#I wonder myself if he’s conscious he’s dead or not. Maybe he doesn’t realize

[mylove-thresher]

should I do my school work or draw virus Nara suffering

[ssplague]

Chapter Two

A rough start we get off too

Series Masterlist

Katsuki B. X Reader

Rated M

⚠️Warnings: SMUT, improper use/depiction of certain kinks, abusive, manipulative, toxic behavior, unreal ideals of sex, use of daddy, ddlg themes, hard Dom, etc.

Let the SMUT commence

The way each pair of lips fit so perfectly together was absolutely enthralling: Passion was raw, ferocity was made so obviously evident from the growl he emitted at each attempt you made at sucking his tounge into your mouth. Only separating to take in a few large gulps of much needed oxygen, before diving back in to repeat the process over again.

“Please….P-Pleaseee…Kat..Suki…I-“ he presses a finger to your lips. That brief period of oxygen deprivation seemed to of induced a delirium of sorts. Assessing your thoughts has become similar to sifting through wet sand; Try as you might, you just can’t seem to comprehend what exactly you’d been attempting to beg him for in the first place. This look of empty headed confusion is also something Bakugou commits to memory, a first glimpse of his dumb little girl. He surveys you with bemused interest, looking as composed as ever.

“Down that bad for me hah? All I did was kiss ya a little and you’re already falling to pieces on me” the finger on your lips slides down to tilt your chin up, while he dips his head down to whisper in your ear. “Cant even imagine what kinda mess you’ll become once I finally split cha open with this big cock, such a stupid little girl”.

You suck in a deep shuddering breath as your legs suddenly give out beneath you, leaving you helplessly sliding down the wall. Bakugou laughs in such a condescending baritone as he effortlessly picks you up and deposits you on his bed. Picking his chair back up, he moves it beside the bed to take a seat in front of you.

“Listen real close to what I’m about to tell ya cause its important, open those fuckin’ ears princess cause if I end up havin’ to constantly keep repeatin’ myself…” he leaves the implicated threat hanging in the air between you two. Swallowing what remains of your now virtually non existent pride: You sit up straight and lean forward slightly, making sure to hold eye contact while he spoke. As the one sided conversation progresses and you inevitably begin to feel the need to either scoff or mouth off, you lightly bite your tounge. When the need to roll your eyes seems irresistible you make sure to blink a few times.

Bakugou and his ego always seem to have a way of destroying any sort of illusion that he is anything other than a self-righteous narcissist. Well, now he’s YOUR self-righteous narcissist…CORRECTION; You cant think like that anymore….from now on he’s….daddy.

The thought accompanies a brief pang in your metaphorical gut, is it regret? Maybe guilt? You aren’t sure.

“-Last ones, your still paying attention right princess?”.

Hearing his question has your eyes immediately snapping back into focus. You take in the handsome (but grumpy) face in front of you, nervously wondering when exactly he’d invaded your personal space.

“Y-Yes daddy, I’m listening to you” you stutter slightly, now noticing he’s actually kneeling on the mattress with you.

“So every day I expect you to do your absolute best” now with each statement he leans further into you, “You’re always going to remember how much daddy cares about you”. He presses a large hand against your chest, forcing your back down against the pillows behind you. “Realize that daddy always knows what’s best for you” both hands now rest on either side of you, effectively caging you in.

“You’ll always know that you can rely on daddy, and will trust him one hundred percent of the time”.

The intensity of his crimson stare has your face burning up, and heart rapidly pounding in your chest. It’s now taking a serious amount of conscious effort to keep your eyes locked with his. “Any questions? Comments?…..concerns?” he puts an emphasis on that last word, wolffish grin firmly in place.

Shaking your head apparently wasn’t a good enough answer because its followed with a stern; “Use your words princess, you either say: Yes daddy or No daddy….understood?”.

“I understand daddy….I’ll follow your rules daddy” you reply, embarrassment evident at having to repeat the unfamiliar word.

“You sure? It’s not like you to have absolutely nothing to say” he’s testing you, you’ll play into it this time.

“Well if you insist…..I do have a question, just one” at this his eyes instantly narrow and you could have sworn you’d seen a few stray sparks emit from his palms.

“Would it be too much to ask daddy if he wouldn’t mind kissing me again?”

🌆

Euphie checks her phone for the eigth time since she’d last texted you over forty-five minutes ago. Why weren’t you responding? Maybe she really had pushed you too far this time….A large hand comes to rest over her much smaller one, at this she finally sets her phone facedown on the table with a sigh.

“She wont stay angry with you forever, her and Bakubro might be having such a good time together that she’s forgotten all about her phone” Kirishima tries his best to reassure with his usual smile. The sudden wide eyed, dead pan stare he gets in return whipes that smile from his now reddening face. He’s realized far too late at what his words seem to of implied.

“I didn’t mean it like that! Really! I promise I didn’t! M’sorry”. Seeing the red head this flustered is so adorable, his companion cant help but giggle.

“I know Eji, dont worry about it”.

Entrusting your care to Bakugou was fine: He cares about you almost as much as she herself does. If she wasn’t certain how genuine the boy’s feelings toward you were, none of this would ever have happened.

Yeah, everything is going to be just fine….You’ll thank her one day.

💥

Bakugou’s crimson gaze is way too intense while roaming over the female laying down on his bed. Having her completely bare, and spread out before him is an accomplishment he shamelessly contragulates himself for. She’s getting self conscious now: Delicate hands come up to cover her chest, and plush thighs press together in an attempt to hide the drooling mess kept between them. It’s all or naught though as her legs are suddenly wrenched apart, and each wrist is now pinned above her head, held in just a single one of his hands.

“Nu-uh princess, no hiding….keep those legs open…wanna see all of you” condescending words only seem to widen his feral grin.

Seeing his cock now freed from its previously strained confinements as its looms above you, standing tall, has your leaky little hole twitching. The smooth inner walls inside repeatedly clenching in anticipation. Bakugou trails a finger from clit to slit as he hums in approval.

“What’s this hah? Such a fuckin’ mess your makin’ down here”

“S-Sorry daddy…I cant help it…Just want you so bad…dont wanna wait any longer…Please dont make me wait more” a soft roll of your hips accompanies your pleading whines. Your continuous begging for his cock has that monster stirring in him again, he has to forcibly push the dark thoughts away before addressing you again.

“If I dont prep you then-“ you interrupt him.

“It’s fine! I can take it, please just take me…” he notices your moment of hesitation before you lock eyes with him while adding “make it hurt”.

You’re just so fucking bold!

Trying to make demands, disguised as requests! Its so cute he cant help but caress your cheek before bestowing upon you the last gentle kiss you’ll get until he’s throughly DESTROYED you for anyone else.

“Dont ever fucking tell me what to do again” he growls before slamming his hips forward.

He’s buried balls deep inside you: Your initial gasp at the sudden intrusion, now morphs into a silent scream that has a you arching up off the mattress.

“Got that you greedy little slut? See what happens?” He taunts through gritted teeth.

Your cunt squeezing and spasming around his cock feels incredible, to the point he has to busy himself with sucking harshly on your neck to keep from releasing desperate whimpers of his own.

“I can take it…please move….m’sorry daddy…please don’ be mad a’me….”

“M’not mad at you baby….s’okay” He manages to reassure you through his clenched jaw. He finally starts to move inside of you, desperately trying so hard to take it easy on you. All precedent falls apart when your legs wrap around his waist, now he’s digging you out.

“Y’okay?” He rasps while continuously ravaging your tight cunt.

“M-mm-more than okay” you stutter.

“Taking my cock so well baby girl….Fucking hell!” His lewd compliment causing your insides to involuntarily clench.

“Deeper! Deeper!” You plead.

Katsuki thought you’d preferred his shallow thrusts, but if you really wanted your guts rearranged he’d be pleased to make it happen. He grabs one of your legs, placing it up on his broad shoulder, while the other remains curled around his hip. Straightening up he smirks down at you, before delivering a harsh slap to your clit. Now beginning to rapidly piston his hips while taunting you: “What did I tell you earlier hah? Answer me dammit!”.

His hot hand comes down on your inner thigh and you cry out: “N-Not supposed t-to tell y-you what to d-do!”. It shouldn’t be possible for you to be squeezing him even tighter, but somehow you do. That can mean only one thing… “Gonna cum aren’t you princess? I can feel ya choking the life outta my cock”.

A pathetic whine accompanies your vigorous head nods and he growls in response: “You.better.fucking.not” a thrust accompanying each word, “Y’dont fuckin’ listen, shouldn’t let ya cum at all with how you keep misbehavin’, better start fuckin’ beggin”.

Horrified at the thought, you fight through the fog permeating your brain and force movement out of your lolling tounge.

“P-please daddy, I’ll b-be good from now on if y-you’ll just let me c-cum! Y-you’re just making me feel so good daddy, no one’s ever made me feel this i-incredible before” your panting breaths making it too difficult to continue speaking. Even if he doesn’t believe it, your words are entirely true, this is the first time you can ever recall feeling like this during sex. A foreign sensation is making its way into your gut, your limbs are moving of their own accord, you cant think straight when you manage to speak next: “Its too much! Too big, Too deep, Too intense! I c-cant take anymore please make it stop!”.

“Stop? Oh fuck no princess, after all this lip you’ve been giving me, you think I’m gonna let you tap out like a little bitch? Think again” his thumb begins to rub harsh circles against your clit. “We’re not stopping until you cream all over my cock like a nasty girl like you is supposed to, then you’re gonna do it again when I blow my load inside this tight fucking cunt and you’ll scream my name while I fucking do it because this pussy is all mine! Got all that you fucking whore?”.

“Yes daddy” you whimper, face screwed up in tight concentration as he finally pushes you over the edge. Your eyes fly open as you blindly search for his hand, gripping it tightly in attempts to anchor yourself in reality as a sudden rush of dopamine floods your brain. White hot pleasure seemingly overwhelming every single nerve in your body, making your legs shiver as you faintly hear yourself calling out his name repeatedly. Katsuki is the only thing you know in this strange foreign place: This comforting warmth suddenly invades your tummy, continuously being pumped inside you while you moan at the newfound sensation.

A pair of strong arms wind themselves around you, pulling you closer, making you feel safe, at ease, loved?

“Come…back…..come back to me” he’s calling for you. Your soul had to of vacated your body; You feel Weightless, you’re floating, “Daddy?”. Suddenly you start sinking, and without warning your body jolts, “Katsuki?!”.

“M’right here princess, daddy’s got you….Disappeared on me for a lil while” his familiar voice is grounding. His fingers card gently through your hair, and for the very first time you’re seeing a “Soft” side to this so easily angered man. Sighing contentedly you snuggle into his chest, letting his caramel scented sweat overwhelm your senses.

“I really like this”

“Hah?! That’s all you have to say?!”

Ah there he goes, moment ruined, illusion shattered.

“I’m sorry. But I’m not entirely coherent just yet…you uh…you kinda did a number on me there” you mutter sheepishly, making an attempt to escape his embrace. Its immediately thwarted, and your pulled right back against his chest. “Ah fuck…knew I shoulda just made you wait and prepped you properly….Sorry about that, guess I just got caught up in everything”. Surely hell has frozen over: Katsuki Bakugou just not only admitted a possible wrong doing, but APOLGIZED for it as well!

“Ive wanted to do this with you for so long: Fuck you, hold you, be with you, and I fucked it up! Just like I always seem to fucking do, I-“

“Daddy” your voice effectively silences his self-depreciating rant. His hand begins to gently run up and down your back as he mumbles a “Yes princess?”.

You lean back slightly, tilting your head up so those cute doe eyes can stare up into his, the smile your wearing makes his chest tighten.

“M’not hurt, sore but not damaged….I wasn’t referring to my body, I meant you did a number on my mind…Besides I asked for it remember? I’ve wanted this for a long time too, so I got impatient…Please dont berate yourself, lets just enjoy this moment as the first of many now…Kay?”.

That’s right, you’re his now; Along with the opportunity to care for and make sure to correct you…he’ll be able to do this with you again. You had given yourself to him after all, so he can have you as many times as he wants, whenever he wants! He’s far too occupied with his lewd thoughts to care about the foreboding darkness thats begun to emerge from its confines within his skull.

You don’t remember falling asleep but Katsuki gently prods you awake: “Baby…wake up, Its dinner time…I made food for us…c’mon princess you need to eat”.

You whine, attempting to burrow further beneath the blankets, “Not hungryyyy...wanna sleep more!”.

“Dont make daddy ask you again, you wont like what happens”.

Not interested in ruining such a wonderful night, you begrudgingly sit up. Noticing he’s seated at his desk, with a large steaming bowl set infront of him. You slide out of bed, standing up and realizing you’re naked, but strangely not embarrassed by it.

“Here” he tosses you a shirt, “Now c’mere, hurry up before it gets cold!”. Pulling his shirt over your head as you pad over to him and take a seat on his lap. Noticing the single spoon and bowl has you looking at him with genuine curiosity. “Since you like actin like a damn baby so much, figured I’d continue treatin’ you like one” his words make you grin sheepishly again, and you hold out your hand expectantly waiting for him to hand you the spoon….he doesn’t.

Taking an impressive spoonful of the steaming food he then proceeds to blow on it before bringing it up to your lips.

“Say ahh, brat”.

“Wha-?”

Taking advantage of the opportunity, he shoves the spoon into your open mouth. Of course it tastes amazing, but he doesn’t plan on keeping this up right? WRONG!

Repeating the pattern of giving you a bite and then taking one himself.

“I can feed myself y’know…” you mutter growing increasingly flustered at the insulting action but more so the fact that its making you feel….excited?

“I dont think you can princess….I always hear Euphie bitchin at ya for skipping breakfast or to hurry up and come eat dinner” pausing to feed himself, then repositioning the now loaded spoon back infront of you before continuing.

“That shit ends today, gonna teach ya how important it is to take care of yourself, and if you wont? Then I guess daddy will have to do it for ya”.

You’re squirming in his lap by the time you accept the last bite,swallowing thickly before making an attempt at vaulting off his lap. Large hands immediately snag you around the middle before your feet even touch the ground.

“No, No, thats not how we do things around here, where the fuck are your manners?” he slips a hand between your clenched thighs to move them apart, and then brings a slap down to the inside of each. You dont even know why he’d done that and the shock is evident on your face. “You like when I baby ya, dont lie to me LITTLE girl”.

“No I-“

“What’s this then?” he quickly interupts while holding up the palm he’d previously slapped you with. Glimmering in the low light is your sticky arousal coating his palm.

“Sorry” your voice is barely audible as you hang your head in shame.

“Mhm sure you are…Here I am being a good care taker to you and what did you do? Sat there thinking all kinds of nasty things while I spoon feed you, you really are a fuckin depraved slut aren’t you princess?”

You bite your lip as your eyes start to water,still refusing to look up and far too embarrassed to respond. A finger beneath your chin forces your head up and his breath hitches when he notices tears getting ready to fall. A malicious smile now turns his lips upward as he cups your cheek, “Look at that…shes about to start crying and all because of what? Cuz you just exposed yourself for being the depraved little slut you are?”.

“NO! No im not I-“.

“You are” his grip tightens painfully on your jaw, pulling your face forward so its now just an inch away from his own, “And I fuckin’ love it”. Then he’s surging forward pressing his lips against yours; Forcing his tongue into your mouth, hand coming around to grip the back of your head. Your lungs are on fire while his hand slips under your shirt to harshly grope at your chest. Clawing his forearms is finally enough to get his attention and he reluctantly pulls away. You’ve just barely began catching your breath when he suddenly stands up, keeping a firm grip on your ass to carry you, before dropping you onto the bed.

“Take that off and-“

*knock knock knock*

The sudden knocking followed abruptly by Kirishima’s muffled shouting, startles both you and Katsuki, and the rattling door knob has you immediately springing into action.

“Hey we brought back desert to share with you guys! So just meet us at my room whenever you feel like it, Euphie’s changing her clothes and then she’ll be there too, we’re gonna watch a movie if you two wanna join us!”.

He must have heard Bakugou’s standard non-committal grunt in response, because you hear his retreating footsteps trail off down the hall.

Grabbing your skirt out from underneath the bed, you stand back up.

Just as you’d gotten to your feet your immediately pushed face first onto the mattress. A sweaty hand takes hold of your hip in a bruising grip, while the other delivers a sharp pinch to your ass cheek. Yelping in response to the sudden harsh yank of your hair that proceeds a whisper of:

“You didn’t really think I would let you off that easy did you? Your fuckin’ cake can wait brat, we’re done when I fuckin say we are, got it?”.

✨

A/N: I hope this chapter was to everyone’s liking, I’m actually kind of nervous to post it but 🤷🏼‍♀️ Chapter 3 has a fair amount of smut in it as well so look forward to that. I’m hoping to get another one shot up for “A man of his word” this week, if you like extreme Yandere Bakugou check that out. I have one penned but it needs to be typed up.

[dapandapod]

24 or 34 for the hug prompt 💖🥰

24. wanting to hug but your ignored 34. hug to prevent a fight

Alright, you asked for mean so here goes. Let me tell you right now, I made myself SO mad writing this. Like, properly pissed off. I want you all to mind the tags, because this dude is an asshole and not shy about it. Thank you @kuripon for the beta, you are wonderful and I love you <3

Warnings: swearing, insults, sexual inuendos and name calling, (not the nice kind) Geralt is so, so stupid (but eskel saves the day don't worry) and sad, sad Jaskier. please mind the warnings

Send me a hug prompt? (I can be fluffy too I promise)

On Ao3                 Hug collection here

“So tell me bard.” The man on the other side of the bar leans over the counter with another three or five men leering behind him. “How did you earn your keep tonight? Fucking or singing?”

Jaskier blinks and frowns, sensing Geralt and Eskel tensing next to him.

“Excuse me?”

“You know?” The man makes a very lewd hand gesture. “Or maybe even…” And now he mimics a blow job.

“Sir, I will let you know, I am a world-famous poet and highly sought after bard. I earn my keep just by stepping into the building.”

Jaskier doesn’t want to brag, but this man either doesn’t know who he is talking to, or knows exactly who he is talking to, and neither option is good.

“Oh yes, the master Dandelion, known for his silver tongue. You use that in many ways, I hear.” The man wiggles his eyebrows and his friends behind him laugh. So he knows, then.

“Don’t speak to him that way.” Geralt stands up behind Jaskier, a looming, angry presence at his back. Some of the men take an involuntary step back, but the man talking just smiles wider.

“Ah, there he is! Butcher of Blaviken! Tell me, who pays who in your arrangement? The bard whore, for you to stick around, or the Butcher, wanting to get his dick wet?”

This time, Eskel stands up, putting himself between Geralt and the man. Turns out to be a good idea, because Geralt is growling, baring his teeth.

“No, Geralt,” Eskel murmurs. “It’s not worth it.”

“Bard fucking you both? Huh, you gotta be good then. How much for a go?" the man asks, licking his lips as Jaskier feels his eyes run up and down his body.

Jaskier feels nausea at the back of his throat. This is not the first time someone has come on to him like this, but usually the witchers don’t get to hear the worst of it.

Geralt lunges forward, but Eskel catches him in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides.

“No, Geralt. You go upstairs and bring Jaskier with you. I’ll take out the trash,” Eskel mutters, turning to look at the asshole who suddenly realizes exactly who he’s been messing with.

Geralt growls again. Really, that man needs to learn some words instead of sounds, but he tears away from Eskel and glares.

If the heckler is found dead tomorrow, nobody would doubt for a second who did it.

“Come on, Jaskier,” Geralt says angrily, but doesn’t touch him like he usually would. Doesn’t let his hand rest on his shoulder, or offer comfort at his back.

“Hope you got enough coin, witcher! I hear he is famous!” the man yells, and Jaskier feels himself flinch and shrink in on himself.

They walk up the stairs when the first yelp of pain is heard, and more chairs scraping against the floor. When Geralt closes the door to their room behind them, Jaskier is sure he hears the heckler being thrown outside.

It feels better, but not by much.

