraction. Read it yourselves. And ditto for many others. All of them are masters of the cycle of union followed by separation, to start a fresh cycle. While the women go through pretty much the entire emotional spectrum around them. These heroes are not really nice when they pull away, but it just make the women crave them more. Then they come back for the next round. These heroes also are a chick magnet, so they can play any and every kind of dread game imaginable. Krishna for one disappears exactly where he sees a bit of pride coming in, he reappears after causing enough dread. I was astonished at just how much they understood personality archetypes and the whole art of attraction thousands of years back.

Her attraction to you was all about you and her primal sexual desire to you. The expectations are all about her.

The good news is, You can totally make it about you again. By slowly and steadily, stage by stage making your life and relationships about you once more. That's dread at work.

And what to do when you're down the betaization slope? Well first of all, I now firmly believe that the winter phase of a relationship involving withdrawal is absolutely mandatory from time to time and needs to be created through the levels of dread one by one. Even when things are going well, this must happen. Because only a hungry starving person relishes food truly, not someone who's belly is full. The best water in the world is the one you find when you're in a desert and dying of thirst.

Giving less can slowly cause enough of a cut to make one hungry and allow that ego to shed some much needed weight. Dread is putting your woman's sollipsism on a cutting diet. Your attention is diet for her, and she needs just enough for her attraction to be fed such that it can grow and escalate, but never so much that her ego actually starts to put on weight.

A cycle of engagement needs to be followed by withdrawal back to the original state of attraction that made the relationship possible. To start another cycle than can lead to another climax. That's what the dread is about. Winter is absolutely needed for spring to appear again. Either you make your version of winter, or you'll see hers.

Dread is the now tamed balls-less cat going back to the proud lion he was. When you start going back there, don't think it will magically fix your relationship. It will show you the reality. If your woman still has real attraction for you, it will get better. Many folks have reported things getting astonishingly better. Their women are suddenly way less needy, even remorseful and you are important again. And you're hotter than before.

Or else you realize this relationship is already in the grave or was always about power and not attraction and it was just waiting for someone to read the obituary. But you will always benefit because nothing could be better for you ultimately than becoming the lion you once were, or never were.

So let's continue the lion story. One day the lion sees one of his rivals who was still wild. He walks proud and strong, the awe of the jungle. Everyone including his lioness admires him and makes derisive comparisons to him. His lioness ditched him for his rival and only comes in to throw some scraps on his plate and keep her conscience clear. That's when he remembers - he was once that lion. He sees his reflection in the water and cannot believe how he made someone so important he neglected himself till he was a pathetic housecat. Dread escalation is the lion slowly straining against the collar and loosening it, grinding the chain against the rocks until one day, it is weak enough to break. He throws off the collar and then his family notices. The day comes when everyone in the den knows that he is now walking away, and that induces fear and guilt in their conscience.

In the past, men made the rules and had options so they could afford to walk away or kick the woman out if she treated him badly. However, now with all the cards and laws stacked on the woman's side, most men really hesitate to implement dread. Until the relationship has gone so far that something breaks within, they've had it and don't have anything left to lose. They'd rather die single than die out of grief in their relationship.

So our hero the lion goes back to the wild and soon after exercising those rusty muscles and instincts, he soon gets back his mighty roar and is king again. He now remembers how carefree and fearless he had been and what he had given up for comfort. Soon he realises there are many lionesses who are attracted to him. But now he is not the same. He picks and chooses who he wants. He keeps them where they're attracted to him, but cannot put a collar over him again.

A realization dawns on the lion that he actually only needs her for sex and kids and some feminine decoration to the house. She had made him feel ashamed for it in the past, but it was the truth. By making her more important than that he became more dependent on her than what was needed. Sure hunting food took time and effort, but it kept him sharp and strong and self reliant. He was indeed capable of getting his needs as the whole jungle was available for him.

He had a nagging fear of death and loneliness, but he now knows he would have died sooner in captivity due to grief. He had lost the company of his fellow lions too - he runs into them and realises they too met a similar fate. He was more lonely in his own den than he had ever been in his glory days. Now those fears are gone. He totally can walk out from those who ill treat him, because he knows the true value of what he is giving them and because he knows he'll be ok whatever happens. He does not fear death now, because in a way, he already died and was reborn good as new, but wiser.

The man who has awakened is aware of his greatest gift, he can love both up and down. He can look down and love those beneath him, but they cannot. He can love them with little effort and offer them the life he leads, but if they do not love him, his love for them is ultimately worthless.

Which way is the energy flowing?

Never forget that lion story.

the three stages of a relationship can be summarized as

1) "Don't ever change!” This is during the initial Attraction stage, where she will do double monkey backflips for you and the sex is spontaneous, frequent and passionate.

2) "I'm changing him.” This is after the novelty has worn off a little bit, and where the familiarity is beginning to breed the contempt. When she remarks to her girlfriends or co-workers about changing him, what she really means is that she's training him. The is where all the "free love" starts to give way to a more mercenary and transactional nature. Sex still happens (sometimes) if you mowed the lawn, took out the garbage, painted the living room, took her car in for an oil change, or took her out to a nice restaurant and sat through a chick flick marathon. This is when the collar gets fitted and the claws get trimmed, if not removed entirely.

3) "You've changed!" This is the terminal stage. The familiarity has fully given way to contempt. She suddenly needs more "girl's night out" or has to "work late on an important project". You've gone months without so much as a halfway passionate kiss, let alone anything beyond that. Maybe you've slept on the couch for the past several months. The King still lives in his castle, but he is King in name only. Think of Arthur's Knights of the Round Table, all whispering behind their hands about Guenevere and Lancelot.

I've lived the life of the lion. Pretty much every aspect of that story happened. At first, things with the ex-fiancé were exactly like the Disney fairy tales. Everything went well enough for a while, but the happily ever after never happened. I started putting her first. Jumping through every hoop, taking care of every little thing, but the collar came out - and after a while, I realized the collar was going to turn into a hangman's noose.

