#I wrote this in an attempt to remember the emotions I experienced while reading it for the first time

[mononijikayu]

drunk tonight — ryomen sukuna.

"Yes, we can." he murmurs, his voice a soft, dominant caress that contrasts sharply with the intensity of the moment. His lips press against your jaw with a sharp, possessive kiss, and you feel your head loll against his, unable to escape the overwhelming sensations. His words are both a promise and a demand, a statement that attempts to bridge the gap between the pain and the passion you’re experiencing. "Because I love you. And you love me."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, toxic romance, hurt/no comfort, break up, fighting, crying, hurt, physical touch, sexual content, sadness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depictions of toxic relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of fighting, depiction of sexual content, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of sexual context, mention of loneliness, toxic ex-boyfriend! sukuna, long suffering ex-girlfriend! reader;

WORD COUNT: 9.4k words

NOTE: the thought bubble says "yes, we can." and "because i love you. and you love me."; i wrote this a while back but i was waiting for the poll to end. but if sukuna wins, then he definitely has his stuff posted first. somehow, sukuna always wins my polls 😆😆😆 anyway, i hope you love this one too!!! i love you all 🫶🫶🫶

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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YOU DON’T WANT TO ANSWER THE PHONE. Late at night, your phone buzzes, its vibration cutting through the silence like a knife. You glance at the screen, feeling a chill run down your spine as you recognize the number. It’s a number you know all too well, one that you’ve tried to erase from your mind but could never quite forget, no matter how hard you tried.

A sigh escapes your lips, your heart sinking as Sukuna’s name flashes across the screen. It’s a name that once brought you comfort, excitement, even love. But now, it’s just a reminder of everything that went wrong, of the hurt and the scars that never fully healed.

You’ve blocked him on everything—social media, messaging apps, even email. You thought you had cut off every possible avenue for him to reach you, but he always remembered your phone number. 

He was always good at that—memorizing details, knowing exactly how to reach you when you least wanted him to. It was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, his ability to know you so well, to be so in tune with you. But now, it’s a curse, a reminder that no matter how far you try to run, he can always find you.

The text is a mess of jumbled letters and half-formed words, the kind of message that only makes sense to the sender. You can almost hear his deep, slurred voice in your head as you read it, the way he used to talk when he was too far gone, too deep into the bottle. He’s drunk, that much is obvious, and the thought makes your stomach churn.

You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling up inside you. There’s nothing worse than a drunk ex-text. It’s a toxic mix of emotions—regret, anger, longing—all wrapped up in a few poorly typed words. You know how this goes, how the night will unravel if you let it. 

He’ll keep texting, maybe even call, and each message will be more desperate, more incoherent than the last. He’ll say things he doesn’t mean, make promises he can’t keep, and you’ll be left holding the pieces of a conversation that never should have happened.

For a moment, you consider ignoring it, just turning off your phone and pretending you never saw it. But you know that won’t make it go away. You know that as long as Sukuna has your number, as long as he has a way to reach you, this cycle will keep repeating itself.

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the screen. You could respond, tell him to stop, to leave you alone once and for all. But part of you knows that won’t work either. You’ve told him before, and yet here you are, staring at another late-night message from the man you once loved.

Your thumb hovers over the message, the words blurring in your tired eyes. You want to be strong, to resist the pull of old emotions and familiar patterns. But there’s a part of you that’s still connected to him, a part that wants to reach out, to understand why he can’t just let you go.

But you know better. You’ve been down this road too many times before. And as much as it hurts, as much as it feels like tearing a piece of your heart out, you know what you have to do. With a sigh, you delete the message, your chest tightening as you do. You close your eyes, trying to block out the guilt, the sadness, the tiny voice in your head that says maybe this time will be different. But you know it won’t. It never is.

You can’t even muster the energy to be angry. It’s all too familiar, the cycle of hurt and regret that you both keep getting sucked into. You start typing back, your fingers trembling slightly with the weight of it all.

“Sukuna, stop. Wherever you are, just stop.” You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the screen. But you need to say this—you need to finally put it to rest. “This hurts, all of it. It’s a mess, and we’ve broken up. You need to stop chasing after me. We can’t go back.”

There’s a long pause. You wonder if he’ll leave it at that, but another text pings through.

“I can’t… I can’t live with this without trying. Please…”

You swallow hard, feeling the ache in your chest, but you’ve made up your mind. This is a wound that needs to heal, and reopening it will only make it worse.

“Sukuna, I’m done. You need to be, too.” You send the message, and this time, you turn off your phone. The silence that follows is almost deafening, but it’s the first step towards finally moving on.

You purse your lips, staring at the screen as his last message burns into your mind. You know he’s just too drunk tonight. He doesn’t really want you back—not the way he thinks he does. He’s just broken inside, sad and high, and you can feel the weight of his loneliness pressing through the words.

A lump forms in your throat as the urge to cry wells up again. It hurts because deep down, you know the truth. He doesn’t want you back. He’s just lonely, aching for something familiar to fill the void. You’ve been there before, reaching out in desperation, hoping for comfort in the arms of someone who used to mean everything. But that was then, and this is now.

You type slowly, forcing yourself to keep going, even though each word feels like a knife twisting deeper into your heart. "Sukuna, you’re not really after me. You’re just lonely and sad, and I get that. But this… us… it’s over. We ended things for a reason."

Your fingers hesitate over the next part, but you push through the pain. "We hurt each other too much. I didn’t want to be with you anymore because all we did was tear each other apart. And I don’t want that for either of us."

You take a shaky breath, knowing what you need to say, even if it feels like ripping off a bandage from a wound that hasn’t fully healed. "So put down the phone, Sukuna. It’s time to go home. You’re just drunk tonight.”

You hit send, and the tears that you’ve been holding back finally spill over. You’ve been strong for so long, but tonight, in the quiet of your room, you allow yourself to feel the full weight of everything you’ve lost and everything you’ve chosen to leave behind.

You ended things because you knew it was the right thing to do, but that doesn’t make it any easier. And even though you’re telling him to move on, a part of you is whispering the same words to yourself. It’s time to let go, for real this time. It’s time to heal, even if that means facing the pain head-on and accepting that some things can never be fixed.

Your phone rings, and your heart sinks as you see his name flashing across the screen. You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the decline button. You know you shouldn’t answer, know that nothing good can come from this. But some part of you—maybe out of concern, maybe out of habit—hits the green button.

“Sukuna, don’t—”

“I’m on my way.” he interrupts, his voice slurred but filled with a determination that chills you. “I need to see you. We need to talk.”

Your stomach drops, and a sense of dread washes over you. “No, Sukuna. Don’t do this. You’re not thinking straight.”

There’s a pause on the other end, a brief silence where you can hear him breathing heavily, as if he’s fighting to keep his composure. “I have to see you.” he repeats, softer this time, almost pleading. “Please. I…..I want to see you. I wanna…I wanna be with you.”

“Sukuna, please.” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re drunk, you’re not yourself. Turn around and go home. You’re only going to make this harder—for both of us.”

“I don’t care.” he snaps, and you can hear the desperation creeping into his voice. A desperation that’s never been there before. “I can’t keep living like this, pretending I don’t need you. I’ll be there soon.”

Panic starts to set in. You feel trapped, knowing that no amount of reasoning will get through to him tonight. “Sukuna, if you show up here, I won’t open the door. I mean it.”

There’s a harsh laugh on the other end. “You will. You always do.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they’re true, or at least they were. You can’t deny the history between you two, the countless times you’ve stood at the edge of this same precipice, teetering between resolve and surrender. 

How many times had you given in, opened the door, and let him back into your life, even when every fiber of your being screamed that you shouldn’t? You’ve lost count, the memories blurring together into a painful montage of late-night confessions, tearful apologies, and broken promises.

Each time, you told yourself it would be the last. You would stand firm, hold your ground, and finally cut the ties that bound you to him. But then he would show up—vulnerable, raw, and desperate—and the walls you had so carefully constructed would crumble in an instant. 

He knew exactly how to reach you, how to twist the knife just enough to remind you of what you once had, what you once were. And for a fleeting moment, you’d believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

But they never were. The darkness that surrounded him, that clung to your relationship like a shroud, always found a way to seep back in. It would start slowly—a harsh word here, a lingering silence there—but soon, it would consume you both, dragging you back into a toxic cycle of pain and regret. Each time you let him back in, you lost a little more of yourself, a little more of the light that once defined who you were.

But you can’t do that anymore. You can’t keep losing pieces of yourself to a love that no longer serves you, to a relationship that has long since become a shadow of what it once was. You’ve fought too hard to reclaim your life, to step out of the darkness and into the light of something better, something healthier. You’ve built yourself back up, brick by brick, and you can’t let him tear it all down again.

This time, it has to be different. This time, you can’t open the door, no matter how much he begs, no matter how much it hurts to turn him away. You can’t let him drag you back into the darkness that you fought so hard to escape. You deserve more—more than late-night texts filled with empty promises, more than a love that only thrives in the shadows. You deserve peace, stability, and a future that isn’t haunted by the ghosts of a past you can’t change.

So you take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the familiar pull of his words, the seductive lure of what could have been. You remind yourself of the pain, the nights spent crying, the days filled with anxiety and doubt. You remind yourself that you’ve survived without him, that you’ve thrived in ways you never could have imagined when you were still caught in his web.

And as much as it hurts, as much as it feels like a betrayal of everything you once held dear, you know that you have to let him go. You have to close the door, lock it, and walk away—this time for good. Because if you don’t, you’ll never truly be free. And freedom, you realize, is worth more than any fleeting moment of comfort he could offer. You can’t let him pull you back into the darkness. You’ve come too far, and it’s time to finally step into the light.

“No, I won’t.” you say, forcing steel into your voice. “Not this time. If you care about me at all, you’ll turn around and go home. You’ll stop this before it gets worse.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you think maybe, just maybe, he’ll listen. But then he speaks again, his voice rough and broken. “I’m almost there. Just… wait for me.”

Your heart is racing now, your mind scrambling for what to do. “Sukuna, if you come here, I’ll call the police. I’m serious.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and then, finally, silence. You think he’s hung up, but then he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for everything. But I have to try.”

He hangs up before you can respond, leaving you standing there, staring at your phone with your heart pounding in your chest. You feel sick, torn between the history you share and the need to protect yourself from the man he’s become.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You don’t want to call the police, don’t want to escalate things that far, but you need to be ready. You need to stay strong, for your own sake.

With trembling hands, you lock your door, turn off the lights, and sit down on the edge of your bed, phone clutched tightly in your hand. You wait, praying that he’ll turn around, that he’ll finally realize that what you had is gone, and it’s time to let it go. But deep down, you know this isn’t over—not tonight, not until he’s standing at your door, and you’re forced to make the hardest decision of your life.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one heavier than the last. You sit in the dark, your breath shallow and your nerves frayed, listening for any sound that might signal his arrival. Every car that passes by your window makes your heart jump, your mind conjuring images of him stumbling out, determined and reckless.

You think back to the times when things were good between you two, when his intensity was something you admired, even loved. But that intensity had turned into something else, something darker and more destructive, and you couldn’t let it consume you both any longer.

Your phone vibrates again, pulling you out of your thoughts. Another message from Sukuna:

“I’m here.”

You freeze, your blood running cold. He’s close, maybe right outside. You stand up slowly, moving toward the window with a mix of dread and resolve. Peering through the curtains, you see his figure in the dim light, leaning against a lamppost across the street, his silhouette unmistakable.

He looks up, and even from this distance, you can see the torment in his eyes, the way his shoulders sag with the weight of whatever he’s carrying. But you can’t let that sway you. You’ve made your choice, and you need to stand by it.

Your phone vibrates again, the familiar buzz sending a jolt through your already frayed nerves. You don’t even need to look at the screen to know it’s him. The notification hangs in the air like a weight, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

With a trembling hand, you unlock your phone, the brightness of the screen almost blinding in the darkness of your room. His message is there, short and desperate, the words filled with a plea that you’ve heard too many times before:

“Please, just open the door. We can talk, I swear. I won’t make a scene.”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to stay calm, to keep the tears at bay. His voice echoes in your mind, the deep, gravelly tone that once brought you comfort now only serves to break you down. You can almost picture him on the other side of that door, his eyes wide with that familiar mix of anger and sadness, his posture tense with anticipation. He’s close, so close that you can feel his presence like a shadow creeping over your heart.

It would be so easy to give in, to let him in one more time, to listen to whatever promises he has prepared for tonight. After all, you’ve done it before—opened that door despite knowing it would lead to nothing but more heartache. But tonight feels different. Tonight, there’s a finality in the air, a sense that if you open that door now, it won’t just be another mistake; it will be the last one, the one that shatters whatever remnants of strength you’ve managed to hold onto.

You swallow hard, your throat tight with the urge to cry. You know him too well; you know he won’t leave unless you confront him, unless you face him head-on. He’s stubborn like that, relentless in his pursuit of what he wants, even when it’s something—or someone—that’s no longer his to claim. 

But you also know, deep in your bones, that opening that door is the last thing you should do. It’s a line you can’t cross, not this time. Because if you do, you’ll be dragged right back into the storm you’ve fought so hard to escape. You’ll be pulled into his orbit, where everything is chaotic and intense, where love and pain are intertwined so tightly that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

You take a shaky breath, your hand hovering over the door handle as your mind races. What could he possibly say that he hasn’t already said? What could he promise that he hasn’t already broken? The answers are clear, but the pull of the past is strong, and it tugs at you with a force that’s hard to resist.

But you have to resist. You have to stay strong, for your own sake. Because you know that once you open that door, once you let him back in, all the progress you’ve made, all the nights you’ve spent rebuilding yourself, will be undone. You’ll be right back where you started—lost, hurt, and wondering why you ever let him back into your life.

Your heart aches with the weight of it all, but you know what you have to do. You know that tonight, you have to choose yourself, even if it means walking away from someone you once loved with every part of your being. 

So you close your eyes, forcing yourself to breathe through the pain, to let it wash over you without letting it consume you. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms as you fight back the urge to cry, to scream, to throw open that door and let everything unravel.

But you don’t. You stay where you are, standing firm in the decision you’ve made. Because tonight, for the first time in a long time, you’re choosing to protect your heart instead of breaking it all over again.

You steady your breathing, forcing yourself to stay calm as the reality of the situation sinks in. Each vibration of your phone feels like a pulse of pain, a reminder of the emotional battleground you’re standing on. You know that answering the door would only open the floodgates, allowing the turmoil and chaos of the past to flood back into your life. You’ve fought so hard to reclaim your peace, and you refuse to let it slip away now.

With a deep breath, you take a moment to center yourself. You remind yourself of the reasons you’ve decided to cut ties, the countless times you’ve faced heartache, and the strength it took to rebuild your life. This decision, though painful, is a necessary step to ensure you don’t lose everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve.

You get up and move to your front door, standing just a few inches away. The cold, unyielding surface feels like a barrier between you and the chaos you’ve left behind. You listen for any sounds—footsteps, a knock—but the night is eerily quiet, punctuated only by the occasional rumble of distant traffic. It’s as if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make the choice that will define this moment.

Another message from Sukuna pings through, and you resist the urge to check it. Instead, you focus on the decision at hand, the choice you’ve already made. You know that the best way to move forward is to keep the past where it belongs—behind you.

You glance at your phone once more and see that Sukuna has called you again. Your heart races, but you refuse to answer. You let the call go to voicemail, the familiar chime sounding distant and detached. Each unanswered call is a step towards reclaiming your autonomy, towards making it clear that you will not be dragged back into the emotional mess that has defined your relationship.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one feeling like an eternity. Finally, there’s silence—no more texts, no more calls. You take a deep breath, letting the calm settle over you. You feel the weight of your decision settle into your bones, a mixture of relief and sorrow. You’ve chosen to protect yourself, to preserve the hard-earned peace you’ve fought for.

As you turn away from the door, you feel a mixture of sadness and strength. The pain of seeing Sukuna’s name, the torment of his pleas, is still fresh, but you’ve managed to hold firm. You’ve chosen not to open the door, not to let him back into your life. This choice, as difficult as it was, is a testament to your resolve, to your commitment to yourself.

You sit back down, wrapping yourself in a blanket of quiet determination. The tears you’ve fought so hard to keep at bay finally come, not as a sign of weakness but as a release of all the emotions you’ve been holding inside. They’re a reminder of your humanity, of the depth of your feelings, but they’re also a sign of your strength—strength you needed to make the right decision, no matter how hard it was.

You’ve done what you needed to do to protect your heart, and now, you allow yourself to grieve, to heal, and to move forward. You close your eyes, letting the tears flow, and in the silence of your room, you begin the process of letting go, knowing that you’ve taken a crucial step toward finding the peace and happiness you deserve.

You reach for your phone, your hands trembling slightly as you begin to type out a message. You need to be firm, clear, and compassionate, even if you’re struggling with your own emotions. You know that any form of communication right now will only complicate things, but you also want to make sure Sukuna understands the finality of your decision.

With a deep breath, you type:

“Sukuna, I can’t talk to you right now. Please, just go home. We can’t have this conversation tonight. I need some space, and I need you to respect that. Please understand and go home.”

You hit send, watching as the message is delivered. For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope that this will be the end of it, that he’ll respect your wishes and leave you alone. You’ve made your boundaries clear, and now it’s up to him to honor them.

Minutes pass in tense silence, and your phone stays quiet. You sit back down, trying to calm your racing heart, focusing on the quiet around you instead of the anxiety that has taken root in your chest.

But then, a new message comes through. You don’t even need to look to know that it’s from Sukuna. With a heavy heart, you open it:

“I just need to see you. I’m sorry for everything, but I can’t let this end like this. Please.”

You can almost hear the desperation in his words, the anguish that comes from knowing he’s losing you. But you also know that this isn’t just about you and him anymore. It’s about your own well-being, your need to set boundaries and stick to them, even when it’s incredibly hard.

You type back:

“No, Sukuna. This is not the time. I’ve made my decision, and I need you to respect it. I can’t keep doing this. Please, just go home.”

You hit send, feeling the weight of your words settle heavily on your shoulders. You’re asking for something that feels almost impossible—to respect a boundary when emotions are high, when both of you are vulnerable. But it’s necessary. 

You put your phone aside and try to find a way to soothe the emotional storm inside you. You remind yourself of why you made this decision, of the personal growth you’ve achieved, and the need to maintain your peace. You try to focus on the positives of your life and the future you’re working toward, hoping that with time, the pain of this moment will fade and you’ll find a way to heal.

Hours tick by slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity. Finally, there’s a quiet relief in knowing that, at least for now, you’ve done all you can. You’ve set your boundaries and communicated your needs as clearly as possible.

You let yourself close your eyes, allowing the exhaustion to wash over you. The road to recovery will be long and fraught with moments like this, but for tonight, you’ve taken a crucial step toward reclaiming your life. As you drift into a fitful sleep, you hold onto the hope that tomorrow will bring clarity and a renewed sense of peace, allowing you to continue moving forward.

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IF THERE WAS A LOVE STORY WORTH MENTIONING, IT’S YOURS. Because in truth, it wasn’t a love story. It was a painful hurt instead. The romance between you and Sukuna was a tumultuous symphony of passion and pain, a story that oscillated between intense highs and devastating lows. It was a love that consumed everything in its path, leaving behind a trail of broken dreams and shattered hearts. 

You, the good girl with a heart full of hope and idealism, and him, the quintessential troublemaker whose very presence seemed to stir chaos wherever he went. It was a match made in hell, an explosive combination of purity and defiance that sparked with an almost palpable intensity. 

From the beginning, there was an undeniable chemistry between you two, a magnetic pull that drew you into Sukuna’s orbit. You were drawn to his raw energy, the way he seemed to live on the edge of every emotion, pushing boundaries and challenging norms. His life was a whirlwind of excitement and unpredictability, and it was a stark contrast to the more controlled and orderly world you inhabited.

At first, the contrasts were thrilling. Your calm demeanor and responsible nature seemed to balance out his reckless tendencies, creating a dynamic that felt electric and invigorating. You believed that your love could be the force that tamed his wildness, that your stability could anchor him amidst his stormy existence.

But as time went on, the initial thrill gave way to a more complex and painful reality. Sukuna’s troublemaking ways began to seep into every aspect of your relationship, turning what was once exciting into something exhausting. His impulsiveness, once charming, became a source of constant stress and conflict. The very qualities that attracted you to him started to feel like burdens, and the harmony you sought began to slip through your fingers.

The highs were dizzying—moments of intense connection and fiery passion that made you feel alive and on top of the world. But the lows were equally devastating, each conflict leaving deeper wounds, each argument a reminder of how differently you saw the world. The love that had once seemed like a perfect escape from your own constraints now felt like a whirlwind of chaos that you couldn’t control.

Your attempts to bring order and stability to the relationship often clashed with Sukuna’s need for freedom and rebellion. The more you tried to ground him, the more he resisted, and the cycle of conflict and resolution became a relentless pattern. The love that once felt like a daring adventure turned into a series of battles, each one leaving both of you more scared than the last.

Ultimately, the contrast between your worlds proved too great. The boundaries you set were repeatedly crossed, the promises made were broken too many times. The passion that had once ignited your connection became the fuel for your destruction. What began as a match made in hell had devolved into a battlefield of emotional devastation.

You were left to pick up the pieces of a love that had burned too brightly, too destructively. The remnants of your time together were a stark reminder of the dangers of mixing such opposing forces. In the end, the love you shared was a powerful testament to the intense beauty and agony of a relationship that, despite its fiery start, was doomed from the beginning.

From the beginning, the relationship was marked by a magnetic pull that was impossible to ignore. Sukuna's charisma and intensity drew you in, his presence filling every space with an almost palpable energy. There was a fire in his eyes, a promise of something deeper and more profound, and you were captivated by the allure of his raw power and unfiltered emotions.

At first, it felt like a dream. His touch was electric, his words charged with a potent mix of desire and vulnerability. You would get lost in his gaze, swept away by the intensity of his kisses, believing that this was what true love was supposed to feel like. Every argument, every make-up, every moment of passion felt like a confirmation of the bond you shared.

You couldn’t stand it anymore, how tired you were. How truly full of it you were. how emotionally drained you’ve been. You found yourself face-to-face with Sukuna in the dimly lit living room. He stood close, his gaze intense and his voice almost a whisper, yet filled with an undeniable gravity.

"I'm sorry." Sukuna said, his eyes searching yours for some sign of forgiveness. "I never meant for things to get so out of hand. I just... I can't stand the thought of losing you."

You could feel the weight of his words, the sincerity mixed with a touch of desperation. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"You say that now, but it feels like we’re always back here, fighting and making up," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "I thought this was supposed to be different. I thought we were building something real."

Sukuna reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a gentleness that belied his earlier anger. "It is real. What we have is intense, but it’s real. I know I mess up, but I need you to understand that I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re everything to me."

You looked at him, feeling the familiar mix of pain and passion. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Sukuna. Every time we fight, it feels like we’re tearing each other apart. Maybe this intensity isn’t what I thought it was.”

He stepped closer, his voice filled with an earnest plea. “Please, don’t say that. We can work through this. I know I’m not perfect, but we have something special. We just need to fight for it, not let it slip away because of a few mistakes.”

You shook your head, tears welling up. “It’s not just a few mistakes. It’s the pattern, the way things keep repeating. I want to believe in us, but it’s getting harder every day. We’re not just having moments of passion anymore; we’re living in a storm.”

Sukuna’s expression softened, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I don’t want to be the storm in your life. I just want to be with you. Please, let me show you that we can be more than this.”

As his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of his body was a stark contrast to the cold reality of your situation. You said nothing as you leaned into the warmth of his body. The intensity of his words and the fire in his eyes were a powerful reminder of his hold on you. You forgave him that night once again, as you always did. And once again, you were trapped.

But beneath the surface of this passionate connection lay a darker undercurrent, one that grew stronger with time. Sukuna's emotional volatility was not just a fleeting characteristic; it was a core part of who he was. His moods shifted with little warning, swinging from intense affection to cold detachment. What seemed like an endearing quirk quickly revealed itself as a source of profound instability.

Sukuna's massive hand moved to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands you had painstakingly did. You were ignoring him again after your recent fight. You just wanted peace of mind from him. And you knew that he hated being ignored. You know he hated being forgotten. You were the only person in his life that dealt with him, all his everything — and to not have you there shatters him. As much, you suppose, when he shatters you by loving you.

His other hand wrapped around your side, pulling you closer against him with a possessive strength. You felt the heat of his body pressing against yours, his touch both demanding and overwhelming. He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he started to kiss and nibble along your skin.

The kisses were intense, growing more fervent until he bit down, his teeth breaking through the delicate skin. A cry escaped your lips, a mix of pain and confusion. You could feel Sukuna speaking against your skin, his voice muffled and indistinct, but the words were lost in the haze of sensation and hurt.

The pressure of his hand on the back of your neck was unrelenting, anchoring you to him and heightening the intensity of the moment. It was only when his fingers pressed firmly against the nape of your neck that everything snapped into focus. The sharp reality of the situation cut through the fog, pulling you back to the present.

The biting pain, the tight grip, and the overwhelming closeness were all too much. You could see the raw, unfiltered emotion in his eyes, the storm of feelings that often clouded his judgment. In that moment, you were starkly aware of the power dynamics at play, the fine line between passion and control, and the deep-seated turmoil that defined your relationship.

The kiss, now a blend of pain and longing, was a stark reminder of the complexity of your love—both fierce and destructive. The intimacy of the touch, the raw intensity, and the sharp bite were all part of the same emotional spectrum, where passion and pain were often intertwined in ways that left you feeling vulnerable and conflicted.

You could feel your skin growing moist, a cold sweat breaking out across your entire body as you struggled to maintain your sanity against his relentless touch. Ryomen Sukuna had a way of overwhelming you, of winning you over even when you were trying to resist. His touch always managed to reach places you thought were well-guarded, stirring up sensations that you couldn’t ignore. You could feel your body betraying you, slick pooling between your legs, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside your mind.

With a swift movement, Sukuna pinned you against the wall, his body pressing hard against yours. His kisses grew even more rough and demanding, each press of his lips a reminder of the intensity and chaos that defined your relationship. His hands roamed over your chest, fingers pinching and teasing, heightening the mix of pleasure and pain.

"Sukuna, slow down. It hurts." you cried out, your voice wavering as you tried to make yourself heard over the roar of conflicting emotions. The rawness in your voice was a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to make him see the damage being done. "Sukuna, we... oh, we won't fix anything with this."

His grip faltered for a moment, but only just. He paused, his breath ragged and heavy against your skin, his eyes dark with a mixture of frustration and desire. There was a flicker of hesitation, a moment where he seemed to question the reality of the situation. But the tension in his body remained, the emotional storm far from over.

Your heart pounded as you struggled to maintain your composure, to hold onto a shred of clarity amidst the haze of his touch. The physical connection was undeniable, but it was the emotional wreckage that left you feeling most exposed. The passion that once felt exhilarating now seemed like a dangerous force that threatened to consume you both.

"Yes, we can." he murmurs, his voice a soft, dominant caress that contrasts sharply with the intensity of the moment. His lips press against your jaw with a sharp, possessive kiss, and you feel your head loll against his, unable to escape the overwhelming sensations.

His words are both a promise and a demand, a statement that attempts to bridge the gap between the pain and the passion you’re experiencing. "Because I love you. And you love me."

The declaration hangs heavily in the air, mingling with the heat of the moment. You mewl softly, a sound of both surrender and confusion. His touch and words are a potent mix, stirring emotions that you’ve been trying to keep in check. 

In your turmoil, you find yourself grappling with the truth of his words. The love you shared is undeniable, and it’s clear he still feels it deeply. Yet, the intensity of him and the roughness of his touch make it hard to reconcile with the pain and frustration that have become a part of your relationship.

"Even if you love me….." you manage to say, your voice trembling. "We can’t fix everything like this. We’re hurting each other, Sukuna.”

He doesn’t pull away, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that makes it difficult to look away. The struggle between your emotions and his unyielding desire leaves you feeling torn, caught between the remnants of your past connection and the harsh reality of the present.

Sukuna’s grip remains firm, his dark red eyes not leaving yours. In this moment, the lines between love and pain blur — as it was with your relationship. The declaration of love feels both comforting and confounding, leaving you with the painful realization that while feelings might persist, the way you’re handling them is only adding to the emotional wreckage. You were in love with him as much as he was with you. But what was the point of this? Of this suffering?

But as he pleasured you, you never said anything. You just let him love you painfully, because that’s all he knew. It was a raw, visceral form of connection, a way he expressed what he felt, even if it was damaging. It was all he could give, the only way he knew how to bridge the gap between you.

As you felt him inside of you, there was a deep, painful connection that mingled with the physical sensations. It was a painful reminder of the way your love had always been—intense, consuming, and sometimes overwhelmingly conflicted. The pleasure was intertwined with the hurt, making it difficult to distinguish one from the other. 

You accepted it, allowing the moment to unfold as it did. In your mind, you grappled with the reality of your situation—recognizing that this was how Sukuna knew to express his love, even if it was fraught with pain. And so, in the midst of the storm of sensations, you let yourself be caught up in the complexity of your emotions, trying to find a semblance of understanding amidst the chaos.

Arguments became frequent, fueled by misunderstandings and a growing sense of frustration. The intensity that once seemed thrilling now felt suffocating. Sukuna's need for control and dominance clashed with your desire for independence, creating a constant struggle for power. What was once exhilarating now felt like an endless cycle of conflict and resolution, each cycle leaving deeper emotional scars you didn’t want.

The tension in the air was palpable. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands clenched in frustration, while Sukuna stood across the room, his posture rigid with anger and jealousy. His eyes were fixed on you, his gaze fierce and unrelenting, the result of a recent encounter with one of your friends who had been a bit too touchy for his liking.

"You’re always so quick to run off." Sukuna snapped, his voice sharp and laced with irritation. "Why can’t you just stay and deal with things like an adult? I’ve seen the way you look at others. Do you think I’m blind?"

You turned to face him, your heart pounding with a mix of anger and desperation. "It’s not about anyone else. It’s about us. You’re always so controlling. You want to dictate every part of my life. I need space, Sukuna. I need to be able to breathe."

His eyes flared with frustration as he stepped closer, the intensity of his emotions almost tangible. "Space? That’s what you call it? I saw the way you were with him tonight. It’s like you’re trying to push me away, like you’re looking for excuses to slip through my fingers."

You stood up, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. "It’s not about looking for excuses. I’m not trying to push you away. I just need to feel like I can make my own choices without feeling like I’m under constant surveillance. This isn’t about him. It’s about the way you’re smothering me."

Sukuna’s frustration was evident in the way he paced the room, his fists clenched at his sides. "Smothering you? I’m just trying to hold onto what we have. If you’d stop running and actually listen, maybe we could work things out. But every time I turn around, it feels like you’re slipping further away."

"You’re not holding onto what we have, Sukuna." you said, your voice trembling. "You’re suffocating me. Every time we have an argument, you try to control me even more. I need space to figure out what I want without feeling like I’m being watched and judged every second."

Sukuna stopped pacing and looked at you with a mixture of anger and hurt. "I don’t want to control you. I want to be with you, but it feels like you’re constantly pushing me away. I just don’t know how to handle it when I see you getting close to others. It makes me feel like I’m losing you."

The room fell silent, the air thick with unresolved emotions. You could see the pain in his eyes, the fear of losing you. But you also felt the deep, suffocating grip of his jealousy and control. The love that once felt exciting now seemed like a battleground, and the constant cycle of arguments and attempts at resolution were leaving both of you emotionally drained.

"I don’t want us to keep going in circles like this, Sukuna." you said softly, your heart aching. "We need to find a way to be together without this constant struggle. Otherwise, we’re just going to keep hurting each other."

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, but the tension remained. "I don’t know how to change things if you won’t let me in, you know that." he said, his voice a mix of vulnerability and frustration. "I just want us to be okay, but it feels like we’re constantly fighting against each other."

You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm despite the sting of his accusation. "That wasn’t flirting. I was just being polite. And even if I was, what does it matter? You can’t keep trying to control me like this. We can’t keep doing this.”

He stepped closer, his anger palpable. "You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? Always so independent, always so self-righteous. I’m the one who’s always fighting to keep us together. And this is how you repay me? By pushing me away and seeking attention from others?"

His words cut deep, each one a painful reminder of the control he exerted over your life. "This isn’t about repaying you. It’s about being true to myself. I’m tired of feeling like I have to constantly prove my loyalty to you. I’m not your possession."

Sukuna’s face contorted with frustration, and he slammed his fist against the wall. "You think this is easy for me? Watching you slip away while I’m left here fighting to keep us from falling apart? I’m trying to hold onto something real, and you’re pushing me away."

The hurt in his voice was undeniable, a mix of jealousy and desperation. But you could see the cracks in his control, the way his need for dominance had become a cage that both of you were trapped in.

"I’m not trying to push you away." you said, your voice trembling. "I’m trying to find a way to be myself without feeling like I’m suffocating under your expectations. We’re stuck in this cycle of fighting and making up, and it’s tearing us apart."

Sukuna’s expression softened for a moment, the anger giving way to a look of vulnerability. "I just don’t want to lose you. I know I’m not perfect, but I need you to understand how much you mean to me."

You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "I know you care, but the way you show it is suffocating. We need to find a way to be together without this constant power struggle. Otherwise, we’re just going to keep hurting each other."

The room fell silent, the intensity of the argument leaving both of you exhausted. The love that once felt like a thrilling adventure now seemed like a battlefield, with each conflict leaving deeper scars. The vibrant energy that had once sparked between you was now overshadowed by an unrelenting cycle of discord and unresolved tension.