He sits on the bed, arms around himself, feeling pathetic and hurt. All he wants is someone to wrap him up in a hug and make him feel less dirty. Preferably Geralt, but that is a dream forever dreamt. Geralt paces back and forth in the room, restless and agitated.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says finally, stopping and looking down at him. Jaskier looks up, sure that his every emotion is showing on his face. As predicted, Geralt’s expression scrunches up and he drags a hand through his hair.

“I won’t touch you anymore,” Geralt says, and it hurts more than anything the man downstairs could ever have said.

Jaskier looks down on his feet again, before nodding and standing up.

“I’ll go see if I can have a bath drawn,” he says, and then flees out the door.

There is only so much he can take.

~

Geralt is unsure of what to do now. He paces back and forth, trying and failing to find something to do. It didn’t feel quite right, the way Jaskier left. He had said it to make Jaskier feel better, because obviously being associated with him put Jaskier in trouble. Geralt will never understand what he did to deserve him, but he doesn’t want to make Jaskier's life harder for knowing him.

Maybe he should go downstairs. Maybe he will feel better if he gets a good punch in on the asshole. He is about to head downstairs, when Eskel comes in and looks around.

“Where is Jaskier?”

“Bath,” Geralt mutters, absolutely not pouting about the fight already being over.

“Fair. I would want a bath too if I got that shit thrown at me.”

Geralt says nothing, just sits back down on the bed and fiddles with some loose threads on his tunic.

“Maybe I shouldn’t travel with him anymore,” Geralt says, regretting it the moment he opens his mouth.

“What? Why? Did Jaskier say something?” Eskel says, frowning and sitting down on the chair by the work table. He has his own room further down the hall, but it feels good to have his brother here now, to not be alone.

“No, but if being around us, me, will make people say such things to him, maybe he is safer if--”

“--You didn’t actually say this to him?” Eskel interrupts, sitting up ramrod straight.

“What? No, I only said I wouldn’t touch him anymore.”

“You..?! Oh my actual-- GERALT! You are such a fucking imbecile sometimes! Do you have cabbages for brains?!” Eskel stands up again, and he is the one pacing the room this time. A family trait, it seems.

“What? I just wanted to comfort him,” Geralt asks, getting increasingly self conscious.

“You fucking, UGH. No wonder you are still pining your asses off for each other! Geralt, if someone called you a whore, and then your best friend says he won’t touch you any more and wanted to go on separate ways, how would that make you feel? Fuck, why do I have to do this?!”

“Oh.”

“Yes, Geralt, Oh. Now you go the fuck down to Jaskier, this moment, and give him a hug. Melitele knows he could use it.”

Eskel more or less pulls Geralt off the bed and throws him out of his own room. Geralt turns to look back at him, but Eskel slams the door in his face.

Well then.

Geralt walks down the stairs to the bathing room, not even knocking before stepping in.

Jaskier sits fully dressed still with his face in his hands, staring with eyes watering, completely ignoring the steaming bathtub right next to him.

When he notices Geralt he looks up, and his eyes are so full of hurt and hope that Geralt could kick himself.

He opens his arms, and Jaskier is up from the bench. Three steps later he has thrown himself into Geralt’s arms, drawing in a ragged breath.

Maybe Eskel is right. Maybe the way to protect Jaskier is not to pull back, but to pull closer.

And the way Jaskier clings to him right now, maybe he will be allowed.

[seraphemin]

wish I were (pt4)

  harry calls reader drunk to pick him up, later on finding him sat at her piano and playing a little song

masterlist

‘heather’ by conan gray WARNINGS - ANGST, swearing, fluff WORD COUNT - 4,418

_________________________________________________________

   Just fine is how I was feeling. I was lucky enough to be able to get started straight away with a new song to work on from a different artist. Practicing new instruments and talking to new clients have been what I've thrown myself into for the past 3 weeks.

Though drowning myself into work has kept me busy and given me excuses to ignore the hundreds of calls and texts from Harry, it felt like months had pass instead of only one. I seem to forget more about them and only remember the look on his face when I turn my back on him and left. Instead of memorizing chords and words, my brain can only comprehend the words we said and the last time I felt his touch or embrace. When I want to remind myself of what he did, the moment on the balcony is the first thing that comes to my mind and I curse myself for it.

I missed him, of course I did. As I sit in front of my laptop with an opened tab on a recording program, I am instead met with another creator's block and thinking about Harry again. Two points of thought that I hate being stuck in at the moment. The empty bags and containers of snacks and my dinner surround me and I'm wrapped in a blanket while a sad playlist is playing on spotify. It was a depressing sight.

But I can only image the state that Harry's in. After everything, I still miss and care about him, wondering if he's excited about the album release tomorrow or if he's hydrated and taking the fact that I've chose to walk out of his life better than I am. It's pathetic really, but it's part of it and I can only hope to learn to live without him through time. If that is something I can even think of doing in the first place.

He hasn't called or text throughout the whole day though. I didn't want it to bother me but it did, even if it was time away that I'm asking for. I glanced at the black screen of my phone, pressing the button to turn it on. 12:23 AM and no notifications.

'i do love you, i'm sorry' one day ago. This is a good sign. This should be a good sign.

I sighed, forcing myself to turn away from my phone and focus on finishing this piece. The instrumentals are there and the rhythm is set, but coming up with lyrics prove to be difficult when I feel physically and emotionally drained.

It was late anyways. I would of been asleep by now to get ready for tomorrow, but it was most likely made clear I wouldn't be celebrating with the gang. I told Jeff the excuse that I had a meeting up north for the valid reason, even though everyone already knows what happened between the two best friends. A lunch with Sara and Mitch a week ago started off normal and pleasant as always, but had ended with Mitch bringing up Harry and me leaving abruptly.

"He's a mess. Hasn't left his house and has been ignoring everyone all week. We don't know what really happened between you two, but it's obvious that you haven't been the same as well."

The mention was enough to irk me. "Can we not right now?"

"Look even though we care about you, it's still non of our business to get involved. But it's still our jobs to see that when someone we care about is bothered by something, we make sure they are aware of it. Both of you aren't happy and should simply talk about it."

"It's not that simple Sara, he's too stubborn."

"It doesn't have to be now, but eventually. You yourself know that what you two have is way too special to just walk away from."

"Yeah well what if it's not? What if it's just not what everyone expects it to be? That even if we somehow make it work throughout everything, he's just going to run off to someone else again who'll just be better in so many ways."

"He's not the type of person to do that and you know it."

"I thought I did."

With my head rested on my hand, I feel my eyes droop. The instrumental of the song played on repeat on the program as I try to come up with words. Heartbreak and insecurities are the only topics that come to mind with the upbeat sound. I close my eyes for bit, letting the first stage of sleep take it's toll while my brain works overtime producing lines of rhymes.

But my ringtone drives me out of it. I only force my eyes open when I pick up my phone and answer the call, not thinking of who could be the only possible human being to call me at this hour. I sighed, pausing the recording and saving it. "Hello?"

"Hiiiii love! Karl told me I should call someone because I've had too much apparently. Can you please tell him that I'm a grown man that can handle my alcohol?" Shit.

"Harry- wait hold on, you're drunk now? Don't you have... who are you with?" My voice was tired and already raspy. It took longer than needed to process what was actually happening.

"Oh just all by my lonesome self at first... imagined you here a few times but I know that wasn't true, but Karl the bartender is here now!" His voice was muffled and almost drowned out by the sound of a pub. His words were slurred and I can only rub my temples at the situation he's already put me in.

"Why did you call me for this."

"Well my phone's dead and you're the number I memorized." He said softly after hearing my tone. I shouldn't, but he's drunk and alone.

"I'll call Mitch-"

"Only want you. Please?" I can imagine him pouting and I was too tired to argue with him.

"I can't do this right now..."  

"Bubs, my head is starting to hurt and everyone is not being nice. Except Karl, Karl is a nice dude."

Maybe if I wasn't overworked and sleep deprived at the moment, I would of been in the righter state of mind. But the other half of me that worried about his state took the opportunity to see him once again.

"Where are you, Harry?"

***

It was easy to find a drunk Harry Styles at a pub. A small local one that we've been too once or twice in the past, enjoying each other's company over a glass after studio hours. And there he was again, sat at the stools we'd sit on and wallowing to Karl the bartender.

"Hey." I placed a hand on his shoulder after making my way through the small crowd that gathered around him that's been listening into his conversation. His eyes light up when he turns around and sees me, while I take in how disheveled he looks. His curls are messy and his bloodshot baggy eyes tells me he's been crying for a while.

"You're here." He mutters softly after he takes a moment to register that it's actually me. I only give him a small nod in confirmation, feeling that heart ache as he pulls me into a hug. "I'm sorry." I hear when he nuzzles into my neck, most likely apologizing when he sees how tired and unwell i am as he does.

"It's okay, come on let's get you home." I managed to let out, pulling away, guiding him out of his seat and away from the bar. "Oh okay, bye Karl! Keep the change." I send the bartender a grateful smile to which he returns with a pity look on his face.

"Just hold my hand Harry okay?" I tell him when I remember how clingy he gets when intoxicated. He doesn't hesitate to do so as we make our way through the crowd and out of the building.

I managed to get him in the passenger's seat without much interaction, now in the driver's seat and cursing at myself when I realized I didn't have enough gas to take him to his house. I didn't have the energy to go to the gas station this late.

"Are you crying..." He asks, pouting when I placed my face in my hands, taking deep breaths. "Please don't be sad, love." I shook my head, counting in my head as I felt Harry lean over and watch me.

"How many did you have?" I asked when I built up the will not to cry and turned on the ignition.

"Didn't bother counting, didn't matter." I kept my eyes in front of me as I drove while I felt his still on me.

"I would beg to differ. Shouldn't be my responsibility anyways." I quickly countered, noting the sharp tone in my voice and the frown I could imagine on his face.

"I'm sorry...I really wanted to see you."

"Hmm, and getting wasted and being an inconvenience is the way to get my attention." There was a second of silence and I glanced at him to check if he was still conscious, only to see that frown and his head hung in shame. My eyes trailed to the pearl necklace tucked into his sweater, as well as a yellow ribbon tied where it clasps together.

The grip I had on the wheel loosened but I sighed as I hated how guilty I felt after, aware how difficult it was to be mad when he was hurt. "That was harsh..."

"Nooo, I deserve it. I really do because I was mean to you and I don't ever want to be mean to you. Because it hurts me too ya know? More than it did when you walked away...I'm sorry that I hurt you."

I didn't say anything after that, spending the rest of the car ride back to my place in silence.

***

"You don't have to be rich, to be my giiirl. You don't have to be cool to rule my wooorld..."

My annoyance conflicted with the flutters my heart was feeling as Harry was softly singing all the way from my car to my sofa, hand held and clinging to my side the whole time. He plopped down, immediately taking a pillow. "Ain't no particular sign, I'm more compatible wiiith- hey you have that record right? Can you put it on pretty please?"

"It's 2AM, I'm not putting on a record right now." I took off my shoes and coat, graciously doing the same for him when he pouts and rests his head back on the couch. "Aw, you used to not care about that before. Is it because of your neighbors terrible taste of music to blast so late at night?"

"What?" I rubbed my eyes, standing up and going to the kitchen. I couldn't hear his mumbled response, but I returned with a glass of water to see him humming with his eyes closed. He cuddled the pillow close to him and I rolled my eyes, almost laughing at how he was tapping his foot along with the song he was playing in his head.

"Here..." He holds his hand out expectantly and I gave it to him. He takes a drink while I place his coat over the coffee table and go to get him an extra pillow and blanket.

"Oh everything hurts." He whines as I place the pillow down on the end of the couch. "My heart mostly, but that's so cheesy of me isn't it? Yours probably hurts more m' sorry...wish I could take it away."

It wasn't just his naïve words that had my eyes start welling up with tears, but it was also the realization of how he can easily break me down. I couldn't last a whole month without being there when he needs someone, when I was the one who wanted to leave. It was also probably the realization that I had grabbed the same blanket we used to set that little picnic in the studio.

"Wish I didn't cause it in the first place." He added, which led to me sitting down on the chair next to the couch, holding onto the blanket a little longer as delirium was starting to set in.

"I don't think we should have this conversation now, Harry... this is so unfair." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

"It is, but I'm scared I won't get another chance." My silence gave him the answer he was already aware of.

"What exactly do you want another chance of Harry, enlighten me." I closed my eyes for a minute, only to open them to see Harry looking at me in a different way. It's different, but I've noticed it before.

"Loving you." He's hesitant with his next words, most likely having sobered up a little. "I hadn't seen Heather for a few days after you left, told her later on about what happened. Took your advice though, talked to her and everything. It just wouldn't work out in the end...couldn't see myself with her in the future."

"But now you do with me?" I softly muttered, holding myself back from reaching out to him. He only nods, having that guilty look on his face because he's fully aware he doesn't deserve it. My droopy eyes are glued to his and that damn pearl necklace, too many thoughts in my head to come up with one whole response.

"Should of just called Mitch. You're an idiot for giving yourself a hangover on your release day." I finally said after a moment of silence.

"Hmm? Oh that, no that's not happening." He says casually, playing with the embroidery on the pillow he was hugging.

"What do you mean?"

"I've postponed the album thingy indefinitely or something."

"Aren't you finished with it?"

"I mean it's got 12 songs and everything but I don't know if it's really finished, I don't know." He shrugs and I'm almost annoyed by how calm nonchalant he is about it.

"You never know things Harry."

"And I hate it, I knooow! I don't know why I can't just figure it out and I hate that I'm hurting you because of it." He frowns, rubbing his eyes. "But I do know now that I love you. Really love you. Maybe if I figured that out sooner, you wouldn't hate me bubs."

I fiddle with my fingers, given up on trying to collect all my thoughts together a long time ago as I can only allow myself to take in his words and listen. He was right, in any other situation where I wasn't tired and delirious, I probably wouldn't even be in the same room as him. So here I was again, allowing myself to hurt in order to make sure he's taken care of.

Maybe it's what I deserve though. He left Heather because of me. I caved into myself at the though that I ruined the relationship of two people who loved each other simply because I didn't get the memo. She is everything in his eyes, he's proven that, so why didn't I just leave them be?

"Ugh, you probably hate me calling you that now but you know I won't stop cause you are my bubs! Like how I'm you're H. Oh... well, you stopped calling me that so...maybe not anymore but I want to be. Can I be your H again please, I miss that too." My thoughts were cut off  when he continued, finding him now lying down with his eyes closed.

"Maybe one day." I reassured him hesitantly. We would of stayed friends, we wouldn't of had to fall apart, if I had just left him alone.

"Was a weird nickname anyways, just a letter." He mumbles as I stood up, laying the blanket over him while he still holds onto the pillow.

"You sort of gave it to yourself though, get some sleep Harry."  I managed to get out, facing away from him to hide the tear that fell. He should be trying to fix his relationship with her and not me.

"Yeah, but you just started calling me it and I fell in love with it." I take one more look at him before I shut my door, seeing his face nuzzled into the pillow and the glint of a small smile on his face as he drifts off to sleep.

***

8:23. I slept around 2 and woke up 7 hours later to faint piano keys. I took in the soft melody, not recognizing it but enjoying it for a second before I forced myself to sit up and rub my eyes, realizing how dry my skin was from crying. It was definitely a sad song made up of only four chords and a fitting way to start the day as I remember the person who is most likely playing it.

I didn't want to face him, my head feeling too mushed to deal with anything else other than work. It was a weird situation to realize, the man I fell in love with and broke my heart is playing piano after I took him in when he was drunk. He tells me he officially breaks up with Heather after realizing he loves me.

He loves me?

No he doesn't. He should still love her, should be trying to get back to her now that I'm out of the picture. But he hasn't been trying too for the past month, focused on me this whole time. But why?

I snapped myself out of those thoughts quickly, knowing how terrible the following ones would be. I didn't want to think about it anymore, wanting to forget and move on. And as I quietly open my door and peaked out onto my apartment, I see his mess of curls sat on my keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him. He was considerate enough to lower the volume at least.

I took a deep breath and walked out quietly, leaning against the door frame as I continue to listen. "Part of the album, has some of your lyrics in it." He says when he notices my presence.

"Hmm. You told me that you've postponed it." I crossed my arms as he finishes the song with a long note. I see him nod, now looking down at his hands on his lap before adjusting the blanket to fully encase him.

"Yeah I did. It didn't feel right, putting something out there that I should be proud of, but you not being there to be happy with. You not wanting too in there first place, when you put your heart and soul into it, all because of me."

I frown, looking away from him when his intense eyes met mine. "It's too early Harry..."

"You told me it wasn't a good time last night too, so when is?" He huffs and I roll my eyes.

"I don't know after I have my fucking coffee?" I scoffed, uncrossing my arms and heading towards the kitchen. I hear him sigh, not saying anything else as I prepare a cup for myself, already annoyed and stressed out. I felt him staring at me while I avoided making eye contact, rubbing my temples.

"I'm sorry if I was trouble." He says, still sat down on the keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him.

"You're sorry for a lot of things." I sighed, pouring coffee into my cup.

"I am. But I don't know how to really apologize to you when you won't even let me talk to you."

I placed my cup down, suddenly forgetting about my coffee and finally looked at him. "Well what do you expect Harry? After everything you think I'm just going to trust you again? I told you I was done, I wanted to walk out of your life."

"But you picked me up. You still care, that still has to means something." He's frustrated now, desperate even and it only frustrates me more.

"Ah yes, decent morality to not leave an A list celebrity drunk in room full of strangers. That really dumb of you to do by the way, without any bodygaurds- what were you thinking?" I said, noticing how he was fiddling with the pearls that hung around his neck.

"The past month has been hell for me and all I wanted to do was see you. I feel so fucking guilty and sad and it's eating me up because I know I don't deserve any sort of reassurance from you. But at the same time, I so badly just want you back and I'm sorry for how selfish and arrogant I am." He was crying and I soften a little because of it. He tries holding it in, looking down as he quickly wipes away the tears that fall. I don't bother hiding mine anymore, having gotten used to it by now and I was tired of it.

"I've been in pain since December. Four months that you put me through so can blame me when I just want it to stop? I am so exhausted because no matter how much I throw myself into work, all I can think about is you and loving you."

"But I love you too, shouldn't that be enough to try again?" It should of been and he knows. Maybe if he realized it sooner, during his birthday, things would be different.

"You've proven that it's not." I say disappointingly, willing myself to walk over and sat down next to him, looking ahead at my piano in front of me. "I don't know what to do anymore Harry. Why can't you let me have this? Let me move on."

"Cause you and I both know we can't leave each other, too emotionally attached. I need you in my life bubs, everything sucks when you're not in it." I laugh a little at that, because it was true in a fucked up way.

"That's so unfair, why did you have to hurt me?" I hesitantly lay my head on his shoulder before he droops the other end of the blanket around me.

"I know most of my relationships don't last. Deep down I've always loved you but I couldn't let myself fall for you because I didn't want to ruin us. The thought of us breaking up and never seeing each other again just terrified me because I never wanted to lose you, ever. But I fucked up and managed to do so anyways, and I hate myself every day as much as you do." He starts playing the song again as he speaks, but it plays it down a key and slower.

"I don't hate you, can't bring myself too, but you shouldn't of been afraid to talk to me. You know who I am, we would of worked through it no matter what." He nods, followed by only the sounds of the piano melody.

"I'm in love with you." I hear him say softly after a little while out of the blue. It catches me off guard, finding it so foreign to hear those words come from him.

I let out a soft self deprecating chuckle. "No you don't. You care about me, but you don't love me. Probably saying this out of guilt or spur of the moment type thing and I can understand that, but you love Heather. She's good for you, perfect even."

"But I fell in love with you. She's not you." His brows are furrowed together as he frowns.

"Yeah, I'm not her." The small glint of my smile quickly fades and he notices it.

"What I did during my speech was very shitty. Gemma pointed it out to me right away and it's one of the biggest things I ever regret doing." He stops playing when he sees me deep in thought, slowly taking my hand to test the waters. "But I need you to understand what I said was true, that you are such an important person to me. You are beautiful, and kind, patience, and just so fucking good to me, love. I want to cherish you because it's what you deserve and I will deal with as much rejection for you to forgive me and give me another chance. It's worth every heartbreak if it means I get to love you again."