To an outside observer, things were picture perfect: two 20 somethings with decent jobs, both names on the lease for the apartment, both of our names on the car titles, checking and savings accounts, you name it. We were together on paper, but all the physicality disappeared shortly after we started shacking up - funny how that works, isn't it?

That was the absolute worst kind of loneliness I've ever experienced, and like the lion in the story, I was lost and miserable. I finally hit the eject button. It just about killed me to walk away from her . . . but I have no doubt it would have killed me for sure to stay.

the one who invests the least in the relationship is ALWAYS the one controlling the relationship.

Dread is putting your woman’s solipsism on a cutting diet

[shiningamongdarkness]

Chapter 30. I'll do it myself

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX

Chapter 30. I'll do it myself 

After that failed encounter, Damien did not return to the convention center. Instead, he went straight to the hotel. He did not do it with a specific reason or plan but by pure reflex. It was still a couple of hours before the event officially ended, so he was not surprised when he arrived at the Presidential Suite they had reserved, to see that there was no trace of Ann or any of her aides. He sat down in one of the armchairs in the small room and waited, his back to the door. He did nothing else. He didn't turn on the TV, didn't check his phone (had actually turned it off), he didn't drink or eat anything. He just sat there, staring into absolute nothingness as he tried to process everything that had happened. He would hope that after time it would end up calming down a bit, but it did not. In fact, the longer he waited, the more anger he became. But his annoyance was not towards Abra; she was perhaps the person with whom he could least feel anger at the moment.

 Thinking in Abra was the only thing that managed to distract his mind a little from the rest that bothers him. He was tempted to look further, to look for her and see if she was okay. However, he forced himself to put that idea aside. In his condition, it was highly likely that he could lose control and do more than just "look at her," and that idea didn't appeal to him at the moment.

 He didn't know exactly how much time passed, but it had been less than two hours, he was sure of that. The door of the suite opened, and several different types of footsteps entered through it, which stopped a few seconds later, possibly when they distinguishing his black hair and white nape, protruding above the back of the sofa. He did not turn to see them, but he did not need to do so to know who they were.

 "Damien," he heard his Aunt Ann's voice exclaim in surprise and annoyance. "Can you tell me where you got all this time?" The woman hurriedly walked to him. It didn't take long for her to get into his range of vision, right on the left corner. She was staring at him hard. "Did you forget that you should be with me at the conference? And we were going to have dinner with the other CEOs invited." Then she glanced quickly at her small wristwatch. "If we hurry, we could still catch them at the restaurant."

 Damien did not reply; he didn't even deign to look at her at all.

At the door were members of her security and Ann's assistants, including Veronica. They were all standing there, staring at him with the latent doubt of even having permission to lift a finger. Having suddenly appeared there in the room had surely surprised, not to say frightened them. He could feel all their fear flowing from them and permeating him like it was slimy, sticky air.

 He was sickened by that feeling.

 An intense feeling of hatred for all of them was abruptly born. He wished everyone would jump off the balcony and crash their heads on the pavement. But that would end up attracting too much attention; even in his anger, he was cold enough to process it that way.

 "Leave us alone," Damien snapped without looking at them yet. No one moved. Then he stood abruptly and turned to them, his eyes almost alight with fire. "Didn't you listen to me? All of you get out of here! Now!!"

 His voice echoed with great force, echoing off the walls of the suite; Even Ann, who was the only one there who had remained calm, couldn't help but startled at the sudden reaction.

 The guards and assistants immediately rushed to obey, leaving one by one through the door. Veronica, on the other hand, stood motionless in her place, glancing at the others.

 "You too, lapdog," Damien yelled scornfully. "Leave now!"

 Veronica was overwhelmed. Out of instinct, she looked to Ann for guidance. Ann looked askance at her and nodded her head slightly, signaling her to obey. Veronica lowered her gaze, as if embarrassed, and followed the others out, the last one, so she closed the door behind her.

 Now Damien and Ann were alone. Anyone would be terrified enough to be in her place, but Ann Thorn remained cool; at least, it seemed so on the outside.

 "Now, what's the matter with you?" She questioned him calmly. "You run away from me without saying anything, you make a fool of me, and you're the anger one? Could I know what the reason is?"

 Damien still didn't look directly at her.

 Then he went without saying anything to the small bar of the suite, opening the showcase behind which were the bottles of alcohol. Without much thought, he took a bottle of whiskey.

 "You can't drink that," Ann said scolding. "You are a minor."

 Damien chuckled wryly, yet indifferent to such an absurd warning. He ignored it entirely and poured some of the liquid from the bottle into a low, wide glass. He actually served too much, so much so that it overflowed from the glass, beginning to create a puddle around it on the bar counter. Still, he kept serving and serving, making the puddle bigger, and even spilling down the banks to the ground. He didn't stop until the bottle was completely empty.

 Ann witnessed such an act, silent.

 "Do you have any idea how expensive that bottle is?"

 "Do you have any idea how little I care?" The boy finally answered her in a curt tone, but at least it was an answer. He capped the bottle again, placed it hard against the bar with an annoying roar, and then took the glass that was full to bursting, and took a long drink of it. He didn't stain a bit and didn't even blink, like it was just water. Once he took that drink, he lowered the glass again, and at last, looked straight at her, with a defiant attitude in his blue eyes, which felt even threatening. "Does the expression 'The Shining' ring a bell in you?"

 Ann shrugged her shoulders.

 "Not a bit. Is it a movie or something like that?"

 Damien laughed again. He stood behind the bar, staring intently at the glass in his hand. It wasn't so full anymore, but it still had enough of the expensive liquid.

 "I met a girl this afternoon," he began to explain. "A girl who can do unusual and inexplicable things. Things like the ones I can do, and even others that I can't."

 "What?" Ann exclaimed, stunned. "A girl? What a Girl?"