You wrapped your arms around your chest, as though trying to hug and comfort yourself amid the emotional wreckage. Your shoulders shook slightly with the effort to maintain composure, but even more tears were inevitable.

Sukuna’s posture was a reflection of his internal struggle, his anger giving way to a raw vulnerability. He took a hesitant step towards you, his voice trembling. “What do you want me to do?” he whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What can I do, to…to make you stay?”

The softness in his voice, the genuine plea for understanding, struck a deep chord. You could see the pain and desperation etched into his features, the realization of how precariously close he was to losing you. Yet, amidst the raw emotion, you felt overwhelmed and trapped.

“I don’t know,” you replied, your voice breaking as the tears began to fall freely. “I’m tired, Sukuna. I’m tired… of loving you and losing you all at once.”

His shoulders sagged as he absorbed your words, the weight of your exhaustion evident in his expression. The tears that prickled at his eyes now spilled over, reflecting the depth of his own despair. His gaze fell to the floor, unable to meet yours, the crushing reality of your relationship settling heavily between you.

The room was filled with a profound silence, broken only by the soft sounds of your sobs and his choked breaths. The love you shared, which had once been a source of exhilaration and passion, now felt like a relentless cycle of joy and pain that neither of you could escape.

Sukuna’s voice was barely audible as he spoke again, his tone carrying a sense of helplessness. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make things right when everything feels so broken.”

You wiped at your tears, the exhaustion of the emotional turmoil leaving you feeling drained. “Neither do I.” you admitted softly. “I wish I had the answers. I wish I could find a way to make things work, but right now, it feels like we’re stuck in a never-ending loop of hurt and confusion.”

Sukuna’s silence was heavy with resignation, a poignant acknowledgment of the struggle that had become an inescapable part of your relationship. The love that had once been a source of strength and excitement now seemed overshadowed by a painful reality that neither of you knew how to navigate.

In that quiet moment, both of you were left grappling with the depth of your feelings, the complexity of your relationship, and the painful truth that sometimes love alone isn’t enough to overcome the barriers that keep you apart.

Sukuna's tears continued to fall, and he moved closer, his steps hesitant but deliberate. He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gesture that was both gentle and desperate.

“I never meant to make things so difficult,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I thought... I thought if I held on tight, if I tried harder, we could work through it. But now, I see how much I’ve pushed you away.”

You looked at him, your own tears blurring your vision. The sight of him, vulnerable and torn, added to the weight of your own sorrow. You wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but the chasm between you felt insurmountable.

“I know you were trying,” you said, your voice cracking. “But the way you tried to control things... it pushed me away more than anything else. I felt like I was losing myself in trying to make things work.”

Sukuna’s hand tightened around your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “What do you need from me?” he asked, his voice desperate. “Tell me what I can do to make things right, to fix this.”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words to express the depth of your exhaustion and the confusion that clouded your mind. “I don’t know if there’s anything that can fix this right now. I just feel... lost.”

His expression softened, the realization dawning that perhaps the damage was too great to repair immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for everything. I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to handle my own fears and insecurities.”

You nodded, the sadness overwhelming. “I know. And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that we couldn’t find a way to make this work without hurting each other so much.”

The silence between you was heavy, filled with the echoes of what had been and what might never be again. The love that had once felt so alive now seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the pain and the sense of inevitability.

Sukuna’s hand slowly fell away from your arm, and he took a step back, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Maybe... maybe we both need some time apart to figure things out. To heal and find ourselves again.”

You looked at him, a mix of relief and sorrow washing over you. “Maybe you’re right. I need time to understand what I really want and to heal from all of this.”

Sukuna nodded, his face a mask of resignation and understanding. “I hope... I hope we can both find a way to be okay, even if it means being apart.”

With that, Sukuna turned and walked towards the door, each step heavy with the weight of what was ending. As he left, the silence of the room seemed to deepen. You sat down on the edge of the bed once more, your emotions a tangled mess of sadness and relief. The path ahead was uncertain, but in the quiet that followed, you felt more alone than ever before. But free. Freed from your own ruin.

▬ι══════════════ι▬

YOU COULDN’T DO IT ANYMORE IN THE END. In the end, you did break up with him. The cycle of arguments and reconciliation had become a never-ending loop, a house of cards that seemed destined to collapse no matter how carefully it was built. You loved him deeply, that was undeniable. But you also realized that rekindling the relationship would only lead to more pain, more hurt that neither of you could bear.

As you stood by the window, the first light of dawn was beginning to creep across the sky, painting the world in soft hues of pink and gold. The sight was starkly beautiful, a contrast to the turmoil that had been raging inside you. This was what life should be like, you think. You shouldn’t settle for less. You shouldn’t settle for hurt.

Outside, you could see him—still there, lingering near your door, his figure slumped against the wall. He had a cigarette against the burrow of his lips, smoke filling his face. The remnants of a wild night clung to him; he was drunk and high, his posture wavering as he waited for you. The sight of him, lost and desperate, broke your heart in a way that felt both familiar and foreign.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your decision settle heavily upon you. You knew that as much as you loved him, returning to him now would only mean opening the door to a love that had become toxic, a love that had already left you shattered too many times.

“I can’t go through this again.” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible. The realization was painful, but clear. The cycle of breaking up and making up had drained you emotionally, leaving you with scars that were too deep to ignore. “Not again.”

As the sun continued to rise, its light growing stronger, you turned away from the window, feeling a sense of finality. The decision to end things was not made lightly, and the pain of walking away was immense. But you knew it was necessary for your own well-being, for the chance to heal and find a path forward that wasn’t mired in the constant heartbreak that your relationship had become.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as you reached for your phone. With a heavy heart, you composed a message, knowing it was the last thing you needed to say to him. Your fingers hovered over the screen, the weight of your decision pressing down on you as you typed:

"Sukuna, this is the last time I’m reaching out. I can see you waiting outside, and I need you to understand that this is over. I love you, but we’ve reached a point where continuing this relationship will only lead to more hurt. The cycle of breaking up and making up has left us both wounded, and I can’t keep going through it. I need to move on and find healing for myself. Please respect my decision and let this be the end. I wish you well, but I can’t be with you anymore. Goodbye."

You stared at the message for a moment, feeling a mix of sadness and relief. With a final press of the send button, you put your phone down and took a deep breath. It was done. The words were out there, and now it was time to let go and start the process of healing. You took a deep sigh and pursed your lips into a flat line.

As the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the room, you felt a glimmer of hope amidst the sadness. The end of this chapter was painful, but it was also a step towards a future where you could rebuild, where you could heal. It was a chance to find peace and to rediscover yourself, away from the shadows of a love that had become more damaging than fulfilling.

With a final, lingering glance at the window, you steeled yourself for the difficult road ahead. The love you had for  Ryomen Sukuna was real, but the decision to move forward was the right one. As the sun rose higher in the sky, you began to prepare for a new day, one that would be marked by both the pain of goodbye and the promise of new beginnings. You hope the best for him, as much as you hoped the best for you. 

[flipping-the-coin]

[Audio file: #001 - Alpha Trion]

[Audio file of Optimus Prime: Security level = PRIME]

[Authorization detected… Confirmed]

[Audio playback commencing… Recording begins]

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I recently read one of Orion Pax’s personal journal entries and felt inspired to record my own thoughts on the subject matter in the hope that I might better understand my own… situation in a sense. 

I would have been inclined to write these musings down if only to ensure that they could be kept in a more controlled documentation format. However writing has never been a particularly successful endeavor for me. When me and my host shared a frame, it was near impossible for me to write without pain since he could predict my thoughts and read the words I wrote down. Often he was displeased with my attempts to record my ideas, emotions, or considerations. Writing was merely a way to ask for suffering, so I kept from it as much as possible. 

He could not hurt me for speaking, at least not as much since he was unable to predict exactly what I would say at any given moment. It certainly helped me to learn the ways of political  and emotional manipulation, not that I am proud of that fact. I learned that if I warped my mannerisms and glyph usage to a degree, becoming more vague and leaving plenty of room for unsaid meaning, additional pain could be avoided. As much as my host seemed fond of causing me pain, he often did not bother hurting me while I spoke so long as I kept within certain parameters. 

It is safe to say that the habit of speaking my thoughts aloud in this form has lingered, and I see no need to eliminate it. It is comforting to speak into the void as if another could hear me… it is easier to cope with reality that way…

With that said, when it comes to Alpha Trion, my views regarding him are… complicated to say the least. My memories have always been questionable, a fact that has become more and more prominent in recent cycles. Things come to me in tattered pieces and some memories are locked away from me entirely, unable to be accessed despite the fact that I can feel gaps in my recollections as starkly as I do the hostility from my host. I believe the Matrix may be involved, but that is beside the point. 

The gaps in my memory notwithstanding, Alpha Trion holds a unique place in my mind and spark. I have vague recollections of a time long gone by, a vision of things that have since passed. I remember him speaking to me in a place where only stars hung overhead, calling me ‘brother’ and saying something about me having ‘a grand purpose’. He seemed younger in that memory, but I do not know where or when it is from. I remember a distant feeling of affection directed toward him, but it was a strange form of love, one that I only recall experiencing during my youth after my initial forging in the frame of my host. 

In those tattered memories from the time when stars shone brightly overhead, Alpha Trion was kin, family in an odd sense, and a guardian to me. He was security and wisdom given form, a view I now find to have been somewhat misplaced. 

To offer some context for any listeners, when I first came into being, all I knew for a blinding moment was agony, then complete adoration toward my host, before finally everything settled on a rather cold and calculating apathy toward that which was unrelated to my duty. At the time all I knew was that Cybertron’s children needed my aid and protection, that was all I was required to be aware of. It was a simpler time for me. Alpha Trion was there during my forging, and I recall quite vividly how he scooped me up as if I weighed nothing, threw me over his shoulder, and ran down a dark path as if his life depended on it. Looking back, his life very well might have. I remember the screams of agony from the priests who were there for my forging, the mecha who lingered in the shadows and watched in awe as I awoke.

I have yet to confirm my suspicions as I have not yet taken the time to speak to Megatron, but I believe he was there that cycle, and I am near certain he tore every last one of those priests and observers to pieces in his rage. I must have fallen into recharge somewhere along the path, as my next recollection was of me awaking once more, this time within the Primal Citadel, before its destruction of course. I believe that was the only time I ever entered that place. Something in me was terrified of that structure after what I went through there. 

I have already stated that my memories are not exactly the most reliable. That fact becomes quite prominent here as I cannot recall what Alpha Trion put me through in full. I believe it was an attempt on the Matrix’s part to protect my mind and spark from corruption. However some things are clear to me amidst the fog. I knew Alpha Trion was my brother from the moment I came into being, it is the nature of Primes to sense others like us due to our rarity and common origin. To those who know the chill of the void and the warmth of Primus’s embrace, it is not difficult to locate those who have also seen the beginning of times. Thus, with that knowledge, I remember reaching out to Alpha Trion, searching for guidance from him as I could not seem to access my host. 

However, instead of treating me with any degree of kindness as I flailed in confusion at being given a mortal frame and being unable to speak to my host, he gave me to the Elite Guard. Do not mistake what I am going to say following this as hatred toward the guard. No, if anything I pity those mecha who took me upon themselves in those early cycles of my functioning. When I was passed to them, I was cold, unfeeling, and did not at all care for others as I do now. The mind of a Prime… It is something I struggle to describe. I have unknowingly buried my nature quite deeply beneath memory and pain, but I know what I was, what I was intended to be. 

With Alpha Trion observing, my fourteen elite guardsmen put me through vigorous combat, strategy, speech, and political training. It is all a large blur for me, as at the time I was still adapting to my host’s memory and attempting to soothe him, not understanding why he was so frightened and angry. Despite that, the aches of hydraulics and cables from long cycles of being pushed to the limit are a lingering sensation even now. I recall the hymns sung without end during my training in the dark halls as if it were my own spark singing them. I… I remember the confusion and the turmoil that burned within me as I struggled to find something to cling to amidst the storm of change.

The Matrix was quiet in those cycles. Upon consideration, I believe it was still adjusting to my presence and Orion’s aggression. Whatever the case, it offered little comfort, and reaching out to my host in a desperate attempt to seek affection yielded nothing. I see now that the way I expressed my desires was… frightening to a mortal. Primes have unique methods of communication that I did not yet know were unacceptable and likely only frightened my host further. Still, I made attempts, and when I received nothing back amidst the chaos, I reached for Alpha Trion, trying desperately to understand and to seek familiarity if not a chance to be soothed. 

The cycle I went to him was a rainy one. Acid fell from the skies outside and looking out a window in the long dark halls revealed mecha running for safety. At the time, I felt nothing more than the slightest hint of concern before I continued on my way, eager to reach my destination. When I arrived at Alpha Trion’s office, I entered quietly and tried to ask him to help me, to explain and give me comfort in the only way I knew how. But when he stood to face me, I felt fear for the first time. He took my audial in his servos and tore my finial off, causing me to cry out on instinct, still unused to mortal pain. Energon fell from the wound and I remember being so confused, wondering why a fellow Prime would hurt me as I gazed down at where energon coated my digits from my attempts to staunch the bleeding.

“You are a Prime. A Prime does not show weakness or hesitation. Your duty is clear. The enemy must be destroyed and peace returned to Cybertron. Put these foolish mortal emotions aside and focus on what you were forged for, brother.” 

That is what he said to me that cycle as tears fell from my optics. I did not return to him after that. I did not know why at the time, but I see now that it was because I was afraid. I did not wish to be hurt, so I trained with the guard until it was time to be deployed to the front lines to meet my Autobots with the false tale Alpha Trion gave me of my ‘acceptance’ of the Matrix and the ‘reforging’ it put me through. 

He frightened me, and whatever else he did to me during my time at the Primal Citadel scarred me so deeply that even now I cannot recall all that came to pass in that place. I only spent perhaps three stellar cycles there, but it changed me, it snuffed the mortal emotions that I began to develop and kept me from trying to reach out to others in any significant capacity until Bumblebee came into my life. I do not know what Alpha Trion did to me… I do not think I want to know. But I am prone to believing that ripping off my finial was not his only crime against me. As I left that place and observed my frame for the first time in the quiet of my battle front quarters, I found quite a few additional scars, some looking to have come from a wide assortment of weaponry and others looking as if they were from claws.

I never returned to the Primal Citadel, nor did I ever wish to. My spark flared in fear whenever I considered the location, even now I am not yet content with whatever horrible atrocities befell me there.

Alpha Trion is my brother. I know that much. But… he was no friend, nor was he kind. He was cruel, and now as I learn more about my host, I have found he hurt Orion just as much, if not more than he ever hurt me. I will never claim to understand his motives, but his influence is everywhere. I struggle to see it amidst the storm within my mind and the Matrix’s constant whispers now that it is active, but sometimes I see his work in the way my guardsmen act. Sometimes I can sense the corruption he instilled as I observe my beloved’s total devotion to what he believes. Sometimes… I can see it in myself when I see the face I stole in the mirror and the sickening white of my optics that comes whenever I don’t want to feel… when I want to forget…

There have been no sightings of Alpha Trion or any indicator of his death. He has vanished, but I do not believe he is gone. If Alpha Trion is anything like me, he will not rest until his duty is done. I suspect he lingers, watching and observing somewhere in the dark, waiting for a chance to act again and move things as he sees fit. I am no fool, I can feel the fragility of my mind only barely held together by the affection of my lover, the adoration of my sparklings, and the soothing whispers of the Matrix. If Alpha Trion were to return…

I do not believe I would survive the encounter.

═════════════════

[Recording ends.]

[peakyltd]

SHARK WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME. ^ This was me during this whole chapter for several reasons.

This started off in such a calm and sweet way. The love Arthur has for her so heartwarming. The fact that “he would go through everything again — the war, the pain, the suicide attempt, the hell of addictions, and the catastrophic wedding” Says so much about his feelings for her.

“He looked like a beaten dog who had just discovered what tenderness was after a life of abuse and violence.” Bye, this broke my heart. You captured this so well, the new found, loving touch he had never experienced. The fact it could even make him cry is so heartbreaking as sweet at the same time. All the details turned this part in such an emotional thing to read 🥺

I love how she has such a good bond with Katie and how Katie is so fond of her. The braiding of her the little girl’s hear (and the meaning for Heaven behind it) plus all the question’s she was asking Heaven gave me such a good feeling. It was so sweet. 

Gosh I teared up at Arthur’s words while proposing to Heaven. How he thinks so badly of himself, that he’s not good enough but that he assured her that he’s a good man. Shark, you wrote this so beautifully, it felt like it came straight from Arthur’s heart and in my opinion it was very in character. Just like Heaven’s reaction, I could feel the emotion between the two of them. As if I was witnessing it myself. BEAUTIFUL 🥺

And if I didn’t tear up already at the proposal, you’d made me do it as they said their goodbyes. Especially the goodbyes between John and Heaven was so touching and it showed the strong bond that had formed between the two of them. 

The moment Heaven realized that Tommy had betrayed them, was so powerful. Starting with the paralyzed feeling that turned into pure anger, it literally had me on the edge of my seat. I LOVED the line “It was not the sapphire Thomas. It was you. It was you all along.” She knew exactly what kind of impact her words would have and it felt like maybe, just maybe she hoped for some kind of reaction from him. The cops separating Arthur and Heaven was once again such a heartbreak. The desperate screams, the anger, just pure chaos. Nobody knew what would be next, except that the outcome would probably be death. 

Heaven had accepted her faith and her demeanor felt calm, ready to go but it still felt so fierce and powerful. I can’t really find the words to describe it but maybe it’s because she accepted it or that she doesn’t worry about her death and only thinks about being away from Arthur. Anyway I got a lump in my throat by the way you captured this difficult scene. That Kat took actually time to sit next to her, talk a little and give back the one thing she wanted was beyond me. I remember that you were going to introduce her into your series and I can’t wait more to read more about her. She seemed like someone who can look past someone’s “flaws” or things they have done and I think that makes her feel very human. 

I wanted to type that you left me hanging there until I realized that it was an unfortunate choice of words. I’m really excited to read the next part of this amazing series! So far I think it’s a unique concept within the PB fics and I’m loving it, excellent work again Shark! 🥰

 I hope this comment doesn’t feel too incoherent or muddled but it’s almost 3am here and my fingers couldn’t keep up with my brain 😂 

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  With the Russians gone and Father Hughes dead, you and Arthur can enjoy some romantic moments together, including a proposal. After talking about your future, you both decide to leave Birmingham to build a family away from Small Heath's filth. But that dawning happiness is soon wrecked by Thomas and his plans.

Words: 6k

TW:  tooth-rotting fluff, like really sweet moments, angst, quick allusion to smut, typical canon violence, mention of death penalty, allusions to death by hanging

Notes:

✞ This chapter signs the start of season 4 and, consequently, the end of the first Act of Heaven in Your Eyes. Following this chapter, there will be a two-week pause for the series. Also, parts borrowed from the show are italicized.

✞ The song Heaven sings is a French cover of Bad Guy. You can just click on the French lyrics to open the song and listen to it.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

Arthur let out a long sigh of relief escape from his lips as his body slipped a bit more into the hot and soapy water of the bathtub. The smell of body soap, whose fragrances were those of honey and vanilla, wrapped his mind in a sweet haze. But those pleasant scents were nothing compared to the perfume of your skin his senses could recognize even hidden behind the synthetic ones. Following the last violent and chaotic events of the past few days, this moment of pure relaxation felt like a delightful reward. Everything had happened so fast, in a matter of three days, that none of you really had time to process everything. At least, the worst was behind you.

The oldest Shelby brother was lying in the hot water, his back resting against the bath tube’s edge and your tiny frame snuggled in his arms. You were locked in a tight embrace, with your legs entangled and your bodies firmly pressed against each other. The smile that was etched on your juicy lips widened as the melody of his soft sighs and the water’s lapping lulled you to drowsiness. He looked down to observe you and his mind drifted away. The last time he was in a bathtub with a woman — or with two, to be true — Arthur was snorting a ridiculously dangerous amount of snow and drowning his pain in meaningless sex. It was right after the Peaky Blinders had taken over the Eden’s Club by Tommy’s orders. At this period of his life, Arthur was at his worst and he was still very much ashamed of his past conduct.  All he wanted to do back then was to sabotage himself. And yet, here he was, two years later, in the bathroom of his little house — and not in some shady London clubs —, with God’s favorite seraph all nestled in his arms.  He had come far. A comforting wave of warmth spread in his soul as he watched you, his heart filled with both pride and ecstasy. Arthur, more than anyone else, was aware of how lucky he was to have you. For sure he strongly believed he did not deserve your love, but if there was one thing he knew it was that he would never let you go. Never. His long fingers softly moved aside one wet strand of your ivory hair, slipping it behind your ear.  As he did, he could not help but smile. Life finally made sense to him when he looked at you, half asleep in that bathtub. The truth was, he would go through everything again — the war, the pain, the suicide attempt, the hell of addictions, and the catastrophic wedding — just to hold you like this. Wet lips tasting like honey and whisky gently shook you off your torpor with enamored pecks they sprinkled all over your face. First, it was the corner of your mouth, then your cheeks, and, finally,  your forehead. You lifted your heavy lids and looked up only to be welcomed by his ravishing grin and his piercing blue eyes. Those damn eyes you’d die for.

“Yer a cute sleepyhead, eh.”

“Mmm.” You mumbled, slowly emerging from your sweet drowsiness, “It’s your fault.” You teased with a sleepy voice before gently nibbling his earlobe. The light pressure of your teeth on his flesh caused him to groan in pleasure. His grip strengthened on you, long fingers digging a bit more into your porcelain skin. 

“My fault?” He raised a brow all the while rubbing his clean-shaven cheek against yours in a sign of both affection and arousal.

“You did not let me sleep that much the past few days.” You replied with a gleam of amusement in your eyes. As an answer, Arthur’s hoarse laugh rose up to the ceiling. 

“Can't keep my hands off you eh,” He said with a lower voice before rubbing your nose with his in an adorable bunny kiss. His soft facial hair tickled your skin, causing you to laugh with him, “the urge to make love to you is too fookin irresistible… Ye make me lose me fookin’ mind,” He growled in your ear. You low-key trapped your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt one of his calloused hands trailing up your ribs with a caress as soft as a feather “And speaking about makin’ love…”

“Lord, are you even tired?” A gentle chuckle escaped from your lips. Before he could even react, you stopped him in his tracks and swiftly shifted your body until you sat on his hips and faced him. He looked at you with desire blazing in his eyes and smirked, his mustache slightly lifting as did. 

“Not with you all naked in front of me, love.”  Arthur brought his face closer, but all his lips met was your index finger you had slipped on your mouth to keep him from kissing you.

“I had something else in mind, chéri.”

“Come on, lemme kiss you…”  He complained, the tip of his tongue gently licking your finger in a teasing way. The wet caress sent shivers down your spine but even though you really wanted him, you did not give in to his lust.

“No.” You replied, your smile turning into a sharp grin.

He was about to protest a bit more vividly when you slipped your small hands in his hair and started to massage his head. 

“What are you—“ Arthur opened his eyes wide for a few seconds at the unexpected sensation of your fingertips exerting the perfect pressure on his scalp. And then, the whole traits of his face relaxed in an adorable expression, “Oh. Fuuuck—“  He sighed in ecstasy. Shut off by your touch, Arthur squeezed his lids and slightly parted his lips. Enjoying the way he reacted to your touch, you looked at him with a playful smile but what you saw instead almost break your heart. The expression on his face was indescribable — he looked like a beaten dog who had just discovered what tenderness was after a life of abuse and violence. Arthur let out a shaky moan as he gave in under your fingers like a wounded animal finally finding both the comfort and help it needed for years. 

Your softness. Your love. Your patience... It all felt so good he could have cried. 

Feeling him shivering, you deepened the massage and did your best to relax his poor exhausted body. Indeed, you poured all your love into each of your gestures, hoping your sweetness would sip through the crack of his mind and heal his deepest wounds. And as Arthur melt in your hands, the enchanting melody of your voice filled the room and sent him to paradise.

“Tachée de sang ou d’autre chose, Caché, tu rodes et moi je n’ose Parler, on mets la nuit sur pause Tu te prends pour un autre Des bleus partout sur mes genoux Tais-toi c'est moi qui tient ton cou Cette fois je fais ce que je veux J'ai l'âme coupée en deux.”

His breath slowed down at your hypnotic voice whose tone, feathery and supernatural, hold him in a blissful trance.  Curiously enough, the fact he did not understand French only enhanced the impression he was listening to an otherworldly chant. Arthur buried his face in your bosom, his whole being reacting to your voice with goosebumps and shivers. Every synapse of his brain recalled the first time he had heard you sing in this church, lost in the middle of the night. 

“Toi t'es un gars dur, tu aime avoir l'air sûr Bien blindée ton armure et défoncer des murs Moi je fais peur à ta mère, à tes sœurs J'ai ton père dans l'viseur Et ta go veut que j'meurs Je suis le méchant.”

Your fingers continued their work, massaging his head and petting his wet hair with utter tenderness, all the while you kept singing. You sang and Arthur healed. A smile appeared through dawning tears he was fighting hard against, for he was convinced he just found gold and even a few stars in your voice. 

After the romantic bath, both of you reluctantly left the comforting warmth of each other to dress for the last family reunion. In fact, now that Tommy and Tatiana’s business came to a satisfying end for the two parties, he had organized one ultimate meeting with the Shelbys to give the money he owed them.  He, as well as the rest of the Shelby/Gray house, was well aware that Arthur and you took the decision to leave Birmingham to pursue a quieter life. Surprisingly enough, the idea came from Arthur. He had told you about how he would love to open a garage and fix cars, while you had shared with him your inner desire to live near a forest to remind you of the luxuriant nature of your childhood town. Somehow, the smog of Birmingham never made you feel at home. Nevertheless, none of you wanted to do something without the other’s approbation. You were more than decided to face life as you had always done since you met: together, as a unique and vibrating soul. Yet, contrary to Linda, you had reassured him about the family business. In fact, you made clear that you would stick around if he wanted to. In no way you wished to interfere between your man and his family, as long as the risks for him remain tolerable. But Arthur felt the protective need to take you away from Small Heath’s filth. Moreover, he wished to leave his murderous past behind him and focus on the future — a future that was made of you, a house in the forest, and a little mix of both of you running barefoot in the grass.

You let out a cloud of smoke escaping from your lips. Quietly smoking in the garden of Tommy’s magnificent mansion, you looked at the guests coming and entering the house without wasting the slightest minute. They were all eager to retrieve their due and leave. You could have done the same, but you wanted to enjoy the pleasant and soothing feeling of sun rays caressing your frozen skin before locking yourself up in a room with Tommy Shelby and his never-ending speeches. The sound of a car engine made you look to your right: Polly had just arrived with Michael. The poor lad was still under the shock of Father Hughes’ death by his own hands but did his best not to let it show. However, no one could hide something from the witch you were. You took one quick look at Michael and knew something was off. The tiny flame that was burning in his blue eyes when he first came to Birmingham was now extinguished, blown away by the poison of guilt now running through his veins.

Pol greeted you with a warm smile as she passed by you. She was delighted by your presence, and even more by the fact Arthur and you were about to leave the town. She, as well as John, could only thank you for the good you brought upon the oldest Shelby. Regarding Michael, he only nodded to acknowledge your presence before disappearing into the mansion.

“Aunt Heaven!” A little girl, as beautiful as a rose and with a smile as beaming as the sun itself, suddenly rushed to you. Her little feet were hammering the gravel track, ejecting tiny pebbles each time they hit the ground. You stubbed out your cigarette on a small decorative wall and opened your arms to catch Katie, ready to get tackled with her hug. She snuggled against you as soon as she reached you, “Dad says you’re going to leave. Is it true? Can’t you stay? I really don’t want you to leave you know. Who’s gonna play with me now?”

You chuckled, trying to make sense of Katie’s speech because she had talked in such a chaotic and quick pace you had barely understood one word out of two, “I’m not going that far kitty-Kat, you know,” You leaned over her to lay a sweet kiss on her forehead. She reacted with a silky pout.

“But you’re leaving me!”

“Would you forgive me if I braid your hair?”

“Ohhh yess! Yours are always so beautiful — just like my doll!” 

“Aw thank you, kitty Kat.” You put your hands on her shoulders and made her turn around to start braiding her hair with your skillful fingers. It was something you had always liked to do to your little sister, back in France. After her death, you kept doing so on yourself as a way to keep her alive. Since then, your long white hair were more than often adorned with a huge variety of braids. “We‘ll still see each other. And you’ll spend some holidays with Uncle Arthur and me, right? So that I could teach you to bake delicious pastries for your family.”

“For my family? No way, I’ll learn only to make myself pastries and eat them in front of my stupid brothers! Serves them right to break my pony figure!” The little one blurted out with genuine mischief, letting you rearrange her blonde hair in one long French braid. 

“You’re absolutely right. Oh wait… Stay still, kitty. Can’t braid your hair if ya keep moving like that.” You advised with a caring and patient tone. 

Katie tried to remain quiet, but her wonderful children's mind was buzzing with so many thoughts at once it took only five seconds for her to bombard you with questions again. God knew how she managed to stay more or less still despite her overflooding energy. “Dad says living in the countryside is good for babies. Are you and Uncle Arthur going to have a baby?” She asked out of the blue.  You snort with amusement at her vivacity. Kids and their tact, you thought.

“I’d love to,” 

“When?” She straight off replied.

“That’s quite a difficult thing to know, darling… Let’s just wait for it to happen,” Your fingers were braiding the last strands of hair, “Almost done,” you said —  to be true you were quite proud of the result. Even though Katie was such a beautiful little girl you were not sure if the braid embellished her or if it was the other way round.

“But you are a witch. You know everything. That’s what Dad says.” 

“Seems like your Dad doesn’t know how it works.” 

“And how does it—“

“Katie? Come here, sweetie. Charlies’ nanny is waiting for you!” Esme’s voice called. 

It was all it took for Katie to hug you tight, thank you for the braid, and rush toward her mother. Taking into account the importance of this last meeting, Thomas had asked the household staff to take care of the children and not let them interrupt the adults. You looked at Katie’s little swift silhouette disappearing with the nanny with tenderness in your aquamarine eyes. For sure, you were going to miss John and his kids. 

When she left, your eyes instinctively searched for Arthur. He had just finished talking with John, who had followed his wife inside not without giving you a wink. You would have chuckled at John’s charming and teasing demeanor if you had not noticed a tint of nervousness in Arthur’s body language. Indeed, he was standing in front of the massive door, playing with his fingers and taking repeated quick glances at you before looking at his own feet, all bashful and hesitant. Your protective instincts kicked in, wondering what was wrong.  Finally, he made his way to you with his adorable awkward walk and his arms swinging.

“Are you okay?” You asked, your brows slightly furrowed as you tried to understand the reason behind his anxiety.  Once he had reached you, he grabbed your hips to pull you closer.

“Yeah I’m good, me mind was just — Y’know, just thinking about far too many things at once,” He had barely finished his sentence when he fell silent. 

“Arthur?” 

Arthur’s gaze dived into yours, his steel-blue eyes observing the slightest variations of your irises with a deep focus as if he wished to grasp all the secrets God hid beneath them. He could have stayed like this forever, losing himself in the vastness of the frosted desert that composed your alluring eyes. Yet, he was snatched from his contemplation by the soft sensation of your fingers grazing his cheek.

“What’s the matter, mon amour?”  You reiterated, genuinely worried. 

The wind blew in the garden, making your wild ivory mane dance behind you along with the petals of the flowers that were surrounding your frames. Arthur remained silent and kept staring at you — and as he did, your ethereal beauty mesmerized him and he felt his hesitation vanishing in stardust.

“Listen angel, I gotta tell ye something. I’ve been thinking about the whole matter for a while, and tried my best not to make things go too fast...”, The gravel in his voice was coated with palpable nervousness. Arthur paused, at the edge of freaking out, but rather took another deep breath. He hated himself for struggling so much to express himself. That was why his strong hands abandoned your hips and cupped your face in his slightly moist palms, “It’s just that… I can’t wait any longer.” That being said, the tall gangster laid a shy kiss on your juicy lips —contrasting so much with the way he usually devoured them in bed— and to your greatest surprise, took a few steps back right after.

You blinked in confusion, not quite following what he was trying to say, nor what he wanted to do “What do you mean?” You asked, your body yearning for his touch when he backed off.

Arthur parted his lips to say something but, once again, he could not find the right words to share his overwhelming feelings. Instead, he decided to go for it. With one trembling hand, he took a little something out of his pocket.

“Heaven — I know I am not the most handsome lad in town,” He started, nervously tightening his fist around the object he was holding in his palm, “nor the most mentally stable man you have probably met. To be true, I am quite pathetic… A fookin trash. Can’t believe you accept me as I am” Arthur looked at the ground for a few seconds, ashamed of his whole being. “You’re a young and stunning little lady, and I am an old and broken dog eh,” He sniffed, trying to keep composure, “But I’m a good man, I really am. And that good man wants to be a good husband for you.”

Husband. It echoed in your soul, resonating in your skull. Was it really happening? It could not be what you were thinking about, right? You swallowed the lump in your throat, hung onto his every move and word. 