I find myself in an intimate situation, looking into his eyes at such a close proximity, our faces only inches away from each other. I was pleading to him with my eyes, begging him not to hurt me again while the look on his face was one I used to be familiar with. He was frozen while the fear that it would only just happen again held me back from moving. His eyes fluttered down to my lips, as if asking for permission and my head was refusing it. But every other part of me wanted to feel those lips again. I looked down at his, my hand taking hold of his and placing it on my chest to where my heart is before he made the move to finally press our lips together in a small kiss.

I wanted to sob because it felt right. I felt the butterflies again and the complete state of satisfaction. This time was gentle as well, but Harry put so much love into the kiss, cupping my cheek with his other hand when he feels how fast my heart was beating.

It only took a second more before I slowly pulled away, still tightly holding his hand against my heart as he could sense my doubt. "It's going to take some time okay? Probably a long time but you caused me a lot of heartbreak. But I never stopped loving you H, as much as I didn't want too anymore." I said seriously, and his eyes lits up with hope. Holding back his smile as much as he could while he nods because he heard that little nickname again.

"I'll give you as much time and space as you need, thank you. I love you so much bubs." He pulls me into a hug, nuzzling his face into my neck and I feel instantly calmer because of it. I rest my head on his shoulder while he mumbles sweet words into my skin.

"Promise I'll be good to you."

______________________________________________

A/N: :o it’s complete. I finished it yay! I’m so proud with how this series came out and I genuinely hope you guys do as well. I’ve started my semester and it’s going to be hectic so writing will take longer to come out, but there will be future stories that I’m really looking forward to writing and sharing :)

taglist: @big-galaxy-chaos​

[mira--mira]

Hi! I was wondering

How do you think Hashirama and Madara would be in a Road to Ninja version?

I remember once reading a Hashimada fic (which I never finished RIP) that was about Madara appearing in the RTN universe and the 3 things that stucked with me were:

1.- Madara was the first Hokage (something that Madara thought was horrible when he saw his sculpted face on the Hokage mountain 🤣)

And personally I think that it would not have been like that even in the RTN universe because we didn't see his face along with the other faces of Hokages in the movie (Yeah, apparently I'm basing myself on a movie which I'm not even sure if it's canon or not, even though Kishimoto wrote it) and the RTN characters didn't seem to even know who Madara is.

2.- Hashirama having his bowlcut as an adult

And I agree with the Madara from that fanfic, it looks awful on him. Hashirama, babe, I'm sorry but the only ones who can rock that style are Guy Sensei and Rock Lee, I know you just were trying to be cool but it doesn't suite you.

3.- Tobirama was a porn writer

Instead of being a fan of forbidden jutsu and creating justus, he wrote porn novels a la Jiraiya. And I'll hold that headcanon with my dead hands.

The only other fanfic that places the founders in the RTN universe is one where the protagonist is Mito (it's an interesting one-shot that pairs her with Itama 🤔)

She was kind of a shy person 🤔? And so it was Tobirama 🤣 which I found fun.

Hashirama, as the first fanfic I mentioned, was the Tobirama of the place (saddenly Madara wasn't in this fic).

So I would like to know what are your versions of the founders (or only Hashirama and Madara if it is too much) in the RTN universe! And how do you think things would be

Hmm, RTN is an interesting concept to me but, to be honest, I don't think Konoha would exist if a lot of personalities got flipped 😂 I haven't read any RTN fics with the founders, but if you, or anyone else, have links at hand I'd love to check them out 👀

1. Madara

Here's the big one and the crux of why I don't think the village would exist. Typically I characterize Madara as an extremely responsible man who internalizes things when he shouldn't, takes himself way too seriously, is aggressive and abrasive even to people he loves sometimes, but genuinely loves the people closest too him. Reversing this would make a character that slacks off, takes no responsibility, and is completely passive in life and has fleeting attachments to others around him. Assuming he wouldn't die on the battlefield, I could see the RTN "alternate" personality coming about of Madara's being so overpowered and competent that he loses interest and distances himself from things before he can get attached and lose them.

It makes building a village very hard though. (At first I was tempted to go RTN Sasuke route and maybe RTN!Madara is a little more openly flirty than canon!Madara, but the passivity and refusal to take responsibility would be the "core" qualities for me.)

2. Hashirama

Hashirama is a bit weird because he has a lot of surface-level "conflicting" traits in canon. He is optimistic but he pushes beyond his natural attitude and uses it as a mask to hide instead of addressing his feelings. He's mischievous, likes jokes and games, and can be a bit hedonistic with his pleasure but can equally be serious when necessary and will willingly sacrifice for others around him. And simultaneously, Hashirama and Madara are connected by a shared sense of idealism but also anger. Hashirama is a very kind, but extremely angry, man. I think a RTN!Hashirama would share a kind of apathy of RTN!Madara but instead of passivity his lack of anger would manifest as cruelty. Because canon!Hashirama is angry but his anger is usually a righteous kind. I don't think RTN!Hashirama would go out of his way to be cruel, but he doesn't have the empathy of canon!Hashirama, especially to others' suffering. He enjoys fighting just a bit too much and has no qualms about killing. In his mind, he should always come first in any situation and prioritizing (or even considering) others' is effort and him going out of his way to be "nice" and the other should be thankful. Similarly if he feels any negative emotion, he won't bottle it up and swallow it down, he'll immediately address it, usually confrontationally. RTN!Hashirama is as intelligent as his canon counterpart but he doesn't suffer fools and he hates it when people underestimate him. He's pretty proud and vain, tbh.

I really don't think the above would make him the "Tobirama" of RTN verse. To me Hashirama and Tobirama have different core values and perspectives and inverting Hashirama's doesn't make it become Tobirama's, if that makes sense. This one is also wordy bc I immediately knew how RTN!Madara would be RTN!Hashirama is a bit harder to pin down. But I hope it's clear why I have doubts about the village existing...maybe if RTN!Hashirama got it in his mind as a pet project for the hell of it, that he'd be a better leader for the country and not just the Senju alone, and RTN!Madara liked the idea of no responsibility and being able to detach even further than he already was? But that's still kind of grasping for a reason.

3. Hashimada

Equally I think any Hashirama/Madara relationship would be ehhh. They definitely wouldn't have the overwhelming bond of their canon counterparts, and it could be a relationship ripe for unhappiness. The closest I can think of to making the ship work is RTN!Madara would be drawn to Hashirama's absurd level of self-confidence and able to let the casual cruelty slide off instead of getting worked up about it. In a way RTN!Hashirama is stable and predictable. If he's pretty overpowered, there's less of a chance RTN!Madara would lose him, so their relationship isn't deep but it's more or less dependable and Madara knows exactly what he's going to get. In contrast RTN!Hashirama has an audience in the form of RTN!Madara and a partner that's not going to push back against his ideas. RTN!Madara doesn't ask for much and he doesn't complain when RTN!Hashirama puts himself first. He doesn't want, or might not be capable of, the deep emotional bond their canon counterparts have. RTN!Madara wouldn't leave Konoha (if it existed) in the AU, because he doesn't really care. If someone upset RTN!Hashirama and he decided to leave to 'do it right' RTN!Madara would probably follow, maybe out of some loyalty for RTN!Hashirama but mostly because it's what's easiest.

4. Tobirama

The core of Tobirama's character to me is prioritizing logic over emotion and both a conscious and unconscious failure to realize he can't completely eliminate emotion. Tobirama loves his brother, he's curious and has a desire to find out what makes things work and is willing to bend morality to get results if it'll serve a greater good. He's very aware of the unfairness of the world but believes it's an unspoken truth of humanity and can only be mitigated through logical means, but never completely erased. He'll be the sacrificial lamb, the one that works in shadows so his brother can have his utopian dream. Despite everything, he loves his genin, the strongest bonds he has aside from Hashirama, and does try to instill in them lessons he think will help them and lead to peace and stability in the village. He's still influenced by the prejudices of his time and can never find it in him to truly forgive the Uchiha.

A RTN!Tobirama would be a man ruled by emotion. Him writing erotica all day definitely could be one way this manifests lol. But overall he's sensitive and spiritual and can't stand the idea of killing. He and RTN!Hashirama don't get along and he actively tries to avoid his brother. RTN!Tobirama has equally strong principles as canon!Tobirama, but they're pacifist in nature and while he likes his studies, he prefers to be out talking to people and learning from them first hand. He's very naive and can be easily taken advantage of and he has trouble focusing on any one thing for too long. No matter how many times this happens, he never can harden his heart or be overly suspicious of others. RTN!Tobirama would most likely be the one support peace in this AU. He embraces the Uchiha and all the Senjus past enemies with open arms, almost to a foolish degree. It'd be a bad idea if he became hokage in this AU because he's a terrible negotiator and has a bad people-pleasing streak and struggles with long-term tactics. With the exception of RTN!Hashirama, who he considers an aberration who doesn't have a soul, humans at their core all have good intentions at heart.

5. Mito

I characterize Mito as a very level-headed woman. Her marriage to Hashirama is political in nature but they grow to be good friends and she never expected to fall in love and she's glad Hashirama didn't want a traditional wife. Mito is devoted to her community work (she works hands-on with people in the village), she seeks out connections with others and, despite the distance, remains close with her family in Uzushio, constantly writing them letters. She's spiritual and follows the Uzumakis' beliefs (not gonna list this OoT spoiler lol) and studies fuinjutsu in her spare time, something she's done since she was a child. She is willing to sacrifice if it meant protecting something she considered greater than herself, much to her own personal detriment. She loves and is proud of her children and grandchildren, but if she had a choice, she would have chosen to remain childless, she finds her true calling elsewhere.

RTN!Mito, similarly to RTN!Tobirama, is ruled by emotions. She dreams of one day making a good marriage for herself and centers romance and being a mother as her ideal life, but she's extremely picky when it comes picking the perfect husband. RTN!Mito knows how much she's worth and she refuses to settle and will not even entertain the idea of an arranged marriage. She has a hard time forming long-lasting, deep bonds with other people and views starting her own family as the solution to this problem. At times she can be a bit absent-minded and unintentionally selfish, but she's not actively malicious. She blusters a lot and depending on the situation can come off as cold and uncaring, but it's only to hide the depth of her true feelings and loneliness. In this AU she would absolutely refuse to marriage RTN!Hashirama. Nothing on hell or earth, could make her change her mind.

Mito is such a blank-slate character it feels like writing an oc more than a canon character, tbh. And this is something I don't see brought up a lot but a "heart full of love" to combat the kyuubi's hatred to me has never been exclusive to romantic or familial (to children) love. *cough* I want a complex female character who's not vilified for not wanting to have children and/or regretting having them *cough* Mito's "love" was for the people of Konoha and Uzushio. My personal headcanon regarding her and Hashirama's child (I don't think she had more than one) was that she was dedicated to her son, but quickly realized being a mother wasn't her dream or something she even actively liked. The kid was well-cared for and she was dutiful towards him, but Hashirama was the parent that loved and embraced him with his whole heart and it led to some tension between Mito and her son as the kid could tell the difference and neither of them were "wrong" to feel the way they did. This is why Tsunade was shown with Hashirama instead of Mito, he was a lot more present in her life when she was young (instead of Kishi just not having made Mito as a character yet). But after Hashirama and Tsunade's dad died (and then Nawaki), she and Mito grew close but it was definitely more of a friendship or student/mentor relationship rather than a traditional grandmother/granddaughter relationship but both were satisfied with it and loved eachother. Likewise I didn't want RTN!Mito's characterization to be shallow and hit misogynistic undertones with her being an "opposite" to Mito's calm, level-headed, focused on her work/passions characterization.

6. Closing thoughts

#1: Wow this got long #2: I feel conflicted about RTN because it seemed to flip surface-level characteristics instead of deep characterizations, and ignored flaws altogether. The ones above, esp. Hashirama and Madara's, are kind of dark in a way? But that's the only way it makes sense to me...Gai and Lee caring about style and being stylish is a funny joke but if you were to actually poke and prod and say their personalities were inverted, neither of them would be top-notch ninja as we know...unless I'm just completely misremembering RTN because I realize it's been years since I saw it lol. Anyway, hope this was entertaining!

[goji-pilled]

MK-S: Dark Souls Update.

Thank you for the Sif summon advice. I’ll think about it after a few more solo attempts. I tend to just let myself stay hollow, with no liquid humanity unless farming, so I tend to miss that such things are even there.

First timed Four Kings. This one was the closed. Almost died a few times, but +3 estus flask helped. Glad I upped my vitality stat. (Or was that for a minion outside who almost combo-ed me to death?) Didn’t grab a photo of the soul, so please accept a picture of me sitting by a lovely fire in the middle of an empty void:

Only got one level, and bought the last spell from Big hat. Let his decent begin: alright, first he doesn’t recognize me. Not good since I saved him twice and he’s otherwise recognized me on the spot…and now he’s gone. Up to where I first met Seath I guess. (Maybe looking into the research that drove an ancient dragon insane was a bad idea in hindsight.)

Beat Logan first try but he was fast and nerve wracking. Crystal spear is quick and does a lot of damage to me. I can’t use it for about 8 more int levels. Wow, Logan’s hat may not have any direct buffs, but that magic resistance is the highest I’ve seen.

Uh, there’s two griffins in the sanctuary garden…

Back to fighting Manus. Realized my chaos pyromancy spells are redundant, as their main advantage to my knowledge is just the extra lava that gets left behind; not worth the two slots for this fight. And flame surge works wonders, if I remember to stop casting it and use the necklace first.

Alright, I’ll give that Sif thing a try, but for that to be good, I’m going to farm some humanity. Turns out that the slime farm I found also is adjacent to a good humanity farming spot: if you take the Depths bonfire stairs down instead of doing the slime grind, don’t go down the ladder but into the hall and take a right, there’s five rats there, and another five on the other side of the corridor. And of course, the only things rats drop is humanity. I think I read a YouTube comment or something somewhere that suggested that this is because the rats would, ugh, let’s say “remove” the dead from an area…or the undead who rotted beyond the ability to move…which would mean they’re still conscious. I think the giant rat with its humanity drop was said to imply that the humanity is why the rats all got so big.

Read that I can farm black knights without getting locked into fighting Gwyn…what’s with the ghosts on the staircase? Are they Gwyn’s old followers…or my predecessors?

How long was that snake ride?!? What is this place?! Are we underground? Were we ever truly above ground? Got a shield off of the first knight, all I wanted from him. Alright, let’s keep trying with Manus. Sif really didn’t do anything or distract him for me. And I also just read on the wiki that I may have wasted all my dragon scales by upgrading the drake sword to +5 (Well, I don’t even have the strength to use the other dragon weapons even with two hands, so not too much of a loss.)

Starting to get bored, so going to kill the princ-wait, no, first I’m going to grind out one more level for vitality in anor Lando with that princess bonfire, Then I’ll do the thing. Also Manus brought me down to maybe one hp, and I thought I died. It was awkward when I realized I wasn’t dead as the hammer came down. Alright, got enough souls for level 95, putting my health at level 22, or 849 hp. Hopefully enough for me to not get one shot. Let me check a map to be sure there’s no secrets I’m missing in anor Lando…Heh, looks like I may actually just need the dark moon ring. I have that; don’t know from where. And I’ve got that bonfire activated. Let’s just jump to that part. Oh, just needed to wear the ring in the presence of the Gwyn statue.

Now fighting Gwendolyn (phone autocorrected to that, if that’s the wrong spelling)

Got him. Finally. Took quite a while, but I found out what to do to kill him in three engaged teleports: crystal catalyst + crystal homing soul mass. The soul mass means I just need to get close enough and they start hitting him. Was wearing magic resist and all magic resist rings, so no bonus souls. Oh well. I’ll grind one more level then claim the soul of the Anor Lando Firekeeper. She’s set to betray me when I show myself.

Oh neat, as she’s dying you can see the Anor Lando bonfire going out too. Add a firekeeper soul and time to reinforce the flask.

Back with Manus:

Well this is surprising, turns out one of my best advantages is a greatshield of mine. If I just press and hold block, I can withstand most of his melee phase. Sif isn’t much help as he can’t do damage and in my game only distracted him every once in a while, so Plan B it is: learn attack patterns and melee him.

Got him down just below half Healh before I hit the wrong button (attack instead of pendent). I think I just need more stamina…tempted to go and get that ring, but only for this fight…I’ll keep trying this, I’m close. (Just low on stamina…not regen. Just need to get my timing right.)

Remember what I said about Sif? Turns out I was using him wrong; he distracts manus by hitting him, with Manus targeting the last one to do so. Also:

WOOHOO! No spells equipped, wearing masking of child, and a stamina regen ring, plus ring of physical resistance. Armor was black sorcerer at +9 gear. Had to do this the long was: +15 Eagle shield, 104 stamina, and a +5 cursed Greatsword of Artorias. Oh this is a terrible feeling to have before bed, because it feels SO SATISFYING! Had to take this fight nice and slow, meleeing him once per opening of his, blocking with greatshield during his attacks, dodging away when he did his rage combo and not blocking when able to up the stamina regen. Then timing the pendent to block the abyss spells. (Kept out the pendent and would swap to estus as that stage, may have been wiki advice or my own idea, I don’t recall). Took quite a while but now the deed is done!

Next time I fight him, I hope to be wearing full Artorius gear.

(Sidenote: overslept today. Wanted to get up at 7, woke up at 11. Some may like that, but I view that as a whole 4 hours lost. I’ll have to catch up on this blog tomorrow with things I only briefly saw like Platty’s new story or the weird thing where people were calling Kechi a “good boy”. Thanks for the Sif tip. It definitely helped in this last fight.)

Now I’m off to bed. I’ve got work in the morning. Have a good day everyone! (Next up, the dragon, the griffins, and Gwyn, Oh my.)

Congrats on finally beating him!

And good luck with Kalameet, that one is one very tedious process of learning the patters and lots, like LOTS of dodging

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 8

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 8

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1416

Summary: A dream starts to change the reader’s perspective on her life with Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

           It took weeks but the physical touch you’d gotten so used to came back one handhold at a time until finally it seemed like maybe Sam had made peace with The Sledding Incident. You never forced it, didn’t say anything because you didn’t want to push him away. Waiting felt like starving with a ten course meal on a silver platter in front of you, but it paid off. Whether he realized he was rewarding you or not, the space to let Sam process was met with absentminded hands slipped around your waist at the grocery store, non-secrets hummed into the skin of your jaw and neck as you stood just barely too close, loose pieces of hair tucked behind your ear when you washed glasses at the bar. The positive reinforcement limited the clinging you’d been doing since you’d first driven away from the bunker, knowing that the less you clawed at Sam for scraps of attachment the less he felt like you were in too deep to receive it.

           Repair by repair the cabin started to feel more like yours. The bathrooms got painted a faint baby blue that reminded you of long cloudless afternoons in Sioux Falls and Sam taught you some basic plumbing to fix the water pressure in the shower. It was only slightly less gross than you thought it would be, but Sam was so excited when you put the plumber’s joint caulk on perfectly that it made up for the limescale gunk under your nails. When you worked, Sam pretty much stopped playing podcasts and books, relying instead on an ever-changing kaleidoscope of music Dean would never have let anyone play in the Impala. Some of it you were pretty sure Sam didn’t even like, almost as if he was trying to learn a new culture by jumping in headfirst.

           You kept writing in your journal like you were sending letters back home to Dean from summer camp, giving little updates on the cabin or Sam or ridiculous drama you heard at the bar. At night you and Sam would talk about what should get fixed next and sometimes if you were feeling tough you’d watch Sam look up at the ceiling, hair splayed out on the pillow around him like a halo while he told a story about him and Dean growing up or times you’d been away from them on the road. Every once in a while you’d heard Dean’s perspective of the same event and would give them like a little gift to Sam. His eyes would go soft, hanging on your every word and letting his mouth quirk up a hair at the corners. You’d laugh together, often sadly but surprisingly sometimes not, winding into the crook under his arm and playing the tapes of the memories in your head.