 "That doesn't matter a damn." The threatening tone in Damien's voice increased considerably. He took another drink, similar to the previous one. "This girl could read minds, move things without touching them and, according to what she told me, see places and people even if they were far away. Isn't that weird, auntie? Because Adrian, Lyons, you, and all your damn Brotherhood, have spent all my life telling me how special and unique I am. That I was blessed with abilities beyond a human to fulfill my destiny. And that I am protected by my father, Satan himself in person, to do so." He stood to bolt upright. His face took on an almost uncontrollable fury, and he pointed angrily towards the windows, spilling some of the whiskey that remained in the glass. "And now it turns out that there are more people out there who can do the same as me?!"

 Despite the outbursts, Ann tried to remain calm. When he raised his voice, she couldn't help but wince but managed to control herself. Even so, she needed a few moments to clarify herd ideas and be able to respond to something tangible.

 "Things are not like that..." Ann whispered slowly.

 "You knew it?" Damien asked demandingly, stepping out from behind the bar and heading straight for her. "Did you all already know and hide it from me all this time?"

 Damien stood directly in front of her, and Ann had to hold her breath for a second.

 "Yes," the woman replied, trying to sound confident, "we know there are people in this world who can do unusual things. But none of them is like you. They are simple rarities of nature, and you are an envoy from beyond this world; a chosen one of much higher forces..."

 "Or maybe not," he snapped, pointing accusingly at her. "Maybe I'm just some other guy who can do some elaborate tricks, and I was the one that fit the image that the three of you had of their supposed 'Antichrist.' And so you decided to pull me into all this charade to keep your group of worshipers happy and faithful."

 "No, nothing like that," Ann answered immediately and without question. "Don't say those things. Our faith is not a charade. Our faith in you has never been more real and stronger..."

 By mere reflex, the woman raised her hands and placed them on the boy's arm, but he immediately rejected her.

 "Don't touch me!" He yelled at her, shoving her with one hand, knocking her off balance, and tumbling onto the couch.

 Ann began to breathe slowly, seized with fear and worry, which gradually broke her shell, always covered with coldness and strength.

 "If I have hidden some things to you, it has been for your good. Everything is part of the bigger plan..."

 "You got me sick of your fucking bigger plan!" Damien growled with great force and then threw the glass in his hand toward the wall with all his might. The glass was shattered by the blow, and the pieces, along with the whiskey residue left in it, were scattered everywhere. Ann winced at herself helplessly. "Every damn breath I've given since the age of five has been planned, calculated, and watched over. And for what? Tell me! For what?! My parents, my uncle Richard, Mark... What have all these sacrifices really been for? This is all just fake!"

 "Not..." Ann whispered very slowly, unable to lift her face.

 "Either you're a liar who cheats on all these guys, or you're another incredulous like them. I don't know which option seems less pathetic to me."

 "No, no…"

 Ann dropped abruptly from the chair and walked as close as she could, even crawling towards him, intending to place herself at his feet.

 "Get those thoughts away from you. There can't be doubt in your actions, my Lord." She wanted to strike her forehead against the boy's feet, but he immediately took a step away. She just stayed on the floor, her long dark hair falling over her face. "You are here to open the door to a new world, to fulfill a destiny so great that we would not even be able to understand..."

 "Shut up..." Damien muttered, growing increasingly angry.

 "You are above everything and everyone, including those pathetic mundanes you speak of. They are stupid and ignorant of the real way. Don't look for your equals among them, there are none. You are our Crimson Prince, our guide and teacher..."

 "Shut up, I told you!" He bent down suddenly, taking her by the neck and lifting her just a little, enough to force her to look up and see her in the eyes. "If you say one more word...!"

 Anna's eyes were teary and fearful. Her makeup had smeared a little, even her lipstick, which was always red and perfect.

 "My life is yours, my Lord," she began to sob slowly, running her hands over her torso and taking her clothes as if she wanted to rip them off. "I've always belonged to you. If what you want is my death, you only have to ask for it, and I'll gladly please you with it..."

 The eyes of Ann Thorn, of her supposed aunt-in-law, suddenly overflowed with fervent and almost intoxicating excitement, which left Damien paralyzed. There was no such fear springing from her, but an almost insane devotion that brought Damien confused images to his mind. Images of wild beasts, of blood and fire, and her aunt at the center of everything being consumed, with that same expression of satisfaction.

 Damien felt disgusted and suddenly dizzy. He released her, pushing her to the side and causing her to fall onto her left side. The boy advanced towards the bar again and leaned against the bar to avoid falling too. He looked attentively at the mirror of the bar in front of him, admiring his own reflection, which was difficult for him at the time. His hair was misaligned, his tie was gone along with Abra, and his eyes looked like those of a complete madman. How could that guy in the mirror be him? How could he have lost control of the situation so quickly?

 He breathed slowly, inhaled through the nose, exhaled through the mouth. Little by little, the ideas were getting together again.

 "How many more are there?" He snapped suddenly without taking his eyes off the mirror. "How many more are there who can do these things?"

 Ann leaned on her hands, lifting her body slightly off the ground, but still staying most of it.

 "I don't know," she replied as a small distant lament. "We've only come across a few over the years... but none is like you."

 Damien took one last deep breath. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to accommodate it as best as possible.

 "We'll see about that," he said dryly, and immediately walked to one of the suite's rooms. "I'll discover the truth myself, even if it has to pass over you."

 He entered the room, slamming the door behind him, and disappearing from his aunt's sight.

 Ann lay on the floor, looking agitatedly toward the closed door of the room. Instead of trying to get up, she sank down onto the soft mat completely. She was unable to move. Her whole body shuddered, as thousands of ants running through her skin. She needed a second, just a second, to try to regain her strength again. And then she could be the perfect, firm, and fierce woman who always kept control of everything. She just needed one more second...

 They were both so engrossed in that heated conversation that neither of them realized that they were not entirely alone. Despite the potential threat, Veronica couldn't help but stay close enough to listen from behind the door. She couldn't hear everything, but she could listen to it enough to feel worried... and very disturbed...

* * * *

 Someone knocked on the door of the study, and Damien's fingers stopped moving on the computer keyboard. He stared thoughtfully at the screen for a moment, not recognizing for an instant the last three paragraphs of his essay, as if it were something someone else had written. It took only a moment longer to completely let go of his previous obsession, and thus return to that place and time.

