#and throwing him while he's already half-dead to rot in prison sounds too miserable and underwhelming

[arabian-batboy]

So would it be asking for too much for Eri to somehow use her Quirk on Dabi and rewind his body all the way back to before his body got burned?

That way: 1- he will no longer be a threat to anyone in this war 2- he wouldn’t have any of his memories/trauma that made him hate his father + Shouto so much 3- it will be a good excuse to why he can’t be arrested for all his crimes because technically you can’t arrest a child for crimes he hadn’t commit yet 4- he will get a 2nd chance to have a happy childhood and his parents will have a 2nd chance to be better parents toward him.

Or would that be too sappy and I have to mentally prepare for his death instead?

[gglitcha]

there   are   times   where   she   doesn’t   feel   the   need   to   seek   out   her   favoured   company   in   this   universe    right   away  ;   her   streak   of   morbid   curiosity   and   her   natural   urge   that   stirs   in   her   to   investigate   each   world   she   pokes   her   head   into   cannot   always   be   denied  .   independent   exploration   is   a   private   thing  ...

tucking   herself   away   from   judging   eyes   and   the   mortifying   ordeal   of   being   known ,   however   briefly ,   to   take   the   guise   of   somebody   else  .   it’s   a   simple   series   of   edits   to   her   code   that   manage   to   conceal   her   otherwise   unmistakeable   identity  .   though   the   gentle   glow   she   exudes   cannot   be   dulled ,   the   rest   of   her   defining   characteristics   strip   away   under   her   ministrations  .   

bigger ,   peakier   eyes ,   lined   with   dark   shadows ,   their   gaze   nothing   short   of   lifelessly   haunted  .   darker   hair ,   straighter ,   limper ,   shorter ,   less   flouncy   from   the   static   electricity   that   clings   to   her   build   like   one   of   the   leeches   that   plague   this   place  .   her   feet   are   bare  .   the   dress   is   dull   in   colour ,   patched   all   over   and   grubby ,   with   all   the   flattering   appeal   of   a   potato   sack   in   it’s   design  .   her   nose   is   longer   in   length   and   her   mouth   is   a   grim ,   determined   line  ...   and   the   complexion   of   this   disgusting   human   skin   is   pallid   and   sickly  .   

couldn’t   look   less  like   herself   if   she   wanted   to  .   she   keeps   her   feet   planted   on   the   floor ,   suppressing   the   almost   innate   urge   to   kick   off   from   the   ground   and   float   through   each   area ,   and   instead   paces   softly   from   area   to   area   within   the   boundless   hellhole   that   is   this   little   nightmare  .

it   smells   like   shit  .   the   poignant   odour   of   death ,   no ,   outright   slaughter ,   clings   to   every   corner   of   every   room  .   an   inhuman   sound   of   intermingled   disgust   and   horror   croaks   from   the   depths   of   her   throat   as   she   clambers   over   a   cart   of   body   bags ,   entombed ,   frail   little   carcasses ,   and   leaps   to   snag   her   grip   around   the   door   handle  .   it   swings   open   to   reveal   yet   more   corridors  .   she   presses   on  .   data   swims   in   her   head ,   details   of   the   code   are   all   but   murmured   into   her   ear   as   she   drinks   in   her   surroundings  .

it   is   around   here   that   she   finds   them  .

roger ,   with   his   freakishly   overgrown   appendages ,   is   busying   himself   wrapping   up  ...   something  .    a   very   bloody ,   fleshy   looking   something  .   better   not   to   confirm   her   suspicions ,   she   figures ,   though   there   might   not   be   too   much   harm   in   throwing   him   off   his   meticulous   work   for   a   while  .   luring   him   into   a   chase  .   smashing   things   over   his   great   big   head   in   the   hopes   it’ll   shatter   his   thick   skull  .   curling   her   fingers   into   him   and   wiping   him   from   existence   altogether   in   a   torturous   blaze   of   white   hot   agony   as   his   code   is   frittered   and   burned   and   bled   out   of   this   pathetic   world ,   why   not ,    why   NOT ,

a   faint   shifting   at   her   side   pulls   her   attention   from   the   grotesque   janitor ,   and   glitch   glances   across ,   form   tensing   and   bracing   to   make   tracks   under   the   assumption   it’s   something   hostile  .   maybe   a   leech  ...   or   just   one   of   those   strange   little   oddities   that   flee   before   her  .   nomes  .   what   awaits   her   expectant   gaze   is   something   else   entirely ;   a   shivering   child ,   hugging   their   knees   closer ,   cowering   in   a   cage   like   an   unruly   animal   long   since   beaten   down   into   something   fearful   and   docile  .