           More and more frequently, you’d have good dreams—or rather, non-nightmares. Dean would get hurt and survive or you’d all be on a job together. Right before you woke up he’d be just about to say something important, warn you of something serious but couldn’t spit it out fast enough. It was frustrating, but so much nicer than waking up on soaked pillows that you just put it in a letter to Dean and tried to move on with your daytime projects and nighttime bar work. Some days it felt like you were going to be okay and then the next you’d be impaled on grief so hard you couldn’t even breathe around it. And yet, always Sam to tie yourself to and slide into the next day.

           It’s cold but bright, the sunlight reflecting and magnifying itself on the snow blanketing the landscape. Salt crunches under the tires of the Impala, just barely louder than the engine and enough to be aware of through a ZZ Top tape. You’re almost on the edge of drifting asleep on the windowsill when Dean grabs your arm.

           “Hey, come on, you can’t leave me.”

           The urgency in his tone jolts you alert. “Why? What’s going on?”

           “I don’t know how much time I have left. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

           “We haven’t even picked up Sam yet,” you answer, in the self-assuredness of dream logic. “How bad could it be?”

           “It’s me, baby. It’s really me. Dead, everything, the works. I need you to focus, I don’t know how long I can stay.”

           Some small sub-sub-conscious part of your mind jolts to attention. It feels honest, or at least the closest to honest as you had wanted to be in a while. You let yourself indulge it.

           “You, like—really? It’s really…?”

           “Yeah, it’s me. I—I don’t know how to—” and you stop him with a furtive kiss, all hunger and no grace, just wanting to feel what it was like to be against him again.

           Dean swerves a little when his eyes open, momentarily dazed. “Christ, I forgot how good that was.”

           “I don’t—how are you…?” you murmur, having a hard time not only with the information but also with the juxtaposition of your conscious and subconscious knowledge.

           “No bullshit, I’m communicating beyond the grave. Don’t tell Miss Cleo,” he answers, the smirk twisting your stomach like a wrench.

           “Are you okay? If this is what it’s like to be dead then Sam and I will be here the second I wake up, we’ll just come to you—"

           “Babe, I wish you could but it doesn’t work like that. It’s not even really supposed to work like this but Cass is pulling some strings. I only have until your subconscious realizes what’s going on and kicks me out.”

           “What? How?”

           “The separation between living and dead is a little bit thinner when you’re asleep. It’s actually pretty cool but it’s going to take a while to explain.”

           “Okay, right, got to be fast. Fuck, I miss you so much.”

           “I miss you too, kid. More than I can explain. But listen, baby, I’m so proud of you for making it this far. It’s going to be okay, I promise. Sam will take care of you, and I know you’re taking care of him the best you can. I don’t know how long I have until you wake up. I’ll keep trying again to come to you, but until the next time I get to see you, my firecracker, you’re so tough. You can do a lot worse than Sam, and I would never, ever hold it against either of you. I’ve been trying to send that—been trying to ram my head through this fucking door about a hundred times by now actually—but if it hasn’t been coming through strongly enough, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what the fuck I’d be doing if it had been one of you—probably would’ve drunk myself to death by now to be honest—so the fact that you’re so worried about whether necking is going to raise my soul from the depths is actually sorta sweet. Love is complicated and the lines get blurred; I get it, especially now with some damned perspective. As long as I’m still going to be your guy when you get here, that’s all that matters to me. You’re it for me, kid.” He traces a light finger down the side of your cheek and it sends an ache straight into your stomach, makes him look lost for a beat as he takes you in.

           “Dean, I love you. I can't—I can’t even tell you how much I love you. I never got to say thank you for all the things you—”

           “Hey,” he says, grabbing your chin and holding you still to flick his gaze between your eyes. “I know. There’s no time. You don’t have to say that to me, I know. I always knew. I’m going to try to get to Sam too, but he’s—the angels are shocked at the shit that’s happening in his brain. Makes sense, you know, after everything he’s gone through, but I guess it makes it harder to slip through the cracks. But here: if I can’t do this again; if this is the last time I talk to you until you get back to me, I love you, and I’m going to keep loving you no matter what. The two people I love most in the world being together could never be bad to me, and I will alway—”

           And you woke up.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 9

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[undertakermybeloved]

As a person who experiences OSDD 1b, I've always headcanoned the Undertaker to have the same disorder. The way he so quickly switches between personas reminded me of how I experience my own disorder, and I decided to write this on it. Please note that is is not reflective of all disassociative disorders, and is based off of my own experiences!

Rating: Mature, 14+

Warnings: Mentions of death and murder, minor mentions of necromancy, necrophilia and sex

I wasn’t always like this. At first I didn’t even know. It seemed to happen so quickly, when really it was a slower process than trying to get your scythe registered with dispatch. 

Dispatch.

That's what caused this. It's all dispatches fault, of course. It's always their fault.

    I am the Undertaker. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. If that doesn’t ring a bell, maybe the name Legendary Death does. The most famous reaper to ever exist, loved by all and hunted by his own admiriers. Once a stoic man, unsympathetic, unloving, unattached. Wherever did he go? There is no possible way me, the kooky old mortician with a necrophelia problem, could ever be the same person who reaped Marie Antoinette and judged the soul of Robin Hood. Well, that would be because I’m not.. Partially.

    My body was indeed the vessel that completed those tasks, but I was not the one orchestrating them. I was in the back seat, an observer of my own life. I lived like that for so long, I didn’t even realize it was out of the ordinary. It was like sleepwalking. I did not control my own movements, did not hear my own thoughts, and did not speak my own words. Because they weren’t mine. They were Adriens.

    At least, that is what I have come to call him. I know what you’re thinking, and it is indeed ‘my’ old name, but I cannot seem to associate myself with it. My name is the Undertaker, that is who I am. Adrien is no longer me. A part of me, yes, just as much as I am a part of him.

    We are split. Two pieces of a whole being, separated into two seperate conciousnesses, to complete two separate jobs. 

    Being a reaper is a horribly taxing occupation. You commit suicide and are now forced to live forever for your horrible crime against the universe, against the very God all humans revere so. Your punishment is an immortal soul, and a job where you are forced to watch others finally achieve the peace you never good. It truly is the most clever and sinister punishment. 

    Being one of these criminals for over a thousand years, (I don’t care enough to keep track of the exact number,) I may be one of the oldest reapers who has not yet been forced into a medical coma to keep them out of the way, despite my frequent infringements against Shinigami rule. 

    Anyhow, I’m getting side tracked. Back to the point.

    Adrien. While that used to be my name, it is no longer me. I had to train myself as a reaper, not only physically but emotionally as well. Do not be sympathetic, do not become attached. Simply do your job and move on. But it takes a toll on one to, every day, watch the sick and the healthy, the old and the young, the rich and the poor, all laying upon their deathbeds. Especially the children. The poor, crying children. One cannot simply watch them sob as you take their soul and not feel some sort of remorse for the action. So, I put up an act. Played the part of an emotionless, stoic man long enough for my conscious to split. There was the reaper, the one who could handle seeing the dead and the dying, the one who didn’t experience the gut wrenching emotional grief.

    And then there was me. The weak one.

Weak. 

Too weak to do my own damn job, to the point I managed to split myself in two. A mirror image of myself, the same but better, better at his job, better at interacting, simply better. 

    I sat in the back for hundreds of years, stuffed away and watching my body be puppetted by one who was not me. I watched myself murder, I watched myself make love, but I was never there. I wondered sometimes, why did I feel like I was no longer in control? Well, it is simply because I wasn’t.

    It was like watching a movie where you play the main character. You see them, and it looks like you, but it isn’t. The way they act, talk, and even just carry themself is so drastically different from your own mannerisms that you can scarcely believe it is you who you are seeing.

    When I was finally in control again, it felt like I had just been saved from drowning. It was just a second, such a minor slip up of my counterpart, but it was long enough for me to realize I wasn’t alone, and had not been for longer than I’d ever known.

    That was when I left. I forced myself into control, and I had to make sure everyone knew I was no longer me. 

    One extravagant show of mass genocide later, I was free. I was free. Free from my own alter ego, free from the association, free from my punishment. Despite being part of the undead, I had never felt so alive.

    I traveled everywhere, released everything that had been hidden away in my own body for so long. Finally, I was the one to murder, I was the one to make love, I was the one to simply experience. It was me. 

    Eventually, I became weary of traveling the world. I was free enough. Free to control my own body, and that was all I needed. 

    I settled down, found a little shop on the market for cheap and took up mortuary studies.

    After my life as a reaper, most would think I’d prefer to stay away from death, but rather it brought me comfort, and continues to bring me comfort to this day. No longer having to watch people as they die, I am able to deal with them while already dead. And that is the difference between me, the Undertaker, and my own frgament, Adrien. 

    Being split like this for so long, the line between myself and Adrien is distinct and rather hard to miss. However, there are times where the line blurs, where we mix and entertwine into some sort of amalgamation pretending to be what we once were. The time on the Campania was where the line was blurred the most, to the point where there was hardly any line anymore. It felt like our subconscious was desperately trying to force us back together, despite being separated for much too long for such a thing to be even considered as a simple possibility. 

    Raising the dead was a combined effort between the both of us. Both of our anguish and grief, anger and despair, and sheer desperation to be one again came out in the form of necromancy. That is why we are better apart. The two of us are simply too different, too separate, by now to be able to merge without only causing problems.

    Being together again- or, as together as we could be- felt odd. I was both in and out of control at the same time. I could instruct our body to move, but I was only half there, and it was the same for Adrien as well. We were in control, but only partially. Our movements and speech wound together and created new movements and sentences, a new method of fighting, a new way of speaking. I’m surprised we weren't both a mess, being in control at the same time, but I suppose the half-assed merge was either to thank or to blame for that. We split again afterwards, which did not come as a surprise, and it was far from as dramatic as the first time. Trying to put us back together again is like cutting an apple in half, then carmelizing half of it and putting the other half in a pie, and trying to put the pieces back together once it's done. It simply doesn’t work, and it's much easier, more pleasant and more convenient to enjoy the two separately. 

    I don’t have much recollection of what it felt like to be whole, but it doesn’t bother me too much any more. Like I’ve said many times, and like I’ve come to realize after many years, is that we are simply better separate.

    Dispatch most likely already has a theory about my split personality. They always seem to know more about their reapers than the reapers know about themselves, and despite being retired, that rule remains the same for me. While I consistently refuse their ‘offers’ of a psych evaluation, (their offers being closer to not so gentle insisting and persuasion simply to have me in captivity,) they’re probably going to take me in by force eventually. I am old, after all. About a thousand something, I don’t care to remember. I can’t fight of these young, energetic reapers forever. They’ll reign me in, most likely sooner rather than later, and quite frankly I’m not particularly inclined to care what they do with me once they have me. Torture, questioning, what have you, I don’t much mind. They’re going to do what they please with me, whether I like it or not. If there's just one think I know about dispatch, it's that they always get their way.

    Oh well. If they somehow find a way to kill me, they’ll be doing me a favor. Maybe I’ll have my own body in the afterlife.

[chironshorseass]

idk if you’re still taking prompts but 7 angst for percabeth after BoTL but before tlo, thank you so much!!

idk what this is, but hopefully, it’s not too horrible bc I can’t bring myself to read it again lol.

“You should’ve said that yesterday.”

tw: blood

read on ao3

Plans don’t always go well. Annabeth should know; she’s a daughter of Athena. But one holds on to hope like it’s the last thing they have, even when accidents happen.

It was a frequent thing nowadays, for demigods to leave on missions as a desperate attempt to thwart off the titan forces. Annabeth understood the risks.

Percy did too, but he’d insisted that it was fine, that he needed to go.

He’d left with some Hephaestus and Hermes kids, intending to raid one of Kronos’ troops that had camped close to New York.

They hadn’t counted on the empousai, though. And because of this, most of the boys—including Percy—had nearly died.

But what else was new?

The thing was that...he didn't have to go. But he and Beckendorf had grown closer over the past year, so nothing could stop him from tagging along with the son of Hephaestus and the rest of the group. Maybe because he also felt bad that he’d missed out on most of the missions; he’d been absent for so long, lost in the streets of New York City.

Whatever the stupid reason was, he’d refused to listen to Annabeth, disappearing into the horizon with Blackjack and the rest of the pegasi.

He’ll survive, she’d told herself. If he really was the child of the prophecy, then…

This mission wouldn’t be the last thing he did. Or his last day on Earth. That title would likely belong to his birthday.

Gods, he’s going to die anyway.

But for now, he wouldn’t, at least not according to what she’d heard.

Thanatos would bide his time, hooded and standing at the doors between life and death, not yet ready to welcome Percy with his chilled breath.

Soon, but not today.

Still, it wasn’t like she’d been worried sick and then nearly threw up her lunch once the crew had arrived, a few yards away from the infirmary, bloodstained and battle-torn.

By all the extra load on the pegasi that she could make out from the distance, she supposed that at least they’d been successful.

Percy, however, was leaking blood down his neck, furtively trying to clamp it down with a bandana.

Soon, but not today.

He leaned against Beckendorf, his eyes baring clouds, fogged and lost. The son of Hephaestus helped him off of Blackjack, but still, he would’ve crumpled to the ground had it not been for Annabeth running to him like a madwoman. The grass crunched behind her; the others were right on her heels.

“What happened?” she cried, grabbing hold of Percy’s shoulders as his head slumped against her chest. She staggered back from his sudden weight, then righted herself.

“Hey, ‘Beth,” Percy said weakly, the words jumbling together against his lips and her shirt.

She looked at Beckendorf helplessly.

“Empousai,” he gasped, then made a hissing sound, pressing a hand to his back. It came back crimson red.

“You’re hurt!” she said as if it weren’t obvious.

Other demigods, Apollo kids mostly, rushed past her with medical supplies. But Will stopped next to them, breathing hard. He handed out ambrosia to Beckendorf and Annabeth’s waiting hands.

His eyes blazed, focused on something past her head. He waved frantically at someone, signaling them to come, and quickly. She whirled around and caught sight of Chiron trotting toward them.

“I’ll be back,” he breathed, giving them a nod as though they’d argued with him against it. He retreated a few steps, legs reacting to sudden howls of pain that echoed further back. “Just, just wait here. I’ll just…”

He dashed away, lost in the mass of pegasi and bodies that moved in all directions, shouting. In the chaos, Will was their only help at organizing it all—but she’d still tasted bile in her throat, not quite used to the way he ignored Percy and his mortal wound to the neck.

In a swift, mastered movement, Annabeth had made him chew on the Ambrosia. She’d been about to say something else—some words of encouragement—when a blur of curly brown hair nearly tripped her and Percy over. She readjusted him in her arms; Percy mumbled something incomprehensible, making her heart tighten.

“Charlie!” Silena called, flinging herself into Beckendorf’s arms.

He grunted in response but smiled through his obvious pain.

“Hey, baby,” he said.

She kissed him, but only for a second because Beckendorf had already pulled away faster than her sudden arrival.

Silena scrunched up her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

His concerned gaze leached into Percy, whom Annabeth could barely hold now.

Has he always been this heavy?

She followed her boyfriend’s line of vision and saw her friend standing in front of her for the first time. Her face morphed into shock, eyes widening. In a flash, Silena was there, hauling one of Percy’s arms over her shoulder. He was no longer conscious.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words tumbling into the pool that was now Annabeth’s fevered heart. “I didn’t...”

Annabeth could only shake her head. She had to get Percy some actual help. She pressed the cloth harder into his neck. It had to be the fucking neck.

“Will!” she shouted, voice hoarse. “Chiron!”

Panting, Beckendorf closed the distance, limping over to Annabeth. “I’m going to help the others. We weren’t so lucky on our mission, and...” He glanced somewhere past them. “Chiron’s coming our way. We have to—”

Silena inhaled sharply. “You’re bleeding, too? Why didn’t—”

“No time, ‘Lena.”

In an instant, Chiron was there, extending his arms out.

“Give him to me.” His voice was firm and urgent.

After all, the neck was a highly vulnerable place. A slit to the throat could end someone’s life in a matter of seconds. Percy was a demigod, and likely the cut hadn’t been too deep, or else he’d be dead by now. But still, she didn't know how much longer he could hold up.

Already she’d felt the tell-tale warmth of blood trickling into her skin, already she’d envisioned the life draining out of him. The sand of an hourglass raining, spilling down to the bottom.

;

They’d told her that he’d lost too much blood, that the claw wound had just barely hit an artery. But above all else, he was lucky. He’d survive.

She’d been there, hands washed clean from the rusted blood, sitting on his bedside in the infirmary and watching him sleep while her mind was wide awake. Will came and went, wrapping bandages and giving him fresh doses of ambrosia; Chiron did, too—as if none of this was his fault and he could pretend to care for injured demigods.

But she stayed. Stayed and watched.

Annabeth had forgotten how long she’d been there, staring at the blank walls, eyes unfocused. Will had poked his head inside for the final time and insisted for her to get some sleep; it was late. She’d shaken her head and refused.

Her eyes closed for a second, though it must’ve been longer than that, because, when she opened them again, golden light had already streamed through the window. It cast delicate shadows across the room. In her daze, she hadn’t realized that someone was calling her name, light as a butterfly.

Percy.

“Annabeth,” he repeated.

She blinked the sleep away to find a pair of green eyes watching her.

Though his hair was twisted and knotted, and his complexion was a worrying shade lighter, Annabeth thought that she’d never seen a more inviting sight.

“You asshole!” she gasped, lunging forwards with desperate fingers, hugging Percy tighter than she’d ever had in her life.

After a while, his head dropped back to the pillow to get a better look at her.

“Hey.” He grinned lazily.

There was a sweet wonder to his face—like he couldn’t believe she was here, waiting for him to wake up.

But her mind flashed to when his heartbeat had weakened, when scarlet red covered her shaking hands and she’d seen him slump into Chiron as their teacher dropped him here, in the infirmary.

“D’you have any idea how fucking worried I was?”

His brows knit in confusion. “What do you…” A hand flew to his neck, to his bandages. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah.” Her voice felt like rough sandpaper. “That.”

Percy winced. “Okay, okay. I can explain; that demon came out of nowhere, right? And I slashed and shit, but she still got me, and—”

“You could’ve died, Percy. You get that?”

“I know, I know! But I didn’t!”

She took a rattling breath and looked away. She suddenly felt faint; her lungs didn’t seem to gather enough oxygen. Everything was too overwhelming, too big and small all at the same time.

She was dimly aware of Percy saying something. Then, she felt the warmth of her hand in his. It helped bring her back, but barely.

“Hey. Hey, look at me, Annabeth. Look at me.” Reluctantly, she did as he said. “Breathe with me. C'mon—in two three four, out two three four...”

Annabeth didn’t know how long they stayed that way, anchored to the surety of Percy’s grip on her hand and breathing along to his rhythm, until she’d found a way back to her bearings.

“You’re okay. I’m okay,” he said, repeatedly.

She nodded.

“Talk to me.”

Here he was, the boy who had nearly died, consoling the girl who’d watched the whole thing.

She nodded again, and this time, she closed her eyes, taking in some of this new peace of mind Percy had offered.

He was safe, and they were alright.

Finally, she exhaled.

“How’re you feeling?” She bit her lip, remembering something, and then muttered, “Sorry. Didn’t really ask you that first.”

“S’okay.” Now that she noticed him, truly noticed him, she could tell how tired he was. “I’m fine. Just feel like mush.”

“Your neck doesn’t hurt? Will gave you some morphine.”

“Yeah, no. Everything’s kinda numb, I guess. Doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“You lost a lot of blood.”

“Hmm. Probably why I feel like mush.”

She felt a lump forming in her throat. Not for the first time that day.

“It wasn’t—Gods, Perce,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes.  “If you’d only seen it…”

“I know. I should’ve listened to you.”

“You should’ve said that yesterday.”

Annabeth didn’t realize that she was crying until Percy softly flicked his thumb across her cheek. He reluctantly moved it down to her lips, swiping at the tears that had already pooled there.