 "Come in," he exclaimed loud enough for the person on the other side to hear him.

 One of the security men peered carefully into the study, showing only about half of his body from behind the white door.

 "Mr. Thorn, your guest has arrived," the man informed him stoically and muffled.

 Damien smiled. He nodded in agreement, and the man quickly opened the door wide, moving to one side as well, clearing the way for the person who had just arrived.

 He was a tall man with a stocky build; dark skin, long black hair, held in several braids that fell back and protruded from behind the nape of his neck. Her face was adorned by two brown eyes, cold as ice. Around his mouth, he wore a trimmed circle beard. His clothes, however, were not as good-looking as the rest of him. On top of everything, he was wearing a heavy and thick beige-green jacket, with a wide hood that fell towards his back at those moments. Beneath this jacket, a white tank top peeked out, revealing part of his muscular pecs. At the bottom, he wore blue jeans, somewhat discolored, and old work boots.

 His appearance, especially her face, was anything but friendly. His expression was harsh and aggressive, like someone looking for the right guy on the street to put up a fight, just for the pleasure of it. His posture was also very defensive and waiting; even his fists were kept tight and hanging at his sides.

 As soon as he caught sight of him sitting behind that desk, it seemed as if all that biting he carried became even more intense. The boy, however, was not intimidated or also interested in such an attitude at all. In fact, he smirked and leaned back against his chair in a relaxed way.

 "Oh, James," Damien exclaimed playfully, rocking a little in his chair from back to front. "I was waiting for you. Please, come in."

 The man at the doorway arched his lips in annoyance but still entered the study with heavy steps. Two of the security men came behind him and perched in front of the door with their hands clasped in front.

 "Leave us alone," Damien instructed them, however, making both men feel a bit confused. Surely they weren't comfortable leaving him alone with a stranger with that evident attitude. Still, Damien didn't care about their comfort. "Now, didn't you hear me?"

 The two guards looked at each other, and soon after they left the study as they had been ordered. They closed the door behind them, and the whole room was covered at that moment with deep and absolute silence. The newcomer stood in the middle of the study, his shoulders stiff, and his intense gaze on the boy.

 Damien kept smiling as if all this seemed somehow comical.

 "Take a seat," he indicated, extending his hand to one of the chairs in front of the desk. The man stood perfectly still in his place. "I understand... How is Mabel, by the way? Has she felt better?"

 That mention did not help to lessen the bad mood that his guest already brought with him as soon as he entered.

 "What do you want?" The man exclaimed, in a low voice and a pounding tone. "Why did you call me to this... place?"

 The man, possibly named James, looked around with disdain, and even some disgust.

 "You say it so disparagingly," Damien said ironically. "And I was hoping that you would like to visit a nice place for a change. Compared to that trailer where you spend your time..."

 "I'm not your dog, you stupid rube," James muttered immediately. "I'm not going to come to you every time you snap your fingers."

 Damien laughed, small but loud. He then moved forward, causing the chair to straighten. He propped his elbows on the desk and leaned his body forward. His eyes regarded his visitor with the cordiality that one would look at an old friend who had not been there for a long time.

 "Yes, you will," he whispered perfectly normally, with no apparent threat in his voice. With no apparent. "Because, in case you haven't noticed yet, you and your girl belong to me now. You are still alive only because I allow you to. So, if I tell you to come before me, you will, and preferably as soon as possible. Is it clear?"

 Those words made something explode inside that man. His breath hitched heavily, and his fists clenched even more. But even so, he continued without moving from his place... as if he was afraid to take even one more step towards him.

 "But relax," Damien exclaimed, his tone mischievous, and then he pulled his chair back a little, and bent down as if searching for something under the desk. "If you do, you'll soon learn that I can be a nice master..."

 Then he picked up a thick gray briefcase and placed it on the flat surface of the table so that he could see it. He turned it so that the side on which it opened was facing his visitor. He opened the locks, and lifted the lid, revealing what it contained: three thermoses, or what appeared to be three thermoses. They were similar to those used to hold coffee, large and with a fully metallic and shiny body. They were placed on a black foam base, just in shape.

 As soon as he saw them, James couldn't stop his anger from fading, even a little, and giving way to a huge surprise.

 "That's…?" He murmured, almost stammering. His body trembled slightly, like that of an addict getting a free dose in front of his face. "How…?"

 Damien shrugged impassively.

 "When I know what to look for, it's easy for me to find it. Now, do you want to take a seat?"

 Little by little, James recovered from his initial amazement and returned to the old aggressive posture of before.

 "I could crush your head and take them away in a second," he threatened sharply.

 Damien laughed a little again, now with even more irony. He leaned back against his chair, crossed his legs a little, and crossed his fingers in his lap, in an attitude so relaxed that it was even infuriating.

 "Do you seriously want to try it?" He whispered defiantly, looking at him closely. James was looking at him too, straight in the eyes as if expecting him to bend with his single glance and duck with submission. Damien, however, did not do such a thing. He continued in the same position, with the same countenance, and with the same attitude; in fact, it was James who was gradually looking more... nervous. In the end, he was unable to hold his gaze and ended up turning away, as if embarrassed. Damien smirked. "Take... a seat…"

 That last suggestion no longer sounded as kind as the previous ones; now, there did seem to be a bit of a threat in his tone. James held his breath for a second. He walked with a bit of haste towards one of the chairs and sat on it, all without looking directly at it. Even when he was already seated, he preferred to have his attention fixed on the briefcase and its very, very engaging content.

 "Better," Damien exclaimed proudly. Then he took the briefcase and slid it aside so that it was not between them; James stared after it as it moved. "I need you to do a job for me. There is a woman I asked for another job. She is in charge of finding and bringing me two people. She's efficient, but somewhat emotional and tends to get into some trouble. I need you to watch her and give her a hand. But only if you see it necessary because it is important to me that she carries out her work herself."

 "And why are you asking me that?" James questioned, almost as if an insult had been fired at his face. "Why don't you ask some of the guys out there? Or to one of the thousands of your followers?"

