#and the story at the start tore at my heartstrings so good too. it was overall a great manwha! whyd i drop it? well...

[aria0fgold]

I got buried in the manwha mines and did nothing else today but just read manwha... It's all well and good though cuz I found Two(2) new manwha to add to my reading list!!! Out of the-- I thiiiink... around 7? or 10? manwha I had checked out! Yaaay yippee!!!

[flowesona]

catnip - yandere! hybrid yoongi x reader

“Just stay here for me, okay Yoongi?” The hybrid nodded, even if he was still shivering slightly. He’d freaked out seeing where they were parked, crying about her adopting someone else.

His emotional reaction had tugged at (Y/N)’s heartstrings to no end. She was starting to second guess her decision, but it was the right thing to do. 

“Be back soon.” Yoongi nodded, still sniffling slightly as he curled up in the car seat, letting her climb out and close the door gently behind her.

The shelter still smelt strongly of disinfectant. He’d complained about the smell one night to her, humming about how glad he was he would never have to spend another night there. The thought of him finding out how he was wrong was heartbreaking, yet (Y/N) pushed on, right up to the reception desk where the same kind faced volunteer was typing away.

“Hi?” She spoke up timidly. The young woman glanced up, beaming.

“Ah, Miss (L/N)! Just in time! I was going to call you to ask how you two were getting along. Is Yoongi settling in alright?” 

“Well, that’s the thing. Yoongi doesn't seem to be very… comfortable.” (Y/N) posited, fidgeting slightly. “He got in a fight with one of the neighbour’s hybrids about a week ago. Left him quite injured. And I don’t want to risk such an incident recurring.”

That was the best way to describe the incident. She’d left Yoongi with her neighbour’s fellow cat hybrid whilst she had a cup of coffee and a catch up with him, only to hear a loud ruckus a few minutes later and discover the two in a serious scuffle, both ending up with serious scratches on their arms. When she’d taken Yoongi home, apologising to her neighbour profusely all the while, she interrogated him on why he did it, only to have her reprimands shrugged off as Yoongi chose instead to weep about how he felt so lonely whenever she wasn’t in the room.

That’s not to say that Yoongi was a demonic hybrid. Compared to the horror stories she’d heard from her friends about hybrids attacking their owners or destroying their homes, Yoongi was practically a saint. He provided pleasant company, always happy to curl up with her as she talked about her day or laying his head on her lap so that she would scratch behind his ears in a way that made him practically purr in delight. But the bad moments stood out more than the positive ones, and (Y/N) wasn’t sure she could cope with the irregularity of his moods.

All in all, he was nearly the perfect companion. But she didn’t want to give up her friendship with her neighbour, and the fear that she couldn’t provide enough emotional support was pushing her to help him find a new owner.

“Really? He never showed that kind of behaviour with his previous family. Are you sure it wasn’t just a simple disagreement that escalated on both sides?” The receptionist frowned, her hand resting on the computer mouse.

“There was another occasion. He attacked a human yesterday. My brother.”

Like the last time, she had no idea what happened. Her brother had just dropped by to greet her as he was in town, but when she’d gone to get him a glass of water, she heard them talking. All of a sudden she heard a yelp, as if someone was in pain, and when she returned her brother was halfway out the door. 

“Get that mutt of yours put down. He’s no good.” Was all he said before slamming the door in her face. She’d tried to pry what happened out of Yoongi, but once again he cried to her about being unloved. Rather than feeling pity for his feelings, she felt irritated beyond all else that he was refusing to take the blame for wounding her brother. 

Ultimately, to (Y/N) blood was thicker than water, which led her to the adoption center to see about relocating Yoongi.

“I see. We’ll have him assessed to see if he’s a threat to any other humans, and I’m very sorry that happened to your family. Did you bring him here with you?” The receptionist finally started to tap away at her computer, leaving (Y/N) with a bittersweet feeling.

“Yes. He’s in the car.” 

“Okay. If you want to say goodbye and bring him in here? And if you ever miss him you can always call us and we’ll tell you how he’s doing.” The young woman gave (Y/N) a kind smile. 

Each step felt like she was wading through glue. She was scared about what would happen, about how Yoongi would feel. No doubt, he wouldn’t react well to the news considering how just being in the area of his old accommodation was enough to trigger a meltdown.

“Yoongi? How are you feeling?” She slid into the driver's seat. He lifted his head briefly to meet her eyes.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked, cocking his head to one side. A seemingly innocent question sent shivers down her spine, though she wasn’t sure why. Yoongi was good, he just didn’t get along with the people around her right?

“There’s someone who wants to check up on you. You need to come inside the building with me, okay?” The little white lie hurt to say, as she held out her hand for him to take. Yoongi looked apprehensive, but when she gave him a nod of encouragement he reached out to take it.

She would miss the way his warm hand felt curled around hers. Especially when, late into the evenings when he thought she was asleep, he’d snuggle his cheek into her hand for comfort, falling asleep quickly in her hold.

Yoongi was becoming more tense as they entered, wincing at the strong smell and pressing his face into her shoulder, as he’d done a few times when there was strong thunder and lightning.

She made eye contact with the receptionist, to let her know she should get a keeper to help take him away.

“Yoongi, you’re a very good boy aren’t you?” She said softly, feeling him nod as he stayed clung to her back.

“The people here are going to take good care of you, aren’t they? I want you to stay strong for me.”

He froze.

“What do you mean? (Y/N), you’ll stay with me whilst they help me right?” Yoongi’s breathing was getting heavier, his eyes widening in terror.

(Y/N) didn’t reply, wanting nothing more than to keep lying but not having the guts to do so.

“I don’t want to stay here. Please, can’t we go home? I’m a good boy, I swear!” It was just as bad as she expected. Luckily, two of the keepers had arrived just in time.

The second Yoongi was separated from (Y/N) by another human, he became fully hysterical.

“Let go of me! No! Don’t you dare take me away from her!” He cried out, thrashing against the hold of the keepers.

“He’ll be absolutely fine, Miss. No need to worry.” One of the keepers panted, trying their best to keep the now feral Yoongi, who was hissing and scratching at them.

(Y/N) turned her back on the chaos, trying not to feel guilty as she heard the cries grow fainter and fainter. 

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

By the position of the moon in the night sky, Yoongi could tell it had hit midnight. He’d spent the afternoon and most of the evening pacing his room, with the same old white walls and tiny window. He’d tried to break the glass, but his hands were no match for the triple glazed glass.

But the heartache he felt from losing (Y/N) was worse than any pain some bruised knuckles could cause. He’d been scared that he was pushing it. The first few times that he played the victim after lashing out, she seemed to forgive him. But it was her brother that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back - all Yoongi had done was try to suggest that her brother shouldn’t return to their apartment as he clearly wasn’t needed, and (Y/N)’s sibling had been completely unreasonable in rejecting the idea. But when he’d tried gaining her sympathy after the matter, she evidently didn’t believe him, thus he was dumped.

Even if he’d initially been angry at (Y/N) for leaving him, that emotion didn’t stick around for long. The sick “love” he’d developed for her triumphed anything she could ever do. He had to be by her side, to protect her from any man that might try to corrupt her - that was his new purpose in life, and there was no way he could let the pound keep him from that.

With newfound will, he slammed his body into the door of his room. The lock rattled, but didn’t budge. He slammed into it again, and then a final time to see the bolt shattering. 

Yoongi didn’t even wait to catch his breath, hurrying through the halls with nimble feet and light breath. Even in his tantrum earlier he’d been taking in the layout of the building, so he could find his way back. 

Fortunately, this paid off as he was able to get to the reception, meaning he was so close he could practically feel the warmth of (Y/N)’s bed again. Unfortunately, he was not alone. There was a security guard at the reception desk, yawning and sipping a piping cup of coffee. When he saw the escaping hybrid he reached for something on his belt only for Yoongi to pounce first, knocking him to the ground. The frustration inside Yoongi built up, this man being the sole obstacle in his journey to find (Y/N), and before he knew quite what he was doing his sharp fingernails had tore the guard’s throat out, leaving him to choke on his own blood. 

Seeing the pathetic human reaching for a phone, presumably to call the other security guard for help, Yoongi snatched it far out of reach and crushed the guard’s hand underneath his foot with a satisfying crunch. As a final gesture Yoongi spat on him, smirked, and snatched up the keys.

Once he was outside, locking the door behind him, Yoongi was elated. He just had to find a way back to his home, and even if his head was too messed up to think of the directions, his heart could guide the way. Navigating the dark city streets, ducking into corners when he saw people knowing that he could be busted at any second, all whilst racking his brains for the directions to the apartment. If only he’d left the comfort of home more often, he wouldn’t be in such a tough situation.

Finally, he started to recognise the area he was in. Even better, he was starting to pick up her scent, until finally he found himself outside of their apartment block.

He knew where he was now, and he couldn’t help but to dash up the stairs, not caring about the noise, until he found her apartment. There, after trying the doorknob only to find it locked, he rapped on the door continuously, until finally it opened for him.

He launched himself into (Y/N)’s arms upon seeing her, leading to her stumbling back in shock and ending up on the floor. Yoongi just laughed in delight.

“I’ve missed you so much, (Y/N). Never let them take me like that again, okay?”

[justanotherblonde23]

You Can’t Please Everyone - A Marcus Moreno Story

Author’s Note: Welcome to Part 3 of my Marcus Moreno and Doctor Iris Moreno one shot series! This wasn’t originally the one I planned on releasing today, but I was going through it last night and @autumnleaves1991-blog​ suggested that I write my feelings out and let it all pour into my writing. She was right, I felt so much better afterwards. Still no descriptions for what Dr. Moreno looks like, I want you to feel like you can see yourself as her <3 Thank you all for your love and encouragement, I really appreciate it. 

Warnings: angst, crying, parental problems, hurt/comfort, pregnancy mentions, language

Let me know what you think, what you’d like me to write next, want to be on a tag list for this series, etc. I want to interact with you all! 

Iris opened the front door, trying her best to be quiet; she didn’t want to wake the kids. If Marcus got the timing right, their girls should have just finished their bedtime routine and have settled in for the night. She took her jacket off, hanging it up in the coat closet. All she wanted was to grab a glass of wine and curl up and have a good cry. Unfortunately, being pregnant meant no alcohol, so she would soldier through with a good cry in the shower, maybe. 

Her heels clacked on the stairs. She went slowly, her heart and mind weary. Both girls had their doors open a crack, the universal sign that they wanted kisses and to be tucked in by momma, too, even if she came home a bit late. The drowsy kisses and ‘I love yous’ filled her with joy, covering the ache just a little. She knew that no matter what went wrong throughout the day, she would always be coming home to two precious little girls that loved her dearly. At this point, she couldn’t even imagine life without them. 

Marcus was right where she expected him to be, in bed curled up with a good book. It still blew her away every time she stopped and realized that he was hers, and she was his. Being his wife, it was bliss in every sense of the word. She hadn’t expected him to propose; how could she when his last marriage ended the way it did? Iris would have been happy to be with him forever in any way that he’d have her, but she had to admit that she had wanted to be his wife. She had changed her name as fast as humanly possible, for the thought of being Dr. Moreno filled her with pride. He had suggested keeping her last name or maybe hyphenating it after he proposed. He knew how hard she had worked to make that name worth something, and he didn’t want to take that away from her. She had appreciated the gesture, but she insisted that her work was her own, no matter her last name. She wanted to share everything with Marcus Moreno, including his last name. 

The man in question looked up, giving her one of his earth-shattering smiles, the one that made her feel as if she was the center of his universe. How could she not melt when his soft brown eyes held her gaze, baring his soul to her? She loved this beautiful man with every breath she took. 

He frowned when he noticed her eyes had welled with tears, leaving black mascara tracks down her cheeks. Silently, he stood up, gently unzipping her dress for her and helping her into a shirt of his that she loved to wear to bed. He knew that she would talk to him when she was ready. He would wait her out; it was better not to press her. Marcus led her into the bathroom, sitting her up on the counter while he cleaned her face with a warm washcloth and makeup remover. With each tender swipe of the washcloth, more tears fell. He could feel her shaking underneath him, the silent sobs giving way to heaving gasps.

Once he finished washing her face, he cradled her in his arms, carrying her back to their bed. He settled her on his lap, her legs straddling his hips, arms wound around his neck, face tucked in next to his own. The closer he could get to her, the better he knew she’d be able to feel. His hand snaked under the shirt, rubbing soothing circles on her back, fingers pressing patterns into her spine. He whispered words of comfort in his wife’s ear, willing her to hear what he was saying. Darling, I love you. I’m here for you; you’re not alone. Let it all out, baby. It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep it all stuffed inside; just cry it out. Missy loves you, Jules loves you, I love you. He went on and on, pouring his love and adoration into her. Eventually, her tears subsided, and she was ready to talk. She pulled back a bit so that she could look into those kind eyes of his that never judged her or made her feel less than. 

“Dinner with my dad was a disaster, Marcus, it was horrible. I should’ve known it would be bad, but I was hoping that this time might be different.” 

He nodded sympathetically; her relationship with her father was complicated. That man was manipulative, two-faced, selfish, and frankly a terrible parent. He had never approved of their relationship, blatantly refusing to even come to their wedding, insisting that they’d be getting a divorce at some point anyway. No matter how happy they were together, that man was always finding something to nitpick. If it wasn’t the age gap, it was the fact that Iris had stepped up and filled the spot of mother that the girls had so desperately needed. He hated their jobs, their house, the fact that they were individuals with enhanced abilities. Marcus couldn’t think of a situation where he had ever said anything positive about, well, anything. 

Despite all of this, he knew that Iris still loved him, still cared about him, and desperately wanted some type of relationship with him. She was the kindest person that Marcus had ever met. Her passion for people, her ability to truly empathize with others and try to help them heal was inspiring. He had never seen anything like it. He had seen it firsthand with his girls. She poured every ounce of love and devotion into them, treating them as if she had given birth to them herself. She said time and again that there was no difference to her. They were her girls just as much as they were his, and she loved them as such. That love and care extended to her father, too, no matter how many times he hurt her. 

“What did he do, honey?” he was hesitant to ask. Marcus knew that he would get mad at her father and have to rein himself in. He hated to see his wife hurting like this, and it made his blood boil. No one should cause her this much turmoil, especially someone that was her parent. 

“The whole thing was just a mess from the start. Dad was giving the poor waitress a hard time the second she came to the table. You know when he acts like he’s funny, but actually, he’s just rude? He was playing that game. I tried to talk him off the ledge and get him to bring it back in a bit. You should’ve seen her face, Marcus. She was petrified. Every time she came to the table, I could see the apprehension in her eyes. I tried to make sure that I was as nice to her as humanly possible to make up for him. Jesus Marcus, he should know better. I bartended to help mom with money when she was sick, for goodness sake. I was just like that poor girl all through med school and up until I got hired at Heroics HQ. You’d think he’d be willing to consider that.” 

He shook his head, placing a kiss on her forehead, not interrupting her as she spoke. He knew that Iris needed to get it all out before he chimed in. 

“Then he realized that I didn’t order any wine and commented on that, and oh fuck Marcus; it just came out. I just blurted out that I wasn’t drinking because we’re having a baby. He fucking laughed at me, told me not to joke about shit like that. When he figured out that I was serious, he was furious. He told me that I made a mistake, that this baby would just tie me down. He told me that this was a sign that it was time to give up my career and commit to being a mother. I just- I can’t believe everything he said. He went on and on about how I was finally having a real kid of my own as if Missy and Jules aren’t mine, and how it was unfortunate that this baby was yours. I thought that maybe he’d be happy that he’d be excited, but it was a shit show. He didn’t ask how far along I was or anything. I don’t know why I even do this anymore, why I even hope for his approval. It’s a battle I’m never going to win, so why even try? And fuck, these pregnancy hormones are making me so goddamn emotional. I couldn’t even make it through the main course. I made up a work emergency and left. I’m hurting, I’m fucking starving, and I just want to curl up and call it a night.” 

There was silence for a few moments, Iris once again hiding her face in the crook of Marcus’ shoulder. He wished he could physically take the pain away, that he could take her heart in his hands and cradle it to his chest, protecting it from everything that threatened to break it. It killed him to see her like this, and it wasn’t fair; she didn’t deserve this. It didn’t help that at 12 weeks, her pregnancy was beginning to take a toll on her. It was always tricky for enhanced individuals to carry a child, even more so when the child was also enhanced. It just made everything a bit more complicated. He hadn’t seen it up close himself before. His ex hadn’t had powers. To see Iris suffering and struggling with harsher than average symptoms tore at his heartstrings. They were both so excited to have this little one; it would just be a bit more challenging.  

“Baby, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna grab a few things, get comfy okay?” 

Marcus hated untangling himself from her, but he knew what might make her feel a bit better. She let out a noncommittal grunt, letting him know that she heard him. He quickly went down to the kitchen, grabbing supplies. He put everything on a tray, double-checking that he had what he needed before going back up to the bedroom. He set the tray on the bed, earning a grin from his darling wife. 

“Okay, so you said you were hungry; I thought I’d grab the things you’ve been craving recently. I’ve got a bowl of butter pecan ice cream with strawberry sauce, the whipped cream from a can, and crumbled up potato chips with a side of frozen Reese’s peanut butter cups and that guava juice you started liking last week. Oh, and a grilled cheese that I made earlier and put in the fridge. I know you like them cold right now. I’m not gonna question it. I’m sorry you didn’t even get to eat anything when you went for dinner, but this might be even better.” 

He settled into bed next to Iris, putting the tray on her lap. The giggle of delight that left her mouth made him feel warm inside. He watched her dig into the ice cream, telling him about the new developments that she was working on for his katanas, how she wanted to adjust the grips a certain way, and asking for his input. There she was, his wife was crawling back out of the pain and the hurt. He adored her enthusiasm for science and invention. She always had some idea or other to improve his weaponry and armor. He could listen to her passionately explaining her thoughts and ideas for the rest of his life, and he’d never get bored. 

By the time she finished, the disaster of a dinner had been wholly forgotten. Marcus got up, placing the tray on the dresser. He’d deal with it in the morning. They spent another hour talking, cuddling, and holding each other tightly. After a while, he noticed that Iris began to nod off, her eyelids struggling to stay open. He adjusted their position so that they were lying down, and his love was wrapped securely in his arms. She fell into sweet slumber to the sound of Marcus murmuring sweet nothings in her ear and his hand rubbing her tummy, holding her and their baby close. She may not be able to please everyone, but she had Marcus, their two girls, and this baby. In the end, that was everything. It was all she needed.  

Tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @madness-roses​ @bisexual-space-slut​ @dindjarindiaries​ @frannyzooey​ @cinewhore​ @revolution-starter​ @mrschiltoncat​ @softpedropascal​ @paniclana​ @jollyrancher87​ @hdlynnslibrary​ @maybege​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @cyaredindjarin​ @magicsuperheroes​ @flightlessangelwings​ @itspdameronthings @fallingoutofthe1975​ @thestreamergirl​

[greenteabtch]

16 for the physical affection prompt?

hiii thank you so much for your ask!! ;_; Literally had SO much fun writing this.

Kissing Knuckles

pairing: sebastian vael x f!hawke

rating: g

word count: 1516

genre: fluff :)

-

“Do we all have to go in?”

“Yes,” Helena clipped.

A deep scoff sounded. “But we’re covered in blood. They’ll kick us out the minute we enter”

“Or they’ll just start screaming,” Aveline offered.

“Nothing new for you then, eh Junior?”

Carver sputtered, Helena sighing but choosing not to intervene as she climbed the steps to Kirkwall’s Chantry. Its spires reached towards eternity alongside the gilded statues of Andraste, like holy spokes against a gray fresco sky. Absently, she rubbed her fingers together, feeling dirt from the coast pill and disintegrate in the wind.

It took the entire weight of her body to pull open the doors, something she scowled at Varric for snickering at. Incense and cool air whispered through the opening, and very suddenly Helena found herself stepping back.

Hand fingering her combat vest, the mage looked towards her companions. “Go first. I’ll follow.”

Their puzzled expressions were obvious, but it only took a moment for them to shrug and continue on their way. Helena watched them start to disappear into the dark interior, breaking her vision away to dust off as much of the evidence of a fight as she could. The dirt was alright enough, but the bloodstains were another story. Regardless, once Carver’s black hair had been swallowed by the dark, it was her turn to enter.

Helena straightened her posture, taking a breath as she began her walk into the Chantry. Her chin lifted against ensuing whispers from the sisters that watched her entrance, nervous chills dropping down her spine. Whatever their opinions, she knew that her mission lied not with the red robed clergy today, but instead, a prince in white.

“Hawke!” 

She had been found.

“Sebastian,” she acknowledged, nodding awkwardly in her approach. 