It wasn’t really something she planned to do, and in any other case would’ve embarrassed her, but she found herself resting her forehead against his. Maybe to steady herself. Maybe to feel his presence more, a spare hand combing through his locks.

She wasn’t so sure.

But still, she let herself close her eyes, enjoying this moment of quiet. Percy did too, sighing softly, rubbing her back idly.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, when they separated. “M’here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, just by how tender his touch had been, taking care of her when he was the injured one. How close they were at that moment. How her tears tasted like that time she’d kissed him, all salt and sweat and fervor.

Now, she was able to see the little flecks of blue in his irises, drink in all of his details like she was dying of thirst. They were so close that she was able to feel exactly when his breath hitched like hers had done just milliseconds before, how it smelled like medicine and chocolate cookies all in one.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, not taking his gaze from her. “I didn’t listen to you.”

At least he acknowledged it. Again.

“No. You didn’t.”

His thumb still lingered on her face, a ray of sunlight that she greedily took only for herself, leaning into him. It ghosted around her skin, that trailing touch of his. And despite its warmth, it sent shivers down her spine.

His eyes never left hers. Roving, feeling down to her very soul.

He’d always been the one to break her walls, destroy the dam she’d carefully built for as long as she could remember. Poseidon wasn’t his father for nothing.

And as he grasped a stray curl that fell across her left eye, tucking it ever so gently behind her ear, she felt that water roaring all over her mind. The flood happened too fast, consuming every last restraint and denial that crossed its path.

Annabeth didn’t catch it until she risked a glance to his lips.

Gods, he’s so close. Too close.

In the blink of an eye, she was leaning in, intoxicated by everything about him. Percy caught the back of her jaw with his hand, guiding her closer.

Their breaths mingled together.

Her lips parted. Closer…

“Hey, how’s—oh shit, sorry!”

She repelled from him, electrified, and whipped her head to the screeching of the curtain rod.

Cheeks flushed, Will yanked at the curtains, closing them once again.

“Wait!” Annabeth glanced at Percy, whose eyes were wide. “Will, this isn’t—”

The latter hollered from the other side, “I can come later! To, um, change bandages! Be good!”

So close.

She wanted to slap herself.

No.

This wasn’t right. For a second, she’d forgotten what was at stake. Let herself be swept away.

Have you ever considered that he’s going to die?

He’ll leave you just like everyone else.

This was dangerous, letting herself taste what wasn’t meant to be.

“I—I’m sorry,” she gasped, standing up, an unknown force pushing her back.

Percy blinked, slower than usual. Probably from all the ambrosia and nectar and mortal medicine.

“Annabeth—”

He reached for her, but she was already backing away into the wall, stumbling over her wooden chair.

“No, I shouldn’t have…” She felt herself blush. “I don’t know, I...I should go.”

She scrambled towards the curtains, ignoring Percy’s expression awashed in hurt and shock.

Brushing past his bedside, he grabbed her arm.

“Please,” he begged, voice barely above a whisper. “Please stay.”

Blinking away her tears, Annabeth forced herself to look at him.

If I stay, you’ll leave me first.

But she didn’t say that, only shook her head and watched as those beautiful eyes of his creased around the corners with anguish. A part of her died a little at witnessing this. His was a heart worn on a sleeve that would soon fade away. She pulled her arm away, burned from his grip.

“‘Beth—”

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed, already tugging the curtain aside. “I’ll call Will.”

And she left him there in his injury, allowing it to be.

He didn’t deserve this, she knew. Not when she could enjoy the last moments with him, admitting what was in the open air between them. But they’d be one step into their ruined fate if that ever happened. If she didn’t stop.

Because she was like Tantalus, that lone fruit forever out of her reach.

He didn’t deserve this, but she didn’t deserve to have him, either.

[glitxhwayventeen]

Lonely Together

Jihoon: Chapter 2 (Dark Side)

Characters: Jihoon x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst, fluff, potential blood mentions, genocide, runaways, health issue mentions, weapon mentions, panic attack description? (Though honestly it’s more of an anxiety attack), death mentions, child abandonment mentions. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: I recommend listening to Dark Side by R5. I thought the actual lyrics to the song gave off a solid vibe that I wanted to transfer to the start of this particular chapter.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀 & ☁️

Lonely Together Master List

Chapter 2: Dark Side

When you woke up this morning, you had the sweet scent of Vanilla and honey hit your nose. It was warm and inviting and made you feel safe. You were glad, normally you’d never feel safe in the wild. The pack helped a lot with that issue. But when you woke up today, you noticed that you had woken up to a quiet house. Which was… strange to say the least. There was always some sort of ruckus going on downstairs in the early hours. So you figured you’d go investigate cautiously, in case something had happened. You grabbed your thigh garter belt with your knives attached before you quietly made your way down the stairs. You saw and heard no one. Nothing was wrong or out of place. Everyone was just… gone. But why?

“Boy, you come prepared don’t you?” A male voice said from the stairs, causing you to jolt back in surprise, automatically drawing your knife from its holster on sheer instinct, ready to release it at any given moment.

You relaxed and placed it back to your thigh as you realized it was just Jihoon, one of the less spoken wolves of the pack.

He was only a few inches taller than you, but you were still incredibly intimidated by him. You weren’t sure why all the others were terrified to piss him off, even the alphas, but you were never worried he’d get mad at you. Which was weird, you were always skeptical of everyone, it was just in your nature as a rogue wolf.

However, with him, it wasn’t horror that overtook your veins, it was nervousness. Like you had some sort of school girl crush on him and you were worried you’d mess something up in front of him and die from the embarrassment of it. But why? Why would you care what some rando wolf would think of you when you’d probably be leaving in a bit when your wounds were healed better?

“Jesus Jihoon! You know I could’ve killed you right? Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to fuck with a bitch with knives?” You huffed out in annoyance while slapping you hands over your face, praying that he hadn’t seen your cherry red cheeks yet.

Of course he had though. He never took his eyes off of you whenever you were in a room. You were just too zoned off to notice

“Uh no… Not really. Never had them so they didn’t teach me shit. Not that any of that matters. We both know you’d never hurt anyone if you could help it.” He shrugged, nudging past you to make his way to the fridge for a bite to eat with a small smile pasted on his glorious lips. God he annoyed you.

“You don’t know that. I always come prepared, I could be a serial killer for all any of you know” you cooly threw his way as you let your guard down slightly, for some reason trusting him enough to have a semi civilized conversation alone.

“Yeah yeah you’re a little vicious killer. Whatever you say kid” He laughed out, trying to keep his amusement in check at your quick replies.

You gritted your teeth, “Hey I am not a kid! I’m centuries old! MUCH older than you.” You smugly responded to his bitch ass nickname for you.

Jihoon looked you up and down for a second, making you a bit self conscious and spreading a heat down to your lower belly, “You don’t look older than me. Matter of fact, you look like the youngest one here. So I’m gonna keep calling you kid, kid.” He leaned in close to you and whispered seductively in your ear.

“Where- where is everyone?” You stuttered out, trying your best not to focus on the minimal contact Jihoon had made with your shoulder while brushing past you moments ago. Curse your dumb instincts. Why did you have to find him attractive? Couldn’t your wolf side ever just stay in check?

“The market? No, to Taeyong’s? Maybe it was to the river? I dont know by the time they left it didn’t seem like they even knew where they were going so I stopped listening.” He answered while taking a bit of an apple he had snagged from the fruit basket on the counter.

“W-why didn’t you go with them?” You questioned him as you tried your best to avoid his piercing gaze.

“Didn’t feel like third wheeling a bunch of mated coupled wolves.” He shrugged once more while sitting himself on the kitchen table you were next to, “Plus, someone needed to stay here and keep an eye on the house.”

“I would’ve been here.” You chimed in, as if he would’ve ever seriously left you alone.

Whether you were a Werewolf or not, he was NOT gonna leave you without some sort of safety net if he could help it. If he had it his way, you wouldn’t even go down to the market with the other mates when supplies were needed. He knew you could handle yourself as a fellow wolf, and he knew you were the best to go because you weren’t marked yet, but he was worried for you.

You definitely had people looking at you because of your different appearance. You were drop dead gorgeous to anyone with eyes, and that greatly concerned him every-time you went out shopping. He may have been more of a lone wolf, but he wanted to protect you at all cost, even if you didn’t realize that’s what he was doing yet.

“Doesn’t count. You’re a FANCY werewolf, remember?” He emphasized the word fancy in a condescending way that irked your nerves all the way to your core.

“We don’t know what you can do yet. Besides, you act like I’d actually want to go watch them make goo goo eyes at each other all day long. Seeing them cuddle and dry hump the whole time we’re doing something isn’t my idea of fun. I’d rather be here and enjoy the peace and quiet while I can.” He said as he tossed the remains of his apple in the garbage can in one swift motion.

“I can do everything you guys can and more!” You defended yourself, getting a bit frustrated at the younger wolf for doubting your abilities.

“Then prove it. Do something… super wolfy” he chuckled out, half jokingly and half seriously in what a normal person would recognize as a flirty manner.

He hadn’t had too many girlfriends. His experience with girls was limited compared to his brothers. So sticking to his sarcastic edgy tone was the only way he knew how to engage with you.

He was curious as to what your powers entailed anyways. They all were, none of them had met a wolf like you before. All the wolves they knew were modern, and the only seriously powerful wolf they knew was from a Chinese pack that had fled to their area who could communicate with heaven, hell, and the nether realms. They had heard stories that had been passed down for some generations about what wolves were like long ago, but none of it was confirmed because nearly all had been killed or died off. So they wanted to see if you could actually do all the things from the legends they heard about your people. For all they knew, you could fly.

You hesitated for a moment, trying your best to think of something, anything that you could do that would shut him up and prove your point. But everything you thought of required you to be much stronger than you currently were. None of the visible powers you had were working right now due to the small amount of silver still running through your system. Even if you were working at full strength and weren’t hurt, you had never been able to use your powers to their full extent do to something having been wrong with you since birth.

“… I- I cant.” You sighed in defeat while bringing your head down to look at your hands.

“Why not?” He wondered aloud, not even really meaning to tease you, he just let the innocent question slip from his lips without thinking.

“Because I got hurt and I have no way to get better! My entire pack is dead! Everyone I love is dead! I don’t have a mate! I need some sort of connection to the people around me to heal faster and I don’t have one anymore! I need one or the other to have my powers come back this quickly after such a traumatic incident and I have neither! I’m fucked up and I’ve been fucked up for a long time okay!” You snapped, your eyes now bleeding and turning emerald green from anger as you yelled at him.

Once you saw his confused and remorseful expression, you quickly closed your eyes and turned around to try and calm down. You didn’t mean to go after him like that, but you were already very worried about your own health not coming back and the taunting tone in his voice just made you break. You could feel the hurt in his heart. It made you want to cry, you didn’t mean to yell at him. You were just a very touchy person who had been asked about a very touchy subject.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get upset. I just- I’m concerned for myself and this conversation… well it made the concerns I already had skyrocket. But that’s not your fault. You would’ve had no way of knowing that. I apologize for getting mad at you over something so childish.” You earnestly said, trying your best to look him in the eyes without blushing from embarrassment.

He quickly moved his head down to look at his lap. He understood your pain. He could feel it everyday. You were his mate, he already did have a connection to you. He knew when you were sad or hurt or worried. He knew that you weren’t just in physical pain, but emotional pain as well. He wished he could take it all away from you so you never felt a negative feeling again. But he just couldn’t. Though, he was upset at himself for making it worse for you. Why did he always have to try and stir the pot? Couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Couldn’t he just be cool around you and know when to stop?

“It’s okay. I… I understand what it’s like. To not have anyone I mean. I didn’t realize that you actually had to have those things in order to heal better though. With wolves now, we don’t necessarily have to have those things. I mean having them helps, but we get better eventually anyways as long as we get the wound cleaned properly. I didn’t know it was different for you...” He bit his lip as he continued, “But you know, our pack can be your pack, if you want anyway. There’s an opening for another ticking time bomb now that Chan’s found a mate. You’d be perfect for the job” he joked, though you could tell he was serious at the offer for you to join the pack.

“Yeah… how much does it pay an hour?” You played along, trying to lighten the mood from the tension you had made appear due to your little anger outburst.

You hurriedly propped yourself up on the table next to Jihoon, who gave you a small smile in return. It gave you goosebumps all over your skin. So you were thankful you had grabbed a large sweater the pack had given you before you went downstairs this morning.

You were given a bunch of them. They made you feel safe, and you loved the way they smelt. So when the other mates apologized and said they didn’t have many ‘girly clothing items’ to give you as getting clothing was sparse at the moment, you didn’t complain. You were perfectly content with your bigger clothing.

When you sat up on the table, you smelt the same scent of vanilla and honeysuckle that you nostrils had been absorbing from the clothing given to you…

“Not a lot.” Jihoon confessed, “we only offer housing, protection, and being around people who would do anything for you. But honestly, you could do a lot worse in terms of a career.” He bit his lip once more, the action drawing a small pur from your chest, which you tried to cover with a small cough. Of course he still caught the sound though. You weren’t even sure why looking at him made you that happy. The sound made Jihoon swoon, he loved that he already had such an impact on you.

“Of course there’s also some downside like with all jobs… like having to constantly break up fights, having a complete jackass for a mate, and well… you know… sharing bathrooms…” he trailed on, rubbing his neck while he attempted to make it seem like the middle part was casual.

“Wait! A complete WHAT for a WHO and WHERE was I???” You all but yell out in shock, making Jihoon wince.

He couldn’t tell if you were upset that he’d just burst it out like that. He honestly couldn’t even tell if you knew you were his mate or not. He didn’t know if you WANTED a mate or not. From what he knew of you, you usually stayed away from people unless you had to be around them. You told the others that staying alone is how you’d survived all these centuries. But Would you make an exception to your rules for survival to stay with him?

“Uh… yeah. A mate. That would- that would be me. I’m your mate…” He whispered, attempting as best as he could to regain control of his heartbeat that was now almost pounding out of his chest.

That’s when it all clicked in your head. Why they let you eat first with the mates, with the OTHER mates. You were one of them. It’s why they found you when you needed help, he must’ve felt you were in danger. It’s why you didn’t die that day even though your wounds would’ve been normally fatal even to you, because he was near you and never left your side. It’s why you weren’t scared of him like everyone else, you knew he’d never hurt you because he loved you. It’s why the pack always giggled anytime you and Jihoon would get near each other. It’s why the smell on your sweaters and his smell were so familiar, he gave them to you because you were his. You two were mates. It all made sense.

“We’re- we’re mates?” You reaffirmed out loud, but you started to feel dizzy. You weren’t sure what was happening.

Everything was going too fast, it felt like you were moving in slow motion but the entire world was spinning as fast as it could around you. The edges of your vision started becoming fuzzy and dark. You started to feel like you were going to pass out, but before you could fall flat on your face to the floor, Jihoon caught your fragile body in his arms.

“Yes. We are. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I wanted to give you some time to adjust to being around normal people before I told you.” He assured you as he started moving towards the stairs, bringing you to his room and setting you down on his bed. He was incredibly worried for you, he could hear your heart rate slowing by the second.

“You might need to lay down. You don’t look well” he spoke softly as he held the back of one of his larger hands to your clammy forehead.

“Yeah… okay… rest… that makes sense… I’m sorry I- I just wasn’t expecting-” You tried to say as you start to give into the panicking darkness, not wanting to fight the urge to black out anymore.

“It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in. Just try and sleep okay?” He shushed you as he moved his blankets over your petite form, hesitant to touch you as he didn’t want to make matters worse. But his inner wolf was screaming at him to hold you and rock you to help you.

Everything you had heard about Jihoon told you he wasn’t someone who could have a relationship. All the others always talked about him wanting no one around him ever. They called him a grumpy old rogue wolf who miraculously got stuck in their pack. They said that He did things his own way. He did things alone. So did you.

“Jihoon, how the hell are we supposed to be together when we’re both lone wolves?” You whimpered out to him before everything went dark.

Another Author’s Note: alright so you guys know the drill. I wrote this close to midnight and I’m too tired to care about revising rn. So i shall look at it and fix any mistakes tomorrow when I get the time. Tomorrow I don’t think I’ll be praying more than once. Sorry, I’m working a doubt shift. But Wednesday I’m hoping to post three times! Here’s to hoping!

(Updated 9/6)

[pynkhues]

7 for the intimacy prompt with Mick x Mary Pat?

Anon!!! You are my absolute favourite for requesting my favourite crack ship baby, haha.

This is set in the same ‘verse as Navigate a Broken Path, but you don’t have to have read that to read this. I hope you like it.

7. Kissing Scars.

-

Thing is, he’s waiting for her to ask.

Figures he and her have been doing this long enough now – whatever this is – for her to get her foothold in familiarity. Hell, she’s halfway there already, with the way she keeps apricot jelly (he just likes it is all) in the fridge door and the polish for his boots in the laundry.

Shit.

The way, every night, she keeps him a plate.

Figures they might not ever sit down and tell each other their life stories, but they’ve told each other enough – offered snapshots of memories like flipping through an album – stories of dead parents, exes, old grudges and new ones and Mick had answered and asked in equal measure.

Liked that nothing seemed to phase her.

He thinks she likes that nothing seems to phase him either.

(“You know what it smells like, don’t you?” she’d asked him one night, after a few too many beers. “The dead body of someone you love?”

Yeah, he’d thought. He knew what that smelt like.

Still.

He’d just held her hand.)

It’s why it surprises him, that’s all, that he can catch her gaze in the mirror when he gets ready to go out, see her tracing his scars – the ones across his arms, stomach, burrowed deep in his shoulder – can see her inhale, swallow, wet her lips, and still never hear the question.

Can hear the how? even as she says: “Pot roast for dinner?”

 *

 Mick inhales sharply as he pulls his shirt away from the wound, gritting his teeth when the fabric – damp with blood – sticks to the skin already starting to scab.

Across from him, Rio’s gaze flicks up, eyebrow raised – a silent a’ight? – and Mick just nods, getting his shirt the rest of the way off as Rio finishes soaking the small, folded towel in alcohol and passes it over for Mick to press to it.

Stings like all fuck, but Mick grunts through it, throat constricting, as he rests his ass back against one of the crates of liquor in the backroom of the bar. The air is stagnant here, damp almost to the touch, and cold from the Detroit winter outside holding to the stone walls and concrete floors inside. He shivers, and looks back at Rio, who’s still crouched on the floor, knuckles bruised and lip split. He fared okay. Better than Mick anyway, who didn’t even see the flash of silver before the knife was stuck into his gut.

Still, Mick’s had worse.

“You called your girl?” Rio asks, and Mick blinks, gaze re-focusing as the other man starts to unpack the kit they keep stashed back here to stitch him up. Mick swallows, looks down at his belly and pulls the towel away just enough to see it soaked red with blood.

“You called yours?”

Rio just snorts at that, grabbing one of the sealed packets of needles and tearing it open with his teeth.

“Nah, I ain’t the one who got stabbed, man.”

“You really saying that like you would if you were?”

He doesn’t reply to that.

 *

 He leaves it a few days before he goes back to her place, but he makes sure to text her so she knows. Tells her he’s on a job, and she texts him okay, she texts him good luck, she texts him Billy really wants you at his sixth grade concert next week, and then, later, I want you there too.

He wants to tell her he wouldn’t miss it, but he doesn’t know how, so instead he just shows up for dinner, and it means something – the way her face lights up, the way the boys yell, the way she had a plate waiting for him in the oven, even though she didn’t – couldn’t have known he was going to show up, but still.

It’s nice.

To feel wanted.

So they watch Monsters, Inc with the kids and he feeds the baby while she gets the boys to bed, and he nurses his movements in a way she doesn’t notice until they go to bed and he figures she’ll just look at it when he takes his shirt off to reveal the puckered stitches (Rio’s never been good at fiddly work like that) and the orchid-blue petals of bruises across his stomach, stark even against his tattoos.

And she does just stare, sitting on the bed in a loose tank and her underwear, her face open, her blue eyes so wide they look like marbles, and Mick should say something, should tell her it’s nothing, that this is what he does, and she knows that, only suddenly she opens her mouth and what comes out is:

“Sharks are mean this time of year.”