 "They aren't my followers," said the boy with some disinterest. "They are just followers of an idea. But don't get me wrong, they are quite useful when required. But I want you to do this." Then he pointed directly at him with his index finger. "You aren't like them, and right now, I want to surround myself with more people like you. Also, I think you'll love to meet this woman I am talking about. I just hope your girl doesn't get jealous."

 Damien laughed a little, but James didn't even blink.

 "But, so you can see that my intentions are good and fair..." He stretched out his right hand towards the briefcase and took one of the thermoses inside. Then he held it out to James, placing it right in front of him. By mere apparent reflection, the dark-skinned man leaned back a little, almost as if the object frightened him, but at the same time looking at it with fervent admiration. "You can take one, and the others when you do your duty. Come on, you know you want it..."

 James looked at the container in silence. Did he want it? Of course, he did. But he knew very well what it would mean to take it: he would be selling his soul to the Devil... Although, he possibly had already done it a long, long time ago.

 He raised his trembling hand and firmly took hold of the metal thermos; the surface felt cold.

 Part of his forearm peeked out from under the sleeve of his jacket, from which a few small light spots protruded slightly on his dark skin. James immediately pulled his arm back and covered his sleeve again, with remarkable apprehension.

 "Good boy," Damien murmured in a mocking tone, which James was not really amused by. "Cheer up, from now on, we are going to have a lot of fun..."

 James did not answer anything; it wasn't that he really had anything to say or object to.

 He had said it: now they belonged to him.

— — — —

 Once again, Eleven found herself in that dark, silent, infinite space. Once again, she felt surrounded by that immense loneliness, which she had not managed to get used to despite the passing of the years. In that place, in that hidden corner of her mind, she was able to see and hear everything, if she knew in what direction to look. Almost always, she had a guide at her disposal to show the way. It could be a photograph, a place, a face, or an idea. On that occasion, however, her only guide was a name: Abra.

 She spent too long prowling in those dark corners without encountering anything. For a moment, she thought that if she stayed longer than should, she would lose her mind, and perhaps would be unable to go out again. Even so, she kept walking, chasing any distant echoes that called to her, any figure that moved in the shadows, guided by any sensation that ran through her skin.

 She felt exposed on more than one occasion. She had learned in a bad way that being there was also like opening a door or turning on a bright light that could end up attracting someone... or something. But this time, Eleven was not afraid of the monsters that roamed the corners of the world, waiting for a moment of carelessness to make their way towards her plane. She was not scared of human-eating creatures, of entities that possessed your body or consumed your soul, of demons, ghosts, or monsters. Her only fear was that boy who had appeared out of nowhere, and had shaken her head and moved everything inside like a bag of marbles.

 Eleven feared the mysterious attacker who had made such an insufferable impression on her and Matilda. She feared an unknown enemy, strong enough to do them great harm.

 She did not know if spending so much time on that plane left her equally exposed to him. Still, ignorance of it did not help provide security either, quite the opposite.

 (Abra, Abra, where are you? Who are you? What relationship do you have with him?)

 Total ignorance of who she was looking for was also a source of fear.

 What if she was intentionally getting into the wolf's mouth? What if that person, whoever she was, was like that individual... or even worse?

 (Abra, Abra, where are you? Who are you? Why do I feel like I need to meet you? Why do I feel we need you…?)

 "Brownie!" Suddenly she heard a voice echo like a loud crash behind her, causing her to unbalance and almost fall. "Mom is going to kill you if she sees you again on the couches!"

 It was the voice of a young woman, or so it seemed to her. Slowly, she began to turn on her feet, almost fearful and doubtful of what she would see as soon as she turned. However, she saw no monsters or threats: just a young woman, squatting with her back to her, talking to a cute little brown four-legged creature on a green tapestry chair. They both glowed as if they had their own light through all that blackness.

 The small animal leaped from the armchair towards the young woman's spleens, and she received it with pleasure.

 "Come, little one. You are a good boy," she murmured in a tone much more loving and soft than her initial scream. She stood with the animal restrained with one arm, while with her other hand, she subtly caressed its head. Then she turned a little in her direction.

 The girl was a bit older than Eleven had thought, but she had an innocent face, with rosy cheeks and discreet blonde curls falling on it. She reminded for an instant of her own daughter, her Terry, the smallest and most innocent of the three, with her eyes lit like suns and all the wonders that the world can offer reflected in them. Eleven couldn't help but smile at her image and presence. It conveyed to her a singular sense of tranquility, one that she really needed to feel in those moments.

 But that only lasted a short moment.

 Abruptly, and without any prior warning of this, the girl turned her face directly and sharply towards her, nailing her blue eyes, which had now taken on a much more aggressive feeling. Eleven was a little startled; she wasn't looking at something else through or behind her, she was looking at her, there was no doubt about it.

 (Who are you?)

 The young woman murmured with demand, but also with a certain trace of fear. 

 (Get out of me!)

 Before she could say anything or even think about it, Eleven felt her breath short, and a sensation similar to being pushed hardback. She had felt it before with other Shine ones, but not with that intensity. If she had wanted, perhaps she could have resisted, but in reality, she did not put up much resistance. She allowed her to push her away, and just let herself be carried away by the tide of thought.

 The image of that young woman and her dog was moving away, or perhaps she was the one moving. In that space, the difference really didn't matter.

 Her eyes widened suddenly, being back in her study; back home. She inhaled hard, then began to exhale slowly. She quickly withdrew her headphones, rested her hands against the desk, and gradually allowed her mind to relax.

 Was she Abra? If it wasn't, it still had to be someone with a pretty impressive Shining; she took her completely off guard. But even so, it was not like that guy. But not so much for its power or capacity, but rather for the sensation conveyed to her. Yet among all that aggressiveness she felt at the end, she could feel a bright and warm light...

 Then she felt a slight headache... and discomfort in her nose.

 She reached out and lit the lamp on her desk. The first thing she saw left her practically paralyzed for a long time. On the desk was the paper on which she had written the name ABRA. However, in addition to the name, there was something else decorating the paper: two imperfect red circles.