As handsome as the last time she saw him, Sebastian Vael walked toward her through the scattered groups of faithful. He met her halfway, offering his hand with a charming smile. 

Hesitation gripped her as she stared at his soft unmarred skin. Beautiful uninterrupted swaths of sepia shone like velvet in the red candlelight, his fingers well kept despite the few callouses she could identify. By the time she blinked she realized it would be more than rude to decline, so she submitted, taking his hand in hers for a shake…

Which never quite occurred, given that in one deft movement he had coaxed her fingers to lie neat inside his grip while he brought his lips to the surface of her hand.

A flush tore through her. Helena’s vision was glued to the sight, the heir to the throne of Starkhaven kissing her knuckles. Knuckles that were blistered with the efforts of her twirling her staff, nicked from stray slashes of mercenaries who pressed too close. Her surroundings spotted black.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said, releasing her hand, which she tucked to her chest. “I’m hoping that your arrival brings good news.”

“Y…” she mumbled, eyes frozen before she shook her head. “Yes. Right. The, uh, mercenaries—“

Sebastian’s eyebrows raised expectantly. “The Fl—“

“—Int company! The,” she cleared her throat. “Flint company. As you requested, we have eradicated their presence from Kirkwall.” Helena fumbled for her belt loop, finding the prepared bag of collected badges and offering it to Sebastian. “Your proof. Sixty five badges for sixty five mercenaries.”

He wasted no time opening the canvas pouch, fingers combing through the clacking metal.

“You did all of this…” he met her gaze, snapping her out of the dream like haze she had dipped into while her fingers caressed her still-warm hand. “Thank you. I can’t emphasize enough what this means for my family.” The starting lines of frustration were fading into his skin, eyes falling. “Lives for lives, and yet, these people will never know what they stole. All I can pray is that my family wasn’t made to suffer.” His voice wavered. “Still that doesn’t seem like enough.”

Helena’s brows furrowed, heartstrings pulling at the sight of the man before her. “It’s a beginning.” she eventually offered. “That’s more than many people get.”

He looked up, eyes glossy. “I suppose.” A small tilt pulled his smile. “Well, in any case. Your aid has eased my spirit, and hopefully my family’s. As promised.” He produced a coin purse, which Helena accepted.

The second she felt its weight her brows shot up.

“This is more than the listed reward.” 

A hissed ‘just take the money’ came from behind her, to which she sent a bone-chilling glare over her shoulder.

Low chuckles drew her back, Sebastian’s picture perfect smile warming her skin like the sun. “Please. The Vael’s coiffeurs run deeper than I’ll ever have a use for. Besides, it reassures my troubled heart to know someone is making good use of it.”

Her eyes were wider than saucer plates. “Thank you. Really.” She swallowed, heart-thumping while she pocketed the gold. “You’re… going back to Starkhaven now?”

“For a time, at least. I have some affairs to sort out with the remaining councilmembers,” his speech slowed, a pause blanketing between them. “I do plan to return to Kirkwall after, though.”

Helena’s skin felt electric, her fingers curling around her lower face. “Oh. Well. If you… ever find yourself in need of services again…” she tried not to pinch her eyes closed at the snicker behind her. “Or, if you want to come along with us— you seem very handy—“ Wait. “With your bow.” Sigh.

She was ready to give up and break into a full sprint out of the chantry, her brother’s ‘what is happening right now’ and subsequent chuckles from Aveline detrimental to her situation. The archer, though, was forgiving, a smile crawling over his face as his brows raised.

“Thank you for the offer. I… it would be nice to have friends to return to once business has been settled. I have to admit, it’s been difficult to find comfort amongst the Chantry as of late.”

“No, please. We’d be lucky to work with you again.”

“Perhaps as partners next time?”

Rose covered her skin as she looked away, then back, letting a smile slip.

“It would be a fortunate match.”

Again, a light chuckle left him.

“I’ll send a letter when I return then, ah— Maker forgive me, I haven’t even asked your full name.”

“Oh, no it’s… it’s fine. Helena. Hawke.”

“Helena.” He smiled when he said it.

She thought she might melt in his stare, yet another blush creeping up her neck as she fiddled with her hair. To break the silence she attempted to ask about his skills, but was interrupted by her brother walking up and planting his feet beside her, arms crossed.

“Well, thanks for the job. Good luck in Starkhaven!” He waved to Sebastian, before whispering as an aside “let’s go sister.”

She all but shoved him away, casting a tight-lipped smile towards Sebastian.

“I’ll see you.”

And just like he did before, Sebastian took her hand in his and swept it to his lips for a kiss. Ears burned as she marveled at the sight again, her lips creeping up at the tingles that ran through her body.

When he parted from his kiss, he laid another hand over hers, clasping her palm in a firm embrace.

“Walk in the Maker’s light, Helena. I pray fate allows our paths to cross again.”

“... Thank you… and good luck.”

“To us both.”

It was disappointing to leave the Chantry after that, but there was hardly anything she could do to prolong her stay. Besides, she had made enough of a fool of herself for a lifetime. Carver made that clear after they crossed the threshold.

“So that was…”

“We don’t need to talk about it.”

Carver raised his brows beside her, “No, that was weird. I have never seen you smile like that before.” 

“I wasn’t smiling!” 

“Okay, now I’ve never heard you defend yourself like a thirteen year old boy.”

Helena let out an exasperated noise, increasing her speed to stride ahead of the group.

“And… now you’re running away.”

“Oh, let her go Carver. She’s clearly smitten by prince charming.”

“Who kisses hands these days? This kid’s got to update his literature.”

“Not everyone wants to have their bedroom broken into for a meet-cute, Dwarf.”

“So you HAVE read my books!”

The rest of their conversation tickled Helena’s ears as she walked, but their voices soon flowed into the musical hubub of Hightown, leaving her with her thoughts. In hazes of red and pink, her mind replayed the scene at the chantry. Clutching her hand close, she couldn’t help but blush. 

Would she see him again? Would the prince remember the refugee mercenary who aided him through a difficult time? Would he kiss her hand just the same? And would they be different…

She didn’t know. She couldn’t. 

But maybe… this moment would be enough until she did.

Till then, she held her hand close and decided to keep an ear out for her charming prince from Starkhaven, with the hopes that someday their paths might have the good fortune of crossing again.

[aidemint]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐨 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐩 - 𝐒𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐨

Word Count: 2700

Warnings: None!

__

There was always a boy with peach-colored hair that I would see in the village.

From the confines of my house, I would stare out the window and watch him meander about the streets of the city. He would always be clad in patterned robes with a mask strapped to his head, and a sword tied to his belt. I always wondered what it was for. Perhaps he was a samurai, like the ones I'd read about in the old storybooks, though he didn't quite look the part.

But one could dream.

As time passed, and the world grew older, I noticed that he was now accompanied by a smaller girl with jet-black locks. They would run together and weave through crowds without a care in the world. She looked younger, and wore an outfit with a similar design as his. A younger sister, I reckoned.

The more that I observed them, the more I would feel a certain emptiness inside my chest. I would get lost in my own thoughts more often, pointlessly staring at my hands as I curled and uncurled my fingers, watching pieces of my butterfly skin flake off and settle on the cuffs of my kimono.

It stung, but my heart ached even more.

I'd always wanted someone to keep me company.

It was a nice thought, something that provoked my imagination.

It helped me cope.

__

My condition was rare.

Though I was a whole being, I was forever cursed to live a wretched life filled with nothing but pain and agony. My skin would come off at the slightest movement or touch, which made washing myself or getting anywhere an extremely tedious task. And if the gods hadn't bound me to my hermit life enough, I had eyes that were not capable of rendering large amounts of light, which meant that I couldn't go out during the day if I didn't want to blind myself.

And I didn't want to lose my sense of sight, as it would mean no longer being able to see the peach-haired boy and his sister. So there was no other option for me. The day was detremental, and the night posed too many risks, with unimaginable monsters lurking around, so I had no choice but to remain as I was -- alone and weak.

I could only sit and watch the world pass by from the confines of my room, where I was forever trapped, cursed to my prison. As I had delicate skin and soft eyes that could not take in light, my flaws rendered me useless, and therefore I had to pay reparations to the world by staying inside.

There were many people that believed that I did something sinister in my past life, and that was the reason why I had so many imperfections now. In this age, it was commonplace to believe such a thing. I understood why they could even mention something as terrible as this, but couldn't help but feel sad at the thought.

Matters became even worse once my family got word of the rumor. Being especially spiritual, they immediately suspected me and made it their priority to discard the person that would bring bad omens into their family. They promptly left me with half of their savings and their old house, and moved away to somewhere else.

I tended to my belongings quite well and always cherished the little bits of home with gratitude, but I always missed them, despite never truly knowing who they were and what they looked like.

I hoped that they were well, without me.

But even though my family left, the rumor still remained, however, forever haunting me and my very existence. Speculations only grew as the years went by. The townspeople had somehow reached the conclusion that I had been cursed because my past life had not lived their existence justly.

Sometimes I would sit and wonder about it.

Was it really my fault?

Why did the gods condemn me so?

Had I really committed such a cardinal sin?

If I did, I think would've remembered it.

__

Most days were spent making woven goods that I sold to the townspeople in exchange for groceries and such things. On the mornings that the peach-haired boy came to town, I would wait for him by my window and patiently stare into the open until he came. He and his little sister would walk around the town, sometimes getting groceries, sometimes not. They looked happy when they were together outside, enjoying the many wonders of a fulfilled life.

How I longed to live like them.

But I wasn't truly in a position to complain, as there'd always be one person to stop by my house every once in a while.

Urokodaki always came to pay me a visit, which was nice. He would bring me miso soup and small bits of dried seaweed in exchange for woven baskets. Every month, he would even stay and tell me about his travels and tales from his life -- glimpses into the outside world that I never got to experience for myself.

And perhaps it was because he was so near and dear to me that I always drank the soup with fervor, making sure not to waste even the slightest drop. I hoped that if I appreciated it enough that it would never stop coming. I never wanted the stories to cease.

That bowl of miso soup was the only light of my life that my heart could hold without stopping.

I could never thank Urokodaki enough, even for such a small bowl of soup, but he seemed to be the gift that kept on giving.

One day he brought the peach-haired boy along.

When I opened to door to let the elder in, I gasped upon seeing him with the boy I'd watched for so long. Immediately starting to worry that the place was unfit for him to see, or that I looked too unruly, I accidentally strained my skin too much and tore a new gash into my shoulder. Wincing and biting back a cry, I tried to mask the pain, but relented as Urokodaki gently took my hand and led me inside so that he could bandage me.

At that moment, I knew that I would be unable to face the boy for the rest of the day. It was foolish of me to have hoped that another would be able to understand. Why should he try to understand? I was the town's hermit, a monster among the children, and a symbol of strife among the grown.

No words were exchanged that afternoon. We all just sat and ate, and after we had eaten, Urokodaki and the peach-haired boy departed. I cast no farewell gesture to the pair, only giving a small, sad smile to the elder has he exited my house.

Days passed and life went on in accordance to the usual schedule. It was boring, but served as a reassurance that nothing out of the ordinary would happen after that encounter with Urokodaki's student. But even if I was happy that my life was the same, I couldn't help but feel disappointed at myself. Subconsciously touching the bandage on my shoulder, I sighed while imagining what my life could have amounted to if I got to know the boy I'd been admiring for such a long time.

Cursing at myself, I angrily started to thread the reeds to a chair covering, fueled by the utter shame and regret in not jumping at the opportunity to know someone new. In doing so, I hadn't realized that someone was knocking on the door. The sounds from outside continued for a few minutes before I realized that they were there. Needless to say, I was particularly surprised. Urokodaki never came this early, and an unexpected visitor wasn't very common. Despite how unconventional a stranger was, they were always welcome.

I slowly got up to open the door and once I had unlocked it, I was met with an unanticipated face.

It was the peach-haired boy.

My eyes widened in shock, completely dumbfounded as to why he would come again. Had I not scared him off last time? I simply watched him as he awkwardly waited for a response from me. When I kept staring, he cleared his throat and decided to break the silence.

"Uh," he spoke, "Is it alright if I come in?" I blinked and immediately nodded slightly, moving as fast as I could to the side in order to let him in. He looked at my figure with a concerned expression while I shuffled to close the door behind him. It looked like he wanted to say something about it, but he refrained from it and moved to another topic.

"Is your wound doing alright?" he asked, matching my pace as we walked towards the table set in the middle of the closest room. I smiled at his consideration and felt a sudden tug at my heartstrings.

"Yeah, it doesn't hurt, so don't worry too much about it," I lied, "Besides, I get them all the time. I'm used to it." Despite this, the boy didn't look too assured, but chose not to press on.

When we got settled, he brought out the miso soup from his bag and set it on the table, along with two spoons and a small container of dried seaweed. I looked at the dish, anticipating it, but somehow, something didn't feel right. It felt like a stone had settled itself into my chest, weighing my insides down and putting my appetite to rest. Setting down my spoon, I gazed into the yellow-ish liquid and hesitated. This drew the attention of the pink-haired boy.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, wearing a small frown, "Have I done something wrong?" I shook my head gently, sighing and swallowing the dread that pooled in the pits of my stomach. There was one thing I needed to question him about. His response didn't matter, after everything I'd been through, but I needed closure.

"What do you think of me?"

The peach-haired boy looked confused.

"What do you mean?"

"After being in the village for some time, I imagine that you know what the people say about me." He went silent.

I had all the time in the world, so I waited. The boy seemed lost in thought, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his breath steady and lips pouted, in perhaps perfecting a reply that was sweet enough for my ears.

When five minutes went by, I asked him another, simpler, question in case he couldn't comprehend my comment about the village.

"You do know what tall tales about me the children tell each other, right?" He nodded. I maintained a small smile through the query, though my eyes got darker with every proceeding question.

"What are they?" I'd already recognized that he knew I was aware of the rumors. The peach-haired boy paused before answering in a soft tone.

"They say that you're cursed. They think that you're a monster." I hummed and returned to the main topic at hand after his reply. The words stung, but after the countless tears that had been shed over time, I learned to take them.

"So do you think the same?" I inquired, "Am I a monster, with my butterfly skin and delicate eyes? With my scars and-"

"I think you're beautiful."

Stopping, I locked gazes with him and stared in skepticism.

Are you mad? I wanted to shout, Is this some kind of sick joke? A fetish, maybe?

However, I withheld myself and stammered more questions.

"Why did you take such a long time in the beginning?" The peach-haired boy looked away, a rosy coloration dusting his cheeks.

"I didn't know if you would believe me or not." The tenseness in the atmosphere relieved itself at that moment. I began to feel my throat conjure weird bubbles and my shoulders start to hunch up. A chuckle burst out of my mouth unexpectedly, and louder ones followed after. My vision blurred as tears started to leak out of my eyes and spill onto the sides of my face. The peach-haired boy looked starstruck, watching me laugh.

Once I had finished, I looked at him, gingerly wiping the water droplets off of my cheeks and chin, my irises clear and sparkling.

"Then that settles it," I said, hiccupping, "That settles it." The corners of my mouth remained upturned as I picked my spoon back up and mixed the soup so that it clouded up again. Taking a sip, I grinned as the liquid ran smoothly down my throat and sent shivers up my spine.

It was still warm.

__

After a few more meetings over the course of two weeks, I didn't see Sabito again for the next three months. It was disheartening, to say the least. Though I would always wait by the window in anticipation, he never showed up with the girl. Instead, there was a long-locked black-haired boy, clad in similar patterned robes as he. His eyes appeared as blue as the sky in a cloudless afternoon, and his jaw was angled finely. Guessing that the stranger was a replacement market-boy, I started to worry.

Has something bad happened to Sabito?

When the thought would surface, I simply shook it off, convincing myself again and again that the peach-haired boy was well. Urokodaki frequently updated me with messages via crow, that Sabito was training, and nothing else. This served as a reassuring factor to quell my anxiety through the days in which I felt especially lonely.

Unfortunately, it just so happened to be one of those hours. Currently, I was in a spell of panic.

What if he never came back? What if he perished?

Merely thinking about it made my blood run cold and my fingers numb. I wouldn't even know how to react if that happened. The only thing I could do was hope that Sabito was alright. I felt helpless, defenseless, utterly hopeless.

In my fit, I hadn't realized that there was a knock at the door. It took me a couple minutes to fully register what was going on.

Was this deja vu?

Getting up from my position on my seat, I moved quickly to the door, unlocked it, and was immediately met with an unfathomable sight.

Breathlessly, I began to cry. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks with haste, landing delicately on my robes. My hands were clasped over the smile upon my features, catching the gentle sobs I let out.

There Sabito stood, with longer hair and a small sack in his hand. He grinned, his lavender eyes crinkling as he did. I could see my reflection in his glossy irises.

"Master said it was my turn to bring the miso soup again." I laughed and tried to run towards him, but only managed a meager shuffle.

"Sabito!" I cried, my arms outstretched. He caught me in his embrace, gripping onto my robes as hard as he could without risking any injury being made to my skin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took in his scent, his being, his presence with as much attention as I could muster.

"I missed you," he whispered, voice cracking, "So much." I sobbed, my chest filling with nothing but endless adoration. Eventually separating, I fluttered my eyelids open and gazed into his wisteria eyes, then kissed him. My heart jumped at the sensation. With fingers gingerly combing through his hair, feeling his soft locks and getting tangled in the new length, I basked in his presence and familiar scent. He kissed back with the same fervor, gripping my waist with his gossamer hands, sending me into paradise.

When we broke away, I couldn't help but smile at his dopey expression.

"Can I come in?" he murmured, placing a peck on my forehead. His voice was irresistibly smooth, like silk flowing in the wind -- undulating and perfectly formed. Giggling as he kissed my lips once more, I couldn't ignore how much I loved him and his being.

So of course, I let him in.

[kurt-nightcrawler]

Birthday

Birthday - 1.6k

Happy birthday Chey! ( @warrentrash ) You’re amazing and I hope this year is amazing for you!

There was a lot of things Warren was not fond of. Jubilee’s aesthetic (all her bright colors gave him a headache), the fact his roommate tried to kill him twice (technically Warren tried to kill his roommate, but let’s not get technical), hangovers, his metal wings, his very apparent daddy issues, and birthdays. These were only a few things Warren wasn’t keen on.

And then he met you.

You loved everything, always trying to live life to the fullest. You had a new, bold outfit on every day— you dyed your hair a different color every few months, and you genuinely liked just about everyone.

-

When you both started dating, it sparked controversy in your peers. They didn’t understand how the ‘god of darkness’ and the ‘sunflower child’ could fall in love. It was weird to them, seeing you with your winged boyfriend, decked out in black, but you didn’t care.

-

Warren slowly started to change. He wasn’t as moody anymore, started drinking less, and actually formed a pretty solid friendship with his roommate.

And on certain days he wasn’t decked out in all black!

-

You were lounging on the couch, playing with one of Warren’s loose curls, his head resting on your stomach. The TV was on, but you didn’t know what it was showing.

“Mail call!” Peter called out. “Let’s see… letter for Charles, teen vogue magazine…” Peter flipped through the stack quickly, only stopping for a split-second to throw something at Warren’s head.

“Ow!” Warren got up and felt the back of this head.

“It’s for you, (Y/N).”

“Thanks, Pete!” You grabbed the envelope and looked it over.

“Who's it from?”

“My mom.”

“Is everything okay?” You tore open the envelope and pulled out a card.

On the front It had a dog sitting in a chair, “’Wanna know my three favorite words?’” You opened it and read the message inside, “‘That’s my daughter.’ Happy birthday! Happy birthday (Y/N)! I hope New York’s treating you well! Can’t wait to see you during your next break. Your dad and I love & miss you. Xoxo Mom.”

Warren glanced at the card, unsure of what to say. He’d never received a birthday card before. What do you do when you get one? “Is it your birthday?”

“In two days, but since my parents don’t live in the area they probably sent it early.”

“Two days?! Babe when were you gonna tell me?!”

You sheepishly grimaced, “Well, you don’t like celebrating your birthday, or anyone’s really for that matter, so I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

Warren laughed, “Do you remember the time you and Jubilee made me dress up in drag?”

You smiled and nodded, “Uh huh, you make a very pretty girl Angel.”

He kissed your cheek, “Thanks, but even if I’m not too interested in something, I usually do it at least once anyway. Besides, it’s your birthday! If I’m gonna celebrate a day of birth, it should be yours. You’ve been there for me, and you’ve helped me grow into a better person— I love you sunshine.”

-

Hank wanted to discuss some things with you regarding your suit, which left Warren to himself for a few hours.

Warren opened a door slowly, mentally preparing what to say. “Hey, Scott. You free?”

“Uh yeah. What’s up?”

“No love for me?” Peter whined.