“I am not perfect —  to be true I’ll probably go back home drunk as fook sometimes and fall on my knees, begging you to save me. Cause you’re the only one that can do that, eh” He chuckled nervously and dived into your eyes. This time he managed to keep eye contact. “but I swear to God I’ll do my best to take care of you and make you the happiest,” Joining actions to his words, Arthur’s free hand took yours. His other one, shaking with anticipation and fear of rejection, processed to slowly slip a shiny gold ring around your finger. Your heart imploded in your tight chest as the cold metal touched your skin, “I don’t want another woman ever again — there’s just you. Only you. So I might not be the best, but you can be sure I’ll remain faithful to you, my Angel… And if you ever doubt my loyalty, I’ll build a fookin’ altar to your beauty and pray on my knees,” He freed your hand from his to let you admire the magnificent ring that was now adorning it. 

You lowered your gaze toward the precious jewel and your whole body shook at the sight of the ring. It was really happening.

“Heaven Lavey… “ He cleared his throat, “Would you marry me?”

“Bloody Hell, Arthur.” You swore, unable to choke your reaction. All your life you told yourself no one would ever want the cursed witch you were. Let alone the murder charges against you. You have walked through this existence all alone, convinced it would never change. Yet you found him — a man who was not only in love with you but who literally worshipped you like a goddess. You looked at Arthur’s face again, your angelic face covered by a veil of utter surprise. You stood silent for a few moments which felt like an eternity to Arthur. His anxiety escalated for he could not survive without you. And when he said that he meant it: your mouth held the power to destroy him with one simple word… “ Of course, I want to marry you,” You finally said as you broke the distance between you with determined steps and almost jumped at his neck to pull him in a furiously enraptured embrace, “No matter what awaits me in this life, good or bad, I don’t want it if you’re not by my side, Arthur Shelby. You make me feel safe. You make me feel… Holy. And I’m not used to that.” 

“Christ!”  He exclaimed, unable to hold his joy any longer, “Come here Miss Shelby!” His hoarse and loud voice boomed in the garden. Not minding the rest of the world, Arthur’s arms wrapped around your waist right before he lifted you from the ground. Laughter escaped from your full lips, as well as tears of happiness breaking at the corner of your eyes, “My Angel, come with me to this meeting — not as me lover but as me fiancee.” 

Your feet met the ground again but your heart was still floating. 

“That’s fine with me.” You replied. Bringing your fingers to your eyes, you quickly wiped the tears away, taking care not to ruin your makeup. When your hand fell back against your hips, Arthur’s slipped his in yours and entangled your fingers together. You exchanged one last look, filled with undying love and hope for the future, before sinking deep into the corridors of the mansion. Here you both walked, unknowingly leaving the eye of the storm.

Not the slightest word came from your tantalizing mouth during the whole reunion. Thomas’ cold demeanor and the few arguments here and there managed to severely undermine the exhilarating joy Arthur’s proposal had brought to you. With one look, you both silently decided to wait for another moment to announce your wedding. As you observe little King Shelby distributing money, his temper short and fallible, a sudden unpleasant feeling broke through your core. It was similar to what you had felt when you had sensed something was going to happen to Charlie, except that the feeling was so intense this time it almost took your breath away. Not understanding where did this sudden unease come from, you clenched your fingers on your own seat and tried to calm down by focusing on Thomas’ speech. However, his words were soon covered by the thundering sound of your beating heart, whose pace had quickened so brutally that your whole ribcage was shaking at each pulse. 

Something was wrong. Definitely wrong. 

Fortunately enough, Pol’s last interjection about a different future for the Shelby company marked the end of that tense family reunion. Following a brief silence, you got up from your chair and put your left hand on one of Arthur’s shoulders. You were about to discreetly ask if you could leave but words remained stuck in your throat: the truth was you did not want to rob him of his family goodbye. So, you simply gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze before stepping back and waiting, even though the unexplainable urge to get out of this house worsened as minutes passed. 

“I’ll be off then, Tom.” He sniffed, “I’ll see you, eh? I’ll see you brother.” 

The humble farewell, sober like the rest of the Shelby’s way to show affection toward each other, pinched your heart. No matter the problems in which they got themselves or the endless arguments, there was love in this family. Broken, awkward, and sometimes violent love, but still. You quietly made your goodbyes too in the background — A nod of the head for Finn, Michael, Esmee, and uncle Charlie. A hug for Ada, Polly, Lizzie, and Curly. You thought you could handle it well until it came to John. Your eyes met his saddened pout, and your self-control break down. A single tear rolled down your cheek for the deep bond you had formed with him rendered the farewell more painful than with the other family members. Without uttering a single word, John pulled you in a bear hug so tight the pressure he exerted on your body was almost uncomfortable, but you could not care less. You gently rub his broad back with your hands and, when the moment to pull away happened, you laid a long kiss on his cheek. 

“I’ll miss you, little Angel.” 

“We’ll see each other. I promise.” 

The last thing you did was look away and do your best not to meet his gaze because you know you would probably burst into tears if you did. John religiously followed the same rules, otherwise, he would take you in his arms again and never let you go. Fortunately enough, Arthur’s hand grabbed yours. The warm contact of his skin against yours sent a wave of comfort through your bones — but if it was enough to heal the pain of leaving, it was not to soothe the odd anxiety that was still creeping in your soul. The same anxiety that was screaming at you to leave this damn mansion right now. 

You grabbed the door handle, half reassured by your imminent departure when Tommy’s voice echoed through the office with the violence of a guillotine’s blade on a prisoner’s neck.

“You can go, but you won’t get far, Arthur.”

You froze, your heart missing a beat. In a protective reflex, you turned your head in one vivid movement and looked dagger at Tommy. If your jewel-like eyes could shoot bullets, Thomas Shelby would be lying in a pool of blood, dead and cold. What the hell would he make such a snarky remark to his brother? But the more you stared at him, the more the weight of your unease crushed you.  

Something was happening, you could feel it. Something awful.

“Ah. All right, Tom.” Arthur, not grasping the meaning behind Tommy’s words, brushed off the comment. You were both about to leave the room when another statement clipped your wings.

“I spoke to Moss last night. He told me that the Chief Constable of Birmingham has issued a warrant for your arrest. Murder, sedition, conspiracy to cause explosion.”

The shocking news crossed your body like a lightning bolt burning every inch of your flesh on its way. Stomach twisting, muscle tensing, you brought your hand to your open mouth to cover it.  Arthur blinked in surprise — he had to lean against you for his long legs threatened to collapse at any moment. His whole body started to shake as he realize the awful truth: they were coming to take him away. 

And just like a rain of deadly shooting stars, came the long list of accusations against the rest of the family members, all uttered with a cold and placid tone as if Thomas Shelby was reciting a lesson. Your head brutally spun. You felt nauseous.

“Wait a minute.” Arthur’s gruff voice exclaimed, filled with confusion and boiling anger, “What the hell you’re talking…”  He commented, his hand still in yours though it was the only thing that could ground him — which was the case. 

“And you Heaven… “

You just stared at Tommy with eyes wide open, while the whole world crumbled apart around you. Contrary to Arthur, you did not even shake. Nor you did burst into anger. You were just here, paralyzed by the sound of your dreams and hopes shattering like glass smashed on concrete.

“For the involvement in Hughes’ death and the murder of Simon Conrad, his fellow friend.” 

You let go off Arthur’s hand and took a few steps back, until your back hit the wall behind you, “You’ve sold us…” Your voice was merely a whisper. Your heart skipped another beat in your chest, running a race against the panic that was crashing against you like a rogue wave on a boat’s hull. The only thing that kept you anchored to reality was Arthur’s mad screams.

“You’re my brother!”

“Listen to me, I have made a deal — “

“They’ll hang us!!”

“In return for giving evidence against them.”

“We’ll fucking hang!” 

And then it happened. You snapped out of your lethargic state, brushing off the petrifying anxiety that had turned you to stone. You broke free from the shock and ignited like hellfire. With furious steps, you rushed to the two brothers and pointed to Tommy with one finger, “Toi, espèce de sale traitre -you damn traitor-,” You started in French. Tommy’s empty eyes fell on your tiny frame, doing their best to hide his emotions. The truth was he perfectly understood what you had just said, “Your own fucking family… You know what?” Your face distorted with disgust, “It was not the sapphire Thomas. It was you. It was you all along.” You spat.

Despite Thomas’ neutral demeanor, the flames that lit up his frozen irises left no doubt about the impact of your words. You had hurt him — not only him but his very own soul, to the point you could almost see the ice of his eyes melting. 

“Come here, come here!” Arthur’s powerful hands grabbed you by the shoulders and forced you to follow him, “Come on now, we have to run!” The oldest took one last look at his brother, pain, and rage making his steel-blue eyes glisten, “FUCK YOU!” He roared, hitting the door with the palm of his hand.

Indistinct Screaming. Yelling. Chaos.

You had barely exited the office when a police officer grabbed you and shoved you against the nearest wall. Your hand lost its grip on Arthur and, without his contact, frost settled in your heart 

“Arthur!” You screamed. Or at least you thought you did.

“DON’T TOUCH HER! Heaven!” 

Brutally squeezed between the wall and the officer’s body, you still extended one of your arms in a desperate attempt to reach Arthur but it was in vain. When the policeman noticed it, he twisted your wrist behind your back. A whimper of pain escaped from your lips. What happened next you could not tell, for the chaos that swallowed you made everything fade to black. All you could grasp was the sensation of the handcuff metal, as shiny as the golden ring around your finger, biting your skin, and the sound of Arthur’s screams in the faraway distance.

They said until Death do us part, but you had not expected it that soon.

“Careful with this one. She’s put two of my guards into hospital. That bitch’s fucking feral.”

“That’s okay.” A feminine voice replied to the police officer in charge of your cell’s security. 

The sound of the lock echoed in your small cage, soon followed by the metallic creaking of the heavy door that was keeping you from escaping. When the woman entered the cell, she could not help but frown and look at his colleague with genuine confusion. Police Officer Katlyn Wilson, a tall blonde woman with her hair cut short and her face as hard as her heart, had seen a lot throughout her career. But it is evident she did not expect what was awaiting for her in this cell: right in the middle of the room sat a young woman, in her mid-twenties, on the bed. She had a long white mane that cascaded down her lower back. A marvelous mane, dirtied by the cell’s dust and dampness. Kat Wilson shook her head: you could not be the dangerous inmate they called her for. She sighed, staring at your juvenile face. 

“Heaven Lavey.” 

You raised your head when she called your name, your aquamarine eyes burning with hatred. Yet, not the slightest sound came out of your mouth. All you did was stare at the officer.

“I am Kat Wilson, and I am here to bring you to the gallows by order of the crown.” 

“They took my wedding ring.” You cut her off, your voice sounding a bit raspy after days of not talking. Somehow, you did not care about getting hung high — you were not afraid of death. What scared you though was to be alone, far away from Arthur. 

“They did. They told me that was the reason behind your assault on the guards.”

“Only one of them. The other tried to touch me.”

“So you broke his wrist.” She replied straight away.

You fell back into silence, not wanting to talk about the mentioned incident. Officer Kat Wilson shook her head, astounded by the whole situation. As fierce as she was, she took no pleasure in sending a young girl to the rope, no matter the first-degree murder accusations. The tall blonde woman, whose severe traits inspired a natural authority, walk to the bed and sat next to you despite his colleague’s warning. She let out a long sigh and took off a little golden ring from the pocket of her jacket. Your face enlightened when you recognized the jewel.

“Unfortunately, my power vanishes at this prison’s gates. I cannot stop this execution, but I can give back the young bride’s ring.” As she talked, she put the ring in the palm of your hand and watched you close your grip around it. 

“Fine.” You finally whispered as you slipped the jewel around your finger. What else could you do except obey?  Any attempt of rebellion would result in failure. You got up from the bed, standing on your bare feet with all your little height.

So petite but so fierce, she thought. 

“Fine,” Officer Wilson repeated. Gathering all her strength, she handcuffed you with your hands behind your back and, with one unexpectedly strong grip, led you out of the cell and forced you to walk through the long, dark corridors of the prison. 

The sound of the guards’ boots resonated against the stone walls, contrasting with your own silent steps. Even if your heart raced in your chest, you managed to stay calm. Deprived of your man’s comfort, you tried to find your peace in small details:, the cold and smooth surface of the wood under your bare feet, the faint summer breeze coming from an opened window somewhere, the muffled sound of birds' whistles... All of these allowed you to keep a semblance of sanity.

Kat Wilson brought you to the gallows, which was in a dark wooden warehouse. You swallowed at the sight of the noose, slowly swinging from left to right as if every fiber of the rope itself shivered with impatience at the idea of tightening around your soft throat.

You climbed the stairs and each step felt like you were dancing tango on your broken dreams. The dull silence that was hovering above the warehouse was chilling, but you preferred it to the vain prayers of priests. No matter how hard they begged God, you knew your place was down there. Dying was bothering enough, there was no need to sprinkle the process with hypocrisy. A muffled cries came from the other room — they were going to hang another woman at the same time.

Polly, you thought.

When they put the deadly necklace of rope around your neck and narrowed it until its burning texture bit your skin, you inhaled deeply through your nostrils and stared right at Kate Wilson’s eyes. Here you stand, powerful even in your last moments.

Boom. Boom.

The deafening sound of your beating heart played the drums of the fanfare that was already announcing your arrival in Hell. 

“Go ahead.”  You closed your eyes.

You did not cry. You did not beg.

After all, it was always meant to end like this.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Gif by the lovely @alicent-targaryen

✞ Each of chapter of this series can be read as stand-alone even though it's far more enjoyable if you have read at least the previous chapter.

Tag: @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybridrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @abyssal-whispers

[senpiecakes]

Part 1: Closure

Notes: This will be a continuation of ‘So Close, Yet So Far’ cause it’s been eating my mind ever since I wrote the first parts. I’ve also been listening to nothing but Like You Do by Joji to push me into writing this (recommend listening to it while reading) and idk why but I kinda cried on every part. It's also 1k words per part :,)

Parts: So Close, Yet So Far Part 1, Closure Pt. 2

Summary: He fucked up, didn’t he? How will he get closure for losing you that way?

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Xiao, Childe.

Warning/s: Mentions of death on Zhongli and Childe’s part. Mentions of violence on Childe’s part.

Theme/s: Getting back together? Angst to Comfort, Getting over grief.

Diluc

To say that Diluc was a mess since you left was an understatement. He was an absolute wreck. At first, he couldn’t understand why his entire body agonized so greatly at the suddenness of your leaving. When his father died and his brother ‘betrayed’ him, Diluc only secluded himself and grieved- mostly feeling anger taking form into his now current self. But when you left, it was different. He mourned as if you died, wept bitter tears as he was once again placed in his darkest state of mind. Diluc experienced the emotions he had suppressed ever since that day; the two most important people in his life left him, now it was you, and the despair manifested itself once more to torment him. He hated himself for being so weak then; unable to save his father and unable to make up with Kaeya. Diluc has hated himself, even more so now since he couldn’t bring himself to show an ounce of appreciation for someone who did nothing but love him and understand what he’s going through. So, who else was to blame but him?

Sometimes, Diluc abandons his duties; paperwork piled up on his desk unfinished, Angel’s Share being managed by Charles for nights in a row, the threats against Mondstadt rising without the help of the Darknight Hero. What’s the use of all this? Diluc wonders. If you’re not here with me. Sometimes, Diluc cries; through the walls of Dawn Winery would the nosy young maids hear Master Diluc cry in his empty bed the same way he did those years ago, in the same manner you used to do when you’re alone. His already restless sleep is haunted by nightmares of you disappearing from his life. His hands would search for empty comfort in the side that used to be yours, grabbing at nothing but cold sheets in a desperate attempt to will you back beside him. Y/N, I’m sorry. Diluc would wail in his slumber. Please come back to me. Oftentimes, Diluc was silent. He would enter Dawn Winery after a night of work and stress, on times when he would go out, only to find his home empty- the absence of your cheerful greetings made the silence all the more mocking. Diluc would work in silence; drowning out all the noise to try and remember when was the last time he had asked about your day, trying to recall when was the last time you two slept on the same bed. Those were the times when Diluc had nothing to think about, his mind drained of things he used to be so caught up on. But sometimes in those silent hours would the memories of you come back- loud and devastating that Diluc had seriously considered drinking to be rid of the pain and heartache. He couldn’t bear to think of you during those moments- it seemed to only make things worse.

Some days it felt better for Diluc; he would go out to work and even be on patrol late at night to make up for those days he couldn’t. But the thought of you still ran rampant in his mind. He couldn’t withstand the memory of you leaving without notice and wanted nothing more than to apologize, make up for his wrongs and maybe be given a second chance. But he knew how this goes- life is cruel to him and wouldn’t favor him any retry’s. That would be in your hands alone and he has already messed it up so greatly. Today however felt like a good day for Diluc when he decided that he would be the one to shop for groceries. Putting his coat on, Diluc was ready to head off until a familiar sight came at him when he opened the front door. It was like a breath of fresh air and an angry storm all the same. It’s you, Y/N.

Standing at the door frame with all your belongings in hand, you two stared at each other, wide-eyed and unsure of what to say. Diluc felt as though his knees might buckle with how much he didn’t know he was shaking. His lips parted and pathetic sounds came out of his mouth in an attempt to make words. So many things he wanted to say: ‘Am I dreaming?’, ‘I missed you, Y/N.’, ‘You came back.’, ‘I love you.’, ‘Please don’t leave me again.’, ‘Please stay, Y/N.’, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Instead, Diluc straightened himself out and said;

“You’re here.” Almost breathless, croaking out those pathetic sounds, holding back the tears that threatened to humiliate him. You could only exhale and see how much damage you actually did. Diluc’s hair was disheveled in a poor attempt to tie it up in a ponytail, his eyes were bloodshot and dark from those nights he couldn’t sleep, his skin got paler from the many days he would spend locked up in his room alone.

“I’m here.” you repeated, gentle and apologetic. Sparing not even a second, Diluc lunged at you and enveloped you in a tight hug. His strong arms wrapped around your frame- left hand on your side while the right on the back of your head. You’re so close to him now, so real, he’s not dreaming. He didn’t want to let you go. Before you could think, Diluc was already sobbing out apologies, sputtering against your neck that you could feel his tears seep through your shirt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Diluc cried. “Please don’t leave me.” He was inhaling sharply, he felt as though he couldn’t breathe- his chest felt like it was on the verge of caving in with how much he was crying, and the ache it felt the moment he saw you and held you. You could do nothing but console him awkwardly with Mocco and Hillie watching in the corner with the most scandalized expressions on their faces. Looks like some new gossip would circle around the tavern later.

No words needed to be said during this moment as you two fell into a heap on the floor- Diluc still clinging onto you, his now breathy sobs trickling down your shoulder and you doing your best to comfort him. You had your fair share of words to say to him- you wanted to apologize for leaving so suddenly, how childish you had been for doing so, how you or other few people would be able to convince Diluc to have a sit down and work things out maturely. But you had time for that later- right now, Diluc is in your arms and you and his. You two had a lot to work on but at this moment, you just needed to be with him.

“We’ll be okay.” You whispered, and it was enough to soothe Diluc’s fears. Enough to have his tense shoulders relax as he drew out a long, shaken breath. You felt him smile against your skin now damp with his tears. For the first time, Diluc had been given a second chance. Maybe life wasn’t so unfair to him after all.

Kaeya

Kaeya has been drinking more than usual since he left you. He knows why he left so abruptly- he felt as though he was getting too close, and one thing he feared more than the inevitable were relationships that require you to become committed. The mistakes of the past may come seeping back in again when he had built such a familial bond with Crepus and Diluc only for it to be torn away from him so fast and so painfully. Now, he noticed how close he was getting with you and he decided to end it first before you could- before he could be trapped into another bond he can’t risk having.

Kaeya would watch you from afar sometimes; he watches as you divert your usual path to the market to avoid him, how you would close your bakery early to stop seeing him on his daily visits to the Tavern. It seemed to you, however, that bumping into Kaeya was unavoidable. When you’re struggling with carrying a bag of flour, Kaeya just happens to be standing there as he wordlessly helps you. When something you need from the market is sold out, Kaeya’s in the corner ordering his knights to bring in a new shipment. You’re not allowed to bar customers from buying at your bakery for no reason, and you thought that Kaeya would stop buying from you once you two broke up. But his orders kept coming and you had to see him constantly while delivering your loaves to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, much to your annoyance. You wonder sometimes if he was doing this on purpose. You felt deja vu with this game of his so you avoided him to the best of your ability. Kaeya did do it on purpose. He wanted some semblance of closeness to you without actually being close to you. He knows he can’t keep chasing you this way.

But how could have ever been so stupid? You’ve been nothing but kind and patient with him- you put up with his alcoholism and soothe him through his hangovers then there he goes again to repeat the same habits and dismiss your worried scolding. You never questioned his methods of executing his work- those moments he would flirt with others under the guise of ‘getting information’ to see how you would react- and you would be there to smile at him and mouth ‘good job’. When you did question him about it, your fear being reasonable, he would turn the tables by saying you’re paranoid. You gave him genuine love out of the few people who had given him the same. He wanted to push you away so badly, and when you finally left, why did it torment him so much? You are always so kind to him, what scum was he to break your heart?

“Sorry, sorry…” Kaeya mumbled as he bumped into a few tables at Angel’s Share. He’s been drinking again, not a rare sight to see, but now he’s causing trouble by aimlessly walking around the Tavern and his tab is almost as long as a mile. Unbeknownst to him, Charles had called you to come pick him up as the other knights were already drunk, and his companion Rosaria was already asleep by the bar. Kaeya could only look up in his drunken stupor to see you, standing in front of him, arms open to greet him in. Maybe he’d forgotten that he had left you as Kaeya could only slur your name happily and fall into your arms under the impression that he was coming home to you like he used to. Until now, you’re still so kind to him.

“Y/N~” He mumbled, hiding at the crook of your neck, his breath reeking of alcohol. “I missed you, Y/N.” You couldn't help but flinch as you steady Kaeya to his feet.

“Let’s get you home big guy.” You say, straining to keep Kaeya walking on his feet as he thrashes around you. When you finally get back however, it was at your place, and Kaeya was more than elated to see it. He spreads himself out on your couch like he used to and watches as you leave to get him water from the kitchen. When you return, you’re shocked to see Kaeya crying into his hands. You approach him tentatively and set the water down.

“I’ve been so unkind to you, Y/N.” Kaeya says when he looks up to see you sitting next to him on the couch. You almost wanted to shove him out of your house as the next words that came out his mouth rushed at you like a pack of wolves. “I really did love you, Y/N. I still do.” You purse your lips as Kaeya forces you to listen to his drunken confession.

“I should have treated you better. You’re wonderful, did I tell you that?” You shake your head no and he laughs. “You are, you really are.” By now, Kaeya’s eyes are fluttering shut. Even in this condition, he’s still so beautiful.

“Nobody can love me like you can, Y/N.” he says, leaning his head on your shoulder. “Please forgive me.” Your hands smooth down Kaeya’s back but you don’t say anything. He keeps talking.

“I don’t know why I pushed you away, I was afraid of you… getting to know me I guess.”

“What’s there to be afraid of?” You say finally, your voice comforting Kaeya in a way he missed so dearly. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in a relationship?” Kaeya chuckles and slides down, his head falling onto your lap as he looks up at you. Your eyes are glazed over and tears fall down your cheeks. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore; you missed him, no matter how much he hurt you- you missed him. Kaeya reached up to wipe the tears off of your face, your skin warm to the touch under his cold fingers. You melted into his palms.

“Please, let’s start over, Y/N.” He whispers, promptly falling asleep. You sniffle and lean your head back against the couch.

“Sure, big guy, sure.” You say, but he doesn’t hear your answer. Kaeya’s already passed out on your couch, his head on your lap, a small smile creeping up his face. Maybe he’ll regret pouring his heart out to you when morning comes, denying it ever happened and mask it with his false bravado. But nothing mattered to him right now, he’s told his truth, and he’s close to you. Nothing can worry him when he’s in your company.

Zhongli

Eons have passed since Zhongli committed his greatest regret of slaying his beloved. Years after his triumph in the Archon War, his ascension to be the Geo Archon, the events of Khaenri’ah, and his current stepping down as an overseer for Liyue. All this time has passed since Zhongli has reigned timeless where all his companions have not; from erosion to war to mere degeneration. Worst of all was you who had died by his hands when you should be by his side until now. Though he was content with his new life posing as a mortal, Zhongli still yearns for the past when he spent the happy days without a care in the world. On times when he feels especially lonely does Zhongli’s longing for you only overwhelm him- and he allows himself to grieve you in a way he should have many years ago- feeling the true weight that came with the aftermath of your death. Thousands of years have passed and still, Zhongli can’t seem to forgive himself. How could he? You are gone, the one who has stayed by his side for eons, worst of all because of his petty fear and need to be triumphant.

Today, Zhongli was feeling especially nostalgic. He had diverted his usual schedule of walking around Liyue Harbor then ending the day at the tea house when he found himself leaving the city and into the outskirts of Liyue. As he walked, Zhongli reminisced about his past with you. Your memories now are so daunting and clear in his mind, hitting him so suddenly as if you had called up to see him personally. In everything he saw, he was reminded of you; how you’d always brighten up his mood with your beautiful smile the same way the wildflowers around him did, how you had Osmanthus Wine with him along with the Guili Assembly as Zhongli watched a group of finches fly by, how you had always stayed by his side no matter what good or bad he’s done as a pair of butterflies flittered past him. How fond were those memories then. If only you would be here to remember them with him now.

Zhongli stops in his walk to a path now faded from the land. He scans around the area and stumbles upon something that looks as though it’s out of place in this lonely area. Here beyond the great vastness of his land, the one that used to be yours, was a single flower not yet in bloom. Zhongli stared down at the specimen, he hadn't seen anything like it before. He knelt down to examine the bud further and only then did Zhongli hear a disembodied voice echo throughout the plains- so familiar, so soothing.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, Morax.” You said, your voice manifesting itself to surround Zhongli like an embrace. Even after all these years, he could see your smile. Even after what he did to you, you’re so kind to him still. Zhongli laughs and sits down on the grass, fingers digging into the earth beneath him.

“I go by Zhongli now, Y/N.” He says, looking up into the clear blue sky, trying to picture your face still clear in his mind. He smiles.

“Time has been unkind to you, my love.” You say. Until now, you still carry the love for him to call him yours. “How has your life been so far?” He recounts the years of the events that you’ve missed up until his descent from the sky. How much he’s agonized over these years without you by his side. How you had been his anchor throughout the rage that ran rampant during the Archon war. After that he grows silent when you don’t answer. Only a gentle breeze passed by and Zhongli could feel tears well up in his eyes.

“I miss you terribly, Y/N.” He whispers. Only then did you speak once more.

“I am always with you, Zhongli, in these lands, that single flower has roots embedded deep into the earth. And you, my dear, are the earth that supports us all.” You say. “After all, you have been the one to teach me that the land can carry memories for centuries.” Zhongli couldn’t help but laugh.

“Pray tell, when does your flower bloom my dear?” He asked.

“When time comes, my darling, it will.”

“Then I will wait for the day I hope to see it bloom.” For a while, you two talked and for a while, Zhongli felt the peace that he feared may never come to him again. Even if you weren’t there, Zhongli could feel your presence, your ability to give him the solace he had craved so desperately since the day you departed from this world. The thought suddenly appears in his mind and he abruptly stops. He needed to apologize to you, to ease the gnawing guilt that ate away at him for centuries.

“Y/N, words cannot express how much I regret what I did to you those centuries ago.” He says. Zhongli didn’t cry but a sharp pang of pain rose into his chest. “If I didn’t… you would still be here.”

“Oh, Zhongli,” You said. “I’ve already forgiven you.” With that, the flower by Zhongli’s feet bloomed into a wonderful specimen, followed by more that spread throughout the once empty grasslands of your domain. Their petals bursting with a variety of colors as their tips faded into a warm shade of yellow, a sweet fragrance wafted into the air and winds billowed to have them flow like waves along with the tall grass. The sunset shone onto the delicate petals as they glimmered like a million stars from where Zhongli sits, flying into the air to shower him in a dance of a million suns. “Should the day ever come, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories. I love you, Morax.” (Quote taken from Zhongli’s Voiceline)

Zhongli wasn’t the type to cry; today however, he felt more vulnerable. As your voice was carried away by the winds, Zhongli couldn't help but smile widely through his tears, watching the glimmering petals fall down onto him like blazing snowfall.

“You’re still as wonderful as I remember Y/N.” Now, you’ve overtaken every part of Zhongli’s being, his senses and existence. Like a hug that bid Welcome Back, have you finally returned home to him. He can’t wait for the day he can finally come back to you.

Xiao

Years had passed since the petty argument you two had, your ‘disappearance’ and Xiao’s laborious but fruitless attempts in trying to find you. When he finally did, it was more than obvious that you had already moved on. You’ve lived your mortal life and found a new person to be with, someone who has dedicated their life to you in a way Xiao couldn’t. You’d even started a family. You looked as though you were more than happy with the life you’re living without him. This would’ve made Xiao content to know that you’re safe, but why couldn’t he let you go? Why does he still watch over you in the hopes that you’d call his name? He gives a lot of reasons as to why he stays: monsters could attack unexpectedly; your child might trip and fall from a high place… you might need help to gather Qingxin flowers like you used to. Every excuse came to Xiao’s mind each time he watched you live your life from a distance. It felt more like a comfort to him, reasoning within himself on why he can never leave. What he doesn’t want to admit is that he still cares for you in a way that isn’t protective nor dutiful. Xiao has felt the emptiness of the abrupt stop of your relationship, and he feels responsible for being the one to drive you away. He wanted to apologize to you.

Xiao believed that he was giving himself an empty hope that he could be of service to you once more. Maybe he was only wasting his time doing this and that he should leave you alone for good. He wonders though, what would it be like if he met you once more. Would he be the one to approach you? Would you stumble upon him accidentally one day? Would you laugh? Would you cry? Would you be angry with him? Xiao didn't know, and still, he held on. Any interaction with you would suffice. One day, there was little to no wind, but a small breeze passed and grazed his ears. He stopped and looked around to clarify what he had heard. Xiao’s ears could never fool him- his senses were trained to be perfect.

Xiao.

You had called his name. In the blink of an eye, he was there in front of you, after all these years of watching from afar, years since that argument, years since you had last called his name, you were facing him and he with you. Xiao didn’t know what to say to you; so many words got caught in his throat at the suddenness of your call. He didn’t even know why he responded so quickly, maybe he’d been mistaken and was only giving himself false hope that you actually needed him. But you only smiled at him, a look he had almost forgotten.

“Hello again, Xiao.” You said. His name almost felt foreign on your tongue, but you were comforted to know that even after all these years he still cared for you.

“Y/N.” Xiao finally said, stiff and formal, that he wondered if this was the same familiarity he’d felt the moment he saw you this close. You’re older now; time undone on your features, but you still carried the same kind disposition you had those years you were his. You sat down and motioned him to sit with you. Obediently, he did. Xiao felt awkward in your presence- it was silent, and you didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. If he did, he might choke.

“We’re long overdue for an apology, don’t you think?” You said, your head turned towards the sky. Xiao held onto his pant legs tightly and some odd guttural sound came from his throat.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Xiao said stiffly, biting at his lip to force himself to say more.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you that day.”

“Xiao…” you said with a sigh.

“I was being crass with you when you were only being kind to me.”

“Xiao.”

“Please accept my apology.”

“Xiao!” Xiao turned to look at you and your attention was at him.

“Doesn’t this feel familiar?” You said. “I meant I’m the one that should apologize to you. I shouldn’t have left that way.” Xiao scoffs.

“You had good reason to.” He says standing up. “I treated you poorly.” You shook your head and stood with him.

“We should’ve talked about it, I’m so sorry.” You said. “I felt as if I was only holding you down. That’s why I left, when I really shouldn’t.” Xiao stops for a moment and looks away to see your family from down below. Your lover playing in the fields with two of your children.

“Tell me, Y/N, are you happy with the life you have?” He asked. You looked down to where his gaze was set and nodded. Xiao crosses his arms and closes his eyes. “Then I forgive you. You’ve lived your mortal life and it eases my mind to know that you… and your family are safe.” Before he could leave, you took hold of his hand. Xiao almost wanted to pull away, but something familiar in his chest kept him from retracting. How he missed this.

“If you ever want some almond tofu,” you say. “I always have some available for you.” His gaze softened at how familiar this exchange had been. With that, Xiao nodded, and you were first to let go, watching as he dispersed into black smoke.

“And if you ever need me, call my name.” Since then, Xiao has become a common face to see for you and your family. He had been acquainted with your lover and you tell your children countless stories about the Guardian Yaksha as Xiao would leave before he could hear you embarrass him. It gave you a comfort to know that he did not hold any malice against you. And Xiao was rewarded once more by your time spent with him until the end of your mortal life. You had been blessed with longevity and Xiao was there by your side to see you off until the end. He had a peace of mind that even in your final days, you still seeked him to accompany you. Xiao can only hope now that in your next life, your soul may find a way to meet him once more.

Childe

Ever since your death, many noticed that Childe’s work had become “sloppy”. His assignments turned in late, the success of his completion dropped, and his overall capabilities seemed to stagnate. Everything came crashing down in his life the moment he found you lying dead on your bedroom floor. One would think that witnessing your death in the hands of those that worked for him would push him to fight better. However, Childe couldn’t think of anything else but revenge and nobody was merciful enough to give him the information that he needed. So, his anger was directed at something else: his fruitless attempts of tracking down your killers and his performance diminished to an extent that he needed rest. With that, Childe decided to take some time off from fighting and working. It was his absence that had taken away your life after all. Besides, working in his state of mind hindered his abilities to properly execute assignments and others that the Tsaritsa took notice of. She understood his plight and gave Childe time to grieve properly at his own pace. She couldn’t possibly have one of her best soldiers out there unable to fulfill her wishes. Then, he was set off in a time that would’ve been the perfect opportunity to spend with you. So many things you two could have done together. After that, hurtful words came at him once the other Fatui found out he was going to take a break to mourn you. ‘The 11th has gotten weak.’, ‘Such a pity that Tartaglia’s become soft.’, ‘Serves the lunatic right.’ Childe wanted nothing more than to slaughter them all, make them apologize, make them hurt and agonize the same way he is. But he could only hang his head low and think of you; his job of slaughter was the one that killed you when his enemies finally found his weakness despite his attempts to hide you away. They only showed you the same mercy he did. Looks like they were successful.