her   brows   knit  .   her   eyes   dart   upwards ,   and   there   are   yet   more   of   them  .   tear - streaked   cheeks ,   resigned   posture ,   and   perhaps   the   heaviest ,   most   forlorn   silence   she’s   ever   had   the   displeasure   of   contributing   to  .   it’s   almost   suffocating ,   the   despair   they   exude  .   revolting ,   sneers   something   within   her   almost   instantaneously  .   a   kneejerk   reaction  .   pathetic  .   leave   them   to   it  .

but   she   can’t   stop   staring  .

one   of   them   must   sense   her   staticky   eyes   boring   into   their   hunched   form   so   intently ;   they   eye   her ,   then   sit   up   and   stick   their   starved   fingers   through   the   meagre   spaces   in   the   bars  .   they   don’t   say   a   word  .   can’t   say   a   word ,   she   assumes ,   on   account   of   that   blind   bastard   flapping   his   ears   only   a   few   feet   away  .   but   a   cry   for   help ,   unspoken   or   otherwise ,   is   a   universal   language   that   needs   no   further   clarification   once   one   bears   witness   to   it  .   the   other   child   blinks   out   at   her ,   and   glitch   swallows  .

her   fingers   itch  .   she   wants   to   tear   this   shivering   captive   to   pieces   for   the   crime   of   even   breathing ,    just   like   she   always   does ,   with   every   single   one   of   these   primitive   humans   she   stumbles   across ,   but    ------    but ,   perhaps   all   the   destructive   intent   crackling   in   her   magic ,   the   ruinous   power   of   her   touch   alone ,   can   be   directed   toward  ...   something   else  .   

“   ...   ”   glitch   draws   closer  .   “   ...   move   back ,   ”   she   instructs   under   her   breath ,   making   a   slight   ushering ,   shooing   motion   with   her   hand   to   indicate  .   uncertain ,   timid ,   the   other   kid   obliges ,   backing   up   against   the   other   side   of   the   pint - sized   prison  .   her   fingers   close   around   the   cold ,   oppressive   steel ,   trembling   with   the   desire   to   eradicate ,   and   they   will ,   they   will ,   but   not   in   the   way   they’re   so   accustomed   to ,

she   feels   them   burning   under   her   touch  .   splintering ,   buckling ,   the   code   bleeding   into   nonexistence ,   the   act   of   damage   as   easily   enacted   as   breathing   itself ,   and   the   cage   is   wide   open   to   rush   out   from  .   a   tremulous ,   artificial   breath   heaves   from   her   lungs  .   the   other   child   stares ,   wondering ,   taken   aback ,   caught   off   guard   ------

------   before   skittering   out ,   shoving   past   glitch   full   force   without   so   much   as   a   word   of   thanks  .   they   don’t   look   back  .   their   footsteps   are   soft ,   almost   muted ,   they   tiptoe   with   care   and   skirt   meticulously   around   every   grievous   creak   in   these   telltale   floorboards  .

some   of   the   others   look   to   be   sleeping  .   they   jerk   awake   fearfully   when   she   crumbles   their   cage   with   a   faint   crackle   of   distorted   static ,   the   shattering   of   endless   neat   lines   of   binary ,   though   they   catch   on   quickly   and   make   similar   reckless   mistakes  .   as   though   the   act   of   uttering   a   word   to   their   saviour   might   make   her   think   twice   about   what   she’s   done   for   them  .   and   honestly ,   it   might  .   so   she’s   glad   they   put   plenty   of   distance   between   her   and   them  .

it’s   for   the   best  .

one   of   them ,   however ,   is   utterly   unresponsive  .   for   a   moment ,   she   thinks   they’ve   died   in   there  .   that   they’re   rotting   away ,   beyond   help   already  .   frowning   deeply ,   glitch   touches   a   hand   to   their   shoulder ,   and   gives   them   a   gentle   shake  .   