“Fine, join in on the conversation. You will anyway.”

Peter shot up from his bed, “Damn right I will! What are we talking about?”

“I just found out when (Y/N)’s birthday is, and I have no idea how to celebrate it.”

“Get her a birthday present? Bake her a cake? Throw a party?”  

“Warren, do you not— how do you not— you do know what people usually do for birthdays right?”

He shrugged, “Sorta.”

“Didn’t we celebrate Kurt’s birthday a few months ago?”

“Yeah, but someone,” Scott glared at Warren, “decided we should all get hammered.”

“That was Jubilee’s idea! She just asked me stuff about vodka. Still, don’t know why it was important.”

“I don’t think anyone fully remembers what happened on Kurt’s birthday so maybe we shouldn’t base any ideas on that. When’s (Y/N)’s birthday anyway?”

“Two days.”

“Two— You mean to tell us you just found out your girlfriend’s birthday is in two days?!”

Warren frowned, “I know, I know, I’m a shit excuse of a boyfriend. It just wasn’t really something we brought up. I don’t like celebrating my birthday, so she figured why to bring her’s up. The only reason I found out is that her mom sent a birthday card!”

“That’s okay man. You’ve still got two days to plan something for her. We can help you.”

-

Planning for your birthday was a challenge. Warren didn’t like parties much, they just tempted him to drink more, but Peter was trying to push him towards throwing a party. However, Scott could sense his discomfort and shot down Peter’s idea, by arguing two days wasn’t enough time.

-

His argument won, and a few hours later, Warren had a pretty good idea of what he’d do for your birthday.

-

First, he would make you dinner.

“You know how to cook?” Scott was bewildered, Warren didn’t seem like the person who knew how to cook—, he grew up with servants and money, and in Germany, he had close to nothing.

“A little bit. Whiskey doesn’t always fix hunger. Besides, I can just follow a recipe. I’ll be fine.”

-

He got some recipes from the library, as he needed options on what to make.

“Tacos?” He asked aloud, looking over a recipe. “No. Those can be really messy to eat, and I don’t like tacos much anyways. Steak?” He shook his head, something just seemed off about making steak.

Warren’s mind started to wonder, what was (Y/N)’s favorite food?

“Jean makes the best fucking lasagna in the universe. There! I said it!”

“Fuck or the fact Jean makes the best lasagna ever?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Lasagna silly!”

Warren kissed your forehead, “Just making sure.”

“Mmhmm.”

-

He banged on Jean’s door. It opened, “Come in!”

“Hey, Jean I need your lasagna recipe.”

“Hi, Warren! Wait— you need my what?”

“I need your lasagna recipe. Don’t ask, just know it’s important.”

“Alright. Give me a second.” She opened a desk drawer and grabbed a paper. “Here. Just give it back when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Jean!” He took the paper and went on his way.

An angel on a mission if you will.

-

Then, he would get your favorite movie and set it up on the roof.

He gathered the things he’d need— white sheet, two poles to wrap it around, an actual projector, and a bunch of pillows and blankets.

“Alright, it’s supposed to be clear and pretty nice out tonight. This means everything should go perfectly! Great!” Warren looked over his finished work. “I think this is good. I hope this is good. God, I hope this is all okay.”

-

It was finally your birthday. Warren was nervous, but also excited. You! His sunshine was born today, years ago. He’d have to send your parents a thank you card or something.

-

He sat in his classes idly, bouncing his leg. “Just ten more minutes,” He mumbled. “Ten more minutes.”

When the teacher dismissed the class, Warren ran out so fast, you’d think he was Peter.

Warren had asked Peter and Scott to keep you distracted while he made dinner.

-

They both knew you’d think something was up if they tried to distract you for a few hours, so they had Jubilee and Jean help.

“I went on two dates last week, and they both sucked,” Jubilee groaned.

“Was it with the same guys you met at that one party?”

“Yeah, and just, ugh they were awful. John showed up thirty minutes late with no good excuse as to why! Can you believe him?”

“How rude!”

Jubilee and Jean nodded, “I know. And then the other guy I found out had a freaking girlfriend!”

“No way!”

“I know! Like, what the heck buddy? You aren’t even that cute!”

Jubilee shared more stories about the bad dates she’d had in the past three months. They all ranged from “He only talked about his car” to “His mom showed up halfway through!”

“Oh! (Y/N).”

“Yeah Jean?”

“Warren wants you to meet him on the roof.”

“Oooo. Sounds fun.”

You playfully hit Jubilee’s arm, “Stop it.”

“Just saying.”

“Whatever, I’ll see you guys later.”

“Have fun (Y/N)!”

-

It didn’t take you long to get to the roof, as you’d gone up to it many times before. You hadn’t seen Warren much at all today, and it made you a bit sad. Sure, everyone needed space sometimes, but today was your birthday. Even if he didn’t like celebrating those kinds of things, you still felt a bit upset.

You saw him sitting on a pile of blankets. “Warren, babe?” He shot up when he heard your voice, and you smiled.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey,” You greeted. “What’s all this?”

“Happy birthday?” He said it as more of a question, and you almost didn’t hear him.

“Wait, what?”

“I uh, borrowed Jean’s lasagna recipe and I set up your favorite movie. I know it’s not much—”

“You did all this for me?”

He nodded, “I know I don’t like celebrating birthdays much, but you mean a lot to me. I love you, and if you weren’t born, then you wouldn’t be here and... “ Warren was tearing up. You felt him almost tearing up. He wasn’t always the best with using words to show his emotions, but damn— this was super simple yet, it tugged at your heartstrings.  

You spread your arms around his frame and hugged him, “Thank you. I love you, I love this. Thank you so much.”

“I’m sorry.” He stated while wiping his teary eyes.

“It’s alright, I understand. Let’s enjoy your wonderful cooking skills, shall we?”

“We shall.”

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Off Limits

Monsta X

Im Changkyun/Reader [F]

Genre: High School AU, Rebellious, Drabble

Warnings?: Smoking, Disregard for rules, Swearing, Inappropriate language

Words: 1.5k

“Hurry your bitch ass up, I’m not getting any younger out here while your dick is stuck in some Spencer’s purchased, unsanitized fleshlight.”

“I’ve never been more offended or proud of you for your onslaught of insults lately,” Changkyun said back to your obviously fake rage over the phone.  “Besides, if anyone’s bought anything from Spencer’s, we both know it's you.  How else can we explain that kinky set up in your closet, hmm?”  He chided as you promptly hung up on him without a word. 

Slotting his phone back into his ripped jean pocket, he stuck his AirPods in his ears, blasting whatever edgy band he was into these days.  He found himself listening more to edgy American labels more than most these days, his time in America really laying into his DNA, despite not being born there. That is one more thing you never let him live down, his Western like behavior. 

You’ve claimed to be ‘scarred for life’ when you walked in on him in the middle of a keyboard smashing, screeching deathmatch in Overwatch while he was stark-ass naked at 3 AM. In your house mind you. Seeing his fake American Tit-Tat was one thing in life you never planned on seeing.  

You had to buy a whole ass new computer chair after that night, too traumatized with the imprint of his naked arse in your sweet leather seat to ever sit in it again.  You had half a mind to call a priest and have it excised, but you couldn’t afford a whole Holy Man in garbs, so new chair it was. Thankfully, as compensation, Changkyun pitched in on half the bill for it. 

He walked a bit further down the ever darkening roadside as he soon watched light post after light post flicker on.  Some with working lights, some with new LED lights that not only allow you to see below you but apparently 30 feet in every other direct resulting in direct blindless for 5 minutes if stared directly into. 

He soon rounded a corner as he saw your silhouette not too far off.  He watched your arm raise to your mouth, stay for a moment only to drop and a puff of smoke push past your lips.  It looked like you were wearing a jean jacket he got for you for no other reason than you looked good in it.  Jeans that nicely rounded your ass, even from his distance, and he could guess what shirt you were wearing.  Probably something about aliens if he had to guess. 

He reached for his phone, just before stopping and plucking one AirPod from his ear to hear his footsteps.  He had to be quiet; yes, very very quiet.  He moved along a barely holding together brick wall and slid along it, looking like a blond fool at dusk where he was still pretty much 90% visible.  

Taking step by step in his torn up, ankle black Harley Davidson biker boots, he held his partially painted finger in front of him.  Tiptoeing like some cartoon character, he stood nearly directly behind you now.  He waited, watched you take a breath of your nearly finished cigarette and once your hand was dropped to your side, he jumped into action.  

“HOWDY!”  He screeched into your ear as you whirled.  You swung your arm behind you, your stupid best friend ducking down, safely out of the way while your unfinished, but small cigarette fell to the ground. He looked up at you, seeing your shirt.  Black with white writing saying “I bEliEvE” in a pretty awful font.  Not at all pleasing to the eyes.  “Alien shirt, I knew it.”  You were quick to kick out your converse covered foot and push his squatted ass into the ground. 

He teetered over as you stood over him with your arms cross.  Hair hanging in tangling in front of your chest as you looked down at him. To any stranger, you would seem to be bullying the blond high schooler, but you two were fairly well known in your small town.  He pushed himself up on his elbows.  

“I always knew you were the ringleader of every relationship you’ve been in.  PUshing people down, oof.”  You rolled your eyes as you stepped over him. Not quite disregarding his chide. 

“This is why you can’t get a girlfriend.  You suck,” you groaned back as you stepped on your still smoking cig with the toe of your shoe. He hopped up like he wasn’t on the ground to begin with. 

You and Changkyun have known each other since middle school when you first showed up in his rinky-dink little town. Officially attached at the hip when you flashed your chest to some stuck up jock and got picture proof to frame him for sexual harassment, all because he kept making jabs about your ass. 

If one were to drive through your town and blink, you’d be in and out in a flash.  Population a whopping 500.  Everyone knew everyone, stories of “I taught so-so’s parent in school too” coming from every old and rotting teacher on school property.  

Not that either of you heard it much.  Neither of you really care much for the school scene.  Not fitting in with the small school system.  You’d think such a small town would go to a bigger town for schooling via bus, but no.  School houses were built, and by houses I mean houses.  You swore they held lectures in superstores, they were that small.  

It’s not like school was important.  Even in a small town, no one cared about grades or success.  It was all about who was wearing what.  The TV programs on the night before. Jocks trying to win over hearts of adolescent girls thirsting for whatever they could get for a night and $20. Or who was fucking who in the public bathroom at lunchtime. 

So, you both stayed in your world.  A world of bad choices, smoking, drinking having the time of your lives regardless of the opinions around you.  Some adults couldn’t wait for you both to just up and vacate town.  Maybe then they’d stop hearing about what you both did the night before.  

One time it was graffiti on the side of the doctors building.  Another it was tying every cart in the supermarket together with zip-ties.  One night you both decided to paint on your face and start a bond fire in a vacant abandoned lot and acted like fools.  Life was never dull with the two of you, that's why it was thrilling. 

“What’s the plan tonight then?” 

“Fuck if I know.  You’ve killed my last cigarette and I can’t afford another pack right now.”  You whined as he plucked a fresh pack from his back pocket.  

“Ah, my mistake.  Madam Piss-Poss needs a cigarette like an alcoholic need beer.  Just where have my manners gone to.” Packing the box in his palm you rolled your eyes.  

“you’re just as bad as I am.  Shut your mouth before you choke on my fist.”

“I’m not into  your kinky stuff, Y/n.” 

“You’re pushing it.”

“Pushing what?  Your buttons?  I suspect you only have 2, and they’re named as such:” He poked at your breasts. “Nip and Nap.”  

“You are such a pig!”  You whack at his head.  He swirls around completely unbothered as you fix your shirt he had bunched up. He tore off the plastic around his pack of cigs as he pulled one to place between his lips and offered you one more. 

“Pig that you can’t stand to be without.  How precious, you might be pulling at my heartstrings.” 

Although you gratefully accept the toxic stick of tobacco, you still get in one last jab.  “Don’t imply I make you horny,” you finished.  He chuckled as he plucked his lighter from the side of his boot.  You never understood why he kept it there, it always smelt of feet. He offered you the light, but you shook your head.  “I don’t want your smelly foot lighter.” 

Changkyun rolled his eyes.  “Then let me light it, baby.”  He stepped closer to you as you tipped your cigarette between your lips up with your tongue.  He always does this.  He grabbed the back of your neck with one hand as he steadied his light with the other between his black-tipped fingers. Pushing the fiery ash against the tip of your cigarette, it took a moment but soon you were huffing in the toxic fumes, same as he. 

It was stupidly intimate, but it was your thing. It was the thing between you two.

You refused to label it, as did he.  There were no titles, no distinguished relationship status: they were off limits.  You two were the pair who did everything together.  You’d hold hands, you’d hold each other, you’d ugly sob and get drunk together in an abandoned building.  You’d even get lost in lust from time to time; greed and lust were no exception to human nature. 

You both even sat at each other’s side and hyped one another up when you both got your first tattoo’s and piercings that continued to grow in number as the years ticked by.

Yet, you were also the pair who would call each other ‘pussy’ just because someone didn’t make a crumbled up burger wrapper into the nearest trash can.  Insults were compliments, and if a compliment was truly shared, then your bond grew tenfold.  There were no hurt feelings, no titles, no words to describe you both. 

You were just Y/n and Changkyun, just two humans living their lives. The words ‘I love you’ were strictly off limits.

[iris-writes-things]

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 7 part 1

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read up to 2 chapters ahead as a $1 Patreon patron!

You smoked to hide your shaking fingers. You wore sunglasses to hide the fact that the very sight of his shining smile made you tear up. You dressed in black to mourn something that never was, but could have been. Should have been. You got up and tried again.

Or, Crowley asks Ezra on a date. But not that kind of date.

Chapter 9 of 20 Ongoing 2700 words Romance/Humor

That morning, Adam didn’t wake to bright rays of sunshine warming his soft cheeks, nor did he wake from his internal clock telling him it was time to get up and give Crowley an earful about requiring breakfast ASAP.

Instead, he woke from sweet tones coming from Crowley’s ancient tape deck.

‘I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things…’

This was because Crowley was really much better at brainstorming when he was in the right mood, and nothing quite set the mood like just the right Queen song. After all, Queen had at least one song for every possible human emotion, so desperate times often called for Best of Queen. 

‘We can do the tango just for two…’

His mum had given him the cassette tape on his tenth birthday and he had been over the moon. They didn’t have much to spend at the time for reasons Crowley would rather not think about and his mother had been too busy for much of anything for those same reasons, but when he woke up that fateful morning in 1997 he found a neatly wrapped, brittle plastic box sitting on his nightstand and the gesture had meant the world to him. It was in those years that Crowley learned that true love isn’t proclaimed; it’s shown. Not in grand gestures or melodrama, but in the mundane. In a birthday present waiting for you on your nightstand, in packed lunches sitting in the fridge, in bringing your crush chocolate croissants after a massive cock-up.

‘I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings…’

But as effective as actions were in expressing one’s soul crushing love for another, they were terrifying. They had terrified. Two years ago, he had almost kissed the love of his life, but he’d hesitated. He didn’t know if Ezra wanted it too. He hesitated and was met with Ezra’s painfully blue eyes darting around the bar. He was nervous. He was shaking. And then he paid the tab and booked it out of there. How do you come back from that?

‘Be your valentino just for you…’

The answer to that was, you didn’t. You tore down everything you had painstakingly built up in one fell swoop, and then pathetically, when everything slotted together again, you started pathetically building things back up again, like some kind of wonky Lego castle. You smoked to hide your shaking fingers. You wore sunglasses to hide the fact that the very sight of his shining smile made you tear up. You dressed in black to mourn something that never was, but could have been. Should have been.

‘Ooh love, ooh loverboy…’

You got up and tried again.

*

Ezra had always had a way with the written word. Not so much the spoken word. This was why he had Gabriel for communicating with potential publishers, and his pseudonym to hide behind. It was why he couldn’t convince his family that writing novels was a perfectly respectable pastime, and that, despite not being the most virtuous, Anthony was actually a genuinely good person. 

‘Dearest Anthony…’

But what good were words, even the written ones if you couldn’t find the right ones? Because how did you tell a man you’ve known for a decade that you’ve been in love with him all that time? How would he explain that he hadn’t told him earlier? Why he had wasted their collective time by being a coward? It didn’t bear thinking about; it just wasn’t justifiable.

‘I’m sorry about the way I’ve failed to act on my feelings before…’

He grunted as he hoisted a stack of books from the box in the doorway of his shop and placed it on the new arrivals table, rearranging it as he tried to worry about other things. Things had been slow for the shop lately, but he’d been keeping afloat well enough. The recession hadn’t forced him out of business; the dawn of the ereader hadn’t, either; a slow month was nothing. People would be gearing up for their beach vacations any time now and his books would sell like anything. Well, his books… He chuckled. It would still take well over a year until his, or rather, Aziraphale’s book would hit shelves, which was a tremendous relief. Sure, he had read the book and project Anathema had left at the shop, but he would have to revise almost the entire story, especially now that he knew who his subject’s last surviving descendants were. He wanted to do right by Anathema, her mother and Anthony.

‘The simple facts are these:’

Everything always seemed to gravitate back to him, like the universe revolved around him. Creative Anthony, who found joy in drawing things for him and, once upon a time many years ago, would sneakily sketch him. Happy Anthony, who made his chest swell and burst with butterflies with every dorky, snarky, nervous laugh of his. 

‘You are my sun; beautiful, bright and blinding. You caught me in your orbit many years ago and I would be forever unable to escape. However, a satellite,’ no, that’s not right, ‘a moon of all of my accumulated fears eclipsed your light that warmed my world…’ No. No, that won’t do, either.

Ezra wondered briefly if his books, should they suddenly become sentient (he hoped they wouldn’t), would be jealous of his feelings for the other man. In fact, he hoped they would be happy for him, and quickly decided that they would be more than okay with a break from his fussing, but his admittedly odd train of thought was interrupted by the jingling of the bell over the door.

‘Dearest Anthony, I love—’

“Ezra Fell, you absolute genius, you’ve done it again!” Gabriel cried as he strode into the shop.

“Ex-excuse me?” he stammered.

“The publisher. They want your book. Turns out ‘medieval, strong female-led with a touch of the supernatural’ is exactly what they were looking for. They agreed to all of our terms in regards to royalties and compensation.”

A feeling of pride swelled within him. His book. Exactly what they were looking for. He couldn’t help but grin as even Gabriel seemed to smile down on him. “Well, did they give you any notes?”

“They wanted more from the witch’s perspective, which I told them you can do,” Gabriel started.

“Yes, of course, that will be no problem at all,” Ezra confirmed excitedly.

“And they want you to do some public appearances to promote the book. Mostly just signings.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ezra, it’s in the conditions.”

“I don’t care what’s in the conditions, I won’t do it!” Ezra cried. Just now noticing that he was growing slightly lightheaded, he drew in slow, deep breaths to steady himself. His mouth set into a thin line. Gabriel frowned at him.

“If this is still about your family,” the American tried. “I suggest you let that go. You’re forty-one, what can they do to you? Really?”

Ezra shrugged but looked down in defeat. There was nothing they could logically do to him, and yet he was afraid. The feeling of pride he felt before was as good as gone. Drained completely by the idea of having to be publicly known. 

He didn’t write for the attention, for the fame, even less so for the fortune. He wrote because he loved it and there was no other option for him than to write. “I just don’t like being in the spotlight…” he mumbled, and Gabriel would have to take his word for it.

“Okay, fine, I’ll try to negotiate it out of the conditions.”

“Thank you,” Ezra mumbled faintly.

“Right, so, in other news,” Gabriel said, trying to turn the mood around. “Ever found out if ‘he was really into you’, or whatever that silly magazine said?”

Ugh. This again. Ezra buried his face in his hands, not really wanting to answer, but he nodded nonetheless.

“So? What did he say? Did you ask him out?”

He shook his head, face still firmly planted in the palms of his hands.

“Oh my god, you’re unbelievable. You asked him if he liked you, didn’t you?”

He shook his head again.

“Then how? How do you know?” Gabriel asked, some exasperation in his voice.

Finally, Ezra looked up, frowning. “His niece told me, alright? She told me all sorts of things. That he loves me. That he’s loved me for about a decade, and, you know, I’ve loved him just as long. But she said he loved me too much to want to risk our friendship, which nearly did go down the drain the last time we almost acted on our feelings. And then—”

The bell over the door jingled.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Speak of the devil and he appears. 

In the doorway of the shop stood Anthony. Adam on one arm, a carton with two paper coffee cups in the other hand, and a paper bag clamped between his upper arm and his chest. Ezra recognized the logo on the bag from a few days prior. It was undoubtedly filled with more chocolate croissants and other delectable baked goods as their smell slowly but surely filled the shop.