Mick blinks.

“What?”

Mary Pat just nods, pushing the blankets down to wriggle underneath them, her hands shaking just a little (just enough that he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t getting familiar with her too).

“They’re just all - - all fangs,” she continues, voice pitching high, and she laughs, shakes her head more to herself than to him, and Mick slips his belt out of his pants, dropping it onto the dresser as he considers her.

“In Detroit?”

Mary Pat hums in affirmation.

“They’re taking over the River.”

“Ain’t it frozen over right now?”

“It’s a new species. They’re called - - Ice Sharks. Or so I’ve heard.”

“From who?”

“I don’t - - shouldn’t you be telling me?” she gestures at his belly, and Mick raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re the one who got in a fight with one.”

She offers it so matter of fact that it takes Mick a moment to catch up. To turn his look from her, half undressed, in her bed, tan sheets beneath her and patchwork quilt being tugged up her soft, bare legs, face set in certainty, and himself, still in his jeans, but otherwise naked, with no idea what the fuck is going on.

So.

He just asks it.

“What are we doing here?”

Through the walls, he can hear a pipe gargle. Can hear Benji snoring (kid’s got the lungs of a guy twice his size), and mattress springs whine as one of the kids rolls over, but in here, Mary Pat just looks back at him, shifts her weight a little, before she jerks her chin down at the barely-healed wound at his gut.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Which - -

Fuck.

“No.” He pauses, then adds stiffly: “It’s just work.”

Because it was. Because it was just another deal with just another guy who thought he could take more than he was owed, and it’s happened before and it’ll happen again, and Mick put a bullet in the guy’s head and it was over.

It is over.

He sighs, rubs a little at his chest, and suddenly, Mary Pat gets back up onto her knees, lifts her shirt up and pushes the top of her faded panties down. Mick blinks, gaze fixing, as she brushes down some of her wiry pubic hair to show a thin, puckered line.

“I had a C-Section with Andy,” she tells him. “You know you’re not supposed to lift your baby for six weeks after a C-Section otherwise you’ll scar? You know how many women aren’t going to pick up their babies for six weeks? I figure it’s a - - a work wound, right? That’s all it is. A part of the job.”

She inhales a little, cheeks flushed, but she still covers it with her hand, lets her shirt fall back down to cover her soft, pale belly, tries to make it look casual and Mick watches her fingers grope at herself, self-conscious, and before he can think anything of it, he says:

“You sure? It kinda looks like you were in a knife fight.”

The laugh is instant, and curls warm in Mick’s head, and she folds back down into the bed as she says:

“I’m guessing you’d know.”

He inhales sharply at that, looking at her, and he can’t figure out if she realizes it’s this one, if it’s what happened this time, or if she’s just figured that it’d be one of them. One of his scars. Wonders if she knows it’s the nick at his ear, or the one at his Achilles heel. Shit. Has she even seen that one? He wets his lips, and from the bed, Mary Pat just grins at him, her eyes a little dark, like she feels this too, but then she hums. The sound low.

“Actually it’s funny you should say that, I was in a knife fight once myself.”

Mick blinks, lip curled.

“Yeah?”

She nods, rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, wrinkles her nose.

“Lilli - - Lisa Bosw - - Bottom. Little Lisa Boss-Bottom. Yep. That was her name. We were at a carnival, and I had just gotten off a ferris wheel with this boy she kinda liked, and she just leapt right out at me. Unhinged. With a knife! There were rumours she was actually a werewolf.”

There’s something to the way she says it – like the lie’s sorta tumble rolling out of her, head over ass over feet, a way to it that makes his lips twitch, and Mick reaches for the buckle on his pants. Slips them off until he’s just in his underwear, before padding slowly towards the bed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mary Pat says, and she scoots across the bed to make room for him, lowering her voice when she adds: “You should see me the next full moon.”

She growls then, and then instantly looks embarrassed that she did it, closing her eyes, her cheeks flushing red, and Mick’s grin comes before he can stop it, finally climbing tenderly into bed beside her. Before he can think anymore of it, he sinks low across the mattress, pulls down the top of her panties, and looks at her c-section scar again, and says:

“You sure this ain’t from a bobcat?”

It’s her who laughs this time, her eyes opening, embarrassment still there but not quite running so deep maybe, and he presses his lips to the scar, feels the bristle of hair against his mouth, the bodily hitch of her breath. Then – a hand at his shoulder, calloused, working fingers smoothing over an old bullet hole scar, and fuck, it’s his breath that hitches then.

“I’m guessing this is from a - - a giant bee.”

“A giant bee,” he echoes, hand coming to palm at her too-soft hip as he starts to push his way back up the bed. “How giant?”

“Giant-giant,” she replies. “I heard they were engineering them in a lab in Portland to make crazy amounts of honey.”

It feels weird – how long the smile holds on his face, and his hand coasts up her side to gently grab her arm, hold it up so they can both see where she burnt herself on the iron last week.

“You get this volcano diving?”

She hums in affirmation, before saying: “To save a family of elephants.”

He can’t help it then, the bark of a laugh, but before it can bellow too loud, before he can think to stop it, Mary Pat’s leaning forwards, freeing her arm from his grip to curl it around his neck and kiss him. His laugh lost to the warmth of her mouth and the scratch of her fingers on the base of his skull.  

“I know what you do,” she breathes into his mouth. “I know who you are. Please don’t think - - don’t think you can’t come here after.”

The air is sucked out of his lungs, and he leans back just enough to look at her – at her blue eyes and her working scars and the way her gaze holds him, and he thinks I’m not supposed to get this but he just says okay.

[catxsnow]

REPLACED

Summary: Bruce might have adopted a bunch of children, but that didn’t mean all of them were ready to take on the mantle of Robin.

Batfam x reader 

Warning: angst, self-depreciation, Damian being a demon-spawn  

A/n: I’ve learned when I’m feeling depressed I write depressing so here we are. 

GIF not mine

Word count: 2.4k

You struggled a lot in your life.

Bruce Wayne found you after the death of your mother. Your father had never been apart of your life and without your mom, you had no one. Just like he had done with the Dick, Jason, Tim, Steph, he had taken you into his home with open arms. It was a big adjustment, one that took you years to get used to.

He trained you to be the next Robin, but fighting was something that you could never grasp. No matter how much he pushed you, had patience with you, and spent hours upon hours training, you felt as if you were never going to be enough to get on the streets. You felt weak, pathetic that you couldn't be as good as the rest before you.

And then Damian came into the picture. He was trained from such a young age that he was far better than you and he was years younger than you were. It made you feel even worse about your skills. Before you could even get your chance as Robin, Damian had taken the title from right under your feet.

That was your breaking point. For years you forced yourself to not give up. You thought that maybe if you pushed yourself to your limits that you would reach the point that you could go out there. You were wrong. The moment Damian showed up at the Wayne Manor, you had finally given up.

Maybe it was for the best. If you had to train for that long, just to be able to go on patrol a few nights a week then maybe it was best that you never got your chance.

It broke Bruce's heart to see you give up.

He always wanted what was best for you. No matter how much he yelled at you and pushed you down, he did it because he wanted you to stay safe. Not once did he ever give up on you because you had never lost faith in him. Damian showing up ruined that.

It wasn't just his abilities that towered over yours, it was his teasing. He knew he was better than you and it made sure that you knew it. Damian put you down, mocked your skills, and pushed your to your mental breaking point. You didn't think he realized the damage he was doing until you broke down in the cave.

“What benefit does she even bring to the team, father? You’ve been trying her for years and she hasn’t even come close to making it the being Robin,” Damian harshly spoke. He said many more things about you, things that no one should ever hear about themselves. 

Damian was talking to Bruce about you, wondering why you were there if you never even made it out on the streets. His words tore through your chest - useless, weak, pathetic - all the things you already felt. You were sparring with Tim at the time, Damian must have thought that you couldn't hear.

Tim heard too.

He saw you pause in the middle of your training. Standing there with your shoulders slumped and tears in your eyes. He stopped, hearing what you were hearing and understanding why you were like this. The only reason that you were even down there, was because even after you told Bruce you wanted to give up, he asked you to at least keep yourself enough on your toes that if something were to happen to you, you could protect yourself against a common thug.

Tim tried to stop you from running off, he wanted to tell you not to listen to what he was saying but it was too late. You were already storming off, tears streaming down your cheeks. Thankfully, neither Bruce nor Damian noticed your exit - as far as they knew, you hadn't heard a thing.

Bruce was yelling at Damian when you left, angered that he would say these things about you. You might not have been the best fighter on the team but you were still part of it. Even if that meant that you were the one stay back and stay on comms or stitch them up when they got back. You were a part of the team just as much as the rest of them.

Damian wasn't able to see that. He was just a kid, as much as he didn't want to be seen as one. He didn't understand the human emotion at that age, especially being the way that he was raised. You knew that you should have taken that into account but it didn't make his words hurt even left.

You left to your room. The tears wouldn't stop, everything that he was saying was your worst insecurities spoken in truth. Everyone knew that you were self conscious about your skills, but they also knew that you were trying your best and that was what mattered the most. Damian didn't know that.

For years, you felt older than you actually were, it was a quality that was picked up by every child in that house hold. However, laying there on your bed crying your eyes out? You felt like the teen that you were. Filled with sadness, loss of hope, you didn't think you would ever find your place.  

You cried and cried until no more tears would come out. Knees tucked to your chest and staring at the wall with lifeless eyes, you felt like the disappointment that you always thought you were.

"(Y/N)," there was a knock at your door. It sounded like Tim, but you couldn't be sure over the sound of your sniffles.

Weakly, you replied back, "go away."

"(Y/N), I'm not leaving until you let me in," You knew for sure that it was Tim. He was the only one to see you run off so upset. Tim was always a good older brother to you. He understood the struggle of not being able to be as strong as Dick or Bruce, but where he lacked strength, he made up with in skill. You had neither, at least not enough of either.

Reluctantly, you allowed him to come in. Tim saw you curled up on your bed, eyes red and puffy. He joined you on your bed, wrapping his arms around you. You thought that you had no more tears to shed but the second you crashed into his arms, they spilled again.

"Don't listen to him," Tim rubbed your back. Age wise, you were the closet to him which made it easier to get along. Tim always seemed to take your side no matter the circumstance. "Damian has been training since he was a child, you've only been here a few years. That doesn't make you less worthy than him.

"In fact, just by showing that you've never given up proves that your better than he'll ever be. You're willing to learn, to improve, Damian has reached an arrogance that makes him thinks he has no more to learn," Tim tried to comfort you. "You can't give up now, I know you already talked to Bruce but -"

"But nothing, Tim," you shook your head, pulling away from him. "Damian's right, I'm not cut out for this, I never have been. We both know if I ever go out there, the whole time everyone is going to be worrying about me and the job isn't going to get done. Bruce might have made me family but I'm not meant to be under the wing of Batman."

"That's not true," Tim argued. He wished that you could see how much you had improved. He wished that you could see that you were just as valid of a member of this family. You were important to everyone there - even to Jason who rarely liked to admit that he tolerated anyone in that family.

"But it is, we both know it, we've always known it."

><

You wished that you were strong enough to not sulk around the manor for the next week but that wasn't the case. Damian's words were really tying you down and nothing was able to get out of your rut.

Tim tried to help in every way he knew how. He would bring you your favourite drink when the two of you got back from class, he even tried to bake you cookies. You appreciated his efforts, you really did, but this wasn't something that could be fixed with material items.

By the end of the week, Bruce finally picked up on how you were feeling. You had done your best to avoid him but when he cornered you in the library, you knew that there was no escaping him.

"(Y/N)," Bruce called out to you. World's best detective was going to see through you facade in a matter of seconds. It was time to face him, you knew you had to. Maybe this was what you needed: tell him how you felt about Damian's arrival. "You've been MIA for a week, what's going on?"

He didn’t even know that you heard what Damian said about you. What a joke. 

"Damian is what's going on," you suddenly felt this sudden rage fill your body. This wasn't like you, you were never an angry person. "Damian shows up in the middle of fucking nowhere and you treat him like he's some kind of-of god! I've been here for years, he hasn't even been here for two months and you replaced me with him. For godsake Bruce you let him take my place as Robin before I even got the chance!"

Your voice continued to raise as you spoke. Bruce had never seen you like this - the anger that rose a fire in your eyes and fists tight at your sides. He knew that Damian's arrival wasn't necessarily ideal in their plan for the future but he couldn't change what it was now.

“We’ve talked about this. I’d rather you be stuck training for years then dead on the streets because you weren’t ready,” Bruce tried to argue. The situation was less than ideal but he didn’t even put in the extra effort to try and change it. 

“That isn’t the point!” You yelled. “I don’t give two shits that I’m not ready. I don’t care that I’m not as naturally equipped as the others. You gave up on me along time before I gave up on myself. You replaced me because that was easier than facing me!” 

"(Y/N), calm down, you're starting to sound like Jason," Bruce tried to get you to lower your voice. He had known the pain that Jason felt when Tim took his place after his death and you were starting to say the exact same things that he was saying when he was in that same place.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Your voice still echoed through the large library. "Maybe Jason was right. Maybe this family is too fucked up to ever amend. Maybe he was right to leave and never look back! You let Damian say those things about me and you never did jackshit about it! What kind of father does that prove you to be?"

Bruce looked taken aback by your words. You always appreciated him taking you in, but there were some lines that he had crossed that you couldn't forgive him for. This was one of them - the betrayal that you felt when he took sides over his son he didn't even know existed against you.

Bruce’s silence said more than any string of words could.

With a huff of air, you pushed past Bruce and out of the library. Maybe Bruce was the reason that you were never able to reach your potential as Robin. Maybe he never took you to the same level that he took with the boys and with Steph. Maybe it was Bruce Wayne that never wanted you to make it to being a vigilante.

The idea had never crossed your mind before, but the more you thought about it, the more you thought it to be true. You felt as if you were always missing pieces of training - moves that Tim was able to do and you couldn't, tactics that Dick would come up with, even using weapons like Jason when he was Robin. There were so many things that you could never do.

The thought of him sabotaging your success just made you even more angry than you were before. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to be Robin, you wanted to be a better hero than Bruce, Dick, and everyone that came before you. You wanted to prove everyone wrong.

You hadn't realized that you walk of anger had led you to the gardens. The sun was just setting and through your red vision, you had to stop and admire the beautiful orange and purple skies that shone through the trees. The sight had calmed you instantly, and you stood there to watch the sun finish setting.

Dick was the one to show you how pretty they were in the gardens. It was when you first arrived at the manor, upset about your mother's death. he tried to make you feel better with the view and it had worked. You always thought of your mother when the sun set after that, it was a reminder she was still there with you.

"(L/N)," you hadn't realized how long you had been watching it. The smallest glimpse of light was left and darkness began to cover the yard. You were surprised to see that it was Damian standing next to you. Since his arrival, you avoided having a full conversation with him. "Father told me to come apologize to-"

"I don't want your apology, Damian," you looked down at him. He seemed relieved that he didn't have to do it, but even more so confused. Just as the last bit of light left the sky you fully faced him. Damian watched as your face grew with determination.

"I want you to make me a lethal weapon."

[orsuliya]

Song Huaien is a good boy!

Book spoilers did me dirty. That’s a fact. Ever since I peeked at the last chapters of the novel, I’ve been convinced that Song Huaien was going to go rogue sooner or later. And so I looked upon him as one does upon a ticking bomb, watching him closely for any signs of rot and obvious mwahahahaing.

And that… might have been wrong of me. It’s not like The Rebel Princess ever treated any character’s novel journey as sacrosanct (see: Su Jin’er, Wanru, even Zitan). So what gives? Well, just look at the ever-precious Liu Duanduan. Wouldn’t you want to steel your heart in advance…?

And then the supremely astute @dangermousie came along and made me reconsider what could be done in the scant remaining number of episodes in order to deliver a satisfying ending. I trust The Rebel Princess, so it will be a satisfying ending, 12 cut episodes notwithstanding, and I’m choosing to ignore any contrary opinions! So what could be done? Well, getting rid of Song Huaien’s rebellion and conflict with Xiao Qi seems to be one of the most viable solutions, whether by design or by leaving it on the cutting-room floor. Okay, I’m sold, I thought at once, jumping without thinking as I’m wont to do. But does the drama itself support that?

Why, yes, I believe it does!

What are the actual visible signs of Song Huaien’s potential villainy? There’s the corruption/negligence thing, a pronounced liking for finer things in life and an unrequited love for Awu. That’s it.

The corruption scandal, if it can even be called such, what with Potato suppressing any further investigation attempts, is the biggest strike against Song Huaien. It’s clear that he’s somehow embroiled into unsavoury dealings, but the extent of his guilt is never shown. While I don’t fully believe his story about the birthday gifts being delivered during his absence and accepted without his express permission and/or knowledge, there is also nothing to suggest he’s been explicitly on Xie payroll, secret documents non-withstanding. The record book alone is no proof of guilt – why, the Xie might have simply noted that gifts of certain value had been given and received, not in exchange for a specific service, but rather as a start of a beautiful relationship. You get the drill. I believe if there was a solid proof of Song Huaien doing explicit harm to his own in exchange for Xie money, Xiao Qi’s reaction would have been much harsher.

As it stands, Song Huaien’s guilt is a matter of conjecture. There’s the birthday gift, which Xiao Qi cottons onto really quickly, which confirms that it may have been noted in the Xie secret books. There’s the fact that he may or may not have known about it and may or may not have chosen to keep it. I’d say he did know, if only after the fact, and that he originally meant to keep it. There’s also the damning fact that Song Huaien was the man taking care of logistics from the Ningshuo side. And he did his job really poorly, since multiple deliveries of substandard grain and clothing somehow made it through. But was it out of maliciousness? Was there ever a conscious decision on his part to let things slip? Not necessarily. It looks bad, sure. But let’s not forget that dealing with the capital sharks may be a first for Song Huaien, regardless of his previous experience as a procurement officer. Whatever his experience, it was either at the very end of the supply chain or it was mainly related to supplies coming from the area closest to Ningshuo. The former wouldn’t have prepared him for his present duties. And as for the latter, I think that the Ningshuo province has its own rules and ways, which are in no way comparable to the shark pond that the capital undoubtedly is. What’s more, Huaien really seems to buy into the illustrious capital life; it would not surprise me if he delegated a few things that should not be delegated simply because he was busy taking it all in!

So, intentional crime or crime of negligence? I’d be inclined to vote for negligence. It just fits what we know about Song Huaien up to that point, it fits his current circumstances and it makes Xiao Qi’s reaction quite reasonable.

The second strike against Huaien’s integrity is his love for the finer things in life. But then, is it really such a damning thing? Many of the Ningshuo soldiers must have experienced the same thing upon their arrival into the capital. Here they are, heroes and patriots all, having spent their whole life either on various battlefields or in decidedly non-luxurious circumstances. Why, they must be quite happy if they get enough to eat, which they do only because they have an honest general who cares about them very much. Other armies are not as lucky! And then they are shown all those useless noble scions, some of whom might nominally be officers despite barely knowing how to hold a sword (and even those swords would be ceremonial ones, so mostly useless). I don’t know about you, but I’d be bitter. Some of Xiao Qi’s closest clearly are, although he tends to shut that down very quickly. Also, covetousness is not a crime as long as Song Huaien is not actively taking bribes or jockeying for profit. And there is no proof of that. His manor and his title are both given to him without him ever asking for them. If he appreciates that… well, that is also not a crime and he doesn’t even gloat openly! As it later turns out, he took both as his due, believing that his talents were seen and duly appreciated outside the Ningshuo army.

Sooo… Nothing out of ordinary on that count. And seeing that at one point Song Huaien offers to use his savings to repair the ailing military budget – whether from guilt or from sense of duty – speaks to his advantage.