Childe had been the one to pay for all your funeral arrangements. It had a small gathering of your few close friends and family as well as his own. As much as he wanted it to be big, to match up to such a wonderful person such as you and let the world know of his dearly beloved, he couldn’t risk any more attention that could lead to trouble. Childe could only listen to silent apologies and condolences, feeling animosity with each one thrown at him as they felt almost insulting. Don’t say sorry to me, I did this. It was my fault. Childe could only watch in scorn as your friends wept over your casket in a way he couldn’t bring himself to. He feels undeserving to cry over you and yet, he feels as though everyone else’s grief towards you cannot compare to his own. Stop crying for them like that. You didn’t know them like I did. You didn’t love them like I do. Hollow conversations would fill the little room sometimes, others talking to him about how wonderful you were and healthy ways he should cope with loss. Only then would Childe excuse himself and hold in his anger until it would cease. I need you, Y/N. I don’t think I can do this without you. Sometimes however, Childe could feel sneers coming his way- talks about how he could have saved you, how it may have been his fault you died in such a tragic manner. He can’t think of anything else but you; he could’ve stayed, he could’ve stayed with you that night. How careless of him to leave you alone.

You were buried in your hometown; a peaceful cemetery in a quiet stretch of land where others would have picnics with their departed loved ones. Childe wonders sometimes that if this was his punishment for being selfish, to repent for the countless lives he took. That life had taken you away so unexpectedly to teach him the importance of time spent and to have him feel the karma of the agony he had wrought unto others. In these instances, Childe can’t feel anything. His body goes numb with his mind as he stands over your grave, watching it unmoving, expecting you to wrap your arms around him from behind and tell him it’s okay. But you’re gone; once the reality of the fact sets in, Childe would only turn and walk away to return the next day.

Childe would spend his days on your grave- telling you about his day, having picnics as the others did, sometimes weeping to the point he would crumple above the soil that kept you away from him. He’d spend hours upon end there, to make up for the lost time he can never spend with you. Every day without fail, Childe would apologize incessantly for being gone, his faults and his wrongs, especially his time away that night you’d been so brutally taken away from him. Childe thought he was being discreet every time he paid you a visit. Today however, he was followed. In the middle of him setting down a bouquet of flowers on your headstone, Childe heard heavy footsteps coming from behind him.

“Can you at least have the decency to let me be in this place?” He asked as some Fatui went and circled him. Childe knew better and decided to walk away from the cemetery to let the others follow him.

“You’ve become weak, Tartaglia.” One of them said, pointing his weapon at him. “It was because of that little love of yours, wasn’t it?” Childe balled his fists and stared at them threateningly.

“Don’t you dare speak of them that way.” He said lowly. The skirmisher couldn’t help but smile under his mask, not fearing the 11th Harbinger the way he used to.

“You should’ve heard them, boasting about how you’re going to save them. We shut them up real quick after that.” Childe snapped. In a fit of blind fury, he summoned his delusion and cut down the group before they were even aware of what’s happening to them. After the bloodshed, Child fell to his knees and screamed into the ground, angry tears falling from his face. He’s finally gotten revenge on those who had killed you, but why is the pain not leaving? Why does he feel as though his heart has been gouged out of him? Why is the pain so devastatingly worse than before?

Childe knows that he can never get closure after what happened, but he knows that he can recover. He can rest easy to know that he served your justice in his own volition. It may take years, but you’d want him to live, won’t you? He’ll live and fight in your name. At least he knows now, in some sick way, that even in your most terrifying moment, you still had faith to ask for him to save you.

[thelostsmiles]

Chris/10 would recommend ★★★★★

It was riveting, witty, and passionate. 

I highly recommend reading “Gimme Shelter” by @sincewhendoyoucallme-john

However, if it’s late and you have to go to bed soon because you have work, school or any other important thing tomorrow, still read it but know that you will not get the amount of hours you’re accustomed to. I guarantee you will not be able to put it down.

*spoilers*

From the opening line of “the love affair began with salt” comes one of the most memorable Johnlock stories I’ve encountered. It’s a surfing adventure that takes place in the 70s on the beaches of California and Hawaii. Right away, I could feel the warm sands beneath my feet and the sticky ocean breeze on my face.

I’m a fan of The Rolling Stones but “Gimme Shelter” introduced me to songs that I hadn’t heard before. The ones I was familiar with, I now hear them with different more vibrant colours. That’s one thing I really appreciated. The music. I love that the author included a song at the beginning of each chapter. It placed me in the right mood and setting for what was to come. Either by lyrics or melody, each song coordinated very well with the scenes. But just as they mention, if there is only one song you hear throughout, the title song is it. I’d personally include “Time Is On My Side”, “Paint It Black”, “Moonlight Mile”, “Miss You”, and “Wild Horses”. I’m listening to the playlist as I write this and it swells my heart with happiness *thinks about them standing on that cliff in the summer of 1977* :’)

The writing is brilliant. It’s very eloquent and enthralling. They developed Scotty and Johnny into fully formed beings that without a doubt became Sherlock and John in an alternate universe. It had the right amount of description to where I felt like I was there witnessing these two falling in love. I’m not exaggerating. At one point, I picked up my phone to continue and I was confused for a moment. I wasn’t sure which app to open. Netflix? Hulu? Did I mean to turn on the telly? Am I listening to an album? It was implanted into my retinas remarkably vividly. I was sitting at home in the cold fall sweater weather feeling like I was wearing shorts and a tank top while lounging on a beach towel with aviator sunglasses on as I sipped a coolly frosted beer. I was laying there propped up on my one elbow, smiling wide because Sherlock and John were standing under a palm tree being adorable thinking nobody could see them caressing each other but I could. I almost felt like a creeper.

Now that I have given a decent review, here are some of the informal, inappropriate and honest reactions I had while reading.

Sleep? What is that? It’s a little over 159k words. Not enough. No wonder my eyes burn but it’s worth it. It feels like they’re about to melt out of my sockets. To be fair, it could easily also be because of the tears I’ve shed due to how beautiful this is. “I can’t quit you, baby. But I’m gonna have to put you down for a while.” Me towards this art because this is like air. I need more of this ultra high purity grade oxygen.

It’s romantic, erotic, sensual and exciting and I’m not even referring to the smut, albeit that is also incredible. Like the sex they had the morning of their wedding day and how John saw Sherlock looking down at him. One word: soft. The tenderness of the whole story is captivating. It’s giving me 1976% good vibes.

Why would you make Greg this way? It’s intense and I approve. Greg is that best friend anybody would be lucky to have.

Get Off My Cloud. “Obviously.” And there’s the Sherlock Holmes we all know. Scotty wearing these aviator glasses is something else. This gorgeous bastard knows he’s sexy and he knows in this moment Johnny’s mouth is dry. Damn. What a treat to have these two meet and not exactly hit it off well because, yes, the drama. The anticipation is killing me. I’m about to wipe out head first into the 70s. I don’t want to be saved, thankyouverymuch.

I Just Want To See His Face. I think we all can appreciate his solider kink. What a tender child. Lord, I want for this to keep going. It’s so good. But omg noooo, my heart is breaking. I want to crawl in to hold young Scotty in my arms. How dare they do that to his surfboard? I’m mad as hell.

 Street Fighting Man. The great Scotty Holmes wiped out. Ahuh. Sure, Jan. But was there ever any other option? Not when he wants to look into those deep blue eyes again. “Stay the hell away from me!” Oh, Johnny. You have no idea how big of a lie this is.

Under My Thumb. Wow. Scotty really dressed up all fancy to go meet Johnny at his workplace just to return the bullet casing. He would. “Nobody calls me John.” Well, this gorgeous man just did. Let hiiiim (I feel like this is a good nod to your name @sincewhendoyoucallme-john ). Yes, Johnny. Stare into Scotty’s lovely eyes, letting your skin prickle underneath. Train with this beauty. He will show you all there is to know. You two will become pros and live ridiculously happy lives together :))

Time Waits For No One. Johnny talking about the war with Scotty, saying things he’s never said to anyone else is soothing. A bond is forming. Woah, woah. Hold up. That post beach workout shower scene?! What the hell is this?? I am gasping in wonder. It is like a bomb waiting to drop and I’m over here craving it. It was like a slap to the face when those dudes barged in. That was a close one. It all felt illegal. Hot but illegal. Bless you for including it. Their “tents” though. Grade A tents.

Miss You. Johnny’s friends really showed up during their last day of surfing together. Ok but this tension between them is awkward. He’s jealous of Greg!! Ahhhh. Help him. Johnny and Scotty bickering on that flat rock had me on the edge of my seat. I could hear them yelling and now I’m yelling. Strike me with this kind of discourse anytime. As long as it ends with them happy, I’m all for it. Oh my. That CPR kiss? Never have three letters been quite intoxicating. This is what I needed. Very good. Yes, save Johnny Watson, Scotty. Rip his top open and place your huge hands on his chest. Give him the kiss of life.

Time Is On My Side. I cannot breathe. I am laughing and smiling too hard. My face is going to get stuck if I’m not careful. It feels like there are anchor shaped knots in my stomach. My heart is on fire. My throat is swelling to hold on to the blood pulsating through my veins. “You forced me to breathe again.” Ok, but @sincewhendoyoucallme-john now you’re leaving me without air. He whispered THANK GOD. Same Sherlock. Same. John wanting to wake up before the sun because he needs to see Sherlock is exciting. Sherlock telling John that he wouldn’t let him embarrass himself, telling him that he believes in him is pure. Let them eat poke all day. Automatic coffee machine? Obviously. So Sherlock. I demand this whole scene with them on the cliff and in the water after they jump to be transmitted on all television and radio stations internationally. Send it straight to space and blast it into everyone’s mobile phones because this is what it’s all about. This was so romantic :’) Someone please make this into literal food so that I can consume it as all my meals.

Moonlight Mile.  I… Never… Honestly… I just felt this story crawl into the right atrium of my heart and settle deep into the folds of the left ventricle. I have been murdered and resurrected in a matter of one chapter. I changed my mind. This is the purest thing. Their time together like that was deliciously unexpected. Glorious. The way you described it @sincewhendoyoucallme-john You have a gift, my friend. You do. It’s like being able to eat all the tasty desserts in the world without ever getting ill. Like you can’t ever get full so you keep stuffing your face and smiling because it’s so satisfying [insert SNL Emma Stone eating ice cream gif here but in a joyful way].

Paint It Black. I’m going to have to go to the dentist now. You’re giving me a toothache. I’m also screaming because no they didn’t just snog each other behind this shop. Gah. Yes, they did :>

I Can’t Quit You Baby. I’ve never known a pain greater than John having to leave Sherlock to head back to Los Angeles … “leaving Sherlock alone and untouched on the sidewalk, looking like he’d just said goodbye.” Stop it! Stop. Please. I’m despondent and I need medical attention. But he promised and he’s going to keep that promise. I know it because they didn’t just completely devour each other in a sweet embrace crushing their bodies together, bruising their skin and breathing in their very souls for nothing.

Shine A Light. I, too, waited for one hundred and forty seven hours for this moment. That is all.

Dancing With Mr. D. Yes!! You ride that wave, Sherlock. Let the ocean spray massage your back while John’s illuminating smile creates sun rays that shine down on you. Surf like hell, Sherlock Holmes! Now go get your man. “A new tattoo of the memory of John’s touch on his skin.” I’m putting this whole moment in my will to be read aloud.

Heaven. “You coming, captain?” Get your ass out there, John. Your beautiful golden love waits for you. My heart!! I love physics, man. This should be included in every maths course. 

Wild Horses. God, I love this so much. I love it with the passion of 1977 burning suns. I will never be the same. It’s like I threw my own bullet casing out into the distance. The dog tags and the piece from Sherlock’s first surfboard is better than any ring. They’re happy. I’m happy. All Sherlock had to say was “John” and we all understood … John… *floats away* I think that, for me, this was the pièce de résistance. It’s what it all came down to. The way you described what each of them means to one another was fresh and true. It was breathtaking. You truly captured their significance to one another. And isn’t that one of the reasons why we seek out fanfic?

Everything about this is mother hugging fantastic. From the lovely moments between John, Greg, and Molly to the memories between their mothers and to the contagious laughter with Johnny and Scotty. I mean Sherlock. No, I mean Scotty. No! Sherlock. How it transitioned from Johnny and Scotty to John and Sherlock is everything. What a gem.

I thought I was going to read a story that lead up to just the Billabong Championship but, boy, was I wrong. I got so much more. It’s like I was expecting to win the lottery but along the way I also “solved world peace and found eternal life all at once.” That line was perfect, by the way. It started on a high note and ended on an even higher one. It will be forever in my brain riding a big wave in Waimea. I’m thisclose to moving to a piece of paradise on the shore of a private beach in Oahu. 

Oh my literal God. Sweet Jesus above. This is fantastic!!! It’s one of the best things I’ve read and I want it made into a book. One hardcover copy so I can place it in a special section of my library to treasure it dearly as I would any first edition. And then one paperback that I can take with me everywhere I go. I didn’t know I needed this like the salt in the ocean.

So you see, I love this AU Johnlock story. No offense to the infinite stars above and the green earth but this is one of the greatest things to have been created. I send my thanks to Keith Hartman for not letting John die on that beach. I send my love and appreciation to the sky and the sea for crossing that horizon line to melt into one. Above all, I send many more thanks to the author for putting in the time and energy into this. When you see art, read stories or any other form of work in any fandom and if you experience something powerful, whether it’s as easy as a smile or intense like the strings of your heart being pulled, do not hesitate to let the creator know. Having said that, I appreciate you for your creativity and your dedication. Thank you, thank you, thank you @sincewhendoyoucallme-john This is something I’m holding on to forever *makes a leather-bound manuscript to keep in a first-aid emergency kit*

If you’re looking for something new to read, do yourself a favour and check this one out. I am jealous of everyone who reads it for the first time as I wish I could experience that rush again. Reading this was like tasting the most delicious strawberry milkshake with cream on top while listening to the beautiful sound of a conch shell calling out for the attention of the sky and sea to witness the bonding of two amazing people. I will never look at a jellyfish or a plumeria blossom the same way again *turns this whole thing into audio format so I can listen to this diamond certified song over and over again*

The only way I can come to terms with the fact that it’s over is by letting the tears falls down my face.

Chris/10 would recommend

[winter-soldier-vibes]

hi! request for one where reader struggles w depression a lot but hides it, tho it’s been getting worse recently and only bucky has noticed the small signs. then one night after no one seeing her the whole day or maybe something happened he went to check on her but she wasn’t in her room and he panics only to find her on the roof and just talks her down <3 all the love

Of course! I hope you're okay love❤❤❤. I saw another anon request something a lil similar in my ask box but I can't find it, maybe it got eaten, but I hope you like this!

Word count: 3,400 (ish)

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, depression, close to an attempt, Bucky talks about HYDRA, feelings of worthlessness.

A/N: This deals with very heavy subject matter, please do not read if you are in a dark place. I am here to talk if you want but I encourage you that if you feel this way in ANY way, no matter how severe, to reach out to someone. I also just wanted to say that the way someone talks someone down is never the same, some people may find a different approach more helpful or realistic. I wrote it this way because this is what I feel in my experience would have been helpful to hear. So please, if you don’t think it’s the way someone should talk someone down - please don’t come at me for it.

Overnight

People often don’t notice the small signs. The smiles that don’t reach the eyes, the dark circles from lack of sleep, the laughs that slowly become more forced. People don’t often pick up on those things right away. They happen slowly, as depression will often manifest. It’s rarely ever a flip of a switch shut down, happy one day and sad the net. Anxiety was like that, small things can trigger panic attacks. But with depression, it was this slow ache that grew in your chest, this dull cloud that made everything darker day by day.

These things rarely happen overnight.

You don’t know what caused this episode. You had struggled with depression and would go through some really low episodes before returning to baseline. It was never great, but it was...manageable. Most of the time. Some things could help you predict when you would go into another episode but you felt yourself slipping and you weren’t quite sure why.

You started withdrawing from the team. Subtly, not all at once. That would cause too much concern and the last thing you wanted was to be a burden. Especially with something like this, you didn’t even have an explanation.

It started slow, training on your own, missing team dinners, that sort of thing. If they were going out to celebrate or staying in for a movie you would slip away to your room where you didn’t have to worry about hiding it.

You didn’t want to be alone, you already felt so goddamn lonely. But somehow being lonely and surrounded by people who loved you hurt more.

The team chalked it up to you wanting to be alone, a bad day, being tired, etc. Whatever recycled excuse you gave them didn’t phase them. At least, not at first.

See, people who have experienced similar things will pick up in the small signs that others show. Someone who knows what anxiety is like will often be the first to pick up on nervous habits and tics. Often people notice when someone’s energy is coming from adrenaline and caffeine rather than sleep when they’ve done the same thing. Someone who knows what it’s like to feel hopeless and not want to reach out - they notice the small signs of withdrawing.

He noticed pretty early on the change in your demeanor. You had always been one to keep to yourself but this was different. You always seemed exhausted in a way that sleep couldn’t ever fix. Your laugh wasn’t quite the way it used to be, now forced and short, not the usual bubbly laugh it was.

Most people are able to just live and go about daily functions - eating, sleeping - it just came naturally to them. Surviving was natural to them. But it seemed like you had to put thought and effort into surviving.

Which, you were.

Slowly it became hard to motivate yourself to do the basic things to take care of yourself. You would do the bare minimum because you had to, but even that was starting to take more effort than it should. You were eating less because you just weren’t that hungry, but you still did because you knew if you didn’t you’d get sick eventually. You spent as much time in your bed as possible, but not much of it was sleeping.

Bucky picked up on these things and came up to talk to you about them, but you’d smile and shake your head.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little tired I guess.”

You weren’t lying, you were tired - emotionally more than physically.

Tired of more than what the day brought - tired of yourself, of your emotions. Tired of the way you felt so out of touch with yourself, out of control. Tired of how you wanted to get better but no matter what you did, it still came back. You were so tired of being exhausted all the time and there was nothing you could do about it.

You were tired of living this way.

You weren’t necessarily suicidal, it wasn’t that you didn’t want to live. You just didn’t want to live this life, not like this. You were so utterly exhausted day in and day out, every day was about getting to the end of it. Everything seemed pointless and you felt like you were watching life go by but you weren’t living it.

You were surviving. And you didn’t see much of a point to it anymore.

Your mask was cracking. And people were noticing.

Maybe it was when you were falling asleep during mission briefings, or nearly passing out in training because you had forgotten to eat. Maybe it was how no one saw you anywhere that wasn’t necessary. The team passed it off as a bad day or week, something you would get over because you were strong.

But apparently not the strong that you needed to be. You could fight off agents, assassins, you could run for miles. But you couldn’t stop your mind from telling you that life was pointless and you were a waste of space. But the team wrote it off as a bad week. But Bucky knew that this had been going on for much longer than a week.

These things rarely happen overnight.

Too many people were asking you if you were okay, and you weren’t, but you didn’t know how to say it. But you thought that if you had to choke out one more “I’m fine,” you would shatter. And you weren’t ready for everyone to see that.

You stopped coming out of your room unless it was for the bare necessities. You would come out at night for water and food, picking at it in your room so that no one would see you.

But that only made Bucky worry more.

The team, again, wrote it off as you needing some “Alone time” because maybe you just had a “bad day”. Of course they worried about you but they thought that if things were bad, or if there was something you needed help with, you would speak up. Because that’s what you did.

But Bucky was worried. He knew that when someone pushes people away, they may think being alone will help, but it only makes it worse. You may not want to talk to anyone, you may think being alone is what’s best. But it rarely is.

Being alone makes it harder to fight your demons. They can run rampant when given the chance. Being alone is the darkest and loneliest hell, and he knew that all too well.

He wasn’t going to leave you alone in that.

He came up to your room one night, wanting to check on you. He knocked on your door, being met with silence. He knocked again, calling your name, but was again met with silence. He tried the doorknob and found it unlocked, opening the door to an empty room.

Where the hell were you?

You weren’t anywhere else in the tower, so where were you?

Bucky stood there for a moment, confused before he remembered the AI system. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.Where's y/n?”

“I believe that they were heading up to the rooftop about a half-hour ago.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he sprinted out the hallway and towards the stairs.

---

You looked out over the street, arms crossed over your shivering body. For now, you just looked down at the city below. You chuckled bitterly to yourself. There must have been thousands of people down there, thousands of lives, and you wondered how many people felt the way you did right now. So much hustle and bustle, things to do and places to be. You didn’t know a single person down there, it was just a blur of movement. Yet they all had their own personal stories and hells and blessings and shit that made them who they were.

You wondered how many of them pretended like they were fine.

You were standing closer to the edge than you should’ve been. You weren’t doing yourself any favors. You really shouldn’t be up here, but you didn’t know what else to do. Everything hurt all the time and it was just getting worse. You didn’t know whether or not you were gonna jump but here you were, teetering on the edge. Because no matter how much this hurt you still couldn’t bring yourself to fall forward.

You were scared.

You felt tears sting your eyes, angry, exhausted, everything - you couldn’t do anything right anymore, you felt no purpose, you were tired and scared all of the time. You felt so utterly done with everything, yet here you were with a way out and you were too scared of that too.

You were trapped in your body, trapped in your life, and while you didn’t want to die, you didn’t want it to hurt anymore. It wasn’t that you had nothing to live for. It wasn’t that you had nothing left. You knew you did, you knew the team was there for you. You had more support than you could ever need. But you didn’t know how to use them.

You didn’t even know how this happened. How did things get this bad? You remembered when you were happy, the person you used to be. The person everyone still seemed to think you were. Where did they go? What happened to them? And would you ever be able to be that person again?

Did it even matter? Would anyone even care or notice? They did a great job at ignoring what had been happening. Not that you wanted them to find out in the first place. It was so confusing, you wanted to scream for help, you wanted someone to just fucking notice or something. But didn’t you also answer every single “Are you okay?” with "Oh yeah I’m fine, just a little tired.”

So did you truly want them to know? Did you actually want them to notice or help?

You closed your eyes tightly, shaking your head a little to yourself. It was all so confusing, so frustrating. You didn’t know what to do. You felt completely trapped within yourself.

These things rarely happen overnight. And they never get better overnight either.

You took a breath as you looked down, toes slightly off of the ledge. One step or losing your balance would be all it would take. And then it would be over. Forever. It wouldn’t hurt anymore.

“Y/n?” you heard a calm, albeit nervous voice speak from behind you.

You felt your breath catch in your throat. As you squeezed your eyes shut. “No,” you whispered to yourself.

“Y/n, can you come down from there?”

“Why are you here?” you asked, voice strained with pain.

“Because I’m worried about you,” he said, voice sounding closer.

“I don’t want you to be worried about me! I never wanted anyone to worry about me!” you exclaimed.

“And where did not talking about what was bothering you get you?”

“No one would ever have to worry about me again. Not anymore.”

“No one on the team would ever be able to stop thinking about you,” Bucky started, walking closer to you. He spoke gently, worried he would scare you or you would suddenly jump off. “About how we should’ve worried about you. Everyone would blame themselves and ask themselves if they could’ve helped you if they had seen you were hurting.”

You heard his footsteps stop.

“This isn’t going to solve anything.”

You took a shaky breath. “What else am I supposed to do, huh?” you turned around, back facing the streets below as Bucky stood a few feet in front of you. “Pretend like this is gonna get better? Because it isn’t. I’m so sick and tired of pretending like one day everything’s gonna be okay again. It never stops hurting, it never turns off, and I can’t do it anymore!” you yelled, tears streaming down your face. You shook your head. “I know this won’t solve jack shit and it probably makes me weak, but I’m okay with that. Because I’m past the point of wanting to solve anything. I just want it to stop! Is that too much to ask?!”

“It is if your life is the price!” Bucky exclaimed. “We can’t lose you. You’re a part of this team - this family,” he said a little more calmly, trying to keep his own tears at bay. No one should go through feeling so hopeless, and you were one of the kindest people he knew.

But some of the most kind-hearted people are the meanest people to themselves.

“I’m not here to judge you or try to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. I’m not gonna tell you life is all beauty and grace because it isn’t. It’s okay to be in pain but this is not the way to fix it. I just wanna help you.”

You shook your head. “No one can help me.”

“At least let me try,” he said gently.

“You don’t understand okay? It never stops hurting,” you said, voice cracking slightly. “It always hurts and it's this ache in my chest and I feel like I’m suffocating. No one told me that life was going to hurt, no one fucking told me! They say life isn’t fair, or that life may sometimes bring you down, but they never said that existing would be torture. And I don’t want to keep living if it’s going to hurt this much.”

You saw Bucky’s face fall and you shook your head. “Please just go - You weren’t supposed to see this.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’d rather see you at your worst than not see you at all,” he said. “You don’t have to do this yourself. I know it may seem like you do but you don’t. You never had to, and you never will have to. You have me, us, the team - we’re all here for you but we can’t if you don’t let us. But I’m not leaving you. You’ve been alone for too long already.”

You felt a new lump in your throat, feeling overwhelmed. Trapped between death and your worst nightmare. You never wanted to be vulnerable, you never wanted to hurt anyone with your own pain. But hearing Bucky’s words, seeing the panic in his eyes -

You had already hurt him. And he was right - killing yourself was only going to hurt the team more.

But it just hurt so much.

You had heard it so many times - “think about the impact you’ll have on those you love”, or how “suicide is selfish” and shit - made you feel like a horrible person. Because you did care about everyone, you cared too much. And it wasn’t that you didn’t care about hurting them with your decision - it was just that the pain of staying alive began outweighing the fear of hurting those you loved.

And it was torture.

You wanted to say everything that was on your mind - scream and cry and curse the universe, you wanted to break something, you wanted to be hugged, held, and told it would be okay - you wanted to get everything out.

You didn’t want to be alone anymore.

You’ve been alone for too long already.

You let out a broken sob, knees going weak as Bucky caught you and pulled you into his chest, away from the edge.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you said between sobs.

“I know you don’t, I know,” Bucky said, holding you tightly as if he feared you would disappear if he let you go.

Sticks and stones can break your bones but words can never hurt me was utter bullshit. Because the next words that came out of your mouth hurt Bucky more than anything HYDRA had done to him.

“Please just let me die. Why won’t you let me die? I just wanna die, please just let this be over.”

People didn’t realize what depression could do to a person. Someone who was full of life could end up like this. You don’t know what went wrong or when it happened, but you just felt absolutely broken inside. The kind of broken that can’t be fixed.

Bucky felt his heart shatter, tears falling down his own cheeks at how hopeless you had sounded. He had never been overly close with you, but you were always kind to everyone on the team. And the team had failed you by not noticing sooner.

“I’m gonna bring you inside okay?” Bucky said. You didn’t hear him, crying so hard that you couldn’t focus on anything else. He picked you up, carrying you back into the tower. Bucky brought you back to your room, sitting down on your bed with you. He rubbed a hand up and down your back, holding you tightly as he tried to help you calm down.

Exhaustion overtook you, your body becoming worn out from all of the crying and emotions. You never let your guard down like that in front of anyone, and shame began to overtake you.

“I - I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have seen that I’m so so sorry -”

“Don’t,” he started. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“No one was supposed to know,” you whispered.

“Why not? What’s so bad about asking for help?”

You paused for a moment, unsure exactly why. “I don’t know - I just feel really weak sometimes?” you said, more of a question to yourself. “Like I know everyone needs help and shit but I didn’t have a reason to need it. It hurts but I don’t know why, I cry when I’m not sad, I just - I’m not in control of myself and I don’t know why and if I can’t explain it to myself then how am I supposed to talk to anyone about it?”

“That makes more sense than you think. All of us on the team, we all go through shit. We see so many horrible things, we’ve been through so many things. We all have something. You have this. It’s okay if you don’t know why you feel the way you do but hurting yourself isn’t going to help anything.”

“I know what it’s like, wanting a way out,” Bucky said and you immediately knew what he was talking about. “Days that I wished Pierce or Rumlolw or whoever would just finish me rather than punish me over and over. It wasn’t that I wanted to die, I just wanted it to stop.”

You looked at him. “I know. But what I didn’t know then was that it would end. I never thought it could ever end or that it would ever end, but it did. And if I had died back then I would’ve died only knowing that pain. I wouldn’t have known that it could get better or that it would. And I’m not saying everything is perfect now because it’s not. But it’s better than it was. Okay?”

You nodded, fresh tears spilling out of your eyes. You knew the torture that Bucky went through, everyone on the team did. It had taken him a long time to speak about it on his own and move through it. But he did.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” you said.

“Talking about it, getting it out is a great start. Talking about it never hurt anyone.” When you seemed a little apprehensive, Bucky added, “I felt alone for so long. Battling these thoughts and memories in my head. They never stopped. But when I started talking about it with someone, and they helped me work through it - I don’t know. It helped me a lot. It wasn’t just me and my thoughts anymore. I wasn’t alone.”

I wasn’t alone

“You don’t have to be alone anymore. I’m not going anywhere. Whether you like it or not I’m gonna be right here with you

These things rarely get better overnight. But maybe with someone else, they could get better a little bit quicker.

You gave a small nod. “Okay.”

---

Taglist: @buckys2thicc @babydaddy-buckybarnes @thatfangirl42 @im-sick-of-failing @sup--ernova @peggycarter-steverogers @bucks-bunny @barnesplums @mardema @abitgryffindorky @freigeistundanderes @strawberrimae @broadwaybabe18 @sokovianheadtilt @daydreaming-lightly @onyourgoddamnleft @arkhamasylumresident

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[stxleslyds]

ROBIN #5 BUT IT’S JUST ME TALKING ABOUT JASON.

Hey, how are you guys doing? I wasn’t going to review this issue and I won’t because this isn’t really a review, this is just me talking about Jason’s involvement in this story.

I mentioned in a previous reblog (as well as in a old post) that I am not a fan of Joshua Williamson’s way of writing Jason. I think that he, like Lobdell, thinks of Jason in a way that doesn’t really match Jason’s origin (UtRH, Lost Days) or his current stories (RHatO, RHO, and other brief appearances), I think that Williamson is writing this sort of mesh between fanon Jason and a self-indulgent Jason that results in a very... bland and kinda repetitive version of Jason.

I have also talked about my dislike of his writing from a “romance” perspective. I absolutely didn’t like how he wrote the supposed “relationship” that Jason had with Rose in Future State: Red Hood. It honestly left a very nasty taste in my mouth after I read those issues and I just didn’t see their chemistry, to be honest, while I was reading those issues I felt like Williamson was writing an “unrequited love” thing between both of them (Jason being in love and Rose not at all).

That is of course my opinion. I know that many people like this relationship and I respect that but just as a heads up, I am not a fan of Jason being involved in any sort of romantic relationship with anyone. It’s just something that I would rather not see in a Red Hood story and that’s just the way I see it (once again, you are welcome to think otherwise).

Now, after I have said all that (which I believe is necessary because I like to tell you guys my general stances on Jason related stuff), I can begin my “review” of Jason’s appearances in this issue. 

Let’s begin!

Rose calling Jason to tell him about Damian.

Yeah, I find this weird. Since when are Jason and Rose talking? Here is where I am lost because I think that I am missing some information. 

This Jason right here is supposed to be the Jason that was at the end of Urban Legends #6, right? The last time that I remember Jason interaction with Rose was back in RHatO vol.1 #40, I know that Rose had a “relationship” with Jason in DCeased and in Future State (Red Hood and Gotham) but here is the thing, DCeased is a story that doesn’t belong to this or any continuities so it doesn’t count and Future State is set in the future, and a future that might never happen at that. So, where is this “Jason and Rose being in contact” thing coming from? If anyone knows, please let me know. 

Anyway, I just think that Rose contacting Dick would have made more sense but I guess I am missing some context here but hey, I am here to also learn.

The other thing I would like to talk about these panels is Jason not wanting Damian to be involved in a dangerous “death tournament”. Oh, well colour me not surprised at all by that fact, than you so much. 

Who would have thought that Jason would have a problem with a child being involved in a dangerous situation (me, that’s who), I guess that this is confirmation of DC not reading their own material because in one book Jason’s helping a kid “kill” the Joker and here Jason is like “WHY DID YOU JOIN A DEATH TOURNAMENT DAMIAN!?” (did ya put your name in the goblet of fire?!?! said Dumbledore calmly). I guess this Omniverse thing that DC has going on is helpful when you want to blame inconsistencies on something other than poor management on DC’s part. 

I just think that it’s funny. And also right on the line of OOC and in character for Jason, because I can actually see Jason being worried if a kid is joining that sort of thing, but I also don’t see Jason caring much about what Damian does or doesn’t. 

“If I can come home, so can you”

Good lord, I am not having a good time. I hate this. If this is your first time coming across one of my post, Hi! My name is Tati and I absolutely hate the fact that the fanon concept of “Batfamily” is being integrated in actual comics canon. 

This is so bad, what the hell is Jason saying? This man knows nothing about Damian’s situation, why would Jason not think that Damian has his own reasons not to go back “home”??? 