Ezra glanced up at Gabriel, whose eyes were fixed intently on Anthony. He didn’t show much of a reaction, but his lips didn’t curl down in disdain. He quickly glanced at Ezra, quirked his lips, then turned his gaze back to Anthony.

“You must be ‘him’, then?” Gabriel asked, extending his hand to Crowley, who gestured his full hands. Adam recoiled slightly.

“I must be ‘who’, then?”

“Ezra’s—”

“Artist!” Ezra interrupted. He got up from the stool behind the counter and hurried up to them, taking the carton and paper bag out of Anthony’s hold. “He’s the artist I want to make the cover. Anthony Crowley.”

Finally, Gabriel shook his hand. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“I mean, I guess,” Anthony almost stammered. “I hope Ezra hasn’t been overselling my work too much.”

“Not at all. I look forward to reviewing your portfolio with Ezra and the publisher. Anyway, I gotta fly. Ezra, we’ll discuss those re-negotiations later. You gentlemen have a nice day.” 

Anthony turned and stared at the man as he walked by the windows, before looking to Ezra and mumbling “Well, he’s a character, isn’t he? Your agent?”

“How did you know? You’ve never met before.”

“No, but you’ve talked about him before. ‘This unnatural glint of perpetual jolliness in his eyes’.” Anthony impeccably imitated his tone and speech. “Or something, you said. Well, he fits the bill,” he mumbled.

A shudder ran up Ezra’s spine. 

“See? Gives even you the chills.” 

Adam giggled.

Ezra shrugged. “Perhaps that’s how he does his job so well. Anyway, will you have some of this today? I’d feel horrible to eat all of it,” he said as he held up the bag.

“If you insist.” Anthony waved his hand noncommittally.

“I do.”

He walked over to the counter and put down the carton with the cups to open the bag and see what’s inside, but not before he breathed in the rich, decadent scent of the food inside. There were definitely chocolate croissants in there.

*

Crowley couldn’t help but smile at the look of sheer delight on Ezra’s face as he dug into the pastries. There was a child-like sort of honesty about him that made him such an open book. When Ezra liked something, you knew, and if Ezra hated something, you knew. Currently, as far as Crowley could tell, he was on cloud nine, and therefore, so was Crowley. 

This was much to the frustration of young Adam, for who Crowley had been picking bits off a regular croissant, feeding them to him. He made a noise.

“Ngk.” Crowley tore his gaze away from Ezra to turn to Adam. “Sorry to keep you waiting, your highness,” he mumbled as he tore off another bit of the croissant and fed it to Adam’s waiting mouth before taking a larger chunk for himself. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring until Adam made him painfully aware.

*

Painfully aware of the eyes burning holes in him, Ezra nibbled on one of the chocolate croissants. Anthony was definitely staring at him. There was no denying it, as alien as it felt. Ezra wasn’t much of a looker and he was well aware of that fact. He was never stared at, no, ogled so openly… so… so… obscenely. Did Anthony always look at him like this? How had he not noticed before?

It wasn’t a bad feeling per se, but it was quite overwhelming to experience for the first time. Ezra wasn’t sure how much he could take of it in the long run. He had to speak up. Had to say something. Come on Ezra, he thought, how hard could it be? He may be the man that you fancy an awful lot, but he’s also your friend, and friends trust each other and tell each other the truth. He took a sip of his lukewarm cocoa to calm his nerves.

‘He cares enough about you not to want to risk what you have.’

Then what kind of friend did that make Ezra, who would give anything for Anthony to be his?

*

There had been a change. Something was bothering Ezra, Crowley could tell. Even when he’d been so happy just moments before. Something would have to be done about that. He gave Adam the final bit of the croissant and settled him down in the windowseat before getting up and walking up to the counter. Whatever it was that was dragging Ezra down would have to square the fuck up.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

*

‘Your staring makes me nervous,' Ezra wanted to say, but didn’t.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Ezra mumbled instead, trying to keep his cool. He swiveled in his stool and wiped his hands on his trousers. They were growing sweaty.

“Are you sure?” Anthony asked. He tilted his head. With his dark clothes and shining, amber eyes, he looked all the more like a concerned black cat. “There’s nothing I can do to make it better?”

Ezra felt a blush creep to his face and he quickly broke eye contact. “S-silly Anthony, you know you don’t have to do anything for me. You know I’ll be quite alright on my own.”

*

This, Crowley doubted.

“Ezra, what would you say if I, after this whole business with Adam, took you out for dinner? Properly. Like back in the day. We could go to the Ritz,” Crowley suggested as casually as he could. Ezra’s gaze snapped back up at him.

“How would you— Can you even—” Ezra stammered, but finally summarized his thoughts in a single “Why?”

Crowley’s gaze turned towards the floor. “Because I want to make things better with you. I went too fast, I hurt you, and then I didn’t even call the next day.”

*

Ezra took a shaky breath as he tried to formulate an answer. “Well, it’s not like I contacted you either…” he trailed off.

“Well, yes, but I scared you off—”

“You didn’t! I—” Ezra started, but he caught himself, glanced further away and took a moment to reorganize his thoughts. “Alright, perhaps in that moment, you did. But… It was just, you know…” He gestured his hands wildly in hopes of illustrating the point he was trying to make. Anthony nodded, but his eyes told Ezra that it didn’t really land. “I’d very much like for things to go back to the way they were before.” Ezra said, lying, but knowing it would keep them within the safety of their comfort zone, he settled for it. “I’ll go to the Ritz with you after all this.”

Anthony smiled the brightest he had all day.

“On the condition that you let me return the favour some time after. It’s a real pleasure just seeing you again, and if you’re going to treat me to thank me for barely helping you at all, I feel like I should get to do the same.”

Anthony looked taken aback, but tried very hard not to show it. It didn’t work out. “Sure?”

Ezra smiled. “Good. Then it’s a date.”

[royal-writer]

Do your kisses feel the same? Do you still have the same touch? And will you whisper softly, Because you’ve missed me so much? Have you heard all of my prayers, When I laid down at night? And did you feel my body, When I held your pillow tight?

-

Watching Hepsiba was like a residual haunting; a picture playing over and over again in the house. Though she was growing into her own; also fractures of him, still pieces of Essätha shone through her actions in some manners all but too eerie. It made him wonder how much of her charm was natural, and how much was an inherited gift. Anyone could be special; and sweet, coming from any lifestyle but there was an overlapping photo of someone else laid into her that seemed too real.

With a smile that was adoring and frayed with an exhaustion that had never been satisfied all these years, Amon held to the side of the sturdy ladder carefully as he watched his brave little girl. She perched herself in a way that made his heart flip with concern, but he hovered nearby to make sure he was there to catch her, should she take a fall.

“Do the curtains look straight to you?”

“Pull the one on your right a little more inward, I think.”

With hands still so endearingly small, she reached over to tug the fabric a little bit more into place. Her body wobbled, and she leaned to brace a hand against the window, leaving a handprint. The light of the sun was blotted out, but it was still absorbed in the softened caramel of her eyes and in the quirky stiff smile of concentration she wore.

“Better?”

“Much,” he murmured softly, offer out a hand to brace her back as she wavered. “Now come on down, Sibby, you’re going to give me heart failure.”

She scoffed. “I was the one to take them down and wash them, I should be the one to put them back up!”

He almost laughed at her defiance; the burning spirit in her steadfast resolute behavior. Just like his Essie, she picked her battlegrounds in the most obscure places, but he loved her all the same.

Keeping a careful hand pressed lightly to her back, Amon aided in guiding Hepsiba back down the rungs and to the floor. She hopped down the last two proudly, offering him a rebellious smile to his high-pitched gasp and narrowed gaze of unspoken scolding. His spritely little girl liked to push her luck. He just hoped she wouldn’t push it too far.

“Be more careful sweetheart, please,” he mumbled.

“I was careful,” she sang in response, reaching for his arm. “I knew you were here to catch me if I took a fall.”

Oh, how unprepared his heart was for her words. She knew him. She saw through him, like her mother did. Trusted him just as deeply. Yes he would protect her, at all costs. She could count on him for anything, anything at all, and he would never judge her. He would never persecute her or toss her aside. She could make the worst mistakes, and he would still be there to pick her up and offer her a better path; a safer path, to follow.

He sighed deeply, emptying some of the ache from his chest. Though he ignored her smug grin, he did bother to slip the strands of soft-toned ebony loose from her two braids back behind her ears and look down into those vibrant, youthful eyes to feel the parental tug on his heartstrings. How he loved his little girl with all of his very being. The center of his world. The reason for his being.

Sibby giggled, free at heart and untamed still as the wilds. She twirled away from him, her plain summer dress twirling around her ankles as she spun around.

He unlatched the extension on the ladder Abernathy had made for them, and took it down cautiously. His eyes darted across to where she was, always on the edge of overprotective mode.

Joining her over at the dresser too tall for her, Amon watched as she took a rag from a bucket she’d been letting it soak in. Water and mineral oils, a touch of lemon. She wrung it out a few times, and got to work on wiping down the furniture with a large grin plastered on her face.

“You don’t have to do all of that.”

“I know, but I want to help.”

Chuckling softly, Amon picked up a small framed portrait to set on the floor. “There’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?”

Hepsiba shook her head. He reached for the next item on the stand.

“No, daddy. I love spending time with you. Besides,” she chimed in brightly, “helping others makes me feel good. If I can make someone’s life a little easier; a little better, by doing one good deed at a time, then I’ll start somewhere small, and hope I make a difference. I think it would make mom proud. It’s nice to put a smile on someone’s face, don’t you-”

It was too late. As a rush of cold shock and churning emotions conquered him, Amon’s shaky hands fumbled with the porcelain in his hands. It hit the floor, shattering into dozens of chunks and fragments.

There was a stunned silence. Hepsiba instantly reached for his arm, leaving the towel on the dresser.

“Daddy-”

His breath caught. She never met her mother. She never met Essätha, but her mimicry was so spot on, so alike to her that he thought he had to be dreaming, or hallucinating. It was deja vu. She should not know her mother’s phrasing; should not know how to crawl under people’s skin in the manners she could yet she could and she did. She saw through veil’s like a thin sheet of glass, and spoke loudly and proudly of hope and love and happiness and peace like it was the only outcome imaginable. Even on the days when it rained; when it poured and looked as though the sun would never return, she still smiled and would said that the sun would rise again, and all this rain would make the flowers bloom and grow and feed the rivers that spread the lifeblood of water to the animals.

It was a struggle not to hear and see Essätha in her, then. They shared the same heart; the same wisdom, the same personalities that burned bright and you could not forget.

But he could not make sense of how she knew her mother so intimately, without having ever known her. Without ever hearing her voice. Without ever seeing her smile outside of portraits. No novels or papers did her justice. No stories could capture her essence, yet she knew her mother like she knew herself; like she knew her own soul, and it reflected in a prism so alike it made him ache all anew with longing from a wound that could never heal.

He dragged in a deep, shuddering rush of air, and blinked down upon the floor where the remnants of the vase were scattered.

His throat constricted helplessly.

The remains of the vase were almost indistinguishable. The ornate golden handles were broken into pieces. All the carefully painted details of flowers across the soft emerald color were fallen petals, some protruding beneath the dresser. The scaly texture of the winding serpent on the surface, painstakingly carved into the craftsmanship during its molding process, lay in pieces. Its granite mottled pattern, a close resemblance to his late wife, lay everywhere. A single shard, with a perfectly sculpted golden butterscotch eye, seemed to stare back at him.

Amon’s insides shuddered. One of the first year anniversary gifts on their wedding day he had gotten for his darling Essätha; the flowers he had hand painted upon it himself, and he… he had shattered it. Broke it. Lost it as he did her; the piece of furniture not used since her passing that sat in a solemn reminder.

He was numb to Hepsiba’s hand on his arm. Her scared, worried words did not penetrate his skull.

“Sibby sweetheart, would you mind leaving the room?” he rasped, “I don’t want you to get cut on any of these…”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Twisted it into a shape of worry, and finally, murmured a soft, “Yes, daddy.”

He did not hear her walking away. He was too frozen, staring right back into the single eye looking up at him.

He could not replace it.

He would never be able to replace it.

A throaty moan, raspy and thick, tore tore through his chest. It rattled his bones, and made his strained muscles ache.

He collapsed to his knees, a broken man, picking up pieces of his heart with shaking hands.

“Oh my darling, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry my sweet Essätha. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The door squeaked softly. A bright-eyed, curious Hepsiba peered back in; having been hovering just outside the entry to his chambers.

“Dad?”

Shaking, the nobleman sank lower; clutching a sliver of pottery to his chest as though to fuse it back into him.

Hepsiba’s shoot scuffled nervously against the floor as she slipped back inside, closing it behind her. She made her way over to him cautiously, taking to a knee beside him.

“It’s okay, daddy,” she soothed softly, reaching for him. “It can be fixed. Adela can mend it back together.”

No, it couldn’t. She could repair it whole once more, but it would not be the same. It would know its invisible scars. And what if they could not find every pieces?

It was priceless; irreplaceable. He had destroyed it. He destroyed it like he did all things he handled.

Wrapping her arms around him, Hepsiba held to him tightly, giving an affectionate squeeze.

Amon reached for her frantically, clutching tightly to the last shaft of warm summer light in an endless winter. His weeping raked through him, body and soul. He had enough strength, enough heart, enough arms to hold two. He had enough inside, for two, but he could only hold to one.

And maybe there was another holding on to him. Maybe he just couldn’t see. Maybe it was just the feeling, that never escaped his heart. The yearning. The soft edges of unforgotten love.

But he wished he could still hold that love too, sobbing relentlessly into the arms of his daughter as she consoled him in gentle murmurs that still made him feel at home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been days, but it felt like centuries and eternities past before Adela held out the vase to him again. Not seeming to know its importance, she merely grinned at him and brightly exclaimed: “Here you are Amon, good as new!”

He murmured his thanks, quietly, and saw her off with a wary wave. It wasn’t until she was down the street did he feel safe to take it up to the lone living room upstairs to sit upon the sofa, and examine it. Indeed, it appeared flawless. Yet he cradled it to his chest; unwilling to let it go, not wanting to put it down.

A small fist knocked at the threshold wall mindfully. He looked with eyes of a storm, his pupils a cold and dead center to see the nervous tangle of hair falling over a small and timid face. There was a smudge of chocolate on the corner of her lip, and an innocence in how she clung to the front of her shirt. It was a likeness to Essie’s nervous tick; unable to keep fidgety hands still.

“May I come in?”

Although it was not a room, he surmised her inquiry to enter his space. He nodded, scooting over from the center of the cream couch to pat the cushion beside him and offer her a spot.

Hepsiba tiptoed over. She eyed him slowly, catching his glazed-over eyes and the smile that didn’t crinkle his eyes. She slid in to the spot at his side. Her hand reached out for him, but she stopped herself as she realized the precious artifact he was holding.

Leaning the porcelain against his side with his other arm, he offered his daughter his hand. She looked her arm instead through the hole it created, and leaned into his side to rest her palm atop the back of his hand. He laid his arm down loosely, palm resting to his thigh.

“Is it all better now?”

He nodded mutely. “It is.”

She studied his face. Even when he did not look directly into her eyes, she scrunched her nose with knowing.

“… Is the vase important to you because it was mommy’s?”

The nobleman sighed deeply, from the lost part of his breathless soul, and nodded. “Yes, Hepsiba.”

“Are you upset with me that it broke?”

Wide-eyed, he met her gaze this time. “No, sweetheart, of course not. It’s not your fault it broke.”

“But I startled you-?”

How could someone so small, realize so much? Surely most other people would have thought it was a simple slip; a misplaced grasp, a weak handle that had fell away in the hand that made him drop it.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sibby,” Amon stressed, gripping her hand briefly. “I’m not mad. I’m not upset. This isn’t your fault, honey, do you understand?”

She searched his features a few heartbeats longer than necessary, before she finally nodded with understanding.

He sighed, staring back down at the pottery. Its glossy finish still glistened brightly in the sun, making the scales have an iridescent shimmer.

Silence dragged. Hepsiba went from staring at him, to the vase, and back again numerous times. He did not move, a statue of fixation upon his wife’s gift.

“Dad?”

His blank vision stirred to life, staring upon his wife’s final gift to him. Her eyes full of wonder, her youthfully small hands wrapped around his. She appeared quite apprehensive about opening her mouth, and he thought he may have to encourage her to find her words, but she quietly finally managed to find her voice again.

“What was mom like?”

His eyes grew misty. He stared past her, vacantly, into the unknown.

How many stories had they told her? How many tales they could recount?

How could anyone ever describe a woman so perfectly wonderful with words that could not capture her true being; the essence of her beauty and splendor of courage and kindness?

As Amon’s lips tugged into a ghostly form of a smile long-forgotten, he choked, and whispered hoarsely: “A heavenly, gorgeous woman with a tender heart of gold, who gave me some of the most joyous moments of my life.”

He paused. The focus of his eyes realigned; seeing the stare of intrigue and awe in such honest and heartwarming eyes.

His smile grew. “… Including you.”

The child’s expression grew radiant and eager. “Tell me more,” she whispered.

He tried to laugh, but it was strained with hurt. “I met her at the lowest point in my life. She was… glorious,” he sighed gently at the memory. “I never met anyone with so much heart; with so much willingness to help others and an open mind to listen and be sympathetic, and true, and warm. I thought she was utterly stunning right from the start; a delicate and pretty creature, and I had no idea how much she would change my life… I never thought it was possible someone could help me be more me, and retrieve me from the shell I’d been living in for years.”

“She was a brave woman. She put up a fight against anything; no matter the size or the power it held. She had guts, even if she was afraid. If she had an opinion, and she wanted it to be heard, she’d shout it from the top of her lungs until you listening. She fought injustice with ferocity; stood up for the weak and frightened without a second thought. She’d put herself between someone and the snarling words of an oppressor at every turn. She was conscious of the world, and determined to make it better.”

“Your mother was very wise,” he continued on, quieter. “She tried to see the good in everything. She understood things about the world, and about people, that most were too shallow to see. She knew how to comfort, and she seemed to always know the right kind of things to say.”

“She was magic. She was herself; beautiful, true, passionate, strong, gentle. She knew how to make me laugh. She knew how to make people smile, just by being herself. She was pure and rare and something the world could perhaps, not always understand, but her sensitivity made her all the more precious.”

“All I ever wanted, was to return the joy she gave to me back unto her,” he rasped, pulling the vase a little closer as he grew distractedly washed away to the drowning sea of agony. “All I wanted, was to make her happy; to make her feel safe, to share a life with her…”

Sibby’s small hand squeezed his to pull him back to the sandy beach, breathing a bit hard for air. She smiled up at him with a sad understanding.

“Does talking about her make you sad?”

Amon smiled a fraction wider. “… Yes. I miss her, terribly. It hurts, but it also makes me happy, because I get to remember all the wonderful times we had together, and all the adventures we took in the time we had each other.”

Absorbing his words, his little girl nodded slowly. “I bet mother would say a lot of the same things, about you.”

He laughed huskily. “Knowing her, I’m sure she would have. She always thought better of me… Saw better of me, then…” Then I did myself.

When he didn’t finish his statement aloud, Hepsiba cocked her head at him quizzically. He swallowed, clearing his throat and offering a tentative smile.

“Would you do anything to have her back?”

His breath stuck in his throat. Her gaze bore into him. She didn’t seem to realize the weight of her question. Or perhaps she did; and wanted him to do the soul-searching that he tried every day to suffocate beneath the blankets.

Slowly, Amon exhaled. “… I would,” he agreed, softly. “Unfortunately, bringing someone back to life has risks, and can be harrowing on the one brought back.”

“Did you try?”

“… No more questions, Sibby,” Amon hushed gently, bringing his gaze to the floor. “… Not about that. Please.”

He could feel the weight of the small girls stare upon him. She finally nodded, squeezing his hand with reassurance.

“Okay, daddy,” she whispered. “I love you.”

He pulled her tighter against his side; the vase on his other side pressed firmer to his chest too as he placed a kiss atop the young girls head. A single, beaded tear fell into her locks.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

[twdeadlysins]

We Will Rise: Chapter 3

Pairing: Eventual Bellamy Blake x Reader

Word Count: 5,478

Warnings: Slow burn, violence, language, mention of character death, possible typos. The 100 usual.

Summary: The mere thought of going down to Earth never dawned on you until you were put on the exodus ship to do just that. You were skeptical, but decided to enjoy the experience even if the radiation killed you since you were going to be floated anyways. That was until the person you loved the most and abandoned was among the 100.

Author’s note: I don’t own anything from The 100, so all credit goes to their respective owners. This is going to be a LONG series because the reader is inserted in the events that take place in the show, therefore dialogue from the show is and will be used.