 She put her fingers to her nose, more as a requirement than anything else since she already knew what she would touch from before doing it. Indeed, her nose bled again.

 While putting on a handkerchief to stop the bleeding, she tried not to really think about it, but it was practically impossible. It had happened again; it was already twice in two days, after not having happened in years. Had that girl caused it? She doubted it; the push she had given her hadn't really been that intense. Had her meeting the day before left her exhausted? Perhaps she should not have gone too far after such an unpleasant experience.

 It must be that. She just needed a little rest, not using her powers for a couple of days, and everything would be fine.

 It must be that because the other options... were unthinkable.

 Eleven looked at the piece of paper again. One of the drops of blood had fallen right in the name, right between the "B" and the "R," like a horrible omen.

END OF CHAPTER 30

Author's Notes:

—The character of James is an original character of my creation but is based on the context of one of the works involved in this story. Some may have already guessed which one, but if not, it will be explained in more detail later.

[wilhelmjfink]

Ashes to Ashes

Summary: What goes through your mind when you’re losing the one person you thought was invincible? Daryl wasn’t supposed to die -- what were you supposed to do without the one anchor that carried you through life as you knew it?

A/N: Here’s a super depressing one-shot for y’all.

This one really tore open some old wounds so sorry to anyone who damn near cried reading this as hard as I did writing it :)

Daryl x Reader

Song: Ashes of Eden - Breaking Benjamin

~

Will the faithful be rewarded

When we come to an end?

Will I miss the final warning

From the lie I have lived?

They always said it happened so fast — the shot rang out, deafening your senses and vibrating your skull like a jackhammer inside your head. You felt it deep down in your bones, and there was no slow-motion, dramatic falling where he grasped at the newly formed wound on his chest, looking then to his bloodied hands in shock as if he didn’t just get shot near point blank before falling to his knees, gasping for air.

One, two, three. You screamed, the guy fired, Daryl fell. So, no: it was nothing like they’d said.

Not that anything could have prepared you for it, anyway; even if all of those things had happened right before you just as dramatic as everyone had made it out to be, you surely would have still been standing there, motionless, unable to act or think or breathe as the world continued chugging right on by with no consideration for you or your feelings. Even the subsequent gunshot wasn’t enough to jolt you back to life. You could’ve been the one that had gotten shot that second time and you were positive you wouldn’t have even noticed.

Is there anybody calling?

I can see the soul within

And I am not worthy

I am not worthy of this

Rick has shot the stranger dead and he lay at your feet, all trace of life gone and you didn’t even spare him a glance. His life meant nothing to you; maybe he had a family somewhere out there that he was just trying to provide for, just like you all were doing, but you didn’t care at all, because all you knew for sure that this man had taken away the one fucking thing that you had left in this new world.

Are you with me after all?

Then why can’t I hear you?

In the seconds that followed you found yourself on your knees by his side, not bothering to unbutton your flannel before tearing it off your arms and over your shoulders, then pressing it down into the wound above his stomach in hopes of staunching the blood flowing generously from it.

“You’re okay,” was all you could muster up and you were angry at yourself for sounding so weak, so timid and unsure. You stared at your trembling hands as they began to disappear into the sea of red before you, unable to bring yourself to look at his face, knowing damn well what you’d see in those eyes. “You’re okay, you’re okay...”

“Y/N.” It was Rick who had appeared at your side, standing tall over you protectively, eyes wide as he took in his brothers condition. “Y/N, come here...”

But before he could finish his aimless instructions Daryl forced himself to speak on his own behalf: “No. Stay. I won’t...”

You whipped around furiously to look at him, prepared to chew him out for his pessimism but you knew instantly that Rick actually agreed with him when you felt his hand on your shoulder and your ability to speak left you entirely; so you stared down at Daryl, your mouth hanging open dumbly, a blank expression, shock leaving you a vacant shell of a human being.

Are you with me through it all?

Then why can’t I feel you?

“Y/N,” Daryl tried to get through to you but it didn’t sound like him, didn’t feel like him, and you didn’t trust it was actually him. It was too far away — or maybe that was you that was drifting off into space. It hardly looked like him at that point, pale skin slick with sweat, blue tinted lips as dark red blood trickled out of the side of his mouth — that was what sent you over, you think, and suddenly Rick had his strong hands gripped around your wrists as he gently coerced them away from the drenched fabric you’d been pinning to Daryl’s chest. You felt like stone, heavy and frozen solid in shock, unable to move any extremity for fear of it snapping at the joint like a twig. So you felt robotic as Rick moved you, going through the motions like you were being controlled by strings at the hands of a wicked puppeteer. You were shaking so visibly hard that you felt you might be sick if you’d had any concept of self left; you were simply watching some poor, pathetic girl kneeling beside her best friend as he slowly bled out right before her eyes, pitying her as she struggled to keep up with the events playing out before her, despite having gone through it dozens of times. This time was different. This time, she was shaken to her core, an absolute storm breaking inside her chest that shook her soul like it was crashing against violent waves of the dark ocean. A vast, open emptiness that had her feeling confused, lost, terrified, angry. Things that you should’ve been feeling, but oddly enough, couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Stay with me, don’t let me go

Because there’s nothing left at all

Absentmindedly you situated yourself so that you could hold him and allow him to rest his head on your lap, relishing the warmth he emitted, allowing the familiar sensations to return some form of life to your body at least for the time being. The way his smelled — cigarettes and leather and gunpowder. It had your mind falling back into older times, earlier days where you might have lay the same exact way then for entirely different purposes with an outcome that didn’t leave your heart feeling like an earthquake had shattered it into pieces, the aftermath full of devastating tremors that leave a path of destruction in its wake still to come.

His bright eyes had faded, desaturated to a slate, a dull grey where the calming blue seas you used to lose yourself in had been. The eyes you always found your comfort in; your stability, your fucking home. They were there, looking up at you full of something unidentifiable that you couldn’t determine. Fear. Worry. Of course, as he lay still in your arms fighting for breath he was still worried about you. He was clinging to life for you. Somehow, that made you feel even worse.