And what the HELL is Jason calling “home”, is he calling Batman or the Batfamily “home”??? Child, are you on crack? Honest question, because Bruce has done nothing for you, he has done awful things to you and he really doesn’t like you. 

Let’s be honest for a second, Bruce hates what Jason has become ever since he came back from the dead, Bruce hates the fact that Jason has a different way of seeing things. He only tolerates Jason when he can molde him the way that he wants. 

I mean, what the hell is this, why would Jason, after the events of Batman and Robin (2011) #20, RHatO (2016) #25 and even Urban Legends #6, want to go back to Bruce or any of his bullshit? Why? How many times does DC have to prove itself that Jason and Bruce don’t work well together anymore? How long until they realise that Jason doesn’t fit in their Bat-narrative? 

I am so tired of this, I swear, when will this end?

Jason and Damian have a chat.

I don’t mean to be repetitive but, what the hell is this? 

First of all, here we are again with writers wanting to encapsulate every Robin’s whole being in one word, don’t they get tired of being this basic? Dick is experienced, Tim is smart... how dull do you have to be? I this was your attempt at having Damian waste time then you could have had him say something more creative. 

“You are the most emotional”, what does that mean? I mean, i guess it’s true but how is that relevant here, or why would that catch Jason off guard? Is it because fanon Jason is the epitome of “bad boy with a heart of gold” or...?

Also, Jason returning the hug after such a wild conversation has me wondering what the hell is going on, weren’t these two fighting the last time they saw each other? Why didn’t Jason realise that Damian hugging him is off?

Jason is a dumbass.  

Well, he isn’t, Jason Nation knows that but he has been written as if he were a dumbass. How did Jason not see that Damian had ulterior motives when he “hugged” him? Jason, my love, you guys fought the last time you saw each other and because the Omniverse is a thing, you also tried to kill Damian...

Why wouldn’t you think that Damian going for a hug was actually a trap? Are you being written as an unintelligent human being again to make another character look good when you are easily defeated? Is that it? 

Yeah, that’s it. 

I don’t know what else I can say about this panel, like come on, give Jason a little credit, we swear he is smart DC! 

Don’t try to play games with Dick, Jason. 

Dick was having none of it! What was he thinking? Jason got his ass tasered and now he is like “Dick why would you let Damian play games with you?”. Why do people write Jason this way? Why is he the dumbass/comic relief nowadays? Is this why he was dragged back to the Bat? So he can be the dumb one with snarky remarks? 

How boring.

-

Listen, I think that this issue was good when it came to Dick and Damian’s moments, they are the ones that have more history together, they respect and love each other enormously. Their interaction were really good, very enjoyable. My problem with this issue was obviously Jason’s presence and the part that they let him play. After reading this, I know that I was right when I thought that Jason shouldn’t have been put here. It doesn’t make sense and it does nothing for Jason’s characterization. 

So yeah, those are my thoughts on this, as always, you are welcome to think differently! 

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

all gone, all gone, all gone

part 2: the two of them are always walking me into the stormy weather

CW: discussion of a suicide attempt, implied emotional abuse, grief

This wasn't in my original outline and doesn't really further the plot but it's here for the angst. there's a tiny relevant plot detail if you squint. but if you skipped this one, you really wouldn't be lost.

Part 1 | AO3 | Masterlist

Cordelia’s heart raced as she entered Alastair’s bedroom. It felt like a terrible invasion of privacy, but the others were right: if there was any evidence of what he was doing with Belial in this room, she needed to find it. She made the trip over and told her mother and Risa a quick lie about him being pulled out of the city for Shadowhunter business. If the time came that she needed to tell them the truth, she would deal with it then. Slipping into his bedroom afterwards was easy enough.

Her anxiety was eased by the fact that it didn’t feel like her brother’s room. She could recognize all of his things: his small collection of political theories, his brilliant dagger collection, a single tapestry on the wall. However, it was quite rare to see a thing out of place in his room. He’d always kept things very tidy, almost unnaturally so. So perfect that it did not seem real. Now, his desk was a mess, there was some clothing strewn on his armchair, a book left on his nightstand.

It was wrong. It was all wrong. This wasn’t his room. It didn’t feel right, and if her mother or Risa came in, they would know it, too. She got started, first picking up the clothes around the room, then straightening the belongings he kept on his dresser. When she moved onto his desk, she remembered what she’d come to the house for in the first place. The reason James was outside, waiting for her in the carriage. She heaved a sigh and began to sort through and organize the papers on his desk. There were financial documents, a few letters of condolence, even an unopened letter from Charles Fairchild, who clearly still had not given up. Nothing that gave any hint of what Belial might be planning.

As she tucked the papers away into the drawer, she felt a note stuck to the underside of his desk. She pulled it away, finding an envelope with nothing written on it but her name. Her hands shook as she tore it open, her heart beginning to race again.

Dear Cordelia,

If you are reading this letter, I assume it means that I am gone. Unless, of course, you were snooping again, in which case I am bound to be quite upset with you. In the case of the former, however, I must apologize for leaving you so soon. I hope there will never need be a day that you read this letter, but this serial killer business is dangerous at best, and I cannot in good conscience risk my life without some hope that in the event of my death you will read this and heed my words.

She skimmed through the rest of the letter. In it, he detailed all of the things he’d never told her: the full truth about their father. He told her the things he did to him, the things he did to her. He explained Elias’ actions that he was not able to protect her from, though she’d never realized they’d happened at all. From Alastair’s perspective, he could see what she could not: how her father seemed to fall ill most often when she was happy, when she’d begun a new project, when she’d started to make a new friend. He never truly needed her help at all.

He explained it to her and told her that it would be her responsibility now to protect their sibling in ways that he would not be able. He told her what to do, what to look for, how she might be able to help. He apologized for this now being her burden to bear.

Why was it ever yours? she thought, tears springing to her eyes. It didn’t make any sense. This letter was clearly written before their father had died, and she was sure that Alastair’s deal was after. Not that Belial’s Alastair would ever leave a note, anyways. It was not written as someone who welcomed death but as someone who feared it. How was he even connected to the serial killer? How was he risking his life? Why?

She heard a noise from behind her and quickly tucked the letter away.

“What are you doing in here?” she heard in Persian.

She spun around. “Nothing, Risa,” she quickly replied, blinking away her tears. “He simply asked me to retrieve something for him before he left.”

Risa raised an eyebrow at her and shut the bedroom door. “Cordelia joon, what’s really happening? We used that ‘Shadowhunter business’ lie enough times on you when your father disappeared for days at a time; I know how to recognize it.”

Cordelia thought of the letter tucked in her pocket. She exhaled and sat down on the edge of Alastair’s bed. “He-” Raziel, could she actually say these words out loud? “He tried to kill himself. However, a Prince of Hell intervened, offered him a deal. He took it. He’s being controlled by him now, in some way, I think.”

“I see,” Risa responded. She’d been staying with Sona at Cornwall Gardens ever since Elias’ death, and being able to speak in her mother tongue again was a small comfort to Cordelia. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it.

“Are you… surprised?”

“I certainly did not expect it, but I am not surprised, either. What are you trying to ask, truly?”

“I just want to understand why he would do something like that, why he would- Right after our father’s death? Hadn’t we experienced enough tragedy? Shouldn’t that have been a good thing, for him? With Baba dead he could finally move on, be happy? Why would he-”

“Cordelia joon,” Risa said slowly, sitting beside her and placing a comforting hand on her back. “Your brother is a troubled person, he has been for many years. Not in the ways your parents spoke of it. He did not carry the stress of a boy becoming a man. It was different, it was the weight of many decades that could crush the strongest of shoulders, and his were very small at the time it was placed on his. Do not attempt to enter his mind too much; it will do you no good. Just know there was nothing in this world more important to him than you. Whatever led him to such a decision, he would not have made it without believing in some twisted way that you would not be affected by it.”

Cordelia began to protest, but her words were caught in her throat.

“I know. But we do not always think rationally.”

“He does.”

“None of us do, azizam. Not always.”

Cordelia thought of the letter in her pocket. “He didn’t need to protect us anymore,” she realized. “Not me, not the baby. Not with Baba gone.”

“Maybe,” Risa responded, “but you will drive yourself mad attempting to understand this. Perhaps you will be able find a way to break this deal he made with this Devil, and only then will we attempt to understand what happened, if only to keep it from happening again. And if instead we need to tell your mother the truth, I will be by your side.”

She only nodded in response. “I should- James is waiting for me. I need to finish cleaning, if Mâmân comes in, she’ll know something is wrong-”

“I’ll help.”

Both her and Risa took the next several minutes and tidied up Alastair’s room. Cordelia attempted to discreetly peek into the pages of his books and looked into his drawers, but she still found no sign of anything Belial-related.

As she readied herself to leave, Risa offered her one last thought. “Good luck, joonam. You are so strong, and as is your brother. Remember that.”

Cordelia gave her a sad smile. “Thank you for your help.”

She bid her goodbyes and hurried back to the carriage.

“That took a while,” James commented. “Did you find something?”

Cordelia thought of the letter. “No, not really. I- I had to clean his room.” Her voice broke with the admission. “That sounds so stupid. He just- He never leaves his room like that, or he didn’t, before-”

“It’s okay.” James signaled for the driver to take them back to Curzon Street. “Are you alright?”

Cordelia shrugged. They spent the ride in silence. When they arrived at the townhouse, the rest of the Merry Thieves were already waiting for them.

“Did you find anything?” Matthew asked.

She thought of the letter in her dress. The whole of it was solidly unrelated to the matter at hand, but the serial killer- “There was one thing. A letter. It’s not- He wrote it before our father died, but it mentions something about the serial killer.”

“Can we see it?” Matthew asked.

“No,” she said a little too quickly. “It’s not… There’s just the one line about it.” She sighed and pulled out the letter. “It says ‘this serial killer business is dangerous at best, and I cannot in good conscience risk my life without some hope that in the event of my death,’ etcetera, etcetera. That’s the only line about it. It was clearly written before our father died, but… I don’t understand. He wasn’t involved in the serial killer investigation at all.”

“Perhaps he was already working with Belial by then?”

“He wasn’t. He wouldn’t- He wouldn’t have worked with him before the deal, and this was certainly before it.”

Thomas seemed like he was about to speak, but Matthew spoke first. “There’s still a possibility,” he said gently. “If we could read it, perhaps-”

“No! I already said that you couldn’t! And it doesn’t make any sense for him to have been working with Belial before my father’s death!”

“We’re only trying to help, and it’s not helpful for you to be hiding-”

“I’m not hiding anything! It’s a letter he wrote to me about our father and what I would need to do to protect our sibling from him in a world where he was still alive and Alastair wasn’t, alright?” She didn’t know when the tears began to fall. “So, no, you can’t read it, and, no, I don’t think he would have risked his life, and our sibling’s safety, without sufficient motivation. There must be another explanation.” She folded the letter again and put her head in her hands.

“Perhaps you should go,” James suggested to the others. “We’ll meet tonight at the Devil and decide where to go from here.”

She listened to them leave, but she didn’t look up.

I'm finishing my finals this week & next so hopefully I will updating my fics more frequently once that's over! i've also made a playlist for this fic! it's here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4KaoQmHAoEFMkZH5Fd23gM?si=1357d801920f41c5

taglist (lmk to be added/removed): @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs @littlx-songbxrd

Part 3

[reluctant-mandalore]

A Loving Embrace (Fennec Shand x gn!Reader)

After awakening from a nightmare, your significant other—Fennec Shand—does her best to comfort you away from your worries. 

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort (emotional), Super soft Fennec (like soft and fluffy af), panic attacks, mentions of nightmares, cuddles, kisses, established relationship, not beta read

Word Count: 1293

Pairing: Fennec Shand x gn!Reader (gender neutral) 

a/n: I wrote this for a friend who I thought could use some Fennec love! Hope you enjoy darling <3 Also the ending is terrible because I wasn’t sure how to end it. Anyway, have some soft fennec comforting the reader after a terrible nightmare. 

An unprevailing darkness and blossom of fear had consumed your thoughts that night. Your sleeping mind consumed with a nightmare unlike any other you had ever experienced. Striking you and awaking you from your slumber all too quickly. A gasp living your lips as your eyes snapped open to be met with the darkness of your and Fennec’s shared room. Your breath heavy and ragged, as you found yourself struggling not to cry out in panic from the unsavory dream that had taken you away from your slumber.  

Fennec’s own eyes had snapped open at the sudden movements she had felt at her side. Her tired mind not quite processing what was going on until her eyes had panned onto your panicked and uneasy form. A frown had crossed her features at the sight, making her confused for a brief moment, until the realization of you waking from a nightmare had dawned on her. Even sooner she had gently placed a hand onto your shoulder, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze, in an attempt to ground you and take you farther away from the nightmare which had entrapped your thoughts during the night.

“Are you ok?” She had spoken in a hushed voice, doing her best not to startle you any more than you already were, “Did you have a nightmare?”

Hearing her speak had managed to pull you away from your trance. Your eyes looking through the darkness to find her own and feeling them brim with tears when you found her worried gaze looking over you. The sight of the concern held in their depth causing for you to bite your lip to stop its trembling while also trying to cut off the sobs that threatened to spill out.

“Fennec I…” You had trailed off before finally nodding. The tears that had formed at the corner of your eyes now beginning to fall as you felt yourself crumble before her. “It was terrible.”

Seeing your tears she had pulled you in close, allowing for her arms to wrap around you in a tight embrace. Her one hand soon moving to run soothing circles along your spine, as she squeezed you into her hold tightly. She had even kissed your forehead a few times, mumbling soft reassurances as she did, while doing her best to soothe you gently.

“It’s ok love. I’m here now… I got you.” She had hummed softly as she held you, hoping to bring you that calmness and relief she knew you desperately needed in that moment. “Let it all out.”

For a long while, she had let you cry into her arms, rocking and rubbing your back, as words of comfort left her lips in quiet whispers. The loving embrace she had around you only tightening the more you shook within her grasp. Her hold never leaving you, as she did whatever she could to help bring you away from the nightmare that had caused you such pain and fear.

“Did you want to talk about it?” She had asked after some more time had passed. Allowing herself to brush away some of your tears with her thumb, and soon pressing another kiss to your forehead as she spoke. The feeling of her lips leaving a tingling sensation across your skin and managing to bring another air of calmness to fall over you both.  

A nod was your only reply at first, as you shifted yourself to be more comfortable within her arms before speaking. Telling her everything and anything you could remember from the nightmare which had taunted you that night. From the most vivid of terrors to the cloudiest of fright, you allowed the words to spill from you in what felt like a never ending wave of despair.

Fennec had remained silent as she listened, continuing her gentle caresses along your form and littering your exposed skin with kisses in between your sniffles. She had let out a hum every now and then to let you know that she was still paying attention. Her focus completely on you while more of your nightmarish tale was revealed to her bit by bit.

Eventually you had finished telling her everything you felt like you were able to. Letting your face bury itself into the crook of her neck as another small whimper had escaped you while speaking, “Thank you Fennec.”

“No need to thank me love.” Fennec had said, her fingers catching your chin and bringing it towards her so she could capture your lips in a sweet kiss. Only pulling back to flash you a tender smile, “I’ll always be here for you no matter what.”

“I love you.” The confession had slipped from your lips on reflex at hearing her words, a flush of heat warming you, as a feeling of shyness had begun to flood you.

“I love you too.” She had said just as fondly, smiling at you again in a way that made your heart flutter and caused your stomach to tie in knots, “Do you think you’ll be able to fall back to sleep?”

Fennec’s question had made you ponder for a moment, unsure of if you would be able to lull yourself back to sleep after what you had just experienced. Soon allowing your eyes to briefly close, only to have them snap open once more at the dread which had pooled inside your mind from having done so. The unease of your previous nightmare still being held over you even now while held safely in her arms.

“No.” You had said simply at first, “Well... I don’t think so at least. Maybe after a little while? I’m not sure. I just… anytime I close my eyes I think of it again. I’m sorry Fen.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine and completely understandable.” She had said in reassurance, giving a comforting rub along your back again, “I’ll stay awake with you until you’re able to.”

“What if I end up not being able to sleep again tonight?”

“Then we don’t sleep and we just cuddle the night away.” Fennec had smirked, a teasing tone finding itself embedded into each of her words. The flirty undertones which they held not lost on you as she nuzzled herself closer, “Does that sound good to you love?”

You had nodded in reply, a pleased smile finding itself onto your own cheeks among the now drying tears, “Add you telling me a story and it sounds perfect.”

“A story, hm? I think I can do that.” She had said with another hum, shifting herself to lean back onto the pillows with you tucked comfortably into her chest. The new position allowing for you to rest overtop of her while still remaining cuddled in her arms. “There was this job I had some years ago…”

Settled into Fennec’s embrace, you had listened intently to her, as she had begun to tell you about a story from her past. Her words washing over you in a gentle chime of affection and tenderness, as her one hand drew delicate designs along your back once more. The story she told and the warmth she possessed helping to put a rest to the dark thoughts which had once tugged at your mind. Now replacing them with a much needed comfort with the desire to sleep in their wake.

It didn’t take much longer from there for you to drift off to sleep again. Although this time a nightmare would not dare to wake you, as the loving embrace and solace your partner had brought to your resting self refused to allow them the chance to grow. Letting you rest peacefully and untroubled once more while held in the arms of the person you loved most in the world.

[baeddel]

@androfem​ has made a number of good posts about transmisogyny, addressed to a milieu I’m very glad not to be part of anymore. I wanted to run off of something they wrote in this one...

[2.5k words. transmisogyny, racism tw. epistemic status: Hawkeye Gough]

while hedging an argument in the second paragraph, they write “i’m by no means someone who can definitively say what tme/tma mean” (thus preparing us to hear a definition but to treat it as nondefinitive), but that they see the acronym ‘tme’ (’tranmisogyny exempt’) as “the most palatable attempt trans women and transfem nb people have made towards identifying whether other trans people are one of them or not, and other trans people communicating that as well voluntarily.” By palatable they mean to other people in their milieu, who they spend the rest of the post attacking over the reasons they found all the other terminology (casab etc.) unpalatable. Their criticisms are all quite good.

But - am I crazy, or, aren’t they wrong in this quote? The way I remember it, trans women did not come up with the term ‘tme’. This was something that tme people came up with themselves. The use of tme would eventually become imbricated with the disuse of casab, under the argument that casab requires you to ‘out’ yourself, and so on, which was its own controversy. But originally it wasn’t related to this reservation or at least I never experienced the two as connected. tme was something that, to us, came out of nowhere; it was something like an alien bacteria penetrating the atmosphere from the belly of an asteroid; it woke us up to a whole neighbouring discourse that we were unaware of. That neighbourhood was made up of cis women, trans men, and nonbinary cafabs who were beginning to grapple with the ‘transmisogyny question’. At the time, most people did not take the concept of ‘transmisogyny’ seriously; many people still believed that trans women had male privilege and so on. It was a huge surprise to us to find a whole emerging discourse of non-trans women who believed transmisogyny was real and took it seriously enough to invent their own terminology for describing it.

It’s possible you can trace the coinage to some trans woman somewhere. But at least, at the time that we encountered it, we understood it to be the self-description of non-trans women. A lot of trans women at the time reacted very negatively to this. One of the main criticisms was that tme was not a ‘coherent category’ - could we say that it tries to be too definitive, ie. a definition that overapplies? The anxiety was that it would collect the experience of subjects which cannot rightly be put together; trans men, cis women, cafabs, whoever else, do not all experience patriarhcy(!) in the same way. They all have different proximities to misogyny, emotional labour (when you were still allowed to say that), access to community, sexual access & availability, and so on. Later or earlier, I don’t remember, this same discursive device would be used by trans women against casab; we were derided for “treating casab like a coherent class.”

Androfem may be surprised to learn that this criticism orginates with trans women, if they weren’t there for this. The gesture returns, later on in their post, when they chastise others in their milieu for reading trans women’s arguments in bad faith. They caution that “the assumption shouldn’t be made that [a transfem is] completely unaware of or in denial about” all of the various nuances of proximity whenever she says “definitively” (emphasis mine) that “tme people aren’t affected by transmisogyny”. At this point, the taboo on definitions reaches a delerious extreme - Androfem’s peers take issue even with this tautology! And the solution Androfem proposes is not to take the claim seriously, but to secretly insert something that disrupts it, imagine some inapplicable cases, and so on, and, further, to assume that she is also doing it behind the scenes. Androfem identifies this obsurantism with transmisogyny; their peers cannot bear to take a trans woman seriously, so they will always send her work back and demand a new more palatable analysis. And we trust they are right to make this diagnosis; but this trans woman experiences it as the terrible return of her own native discourse. What we sowed in 2012 they now reap in 2021.

Why has this discourse progressed to such an epistemologically vicious place, where no statements about gender are possible? Baudrillard would enjoy watching our transsexuality become transpolitical. For whatever unconscious reason, whenever we are presented with a master signifier capable of rendering the transcendental field, we are immediately compelled to castrate it. Our destiny is to constantly throw discourses into indifference. Maybe. But the more direct lesson is that something went wrong with the method of analysis we employed to explicate transmisogyny in 2012. What went wrong?

Maybe we can begin with some statements in Androfem’s post and work backwards. They write that “tme people benefit ... from transmisogyny”, although they insert in parenthesis “(some more than others)”. This was an analysis we would have subscribed to in 2012. In 2021, we now want to ask: who benefits and in what way? Who benefits more, who less, and why?

It’s true that transmisogyny brings some profit. Growing up as trans girls we are often deployed as women are deployed; we become the older sister, surrogate mother, and secret girlfriend. Whenever our peers see us in the correct light and notice our softness (to borrow a Saxon term), they exploit it. For boys the profit derives primarily from our socially acceptable proximity in the enforced homosociality that children in our culture endure. The trans girl is a girl who you can have sleepovers with, who you can have in the boys locker room, and so on, and therefore have early sexual and emotional access to. Girls generally exploit it a little later on, when heterosexual relations are expected. The trans girl can be a special kind of boy, like a ‘gay best friend’, but who is sexually available. Both boy and girl cast their brief teenage becomings on their own special gendered Other who is capable of facilitating it by her difference. Contra Balzac, it is precisely her castration that allows her to function as a superavailable Other, not (yet) as an overproximate Same that makes us recoil.

This relation of the tme to trans women dominates in the Bay Area of California, where trans women have resumed some of our traditional roles as temple functionaries. You probably have some homeless or recently homeless or about-to-be homeless trans woman (lets say she is ‘having to be homeless’) in your overcrowded apartment who will always be there to help you process your gender feelings and is probably down to fuck if you can get over yourself and make a move on her.

But these wages of transmisogyny are transitory and marginal. While most trans women will have encountered some of these kinds of exploitative gendered relations, it is by no means a universal experience of tme people. And, whats more, it is possible to have these relations, with the same benefits, which are not exploitative. I have known many cis girl-trans girl couples who got together under the bonds of enforced heterosexuality because of the profit each had for the other - the trans girl is not threatening, better about her boundaries, and so on, perhaps because of her own experiences of sexual exploitation; the cis girl, for equally contingent reasons, just ‘gets it’, and doesn’t try and make a man out of the trans girl - and when the trans girl realizes she is trans and comes out to her partner, the two track an escape route from heterosexuality together. There is no reason to expect it to always go one way, exploitative, or always the other, emancipatory. Is the cis girl ‘benefitting from transmisogyny’ in this scenario? Is she perhaps benefitting less than others, or more than others? I think that we cannot easily analyze every relation between person and person in terms of cost and benefit; even when we are bound by structures of domination, we cannot already anticipate the outcome. At the same time, if such experiences are rare, we aren’t surprised, because we know that the desiring-situations are staged in a certain way that makes discovering these kinds of escape routes difficult.

But simaultaneous with these occasional benefits, 1. transmisogyny is usually damaging to a trans woman without bringing any profit to her persecutor, and 2. transmisogyny is usually damaging to a tme person as well. Don’t you think so? Superficially, it acts as a limit on your presentation; all cis men growing up experience limits on their behaviour, backed by punishments, to prevent or destroy whatever might seem transsexual in them. Maybe it plays a similar role in the upbringing of cis women, trans men, cafabs, etc., in ways that are waiting to be articulated? On a deeper level, transmisogyny - as the hygeine of gendered categories, the social governance of presentation, etc. - plays a crucial role in the overall desiring-situation of oppressive heterosexuality; it creates a series of taboos, anxieties, myths and harsh realities which, in some indirect way, help to maintain heterosexuality’s renewal in each successive generation.

I think some harm was done by a too-ready application of frameworks developed to analyze white supremacy to the question of gender. The progressive leitkultur in those days was still the ‘invisible napsack’. While for transmisogyny the benefits are merely occasional, there are universally accessible wages of whiteness. White people enjoy a distorted labour market; the deterritorialization of black neighbourhoods creates (barely) affordable apartments for (eg.) white students [the scenario with the Oakland enaree we described implicitly takes place in one of these apartments]; and, most generally, there are habits of prosociality between white people which are difficult to break that continually renew the same distribution of wealth, status, care and intimacy [Eldridge Cleaver referenced Harry Golden’s gag about ‘vertical integration, horizontal segregation’ (pg 67) as a good description of race relations in Folsom; we find it to be a good description of race relations in the trans community as well].

When we tried to apply these readymade frameworks to transmisogyny, we found it difficult to construct relevant categories. Transmisogyny could not be domesticated to a form of exploitation metaphorized in economic terms. Therefore, every further demand for a ‘materialism’ that could clearly enumerate the relationships of exploitation would be frustrated, finding only edge cases and anecdotes. There was no underlying machinery that always produced this or that outcome. Therefore, each category was “incoherent”, too definitive, unable to capture what we took for an underlying system that was just out of reach. But the problem was only a misplace of focus. Transmisogyny is not really a system of exploitation; it’s the nightmare of a patrilineality that cannot enforce its borders. It is necessary therefore to move beyond categories like oppression and privilege, bigot and victim, exploited and exploiter, and deal with the domination that captures both ‘tme’ and ‘tma’ in its ruses. Now we can answer some of the old warhorses; CASAB is not a class which we can say anything about, nor is tme or even tma; it is rather the residue of a paternal subjugation, a ‘weight of dead generations’ that everyone confronts moments upon their exit from the womb; a universal coercive sexuation which we cannot help but encounter, combat or obey, enforce on others and despair in our private moments. Everyone, everywhere, is aware of the problem; and the exit is waiting, somewhere, as yet undiscovered, for anyone to seize.

So much for the riddle of 2012. In 2021 the situation is not really the same. Androfem’s milieu were not socialized by anti-revisionist parties and do not metaphorize their experiences in economic terms. Their platform is a sort of legalism. They enter into a discourse which has been a continuous bloodbath for twelve years (the relevant year for them is not 2012 but 2009, and the website not tumblr but wordpress); every discussion has already been had; what is necessary now is only to enforce the common law precedent. They are obliged to accept the existence of transmisogyny because it was already accepted before they got there; they don’t really understand why and are not curious about it. They are not gender abolitionists, but inclusionists. If they had lived thirty years ago they would probably have been exclusionists and thirty years before that, inclusionists again. Every conversation begins with some pious disavowal, ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again...’ Everything has already been tabulated in their stare decisis; asexuals are not lgbt, queer is a slur, cottagecore is colonialist, and so on. What motivates them is primarily some irrelevant triviality like whether this or that fanfiction is normalizing abuse or whatever. It is thus easy to see why Androfem argues that the old taboo on being definitive is transmisogyny; in their milieu it is a strategy for rendering the anti-transmisogyny laws unenforcable. If the law is ever invoked there is a loophole; look here, you missed this nuance...

Much of that milieu - from my own experience with it - is dominated by TERF cults that essentially run friend groups as front organizations; they start off siccing teenages on each other over shipping drama and soon encourage mobbing trans women undesirables. These networks were active on wordpress in 2009, they were on tumblr when I joined in 2012 (where they were able to leverage irl connections to intimidate members of my friend group who were organizing), and they are running discord servers and stalking tumblrs here in 2021. [If anyone from that scene is reading this far and this sounds at all familiar to them: I’m sorry but, yeah, you’re in a cult. You’re better than this! The fandom drama commentariat is not really worth trying to reform. Sauve qui peut!]

These are normally crypto-TERFs who are ‘officially’ inclusive of trans women and, in fact, their friend-group cults are usually full of trans women. Trans women, we have to say, make the most ruthless transmisogynists. To this extent we must disagree with Androfem when they say that “the smallest demographic in [TERF] communities are transfems”; in my experience transfems have sometimes been the most numerous, and it is precisely because TERFs are organized around transmisogyny. The reasoning behind this paradoxical outcome is understandable only in terms of dianetics and thetan space operas.

Anyway. I have sometimes felt that transmascs need some kind of Prince of their own; someone who is able to articulate his own transsexual line of critique in the face of trans women’s well-known and well-settled one, but with the minimum amount of ressentiment; who can hold his own against transfeminine parochialsm and not cave to cheap attacks, but also not make them, and not become parochial himself. I think that ‘tme’ is at its most valuable as an organizational principle when only someone like Androfem can “definitively” articulate it. It has to be a space for tracking the escape from my own desiring-situation on my own terms, in my own style, by my own design; bathed in my own light... But to be capable of accomplishing this it needs to become a break with all previous discourses. One that is open, flexible, and forward-looking; a dangerous gambit which is definitive and unprecedented...

[alia-turin]

Finally chapter 3 after I struggled for a bit. If you have read the answer to that ask here you have seen like part of this chapter because I wrote it some time ago. 

I hope you guys enjoy ^_^

Fic Title: Somewhere in Time (Chapter 3) Previous Chapters: 1, 2 Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Pairing: Caranthir/F/OC Warning: Canon typical violence for this chapter, mention of scars, angst   AO3 Link

The next morning Caranthir walked to her room surprisingly excited. He did not believe even for a moment that reading Avallac’h extremely boring book would teach her anything, but it was going to at least help her understand. He had brought a few other books with himself, all of them by Avallac’h, the man had spent an awful lot of time writing it seemed. Even he had to admit his teacher knew magic if nothing else.

When he walked in her room she was sitting on the table much like yesterday after he left. If it wasn’t for the fresh set of clothes he would think she never moved. His ring was still on the table where he placed it but Avallac’h’s book was also there. He placed the books he brought on the table, next to the ring, but didn’t sit down.She was studying every move he made her head tuning slightly in curiosity as she saw what he brought.

“As boring as I remember?” she just looked at him as he said that and nodded in fear. That bothered him, the terror in her eyes disturbed him. For first time in his life he felt weird about someone being afraid of him.

“If I move it...can I leave?” her words came out of her mouth as if practiced. Did that mean she actually moved the ring? No matter, the answer was no even if she managed to disintegrate it to dust.

“How did you end up in the forest?” he knew she didn’t expect him to ask something unrelated to the task at hand because of the surprise written on her face.

“I...lived there after I left my father’s house.” her words were measured, the fear of him was somewhat tuned down or at least in the way she acted, but judging how carefully she spoke he wondered if she was worried that her words might offend him. Caranthir didn’t think there was anything she could say that could in any way hurt him. He waited. He was not going to ask her to elaborate, he would just wait, either for her to continue or to ask him something. Either way was fine even if he didn’t really like talking about himself. What was the point? Everyone knew about Avallac’h’s experiment.

“I...didn’t really have anywhere else to go.” she finally continued after the silence between the two of them grew for far too long. “I’m not a human...but I’m not Aen Elle either. Couldn’t live like one or the other, I knew about the old hunting lodge and decided that is a good way to avoid everyone.”

“Never felt lonely?” he narrowed his eyes as he asked that. If he could, he would probably do the same. Go to the Winter Tower and lock himself there for the rest of his life or at least most of it.

“I’m used to it. I never truly had a place, so it didn’t really matter if I was in a house with tens of Aen Elle and their servants or on my own in the woods. It made no difference.” As she said that Caranthir could do nothing but stare. She didn’t seem sad, she said it as if that was the most normal thing in the world. He would have been angry at his parents if he was in her place, let his hate stew over the years and one day just pour it all out. He wondered which one of them was stronger in this situation. Her for being able to get through whatever pain there was and live past it, or him who would just destroy everything and turn it into ruins as he usually did. “How about you? Your family?” she asked after another very long silence between the two of them.

Caranthir was caught off guard. Everyone knew about his parents and Avallac’h...almost everything related to him. But her question was so genuine and these doe eyes looked at him...she had no idea. He had never told anyone about himself, mostly because there was no need to. He was a Navigator of the Red Riders, everyone knew Avallac’h literally made him.

“The man who wrote that book raised me.” He pointed at the book that was in front of her. She didn’t need to know the rest of that ugliness. Caranthir grabbed the ring and tossed it on the bed. “Come on. Do it.”

Aine shook her head and sighed. She looked at the ring and he could see her concentrating as he did as well. He spent all night trying to research how it was possible for a mage not to know they had power for so many years. Also nobody around her knew...how did that even happen? He read every text he could find, even some absolute nonsense that had been written by people who have not been closer than ten feet from actual magic. It even crossed his mind to ask Avallac’h, but he was not that desperate.

Aine was focused, he could see the power in her building, he was not mistaken, but for some reason it didn’t connect. He was three or four years old when Avallac’h made him do that, took Caranthir a total of two attempts his teacher just nodded and they moved on to the next task.

“I can’t.” she finally said. “It is not possible.” he didn’t respond, just opened his hand and the ring flew in it like an arrow. He grabbed it between his index finger and his thumb and showed it to her. “Impossible for me.” she corrected herself.

No. he was right, he couldn’t be wrong. He tossed the ring back on the bed.