If you want to (un)tagged in for this series, don’t hesitate to send me an ask, message me, or comment and I’ll add you. The same goes for any other fics! I’m in no way, shape, or form a writer. Any feedback is appreciated, but hate is a different story. Thank you and enjoy!

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

Catch up!

We Will Rise Masterlist // Masterlist

“His pulse is 380,” Clarke stated as she used her watch to calculate Jasper’s heart rate. The result made your eyes almost pop out of their sockets as you tore them off of Jasper’s painful state to gawk at the blonde.

After you had defied Bellamy, you chose to occupy your time in keeping Jasper company and assist in any aid that was needed. He wasn’t looking too good and you couldn’t imagine how much pain he was in. If you could ease his pain, take away it, or even take his place, you would in a heartbeat.

Before Clarke had joined you, you were in the middle of stroking a wet cloth on his forehead while humming a tune, trying to lessen his moans and get him to focus on you, but it didn’t work.

Jasper let out another loud moan, but before you could reach out and soothe him, a random guy shouted from outside for him to go back to sleep and then another yelled quiet. It made your blood boil how inconsiderate they were being, did they not give a fuck that a literal spear went right through him, that he almost died?

“Don’t listen to them. You’re gonna make it through this, okay? Promise.” Clarke softly said as she leaned in and caressed his cheek.

You nodded in agreement while tangling your fingers in his hair, pushing it back and away from his sweaty face. “They’re a bunch of disrespectful assholes who only care about themselves. Now you? Well you jumped in a river with a monster in it to save a girl then took a spear to the chest and is still breathing. I bet you none of them could compete,” you whispered, smiling as you looked down at Jasper before peering up to Clarke who had your same expression.

After you stepped back, you glanced over at Monty who was still working on a way to contact the Ark and gave him a sad smile before hearing another shout that made you fume.

“Can he just die already?!”

Alright, you had enough. You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists together as you started to stormed over to the ladder, ready to beat everyone’s ass, but Clarke’s hand wrapped around your wrist, preventing you from doing so. The action made you angrily snap your head over to her and give her a glare, but she didn’t falter and that didn’t surprise you. Clarke knew you could and would do what you sought out to do, that was who you were, but she also knew that you would back down if you had the right reasons. She shook her head and volunteered you to go with her to get some clean water for Jasper. You glanced between her and your injured friend, contemplating whether or not to ignore her and act out your frustration, but you softly nodded your head and made your way down the ladder knowing that was more important than wasting your energy on self-centered douches.

Once you exited the dropship with Clarke right behind, you wandered your eyes seeing a fire was still going as people were trying to go to sleep around it. You could still hear Jasper moaning even from outside and your heart ached at the sound, but seeing that it prevented the rude teens from meeting sleep made you smirk, they deserved it even though it still wasn’t enough punishment.

A sudden scream of protest interrupted your thoughts and you whipped your head to the direction of the noise with a confused look, what the hell was going on? Clarke strided over to the yelps and you followed suit until you made it over to a tree with a little girl moving back and forth, she was having a nightmare.

When your father was floated, you experienced nightmares about that day, it replayed over and over in your mind even when you were awake, but Bellamy had washed them away when he was with you. After the incident that got you thrown into the skybox, you dealt with more nightmares that you never had before like the day you’d get floated or Bellamy screaming at you about how much he loathed you, but not having him there by your side sucked even more than the terrors.

Clarke gestured for you to stand back thinking it would be too overwhelming if both of you loomed over the girl before kneeling down and giving her a little shake. The girl hurriedly sat up, panically searching everywhere before the blonde shushed her and reminded her that she was okay, that it was only just a dream.

“You’re Charlotte, right?” Clarke softly questioned as you still stood there seeing a little bit of yourself in her, the scared, broken girl you once were. If you could cope and get through it, then you had hope she somehow could too.

Clarke had introduced you and herself and asked if she wanted to talk about it. She seemed hesitant at first, but she softly replied that it was her parents, that they were floated and she saw it in her dreams.

“We understand,” you spoke up, your voice cracking slightly at the thought of Clarke’s father and your own being floated like they were nothing, erased from existence like they weren’t even there.

“Our fathers were floated too,” Clarke elaborated which made Charlotte finally make eye contact with her and then she looked over at you before averting her eyes back at the ground.

Clarke had broken the brief silence and asked how she ended up here which peaked your interest, how did she get locked up at such a young age?

“We were taking my parents’ things to the redistribution center and … I kind of lost it. They said I assaulted a guard.”

You scoffed under your breath as you went to go sit against a tree that was across from them, of course they did. The people that were higher up on the Ark and called the shots were idiots, they would say and do anything to reduce the population, so might as well target the underage people and send them to the skybox. Charlotte was griefing and acted out because of it, of course they would ignore her feelings and the fact she lost both of her parents and lock her away.

“I can’t say I blame you,” Clarke said before pausing and looking up towards the sky and pointing, making you and girl look as well. “See that bright star up there? That’s the Ark orbiting above us. I think whatever happened up there, you know, the pain … maybe we can move past that now. Maybe being on the ground is our second chance.”

You absorbed her words and thought about them over again in your head before realizing that she had a point. Not being on the Ark and down on the ground could be your second chance, to move past everything and start over in a sense. You would never forget what happened, but the pain you felt can stay up there on the horrid place you called a home. You could move past the dreadful feeling of talking to Bellamy and finally move past what happened on the Ark, what made things so weary between the two of you.

Clarke had huddled up with Charlotte, making the corner of your mouth quirk up before you reached for your necklace and started to toy with it.

“How’s my favorite girl?” a familiar voice sang as you heard them close your door and their footsteps approach you.

You rolled your eyes and stopped reading the book that was within your grasp and glanced up to see Bellamy with a grin plastered on his beautiful face. “What about your sister?” you jokingly questioned, quirking a brow only to get a playful shrug for a response before he picked up your legs that was stretched out on your bed and laid them across his lap, so he could sit down.

“I guess you and I have a secret now,” he winked while he slapped on your thighs as if they were drums causing you to toss the forgotten book aside and fold your arms as you curiously stared at him with a smirk

“I guess we do. Now tell me, what do I owe the pleasure?”

His laugh tugged at your heartstrings in the best way possible and your smirk turned into a wide grin seeing him like that, it was even better knowing that you did it. The way his eyes crinkled and the smile he gave you as laughter escaped his lips was what you strived to see everyday.

“Just wanted to see my favorite girl, that’s all,” he said in between chuckles as you kept glaring at him with curiosity. After his fit of giggles died down, he rolled his eyes and confessed he did have a reason for visiting.

He squeezed your thigh with one hand while the other reached into his pocket, making you sit up straighter, wondering what he was retrieving. Bellamy had pulled out something wrapped in fabric which made you glance back up at him to see his once elated mood become nervous and in thought.

“Did I forget my own birthday or-?” you joked, trying to ease his tense state and it seemed to work for a second as he let out a breathy laugh, but he kept fidgeting with the mysterious item.

“I just thought- I don’t know. I wanted to give you something and it not have to be a special day to do it. I hope- you know what just here,” he trailed off and quickly handed over the present.

You furrowed your brows wondering what he was so nervous about, but once you removed the cloth, you let out a small gasp and understood why. There within the fabric was a crafted necklace with an uppercase B in a curvy font, it was so simple yet so beautiful.

“The B obviously is for Bellamy or Blake whatever you want to interpret as. I just wanted to give you something that symbolized and reminded you that I’m always going to be there for you,” he explained and the meaning behind the gift made you tear up.

“Thank you, Bell, it’s gorgeous. I love it,” you managed to say as you felt a lump in your throat and a tear escape your eye. After you were done rubbing your finger and admiring the jewelry, you brought it over your head and around your neck before looking at Bellamy. He stared at the metal with a lopsided grin before locking his chocolate orbs onto yours and his smile grew bigger.

“Perfect.”

The memory brought a sad smile to your face and you continued to toy with the necklace as you looked up to the sky, wandering your irises over the numerous stars before glaring at the one you knew was the Ark. You wondered what was happening up there, did they think the ones who took off their wristbands were actually dead and were they going to come down here if they were smart enough to figure out you all had survived? The Ark and the things that occured up there you would eventually get past and start over, but most of the people that inhabited it, you all needed even if the ignorant people down here didn’t think they did.

***

You had slept in the dropship, well to be fair you didn’t get that much sleep at all due to the moaning of Jasper, but you didn’t really care. His well being was a higher priority than your rest, so you mainly kept on eye on him and tended to him knowing that Clarke was much more of an asset since she had plenty of medical experience whereas you only knew the basics. Her mother had taught you a couple of things before you were tossed into the box, but you managed to get some training after class since you wanted more knowledge on Earth skills and medical was essential.

Clake had taken over, so you leaned against the wall and absentmindedly fumbled with your necklace as you watched her work. Monty was still trying to find out a way to get in touch with the Ark and you really didn’t want to help outside. Work with those assholes? No thanks. So being on the side lines just incase you were needed sounded better to you.

“The Grounders cauterized the wound … saved his life,” she pointed out as she inspected it.

“Saved his life so they could string him up for live bait,” Finn said as he stepped back in. What he said gave you chills, you knew that was the reason, but what kind of sick people would do such a thing?

“This is infected, he could be septic,” Clarke said, and that made you stop fiddling with your necklace. How would you treat it? It wasn’t like you all had medicine lying around.

“Any progress on using the wristbands to contact the Ark?” she questioned as she looked over at Monty. You peered over at him when you didn’t hear a response, he was zoned out, staring at Jasper.

“Monty?” you said loud enough to break his thoughts.

He blinked, coming back to reality and gave a firm no causing Clarke to sigh, bringing up that her mother would know what to do. Abby Griffin was a brilliant doctor, but you had faith that her daughter, your friend, could do just as good and save Jasper’s life.

“How’s he doing?” Wells inquired. You noticed he had climbed the ladder to come in earlier, but you chose to ignore him. Yes, you were going to try and move past things, but forgiving Wells didn’t sit right with you.

“How does it look like he’s doing, Wells?” Clarke frustratedly said. You didn’t blame her, it was a stupid question after all and it came from him, the person you both blamed for her father’s death, so what did he expect?

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” he replied and you couldn’t help, but roll your eyes.

“Alright, you wanna help?” Clarke asked, making you gawk at her with confusion. “Hold him down.”

No one questioned it as Finn and Wells held his legs down while you secured his wrists, but being mindful not to get in her way while she put the knife’s blade in the fire, oh boy.

“I’m not gonna like this, am I?” Monty questioned and you gave him a sympathetic knowing what she was about to do.

Clarke took the red hot blade out and gave you a worried look, preparing for what you all knew was to come, so you gave her a nod, assuring her you trusted her. She then applied the blade to his skin, trying to cut the infected flesh. Jasper moaned louder than ever and you tried not to panic as you pinned his wrists down tighter, shutting your eyes so you couldn’t see his distressed face.

The moaning stopped and you quickly opened your eyes to see that he passed out, making you release a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“Stop it, you’re killing him!” Octavia shouted as she barged into the room.

“She’s trying to save his life,” Finn calmly corrected.

“She can’t,” Bellamy said, entering the dropship as well, making you huff and retract your hands from Jasper only to cross them against your chest as you glared at him. He made eye contact with you and you noticed his stone hard expression softened a bit before Wells instructed him to back off.

“We didn’t drag him through miles of woods just to let him die,” Clarke said and that caught you off guard.

“So what? You’re only trying to save his life so your precious time wouldn’t have gone to waste?” you angrily grunted. The expression on her face turned into shock and she opened her mouth to respond, but she was interrupted.

“Kid’s a goner. If you can’t see that, you’re deluded. He’s making people crazy,” Bell sternly said.

You opened your mouth to put him in his place, but Clarke beat you to it. “Sorry if Jasper’s an inconvenience to you, but this isn’t the Ark. Down here, every life matters.” She glanced over to you and you softly nodded understanding that she chose a poor choice of words before. If you were being honest, you accidentally projected your frustration of Bellamy out on to her. If you didn’t have all those emotions coursing through you, you would’ve known she didn’t mean what she had said to come out the way it did.

“Take a look at him, he’s a lost cause.”

Everyone trailed their eyes over to Jasper’s form like they were starting to believe what Bellamy was saying and you weren’t about to let that happen.

“He’s survived for this long, he’s a fighter, if he wasn’t, he would’ve died when that spear struck him. If that you were you,” you pointed at Jasper, starting to get emotional, but you tried to suppress it. “Would you want us to give up on you? Decide whether you’re worth it or not?”

“I’d want you to put me out of my misery.” He stared at Jasper, not even making eye contact with you when he answered because you would see right through him, his eyes always told you how he really felt.

You let out a heavy breath, not believing he would actually want that, he was a fighter too and you knew he knew that. Clarke then told Octavia that she had watched her mother heal people her whole life, so if she says there’s hope, there’s hope.

“This isn’t about hope, it’s about guts.”

“It’s about saving a life,” you corrected, emphasizing every word. You noticed how Bellamy clenched his jaw, but he chose to ignore you when made you even more agitated.

“You don’t have the guts to make the hard choices, I do. He’s been like this for three days. If he’s not better by tomorrow, I’ll kill him myself.”

Your eyes grew wide, “you can’t just put a timer on whether he decides to live or not because your so called people are mindless dicks! He either gets better or … or he doesn’t,” you shouted, stuttering at the thought of losing your best friend.

He continued to pretend you weren’t there and ordered for his sister to follow him, but she refused and got up to comfort you. Bellamy brought his eyes to see you still staring at him with emotion and hurt flooding your features. His expression softened once again, but it turned hard just as quick and he left without saying another word leaving you to blink away the tears before they fell.

“Power-hungry, self-serving jackass. He doesn’t care about anyone, but himself,” Monty said before looking at Octavia and realizing what he said. “No offense.”

Octavia didn’t say anything as she wrapped her arm behind your waist and rubbed your arm while leaning her head against your shoulder. Finn agreed, but said Bellamy did happen to be right which made you finally storm out of the dropship. You had enough of everyone thinking that Jasper’s life wasn’t worth it, things might not be looking the best right now, but he’s still alive and that’s all that mattered, you still had hope. If he did end up not making it, it wouldn’t be because you all gave up on him.

You had your eyes closed, so when you heard footsteps approach and someone occupy the space beside you, you lifted one lid to see Clarke had joined you where you ventured off to. You had decided to get away from everyone, but not too far, just enough to where no one would bother you or at least unwanted company. She didn’t break the silence knowing when you got like this, you didn’t want to communicate with anyone and that was one of the reasons why you two got along so well; she understood you and vice versa.

The peaceful comfortable silence was broken when you heard heavy footsteps come your way and you let out an annoyed sigh knowing it wasn’t Octavia, so unwanted company was now about to invade your space.

“You’re mad,” a familiar voice stated. Of course he followed Clarke.

You let out another sigh before compeling yourself to open your eyes. “Yes, I’m mad, Finn. Not at anyone specific, just at everyone who believes that Jasper is a lost cause.”

“I’m not mad,” Clarke said, causing you to peek over at her. “You want to think Jasper’s a lost cause, go ahead, you’re wrong.”

A light chuckle left your lips because you usually had that attitude, not giving a fuck, but that was mainly about yourself. When it came to your friends, the people you loved, you gave a fuck. If people thought about you as a lost cause, you wouldn’t care, but you didn’t want that for Jasper.

“I hope I am,” he replied.

“Yeah, I hope you are too,” you mumbled, closing your eyes again since you had a feeling Finn came out here because of Clarke. He definitely felt something for Clarke, you saw that back at the river, it was cute, so you were going to mind your business and continue what you were doing earlier.

“Whatever this stuff is, it has to have had antibiotic properties,” you heard Clarke say, making you open your eyes again and reach for what she had in her hand.

Before you could inspect what the plant was, another person was joining you all as you heard leaves crunching beneath their feet and you groaned. “What the fuck, I can never get any peace and quiet around here.”

You turned your head to see Wells and you didn’t stop the urge to roll your eyes, great. Just as you were about to ignore him and go back to surveying the plant, he knelt down and grabbed it out of your palm. “Let me take a look. Before you refuse my help, remember who aced botany in Earth skills.”

“Um, excuse me there,” you annoyedly said as you snatched the plant back into your hand. Clarke seemed just as annoyed as you were as she glared over at Wells. “I had it first and you weren’t the only one to ace botany,” you pointed out. His lips parted slightly, but they went into a tight line knowing he’d lose the fight.

“I’m thinking a tea might be even more effective if we can figure out what it is,” Clarke mentioned as you studied the plant. By the time she finished her sentence, you knew exactly what ‘it’ was.

“Seaweed is the winner of your plant here,” you blatantly said. You gestured your opened hand for them to see, but Wells had took it and inspected it like you were wrong or something.

“No root structure, yeah, she’s right,” Well chimed.

“Of course I am, didn’t ace botany to get something as simple as seaweed wrong,” you frankly replied as you stood and stretched your limbs.

“Right. Well, then there must be a water source nearby,” Clarke said and you nodded.

“Yeah, it would have to have a slow current, lots of rocks. The water would probably be more red than green,” Wells informed.

“Okay, now you’re just trying to show off,” you scoffed, but smirked knowing Wells had always secretly harboured a crush for Clarke, no way in hell that would ever happen now. He opened his mouth slightly with a bewildered look acting as if he wasn’t flaunting. You knew he wasn’t trying to, you didn’t think he even knew he was and that made it even funnier.

“I know just the place,” Finn spoke up.

“Alright, let’s go,” Clarke said as she stood up, looking between you and Finn, but you shook your head.

“Nah, I’m not going. I’d rather stay here and make sure nobody decides to kill Jasper beforehand. You both don’t know what that stuff looks like by the way,” you mentioned as they started to walk off before looking over at Wells who was beside you. “Take Wells … I mean he’s not as good as me, but he’ll do,” you teased with a smirk, earning an irritated look from both Clarke and Wells.

The three of them went out to retrieve the seaweed, so you went to check on Jasper. Octavia was taking care of him while Monty continued to find a way to get a hold of the Ark and helped with Jasper when needed. You stayed with them for a little bit, chatting with Octavia while also trying not to be a distraction to Monty.

“Hey, I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air. I’ll bring back some more water when I’m done,” you said, giving Octavia a smile before patting her shoulder on your way out of the dropship.

Once you exited, you kept your distance, not wanting to gain any attention from anyone. Everyone was chatting and leisuring around, but you noticed something off … where was the other Blake sibling?

You wished you didn’t care, but you did. It didn’t feel like you were in control of your feet as you walked up to a guy who you hoped knew where he was.

“Hey, you,” you called. He turned around and looked you up and down before smirking and asked what you wanted.

“Cut the shit. Do you know where Bellamy is?” you directly asked.

He rolled his eyes and let out a grunt, making you quirk your brows in shock that he didn’t think twice to do that especially towards you. “You’re like the thirtieth girl to ask, if you want to sleep with him, then wait like the rest of them.”

Your mouth was ajar as you continued to glare at him with shock, did he really think that was what you wanted? And girls here actually want to fuck him? I mean you didn’t blame them, but come on, what in the actual fuck.

By the time you were done processing what he had said, he had turned his back to you, so you grabbed his shoulder and made him face you again. “I have no fucking clue why you would assume that was what I wanted ‘cause listen here, I’m not like most girls here who fuck a guy just because they’re high and mighty, hot, or whatever the case may be, got it? Good. Now answer my damn question before I knock your teeth in.”

“Sorry. He left just a moment ago to go hunting and took some guys with him, he said he’d be back before dark.” His apology seemed genuine since you scared the shit out of him and you got the answer you were looking for, so you thanked him and walked off, deciding to go back to the log you were at before Clarke and them left, but something caught your eye and caused you to stop in your tracks.

You cursed under your breath as you quietly followed Charlotte through the woods, what did she think she was doing venturing off out in the woods? Did Jasper getting a spear through the chest not scare her enough? You were sucked out of your thoughts when you heard the sound of oinking not too far away, but Charlotte continued to walk right towards it. You rolled your eyes and tiptoed faster trying to reach her without making a sound before something happened.

There was a sudden crack of a twig and you looked down only to see dirt at your feet, so it wasn’t you. You glanced back up when you heard another sound, only to see an axe sticking out of a tree with Charlotte right beside the trunk followed by shouts.

“Who the hell are you?” you heard Bellamy question.

“Charlotte.”

“I almost killed you,” he said before wedging his axe out of the tree. “Why aren’t you back at camp?”

“Well, with that guy who was dying, I just … I couldn’t listen anymore,” she stumbled and you decided to make your presence known.

“Don’t use past tense ‘cause he isn’t dead and he’s recovering, not dying,” you scolded as you made your way through the tall grass ignoring Bellamy’s gaze.