Now, let’s take a look at his unrequited love for Awu. I mean, is it any wonder he falls for her? I am half in love with her myself, so I totally get it! What matters is what he does with this love. Quite surprisingly, there is no attempt at coming between her and Xiao Qi. Why, Song Huaien actively tries to help their marriage by convincing Awu to return home from the temple. No hesitation there! And while he might realize he’s actually in love very late in the story (by this point it’s obvious to everybody), the realization itself changes very little. He gets very determined to go through with marrying Yuxiu, that’s it. Still no attempts to make a move on Awu. Even that flower he brought back from the Imperial Mausoleum was not an overly romantic gesture – she asked and he did as she asked in order to make her happy, nothing more. There’s also a genuine attempt to get over her. He goes to Yuxiu on their wedding night and despite the initial haziness on the matter, he seems to know quite well she’s not Awu and does his best. Although that bro slap in the morning… Let’s believe he did his best there too, the poor awkward thing. He gives her an actual hug when he comes back from Jiangnan! Progress!

What finally buried the theory that Song Huaien might rebel in order to take Awu away from Xiao Qi was his convo with Wang Su in episode 55. I was so afraid (just as I was afraid on his wedding night) that he might do something stupid. Like asking for Awu’s hand or betraying his romantic intentions towards her. But no. While Song Huaien tells Wang Su that he wants/needs to find Awu, there’s no romantic intent there, only duty towards Xiao Qi’s wife and respect towards a woman who has earned it many times over. If there is anything else, I just can’t see it! Why, during this whole conversation Song Huaien is more broken up about Xiao Qi than about Awu!

Whether Song Huaien manages to get over his love or not, there is no sign he was ever going to do anything about it, not while Xiao Qi lived and perhaps not even now that he’s supposed to be dead. Moreover, he made every possible effort to suppress his emotions out of sheer guilt and feeling of brotherhood towards Xiao Qi. Marrying Yuxiu might have been a bad, bad choice (although I still hope for the best), but it was a choice made for the best of reasons.

So that’s it, right? Well, wrong. Even with all of the above there was still a possibility for him to go the villain route. Except… he actually seems to be redeeming himself in leaps and bounds. Once away from the capital, Song Huaien seems to throw off the capital’s thrall and becomes the best version of himself. Jumping into stormy waters in clear disregard of any danger? Working tirelessly towards a common goal and for the good of the people? That’s pure Ningshuo stock, no moral rot in sight! Now, why would the narrative have him getting back to his old self only to make him regress again?

There’s also no real reason for him to ever go against Xiao Qi. If that was going to happen, I’d have expected at least some signs of bitterness and jealousy to have shown up by now. And yet there’s nothing, at least not towards Xiao Qi. Who, might I add, really does his best to mitigate any potential bitterness in the bud. Just look at the way they resolve the corruption scandal! And I’m not talking about Xiao Qi burning (or not burning?) the incriminating page. What got my attention is what their conversations over the matter boil to. Which is: Listen, brother, I get that you’ve been having some issues, but get your shit together. And please, take care of yourself. I don’t want you to get in trouble, so please remember that there are people watching your every step. No overt accusations, no anger in sight, maybe the slightest bit of sternness, but heavily undercut with roughly expressed care. And it’s the same with their confrontation over Awu. I know what’s going on with you and my wife, but I 100% get it, mate, so take a moment and decide how to proceed from here. Even if Song Huaien was actively seeking a reason to hold a grudge, it would take a truly rotten seed to find one. And a rotten seed Song Huaien is not.

Now, let’s wrap it up by going over Wang Su’s suborning of Song Huaien in episode 55. It’s really something special, as well as the main reason I’m choosing to reject any possibility of SHE/XQ showdown.

Wang Su waylays Song Huaien on his way out of camp. Song Huaien is clearly very emotional at this moment and not really inclined to stop for anybody. Why, I think that he was fully prepared to go through Wang Su if needed. It is also quite probable that his decision to leave for the capital was made on the spot, once he heard about what happened to Xiao Qi, Awu and his comrades. Yet he stops and listens, if only because Wang Su – Awu’s brother and Xiao Qi’s brother-in-law - should be his natural ally in his quest to clear Xiao Qi’s name. As he proclaims to be by announcing his willingness to join Song Huaien on his journey to the capital.

Wang Su (or rather Daddy Wang possessing Wang Su’s body) takes full advantage of Song Huaien’s state. First he breaks out a prop, Awu’s favourite wine. It does not work as well as it could have and I’d say that at this point Song Huaien remains quite astute as to Wang Su’s weird behaviour. His first outburst shows he’s got little patience for games. Awu is your sister and Xiao Qi your brother in law, he reminds Wang Su, who seems very controlled for a man with much more obvious ties to this whole situation than Song Huaien. Wang Su skips around the issue by taking out his ace card, the Empress Dowager’s order. Predictably, it takes Song Huaien off-balance and incites a sense of debt, if not gratitude. An excellent opening from the shapeshifting Daddy Wang! Then Wang Su makes an attempt at aiming Song Huaien at the Empress Dowager… and it doesn’t work. Song Huaien doesn’t care about his own life half as much as he cares about Xiao Qi. Cue a mournful soliloquy! There is no way a man this broken about his brother’s death is going to try to kill said brother in the 13 episodes remaining (less, in fact, since they will not meet until 59 or 60 at the earliest). There would be no build-up! The only way I can see this happening is if Xiao Qi went against Song Huaien first and in a deeply personal way. Which we know he would never, so...

Wang Su makes a brave attempt at corralling Song Huaien’s grief and turning it to anger, for all that he may say that anger will not help anyone; it doesn’t work and self-blame enters the picture. If only I was with him leads to a startling realization: all those honors and the brand new posting were just a ploy. Now, this realization could lead to two different results. Song Huaien could plausibly become bitter towards Xiao Qi –  because of whose very existence his own talents weren’t truly recognized and he himself became a pawn. But there’s nothing to suggest that’s true. It’s more likely for Song Huaien to turn his bitterness over his wounded pride towards the Empress Dowager in particular and scheming nobles in general. Which is what I think he does. There is also a possibility of guilt: he bought into this whole noble life fairytale… and this is what partially facilitated him being turned into a pawn. It may be just wishful thinking, but I expect that in the future Song Huaien will be more wary of unexpected meat pies falling from the sky, however tasty they may be.

Just a moment later Wang Su offers him a meat pie. He’s going to help him take revenge! And Song Huaien swallows it whole – at least for now. This is where a truly interesting thing happens. Song Huaien, a general in his own right, a true hero and a man who’s been acting as Wang Su’s equal while in Jiangnan… folds and takes to a subordinate position like a duck to the water. Tell me what to do, he seems to be screaming with his eyes. And when Wang Su starts to use the word we, there’s a palpable sense of relief in Song Huaien’s whole demeanor. What’s more, he’s not reacting to the idea that he still needs to jump through some hoops in order to become a Wang minion. I’m not sure you’re ready to become my ally, lies Wang Su, knowing very well Song Huaien’s is already in his palm. Where’s the ambition? Where’s the slightest sign that this man may be capable of going for the throne for his own sake and against his brother? I don’t see it!

The Wang family is used to needing to pay their allies in hard coin (or titles, or favours), that much is clear, because that’s what Wang Su tries next. The title of a count is too lowly, he says and then dangles a princely one in front of his victim. If Song Huaien was really as hungry for honours and wealth as some of us were expecting him to be, he’d be all over that. But he’s not. He gives it due consideration, but, if anything, this proposition seems to bring him back to reality. There are no free meat pies to be had and he’s just remembered that. But since this is the best – and likely the only – proposition/offer of help he’s going to get, he seals the deal anyway.

There’s still some reluctance, though. Why, Song Huaien needs to rationalize this decision by reminding himself that Wang Su saved his life and that there’s revenge to be taken since he’s alive (as Xiao Qi is not). Not very eager to take part in a coup, is he? And then he actually makes getting justice for Xiao Qi a condition of this alliance! Finding Awu is the second one, but as I’ve already said, there seems to be no romantic intentions there.

And that’s it, the deal is done. So now, can anybody tell me how is this Song Huaien supposed to go against Xiao Qi? He’s more likely to go for a hug once he sees him alive!

There is no reasonable way to leave in Song Huaien’s conflict with Xiao Qi. There’s just no time and no real build-up to that! The only way to have him go rogue is to have a timeskip with Song Huaien doing a 180 in the meantime. And somehow I just can’t see it happening. But I guess we’ll have to see about that!

[xxrainstormxx]

Save it for the Doctor. Spencer Reid x Reader.

(A/N: this is based off a writing prompt. "You're... beautiful." "And you're concussed") Word count; 2,475 Part 2 (edit: my pleas for requests for stories are not reaching people so I will beg here. If you want a oneshot I’ll write it. Prompt or no prompt.)

I had heard a lot about the recent murders. I even had seen a few almost survivors on my mom's operation table, yet somehow I was wrapped up in the middle of it. Smack in the middle. No normal citizen even knew the FBI was investigating the murders and yet I was being interrogated. The man who sat in front of me was just mean, he wore a serious look and his eyes never moved from the narrow eyed glare he gave anyone who walked by and especially gave me. I was happy to cooperate, but the minute I was under fire I was fed up and wanted a lawyer. I was no killer, I had no upper body strength to move a dead body and believe me, I would know how much a dead body weighs thanks to my mom training me. I was a tired college student trying to get my damn degree so I could move on with my fucking life. And I was not in the mood to be interrogated when I could be working on my thesis. The mean man, Agent Hotchner I believe was just staring. I guess waiting for me to break or some shit like that? I don't know. I wasn't talking first. I didn't care anymore and this resulted in a match of silently staring waiting for the other one to speak. This went on for what felt like an hour but was probably closer to at least three minutes, I just sighed, "I cave." I sighed muttering curses as I shifted in my seat. "Go on, ask your questions I have a thesis to write and I would like to go home to continue it," I reluctantly urged on. He leaned forward in triumph I think as he demanded answers from me. "Where were you the night of Synthia Robbin's disappearance (Y/N)?" he began dwelling on the poor girls name. It made me frown, she was a 13 year old girl, a child, and she was gone. Kidnapped and found dead. It made me sick to think of what could happen to her. "So that's what this is about?" I hissed disgusted with the accusation "I was at the library with Emmalin." the mention of my sister's name made him further darken. "Your sister, correct?" he inquired. I rolled my eyes, "Yuduh" I sounded sitting back. "All your time is accounted for?" he continued leaving me puzzled for a moment. "There were maybe ten minutes in between where she left to find a book." I murmured unsure if the truth was the right thing to say as he stood and pulled out a file and threw it on the table making me flinch. "What about the night of Chris Bennidict?" he asked "A s-sports game" I stuttered "A baseball game I think. Rockies vs Rangers." I said shaking a little as he threw down that files some of the pictures falling out of the boy, shot twice. "Eunice Quiet, Quiara Basson, Basen Unice, Lynch Gryse, and Philip Jence!" he got  louder with every file he threw at me. "You were near by every single scene and you fit most of our profile" he concluded the pictures that fell out made me physically sick. Children, those poor babies. I sobbed and turned away gagging, he wasn't convinced it was real but I knew it was and up came the vomit that was caught in my throat.

I had no doubt I fit their profile but I worked part time at a daycare. Children were my life line, and it mad me sick to see them hurt. He answered a call and left the room leaving me there to cry over the pictures. A brunette woman walked in and sighed taking me out of the handcuffs attaching me to the bolted down table. "Come on sweetheart. We'll get someone to clean up that." she sighed very tired, I wanted to know why. They brought me out to the main area of the station and sat me down. They slowly cuffed me to the desk and I cried softly. I looked across the station to see Emmalin "Emmy!" I called but was ignored causing me to frown. So I shut up and listen to whatever raving was in my defense, "My baby sib? A murderer?" she asked "well... it isn't that hard to believe," she said making my jaw drop. "They've always been a little too obsessed with the idea of death." A lie, I had an emo phase and so did she, "Introverted" well partially true. "and well she creeps out her friends," she finished causing me to stand suddenly, "Liar!" I shouted "You fucking liar!" I cried ignoring the pain and stress on my wrist the hand cuff was causing. I was now a 45 degree angle due to the cuffs keeping me in place. She seemed genuinely shocked i was there. "Why are you trying to pin this on me. Your own sister!b You were with me everywhere we went and those bodies were found. Why aren't you being questioned too? Did you lie? Did you say I was the only one there?" I screamed as I was sat down. She hissed at me and most of the agents took notice. Agent Prentiss, the nice brunette sighed and walked to my now horrible sister and asked her to follow her into a different interrogation room. It felt like hours that I was sat there, and a curly haired man was sat in front of me just reading, or what I thought was faking, really bad faking. "Why are you even sitting here if you're just going to pretend to read?" I asked the "doctor". My mother was a doctor and I didn't believe this boy was any kind of doctor. I had gotten to know his name as Doctor Reid and I wasn't allowed to call him an agent so I had no other choice. He just looked at me thrown for a moment before shaking his head "I'm not pretending" He stated as he shifted "No one can read that fuckin fast ya damn liar" I muttered not necessarily hostile just a little vexed. "I can. Did you know that our unconscious minds can process sixteen bits of information per second? Our conscious minds, however, can process sixteen million?" I sat back unimpressed "You are... absolutely insane" I laughed "Insane, perhaps but I'm not being accused of murder." he stated, and my smile that i worked so hard to get disappeared "You think I did it too." I muttered, it was meant to come as a question but instead it came as a statement. He shook his head "Not fully, while you do supposedly fit the profile our profile, our unsub wouldn't inject themselves into the investigation. The one part that doesn't fit" he said sitting back and crossing his legs turning to the board filled with evidence, and all those pictures that made me sick sat right next to the happy photos of the children in their school uniforms smiling big. I tried to focus on those "Well maybe your profile is wrong, cause this is sick." I hissed "(Y/N), you're here most likely because you were in the wrong places at the wrong times. Kids being picked up and murdered minutes apart from each other, while you were out with your sister at those locations? It's not very probable."

I just sighed knowing he was probably right "There aren't many coincidences when it comes to murder" he stated "Out of uh... curiosity what is an unsub? No normal person knows that is." I muttered as I tried to avoid the board, the thought of being in those places, not helping those kids, not even having a clue what was happening made me sick. "Unknown Subject" Dr. Reid said mumbling "Why aren't you uh... looking at the board. I thought you'd be proud of your work." He said as if to egg me on. I rolled my eyes "Those pictures make me sick." I muttered "I work at a daycare, it's my job to protect kids not watch them get hurt. I don't wanna see dead fucking children!" I shouted realizing I probably sounded fucking crazy and definitely like a kill. I hung my head in shame. "I know... I know it isn't fair to blame myself for what happened to those kids, but being in the places of the crime, the same night it happened, it makes me feel like I could have and should have done something. Something other than just sit there and wonder." I whispered "Yeah I feel guilty now but, not of what you think" I whispered looking to the board once more focusing on the pictures of the children when they were alive. "Sweet innocent babies... Never done anything to anyone. Probably were crying for their mom." I whimpered at the thought "They didn't deserve any of what happened" I looked away once more thinking about the mothers. "Moms.... Their moms" he stood up as if he had a damn epiphany nearly knocking me backwards in the chair. "Morgan, it's not an attack on the children it's an attack on their mothers." He said starting to put of pictures of older women. "think about it. They all went to the same cafe every day. It wasn't the day care, so it can't be (Y/N). They wouldn't see much of the parents" he enthused writing things down that I could not decipher because his hand writing was absolute shit. "But wouldn't that just give them more reason? They think these women are bad mom's for working instead of taking care of the child, and wants to teach them a lesson?" making him shake his head "That's stupid, if they wanted to make them suffer they'd just kill the women themselves, it'd be much more efficient and wouldn't lead to them doing the one thing they would dread doing!" he said circling one name on the board. Emmalin. "That's also sexist. Women work, children can't go with. Why would I have a fucking problem with that" I shouted across the room. "Who fits the profile while also holding these sexist values." Reid stated more than asked pointing to Emma's name again. "Oh dear god." he sighed "But my sister isn't a murderer!" I cried. "She's connected to the murders... and she's made it clear she doesn't think women should work." Morgan stated and went to the interrogation room. "You are a life saver (Y/N)" Reid said kissing my cheek out of pure joy, and I slapped him as a natural instinct and turned red "Shit! I'm sorry! I'm not used to boys doing that if they aren't being creepy! But at the same time that was really fucking creepy" I yelped as he held his face and laughed "No it's fine. Got too excited to fix what felt like a huge mistake." he said, and when I say I turned red I mean red. This was the first time I'd seen him as a human. Not a super genius, not as an agent, not an asshole. Just a normal guy with pretty eyes, a good jaw line, soft hair, and the sweetest smile I had ever seen. The blush was apparently very clear on my (skin color) skin because he hummed and smiled "Did you know blushing is speculated to be caused by a sudden rush of adrenaline making our blood pump faster." I giggled a little "Is that why you're so flushed?" I asked as he blinked not understanding just how damn pink he was after that rant. "Guess so." he shrugged. the door opened and out came Emmalin and she grabbed a ceramic vase off a desk and slammed it down onto Reid's head and ran away quickly. He fell to the floor because it was a heavy fucking vase, and I freaked out as he hit his head on the desk on the way down.

"Shit!" I yelled as half of them chased my very obviously guilty sister and I sat in shock as two of his friends rushed over to help him. Morgan uncuffed me and I blinked "Spencer?" Agent Jareau asked worried and I sat down next to him sitting him up and grabbing a water bottle slashing it on his face "Do not fall asleep." I said firmly "You could very well have a concussion." I said as an ambulance arrived quickly, he was cearly not feeling good because of the way that he was acting. I was worried about how sick he looked. He threw up half way to the hospital so I was told. I went with because I didn't feel safe with my sister on the run and an Agent in the hospital. Well I guess he wasn't an agent he was a doctor. The doctor, not Spencer, came out and i stood with the other two very worried. "He'll be fine. He has a mild concussion." as i thought "but he's awake, and on some pain medication. I take it you all know the situation and his limitations in the field?" he asked and Morgon and Jareau nodded "You can go back to see him now" he said and stepped aside "come on" Jareau said quietly to me "oh. Agent, I don't think he'd want to see me." I said quietly. "I'm sure he would like to know you came. You won't make a very good profiler if you can't even tell that Reid enjoys your company. And call me JJ, it makes it easier," she said giggling and pulled me right back with her and Morgan. "Hey man" Morgan started "What happened?" he muttered groaning in pain. "You got hit with a vase, took a pretty sweet fall, and got a concussion" JJ hummed arms crossed as she leaned on the wall. "Shit." he muttered making me giggle. "Oh hey!" he said when he saw me. "I want water, and jello" he muttered making small lip smacking sounds. "Morgan and I will get it" JJ laughed leaving me in a very awkward situation. "So umm.." I began before being cut off. "You know.. You're beautiful" he said staring at me causing me to snort "And you're concussed." I laughed shaking my head "Well, a concussion based on the severity doesn't necessarily affect your judgement of a person especially if it's a first time thing. I thought you were beautiful long before I was concussed but you were a suspect. Suspects being beautiful, hard to comprehend sometimes." I laughed "You're a dumbass" I snorted "But I-" he blinked and i walked over pecking his lips. "How about a date sometime? I'll give you my number" I said quietly. "Yeah... okay..." he whispered. "A date."

[backtothestart02]

Hazy - 11/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Another chap! I hope you enjoy! It is sans Iris, since this whole fic is in Barry’s POV and Iris is obvs not with him atm. Hopefully it’s still an enjoyable read. Reviews are love!

Commissioned by @andie1223

...

Chapter 11 -

Linda paced back and forth frantically as she talked to the 911 operator about Joe’s condition while Barry did his best to keep Joe conscious and put pressure on the wound. In his heart, Barry knew this wasn’t real, this wasn’t the timeline he belonged in. It didn’t change the fact that this Joe West looked just as much as the one he knew, felt like him, loved like him. He couldn’t let him die. And he couldn’t shake the fact that if he’d had his speed, he would’ve been able to stop that bullet and keep Iris from being kidnapped. He would’ve been healed from Eddie’s beating him up just two days ago too.

“Come on, Joe, stay with me. Stay with me,” he repeated over and over.