“Concentrate.” he needed to motivate her. “Your life depends on it. You can’t move it, you are useless to me.” It was a lie, he wasn’t going to hurt her, but she did not know that. He saw the panic in her eyes. While she was concentrating he cursed himself for being such an idiot. Had really all the kindness in him died somewhere along the years? Maybe he never had it, Avallac’h forgot the kindness genes somewhere.

While he was debating on his one inability to feel emotions he saw the ring move with the corner of his eyes, but he also sensed something else.

“No, stop!” he shouted at her and jumped over the table.

Aine felt a jolt of pain somewhere deep inside her which was worse than anything else she had experienced. She had never been stabbed, but she imagined that was how a knife in the gut felt. She saw the stupid ring move and then there was that terrible feeling somewhere in her. Next thing she knew she fell off the chair straight on her hands and knees. Someone shouted at her but her mind was a fog. She had no idea where she was or what was going on around her.

Aine felt someone or something lift her head and make her look forward. The world was blurry as if she was drunk or high but slowly shapes started appearing. Far away the light from the window was blinding, then there was the shape of the bed and...him. Caranthir was kneeling in front of her, his hand holding her jaw much like he had done yesterday, but there was no force in his grip, it even felt...gentle. This was the first time she looked him straight in the eyes from such a close distance, even yesterday her face had been mostly turned so she couldn’t look at him. Despite the terror he invoked in her, he was handsome, but she could also see the right side of his face, the one that had been always covered by hair. It was still covered but that close the scars were difficult to hide. Broken and cracked skin starting from his forehead and going all the way to his chin, hiding under the tattoos on his neck.

“Aine!” he shouted her name and she suddenly came back to her senses realizing he was alarmingly close. “Don’t do that again.”

“I don’t know what I did…” she admitted, the strange pain she felt somewhat disappearing but she still felt dizzy. She looked around herself as best as she could given he was still holding her chin. Everything that had been on the table was now on the floor broken. “What…”

“You used yourself as a source. Don’t do that.” She read about that yesterday. The book said the same, don’t do that it’s dangerous, but she had no idea how she did it. That was not her goal. Also his voice...he sounded...concerned. A moment ago he told her he would kill her if she didn’t do that now he was...concerned? “Come.” Caranthir got up and helped her stand guiding her in front of himself and making her turn her back toward him. That was a strange feeling, almost like allowing a wolf to sneak behind you. “Kneel.” as he spoke the words the breath hitched in her throat but she followed. Last time she tried to fight him it didn’t go very well.

She knelt down, sitting on her heels. She turned her head trying to see what he was doing but her neck was still too painful. She didn’t need to see it as she felt it. He knelt as well but his legs pressed on the outside of her tights, his chest pressing against her back. Aine panicked and tried to get up, but his knees pressed against her tights and he placed his hand over hers.

“Don’t move.” he could feel his warmth on her skin as whispered. He was too close, way too close. Her mind started running million miles per second, she remembered that other man who had dragged her out of her house and pushed her on the ground, his weight on her, almost crushing. “I’m not trying to hurt you.” Caranthir added but in her head that looked awfully much like about to be hurt. “I need you to focus.”

“You are too close.” she finally managed to say, but he must have thought otherwise as he didn’t react in any way. Aine could probably scream, but what point was there to it? One he wasn’t really hurting her. Two who will hear her? The servants? She had seen three sets of those and based on the way they looked at her they would probably hope he killed her at the end.

“Focus.” was the only thing he said as he grabbed her arm and made her extend it as if she was begging.

Caranthr was doing his best to follow his one instruction and focus, but that turned out harder that he thought. Judging by how ridgid her body was against his he could guess she was terrified and the horrifying thoughts crossing her brain. The physical contact was distracting him and to his surprise it wasn’t lust. At least not only. He tried to remember the last time he held someone in his arms and his memory failed him. The thought was terrifying but he also never needed it. Sex had alwasy been sex, no strings attached and certainly he never had the need to hold someone. He took a deep breath. His brain couldn’t decide if he wanted to grab her, throw her on the bed or just hug her. Was he even capable of showing affection without inflicting pain?

“I need you to concentrate.” he wasn’t sure if he said that to her or himself. He was supporting her arm in his and made her open her hand. “Do the same thing you did a moment ago, but don’t use yourself as a source.” Part of his thing was he needed to be as close as possible to stop her from doing it again. Mages had died doing that and most of them have done that by accident. The thought of seeing her hurt drove something primal in him, something he had not felt in years. “I will guide you.” He felt her body relax a bit against his and sensed the power in her building very slowly, weak but it was there. She was trying but his mind was somewhere completely different. He couldn’t let her go. Danger or no, after what he just felt he couldn’t let her go. It was selfish but that was who he was.

“I did it!” her exclamation snapped him out of his thoughts. The ring was in her hand and he knew he did not help her to do that. Caranthir forced himself to get up as quickly as he could before he did something stupid. “You were right!” She was still kneeling on the ground but for the first time he saw some sort of joy in her eyes. “I didn’t think I could do it.”

Caranthir didn’t say anything, he just turned around and walked out. He was angry and he didn’t even know why. Whatever just happened there made him feel something he did not think was possible. Hate, violence, need to hurt, that came easy to him. Need to be close to someone? Need to hold someone or be held? What even was that?

Aine watched as he walked out of the room and slammed the door behind himself. She wasn’t sure what just happened, but she was also too excited at the moment. She did it. She never believed him when he said she had power, all day spent reading that book and she understood the words but the idea didn’t make sense. Until now. She looked at the ring in her hand still not fully believing it.

The strangest part was she was not excited about the ability to do magic, sure that was thrilling. It was a skill that was hers and hers alone and nobody could take it from her. All her life she didn’t really have a place. She wasn’t human, she wasn’t an elf. She wasn’t a nobleman’s daughter, but she wasn’t a servant either. There were all these roles and tasks assigned to people and she could not fit any of them. When she was just a child she was proud of that - who needed their boxes - but the more time passed she realized it wasn’t just about the boxes, it was about belonging and that was missing.

The cold air in her back reminded her that she was alone now in the room, Caranthir had walked out abruptly, not even saying a word. Some strange concern creeped down her neck, as scary as when she had felt his breath on her skin - what now? He did tell her he would kill her if she did not move the ring, but he never said he would keep her alive or let her go if she managed.

Caranthir walked in his apartments in the castle and the servant who was cleaning froze on place.

“Fill the tub.” he pointed at the bathtub. The servant bowed and started walking away but his voice stopped him. “Cold water.”

“My lord?”

“Did I stutter?” Caranthir barked at him, the man bowed and walked out as fast as he could.

He started pacing around the room as the man filled the tub and then left again as fast as he could. Caranthir started undressing, pulling clothes off himself in anger as if the fabric had done something to him. As he stepped in the tub his skin screamed in pain, but he ignored it, slowly sinking his whole body. The cold was good, it made him calm and focus his thoughts somewhere else.

He endured that for a moment and then warmed the water with magic, his body grateful for stopping the torture, his mind not so.

He closed his eyes and all he could see was her face, the way she had looked at him with excitement after she got the ring. He preferred that to the fear, but...he clenched his fingers in a fist. He had to admit to himself he was attracted. Not just physically he was a bit past that. Physical need he knew how to resolve, but the way his heart skipped a beat when she looked at him, that he had no idea what to do with. He had experienced that once before and it did not end well. He felt connected to her in so many ways, but at the same time she was so different than him, his absolute opposite. Where he was rage and impatience she was calm and reasonable. She had endured whatever difficulties she might have been subject to and still remained decent unlike him. Even her not knowing who he truly was, excited him. She was afraid of him, sure but that was because of what he did not because he was Eredin’s navigator. That didn’t matter, it was all based on his treatment to her which he had to admit had been terrible so far. He shouldn’t have darted out of the room. Idiot.

He got out of the bathtub, water had already gone cold again. Chasing the thoughts away from his brain had turned into an impossible task. Avallac’h once told him that behind all that arrogance there was a fragile scared boy. How old was he when his teacher said that...sixteen...maybe even younger.

He was torn. He didn’t need that. He was perfectly fine the way he was, alone.

But was he? It wasn’t a fragile boy that was under the arrogance, at least not anymore. It was fear. No other person would have the power to hurt him the way he had been hurt. Twice.

It didn’t bother him, usually, he had more serious things to worry about. In fact he had not felt that piercing and self inflicted loneliness in years. His mind had been going through ‘what if’ scenarios for hours now. That hurt in a way he had not experienced recently.

He walked toward the bed, his feet leaving a wet trail after him. His towel had been nicely folded there but his eyes caught the mirror across. All the mirrors in his rooms had been removed or covered, the servants must have pulled the cover when cleaning.

Caranthir looked at the man in the mirror and winced. His wet hair was pushed back revealing his face, water was still running down his chest and legs. If someone was watching him now they would probably think he had never seen himself in a mirror. He wished that was the case. He walked slowly toward his reflection, head tilted studying what he was seeing.

His tattoos were covering his muscular body, black ink and spells intertwined with ugly scars. Then his gaze moved to the face, his tattoos were ending under his chin, there was nothing to cover the disaster above. In his arrogance he could admit he was handsome, even beautiful if it wasn’t for the right side of his face. Caranthir ran a finger through his damaged skin, ugly and dry, even grotesque in his opinion. Somehow he couldn’t have it all. He was perfect in every way but this. He placed his hand over the damaged part of his face covering it completely. He wanted to rip the skin and he probably would have done it if he didn’t know that this won’t really improve anything. He moved his palm to the healthy part of his face, covering the bright skin, now he could see only the ugly half staring at him like a demon. He could barely look at himself, why would she do that? He already knew she was terrified of him, which was his fault of course, but he just couldn’t bear seeing the disgust in her eyes if she was to see him like that, completely naked, nothing to hide the scars over his body and hair pushed back to uncover his face in all its deformation.

“Fuck!” he screamed and sent his fist flying into the mirror. It broke into small pieces, one getting stuck in his hand. He winced as he pulled it, red blood started pooling on his skin.

[backtothestart02]

Breaking Point - 1/1(?) | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Based off the twitter reaction to Barry time-traveling w/o telling Iris ahead of time in 7x16. This fic is Iris’ reaction once he tells her, and it’s maybe a bit extreme? You’ll have to decide for yourself. I was feelings angsty when I wrote it and when I initially thought it up, so there’s that. If there’s a demand for more of this fic, I’ll gladly write more, but if not, the ending is open to interpretation what could happen next. Oh! And Iris is not blipping in and out of timelines and Godspeed clones didn’t prevent Barry from making it to the future. Enjoy! =P

...

Synopsis:  7x16 - Canon Divergent - Time-Travel has its consequences.

...

When Barry returned from 2049, he was brimming with energy. Lightning was still crackling all around him when he came to a stop back in STAR Labs. Chester and Caitlin looked at him, intrigued. When he didn’t say anything, only grinned, Chester couldn’t hold himself back any longer.

“Well, how is everything? Did it all go okay?”

He rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels, Barry’s enthusiasm contagious.

“Yeah,” Caitlin added, also curious but more amused than anything by the two of them. “We thought for a second that something went wrong, because-”

“No, no, nothing went wrong. Everything is great!” Barry sighed contently.

Caitlin laughed and shared a look with Chester.

“So, you found Nora,” she concluded.

“Not just Nora.”

“Oh?”

But just as he was about to spill the beans, it occurred to Barry that maybe future details should be kept where they belonged. In the future.

Except with Iris. He could tell her. In fact, right now there was nothing more that he wanted to do was tend to her and assure her Nora was all right – and she wasn’t alone.

“Yeah, I gotta go.”

He pushed past the two of them and headed towards the end of the tunnel.

“W-wait, Barry!”

Reluctantly, he stopped.

“What about Godspeed?”

“Yeah,” Chester chimed in. “If it’s bad here, it must be really bad in 2049 where he’s from.”

“Oh.” Barry forced himself to sober up. “Yeah, it is. What I mean to say is…Nora, she’s…she’s got thing’s handled, working hard.” He started smiling again. “And she has help!” Chester and Caitlin’s intrigued looks told him he had to sputter some nonsense fast. “From me! Future me, I mean. I’m still the Flash. In 23 years, I’m still…” He trailed off, daydreaming briefly about the things he’d just seen and experienced.

Sensing more questions from the two individuals in front of him however, he forced himself to snap out of it.

“Well, I gotta go! Text me when the Godspeeds return.”

“Wait, where are y-”

But it was no use. Barry had flashed away. There was no calling out to him with the expectation of him hearing and returning unless, as he’d said, the Godspeed clones returned and he was needed to attempt to defeat them.

“Let him be,” Chester said, brushing whatever questions they’d had aside. “He’s clearly happy. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him like that, what with everything going on. In fact, the last time I saw him that happy was-”

Caitlin studied him as he fell silent and avoided eye contact.

“What? When?” she asked.

“N-Nothing. Nevermind.” He powerwalked out into the hallway. “See you upstairs, Caitlin!”

She eyed his disappearing form with suspicion but decided not to push on that either. After a few more moments of contemplation, she followed the path Chester had taken back to the cortex upstairs.

…

When Barry reached the loft shortly thereafter, he was greeted by darkness and silence. It wasn’t alarming enough to dim his buzz though. He was too excited to talk to Iris. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t feeling well and to lower his voice when he talked to her, as well as maybe bring her something to eat and drink. She hadn’t vomited in a couple days, but she was still feeling under the weather. He had to contain his excitement enough to be a devoted, caring husband tending to her in her sickness.

He could do that, definitely.

As quietly as he could manage, he whipped together some chicken noodle soup and crackers and put them on a tray. Walking as stealthily as he could towards the staircase, he made it step by step without spilling the entrée.

Proud of himself for that, he gently kicked their bedroom door open with his foot.

“Iris, I brought you something.”

When he looked up, he was greeted to the sight of her reading in bed. She attempted a small smile when she saw what he was carrying and set her book to the side.

“Hey, Bear,” she said warmly, albeit with a croak to her voice. “What’s all this?”

His heart sank just a little at the sound of her, but it couldn’t quelch all the enthusiasm he had buried just beneath the surface.

He approached the bed, making sure to keep the tray even.

“The Godspeeds are currently not in Central City, at least in our time, so I thought I’d come home and dote on my wife a little.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet.”

She gripped the tray as he set it on her lap.

“And also to tell you that everything with Nora is alright.”

She froze, her hand halfway to the spoon, her other gripping the far side of the tray.

“What do you mean, alright?”

“Well…you know how I had that dream about Nora that made me think…” he trailed off, embarrassed now and not wanting to emotionally wound her like he’d done before.

“Barry,” she said softly.

“Well, I had another one, and it was…Nora was in danger, everything was wrong, I couldn’t breathe…” He shook his head, trying to shake himself of that dream. He had such a wonderful reality to replace it with now, but it was still hard to talk about.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, gently reaching for his hand.

Slowly, he sat on the side of the bed.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he admitted. “Plus, I didn’t know if you’d think I was ridiculous for getting upset by it given the last time I dreamed of Nora…well, it came to mean nothing, didn’t it?” He frowned.

Iris closed her eyes and shook her head.

“A nightmare is a nightmare, Barry. They’re upsetting to anyone whether they mean something or not. Remember when Psych infected the whole city with nightmares? Everyone was frightened, and with good reason.”

He nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“It’s okay.” She offered a small smile. “You’re okay now it looks like.”

“Oh, yeah,” he assured her, his good mood quickly returning. “Better than okay.”

She managed a small, raspy laugh.

“And why is that?” She scooped up some broth on her spoon and blew on it.

“Well, because I went to the fu…ture.”

Belatedly, he realized that she might not like this bit of news. Especially given their two-seconds-ago talk that he should communicate things to her right away.

He gulped as he watched her lay down her spoon on the side of the bowl and set the tray on his side of the bed. He wondered if he’d still be sleeping there tonight.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Her voice was low and even, but her eyes were wild. She was not happy.

“Okay, look, I know I should’ve probably talked to you first.” He sprang up to his feet. “But Dig told me-”

“Dig was here?” she blanched.

His hand went behind his head where he awkwardly scratched.

“Yeah, he showed up with some new tech to use to help in the Godspeed war.”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“We caught one of the Godspeeds, but then he broke out and the tech broke, and I yelled at Chester, and all of this because, well…” He sat back down again. “I couldn’t stop thinking about Nora in those dreams. I was so worried about her, what all of this meant for her time. If there’s so much chaos and destruction right now in Central City, imagine in her time where they’re from. All I wanted to do was go check on her, make sure she was alright.”

“So, that’s what you did, I assume,” Iris said bitterly.

“After Dig talked me into it, yeah.”

“And who else did you tell about your grand adventure?”

Feeling uneasy now, he stood up again.

“I uh…told Cecile.”

“And?”

He swallowed. “And Chester and Caitlin.”

“So, everybody.” Angrily, Iris flung back the covers and forced herself out of bed, heading for the exit as fast as she could get there. “Everybody but me.”

“Iris, wait, please-”

He followed her at normal speed, not wanting to upset her further by jumping ahead of her in under a second.

She stopped suddenly once they got to the first floor.

“Did it ever occur to you, Barry, that this might be a bad idea?”

His eyes widened.

“Of course! It’s why I needed to be talked into it. Dig convinced me that making family my number one priority was the most important thing, more important than being here for when the Godspeeds returned again.”

“I suppose he neglected to mention how it shouldn’t be a decision you make on your own in the end, that you should discuss it with your wife, who I don’t know, maybe would die of happiness seeing her daughter again?” Her voice broke.

Barry’s heart crumbled.

“Iris, you were sick. You’re still sick. Traveling at super speed would’ve made you even more sick. Even if…even if you’re not…”

“Spit it out, Barry. If I’m not what? If I’m not pregnant?”

His eyes dipped down to the floor.

“Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not.”

His eyes flashed to hers.

“What do you mean?”

She closed some of the distance between them, no-nonsense in her tone when she spoke.

“How many times, Barry? How many times are you going to make life-changing decisions without talking to me first? Decisions that involve our children? That could change life as we know it? As they know it? Given your very happy mood when you showed up, I assume all was well in 2049?”

He gulped and nodded.

“Yes.”

“Well, suppose it won’t be after your little visit? And even if it is, Barry…you have to talk to me. It’s important that we’re a team. That’s what I signed up for when I married you, that we would communicate and be a unit in everything we did. I thought you had gotten past doing things rashly, based entirely on your emotions, but-”

“But I didn’t do it based on my emotions! I had to be talked into it, don’t you see? It was Dig that-”

“Oh, shut up about Dig!”

That silenced him.

“You used his advice as an excuse to go ahead and do what you know in your heart you were going to do anyway.”

“Iris.”

“No.” She shook her head and turned away, then stopped and looked back at him. “I thought you were ready. I thought we were ready. And I was excited when you called me a week ago claiming you knew that I was pregnant, only for it to just be based on some wishful thinking dream you had.”

He swallowed hard.

“You’re not ready, Barry. And I don’t know if you ever will be.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

Cautiously, he approached her.

“What are you saying, Iris?”

She took a breath and licked her lips.

“I’m saying I don’t want to try for Nora anymore. Not now, not for a while, maybe not… Maybe not ever.”

His jaw dropped. He couldn’t speak.

She closed her eyes and tears seeped out.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her breath hitching. “But right now, I don’t think you’d make a good father.”

Shell-shocked, he took one step back and then froze. Everything inside him came to a standstill. It even felt like his heart had stopped. Memories of meeting adult Nora again and…and her brother, who was apparently such a mama’s boy. To think they might not even exist in the future all because of this conversation right here.

He thought Iris would want to know all about their future children, but now…

“I’m going back upstairs,” she informed him, her tone clipped in the deafening silence of their living room. “Please don’t follow me.”

“Iri-” he tried, but she held up a hand to silence him.

“Don’t.”

Feeling helpless, he let her go up the stairs alone.

The sound of their bedroom door closing was so final that it seemed to echo off all the walls around him. Sensing a collapse was near, he entered the living room further and sat down on the couch, immediately putting his head in his hands and rocking slightly.

One thought clear as day drummed through his mind above all the others.

What have I done?

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived: Chapter 21: Observations

This is chapter 21 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Ranboo

Word count: 3551

Cw: intrusive thoughts about hurting others, overworking, isolation, food, mentions of burning, tension between characters, arguments

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The ticking of the clock became a constant to Wilbur, in the days that followed. It filled the silence when there was no dialogue between the two. The stacks of books next to him grew, as he tried to sort through them. The information wasn’t very useful for the most part, but there were always more books. More incomplete notes and recounts to look through.

Occasionally he would venture downstairs, to harvest some crops and settle his growling stomach. Once he took some of the remaining blaze rods and made some strength potions that joined their place next to the remaining instant health ones. He placed a finger on the glass bottles of potions, just to make sure they were still there, and then he would return to his seat.

He read whatever he found out loud, perhaps to remind Ghostbur of his presence. To fill the train station with something other than emptiness. He let out a quick breath, whenever the silence was broken by the ticking of the clock, that reminded him to get back to work, instead of letting his mind drift off into prime knows where. Into the void, and to the walls, that he could claw at all he wanted to no avail. 

The ghost spoke less and less as he read, and Wilbur’s hands shook, as he tried to pay attention to the way the arms of the clock moved. The words seemed to flow off the page as he read each one, incomprehensible to him aside from their sound. Information. Work. He needed to do something. Anything.

“Ghostbur, you said you liked writing books?” Wilbur had asked, once his mind had nearly succumbed to the silence.

“Oh, yeah?” Ghostbur had said quietly, a bit of curiosity creeping in. “It helped me remember and understand things better.”

Wilbur had smiled to the best of his ability. “How about we write one! We should keep track of what we know about everything somehow.” he said, finding that the words made more sense than he had originally anticipated, “We could write down what we know about our connection, and eventually figure out how to… Separate us.”

The ghost had gasped, “That’s a great idea!” he said, sounding a little more excited, even if  he still seemed tired.

And so, that was exactly what they’d done. In a chest downstairs, Wilbur had managed to find a dusty old empty book and quill, and had set it down on the nearest table. It dawned upon him that it had been quite a while since he’d written anything at all. Memories of declarations, and lighthearted words of victory, flooded his mind momentarily, until he managed to make sense of the quill’s movements. 

Ghostbur can communicate verbally with me, and I with him. The words seem to be clearer once they are directed at Ghostbur, though it is possible that the connection has simply become clearer over time. In addition to this, Ghostbur can hear the words and sounds of anyone and anything nearby, including muffled versions of them while I am unconscious.

As they wrote down more observations, the ghost seemed a lot more excited by his inclusion in something. By having a project to work on.

Wilbur thought, the self-centered bastard that he was, that perhaps this partially came from himself. That perhaps the ghost’s interest in keeping track of information in a library, or having a plan or something to complete, were some of the remains of Wilbur’s presence. Whichever part of Wilbur’s soul, however faint, that had stayed behind, upon his exit from this world. 

“You should mention that I see you sometimes too!” Ghostbur had chimed in.

Wilbur’s grip tightened around the pen, as he tried his best to remember some of his past interactions with Ghostbur regarding that. “Right…” he said quietly, “When have you seen me, again?”

“First time was right before Phil gave you that gapple, when you were really cold,” Ghostbur began, “Then after Phil left the mansion and you were on the ground shaking a little bit, then that one time with Niki,” Wilbur found his limbs turning heavier at each instance the ghost listed, and Ghostbur’s voice seemed to gain a tint of uncomfortable realization as he spoke as well, “During that conversation with Tommy where he… Got upset, shortly after you were shot, and uh… Under the table in the bunker a few month- days ago.”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, pressing the quill harder against the paper than he intended. “Got it.”

Ghostbur is apparently able to see me when I am experiencing intense emotions or experiences. We are uncertain if this works both ways.

Wasn’t that pathetic? That all those times, Wilbur hadn’t even looked up, or paid attention to his surroundings enough, to catch a certain glimpse of the one he had been speaking to ever since he returned? Did it work when Ghostbur was feeling intense feelings as well? Had he been so dense, as to not even pay attention to that?

Wilbur shook the thoughts off, and added a side note at Ghostbur’s request, detailing how it felt to pet Friend. It made Wilbur smile, ever so slightly, that that was something that was considered of utmost importance. 

Ghostbur feels what I feel physically to a certain degree. It seems to be related to the feeling’s intensity, however the longer I’ve stayed alive, the connection to touch seems to have grown stronger. Once again, we are uncertain if this works two ways.

With shaking hands, he added:

If it does work two ways, water appears to be an exception, as it burns Ghostbur regardless of which world it touches us in, without burning me.

He hardly punctuated the last sentence, before he shut the book, memories of pleas and apologies filling his mind. The addictive feeling of control, that was so incredibly unearned, yet appealing nonetheless. Submerging himself in water, until silence was all he would ever hear, and he would be alone. Alone in his mind, alone with his thoughts, and the ghost would never stop feeling the pain.

He kept his hand on the cover of the book, and his other tightly wrapped around the quill, until it felt too much as if both were burning him.

Instead, Wilbur sought out the bookcases, and the information that wouldn’t make Wilbur’s mind overflow with thoughts of the control he had. Because if Wilbur was always mere moments away from grasping at said control, the least he could do was postpone it, until such would only affect himself. Not that he cared particularly, but he could weave a few fragile threads of something that resembled it. Just for the time being.

And when even that became too much, he would lie down on a mattress, or lay his head down at the table, tossing and turning as he tried to drift into oblivion. The comforting darkness, that seemed more and more inaccessible to him each moment, and all the more tempting each day. He would eventually succeed, and would wake up to read a new time on the clock. Sometimes minutes later, sometimes hours, but always enough for him to hesitantly get up and keep going.

Totems weren’t any good for revivals. Apparently they’d tried using them to get Wilbur back. Nearly finding it in himself to ignore the strange improbable fact that there had been attempts to bring him back at all. Was his revival Dream’s own doing? Or the doing of wishes from others? If it was the latter, why had the reaction he’d gotten been so tense?

It was funny that, despite the attempts to revive him, everyone looked to him as if he brought himself back into the world. As if they didn’t spend hours if not days trying to bring him back. How their plans had changed and shifted constantly, and how the universe didn’t care.

There was also a bit of irony placed in Dream and how he hadn’t given a direct account on any historical events, since before L’Manberg. He found a few from George, but none of them were about Dream himself.

So that was what it had taken to take that perspective away from history, Wilbur had thought, ignoring that anything he might’ve said on the matters himself, had likely been blown up along with the nation in question.

Absent-mindedly, Wilbur had reread the parts of the book on Pandora’s box, about how he could gain access.

Not that anyone would let him. Not that the gist of memories didn’t fill him with dread that wasn’t his own. Not that it wasn’t a last resort. Though he latched onto the information nonetheless.

He was about to flip the page when the familiar echoing whisper filled his mind, “Wilbur?”

His voice was hoarse when he first tried to speak. He cleared his throat before responding once again, “Yeah?”

A hesitance lingered in the back of his mind. It oddly didn’t feel like his though. It was a soft blue contrary to his warm browns and occasional reds. 

“So…” Ghostbur took a deep breath, “Y’know how we aren’t going outside and stuff like that?”

Wilbur nodded, though confusion was portrayed on his face, “Mhm, why do you bring it up?”

“Oh! I- well, I was thinking about us going outside again?” Although it was a suggestion, the tilt at the end made it sound like a confirmation of thought. 

“Why would we do that? There’s enough food in here to last a while.” His eyes flickered across the page, “I would read to you again, but this book is about Dream.”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched as he stayed silent for a moment. “That’s fine. I was just wondering about seeing someone again.” Ghostbur quietly added near the end, “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t you want to get out of limbo?” Wilbur felt his words come off as disinterested with a hint of annoyance, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“I mean- yeah, but that doesn’t have to be our main priority right now. You can still enjoy your life.”

The life that no one wanted to be in. The life without a purpose. Well- he wouldn’t necessarily say that. His goal was to get the ghost out of his mind. Preferably, out of limbo as well.

“My life can be put on hold temporarily.”

Ghostbur hummed in a slight agreement, but it oddly lingered in distaste, “What if I want you to live your life?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Living my life won’t give me information.”

“Interacting with people gives you information.”

“I can’t interact with people when there’s a ghost in my head constantly asking what I’m doing.” 

The moment he said the words, he was about to apologize when Ghostbur sharply spoke, “Maybe you could interact with people if you stopped running away and talked it out.”

A scowl melted onto Wilbur’s face with ease, “You haven’t even spent a day in my shoes so don’t act like you know everything.”

“Well- maybe I would know things if you talked to me more!”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling upset right now. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling pain again.” He mocked Ghostbur’s voice as if he was imitating a small child, “Oh no, what’s that feeling? I have to react to absolutely everything because I’ve got nothing better to do!”

“I-” Ghostbur sharply cut himself off before taking a sharp inhale, “Maybe I don’t have anything better to do! Especially when you keep on throwing yourself directly into danger without even trying to give me a warning.”

Images flashed through Wilbur’s mind to dunk his hand in the cauldron that was only a few long strides away. Screams that echoed through his mind. The pain would be longer for Ghostbur as well since time passes differently in limbo. Just a few quick moments. Just a few seconds of his time and Ghostbur would finally shut up. 

His legs stood up automatically before he forced himself to sit down again. “Maybe it’s hard to give you a warning. Surprise, surprise, I don’t know when someone is going to shoot me!”

“It’s not about knowing when the moment comes! It’s about you putting yourself in dangerous situations that hurts us.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. Prime. Have you ever thought of why I stay in this bunker? I’ve found a place that’s safe and you just keep on complaining about it. We’ve only been here- what a few days?” Wilbur exhaled out of his nose in astonishment, “I’m trying to do something to help the both of us and you’re just whining like a toddler would.” All he had to do was walk to the cauldron. Just a few seconds of his time. It would be so easy. 

Ghostbur’s astonished voice cut through his thoughts, “Whining?” Ghostbur bitterly laughed once, “I’m just offering a suggestion to you, and you’re not even bothering to listen. If anything you’re- you’re the one acting childish!”

“I’m not!” His eyes focused on the cauldron, no longer looking at the air as he usually would when talking to Ghostbur.

“If you really aren’t childish, then go to someone and genuinely apologize!” Wilbur couldn’t even get a word in as Ghostbur continued, “You’ve constantly been running place to place without even thinking how others feel. That includes me! It includes the fact that you don’t tell me what you’re doing and you keep on hurting me with your recklessness!” 

Silence. 

But the silence was oddly different this time. It lingered on Wilbur’s end more than it did Ghostbur’s. He blinked a few times, attempting to pull his thoughts together before they wrapped around the cauldron. It would be so easy to pull a few screams out of Ghostbur. His breath hitched when he imagined pretending to injure himself, just to wash it off with water. The ghost would believe him too. He would believe Wilbur was hurt and willingly let the water be put on him.

Yet, it gave a much different feeling to not warn him. He wanted to hold an ice cube in his hand, explaining it to Ghostbur as he did it. The naive ghost wouldn’t even know what would happen. There would only be the faint burning as the ice cube melted. Even more so if he squeezed it. Sure, Wilbur would feel a bit of pain from the action, but he could always switch hands. He’d hear some new pleas if he did that. More crying if he continued doing it. The ghost would become so incoherent near the end, just begging for it to-

“Wilbur?” A voice made him jump as he looked over to see the source of it. The one and only Ranboo was staring near him, his hands were wrapped around a book he held to his chest. It looked similar to the other books Wilbur had been flipping through, but the cover seemed newer than the other ones. Slightly thinner as well.

“Ah- yes, I suppose that is me,” Wilbur stated.

“I… thought Tubbo didn’t really want anyone down here?” 

Wilbur slowly nodded, “Oh. Yeah, I guess he did say that.”

Ranboo awkwardly bounced on the balls of his feet, “Do you need help leaving?”

Wilbur glanced at the books remaining on the bookshelf, “I’m good.”

Ranboo laughed for a few moments. The sound filling the air rather than joining a joke, “Are you though? This place is a bit funny.” Ranboo quickly added, “I mean, not funny as in a joke kind of funny. But I guess I mean funky in a way, like it’s just sort of weird if you get what I’m saying. When I said funny, I just meant that it was funny the way it messes with your head, not that it’s actually-” Ranboo cut his own rambles off as he appeared uncomfortable, hunching slightly over his book.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

“Yeah, cool.” Ranboo met Wilbur’s eyes for a quick moment, the green one almost mesmerizing Wilbur. “So, is Tubbo asking you to help out?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow before his eyes flickered to the book Ranboo was holding. A look of realization came across Wilbur’s face as he pieced together that Ranboo was probably helping Tubbo with the library. The boy seemed rather reserved, so he supposed that made sense. “Not exactly.” Wilbur continued after a few seconds of the clock next to him ticking, “I just figured I’d stay here a few days.”

Ranboo tilted his head slightly, “You don’t have a house? I thought you ran a nation and all of that stuff.”

Wilbur shrugged, “I don’t know, man. Houses aren’t really my thing.”

Ranboo exhaled sharply in a way that could have been interpreted as a laugh, “So you’ve been sleeping here for how long?”

“I’d say a few days now? Not sure, I haven’t really been keeping track.”

Ranboo nodded, “What do you do for food though? I don’t really see a pantry anywhere around here.” Ranboo inspected his surroundings once more as if a magical kitchen was going to appear right behind him.

“There’s some carrots and melons downstairs. I did see some wheat seeds in one of the chests though. I might start making bread.”

A confused expression came across Ranboo’s face, “Do you know how many rooms our mansion has? You can just go into one of the hundreds and we wouldn't know for weeks.”