“There’s Grounders out here. It’s too dangerous for a little girl,” Atom said, but Charlotte disagreed and stated she wasn’t little, that she didn’t need a babysitter and that was directed at you.

“You literally wandered off into the unknown like what a little kid would do,” you irkly stated. “Of course I followed you. I didn’t want to have to find out you died ‘cause then I’d feel guilty since I knew you left,” you coldly shot back.

“Okay then … but you can’t hunt without a weapon,” Bellamy spoke up, breaking the argument as he handed over a knife. You couldn’t believe you were fighting with a child and the fact that he was giving her a weapon. “Ever killed something before?”

She lightly shook her head and that made Bell smirk. “Who knows? Maybe you’re good at it.” What he said made you slightly smile, seeing a glimpse of the Bellamy you had gotten to know and fall in love with since you were younger, but you knew he wasn’t that guy anymore, at least not now.

You followed Bellamy and Atom with Charlotte in front of the three of you, you didn’t want her to be the caboose just incase. Atom offered for him to hold the back, but you insisted on keeping your place.

“Hey, why don’t I get a weapon? We can protect Charlotte, she can’t protect us,” you said, but all you got was silence unless you count Atom looking at Bell for an answer as something.

“Gee, thanks,” you rolled your eyes and scoffed, deciding to push ahead of the two guys as you reached into the pocket of your jacket. “Just seeing if you were still a dick, looks like I got my answer,” you said as you paced passed them, waving the knife beside your head before resting your arms at your sides. You mentally praised yourself for stealing a knife before you left.

You walked for less than ten minutes before hearing a horn being blown from god knows where. The sound made you turn around and look at Bellamy who matched your puzzled expression before your eyes grew wide at the sight of a yellow cloud of mist heading your way.

“Run!”

Bellamy went ahead of you, grabbing your hand and dragging you with him, sprinting as fast as he could, you were surprised you kept up with him. The cloud kept barreling towards you and you didn’t want to find out what happened if it caught up with you, so you trained your eyes forward, tightening your grip on his hand. You darted through trees and jumped over rocks and sticks while thinking of a way to escape because you couldn’t outrun it forever.

“Come on! There are caves this way!” Bellamy shouted, trading hands with you, so he could grab Charlotte’s.

When you finally reached the cave, you were shoved into the entrance, but before you could relax and catch your breath, you heard shouts of Bellamy’s name right outside. He had stepped outside and looked to see where they were, but the fog was already there as you followed him. The air filled your lungs briefly before you raised your arm to cover your face, grasping Bellamy’s jacket and bringing him back inside.

You removed your arm and began coughing like mad, bad enough to where you gagged a couple times and heaved over like you were going to throw up at any given moment. The feeling of a hand soothing circles on your back was comforting and the urge to cough slowly dissipated. You looked over your shoulder before straightening your back and awkwardly thanked Bellamy, earning a slight nod before he went to check on Charlotte.

The more you thought about what that yellow mist was, the sooner you realized what it was. It was acid fog. Whoever got lost in that was a goner for sure. The thought of your skin burning and the acid filling your lungs and doing the same to your insides as well made you shiver.

You looked over at Bellamy and Charlotte before sighing and shoving your head in your hands. Great, not only were you stuck in a cave with acid fog right outside, but you were stuck with the two people who would make you want to run out in it.  

_____________________________________

Thank you for reading! What did you think of this part? Any feedback is much appreciated and I would love to hear your thoughts, criticism, suggestions, etc! If you’d like to be (un)tagged don’t hesitate to let me know!

Q: Do you think Bellamy is being a dick or do you think he’s just stating the truth? Is the reader being too harsh or is her attitude justified? Let me know and if you’d like to ask me a question, I’d love to give you an answer! 

_____________________________________

Taglist: 

@jodiereedus22 @im-a-writer-sometimes @morgannope @littlegirl-fox @bunnymother93 @delightful-pirate @gruffle1 @maddielaurette  

[emi-vance-blog]

my goodness, is EMMELINE VANCE back? it’s been a few years since the half-blood has been around the castle, but i’d recognize her anywhere. rumor has it the seventh year spent the past few years aligned with the ORDER. they’re still DETERMINED & RESILIENT and JUDGMENTAL & DISTRUSTFUL, though. and the gryffindor still reminds me of bruised knuckles, a cool breeze, sweets melting in your mouth. well, then, i guess some things never change. 

tw: abuse, tw: alocholism, tw: sexual assault (I was kinda vague about it but it's there)

NAME: Emmeline Kaira Vance

NICKNAME: Emi

AGE: 20/21

DATE OF BIRTH: 28th November 1959

SEXUALITY: Demisexual

PARENTS: Elizabeth Vance [muggle, deceased]  & Rohit Khan [pureblood, absent]

SIBLINGS: 5 half siblings, all older. Oldest half-brother Sai Khan.

HOUSE: Gryffindor

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

HOMETOWN: London

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good

PERSONALITY: ENTJ

PATRONUS: Unicorn

Overall, Unicorns are kind of giving by nature and have the capacity to venture far beyond their peers to reach places that others would find impossible.  This is the greatest strength of the Unicorn.  Their adventurous nature refuses to see limitations.  They are always moving toward the next great idea and they almost always take the road less traveled to get there.  Their seemingly endless energy can be infectious, and when they take on a challenge, they are as passionate as ever… for a while.  While they truly care about the challenges they take up (and they do so often), Unicorns are quick to give up on something if they don’t see the end result fast enough for their liking.  That’s not to say that they don’t care, they just lose focus on one project and would prefer to spend their exceptional capabilities on something else for the moment. The life of a Unicorn is about the experience, not the big plan. At best they use their energy to change the world.  At worst, they become self-obsessed and spin their wheels in all the wrong directions.  They never lack ideas, and are always on the move.  If the Unicorn can get focused on a single destination, there is practically nothing that can stop them from getting there.

BOGGART: her friends being dead / held under the cruciatus

WAND: Ebony with dragon heartstring core, 10 inches, inflexible.

Ebony - This jet-black wand wood has an impressive appearance and reputation, being highly suited to all manner of combative magic, and to Transfiguration. Ebony is happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be themselves. Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of outsider, ebony wand owners have been found both among the ranks of light and dark revolutionaries alike. The ebony wand’s perfect match is one who will hold fast to his or her beliefs, no matter what the external pressure, and will not be swayed lightly from their purpose.

Dragon Heartstring - As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner.The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.

BIO aka the multi-chaptered international life story that literally no one asked for (TLDR AT THE END):

Prejudice is something that Emi is familiar with, something that has followed her from the day she was born. She was an accidental pregnancy, the result of a one-night stand between muggle tourist Elizabeth Vance and pureblood heir, Rohit Khan. Her paternal grandparents were furious when news of her conception got out, and banned Rohit from having any connection with his illegitimate child other than providing the woman with monthly payments to keep her silence. The family was big in both muggle and magical circles, and it would not do to have such a shameful secret exposed - especially since Rohit already had a family, and his eldest son Sai was already fifteen years old. Sai's mother was in favour of having the infant killed, but her husband forbid it, of the opinion that his son should learn to manage his own mistakes. And murder of an infant would make for even more unseemly gossip, if word was somehow to get out.

Emi spent the first six years of her life in England with her mother. She was bold and determined, getting into fights with bullies who tried to tell her to "go back where she came from" and running circles around her peers academically. For all her intelligence, she failed to understand how to make friends her own age, and would often be found trailing along after the older kids who found her amusing.  Her life wasn't easy, but Emi hadn't known anything else. This was just how life was, or so she thought.

The first step to change was her first act of accidental magic. It was Christmas, and all the occupants of the building had thrown a big party on the rooftop. Everyone was drunk - this included one of her neighbours, who wanted to touch in her ways she didn't like or understand. He went flying across the rooftop, out from the secluded corner he had lured her to and slammed his head on a metal pole. Nobody realised what had happened or who was responsible, and the incident was written off  as a drunk man's careless shenanigans. Emi didn't say anything, but she didn't forget either. It took her years to trust someone to touch her and sometimes, when she recoils from the idea of intimacy, she wonders if this incident is the reason for it all. 

The minute her magic manifested, Emi's name was automatically added to the Khan's family tree tapestry. Her grandfather insisted that Rohit retrieve the girl and bring her back to India, and her grandmother was furious. But her grandfather's word was law in the family, and so after a tearful goodbye, Emi left behind her old life and moved to Bombay. There was nothing she really felt tied her to England, and she was more than happy to get as far away from her neighbour as possible.

From the very first moment in the large, ancestral home the extended family lived in, Emi was an outcast. She was an illegitimate child, and a half-blood to boot. The culture seemed to her barbaric and backwards, and she fought back at every opportunity. She wouldn't wear the itchy dresses, she wouldn't address her younger cousins and second cousins with honorifics, she wouldn't stay silent when members of the household pulled mean trick after trick. She missed England terribly - she missed the organised traffic, the cool rain, her mother singing her lullabies before bed. The requests she made to go home seemed to fall on deaf ears, and four years passed.

In those four years, Emi discovered an unexpected ally - her eldest half-brother, Sai. In his early twenties, and expected to carry on the Khan legacy, Sai wanted nothing more than to escape from his family's overbearing influence. He didn't believe in his family's ideologies, and definitely didn't believe in the bullying of a child - and he told his mother as much, after discovering Emi in the kitchens one day, scrubbing pots with a bruise on her left cheek. He started to look out for her - bringing her sweets, helping her with the homework the tutors gave her, buying her the comfortable cotton clothing she sorely missed. In return, Emi slowly opened up, telling him stories of her time with her mother and all the things that she was still so homesick for. Hearing these stories gave Sai an idea, and he slowly hatched a plan.

At his twenty-fifth birthday party, the day he was supposed to accept his title as heir and step up to the responsibilities of his family, Sai instead made an announcement about the new job he had managed to land - the Indian Ambassador at the British Ministry of Magic. He would be moving to London, and taking Emi with him.

The backlash was loud, intense, and furious. It was practically a riot. It wasn't that the job was bad - it was reputable, even to the standards Rohit might hold his other sons up to. But not the heir. And to take his half-sister under his wing , to knowingly associate with a half-blood was an even bigger taboo. But Sai would not be swayed - he had come too far to back down - and a few days later he and Emi found themselves in Diagon Alley.

Tracking down her mother was relatively easy, but the reunion was bittersweet. In the time that Emi had been in Bombay, her mother had picked up an abusive boyfriend and an alcohol problem. With Sai's help, Emi managed to get rid of the former, but it seemed that the latter was there to say.

 When her Hogwarts letter came, she was wary and reluctant. She didn't want to leave her mother again, as much as it tore at her to see the formally affectionate woman constantly slurring her words and reeking of wine. So far, the magical world hadn't been any nicer to her than the muggle one, and Emi would much rather face the enemies she did know rather than the ones she did not.

The visit from Professor McGonagall won her over, and in the fall of 1971, she set off to Hogwarts and was sorted into Gryffindor. She was still wary, and initially cold to her peers, but she opened up, little by little. She spent the years enjoying her childhood, laughing with her friends, gossiping with them, sneaking late night snacks, cramming essays. She loved having the power, the magic that came out of her wand, and she was a devoted student. She especially focused on combative magic - never again would she let anyone try to take advantage of her - and excelled at DADA. The clouds slowly gathering over her teenage years came in the form of blood prejudice (really, she was quite used to this by now - it was more annoying than hurtful), her lack of understanding at her peers' romantic/sexual inclinations and her mother's deteriorating health. Elizabeth Vance's addiction to alcohol was only getting more severe by the year, and in Emi's sixth year, she passed away after falling over while drunk and bleeding out. Emi couldn't forgive herself for the incident - if only she had been at home, not at Hogwarts, she could have stopped this. She could have helped her mother beat her alcoholism, and she could have saved her life. At the same time, the annoying pureblood ideology was starting to become more dangerous, and Sai was growing worried.

On September 1st, 1976, Emi hugged her brother goodbye, and stepped onto the Hogwarts Express. It was becoming risky to stay in Magical Britain, and Sai had decided to move back to Bombay. He wanted Emi to come join him after finishing her final year - she wasn't fully sold on the idea, but that was okay. She had time to decide, after all.

Until she didn't.

The betrothal letter came two days before the end of the Christmas holidays. It made no sense - she was a half-blood, she was supposed to be unwanted - but after hearing Sai sing her praises, her father and grandmother had apparently decided that she was worthy of being married off.  The wedding was to a wealthy Indian muggleborn, who had risen in society by making a fortune but still lacked the reputable family connections. The letter caught fire in her hand, and Emi spent the rest of the day sulking.  Was there ever going to be something she didn't have to fight?

The attack left Emi stranded. She had no home, no family in the country - nowhere to go other than back to Bombay. Where she refused to be, because she wasn't a piece of meat who would willingly be sold off like her older sisters and cousins. She would not.

With no magical qualifications, and little other choice, Emi stayed with a friend in London, and picked up a couple of part-time muggle jobs. It was enough to survive, and if she could have turned her back on the wizarding world she might have even considered college and restarting her life. But the wizarding world was were all her friends were, and there was no way she could walk away while the people she loved suffered. She joined the order and did what she always did best - she fought.

When the time came for her to reply to the betrothal and return to Bombay Emi did the only thing she could - she lied, putting into motion the plan she had first come up with when she was seven year olds watching her cousin sit on the wedding podium wearing ten pounds of gold and red-rimmed eyes. She recruited a friend to pose as a fake boyfriend, using him as the reason she would stay in London and not get married. She was almost disappointed with the lack of drama that followed - Rohit simply switched the betrothal to another distant cousin whose father had displeased him, and Sai merely warned her to stay safe in the war. An escape plan cultivated over years for, what, exactly?

The re-opening of Hogwarts filled Emi with hope and fear. Hope, because it felt like the world might be on the road to recovery and a qualification would allow her to get a job. Hopefully one that didn't involve dealing with grumpy customers. Fear, because it was not just her and her friends returning to Hogwarts - it was also the purebloods that sneered at her and secretly wished she would die. Perhaps some that were actively working towards that goal. It might be school, but it was also a battlefield and Emi knows she needs to stay alert at all times. But the nostalgia and memories of happier times have only made her realise how tired she is of all the constant fighting. Was there ever going to be a time where she didn't need to fight?

TLDR; half-blood, has spent her entire life fighting one thing or another, no remaining family in England, doesn't trust anybody but the friends she grew up with, talented duellist

[nenestansunsthings]

aahh, @fallenhero-rebirth‘s game has my brain going woosh! i honestly can’t wait for retribution! i wrote a little thing for the game that i think turned out okay. i rewrote it like four times. choi here's my mc from the white playthrough! i'll make nem a proper introduction comic when i get a new stylus, since the old one broke. (heraldstep-ish, also ortega's dead here idk)

i take requests, if anyone wants!

.

(i do not fall so much as fly)

The sun is bright and hot against the backdrop of the roof. The streets are full of life and light. And Choi Glass stares down nothingness as ne prepares to fall.

Ortega. The name is heavy even against the waiting weight of the world. Ne doesn't want to think it. Not in the slightest. But it crackles and pops in the back of nir mind, sending shocks through nir hands until ne can't hide the way they tremble. Just another fuck-up in the mess ne has made of nir life.

The hero Charge, dead at the hands of the villain Sidestep.

Ne wants to cry. But nir tears are nothing against this. Ortega is not the first person ne has killed. Ortega will not be the last.

No, Choi thinks, the familiar twinge of regret tugging nir heartstrings to shreds. That honour is reserved for nem.

It's a stupid thought. A stupid, pointless, idiotic thought. But ne cannot help but want it. What ne has done, what ne is doing-- it's proof enough that nir story is done.

Ne became a villain. But it wasn't for hate. It was for closure, for an ending, for the chance to find something that might be worthwhile. It was because nir chapter as a hero had ended. A villain was only the next arc in the fairytale that had become nir life. And ne has ended it with nir own hands.

Ne had tried so hard to play nir part. And ne had played it until it tore them to bits. As a hero, as a villain... even every change ne had introduced to the role was not enough to stop nir story from ending in a fall.

Falling from grace. Ne cannot forget the weight of the gun in nir mouth. Neither nem nor Ortega.

Wrong. Ne cannot forget. Ortega...

Ortega can't remember anything anymore.

Something warm and wet slips down nir cheeks. It takes a moment for nem to realize that ne is crying.

Falling to the ground. There is the sickening crack of cement. Two other Rangers lie motionless at Ortega's side.

Sidestep is left standing victorious. And for once in nir life, ne wishes ne wasn't.

It's high up, and nobody can hear nem. And so, ne screams.

There's an inhuman edge to it that must be nir imagination, that must just be nem. Choi longs for Sidestep's suit, for the vocal modifier that would turn it vengeful and deep and hateful. But it is not there, leaving only something shattering and broken and still not human.

"God damn it!" Tears burning against nir skin, ne stands, swinging an arm wildly out against nothing. Ne wants something to be there. Ne wants something to hit. Ne wants something solid and warm and alive, the sound of familiar laughter and the crackle of electricity against nir skin. There is nothing, nothing, and ne collapses to nir knees at the edge of the roof. "Hell..."

Hell. Hell, hell, this is hell. Ne fucked up.

"It should have been me," Choi says softly, staring out at the blank skyline. "It should have been."

Nir story is the one that ends with a fall. That is the rule. So why was it Ortega's instead?

Something inside nir mind laughs. As if Ortega's end wasn't nir own as well.

Ne stares out into the empty sky and wonders. Should ne fall, then? Ne has fallen from a building before. Ne has almost blocked away the feel of it, repressed the exact crunch of bones and the cracks in nir mind. This building is high enough that ne won't have to remember if ne steps off it.

It should have been nem. And maybe it will be. Maybe nir next role will be as one who truly fell.

It's not entirely conscious, but ne stands. A wind has picked up, whipping through nir hair and the skirt of nir dress. The ground is so far away. Ne will never see it if ne closes nir eyes.

Nir eyes fall shut. And ne takes a step and ne leaves the roof and ne

is

falling.

"Choi!"

There's a sudden sharp impact against nir chest, a familiar warmth wrapped around nem in a single instant. "Oh, god, what were you doing? Choi, please-"

"Daniel." The name slips out before ne can think. The rush of wind as Herald shoots further up into the sky is just as achingly familiar as him. What is he doing here? And why, why, did he save nem? "Daniel, no, why-"

"Why what? Why didn't I let you fall off a roof?! You shouldn't need an answer for that!" Herald sets nem down with more force than usual. He's been made careless by the recent death, ne guesses, and ne thinks ne is proved right by the tears starting to pool in his eyes. "Why would you- Why did you- ?"

"Ortega." The word explains everything.

"Ortega? He's the reason you..." Herald grits his teeth. "No, fuck, you can't just- Choi, please, this isn't your fault, none of this is your fault."

"Ha!" Ne can't stop the too-sharp bite in nir laughter. It's too manic, too bright, for nem to hold back. "Not my fault? Please, Herald, how is this not-"

"You're not supposed to be the one saving him!"

... Oh. This isn't entirely about nir fall, is it. The words are too hurt, too pointed, and it only takes nem a moment to understand just why.

Herald is shattering.

Herald is shattering, the shards of his naivete lying scattered at nir feet. Herald is shattering, trying his best to pick up the pieces. Daniel is shattering, falling before nir eyes, and the tiny part of nem that still wants to save people urges nem to action.

"Why are you here, Daniel?" Choi asks quietly. Ne isn't watching another person fall.

"I--" Herald's breath catches in his throat, his words coming out soft in a way that sounds nothing like the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. "I needed to find you."

Choi falters at that, for a single, quavering second. That can't be.

Ne lowers nir shields, just enough to hear nir protege's thoughts, and they come tumbling out in a torrent. Angie is gone and Steel is gone and Ortega is gone, there has to be you, please don't make me lose you--

"Argent and Steel are just in hospital," ne reminds him. Because of course those two are alive, even when the best is gone the ones who hate nem remain. "Don't think there is no-one, Herald. There is always someone there for you."

"You almost weren't." He looks hurt. Scared.

"Someone better," ne clarifies. Why? Why would he care if ne was gone? After everything ne has done...

"Why do you always say there's someone better than you?" Herald meets nir gaze for a single moment before he looks away. "I don't care if you think there's someone better. I was looking for you."

It's hard to look at him. It's also tempting, really, to just make him shut up. Choi knows the limits of nir power. And Herald's mind isn't anywhere near them. Still, ne holds back. Ne almost doesn't know why. Ne could wipe his memories of nem, leave him to fall and shatter, and yet ne doesn't.

That tiny bit of nem knows he doesn't think he has anyone else to trust. And it's for that reason that ne tries to pick up the pieces with him.