Joe just nodded on the floor, trying to help him put pressure, but he was losing feeling in his limbs, and it was a fight to stay conscious.

“What the hell is taking so long?”

Barry reared his head up, glaring at Linda unintentionally.

“I don’t know,” she whisper-mouthed back, then repeated the insult into the phone to a far too calm operator, as far as the two of them were concerned.

Luckily though, paramedics burst through the door just shortly after and put Joe on a stretcher. Barry wanted to go with him. It was his first instinct. But given Linda had told the crime that had taken place over the phone, police also showed up and refused to let either of them leave until they’d taken their statements.

“He’s going to be fine,” one of the paramedics said, as they took Joe down the hall.

Barry really wanted to believe that.

After what felt like forever, both he and Linda were escorted out of her apartment, and it was taped off as a crime scene. Barry turned to Linda immediately, about to ask the inevitable, but she held up her hand.

“I’d drive you, Barry, I really would. But right now, I’m shaking so bad I don’t think-”

A stab of guilt hit him in the middle of his chest. Of course she’d be shaken up. She might not be close to Iris or Joe the way he was, but a gun had gone off in front of her, at someone she knew, and then someone else she knew had been dragged off.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, swallowing hard. “Do you have money for a cab?” he asked after a beat.

She managed to suppress a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I have that much.”

They found their way out on the street and were able to hail a cab in no time at all. Traffic was brutal, but within half an hour they were let off at the hospital entrance.

Barry burst through the doors as Linda paid the cab driver and then followed him inside.

“He’s still in Emergency,” he told her, fuming after what the nurses had told him. “We can’t see him, because we’re not related.”

He was furious. He didn’t even know if he’d grown up in the same house with Iris and Joe in this reality, so he couldn’t push that angle with confidence. This was hell.

“Oh, Barry, I’m so sorry.”

He ran his hand through his hair with his good hand and forced himself to take a seat in the waiting room. Linda asked one of the nurses at the front desk for some water for herself and for Barry, which he refused, and then sat down beside him. She set the little paper cup of water on the small table between the chairs for when he was ready.

Barry couldn’t get a grip. He felt like an idiot. This whole time in this timeline he’d just been trying to cope, adjust, win Iris back somehow. He’d felt stuck. Never did it occur to him to make regaining his speed a priority. He’d been 100% focused on getting his relationship with Iris back on track. When he started to lose his speed, he figured that was at least something he could work towards. But now that he was injured and Iris was gone, Joe in critical condition…

He hated that he hadn’t just done that first, hadn’t tracked down Wells and Cisco and Caitlin to devise a plan, to convince them somehow to help him. Yet, thinking on it now, on how much of a one-track mind he had when it came to Iris, he couldn’t imagine him doing things any other way if he had the opportunity to try again.

Linda shifted beside him, and it was enough to pull him from his thoughts.

“How are you doing?” he forced himself to ask, her well-being the furthest thing from his mind, but he knew it was important.

She forced a smile and held up her hand.

“Not shaking anymore, so that’s good. I think it helped to get out of my apartment. Though…I don’t know where I’ll stay until the investigation is resolved.” She frowned.

“You’ll stay with me,” he said instantly.

She looked up, surprised.

“Though…I don’t have a guest bedroom,” he admitted.

“I do well on couches,” she informed him, resting her hand on his constantly moving arm to still him. “I’m short.”

He forced a smile from that, then licked his lips. He had to tell somebody about the timeline he was from, and he knew she was the only one left he could tell. He didn’t know if she’d believe him – who would? But it was worth a shot.

“Thanks, Barry. I don’t know what I’d do withou-”

“Do you believe in past lives?” he interrupted her.

She blinked.

“Uh…random topic.” He waited. “You mean, like…reincarnation?”

His lips twisted.

“No, not exactly… Like, say, you’re living your life and everything’s normal. Then you go to bed and when you wake up everything is different. It’s like a living nightmare that you can’t wake up from. Like a…new timeline on your life.” He frowned and looked up at her crestfallen face. “Does that make sense?”

“Barry.” She reached for his hand. “I know things seem really bad right now, and they are, but that doesn’t mean we won’t get through this. It doesn’t mean this isn’t your life.”

He looked away and sighed. He’d known it would be hard getting through to her. In the aftermath of something traumatic like a gunshot, maybe it was normal to imagine that this wasn’t the life you thought you were living. He didn’t want her committing him to a mental hospital though, so he chose his words carefully.

“Do you have any money left?”

She frowned.

“Some. Why?”

“There’s somewhere I need to be.”

She rose to her feet as he did, blocking his path to the exit.

“What about…Mr. West? Don’t you want to be here when he wakes up?”

He swallowed. He did, but suddenly he’d realized that if he was going to fix what a mess this had all turned out to be, he was going to have to do it alone.

“Can you stay here?” he asked gently.

She blanched. “Me?”

He nodded.

“Why me? He doesn’t even know me. He met me like a minute before he got shot!”

“I…I know.” He tried to soothe her by squeezing one shoulder. “But there’s somewhere I’ve got to be, and it’ll help Joe in the long run. And Iris and…hell, even Eddie.” His lips twisted. “Maybe.”

“Talk to me, Barry. What are you up to?”

He shook his head.

“I need to do this by myself.”

“In your condition? Your pain meds are going to wear off any second now. Then what are you going to do?”

He shrugged helplessly.

“No, no, I am coming with you on whatever crazy adventure you’ve cooked up in your head. I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”

“Linda-”

“Barry-”

The staredown didn’t last long.

“I need to go to STAR Labs,” he finally said.

“The laboratory? Why? Do you know someone there?”

He sighed. “I…used to.”

“What do you mean you u-” She held up a hand to stop both of them from that line of thought. “You know what, nevermind, if that’s where you need to go, then that’s where we’ll go.”

“I really don’t think you should come, Linda,” he tried again, but she was having none of it.

“Well, that’s just too bad, Barry Allen, because I promised you I would take care of you until you were all healed up, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

He pursed his lips, then said, “Okay…”

“Okay, then, let’s go. I’ll call the cab when we get outside. It’s getting crowded in here anyway.”

And then she was out the door, not even waiting for him, but getting on her phone as soon as she was outside, just like she’d said she would.

Barry went to the front desk again and left both of their numbers with the nurse, asking that one or both of them be contacted once Joe was settled in his hospital room or set for release. One of the nurses was a bit of a stickler about how they were bound to be too busy by whatever point that was, but a young nurse cut in and assured him she would make a point of reaching out.

Barry decided to take that with a grain of salt and forced a smile of gratitude before turning around to an impatient Linda, who was waiting by a cab outside.

“STAR Labs,” she told the cab driver once they were inside. “And make it quick!” she said when the guy raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered under his breath, then took off out onto the street.

Barry didn’t say a word, just sat with his head against the window the whole way there. He kept his hands to himself incase Linda would try to comfort him again. He couldn’t afford that right now. He needed a plan, and he knew there was only one person he could get it from.

Dr. Harrison Wells.

…

The laboratory building loomed large when they arrived. It was bigger than Barry remembered, and bustling when they got inside. The crowd seemed to be a mix of visitors and employees, and it dawned on him then that maybe the STAR Labs Museum was operational at this point. But if that was the case, why did the cab driver seem so surprised at their location.

“Museum will be closing in five minutes. Please finish what you are doing and find your way to the exit. Have a great rest of your day!”

Caitlin.

That was her voice alright, and it sounded so…chipper. He wondered if Ronnie was still alive in this timeline, and if he was about to wreck her entire life by making him dead again if he changed things.

Barry weaved through the people, abandoning Linda unceremoniously to get to the customer service desk where, in all her glory, stood the chipper Dr. Caitlin Snow guiding people graciously to the exit with her outstretched arm.

“Caitlin?”

She froze and searched the crowd for who had called her name, and so casually at that. Barry strode forward so he was directly in front of the counter she stood behind. She tilted her head in confusion.

“It’s uh, actually Doctor Snow,” she corrected, pointing to her clip-on nametag. “Do we know each other? The museum’s about to close for the day. You can come back tomorrow though!” she said brightly. “10am sharp.” She smiled.

“I’m not here for the museum.”

She frowned. “Oh? Then what are you here for?”

“Caitlin! Caitlin, Caitlin!” A flustered, suited up Cisco Ramon came sliding in, in between them, and then completely blocked Barry’s vision. “We have an emergency in Room 102,” he said under his breath. “If you know what I mean…”

Her eyes widened. “Cisco, what do y-?” Her eyes narrowed and then widened again, according to whatever face Cisco was making. “Oh. Ohh.”

“Yeah, so if you could stop flirting for two seconds, I would-”

She scoffed. “I was not flirting. I was-”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re just lucky Ronnie’s not hear to see it.”

“See what?!”

But he’d tugged her from behind the counter and was dragging her away.

“Sorry, Mister, museum’s closing for the day. Come back tomorrow. Oh, and she’s engaged!” Cisco called back to an offended Barry. “Find somebody else.”

Barry scoffed, irritated by his best friend from another life and his assumptions. If it was his real timeline, he would never-

“I think they’re closing,” Linda said, finally having found him.

Barry sighed. “Yeah, I got that much.”

“Should we go?” she asked, looking around at everyone leaving.

But Barry was determined.

“No. There’s got to be someone else here who can help.”

“Help with what? Your…other life?” she asked, only half-jokingly, really wanting to be entirely joking, he guessed.

So he ignored that, searching instead for another employee, one he did not have any personal relationship with in another life and could help him somehow.

“Excuse me, sir, it’s time to leave.”

Ugh. Not who he was hoping for.

Hartley Rathaway appeared before the two of them. There was no kindness on his face, no politeness. Just determination to stick to the rules and get anyone resisting out by force if necessary.

Probably just by insulting them though, if Barry had to guess.

“Actually, I was hoping you could help me before I go.”

Resigned to the inevitable, Hartley folded his hands in front of him.

“With what exactly, sir?”

“I’d like to set up a meeting with Dr. Harrison Wells.”

Hartley laughed. Just once. Just to show how incredulous of a request it was to his ears.

“Uh, I’m sorry, Mr.?”

“Allen. Barry Allen.”

“Right, Mr. Allen. Dr. Wells does not do meet and greets with civilians. So, if you were hoping to get his autograph…or something? Just, wait for his next book signing. It should be listed on the website. I’m sure you know what that is.”

Barry’s brows narrowed.

“I’m not some sort of…star-struck fan needing an autograph,” he said, even as he realized the irony of his words, because that was in fact who he was once upon a time.

“No? Well then, you won’t find it hard taking no for an answer then.”

“But-”

He reached for the microphone behind the counter.

“Museum is now closed. Please find the exit.” He paused for emphasis. “Now.”

Barry scoffed, but Hartley had no more time for him. He backed away and went to anyone else he saw in the main lobby, ushering them in a gentle manner towards the exit.

“Unbelievable.”

“Maybe we should go?” Linda urged, and Barry sighed.

She had a point, but had he really come all this way just to…give up?

“We can come back tomorrow. Maybe you’ll have better luck then.”

He hung his head, then nodded.

“Yeah, maybe.”

She looped her arm through his, then tugged him towards the doors they’d come through on entering the building.

“Come on, I told the cab driver to wait.”

Barry suppressed a groan. Had she had that little faith in him? He supposed he couldn’t blame her.

“Do you have-”

“Enough to get us back to the hospital? Yeah.” She rubbed his arm encouragingly. “Mr. West should be waking up soon. You’ll want to be there.”

He nodded and followed her into the cab, looking back at the glass-encased building only once before focusing back on the road, unaware of a pair of steely eyes behind glasses watching him closely as he disappeared from sight of the STAR Labs front window.

[ibringyouasong89]

Self-Awareness Time, Part One:

So I’m reading this article one day, (see article here: https://psych2go.net/6-signs-youll-be-single-forever/), and realize how some of this is true, but also some of it is bullshit. Spoiler Alert: I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was 18.  Is it because I haven’t wanted to be with someone, or be in a relationship, since that one ended? Quite the contrary, actually. I have dreamed, since I was a small child, of a perfect soulmate for me, and that it would be a Disney-movie-ending come true for the rest of my life. Having my first (and since then, only) boyfriend break up with me (so he could go out with my ex-best friend, who in turn, dumped her boyfriend of three years - who was my childhood friend from elementary school - in order to be with him; it was dramatic, stupid, and messy, i.e. we were teenagers who thought they knew themselves but didn’t have a clue) did not, in fact, deter those dreams at all. The problem is that I didn’t learn to love myself. I learned to move on, which is always wonderful, but I didn’t hold myself in any higher esteem than I had before, and while I was with him. It wasn’t a reflection on being with him, but more or less, a reflection of myself and how I saw myself, based on my childhood and certain experiences. Fast forward a couple of years later: my parents are divorced, my father is dead, my childhood friends have disappeared out of my life for the most part, I live with my mother and grandfather (who was close to dying himself), and I am now living in a different state, faraway from everything I know and love and hate everything about this new place. I hated (and still do, for many of these points) the polluted environment, I hated the lack of nature (I moved to a metropolitan-region within the realm of a major city), I hated how crowded it is, I hated how everyone lives on top of one another; I hate the noise, the traffic, and most of all, I hated how alien and out of place I feel. I knew I didn’t belong, but because of finances, and having an ineffective bachelor’s degree (that didn’t come with a lifetime guarantee of having a career, as promised by my parents and elder generations. Though it did come with the nice guarantee of student loans), I was unable to move anywhere else. I was unable to be independent, financially or otherwise, and could do nothing to make my dreams a reality or to improve my life. In short, I was stuck. And hating every minute of it, along with myself. To be fair, I wasn’t an emotionally healthy person to start off with - but I mean, who is by the time they’re 23, 24 years old, and a culminating reflection of time, pressure, past abuse, parental issues, trust issues, abandonment issues, lack of socializing/being ostracized for being different, and self-worth and self-love issues? No one, and I mean, NO ONE, is taught how to love themselves, completely, as a child. I don’t care who raised you or where you grew up. This is a fundamental truth and fact. But I met someone. Lo and behold, there came this divine gift, one day, of someone who was just like me! He didn’t have the same issues as I, but he understood in a general sense (as any individual who has a certain degree of sympathy and empathy can do), and made me feel seen (even if I hated it at times). Someone who, in all honesty, has fundamentally changed me forever. And to think I met him at my job! (i.e. retail). This person...well, I thought he might’ve been THE ONE. I was really, REALLY in love with him. More so than I ever thought I could be with someone.  Our connection was real and based on emotional, mental, and spiritual intimacy (there was none of the physical, which was probably for the best, in the end), and I had never loved anybody before, in the entire history of being connected to family and friends, the way I had loved him. I thought he was truly something special - a gift from the universe that not only allowed to experience this once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, but also because of how OBVIOUS it was that we were meant for each other. (I was so arrogant back then and admit it heartily now). Well, suffice to say, it didn’t end in rainbows-and-sunshine-for-years-to-come. He had already been entering a relationship when I met him, while also having his heart broken by another girl. As the saying goes: wrong place and time. While I was busy pining over him and fantasizing about us being together romantically (after building this incredible connection and deep friendship), he was happily living his life and enjoying his relationship...even though, for a time, he went out of his way to spend time with me and deepen our emotional intimacy further. He told me things about himself, and his life, that he swore he had never told another human being before in his life. But it all came to a grinding halt one day - out of the blue - when he severed our connection with all of the swiftness and severity of a well-placed swing from a sharpened blade. Later he would confess that it wasn’t intentional - it was because he was busy cutting other people out of his life and I got caught up in the “crossfires” of it all via social media and the like *insert eyeroll here* - but that he had also been conscious of my burgeoning feelings for him, and felt “flattered” that I had come to regard him so greatly. He promised to re-open the lines of communication between us again and to be a better friend. Spoiler Alert Part Two: None of these promises were fulfilled. Now, some of you (or whoever reads this long-ass personal post) might say “Well, maybe in knowing about your feelings, THAT was why he didn’t bother talking to you anymore. It made him uncomfortable, especially since he was in a relationship with someone else. He just wanted to make a clean break.” To be completely honest, I was aware of that possibility from the get-go. The problem is that he claimed (during this period of seeking me out and spending quality time with me) his relationship with his girlfriend was “casual.” That he was more than aware that he was her first boyfriend, but that he knew it wouldn’t last. In knowing that, he still pursued a relationship with that girl (though his self-prophecy did come to pass...three years later). Now, there were never any promises made about entering a relationship with ME, as some of you may point out as well. I agree. There are, and never will be, any guarantees when it comes to the heart. Someone who learns to love another is quite capable of also learning how to un-love that same individual, at any time. And hatred, as many know, is not the opposite of love; apathy is its true counterpart.

No, what was truly hurtful was that he knew that truth, honesty, compassion, consideration, and genuineness were core values of mine. Values that I thought he shared...but turned out to be lies when he revealed his regard, or lack-there-of, for me in the end. When he did not confront me over my feelings for him and instead played ignorant for the sake of his own happiness. When he promised that this did not interfere with his ability to be my friend, even after confessing said romantic intentions to him, and probably lying about it all the same. He knew of my past, my issues, and had probably guessed at my level of loneliness and knew about my lack of friends since moving away from my hometown...and didn’t think twice of ditching me, nor of how his sudden “ignorance” about our bond would effect my feelings. That being “one of the guys” was my true status - despite the fact that I have breasts, a vagina, lack a penis, and had never acted in a “masculine way” around him (aside from being intelligent, having common sense, being interested in comic books, music, and movies, having a deep appreciation for classic muscle cars, and a biting sense of sarcasm); i.e. no hanging out in bars with him and his male friends, no doing stupid shit for giggles, no running around in the middle of the night to each other’s houses to smoke pot and drink in the basement, not being into sports and wrestling, recalling the same stupid stories from high school and retelling them, over and over again, along with the same stupid jokes, etc...And I’m not judging any female (or person) who does DO this, or enjoy these things! I’m just simply describing how he, and his friends, acted and what their similar interests are. I was “friend-zoned” (which is a ridiculous phrase, but I can’t think of anything else to describe it as), but was NOT treated like a friend any longer. I was treated like a stranger or an acquaintance that you remember vaguely seeing in the hallways and cafeteria when you attend your high school reunion (that guy who makes you go “Oh, *Insert Name Here*! Omg! How are you?! Wow, it’s been a while! Great to see you lost all that weight! So uh...how’s things?”). In short: I was being gas-lit. For anyone who has experienced this, you have my deepest sympathies and my ear and shoulder, whenever you would like. Of course part of the blame falls on me too: for treating romantic love like a drug I couldn’t live without, for depending on someone too much for my happiness, and for allowing myself to be treated as someone who is less than worthy of real love, respect, consideration, kindness, compassion, and honest, open communication.

So, not only did this guy break my heart, but he also threw me, and our friendship, away like it all meant nothing. It became obvious then that I, and our bond, had never mattered to him at all.  The worst part is that he continued to flirt with me, stringing me along (unknowingly or not), while also maintaining this enforced distance! (Which is also COMPLETELY WRONG TO DO TO ANYONE!) In truth, I think he’s an unaware narcissist who doesn’t realize, on an unconscious level, how manipulative he can really be. It’s sad. But I know, without wishing for it or egging the universe on, that there is a lesson waiting for him in the wings of the cosmos that will enable him to truly understand the lows, and highs, of true personal awareness (if it should come to pass - anything is possible, in any way, shape, or form). But back to the point: In conclusion, my soul was shattered. My heart was a destroyed. I fell into a depression based, not only on this heartbreak, but also my heart being broken by ME. I was so unhappy with everything going on, and not, in my life and it all felt so hopeless and pointless. I could see no path forward, no future for myself, that didn’t result either in me being unhappy or being unstuck. (Hell, even writing about all of this is allowing the phantom pains to rise from their graves in my heart, which makes me realize how much healing, and self-love, I still have to gain). This, however, was the beginning of my awakening for me.

It dawned on me like the rising sun within me that I really SHOULDN’T put stock into having people depended upon so much to MAKE me happy. I should be making MYSELF happy. But then the deepest question, out of the pit of darkness within my soul, arose: Why WASN’T I happy with myself?