Stay with me, don’t let me go

Until the ashes of Eden fall

“Please,” you whispered softly to him as if he had a choice in the matter. The way his messy hair felt intertwined in your fingertips was different this time and you hated it, but simply couldn’t bring yourself to let go. “Please, Daryl...”

Will the darkness fall upon me

When the air is growing thin?

A single teardrop snaked its way down to your cheek and he brought up a tired, shaking hand to wipe it away, the familiar feeling of his rough calloused fingers brushing your skin same as it had always been despite the circumstances.

You averted your eyes then, unable to fight off the dam that burst anymore, toppling over the edge of the waterfall in your little barrel as you thrashed the entire way down. It was a mistake to let out the first sob that racked your body because it snowballed quickly into incoherent babbling, unable to contain the crippling pain that was taking over your entire being. You felt ridiculous the way you broke down, sure you looked just as insane, not wanting his last memories to be of you crying like a newborn. But you knew he wouldn’t care, and that was the last thing in his mind.

Will the light begin to pull me

To its everlasting will?

“Hey.” Daryl’s voice was weak, but then it sounded just like him; it was bittersweet because the feeling you got from the familiarity was warm and comforting whereas the reality looming threateningly overtop of you was cold, hostile and unforgiving. The only thing that was keeping you anchored to sanity was the weight of his head in your lap as he looked up at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you did, you held your breath, hoping the stifle your cries just long enough to say your goodbyes. “No cryin’. ‘Member wha’ we talked ‘bout...”

You shook your head at him even though you knew what he meant because you simply didn’t want to believe it all was all actually happening. You had talked about it. Numerous times, really. It was something to be taken very seriously nowadays for obvious reasons such as this: it was inevitable. But discussing the what-to-do’s didn’t make it any easier; it was so much easier said than done and that was taking into consideration that even talking about it had left you in tears more than once. He didn’t want to leave you — fuck, you knew that for sure, but he still was, and you’d promised him you’d carry on for him. But now that the moment has actually arrived you knew you wouldn’t ever be able to consider a life without him in it. Those promises were destined to be empty and meaningless, just like you were.

I can hear the voices calling

There is nothing left to fear

And I am still calling

I am still calling for you

“Gotta be strong fer me.”

“I can’t,” you squeaked out, your resolve crumbling pathetically along with any remaining desire to contain yourself. “I can’t, D. I need you.”

“Ya’ll be alright.”

“No, I won’t!” You hasn’t meant to bite it out so harshly but you couldn’t help it, irritated that he was able to so calmly say that you wouldn’t be a mess without him — that you wouldn’t fall apart at the seams without him by your side. “I can’t do this without you, I need you, I — I can’t...”

“Stop,” he interjected, his hand fumbling blindly until it found yours cupping the side of his head. His touch sent electricity through your senses and you almost wanted to tear it away, afraid to feel, knowing that the pain of missing him and everything he gave you was already far too great and he hadn’t even left you yet. “C’mon, girl. Promise me. Gotta be strong...”

You could tell he wanted to say something else but his voice broke off and he coughed told you he was struggling, his breathing becoming more labored and the iron grip around your heart and lungs tightening until you yourself couldn’t breathe anymore. You wanted to promise. But you couldn’t; your mouth went dry and your tongue was like sandpaper and you forgot everything you knew about communicating until his eyes seemed to get heavy and he allowed them to flutter shut for just a second...

Are you with me after all?

Then why can’t I hear you?

But it was a second too long for you: “Daryl?!” You shifted beneath him, terrified of facing the inevitable, thankful when he blinked his eyes back open, but still teetering in the edge of hysteria and only hurting more so from the small scare he had just given you. “Don’t leave me. Please, please don’t leave me!”

Are you with me through it all?

Then why can’t I feel you?

A faint smile ghosted his lips and you swore you heard him exhale a breathy laugh. “Y’ain’t never needed anyone ‘fore.”

“Before I met you,” you corrected him, cradling yourself down closer to him as you could literally feel the life slipping away from him. You didn’t know if it was your heart pounding in your ears that had your head throbbing, threatening to explode at any second as you struggled to keep your composure for him. “I never knew what it meant to need somebody until...”

You trailed off, unable to fight off another sob that your shoulders shaking and your voice breaking.

Heaven above me

Take my hand

“Shh,” Daryl whispered lowly, exhaustion clearly taking over his body as he lay there in your arms fighting for the energy to simply talk to you. “I know... No cryin’. I love ya, Y/N.”

You sniffled, your own voice barely audible underneath your cries. “I love you so much, Daryl.” His eyes had closed again and you clamped your own shut to avoid seeing anything, one last attempt at pleading before you let yourself shatter to pieces entirely: “You can’t... please don’t leave me, Daryl. Please...”

But you received no response, and you could almost feel his last shuddering breath leave him, but you were far too scared to open your eyes just to find that it had all been painfully fucking real.

Shine until there’s nothing left but you.

~

Ouch :/

Will tag everyone when I get home..... thanks for reading! And sorry :’(

[skylar-lei1634]