"Ortega is dead," Herald says. The words don't make it any more final. So why do they hurt so much? "Ortega is... Please, Choi, this isn't your fault. It couldn't possibly be your fault. If anything--"

"No. Shut up." Choi looks up, taking a bold step forward. It makes Herald step back, just a little, and ne doesn't know just why it makes emotion rise in nir chest. "You're going to say it, aren't you? You're going to say he would still be alive if you were there. You're going to say he would have been find if you'd just been a little closer, a little faster, a little better." As if he'd ever have gotten there faster. He'd been halfway across the city when they fought Sidestep, saving civilians from the villain Bounce and her array of bombs. "Newsflash, Herald: you'd be dead. And we would have had to bury two bodies today."

It's the certainty in nir tone that hits him hard. And Choi is all too certain. Ne knows his attacks like the back of nir hand, could beat him blindfolded with barely a thought. Training session after training session has left nem far too knowing of everything he can do. "I don't doubt that the villain would have defeated you, all thrown off by your allies' bleeding, broken bodies. You were there ar quickly as you could have been. For you, that's enough."

"And how is it any different for you?" Herald's answer is unthinking. It is no surprise that his composure is teetering on an edge. "Why would you blame yourself? You're not a Ranger. You weren't supposed to be there. It wasn't your duty to protect them all. So why would you blame yourself for anything?"

Ne blames nemself because ne is at fault. It was nir boot that crushed Ortega's neck, nir nanovores that ripped away Steel's armour, nir telepathy that forced Argent to her knees. But ne can't tell him that.

So ne lies. "Of course this is my fault." Choi was the one who had done this, after all. The villain Sidestep is far too good at nir role. "I... I told Ortega where Sidestep's hideout was. I've been staking places out for weeks, months, and when I found it, I-- I..."

Ne falls forward, nir knees buckling under nem, and ne buries a sob in Herald's broad shoulder. It's not even entirely an act. "Shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have told him, hell-- stupid, so stupid, why did I tell him-- ?"

"It's not your fault," Daniel says softly, reaching up to run fingers through the waves of Choi's hair. "If I'd been faster--"

This isn’t your fault, comes the rush of Daniel’s mind. You aren’t to blame. If anyone--

“Don’t blame yourself,” Choi says sharply. “This isn’t because of you. Would Ortega blame you?”

“Would he blame you?”

Silence falls after that. Because ne cannot tell him.

“This isn’t your fault,” Daniel whispers, the words almost lost in the wind. “Please, please don’t blame yourself.”

Choi doesn’t hear that. Not really. But what he hears says the same thing. Don’t let yourself fall.

... The hero before nem needs nem. So ne puts on a weak smile and stabilizes nemself. Just one more day. One more step. One more lie. “Okay. So long as you do the same.”

Herald returns nir smile gratefully. “Thank god.”

Ne looks up at him, at the pieces of him floating back into place, and nods. One more step. “Come on. Let’s... Let’s get you some cake. You look like you need it.”

They both do.

[urlocalkpoptrash]

Next To You | Chapter two.

Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Warning: I don’t think anything.

W/C: 2.1k

A/N: I didn’t go into y/n’s life story. This chapter would have been too long, but I think I’ll make a whole chapter just about her past. What do you think??

Concept: Your life isn’t going how you expected it would. You feel like you’re wasting away at a terrible job, and a boss that is awful. You’re just living day by day, trying to get by. That is until you meet Jimin.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The walk back to my office felt like it was miles, I couldn’t wait to get back into my office and calm down. As I neared the building I began to sprint, at least then I would have a reason for why I was flustered and I wouldn’t have to make up a lie on the spot. I swung the doors open, sliding into the elevator, slamming my hand against my floors number. I finally had a moment to lean against the railing, letting my head lull on the wall. It wasn’t long till the ding brought my head forward, the doors sliding opening slowly. I stepped out, running my fingers through my thick curls. I stepped into Jisu’s room, she had the office phone pressed to her ear. I was glad she wasn’t paying attention, so I was able to plop the files on her desk and scurry out.

I pushed my door open, a cold gust of air brushing over my skin. It was a welcome feeling after having run back to the building. I fell back into my chair closing my eyes. I couldn’t believe I had just embarrassed myself in front of Jimin and Namjoon. It would have been bad enough they were disgustingly handsome, but they were also idols, they were powerful and well known. I was lucky that they were so nice, they could have let all the fame go to their head. I finally opened my eyes, sitting up straight, pulling myself towards my desk. The rest of the day went by painfully slow, it seemed that every time I looked at the clock it had gone back in time. Jisu had left, which gave me the rest of the day to catch up on the work she was too busy to finish, and by busy I mean lazy. By the time I had left the office, the sun was already hidden, and the stars were making their debut. It was a slightly chilly night, a light breeze carried a few leaves down the side walk. It was beautiful, and quiet. I had grown fond of the night, it was much more calm. It washed over me, the stress of the day melting away.

I had began the walk to the subway. I never minded the walk, especially on nights like these. I loosely crossed my arms, tucking them slightly under my chest. I looked ahead, watching a few of the street lights flicker before I noticed the sound of a car pulling up beside me.

“Need a ride?” A familiar voice called out.

I turned my head, and there he was, glorious smile and all.

“Jimin? What are you doing this way?” I looked around, trying to think of a place he may be headed too.

“I was waiting for you,” he turned his head quickly to glance ahead of him.

Was he blushing?

“Uh... Why?” The question came out as dumbfounded as I felt.

“To give you a ride,” He has turned to look at me again, stopping the slow roll of the car, which also caused me to stop walking.

“I get that, but why?” I asked again, still in a state of shock.

“Have you eaten?” His answer surprised me, but what hasn’t he done that wasn’t surprising?

Almost like my stomach had ears, it groaned in agony. I hadn’t even thought about food since the whole thing that had happened early that afternoon.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he beamed, clearly hoping that would be my answer.

He leaned over the center of the car, pushing my door open, and without hesitation I walked over and slipped into his car. What am I doing? It was so strange, i had such a strong pull to him. Although I knew who he was, I didn’t really know, but I still obliged his offer.

“Watcha hungry for?” He asked, pulling away from the curb.

“Anything.” I answered, truthfully. I was actually really hunger.

“I have the perfect place,” He grinned, clearly quite proud of himself.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, but it was comfortable. The soft hum of the radio buzzed in the background of my thoughts, his arm resting between us as he drove relaxed with one hand on the wheel. I glanced over at him, admiring his features. The perfect curve of his pouted bottom lip, the soft tip of his nose, and his round, supple cheeks. I couldn’t help but smile, it was like that look when you see a piece of art that tugs on your heartstrings, you don’t know why, but it does, it makes you feel. I felt the car slow, bringing my eyes to the road, we were pulling up to a small plaza, most of the businesses had already closed for the night, except for a little cafe that was hidden behind a few overgrown trees. There was only one other car in the parking lot when we pulled into a spot. He placed the car in park, and without missing a beat, he turned off the vehicle and got out, circling the car to open my door. I watched his sleek figure move about before my door opened. He reached in, extending his hand. My cheeks were in flames as I grabbed onto his hand.

“Thank you,” I barely whispered.

With one foot, he shut my door behind us. His hand snaked to my back, placing it gently between my shoulder blades, leading me to the door.

“Watch your step.” He warned, just in time for me to stumble a little at the step.

“You’re supposed to warn someone before the step, not as they’re falling.”

He laughed. There it was again, the melodic sound that raised from his chest, causing my heart to thud rapidly against my rib cage. He opened the doors, continuing to be a gentleman. An older Korean woman came to the front, her smile indicated she knew him, and clearly adored him.

“Jimin,” her voice was just as tiny as she was.

He greeted her with a smile, and a one armed hug, all while still keeping his hand on my back.

“halmeoni,” He cooed, lovingly.

“Who is this?” She asked, raising a brow.

“Uhh.” He shot me a look, asking for help.

“Y/N,” I answered for him, bowing before her.

I could see Jimin from the corner of my eyes as I bowed, his eyes seemed to sparkle after I mentioned my name. I stood upright, his hand falling from my back, but he walked close enough to me that our fingers would touch. He wouldn’t be doing that on purpose, there is no way he would be doing that. I kept trying to remind myself of who he was. He wasn’t a normal guy, he wasn’t just another somebody. There is no way he would be interested in me. Once again, his hand was on my back, while his other hand pointed to the booth, guiding me in. I sat down, placing my hands in my lap. He sat across from me, smiling. It wasn’t but a moment before we locked eyes, his smile fading and changing again like it had earlier, but this time I caught it. His smile was now much softer, almost shy like. We stayed like that for a minute before the woman walked over and set down two menu’s in front of us. We finally tore our gazes from each other, his head went right down to the menu, and I looked up at her. She was watching us, studying us, a look like she knew something we didn’t. Jimins head popped back up, he caught her gaze as well.

“I’ll have the usual.” He announced, and she nodded.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” I slide my menu to the center of the table.

“You don’t know what I’m getting,” he raised a puzzled brow.

“Don’t worry, he has good taste.” She purred before taking our menus, and walked towards the back.

“Y/N...”

He said my name like he was trying it out in his mouth, and god did it sound so beautiful. I had never really liked my name, but the way he said it, made me re-think the way I thought of it.

“Yes?” I peeked up at him through my lashes, nervous to meet his eyes again.

“Y/N. Tell me about yourself.”

He said my name again, I think he did on purpose cause he enjoyed my reaction.

“There’s not much too know.”

“Oh come on, now. Don’t sell yourself short.”

I shifted, uncomfortably in my seat. I hated talking about myself. It was the most unbearable part of getting to know someone new.

“Well...” I took a deep breath, ready to dive into the abyss that was my boring life.

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

Dinner had gone into the early hours of the morning, and the cafe had closed hours ago, but we were still talking. At this point, we were leaning against the table. I had my chin resting in my palm, and Jimin had both arms on the table, pressing against them. We were so lost in each other’s words that when the sun had started to come out of hiding we were both surprised.

“Is it -“ I checked my phone, which was almost dead. The time was big and bold on my screen.

“Oh my god, it’s five in the morning,” I whisper, shocked.

We both fell into a fit of giggles, time had just slipped by and I didn’t care that I had to be at work in 3 hours. I would remember this night for the rest of my life, even if I never saw him again, he gave me the smallest bit of true happiness I had felt in a while.

“I should get you home,” he said between his dying giggles.

I reached over and placed my hand over his. He spread his fingers so that mine could slip in between his, and we didn’t move from the position for a few minutes.

“You can just take me back to the office. I have a tooth brush and change of clothes there. It’s like a second home.” I slipped my hand away from his, and his bottom lip jutted out for a second, I don’t think he thought I would catch them, but I’m glad I did.

“You’re not going to sleep?” His eyes wide with worry.

“I’ll be fine, Jimin. I promise. This a common occurrence.” I try to reassure him.

“Oh...” his eyes fall to the table, he sounded defeated.

I didn’t understood what I said that caused that reaction. I mean, yeah, it wasn’t a good habit, but I’d be just fine. Than it hit me, my mind obviously slow from the lack of sleep.

“Oh no, Jimin. I meant all nighters. I didn’t mean this. I didn’t mean dates.” The word fell from my mouth before I could stop.

He perked up immediately, a shit eating grin shattering the sadness away.

“Date?” He practically sang.

“Oh my god,” I roll my eyes, leaning against the booth.

“Just take me to work,” I said, a smile creeping onto my lips.

He left a large amount of money on the table, much more than the meal was worth. I didn’t say anything, or do a double take. I kept forward, he placed his hand on my back again, but this time it was the small of my back, leading me outside.

“STEP.” He warned just as we walked out of the cafe, quite a few feet away from the step.

“You’re a jerk.” I teased, using my elbow to nudge him in the side.

“I know,” he skipped ahead of me, once again opening my car door.

I slid in with ease, crossing my legs. He walked around once again. The drive was quiet once more, but it was a different quiet. There was some tension, but it was good, it was like there was much more we were suppose to talk about, and a little flower of hope bloomed in my chest, that I might actually get to see him again. All too soon we pulled up to my office, and we idled for a moment, neither of us looking at each other. I cleared my throat, and opened my door slowly.

“Thanks for tonight, Jimin. I really enjoyed your company.”

“As did I, Y\N.” He glanced at me, a shadow of a smile on his lips.

I swallowed and closed my door, stepping back from the car, and he just pulled away, not even a wave, or another glance. Just like that, the flower that had bloomed wilted.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Consider: demon Reinhardt based on his bloodhardt or blackhardt skins! Does a mortal accidentally summon him? Or is it wrong place, wrong time? Either way, Rein wins

{GUESS WHO LOVED THIS IDEA AND GOT A LITTLE CARRIED AWAY? and then realized that they made the intro of the story way too long??? yeah, it’s J. Hope it’s still to your liking, nonnie!}{-J}——————————-“Fuck.” When you first awoke, there was only one word that came to mind. It repeated, of course, over and over and over, but it was still just one word. What else could capture the moment? Perhaps something simple, like a guttural ‘ouch’. Then again, swearing fit just as well, a quick, harsh repetition, just like the sharp pain echoing in the back of your skull. That throbbing was part of why all higher forms of vocabulary had seemed to leave you. As soon as you might have clasped a new thought, or regained another memory, a wave of aching would crash over you, leaving you to your coughing and choking.

‘Twas not until several minutes later that the pain started to subside. But with that relief came no kind of solace, nor peace of mind. As your head cleared, and your thoughts uncluttered, the nature of your situation revealed itself. Despite bitterly dim lighting, it was easy to tell that you tied to some sort of angled platform. Across from you you could just barely make out the likely cause of your predicament: A strange figure, donned in a sheer black robe, kneeling before something just out of your sight. When the throbbing fully vanished, you were able to make out the barest of whisperings. Their meaning was unknown, but they still felt sinister somehow, hanging over your senses like a cloud of dread.

Whoever brought you here clearly lacked good intentions.

Finally thinking clearly, and able to understand your own movements, you started tugging on your bindings. The rope was thick as well as coarse, making your skin seem to burn as you struggled against it.  It soon became clear that you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself free. Your only hope of survival, as far as you could tell, was the appearance of some majestic hero who could undo the knots that bound you. Of course… the chances of someone knowing you were in danger (and where you were) seemed dismally slim. You were at the mercy of your shrouded captor, whoever they were, whatever twisted schemes they had in mind. Understandably, the thought made your chest tighten up uncomfortably. Death felt like an inevitable destination, the last stop of the night, where every last passenger had to get off, whether or not they wanted to.

A stifled cry fell past your lips, barely rising past the din of the chanting figure. If they noticed, they didn’t show it, too absorbed in their work to grant you their attention. For what felt like hours you were left on your own to suffer quietly. In reality, it was less than fifteen minutes, but the anxiety boiling inside you was a master at shifting your perception of time. When your captor did finally shift their gaze upon you, however, you felt yourself long for the embrace of solitude to return. Their eyes gleamed in the low light, a terrible craze echoing within them. As if feasting upon your sense of horror, they took a long sniff as they approached, smirk barely visible through the darkness. Shuddering, you did your best to tear your gaze away.

“Don’t worry, dear, you’ll soon be serving a greater purpose than you could ever imagine,” the figure purred. A long, thin finger pressed against your cheek, slowly dragging down the skin. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and bile threaten to rise up your throat. “I’m sure he’ll find you to be… more than satisfactory.”

With that the figure pulled away, chuckling softly to themselves, retreating back to what you assumed was some sort of altar. Once more the sound of chanting filled the space. The way it seemed to reverberate throughout the room caught you off guard, the noise building up as if there were dozens joining in the chorus instead of a single soul. It took every ounce of your willpower to not cry out, your mind fearing what your captor would do if you interrupted, yet still you felt the need to tug on your bindings. Unsurprisingly it was just as futile as it had been the last time you tried. Tears started to fall from your eyes, and you were forced to choke back another sob. While you squirmed and cried, the figure shifted about, never pausing from their chant, lighting candles as they moved around. As the flames were born, light was scattered across the room. At last you could see the full span of your holdings.

Fear, which had previously been gently strumming your heartstrings, was now tugging upon them forcefully. The scale of the trouble you were in was monstrous. Countless sigils and marks adorned the walls as well as the floor, occult origins clear. What truly signaled the sheer magnitude of your fucked-ness was not the design of the symbols, however, was the fact that the carvings were rapidly beginning to glow and shake, growing in intensity. As troubling as the sight was, you found yourself physically unable to look away. Something in the air was preventing you from clamping your eyes shut. Not even a single blink was granted to you, not a moment of reprieve, as the highlight of the show began:

Crackling akin to that of thunder tore through the air, the rippling sound waves shaking the entirety of your surroundings, all the while threatening to cave in your skull. Yet even then your eyes dare not shut, glued instead to the center of the room. Something horrid was surging through the largest sigil… With every second the floor cracked further, pieces vibrating as they lifted up and out. Your captor turned back to you as soon as it started, lips no longer moving, despite the continuing cacophony chorus. A smirk graced their features, inspiring yet another shudder of your spine. The blade they retrieved from their cloak had a similar effect.

“Fuck.” Once again only one word could slip past your quivering lips. But this time your repetitive mutterings easily melted into oblivion, replaced by gargled, choked-out grunts and cough-inducing whimpers. The knife-tip had reached you swiftly, pressing into the center of your throat, dragging down in a perfect straight line. There was just enough force behind the movements to slice your flesh. It spread the skin with ease, the weave of your body splitting at the seams. Blood soon came out in a crimson torrent. Still, the blade continued to travel, all the way from the bottom of your chin to the base of your groin, never drifting to the side, never changing depth. A haze fell over your vision as the figure rose back up, prepared to make another incision….

A thunderous roar sent your mind reeling as the room was swamped with a terrific flash of light. Evidently your captor was sent forward as well, as their blade suddenly slid against your skin, taking a painful path across your chest. Yet another harsh cry forced its way up your throat, this time with a clump of blood accompanying it. Several moments passed before your vision finally cleared up. Unsurprisingly, what you saw when it did was far from beautiful, instead a wound upon the world, marring its sacred visage: Something towered above you, clad in hellfire armor. Almost immediately your captor was kneeling before the monster. Meaningless words poured from their mouth, praises of some sort, ramblings of a madman.

“IS THAT SO, LITTLE ONE?” The massive beast bellowed, a rumble of a laugh following, his entire figure shaking with amusement. “PUNY MORTALS ARE ALWAYS SO EASILY IMPRESSED. I HAVEN’T EVEN TORN ANYONE’S LIMBS OFF YET!” With that said he released another raucous chuckle before placing a heavy hand on your captor’s shoulder. They nearly collapsed beneath his touch, visibly cringing at the impact. This only seemed to amuse him more, as he kept on laughing, the fires within his armor seeming to flare out. You weren’t sure if he shook the room with every noise, or if your vision was still fucked. What you did know, however, was that blood was still exiting your wounds. Another clump caught in your throat a moment later, making you sputter and groan loudly. Unfortunately… this drew the monster’s attention to you. “AH, THIS MUST BE THE SACRIFICE! I THANK YOU, MORTAL, FOR THE LOVELY GIFT! BUT NOW, I REALLY SHOULD CONTINUE WITH MY CONQUEST OF THIS PITIFUL REALM,” he announced, starting to clamber towards you.

Panic surged through you as you watched him through cloudy eyes. A lump formed in your throat, every breath coming out as a wheeze. This is the end, you thought, this is where I die. But the beast froze before he could reach you. Slowly he turned his head back, your gaze following the motion, eventually landing on the mysterious figure who had brought you here. Their hands were clasped tightly around the beast’s ankle, and words that hardly registered to you flowed from them. Evidently he didn’t quite understand either, as he gave a big chuckle before casually picking them up, letting them hand from their robes.

“I’M AFRAID I DIDN’T QUITE CATCH THAT, KLEINE.” Your captor started stuttering, frustration mixed with fear dominating their expression. It took them a few moments to gather their thoughts and finally speak clearly.

“You can’t leave yet!” They huffed, eyes staring hard. “I summoned you, therefore you must follow my commands!” Almost immediately after the words left their mouth they froze up, sensing the shift in the room’s atmosphere, terror overriding their confidence. Meanwhile the monster had stopped laughing, instead silently seething with rage. The air itself seemed to hang heavy over him. Breathing easily was a distant memory, one you longed to remember. “I-I did the ritual just as described. Got the- the sacrifice and everything!” Your captor continued, stumbling over every word. As pathetic as their display was… the demon had abandoned any traces of his prior amusement.

“YOU DID THE RITUAL, YES. BUT IT WAS A MERE SUMMONING, NOT A BINDING,” he growled, voice low, full of barely contained rage, and easily capable of filling the space. Something had snapped within his personality, shown by the way he then tossed the figure aside. An irritated scoff left him just as they slammed into the cold ground. “DID YOU REALLY THINK IT WOULD BE SO EASY TO CONTROL ME? I AM A GOD COMPARED TO YOU! YOU ARE NAUGHT BUT A WORM, LITTLE ONE.” 