Wilbur’s astonishment bounced off of Ranboo’s, “I didn't know I was supposed to break into your home and sleep in a random room?”

Ranboo was speechless for a moment as he starting talking and then cutting himself off before he simply stated, “Or you could have asked?”

Wilbur’s mind went back to Tubbo. The failed comfort as he went downstairs. He shaky arms around Ranboo’s torso as he left. The uncomfortableness that radiated whenever Ranboo was alone with Wilbur. 

Yeah, he’d rather pass on their fake smiles.

“I’m alright.”

Ranboo stayed in silence with him for a moment. It took a few seconds before Ranboo changed the topic, “So you know Michael right?” Wilbur nodded. “Well, we were just inviting some people to our house since we’re throwing a little party for him. Would you like to come?”

Wilbur seemed surprised that he would even get an invitation as Ghostbur quickly chimed in, “Okay, I don’t want to stay quiet anymore. Can we please go? Please, please, please, we’ll get to see everyone again!” Ghostbur’s pleas hit differently this time as they were colored with bright yellow excitement that he hadn’t heard from the ghost in awhile. 

Almost automatically he responded, “Sounds fun, we’ll go.”

“We?”

Embarrassment shot through Wilbur. “I meant I’ll go, my apologies.” He could hardly hear his own words as the back of his neck felt warm and Ghostbur cheered in excitement. 

Ranboo seemed slightly lost in his mind as well, as he quietly mumbled, “Right, yeah…” His face perked up when he added on, “It’s at our house- y’know the whole mansion thingy that you’ve been to a few times- at about noon.”

Wilbur looked to the clock subconsciously as if it was about to turn noon at that moment. He strangely found it was four o’clock in the morning. “Wait, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Panic glazed Ranboo’s eyes before he quickly mentioned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Confusion filled Wilbur’s mind. He felt like the living embodiment of a question mark as he asked, “I already told you I don’t have a house. You have one though. That’s why I’m asking why you’re here since we established I’m technically homeless.”

Ranboo nodded, the movements seeming jerky. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Wilbur was about to press more about the topic until he saw Ranboo’s shifting movements along with the raw fear evident on his face. Perhaps that was a side-effect of being a centrist- never explaining yourself or your views properly. Wilbur awkwardly supplemented, “It’s whatever. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”

Ranboo seemed to immediately relax, “No problem.”

“Is it noon as in six hours from now, or noon as in tomorrow?”

Ranboo looked at the clock. “I didn’t even realize it was four in the morning- wow- but yeah, six hours from now. Wait- four plus six is ten and that’s not noon.”

Wilbur felt like an idiot, but in the kind that made him laugh gently at his mistake, “Oh, fuck, you’re right.”

Ranboo let out a short laugh, “Mood.”

Wilbur nodded, “But, yeah that time works for me.” After a short sigh, he realized how exhausted both of them were. The eye bags were present on Ranboo’s face after he looked for a moment. The boy seemed to constantly shift as Wilbur looked away with a yawn.

Ranboo yawned as well, but an enderman vwoop came out instead of the typical human noise. Wilbur wanted to ask why the strange sounds came out of him, but he felt his eyes droop slightly. 

Ranboo noted the energy in the room as he started walking towards downstairs, “Alright, I’m gonna head out.”

“Good night- or rather good morning.”

Ranboo chuckled, “Good morning to you as well, Wilbur.” Ghostbur chuckled along in the back of his mind, seeming much happier than before.

[3laxx]

Bring It Home

The sadness stayed, especially when her gaze fell onto the bucket list she had written for Luz and herself, still without a title. With the sleep still in her eyes and her fingers slightly uncoordinated, she added Emira’s title on the head of the paper, before getting herself dressed in her school uniform, getting ready for the day. Another day without Luz.

---

Amity vows to complete the bucket list Luz and her created.

I couldn't help myself! In this fanfiction, the part 3 of the Home series, I'll focus on Amity working down the bucket list she and Luz had talked about. This will be multichaptered and I'll keep the chapter length around 2k to 3k words to keep it short and bring the point across. Anyone not wanting to read any point of the bucket list will be welcome to skip whichever they wish x) I didn't want to make it one big story with like 10k words because I wanted to make the bucket list therapeutic for Amity and with that, work through a lot of feelings. Jumping between happiness and devastation didn't fit into in-chapter jumps, so I'l make multiple little Oneshots and put according warnings in front of each should heavy topics be addressed. With that, have a lot of fun reading!

Ao3 / FF.net

---

Sighing, Amity tapped on her desk with her pen, furrowing her eyebrows as she tried so desperately to remember what should be on their bucket list.

During Luz’s last moments, they had talked about what they had wanted to do in their lives, and it only seemed more than fair for Amity to fulfill luz’s wishes for her. They had talked about doing them together, after all, and she was almost sure Luz would want her to work down a bucket list.

First, Luz had said that she wanted to be a real witch, and Amity remembered telling her to check that one off. It was too easy, though. What made someone a real witch? She’d have to ask Eda about that.

The tapping on her desk irritated her after a few moments, so she stopped. It was too easy, just accepting that she was a real witch already like Luz had been. She didn’t want to make this point easy for herself. Luz deserved the effort for her to find out what a real witch was and how to achieve that dream of hers.

She had also wanted to read the new Azura book. Well, Amity would have to wait until it came out in a few weeks but she’d read it for her, out loud, every evening, and imagine Luz would join into her squealing when hopefully, their favorite ship would get together.

Luz had also mentioned sky diving and skiing but Amity doubted that these were real wishes of her to put them on the bucket list. She had probably just wanted to fill her list. Nonetheless, Luz had said it and Amity would do these things for her.

It had been a week now, that they had ceremoniously burnt Luz’s body and sang her into the sky. It was forbidden to bury people for the human tradition Luz had told her about, since the Titan’s magic tended to resurrect buried corpses as zombies. Burying her would’ve been a safety hazard to the Isles. But luckily, Luz had told her of this other human tradition to burn people, and even if that seemed barbaric to her, if it was Luz’s wish, so be it. Usually, the Boiling Isles funeral tradition demanded the corpse to be boiled by the sea, but Luz had mentioned that someone she had known had been burnt, too, so they had decided to honor this tradition.

It had been a nice, small ceremony, with no big speeches and just a lot of mourning. They had all supported each other, even Boscha had shown up and hugged Amity tightly after the fire had burned down, leaving just a pile of ashes of their friend.

She had mentioned wanting to skip school. Luz had been on board and Titan, if it would make her mother explode, Amity would skip school for Luz.

The human had wanted to do her bucket list as well, so she had jotted down her own wishes as well. The next had been Luz’s suggestion, but honestly, she actually wanted to smash stuff for once. Maybe she could find some junk to blow up or something. Maybe even an old chair from the manor. Amity was sure they had at least some ruled-out furniture in their attic.

The next point was harder to fulfill.

Amity had hoped she could somehow get Luz to make that wish come true for her, and if she was being honest, it had been a pretty poor attempt to somehow get her feelings across. She was almost glad Luz hadn’t jumped on this, even if she had later realized that this was due to her dying, unfortunately, and probably not wanting to promise her something that would give Amity false hopes.

If she had even wanted to kiss her. Even if Willow assured her that Luz would have.

Tapping on her desk again, she narrowed her eyes. What had happened after that?

Looking over her list again, and the notes she had jotted down around it, she grumbled. Her memory had always been really good, but it was hard to see through the haze of emotions to reliably recall the painful memory.

 -        Be a real witch (what’s a real witch? Ask Eda)

-        Read the new Azura book (Maybe Hecazura will happen!!)

-        (Sky diving and Skiing – I’ll do it, not the priority, though)

-        Skip school (Which lesson would be best to skip?)

-        Smash stuff (Check attic)

-        Kiss someone

 What else was there?

And who would she kiss?

Shaking her head, Amity grumbled, then she tapped her pen again before leaning back and closing her eyes, resting her head bent back on the backrest of her chair.

Luz had asked what she could do right now, as the moment of her death had drawn closer. Amity had been so distracted by her stupid homework. What had she said to her? Right, that she could scream.

Cringing, Amity opened her eyes again and jotted it down. Screaming.

Telling that a dying person had probably been the definition of putting her foot in her mouth.

 -        Scream (wow)

 What else had she suggested to Luz? Right, write a poem. Groaning, Amity put that down as well. She couldn’t have thought of anything better to tell her? Why did she have to say these random things? Amity was maybe kind of into drawing, but otherwise, her artistic side had come a bit short until now. She wasn’t poetic, and she sure wasn’t going to be good at writing a poem. While she wrote it down, her eyebrows soothed, though, and she breathed out. She wouldn’t have to be good at it. She would just have to put the effort in, the result didn’t have to be perfect. This was Luz’s bucket list, not an exam she had to pass.

She was sure Luz would’ve loved whatever she would’ve written and had her read it. She probably would’ve tried helping her. It didn’t feel good being left to her own devices, but she’d be damned if she didn’t at least try her best.

 -        Write a poem (for Luz)

 She doubted the next one had actually been on the bucket list, but her heart broke all over when she remembered Luz’s voice thinning, getting blocked when she choked it out.

 -        See her mother (Name? Camille? Camila?)

 She had sounded so sad. Amity hadn’t understood why she had been so sad over this. Well, sure, the connection to the human realm had been severed and she was pretty sure Luz had been homesick and was missing her mother a lot, but she hadn’t ever experienced Luz so sad over this. More hopeful, and self-assured that she’d find a way back.

It hadn’t been until she had sung with the others around Luz’s funeral fire that she had understood she had been so unbelievably sad because she knew she’d have to wave that dream goodbye.

She hadn’t realized what Luz had realized at that exact moment.

That she’d never ever again see her mother.

Amity would have to make sure she’d see Luz’s mother for her, even if that meant that she’d have to deliver the sad news.

Sighing, she then remembered the last thing they had talked about. Changing people’s lives, dancing, being home.

Her vision was clouded by tears when she jotted the last point down to her bucket list.

 -        Make a legacy

 Luz had thought about what her legacy had been. And Amity had provided her some answers, thinking it was a joke but she knew exactly what Luz’s legacy had been.

She had been the most extraordinary girl she had ever met.

And Amity knew exactly that to preserve her legacy, of all her actions and thoughts and wishes, would be to meticulously write about Luz’s journey.

She’d have to work together with everyone on this, maybe even her mother if she ever found a way to the human realm in Luz’s name, but she would try her damn best to make sure Luz’s legacy of being the most awesome person would be carried on.

Maybe someday, another human would stumble across the Boiling Isles, and reading about Luz would give them the time of their lives. Or maybe, a young witch would have trouble performing magic and become the most skillful witch of their class once they’d discover glyphs that Luz had cultivated.

And maybe a young demon would wish to be a witch and Luz’s story would inspire them to become a witch. A real one, whatever that meant.

Smiling, Amity looked over her list, adding some more notes here and there, before underlining the actual tasks on her bucket list, then she frowned when her gaze found the head of the page.

She’d have to find a title for her mission. Luz had loved finding titles for missions, she thought to remember.

“Bucket list” just didn’t seem to cut it, exactly.

Mash their names to personalize their list? No, that’d come off as kind of pathetic. Besides, even if she did have a crush on Luz, making them a shipping name just kind of took it too far for Amity.

Trying to get into Luz’s enthusiasm, she pointed her pen to the sky, trying to impersonate Luz’s impression of Azura whenever she would pretend to get into one of her great speeches.

“Luz’s awesome wish list!”, she whisper-exclaimed, but slanted her lips, still looking up against the wall. No, that wasn’t it.

“Luz Noceda’s last-”, she immediately interrupted herself. She’d just make herself cry if she in any way acknowledged that these had been Luz’s last wishes. Besides, Amity’s bucket list was in there, too. It was kind of unfair to dishonor Luz’s wish to do both their bucket lists together. Huffing, her arm sunk and she pursed her lips, clicking her teeth together. Her growing fangs kind of caught in her lips so she stretched her lips by opening her mouth and then rearranging everything so her fangs wouldn’t bother her too much.

“… Amituz…? Hm.”, furrowing her eyebrows again, she looked back down to her list. What even would their mashed names sound like.

“Nocight.”, she shook her head. Taking their last names just made it worse, “Luzity?”

Sighing and leaning back, she once again grumbled and looked back to her bucket list.

“Lumity?”

The voice that most definitely wasn’t hers almost made her jump right out of her skin. Whipping her head around and dropping the pen, she shot a glare to the door, where her older sister was standing. She had apparently snuck to her room and eavesdropped on her trying to come up for mashed names for her and Luz. Huffing, Amity crossed her arms, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart.

“Emira! What’re you doing here?”, she snapped and her sister, weirdly not wearing a smug grin, let herself in to join Amity on her desk. Taking a look at the list sitting in front of her, she placed a soft hand on Amity’s shoulder and for some reason, the younger Blight couldn’t bring herself to snap at Emira more or hide the list.

After a moment, her sister turned to lean against the desk and look at her, her concerned gaze searching Amity’s face.

“… You okay?”

Shrugging, Amity sighed and looked over the list again, before meeting her sister’s gaze.

“I don’t know…”, she hesitatingly said and because Emira wouldn’t say anything more, she started to elaborate, “… I-… I remembered that, when Luz and I talked, she wanted to do our bucket lists together. So I wrote down what I remembered us wanting to do, still. Now I need a title.”

Her sister slowly nodded, before looking over the list again that was to her side, propping herself back on her arm when she turned to read it properly. Amity could see the slightest of smirks when she read – what Amity assumed – was the kiss part. She decided against commenting, though.

“So you thought about shipping?”

Huffing, Amity shook her head.

“These things are both of our requests, I just wanted to mash our names to make sure it was-… Expressing the bond.”

With an honestly serious expression, Emira gave her a nod. Apparently, she agreed.

“I’d go with Lumity.”, she quietly said, before looking back to her younger sister. The youngest Blight looked so tired, so matured through what she had seen going down in just the last week, “What about keeping it simple, ‘Lumity’s bucket list’? I think that’d be neat.”

Humming, Amity looked back to the list.

“You don’t think it’s kind of weird for me to use a shipping name on this?”, she quietly asked, before feeling Emira taking her hands and coaxing her to look at her, smiling.

“No, not at all. This is a very important thing for both of you. I think it’d only be fitting for you to mash your names. I say using a mashed name is more than fitting for both of you dorks.”

Sniffling, Amity nodded, lowering her head, She hadn’t even noticed her tears welling up. Quickly, Emira slipped from the desk and leaned down, wrapping her arms around Amity’s shoulders. The younger girl sunk into the embrace and melted into the warmth her sister was providing. They stayed like this for a moment, before Emira kneeled down and leaned back, reaching up to catch a tear rolling down Amity’s cheek.

“Take a break, hm? We could go to bed early, so you’ll be rested for tomorrow.”

Slowly, Amity nodded and got up, along with Emira, wanting to head to her bed but Emira caught her hand.

“Wanna sleep in my bed? We could cuddle a little?”, she softly asked and Amity actually couldn’t believe her for a little moment. The twins had really changed since Luz had come along, and she supposed Emira was serious about this offer.

Affection had never been a priority in a Blight’s life, but apparently, she seriously wanted to start making it a priority now. Amity felt herself hesitating, but her sister’s sincerity made her consider.

“… Yeah?”, she found herself asking and Emira nodded, smiling.

“We can get Edric to join us. You know my bed is big enough.”

This prospect actually made Amity shiver in, whatever it was she felt. Anticipation, excitement? Surprise?

She didn’t even feel herself nodding until Emira was already grabbing her pajamas off her bed and pulled on her hand. Letting Emira guide her out of the room, she followed her down the hall and they entered the twins’ room. They had refused to get separate rooms from each other and had instead opted for a study for themselves, but they had never wanted to sleep apart from each other.

Edric was already in his bed and dozing away over a book he was half holding still. Helping her still stunned sister, Emira and Amity changed into their pajamas, before the older girl went over to her twin’s bed and kicked the frame.

“Get up, we’re gonna cuddle.”, she barked and Edric shot up, his hair sticking out in different directions. Amity had to giggle at him seeming so dumbfounded, before he pushed aside the book and got up, yawning. Emira ushered Amity into her bed, which was indeed big enough to hold all three siblings, before taking her place next to her and pointing their sleepy brother to the other side. A moment later, Amity was cuddled into a warm cocoon of family, both her siblings tightly embracing her as they had adjusted the blanket over all three of them.

Softly smiling, Amity felt herself slipping to sleep, contently sighing. Edric was breathing into her neck and Emira was softly brushing through her hair, scratching her head, and tightening her grip around her little sister’s waist. Amity had never felt as content and warm and protected as she felt right now.

Curling into her siblings’ arms, she snuggled her nose into Emira’s shoulder and smiled to herself.

She could definitely get used to this.

This night, she slept better than any other night before. Cuddled into her siblings’ warmth, she was calm enough to sleep through the night and wake up rested, for the first time in a week.

The sadness stayed, especially when her gaze fell onto the bucket list she had written for Luz and herself, still without a title. With the sleep still in her eyes and her fingers slightly uncoordinated, she added Emira’s title on the head of the paper, before getting herself dressed in her school uniform, getting ready for the day. Another day without Luz.

It hurt slightly less than the first day in school without Luz, but she wouldn’t be able to get used to this yet. Not having Luz in school was still a very weird experience for her, and having to realize over and over again that she would never come back was even harder to do. It had just become sort of normal for her to deal with the pain until the day ended, the pain of not hearing her voice calling for her, of not feeling her presence next to her in lessons, of not smelling the lemon shampoo she used and of not smiling at her genius ways of utilizing magic the way she needed with her limited glyphs.

After making sure she would have everything for the day, Amity grabbed the bucket list as well, folded it neatly, and put it in her bag.

She swore she’d do everything in her power to fulfill Luz’s wishes of completing their bucket list.

---

Let me know if you liked it and if I should open suggestions for you guys?

[sassyduckqueen]

Miraculous: Rise of Anatis 57

Whooo!! The next chapter!! I hope you guys like it. It was fun to write and to follow up on the Mob Boss chapter. Also only on more chapter to go then it's time for my Miracle Queen and love eater. I have a nice plan for that :D Anyway, next up is actually pixelator so that should be fun to adapt.

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Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Song of the Frightingale

Luka sighed to himself as he tapped his foot nervously. He was sat in an waiting room, waiting to go inside to talk to a therapist. Penny had actually been the one to suggest it, bringing it up to his mother. The captain had agreed and they had contacted one of the best for him. Luka himself had tried to insist that he was fine and didn't need to see a therapist but if he was been honest with himself, he knew he wasn't fine. Despite Issac been arrested, he was still suffering from the whole experience. He wasn't getting much sleep because he was waking up from nightmares but that wasn't even the worst part. He had broken down in gym when Mr D'Argencourt had shouted. It hadn't even been directed at him but it had triggered a full blown flashback and panic attack. Aurora and Marc had been the ones to calm him down as he saw Mr D'Argencourt as Issac and had cowered away, afraid. He sighed to himself as he played with his hands. He had been more anxious as well and had taken to turning into Anatis more then necessary but he had found he wasn't as afraid when he was in the suit. He figured it was because in those moments, he wasn't Luka. He wasn't powerless or helpless. He was strong and the hero of Paris. 

 "Luka Couffaine?" The receptionist called out, making him jump. He was sat on his own but that's because he asked to go alone. Anarka was working more often at the moment and he didn't want to bother anyone plus it was something he wanted to face. He looked at the receptionist who gave him a nice smile. "Dr Lang is ready to see you now,"

 "Thank you," He mumbled, getting up and walking over to the door. He knocked on it and entered, noticing the chinese paintings on the wall straight away before turning his attention to the doctor. She looked like she was in her early 30s and was very pretty. Her hair was dark and tied in a loose bun and she wore a red cheongsam with black pants. Her eyes were dark brown and she was asian decent. She smiled softly at him and gestured to the seat in front of her. He slowly took a seat as she took out a notebook.

 "Luka Couffaine, I'm guessing?" She asked, making him nod. "I'm Doctor Mila Lang,"

 "It's nice to meet you," He mumbled, playing with his hands.

 "Likewise," She replied, writing down on her notepad. "I read over your notes and it mentioned that you recently experienced a traumatic experience?"

 He nodded, glancing down. She rose an eyebrow as he played with his hands again.

 "My stepfather kidnapped me and tried to kill me," He muttered as she wrote on the notepad again. 

 "Your notes also mentioned you broke down at school?" She asked, glancing up at him. "Care to explain to me what happened?"

 "I was in gym and Mr D'Argencourt had risen his voice at one of the other boys but it spooked me and I started to feel panicky. It just got worse from there," He sighed, frowning and looking to the side, trying to focus on something while he retold the story. "I started to panic as I began to feel like I was back in the warehouse my stepfather had held me in and I begin to freak out as I saw Mr D'Argencourt as my stepfather and then it was like I was living it all over again..."

 "A flashback..." She muttered, writing down the details. "Do you have similar nightmares?"

 He nodded, making her frown a little.

 "How often?"

 "Almost every night..." He admitted, frowning. She wrote it down too. "Even my mediation doesn't help anymore..."

 "You mediate?" She asked, glancing up at him. "Why?"

 "Um to help my mind and feelings... I'm kind of sensitive I guess..." He mumbled, not wanting to tell her about the empathy. Doctors tended no to believe in things like that. "Part of the reason why I started it was because of my stepfather. Um... he was... he wasn't a very nice man and would look for any reason to hit me. I had imaginary friends as a child but he would punish me for talking to them. As I grew up, I moved on from them as kids do but then he would punish me for not completing my homework on time or for wanting to learn to play guitar. He would even punish me for been sick or for crying... so I started to mediate to calm myself down before he got home... after he left my life, I continued with it because it helped ground me..."

 "It mentions in your notes that you were homeschooled for the last six years and that the last time you were in a normal school was when you were nine years old?" She asked, looking up at home. "And you also use to live Bordeaux?"

 "Yes, Ma'am," Luka replied, making her nod. "We moved to Paris after my ma split up with my stepfather,"

 "You mentioned your stepfather was abusive towards you... can I ask if he was abusive towards your mother?" She asked, glancing up at him.

 "He was but I only found out recently," He admitted, looking down. Dr Lang nodded and wrote on the notepad again.

 "Ok," She muttered as Luka tapped his fingers. "Let's talk about the akumas,"

 Instantly, he froze up, making her frown a little. His eyes had gone wide and his hand was actually shaking.

 "Luka," Her voice made him look up as he felt his heart rate increase and he felt sick. "I want you to close your eyes and focus on your breathing,"

 Luka nodded and did as instructed as Dr Lang frowned a little, writing down on her notes that he had a panicked response to the word akumas. She had been working with a number of the akuma victims she arrived in Paris a year ago and a lot of them had unique reactions to them but she hadn't seen anything of them almost enter a panic attack just by mentioning the word. Slowly, Luka calmed down, focusing on his breathing. He had experienced a number of panic attacks since Blackout but since Mob Boss, they had gotten worst. He didn't get them as Anatis but he just figured that's because he had a way to fight them and that they hadn't gone near him or tried to possess him but when he thought about them or someone mentioned them, his mind just went into overdrive. 

 "While we talk about them, I want you to keep focused on your breathing ok?" Dr Lang's voice brought him out of his thoughts and he nodded. "Ok. Your notes mentioned that you have been possessed by akumas twice but have never actually turned into a supervillain. Is this correct?"

 "Y-Yeah," Luka replied, taking slow but steady breathes. 

 "Let's tackle the first one. My notes mention that you were almost possessed before the akuma blackout happened," She stated as he kept his breathing steady. "Can you tell me why?"

"M-Mr Roth stole my music and my friend's costumes," He muttered, thinking back on that day. Everything had been great until they realized Bob Roth had ripped them off. "S-She had worked so hard on them and I got so mad because he stole them and then he threatened her..."

 "And he also stole your music?" She asked, making him nod. "What happened when the akuma entered the item you were holding?"

 "I h-heard Hawkmoth's voice. He called me Silencer but then there was this buzzing noise and I tried to tell him no but he insisted and the buzzing got worst then I heard Marinette scream before I had a seizure and blacked out," He replied, not telling her about the hut or meeting Feng. She wouldn't understand. "I briefly woke up when Marinette tried to get me away from the akuma but I don't remember much from it to be honest,"

 "I see," She replied, looking up from her notes. "And what happened the second time?"

 "I... I almost suffocated," He replied before sighing. "H-Hawkmoth wanted to give me the power to escape. Even a s-sentimonster this time,"

 He took a deep breathe.

 "He decided Escape Artist would be my akuma but I had another seizure. It was... worse then before," He continued before frowning as he thought about why. "M-Maybe it was because I had been beaten up or because it was an akuma and an amok but I couldn't breathe..."

 She nodded as he spoke.

 "M-My stepfather had put duct tape around my nose and had broken my nose and ribs. I only managed to escape because one of his men actually realized I was fitting and removed the duct tape and handcuffs. I escaped while they were distracted," He replied as he felt tears in his eyes. He quickly wiped them away. "S-Sorry,"

 "It's fine to cry, Luka," Dr Lang replied, grabbing a box of tissues before passing it to him. He took one out and wiped his eyes. "You have gone through a lot in the last few weeks. Been nearly akumatized twice, having your step father attempt to abduct you and then actually succeed and try to kill you. It's not a surprise that you are frightening and having nightmares. Your mind is trying to deal with that trauma but bottling it up won't help,"

 "With all due respect, Doctor but if I don't bottle it up then I could be at risk at been akumatized again and it's not like that's very good for me," He replied before sighing. "I am afraid but I can't let myself feel it. Hawkmoth preys on negative emotions,"

 "I understand that, Luka but it isn't a healthy coping method," She replied, making him frown. She was right. He knew that but there was a lot more at risk for him then just been akumatized. He would have a seizure again but more importantly, he was Anatis. He couldn't afford to be akumatized. "Now it's an excellent thing that you are meditating but have you tried to keep a diary or a journal?"

 "I have one but I only really use it for important things," He replied, thinking about the one he kept some of his superhero thoughts in.

 "I think you should take up writing one," She replied, making him nod. "I think it will help releasing the negative emotions but another thing you should considering doing is socializing. Go out with your friends. You're a teenager, Luka. You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, even if it feels like you do,"

 "What makes you think that?" He asked, looking at her. She didn't feel like she knew his secret but maybe she did. She chuckled and tapped her pen.

 "You have a part time job, you live with your mother and sister and more then likely you see yourself as the 'man' of the house or their protector," She replied, making him frown. "And your file mentions that your reaction to waking up in hospital wasn't 'am I ok' but 'is everyone ok?'. It suggests that you see yourself as someone who's job is to protect those who are weaken then yourself and while it is noble and there is nothing wrong with that, I don't wish for you to forget that you're still a teenager. You're 16 years old after all,"

 "You're wrong about one thing," He stated, making her look at him. "I don't view myself as my family's protector. I know my ma and sister are more then capable of looking after themselves but even if they are, I'll protect them. Not because I'm the 'man' of the house but because it's the right thing to do and because I refuse to become like Issac,"

 "It's good that you don't want to be like him and it's good that you have a strong sense of justice," She replied, making him nod. "But just don't get that you're still a teenager. It's ok to ask for help if you need it,"

 Luka nodded, causing Dr Lang to smile before they continued their session.

 ~A Few Days Later~

 Luka moved his fingers across the neck of the violin as he played his latest creation. He had been writing a song but chose to play it on his violin instead of his guitar. It had a melancholy feel to it and as much as he loved playing his guitar, he felt like it wouldn't do it justice. The song was made to played on the violin, especially since he was taking the emotions he had felt with the whole Issac situation and put them into a song. Sure, it wasn't exactly a journal but he still had a feeling that Doctor Lang would approve. He stopped playing and grabbed his pen, adjusting the notes on his sheet of music before playing through it again. He smiled as it sounded perfect before he put his violin down and stretched, glancing over at Tikki. She was dancing in front of his computer as she watched one of Clara Nightingale's song, making himself before he walked over.

 "Having fun?" He asked as she spun before grinning at him.

 "Definitely!" She declared as the song came to an end. "I love her music. She is really incredible!"

 "She is pretty good," Luka smiled as he grabbed the case and equipment to clean his violin.

 "And that was Clara Nightingale's latest single Big Bang," Alec stated as he looked at the screen. Clara walked over and stood next to him as she continued to dance, making Luka look up and chuckle a little.

 "She seems passionate about her art," He stated as Alec turned to her. Tikki nodded in enthusiasm as Luka dusted down his violin before placing it in the case, securing it. He picked up the bow next and began to clean that as he looked up.

 "Clara, you have once again become an international sensation with your hit single, Big Bang and your unique style," Alec stated as Clara sung around and moved her arm up and down as she continued to dance. "Apparently, you ever sing and dance in your sleep. Do you ever stop?"

 "Never, you see! Singing and dancing is everything to me!" She rhymed as she danced around Alec and faced the camera. "And I'm happy to share the joy of song and dance to the amazing people of France,"

 "See that, Luka?!" Tikki gasped, making him look at her. "She's a true artist!!"

 "Well, I'll take your word on it," He grinned, putting his bow in the case and closing it up. "After all, you are the embodiment of creativity,"

 Tikki giggled as he gently patted her head before she turned their attention back to the computer.

 "You've come back to Paris to film the music video for your next single, titled Miraculous," Alec declared, making Luka look at the screen in surprise. He knew Jagged had made a song about Anatis and Lady Noir but he didn't think other artists would. 

 "I really admire and adore Anatis and Lady Noir," She rhymed, smiling. "An homage to them I wanted to pay because they inspire me every single day!"

 "But last time you tried to film a video for a song devoted to our heroes, you became an akuma," Alec stated, making her frown. "Are you concerned that something will go wrong this?"

 "No, not at all. It will be ok. It is my call," She declared, smiling again. "And even if I fall under a spell, I know that everything will be swell. Anatis and Lady Noir will save the day and I'll be ok. You see, with our heroes around, I know we'll all be safe and sound,"

 "Your faith in our heroes is wonderful," He smiled as Luka smiled as well. 

 "I can believe she's written a song about Anatis and Lady Noir," Alec replied as she continued to dance. "So authoditions will be held in the Grand Paris hotel. Tell me have you casted Anatis or Lady Noir yet?"

 "We have not cast the heroes just yet but don't worry we won't forget!" She declared, moving her arms as she grinned. "We must also must cast extras by the way so come out and audition today! Whenever it be hero or someone to dance, come down and give it a chance! You never know you might get to play a hero of France!"

 Luka jumped a little as someone knocked on his door. Tikki hid before he walked over to it and opened it. Juleka was stood in front of it, playing with her hands. She glanced up at him and gave him a little smile.

 "Um Everyone is meeting up to go to the auditions for Clara Nightingale's video and I was thinking you could come with us?" She suggested, making him smile a little. Since the whole kidnap thing, Juleka had been finding more excuses to hang out with him. Part of him thought it was because she was worried and part of him suspected it was so she could be sure he was safe. He didn't mind though. He liked spending more time with his sister and their friends. 

 "Sure, Jewels," He smiled, making her smile back. "Let me put on my shoes and grab my hoodie,"

 "Ok," She smiled back before disappearing back into the living area. Luka closed the door before grabbing his shoes and slipping them on. Tikki flew over to him.

 "You're not gonna audition for the Anatis role are you?" She asked, a little concerned. Luka chuckled and gently stroked her head.

 "Don't worry, Tikki. We're just gonna be extras in the video," He smiled, putting on his hoodie. He held it open for her to fly in, which she did after giving him a nod.

 ~At the Grand Paris Hotel~

 "Oh this is so exciting!!" Rose declared as they walked up to the stands. Juleka had her arms wrapped around her and leaning on her. Alya was stood next to Alix and Mylene as she took photos. They had manage to get there pretty early but there was still a lot of people stood outside. They hadn't opened for the auditions just yet but the gang had gotten quite a good place. They should be some of the first in the que. Currently, Luka was stood next to Juleka and Marinette, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Adrien was stood with them, along with Chloe. Sadly, Kagami couldn't make it. "Ooh, do you think you'll get to play Lady Noir this time, Marinette?!"

 "Oh, I just want to be an extra," Marinette smiled, holding up her hands. "I mean it was really cool that I almost got to play Ryuko last time but I'm definitely no Lady Noir. She's way more graceful then I am,"

 "I think you'd make a good Lady Noir," Luka smiled, making Marinette's cheeks turn red before he turned to Adrien. "Are you gonna try out for Anatis?"

 "Father wants me to but I managed to convince him that I wasn't tall enough or even the same build," He replied, making Luka nod before he clicked his fingers. "Oh you should try out for it! You're the same height and build plus you know him so you would be able to play him better then anyone else here,"

 "Oh that's true!!" Marinette gasped, making Luka blush. "You're good looking enough- I mean you look similar to him as well,"

 The girls sniggered as Luka went bright red from Marinette calling him good looking. Chloe shook her head as she smirked.

 "While Luka is attractive enough to play him, Anatis has that little bit extra," She explained, looking at her nails before looking up. "No offense, Luka,"

 "N-None taken," He replied, blushing still. He still found it strange that people found him attractive. "But I won't be playing Anatis. I just want to be an extra with you guys,"

 "Aww!!" Everyone stated, causing him to smile bashfully. However, a shrill laugh made them look over as Lila walked over, smirking. Marinette instantly froze up as Luka grabbed the pepper spray in his pocket. He had brought it everywhere with him since Issac. It's not that he didn't feel safe. He did to a certain degree since Issac was been held in a secure unit outside Paris until his trial but he had been badly shaken up by the whole event and brought his pepper spray with him. He hadn't need to use it yet but it would be useful for him to keep it on himself. Especially with someone like Lila. 