So I have had alot of people ask why I, not only really like Vanitas, but will defend him. Not just online but also in real life. When I explain, alot of people usually understand and think just like me about him when they get the whole story. In order for people to see where I'm coming from I'm writing this so that others can see where alot of Vanitas fans or "Vanitas's Protections Squad" are coming from when they talk about him and wanted him to have a redeemed arc. Now I still stand by my original post about "respecting Vanitas since he decided to stay in the dark because it makes him seen as a decisive "bad guy". But at the same token, I wished he still had been redeemed and given happiness from all the bullshit that was thrown at him and he was forced to go through. And yes he did go through a lot of shit so shut the fuck up about him being a 2D bad guy. I am not saying that Vanitas was a good guy... nor was he a bad guy. What he did was wrong and he shouldn't get a free pass just like in real life someone who fucked up should also be held accountable for the shit they did. But in the same breath he should be allowed to be redeemed. He should have the same opportunity just like Riku did. Now the reason why I love this guy? He reminds me of myself before I got to see that I need to save myself and that I am worth being saved. And I didnt see that until 2 or 3 years ago. Backstory of the bare minimal: my dad wasn’t the best "father" figure. I was used multiple times by him and his 2wife for the years I lived with him. From the age 8 to the age of 13 I was bombarded with the words of "You can be better just like your sister and step brother". "If you cant do [thing] then you're useless to your future husband". "You're lying. Your siblings said that it happened this way". "If you pushed yourself like I did then you wouldnt be making 79s." "[Step brother] is watching the kids so you do the chores." "Well why isnt [sister] helping?" "DONT TALK BACK TO ME! GO TO YOUR ROOM!" "You dont know how to do your own laundry (even though I never showed you how?)? GO TO YOUR ROOM!" "DID YOU LIE TO ME!? GO TO YOUR ROOM." "You started a fight with [what ever kids name]? Go to your room!" "But he touched me in a place that mom said no one was allowed!" "No boy is thinking about that at the age of 12! Now write me 750 sentences saying 'I will not talk back'." And I know this isn't alot of things to you see as abuse. You'll probably say "This is the parental responsibility thing. This isn’t abuse! This is nothing to the other stuff that real abused people deal with". And you're right. My abuse isn’t anything compared to the horror stories being told and shown. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t abused. I wasn’t allowed to leave my room. I never got to play outside during that entire time. And when I was bored and reading, drawling, exercising, then my dad would come in, back hand me until I bleed, threw anything I owned against the wall, and took away anything that you could call "personal". And when there was nothing left? He took my door. He took the only communication to my mother. By the time I was 12 I was suicidal. I had given up on finding myself. I was an empty shell. Until my father decided to kick me out without warning that day and I had to take everything I own (my clothes and shoes) and take them. After my mom had rang the bell and I asked why she was here. Now imagine, if you made it here this far, you have just been born into a unknown world in the most brutal and painful way. You feel broken and off. Weak and seeping with the dark as you try to stay sane enough against the shadows whispering in your head. You see your body, broken but still alive and you feel rage. Rage because this wouldn’t have happened if you were stronger. If you were faster you wouldn’t be broken into two parts. And so you tell your "Master" to take your body/lighter half away or you would kill them. And ruining the plan that your Master made on the fly. So you're left alone. In a desolate world surrounded by dead keyblade weilders. Some of which you know are old friends because you still hold the memories. Why? Because you have the "heart", the mind of your original person. You are an 11-year-old that's truly just a babe left alone to your own devices. You remember how to live but realize that your practically immortal. Which you would think be awesome but no. It's not. But the thing is: you aren’t just sitting there and contemplating life. You are suffering. Your emotions run wild and you try to fight the pain that courses through you. Everytime you push the anger, fear, pain, emptiness, and every negative emotion you have constantly, away you make these things called "Unverse". The pain and negativity fades to nothing but, as the fog clears from your mind,  you see these and another emotion welds up in you. Embarrassment. So you take your keyblade, get off the ground, and attack them. Why? Because now everyone can see your emotions. They scatter in fear as you destroy them and when they disappear? The negativity comes back. 10xs stronger than when you pushed them away. And then you feel angry. Angry that you cant control this. Angry that these are your weakness. Angry that your Master still hasn’t come back from doing whatever he is doing with Ventus as you fight and fight and fight. You keep fighting. You do it in the blazing sun. In the blistering heat. In the choking dust. You fight until you fall. You fight until you are just twitching. You fight until you pass out. You wake up and see them again. But everytime you destroy one it comes right back. Over and over and over again. For years you continuously fight. Not stopping until you cant anymore only to wake up and do it all over again. And when I mean by years I don’t mean "It’ll feel like years". No I mean for the first 3 years of your entire pathetic existence all you do is fight, pass out, fight some more. After a while your Master shows up! But all he does is stares. He watches you; all for his plan. He sends Heartless. He sends random attacks. All during which you fighting your own emotions. Falling down in pain every time until you finally start to get use to the suffering. And then, after those goddamn three years, your Master comes again. Only this time, he comes with salvation. Your own personal Tourniquet. "If you want to be whole again and stop the pain, you must forge the X-Blade with you lighter half. Only then will the suffering end". After 3 years, you finally have a purpose. You finally can be useful. And all you have to do is find your lighter self, fight him enough and then become one. Because if you are in so much pain. Then he should be too. So you follow the directions that your Master tells you until you come to a world with a castle. And its peaceful. It has no Unverse. There's grass and flowers and life. Not one shadow of a Heartless. Darkness does not exist here. It's not welcome. It's a stark contrast from the world that you lived in. It makes you angry, viscous, violent, and, over all, betrayed. Here you are hurting day in and day out. Suffering for living. For being an abomination just like your other half. But yet, he isn't feeling even an ounce of your suffering. That's when you realize that it's not fair.

That while you were being shunned. Your "better" half was being praised. While you fought, he was getting fancy dinners. While you bled, he got hugs and kisses. While you were told "don’t stop fighting", he was told "take it easy Ven". While you were being called an abomination, he was being praised as an angel. All because hes the light even though you two were the same thing. And what makes it worse? Is the fact that he doesn't know who you are. So then you look at the choices laid out before you and only really see one. Because who could ever love a monster like you? You plan. You scheme. You send Unverse upon Unverse at Ventus to get him stronger. You taunt him and the ones around him. You let the anger flow and become essential to existing.

When the final fight is here your ready. The pain will stop. You can be whole again. But everything fails. You fall apart in the dark. Lost in the dark. Reaching out from the dark. Watching in pain, betrayal, hurt, need as your other half fades away into light. You feel useless as the last thing you see is the content smile on the blonde"s lips. And you finally come back after years again. Ready to take your vengeance one the one who hurt you the most: Ventus. Only to find out hes trapped safely inside a wimpy boy, barely older than you. Even after "death" he still lives comfortably. You realize in the end: hes doesn’t understand. He never will. And so you chose the dark. Because that's who you are. That's all you ever will be. The light cant understand the dark.