With that said he marched towards the crumpled body. The figure was squirming, groaning all the while, shoulder clearly bent the wrong way. If they heard the demon coming, they weren’t able to do anything about it. Before you even had a chance to blink he had yanked them upwards, pinning them to one of the walls, their other hand thrusting straight into their chest… Gagging, you forced yourself to look away. Although you couldn’t see what happened, the noises you heard were more than enough to paint a brutal, bloody picture of the resulting wound. For a moment you tried to block everything out.

“BAH, THESE MORTALS ARE NO CHALLENGE!” The demon yelled, forcing your attention to turn back towards him. You almost threw up when your gaze landed on the heart in his hand. While you held back the bile in your throat, he simply gave the organ a squeeze, letting it burst within his grasp. “I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO USE MY HAMMER… SUCH A SHAME, DON’T YOU THINK?” He asked, turning to your quivering form. Every step he took towards you sent another chill straight to your core. If not for the blood-loss threatening to knock you out, you would have been a crying, screaming mess. “DON’T FEEL LIKE TALKING, EH?… SUCH A SHAME, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL SCREAM. I SUPPOSE I’LL JUST HAVE TO MAKE YOU SHOW ME AFTER I TAKE YOU HOME,” he continued, smugness radiating from him.

You wanted to protest, really. But he picked you up with such ease, armor nearly burning hot to the touch, lifting you like one might lift a feather. Once more he let out a hearty laugh. With it, he slung you over his shoulder and stepped back into the center of the room. The last thing you saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was a hellish portal reaching to swallow you up…

[imagining-supernatural]

You’re Not There

Based on the song: You’re Not There by Lukas Graham

Word Count: 2080

Warnings: Angst. Death.

A/N: I had a weird day and was feeling super angsty/depressed. Then that song came on my iPod and I just... I just had to write.

Version en Español: Tú No Estás Allí

Her gratitude was etched into every worry line and wrinkle on her face as she hugged her little boy close. Over his shoulder, the woman stared up at Dean with watery eyes. “Thank you so much!”

With a little wave and smile, Dean turned and walked away. Another hunt and another win. Everyone made it out alive except for the monster. A year ago he would have celebrated with you. A year ago, he would have let your excitement at seeing a family reunited wash over him. A year ago, you would have wrapped your arm around his waist and guided him to the Impala with a beautiful smile painted on your lips.

A year ago, everything was different.

*****

When Dean first met you, he had been lost. He’d been an utter disaster ever since Sam jumped into the Cage at Stull Cemetery. Eight months had passed, and some days he couldn’t even manage to get out of bed to head to the bar down the street. But one night, he found himself trudging out of the old motel room and slipping into the sea of bodies at the grimy bar. Everyone gave him a wide berth, not willing to mess with him.

Then you slid onto the bar stool next to him and ordered whiskey. For the first ten minutes, both of you drank in silence. Something about you stirred Dean’s senses again. He couldn’t help but glance over at you every few minutes.

It was after your second drink that you turned to him. “Who’d you lose?”

“What?” His voice cracked with disuse, and his vocal chords struggled against the unfamiliar feeling of being used.

“You have that same look I see every time I look in the mirror.” There was soft regret dancing along your syllables. “Someone close to you died recently, didn’t they?”

Dean grunted and turned back to his drink. Not even a pretty face was going to get him to talk about Sam.

“My sister,” you kept talking, despite Dean’s obvious brush off. “She was only twelve and she was the strongest person I knew. But the leukemia was stronger.”

Despite his strongest effort, Dean felt his heartstrings tug. Twelve years old. Still though, he didn’t say anything.

“It’s hard to talk about. I get that.” Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean saw you drag your finger around the rim of your glass. “It doesn’t get easier either. You just grow more numb.”

“Hey, Y/N,” the bartender said, leaning against the counter. “Anna just called. Janice is at the station again.”

Y/N. Your name rang through Dean’s mind as you pulled out a few dollars and handed it to the bartender. “Thanks. Guess I’ll go bail her out again.” You stood up and curled your hand on Dean’s shoulder. His muscles jumped at the unexpected contact and he automatically raised his eyes to yours. There was a deep understanding in your expression, making Dean uncomfortable. “Take it easy, okay?”

And that was that. You walked away.

Something about that one conversation where he’d only said one word changed something within Dean. The next night, it was easier to leave the motel room. He told himself that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing you again. Y/N, the stranger with the comforting touch. No, he just wanted a drink.

Still though, he had been disappointed when you didn’t show up.

*****

“There have been a few complaints around the neighborhood about the electricity and heating. Have you had any problems with flickering lights or cold spots?”

Dean listened intently while the old couple explained a few of their woes with their old house. Once he managed to extract himself from their house and incessant offers of lemonade, he headed back to his hotel room for some research. All the signs pointed to a ghost, but he wanted to be sure.

You taught him to always double check.

*****

“Ghosts? Those are real?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, lightly trailing his fingers over your bare shoulder. Two months had passed since that first night in the bar. Since then, you’d managed to worm your way into Dean’s life. It started with a few more one sided conversations, then he started replying. You hadn’t reacted the first time he said something.

Maybe that was what made it easier. You didn’t treat him like he was project. You didn’t celebrate any of those bullshit milestones about overcoming grief. There wasn’t a moment of triumph the first time he spoke. And when he finally said Sam’s name, you hadn’t treated that like a big deal.

And somehow, here you two were, just two months later. Dean was telling you about his real story in the lowlight of his hotel room. Cool light from the dim lamp highlighted the muscles of your bare back as you lay on your stomach, hugging a pillow to your chest.

“Do vampires really sparkle?” Your lips were twisted into a small smile

“Definitely not.” Dean rolled his eyes and chuckled.

He’s been doing that a few times recently. Laughing. There was something about you that seemed to lower his walls.

You shifted until you were on your side facing Dean. His eyelids fluttered closed when you reached up and traced your fingers over the planes of his face. Everywhere your skin touched his awakened his nerves. Then your lips covered his and his whole body was on fire again.

The kiss ended all too soon and he slowly opened his eyes to see you watching him soberly. “Thank you, Dean. For saving the world.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Sharp pain replaced the comforting fire that your touch elicited. This pain was familiar. It showed up every time he thought of that day in the cemetery. Every time he replayed those final moments before Sam jumped.

“You let him go.” The shock of your whisper and hand on his chest broke him out of those memories. “You agreed to be left behind. That’s… that’s harder than being the one to jump.”

He squeezed his eyes closed against the pain and memories.

You slid your hand from his chest to his back and pulled your body tight to his. “Anyway. That’s enough of that.”

Tilting your head up, you peppered kisses along Dean’s jaw. It was as if you knew that he needed a few minutes to get over this conversation, because you kept each touch light. Your fingers massaged into his tight muscles and slowly, Dean relaxed. Then he wrapped his arms around you, rolling over until his body covered yours and he buried himself in your comfort.

*****

The ink dried on the page, its shine disappearing. Dean stared at the words and wished that you would walk through the door. He wished that he could hear your voice one more time. He wished that you would respond to the words he’d written.

He’d never been one to keep a hunting journal. Sure, John and Bobby’s journals helped on plenty of hunts, but he just never had time to write about each hunt.

But the past year, he wrote every single night. Each entry started out with Dear Y/N and ended with Love, Dean. It hurt to write these stories. You weren’t in them, and he had so many stories that featured you. You made him a better man, and Dean was forever grateful to you for that. Just as he would forever miss you.

*****

“I still don’t like this,” Dean grumbled. Next to him, you just laughed.

“C’mon, babe! I rocked it. I mean, I’m completely covered in blood, but none of it is mine. That’s pretty good for a hunter, right?”

“Hunting is…”

“Exactly what we need. You lost your whole family and I lost both of my sisters within a year of each other. Saving those people today… it helped. And I know that you felt that too. We can stop other people from losing people like we have.”

Looking over at you, Dean couldn’t bring himself to ruin your bright views of what hunting was. The wind from the open window of the Impala was teasing your hair, and you had such a hopeful look on your face.

“We had this saying, me and Sam. Saving people. Hunting things. The family business.” He looked out at the expanse of road in front of him. “I guess that’s what this has always been about.”

“Saving people. We can do that, Dean. We can save people for our families.”

*****

A couple of kids ran past Dean, giggling and chasing each other. He recognized one as a child he had saved a year ago with you. If you hadn’t pulled him out of his depression after Sam died, that kid might have been dead right now.

It was because of you that Dean had a purpose again. You stayed with him for months, weathering the mood swings and anger. You’d made Dean into the man he was today. Because of you, Dean could live again. He followed your light out of his darkness.

A year ago, he finally admitted that he could become better, because of you.

*****

“Quick in, get the heads rolling, quick out,” Dean whispered harshly, eyeing the run-down, abandoned house in the middle of the woods. “I have a bad feeling about this one.”

“We got this,” you reassured him. “Just a few vamps. Like you said, quick in, quick out. We’ll be back in town in an hour—two tops.”

Your words did nothing to soothe his worries, which put him even more on edge. You always knew the right things to say. Normally, your very presence was enough to calm his nerves, but not right now.

But he didn’t say anything else.

Instead, Dean motioned for you to follow him into the vamp nest. It didn’t take long before the bloodsuckers jumped out and the fight started. You got separated, but Dean could hear you fighting, so he didn’t worry too badly. Once the last vamp was down, Dean looked around.

“Y/N?” he called out, voice echoing through the carnage.

You didn’t reply.

Dean’s blood pressure skyrocketed and he tore through all of the rooms, searching for you. “Y/N! C’mon, sweetheart. Where are you?”

It wasn’t until he got to the kitchen that he found you laying on the floor, unmoving. “No, no, no. Y/N!”

There was too much blood and no heartbeat. Dean’s hands skipped over your body, searching for a wound to heal. His fingers came back slick with your blood when he inspected your side, and his entire world fell away when he pulled up your shirt and saw the giant, gory hole.

“Don’t leave me, Y/N.” Dean gathered you into his arms and sobbed into your shoulder, begging and hoping for a shred of life.

But you weren’t there.

*****

“Sometimes I see someone who looks like you. I know it’s stupid, but I always think it really is you.”

Just like with the journal, Dean knew that your gravestone wasn’t going to respond. But he still came to visit every month. Every damn month since you died, Dean found himself sitting over your grave. He knew that you’re not there. Not really. Just your body. Your soul was in Heaven. That was the only thing he was sure of.

“You would be proud of me. That man you thought I could always become—I’m getting there. I just wish you were here. Everything was better when you were with me.”

When you met, the two of you had been two broken souls. But you’d seen a way out, and took Dean along for the ride. It wasn’t fair that you were the one who died. The world still needed you.

“You once told me that it never gets easier, you just keep getting more numb. Everyone else says that time heals all wounds, but we both know it doesn’t. I’ll never forget you, Y/N. And I don’t want to be numb. I want to feel you. I want to feel this pain and know that you were real. Because without this pain, I might forget. I don’t want to forget. I want to remember all of it. All of the good times and the bad… I get it now. Letting go and being left behind is harder than being the one to jump. But you showed me that I can keep moving. And I’m going to keep moving for you.”

Add Yourself To My Taglist Here!

Mobile Masterlist

[pjinyngs]

Go Back: Chapter 3

finally! chapter 3 after a long time

warnings: none, just rly sad to me 

chap 1 || chap 2 || chap 4

“Y/n? What happened? Are you okay? Where are you?” jae bombarded you with questions the moment he picked up your call.

“I’m fine,” you said groggily, “I wan’t feeling well so I went back to rest, I just woke up,”

“I thought something happened, called you and no answer. Are you still unwell? I’ll drop by after school and bring you food,” 

“I’m feeling better, you don't have to come if you're busy,”

“How can I neglect my girlfriend when she's sick?” jae’s sweet comment caught you off guard. When he mentioned “girlfriend”, something in you felt wrong. The first person that came to your mind was jinyoung, and you knew you shouldn't be doing this. How can you be thinking of another guy when you already have a boyfriend? You sighed softly and shook the image of jinyoung away.

“Alright, I’ll see you later,” you paused for a while before blurting out, “I love you,”

“I love you too, rest well,” your boyfriend’s soothing voice calmed you down.

After hanging up, you continued to stare into space while lying on your bed. You hated yourself for feeling messed up just because jinyoung appeared. Jinyoung and I are over. I have jae now. I need to forget about jinyoung and leave the past behind. You kept telling yourself over and over again. Just because jinyoung appeared didn’t mean anything, and it certainly didn’t mean you had another chance with him. You sat up and took a deep breath. This is but an accidental meeting, you and jinyoung would just remain as friends, or, even strangers, and what are the chances of meeting him in school when there are so many other courses and classes out there?

Not long later, your door bell rang and you leaped out of bed knowing that jae had arrived. Without letting time slip away, you opened the door and upon seeing him, the first thing you did was pull him into a tight hug. Jae widened his eyes at your sudden gesture. This was the first time you’ve initiated a hug with him. As oddly as it may sound, despite the fact that the both of you were together, you and jae had never engaged in any form of physical contact. It was a very different relationship, very different from when you and jinyoung were a thing.

“I missed you,” you muttered in his embrace.

“Hey, are you okay?” jae asked as he hesitantly placed his hands on both your arms.

You kept silent for a while before pulling away. You nodded your head and gave him a smile to reassure him.

“I was so worried,” jae said as the both of you sat on the couch.

“I’m sorry, I really forgot that we were supposed to meet,”

“It’s alright. As long as you’re fine, nothing else matters,”

What he said tugged at your heartstrings and without much thought, you leaned forward and kissed jae on his cheek. Jae was startled by your movement and his eyes wandered around your face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Y/n, are you sure you're alright? If there’s anything wrong please tell me,” jae frowned in concerned.

“I’m doing fine, jae. There’s nothing to worry about,” you let out a small sigh and continued, “it’s just... we’ve been together for some time, and I’m sorry if I’ve been too distant”

Jae placed his hand over yours and reassured you that he’s contented and being able to stand alongside you through your difficult times was enough for him. He didn’t need anything more than what he already has. Despite him saying that, you knew it’ll be unfair to jae if you weren’t willing to open your heart to him, especially after the fact that he stood by you when you needed someone. He didn’t want anything in return, but you set your heart in giving your full in this relationship to love him, just like how he loves you. And you swore you weren't letting jinyoung hurt your patched heart again.

You felt so much better after having jae with you last night. There were countless heart to heart conversations and personal stories shared. The both of you gained more insight on each other’s lives and the gap you had with him was closer than before. As the night got deeper, you didn’t want jae to leave. So he stayed. “Anything for you” was something he said often, and you were grateful for that.

“Good morning, it’s time to wake up,” you said as you ruffled his hair.

“Hey, morning,” jae greeted in his deep sleepy voice, and it’s the first time you've heard it.

“Are we meeting later?” you asked as you got off the bed to prepare for school.

“I’d love to but I’d be busy with a project for the next few days, probably won't be able to meet,”

“Sure, but don't forget to eat and rest,” you reminded your busy boyfriend.

“I should be telling you that, you're always not eating,” jae gave you a look as he watched you prepare.

After getting ready, he insisted on sending you to school despite you telling him to sleep in. Everything felt so different from before. You finally felt like a couple with jae, and you were so glad this relationship was turning out better. The ride to school was filled with laughter, and the both of you jammed to songs on the radio. If only you could take a picture of this moment. Pictures last longer, they say. Upon reaching school, both of you exchanged goodbyes and you watched as he drove off. Things were starting on the right note, and you had taken jinyoung off your mind for now.

As usual, you went to class and sat down waiting for lecture to begin. Your desk partner wasn't coming in today because she wasn't feeling well. You were fiddling around with your phone until someone interrupted you.

“Anyone sitting here?” a voice caused you to look up.

Your eyes widened at this person in front of you. You weren't expecting him to be here. It was jinyoung.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out, probably sounded a little rude.

“Attending class,” jinyoung said as he signalled his hand, asking if he could sit beside you.

“Go ahead,” you nodded your head and continued staring at him. “You’re taking psychology too?” you asked further.

“Yeah. Didn’t expect to see you here,” the boy flashed a small nervous smile.

“Neither did I,” you tore away your gaze from him, not wanting to be reminded of his beautiful smile that you once loved so much.

The atmosphere was very awkward and there was no way you could concentrate on what your lecturer was talking about. Although the distance between you and jinyoung wasn't that huge, you felt far from him. There was an invisible wall in the middle, and you knew it wouldn't be broken down; there wasn't any reason to anyway. You tried your best to focus in class, and you were barely surviving, but you still did it. On the other hand, jinyoung didn’t even try to focus on anything else, except you. He didn’t expect that he could one day meet you again. You hadn't been out of his mind ever since you left that day, and he missed you more than you could imagine. Every day, he wondered how you've been, if you were doing fine without him, or if you missed him like how he missed you. He promised himself that if he had the chance to see you again, he would do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Now that you appeared before him, he was sure to grab the chance.

After what seemed like half a day, it was finally time for lunch break. You wanted to run away from this situation so badly. But before you could, jinyoung spoke.

“Hey, um, wanna grab lunch together?” he gave you a hopeful look.

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m meeting someone,” you lied.

Jinyoung nodded slowly and for some reason, his eyes trailed slowly along your features, as if searching for something.

“Gotta go,” you said and stood up before walking off.

The moment you walked out of his sight, you loosened up. You were finally able to breathe. Whatever you’ve just gone through was like a burden, and you were glad it was off your shoulders. In order not to meet jinyoung and him finding out you were lying, you rushed to the cafeteria to get your food, before finding a quiet hideout. Moments like this, you wished your friend was here. At least you didn’t have to deal with this yourself. After eating, you went back to class early, hoping jinyoung wasn't there. To your disappointment, the moment you walked in, you spotted him. His eyes met yours immediately and you broke the contact and walked to your seat.

“That was fast,” jinyoung commented.

“What?” you asked in confusion.

“Didn’t expect you to come back so fast,” he answered.

“You too. Could've stayed out a longer while,” you murmured, hoping he didn’t hear.

“Why? Don’t wanna see me?” jinyoung chuckled lightly as he caught onto what you just said.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, you could go tour around the school or something. It’s boring to come back early,”

“Then why’re you back so early?”

“No reason,” you shrugged and gave him a light smile.

No one was in class and there was a moment of silence as the both of you sat beside each other. Funny how things have became this way. You and jinyoung used to have countless of things to talk about. There were so much laughters and jokes. But now, all that’s left was silence. There was no reason to smile at each other, much less talk and laugh about stuff. The next class was an hour away, and you were full of regrets, wondering why you came back so early. You wanted to text jae but realised he should be in school now, and you didn’t want to distract him.

“How’ve you been?” jinyoung broke the silence once again.

This question was casual and easy, but it got you. You didn’t know what to say. Were you supposed to tell him that after you left him, you felt so devastated that you cooped yourself in your room for a long time? That you realised life was meaningless without him? And that you were having a hell of a time trying to forget him and everything you guys have been through?

“Good, surviving well,” you hid the pain behind a smile.

Jinyoung’s eyes wandered around your face again, trying to take a good look at you. He missed you. He really did.

“I barely did,” jinyoung said softly as he maintained eye contact with you.

You thought you heard wrong and looked him back in the eyes. Those pair of eyes opened the window to your memories of him, and you instantly knew he was telling the truth. However, you knew this was a mistake. You have moved on, and it’s time jinyoung did the same.

“I just realised I have something on, I need to go,” you uttered suddenly, not wanting jinyoung to continue any of what he had to say. You stood up and turned, but felt a strong grip on your wrist.

Jinyoung touched you. When was the last time you felt his warm touch? When was the last time he held you in his arms? When was the last time he didn’t make you feel any void emotionally and physically? Tears were forming in your eyes and you tried to control yourself.

“Y/n,” jinyoung called out. The way he said your name hurt you. It hurt because the both of you were once so in love, but you let him go. You didn’t want to be selfish, but in return it brought you sufferings.

“Let me go,” you said and refused to look at him.

“Why are you avoiding me?” jinyoung asked as his grip got stronger.

“I’m not,” you said firmly, trying not to show the shakiness in your voice.

“Then tell me why aren't you looking at me?”

“I don’t owe you any explanations!” you raised your voice a little and felt a tear drop trickle down your cheek. 

Jinyoung seemed to notice you were tearing and his grip loosened. Upon realising that, you took no hesitance in breaking contact with him. You took your belongings and ran out of class. There was no way you were going back in this state. Jinyoung watched as you left his sight and he whispered,

“I’m sorry,”