 "Hi, everyone," She smirked as she walked over. She clearly ignored the glares from Chloe, Marinette and Juleka before stepping closer to Luka. "Hi, Luka. It's nice to see you out and about. Though I'm surprised. I would be terrified if I were you,"

 "Lila, piss off," He stated in a harsh tone, making her gasp in shock. However, the rest of them were sniggering. Lila narrowed her eyes and swept them across them, landing on Chloe before she smiled falsely.

 "Oh, I'm surprised you're not trying to audition for Lady Noir, Chloe," She stated in a too sweet voice. "You would have the most experience been that you were Lady Copycat... Oh but didn't you cause Clara's akumatization last time? I'm surprised you showed up,"

 "Well, unlike you, Liela, I have actually changed," She pointed out, making Lila glare at little. "And I have no intention of been Lady Noir. I know I'm not right for the role,"

 "That's probably a good thing," Lila smirked, trying to bait her but when she didn't bite, she decided to go with another thing. "I mean after the role of Lady Noir has been promised to me by Clara and Gabriel. She just loves my moves after all and I'm his best model but to make it look fair and so her rep isn't ruined, she wants me to audition so I better get in line,"

 She turned on her heel and walked off, making the group let out a sigh.

 "I still don't understand how that harpy got a contract with Gabriel," Chloe gasped as Adrien shrugged. "Is Uncle Gabriel on drugs?"

 "Not that I'm aware of," Adrien replied as an event worker came out of the building. "He might have had way too much caffeine though,"

 "Extras on the left!!" He declared, pointing towards the left as the doors opened, allowing people to head inside. "Auditionees for Anatis and Lady Noir to the right,"

 The gang moved into the door on the left and walked into the building, standing behind the barriers as auditionees moved through the barriers on the right. Luka looked around as he took in the place. The stage had giant colorful triangles around it that resembled Clara's outfit. Luka couldn't help but smile at the song he was listening to. It was full of hope and excitement. Marinette glanced at him, making her smile as she saw the light in his eyes. She moved a little closer to him and poked his cheek, making him glance down at her.

 "What does it sound like?" She asked, making him smile before he closed his eyes and began to hum. The people around them stopped chatting and turned to listen to his humming, finding themselves smiling as they listened. Marinette smiled and lightly closed her eyes as she leaned against him, listening. Chloe and Adrien felt their hearts flutter and feel light while Juleka, Alya, Rose, Mylene and Alix closed their eyes. Rose placed her hand over Juleka's as Juleka placed hers on her heart. Alya swayed a little as she listened. Mylene wiped away a tear as Alix tapped her foot. Finally, he came to a stop and opened his eyes, causing everyone to do the same.

 "Something like that but there's so many different instruments in here that I can't do it justice," He replied, gently rubbing the back of his neck nervously as everyone around him smiled and looked at him with amazement. However, their attention left him as Clara Nightingale walked onto the stage, causing everyone to look at him. Luka blinked as her song sung much louder then others he had heard but it was full of love, compassion and excitement.

 "Thank you for coming all of you!! It's like a dream come true!!" She declared as she danced and moved around the stage. "Together, we'll all dance and sing!! It's gonna be awesome and amazing!"

 "We're gonna be in Clara Nightingale's music video!!" Alya gasped as everyone else practically vibrated in excitement. "This is humongous!"

 "I can't believe this happening!!" Marinette grinned, jumping up and down a little as Luka smiled at her before he turned his attention back to Clara and the stage.

 "Time to have some fun and find a star!" Clara declared as she spun around. "Let's start by finding our Lady Noir!"

 The security guards opened the line of the Lady Noir Auditionees as Clara climbed down from the stage as the music started. Luka watched as the first person took the stage, wondering who would end up playing his partner. Whoever it was who have to have a playful energy but would also need to know when to be serious. They would have to be brave and kind as well as tough and ready to do what was right. He frowned a little as no one really had the energy that she did. Most people were just moving around the stage or doing small things. One or two tried gymnastics but made both him and Clara frown when they failed but he had to admire them for trying and it was nice to see so many people wanting to portray his partner. He glanced back over at the line and frowned as he noticed Lila talking to people, causing them to look down. He knew her game. She was using her silver tongue to make them feel bad or convincing them that they have no chance. She actually dropped something and picked it up but the person who she knelt next to end up tripping on her shoelaces, making him frown. Soon, Lila's turn came up and she strutted onto the stage like she owned it before beginning to move and dance, causing everyone to start at her in surprise. Luka hated to admit it but he always gave credit where it was due. She was good. She threw her arms and flicked her hair with confidence as Clara watched her. 

 "Your moves are good and your dancing is too," Clara stated, making Lila smirk. "But your heart doesn't seem true..."

 Lila couldn't help but frown at her comment before quickly fixing her face but it was too late. Clara had seen it and she frowned as she did but even if she hadn't, it didn't matter. She didn't want Lila to be her Lady Noir. She knew about the whole her been exposed by Anatis and it felt wrong to have her play one of the heroes who had exposed her. The only reason why she was giving her the time of day is because Gabriel had suggested her. She was the face of his new clothes line for teenagers but seeing her in action, Clara couldn't understand why. While she had the moves, she had no passion.

 "I assure you, Miss Nightingale, as the face of Gabriel, my heart is sincere and true," Lila stated, trying to look innocent. Clara sighed and glanced around, noticing a familiar face in the crowd. 

 "Marinette, is that you?" She gasped, rushing over. Marinette gasped and blushed. "Oh, this is a dream come true! My Ryuko has grown and became a star! Tell me, will you be my Lady Noir?"

 "Her?!" Lila screeched but Clara ignored her and Nathalie gave her a warning look. Lila wisely shut up. 

 "Oh, I mean... I'm honoured but..." Marinette gasped, blushing as she played with her hands. She glanced over at Lila, who smirked at her. She knew if she said no, Lila would get the role and there's no way she would be a good Lady Noir. However, Marinette really just intend to come here to hang with her friends. "I would like to just stay with my friends,"

 Lila gasped in surprise as she generally expected Marinette to take the role. She knew she would have but apparently, Marinette thought she was too good for it. Clara frowned sadly but gave her a small smile before nodding in understanding.

 "It looks like you get the role, oh face of Gabriel," She replied, making Lila smile. However, she said for now in her head as one of the stage hands walked over to her.

 "Head to the changing room and try on the suit," He ordered, causing Lila to walk off stage and headed to the changing room. A few minutes later, she walked out and back onto the stage, making Clara look at her with a critical eye. The suit didn't suit her and she hadn't even put on the wig.

 "Where's your wig?" Gabriel asked from the tablet as Lila flicked her hair.

 "Oh, I didn't think it worked," She replied, making him frown before turning to a stage hand.

 "Find the wig,"

 "It's no biggie. It's ok," Clara stated as the stage hand ran off. "We don't need to the wig for the anatis tryouts anyway. Come on!"

 The security guard by the line for Anatis Auditionees moved and let them come on the stage one by one. And one by one, they went back. Either they didn't have what it took or Lila glared at them. Clara frowned as she hated the look of Lila and it was becoming increasingly clear that she was definitely not the right choice. She glanced back at Marinette who also was considering changing her mind but while Marinette was perfect for the role of Lady Noir, she needed to find a perfect Anatis and these tryouts were just not working. They had gone through all of them and not a single one was worthy to be Anatis. Even if Lila wasn't there, they wouldn't be. She held out her hand, causing the music to stop.

 "Lila, please go get changed," She stated, surprising her. "You don't have the right feel or range,"

 "I'm perfect for the role!" Lila gasped, looking to Gabriel to agree but he shook his head.

 "I'm afraid not, Miss Rossi," He stated, making her gasp. "Besides, all this filming will interfere with your contract... I'd hate to lose you as the face of Gabriel,"

 "Oh... well when you put it that way," Lila gasped before walking off. She exited a few minutes later and walked out. Though Marinette and Luka felt like it wasn't over yet. Clara, however, ignored her and tapped her cheek as she wondered what to do. She didn't have a Lady Noir or an Anatis yet. She could probably convince Marinette to play Lady Noir. She knew the girl was perfect but she still needed to find a perfect Anatis. Someone who would compliment her in the same way Anatis compliments Lady Noir and vice versa. She glanced over at the crowd who wanted to be extras. Her Anatis was in there. She could feel it. She glanced over at the refreshment table and smiled as an idea popped to her head. She walked over and picked up a tray of snacks before turning to them.

 "You must starving from all this waiting," She declared, spinning around before walking over. She smirked to herself before on purposely tripping herself up, falling to the floor as the snacks covered her and the tray landed on the ground. The crowd gasped in shock but only one person made a move. Luka slipped under the ribbon and helped her up, asking if she was ok. "Oh there you are!!"

 "I'm sorry?" He asked, surprised.

 "Here's a hug!" She declared, hugging him. "Because you're Anatis the Ladybug,"

 "Uh I have no idea what you're talking about," He gasped, going bright red and holding up his hands. Clara looked over and saw how Marinette looked at him before smiling. He was the right choice. She grabbed his arms and spun around with him.

 "You did what Anatis would have! Just the same!" She declared as they danced, spinning them around. "Your heart is pure like his. What's your name?"

 "Um... L-Luka..." He gasped as she dipped him down with surprising strength.

 "Luka..." She smiled, spinning back around before getting down on one knee. "Say it so! You will play Anatis in my video?!"

 "M-Me?" He gasped, completely taken back as Clara looked at him with hope and his friends cheered. He didn't want to disappoint her but he also didn't want to disappoint Tikki. He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ms Nightingale. It's really kind of you to ask but I came here to be with my friends and I'd like to stay with them,"

 "Oh, that's a pity and shame but I know it's true," She declared, smiling a little before standing up. "That's a very cool gesture. Very Anatis of you,"

 She grinned before taking his hand and pulling him over to a make up area.

 "Just sit here for make ok?" She grinned, dancing a little. "I'll have your friends sent over right away,"

 "Thank you," He smiled back before she walked away. A few minutes later, Marinette and the others rushed over to him, hugging him. Clara gave them a smile as she walked over, still determined to find her Anatis and Lady Noir.

 ~Outside of the Building~

 Lila huffed to herself as she was annoyed. She wanted to be the star in the show but apparently, Gabriel didn't want her to be. The good thing was Marinette wasn't gonna be playing Lady Noir either. Still it annoyed her. However, her mind was taking off it when her phone vibrated. She took it out and saw it was a withheld number, making her smirk as she pressed answer and held it to her ear.

 "Miss Rossi, time to prove your usefulness and show me those skills you promised you have," A deep voice stated, making her smirk.

 "Consider it done," She replied, hanging up before scrolling through her phone, stopping on the mayor's number. She had stolen it from her mother's phone when she wasn't looking. She figured it would be useful to have. She pressed the call button before holding it to her ear. It answered on the third ring.

 "Hello?"

 "Hi, is this Mr Bourigous?" She asked in her sweetest voice.

 "Speaking but how did you get this number?" He gasped. "Who is this?"

 "Oh, my name is Lila. I'm a close friend of your daughter Chloe. She gave me your number in case I ever needed to get in contact," She lied, smirking. "I hate to bother you but she is really upset,"

 "What?! Why?" He gasped, sounding worried.

 "Because of the music video that Clara Nightingale is filming," She stated, smirking. "She wouldn't say it herself because she is trying to be a better person but she feels really upset that she can't play Lady Noir in it. I tried to comfort her but nothing I said has cheered her up. I fear she might be akumatized unless something happens,"

 "My goodness!" He gasped, buying it. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. My Chloekin's is too kind for her own good,"

 "Oh yes. She's improved so much," She stated, rolling her eyes. "But she's still so upset,"

 "Of course, thank you for informing me," He replied.

 "Anything for my friends," She replied, finishing up the phone call. She hung up and smirked before flicking her hair and walking inside. Clara was chatting and working with the stage hands and direction as they tried to work out who should be in the role. Lila frowned as she saw Luka and his friends sat talking happily. She narrowed her eyes before noticing Clara's microphone set aside. She moved closer to it and picked it up, looking at it as the door burst open and the mayor came in, looking angry. The look on Chloe's face was priceless as he stormed over to Clara and began to tell her she couldn't film in Paris without a permit. Luka looked alarmed as Chloe jumped up and rushed over.

 "Daddy, what are you doing?!" She gasped, making him look at her.

 "Don't worry, darling. Daddy will fix it," He stated, turning back to her. "Since you don't have a permit, it means you can't film anywhere in France including Paris!"

 "Daddy!" Chloe gasped as Marinette, Luka and the others rushed over. "Why are you stopping her from filming?!"

 "Because you're upset about not playing the main role," He gasped, making her look at him in horror and surprise. "You... are upset right?"

 "What? No, I don't want to play Lady Noir!" She gasped, surprising him. "Who told you I was upset?!"

 "Your friend called me!" He gasped, making everyone look at Lila with a glare. She was the only person who would do something like that after all. She gave them a smirk back. "Sweetie, I've already put the permit through. Clara can't film here today,"

 "But I don't understand..." Clara gasped as Lila walked over. Alya instantly looked at her.

 "Girl, tell me you didn't do that," She asked as she ignored her.

 "Oh, I'm sorry. I really did think Chloe was upset," She replied, in her sweetest voice as everyone stared at her. Clara looked extremely hurt as Lila held out her mic to her. She went to take it but Lila dropped it to the floor, causing the star on it to crack. It seemed to be the last straw as Clara began to cry as she picked it up. "Ooops,"

 "You did that on purpose!" Marinette gasped, glaring at her along with the others. Even Alya was glaring at her but Lila looked at them with watery eyes.

 "Of course, I didn't," She sniffed. "My hand shakes from my athirist and I really thought I was helping Chloe. I didn't meant to completely ruin production but it's not a massive deal. I'm sure Mr Mayor can reverse it,"

 "I... I can't," He gasped, making them all look at them. "Once the paper work is done, it's done... I'm sorry..."

 "No, the video needs to be shoot here in Paris, the capital of love... the City of Anatis and Lady Noir..." Clara gasped, holding her broken mic in her hand as tears rolled down her cheeks. Luka gasped and leaned down to try and comfort her. "This ruins all of my plans... I'm sorry, my beloved fans!"

 She stood and rushed off, sobbing as she did.

 "Clara!" Luka gasped before turning to Lila with a dark expression. It actually scared her a little and reminded her off how Anatis looked at her. "You're evil,"

 "I was-"

 "Save it for someone who believes you, Rossi," He stated, coldly. "We all know you did it on purpose because you didn't get the role but this just proves you're not worth to play Lady Noir at all. You're no hero,"

 Lila went to say something but Luka rushed away from her and towards the trailer Clara had rushed into, knocking on the door as he did. However, Clara refused to open the door. Lila smirked to herself and walked out of the building as Luka sighed and walked back over to the group. 

 "I can't believe Lila did that," Alya gasped, making Marinette frown.

 "I can," Luka stated as Marinette nodded. "She isn't a good person no matter how much she pretends,"

 "Yeah... I'm starting to see what you mean," Alya stated, frowning. She wanted to give Lila the benefit of the doubt but the whole incident with Luka and this was really making her wonder who Lila really was. However, she didn't have much time to think as a whip suddenly hit her and Mayor Bourgeois who was near her. "What the hell?"

 "Sing, dance or rhyme!" Clara declared, causing everyone to look over at her. Luka and Marinette gasped as she had clearly been akumatized. "Or you're be frozen in no time!"

 "What?!" The mayor gasped but he suddenly turned into a magenta statue, causing Alya to gasp.

 "Um, yo it's alya and I'll keep up this rhyme," She gasped as Frightingale grinned. "I don't want to be frozen! Not this time!"

 "Bravo," She declared, clapping her hands. "You have the right tempo!"

 She laughed before lifting her mic and using it to whip people, causing them to scream and run as they turned into statues. In the panic of the crowd, Luka and Marinette managed to get away without getting hit. Luka managed to sneak into one of the trailers and opened his hoodie, causing Tikki to fly out.

 "I'm proud of you resisting been Anatis," She grinned, making him smile.

 "Yeah but now it's time to be the star of the show," He declared, swiping his earrings. "Tikki, spots on!"

 He transformed into Anatis and slipped outside, looking around as he noticed there were statues but Frightingale wasn't inside. He frowned as he heard screams coming from out. He ran and jumped, climbing onto the roof as Frightingale stood at the top and whipped people, turning them into statues.

 "Sing, dance or rhyme!" She yelled, smirking evilly. "Or you'll be frozen in no time!"

 "I thought you were a fan of us, Nightingale so you should know we fight villains!" He yelled, throwing his yoyo and wrapping it around her whip, making her look at him. "And this is not a very nice way to treat your fans either!"

 "I'm Frightingale from now on out! Forever and ever, there's no doubt!" She declared, yanking the string and pulling him a bit closer to her. Anatis jumped back and down to the edge of the building as she tried to whip him. "And if you stand in my way, there'll be a price to pay!"

 "You can't let negative emotions get to you!" He declared, dodging and throwing his yoyo at her. "Forcing people to sing or dance isn't who you are!"

 "Song and dance will make the world a better place," She declared, catching his yoyo and spinning it as she jumped down. "If you don't agree me then you're a disgrace!"

 "The only disgrace is Hawkmoth!" He declared, dodging his yoyo as she tried to attack him with it before he jumped off the building, pulling her with him before the two of them landed on the ground. He charged at her, trying to hit her with his yoyo as she moved away and dodged it. "Listen, I can help you. Just give me your akuma-"

 "No!" She screamed as she jumped back. "I won't let you take my akuma away!! I like the new me and I'm here to stay!!"

 She charged at him, causing him to lift his yoyo but she tripped as Lady Noir arrived and used her baton to knock her down. She grinned as she jumped over to them.

 "Might if I join the dance?" She asked. Frightingale jumped over her and landed on the building across the street. "Well, she's got a lot of energy,"

 "I'm not surprised," Anatis replied as he walked over to Lady Noir. "Clara?! There's another way!"

 "You're just like the others but you can't silence me!" She shouted back, making him sigh. "I'm just trying to make the world better, can't you see?!"

 The butterfly mask appeared around her eyes as Hawkmoth talked to her, causing Anatis to frown before she pointed her wand at him.

 "Do you really think the two of you can win this battle through and through?" She asked as Lady Noir clicked her neck.

 "Two is always better then one!" She replied before turning to Anatis. "I'll take the left,"

 "I'll take the right then," Anatis replied before the two of them ran over and scaled the building as Frightingale smirked and striked a pose. Anatis threw his yoyo as Lady Noir extended her baton but Frightingale dodged them, causing his yoyo to wrap around her baton. He pulled his yoyo back as Lady Noir backflipped out of the way of Frightingale's whip before throwing it again. Lady Noir dived at her this time, causing her to backflip out of the way. Anatis' yoyo wrapped around Lady Noir, causing her to fall onto the roof as Frightingale landed again. She went to hit Lady Noir with her whip but Anatis pulled her out of the way and caught her in his arms. Seeing her chance, Frightingale threw her whip and hit them both, causing them to gain a magenta glow before she laughed.

 "Welcome to my musical show!" She shouted, taking a bow. "I hope it will be your fatal blow,"

 She laughed as Lady Noir and looked at her arms.

 "Oh, really now? Is that what you think?" Anatis stated, surprising her. "Well, I got news for you. Me and my partner are in perfect sync,"

 "What?!" She gasped, surprised as Lady Noir gently danced. "No, that can't be so! You should fail. How are you resisting my glow?!"

 "Music is my nature, it's in my soul," He replied, making Lady Noir look at him. "So let's get on with this fight. It's time to rock and roll!"

 He turned to Lady Noir and gave her smile as she looked a bit unsure. She was just moving her arms to stop herself from been turned into a statue.

 "Don't be afraid. I'll get us freed," He stated, holding his hand. "But til then, just follow my lead,"

 He winked at her, making her blush as she took his hand. He spun her around and pulled her towards him as Frightingale charged at them. Using dance, they fought her. Anatis lifted Lady Noir by her hips, allowing her to kick out at Frightingale before he spun her back around and the two of them jumped out of the way. 

 "What should we do? We can't keep up this dance," She stated as they jumped back. "We don't stand a chance,"

 "Not right now but I know what to do," He stated before saluting Frightingale. "Adieu,"

 He and Lady Noir jumped off the building and landed behind the bus before the two of them moved in a sort of dance. They heard Frightingale land on the ground and declared that they can't hide as she looked around for them.

 "It's not in our favor in a glance," Lady Noir gasped, looking at him. "Cause we have to advance while constantly keeping up the song and dance. We can't leave nothing to chance,"

 "I agree and I have a plan you see," He replied before taking out his yoyo. "If there's anything that can do her harm, it will be my... Lucky Charm!"

 "Handcuffs? Now that seems strange," Lady Noir gasped as he caught them and looked around. "Maybe our luck will change... but we know we need to stop her so what plan do you have to offer?"

 "Hmm..." He stated as he danced, glancing around. The handcuffs, his yoyo and Lady Noir's ring lit up, causing him to smirk. "They're not for her. Theyr'e for us... but we're gonna need you to do your stuff,"

 "How can I use my power? I can't think of a rhyme!" Lady Noir gasped, looking down a little. "Maybe you could help me out this time,"

 "Hmm... well, you're a good talker, dancer and talker," He stated, tapping his chin. "So look on the bright side today. Don't be pessimistic and make way..."

 "For optimism!" She gasped before holding out her hand. "Cataclysm!"

 The dark energy appeared in her hand before Anatis handcuffed their hands together and used his yoyo to tie their feet together. Just as Frightingale lifted the bus they were hiding behind. However, she gasped when she saw them stood back to back, chained together.

 "I warned you that we are in sync," Anatis stated as she stepped back before he looked at Lady Noir. "Let's get this done before she can think,"

 "Our movement are one and we are the same," Lady Noir grinned, moving with Anatis as the two of them fought against Frightingale, knocking her back. "We're done with playing your little game!"

 "By any chance, will you grant me this dance?" Anatis smirked as they punched her and kicked her, causing her to retreat farther.

 "Of course, for you... my sweet bug-a-boo," Lady Noir winked before they kicked her through the door to the audition room. They walked through as she scrambled to get up.

 "You can't bend the rules!" She shouted as she ran over to the stage before pointing at them. "Dancing tied up is cheating, fools,"

 "When someone's akumatized, we never compromise," Anatis stated before they ran over to the stage and dived at her, causing her to dive out of the way. They got back to the feet and landed a hit on her as she tried to hit them with her whip. They dodged by blocking her with their arms before using their conjoined arms to knock her back. They made a grab for her wand, causing it to turn into dust as Lady Noir touched it with her charged hand. The akuma broke free and the two heroes grinned, taking off the handcuffs before they both threw them up in the air and shouted the magic words. They burst into the swarm and fixed everything, flowing around them before disappearing. Anatis threw out his yoyo and captured the akuma before releasing the purified version as Lady Noir grinned.

 "You never told me you were good at dancing," She grinned, making him blush a little as Frightingale turned back into Clara. Lady Noir rubbed the back of her neck as she looked to the side. "Sorry I wasn't..."

 "You're not bad, kitten," He replied, smiling a little as Clara blinked and looked around before noticing the heroes.

 "Anatis?! Lady Noir?!" She gasped as Anatis helped her to her feet. "What are you doing here?"

 "You were akumatized," He stated gently. "But it's ok now,"

 "I was saved by both of you!!" She gasped, spinning around. "Oh this is a dream come true!"

 Lady Noir giggled and walked over.

 "I have an idea for your video if you're interested,"

 ~Later that Night~

 "Can I ask a favor, Annie?" Lady Noir asked as they sat on top of the Arc de Triomphe. They had finished up their patrol for the night and were just enjoying the evening while sharing a bag of cookies. He looked over at her and nodded. "Could.. could you teach me to dance?..."

 For a moment, he was quite and she thought he was going to say no before he put down the cookie he was eating.

 "Well, I don't know if I'm the best to teach you," He replied, standing up before holding his hand to her. "But I'll try,"

 She smiled and took his hand, following him to the middle. 

 "Ok, place your hand here," He stated, putting her hand on his shoulder before taking her hand in his before placing his spare hand on her waist. "Now step back,"

 She did as he stepped forward before stepping to the side then back then to the side again before repeating it.

 "One, two, three, four," He counted as they did before he spun her, making her laugh a little before they continued to dance. Lady Noir found herself leaning against him slightly but when to stop and apologizing but he gave her a soft smile. She smiled back and continued to dance with him under the moonlight and stars.

------------------------------------------------------------

Next Chapter: Coming Soon

[mandoalorian]

Home [Ezra Prospect x Reader]

Home [Ezra Prospect x gender neutral reader]

Warnings: yearning, yearning and more yearning. I just wanted to have a go at writing for him.

Word count: 2k

Rating: PG

Authors Note: I’ve never ever wrote for Ezra before and I find his character just a little bit complicated but I hope this is somewhat coherent and enjoyable :)

MASTERLISIT | Submit a request!

"I feel like I don't belong here." you swallowed as you stared straight ahead into the green forest. Your eyes were stinging and you knew if you just gave it a few more moments, tears would threaten to spill. "I never thought I'd leave Puggart Bench." You rubbed your eyes and took a deep breath. The sun was setting just off the horizon. The day was coming to an end.

"Cee lived on the Pug," Ezra grumbled as he clawed through deep damp soil, digging out aurelac. Ezra paused as he remembered his reluctant associate. "I miss her." He finished. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched your partner pull out the aurelac sac and carefully harvest it.

You didn't say anything— you figured it was best to stay quiet. It was hard though. Ezra promised you, as the days went by, it would get easier. But it didn't. You were beginning to believe he was a liar. You missed your family; your parents and your friends. You wondered if they were still out there— somewhere. You wondered if they missed you. No. You forced yourself to shake away the feelings. If they missed you, they would've come back for you. They would've rescued you.

You and Ezra walked back to camp in complete silence, apart from his occasional grunt and groan as he pushed his tired legs through the thick waves of grass. When you arrived back to your shared tent, Ezra was the first to go in. He always was. You knew his routine. He'd strip himself out of his environment suit and usually take a shower. He wanted to wash away any chance of the dust spores.

You promised him for that as long as he wore his environment suit out of camp, he would be safe. You would remind him that your shared tent had the best air filtration system he could ever ask for. But the loss of his arm had struck a kind of paranoia within him. You didn't call him out for his impulsive behaviour. You let him be. Although this trauma hurt, you still loved him for who he was. You knew his sense of pride had deteriorated since the incident and you wish you could do something to restore his confidence in himself. It was these little quirks what you loved so much about Ezra.

You lingered outside the camp for a few minutes, taking in the fresh air. Now that Ezra was occupied, maybe you could release all your pent up emotions. Cry it out. You shuffled along to the large fawn tree which hung above your camp and sat down on the grass. You picked up some pine that had fallen and began to scrape a tally mark into the bark of the tree. You had been on the Green Moon, with Ezra, 365 days and counting.

"A year is a long time, moonbeam," you heard Ezra from behind you. His voice was just as soft and articulated as ever. You noticed he'd showered, judging from his damp hair, and he had lazily put his environment suit back on. You blinked at him and then turned away.

"You should go back inside," you told him, your gaze fixated on the tree that marked your days like a calendar. "Your hair is wet, you'll catch a cold."

Ezra crouched down before shuffling next to you and you took a deep breath. "I've been here many years," Ezra admitted. "In fact, I don't remember much of my life before I came to the Green Moon."

"Why did you come here?" you asked, your voice breaking.

Ezra took a moment and stared into the sunset. "Like all Prospectors," he told you. "I guess I just wanted to make something of myself. It got lonesome, sure. But then I met Cee, and she gave my life purpose. I had responsibility."

You knew Ezra had a deep respect for Cee, the young girl who accompanied him a few years back. "I wish I had known her." you hummed, fumbling with the zip on your environment suit.

"I think she'd like you," Ezra smiled and you spotted the sparkle in his eyes. "She liked reading books too."

"Oh really?" you giggled.

"Yeah," Ezra laughed as he reminisced. "She was smart like you too. I was glad when she left, truly. I knew she didn't want to stay on the Green moon. It's no life for a young child. And despite my attempts I just knew she wasn't safe here." Ezra's explanation was followed by a pause and you noticed the cherry smile fall from his lips. "But I still miss her." he admitted.

Then, in one swift and abrupt motion, Ezra turned to face you. He nudged his gloved hand over yours, cautiously, but with an air of confidence that you hadn't seen from him in a long time. To your surprise, he interlocked his fingers with yours and held your hand. You swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and found yourself gazing longingly into his dark brown eyes.

After a few beats of silence, the both of you turned your heads back to the sunset. Something so special and unique about the green moon was that every evening, there was a special moment that only lasted a few minutes, where the stars would peek out from the orange pink sky. It was often hard to catch. Tonight was your first time witnessing the unanticipated beauty with your partner.

"It's beautiful." You whispered, taking note of each star and trying to draw upon any constellations. Ezra didn't respond. The silence wasn't awkward or uncomfortable, but instead it was comforting. You knew that, no matter what, you and your family were under the same sky. Possibly looking at the same stars, despite being potential star systems away. "Don't you ever want to leave?" you questioned Ezra with a sigh.

"And go where?" He asked. You realised his voice had dropped octave and you turned back to look at him. The whole time you had been admiring the sunset, Ezra had been admiring you. His grip on your hand tightened as if he was afraid to let you go.

"Anywhere but here." you lulled, feeling the tears brim your eyes again. "There's a whole universe to explore."

"I've found that I quite like staying put. After many years of drifting between planets, I prefer to just stay here." Ezra shrugged his shoulders.

"I know I've lived here, with you, for a year now— but I still consider Puggart Bench my home." you frowned. You dipped your head and rest it on his shoulder.

"For me, home isn't a place," Ezra told you. You pondered his words during the beat of silence. "Home is about who I'm with. For a while, Cee was my home. Now it's you." You pulled your head off him and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. He noted your confused expression and opted to continue his explanation. "Cee gave my life purpose. She was only young and I knew I had to provide for her. I had to go out on digs and earn my keep, make sure not to take any days off. I had to find food for her and make sure she could sleep at night. I tried to educate her but honestly? I think I learned more from her than she learned from me."

"Oh." You smiled a teary smile and looked back into the sunset. The twinkling stars were soon fading away.

"But you, my dearest moonshine," Ezra wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you back into him. "You give my life reason. Now that you're with me, I have a reason to wake up every morning. I have a reason to tidy around the tent and not let it get ridiculously messy like it would before you. I have a reason to help you plant the crops and water them when you're not around."

"Oh Ezra," you smiled. "But you don't have to do those things." You shuffled into his warm embrace. You loved the way Ezra held you. It made you feel safe. Protected.

"But I do it because of you," he responded. "You're my reason." After a long silence you pulled away from Ezra. "Come inside?" Ezra asked you. "I brewed some of your favourite herbal tea."

"Really?" you smiled.

"Really." Ezra replied. Not letting go of your hand once, he slowly dragged you back into the tent and sat you down on his bunk.

He squandered over to the little heater where he was boiling some hot water and poured it into your own special mug. You took off your environment suit and made yourself comfortable. Taking a spoon, he pressed the herbs into the side of the mug, creating a tea-like consistency and handed the warm drink to you. You wrapped your hands around the mug and took a sip, humming in delight when and savouring the taste.

"You like it?" Ezra beamed with pride. He was so cute.

"Mhm," you nodded and took another sip. "Tastes like home."

"Oh? You had the same herbal tea on Puggart Bench?" He questioned, also undressing out of his environment suit and sitting next to you, wrapping his blanket over you both. His blanked smelled like him. Like the forests and fresh grass.

You shook your head. "No, you've only ever made me this herbal tea." You told Ezra and that's when it hit you. You considered Ezra home. You finally understood his analogy under the fern tree— about how home is a person rather than a place. You looked up at him and he was smiling down at you.

Ezra was truly your home. He cared for you, protected you. He looked after you when you got sick and cooked for you when you couldn't feel like it. He made sure that the temperature in the tent was never too hot or too cold. When you got tired on digs, he'd even carry you home. You had never experienced such love from anyone before. That's what it was. Love.

"I'm sorry I wasn't much use today on our dig." you hung your head in shame. Ezra wrapped his arm around you again and pulled you down onto his lap.

"That's okay, it's been a rough day. I'm just grateful for your company." Ezra slid his gloves off his fingers and began to gently trace your face. You let his eyes close under his touch.

"How come you're always so understanding?" You whispered, reaching your hand upwards and cupping his cheek. His brown stubble grazed your skin but it felt nice. You liked it.

Ezra wanted to tell you the truth. He wanted you to know that he was never like this with anyone. Just you. He wanted you to know that he was totally and completely infatuated with you. Now that you were in his life, now that you were his home, he couldn't imagine spending his days without you. It broke him knowing that you wanted to leave the Green Moon. That you wanted to leave him behind. He couldn't escape the thought.

After the silence, he noticed you had drifted off to sleep. He gently picked you up from his lap and tucked you into his own bunk, not wanting to wake you. It was okay if you slept in his bed tonight. He was more than happy to take the floor. He admired how peaceful you looked and he was glad you were finally getting some well deserved rest after such a difficult day. He spent a few minutes watching as you gently snored. He wondered what you were dreaming about. He wondered if you dreamt about him the same way he dreamt about you.

"I understand you," Ezra whispered. "Because I love you. You're my home."

Your sleeping body didn't stir in the slightest at his words and he pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He hoped that one day he could kiss you for real. He hoped he could show you how much you truly meant to him. But today just wasn't the day.

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