“   hey  .   get   up  .   ”   ...   nothing  .   yet   a   quick   check   of   their   vitals ,   their   code   status ,   indicates   they’re   very   much   alive  .   a   huff   of   impatience   heaves   from   the   girl   as   she   shakes   the   captive   child   again ,   more   firmly ,   now  .   

“   c’mon ,   you’ve   got   to   go   while   you   still   can  .   before   that   freak   of   a   janitor   comes   to   snap   your   neck   and   bag   you   up  ...   are   you   listening  ?   i   know   humans   are   pretty   stupid ,   but   this   really   freaking   takes   the   cake    ------    not   leaving   when   the   chance   to   is   served   up   on   a   silver   platter ,   ”

their   stifled   sob   interrupts   her   insistent   nagging  .   the   child   shoves   her   away   with   one   hand ,   turns   away   so   as   not   to   face   her ,   scrubbing   fiercely   at   their   face   as   though   simply   hiding   the   evidence   of   their   bout   of   weeping   will   cause   this   intruder   to   forget   she   heard   it   entirely  .   a   moment   of   hesitance ,   on   her   part ;   she’ll   just   leave   them   to   it  .   you   can   lead   a   horse   to   water ,   but   you   can’t   make   them   drink  ...   in   the   words   of   some   undoubtedly   feeble - minded ,   perfectly   average   human   she   hardly   cares   to   credit   for   the   sentiment  .

------oh ,   please  .   she’ll   be   wondering   what   the   hell   became   of   them   for   the   rest   of   her   miserable   farce   of   existence   if   she   doesn’t   do   something  .   with   an   unintelligible   yet   rarely   understanding   murmur ,   glitch   slips   her   hand   into   theirs ,   and   tugs   imploringly   once   more  .   “   please  .   please ,   come   with   me ,   come   with   me   right   now ,   before    ------   ”

...   roger’s   been   very   quiet   over   there ,   now   that   she’s   thinking   about   it  .   doesn’t   he   like   to   still   and   swivel   his   ears   when   he   hears   the   slightest   disturbance   going   on  ?   not   quite   daring   glance   over   her   shoulder ,   far   more   aware   of   how   quickly   he’ll   snap   this   stupid   toerag   in   half   as   apposed   to   fearing   for   herself ,   glitch   yanks   without   warning ,   pulling   the   other   child   from   their   prison   with   a   startled   yelp ,   a   brace   for   impacting   the   hard  floor   wracking   their   frail   form ,

glitch   grips   their   hand ,   still   caught   in   midair ,   hovering ,   and   they   barely   graze   their   nose   against   the   ground  .   they   look   up   at   her   wildly ,   demanding   explanation ,   but   there’s   hardly   time   for   that  .

“   we’vegottagowe’vegottagowe’vegottago ,   ”   she   gabbles ,   leaping   to   the   floor   and   landing   beside   her   newfound   company ,   and   a   mangled   shriek   escapes   her   as   a   huge   hand   that   dwarfs   both   children   slams   down   close   by ,   intent   on   cupping   around   them  .   perhaps   they   finally   got   their   shit   together ,   or   perhaps   the   commotion   finally   kickstarted   some   sense   of   panic   or   drive   to   live   that   got   them   going    ------    regardless ,   the   escapee   grips   her   hand   tightly   as   she   rushes   them   through   the   area ,   blipping   in   and   out   of   existence   to   make   subtle   jumps   forward   and   put   as   much   space   between   them   and   him   with   the   dumb   little   human   in   tow  .

the   weight   of   what   she’s   doing ,   what   she’s   done ,   almost   chokes   her  .

they   escape   his   pitiful   attempts   at   searching   easily ,   his   sluggish   pace   hindering   any   chance   of   keeping   up   with   the   crazed   bundle   of   mismatched   code   donning   features   that   aren’t   anywhere   close   to   her   preferred   human   guise   lest  ...   somebody  ...   catch   her   doing   this  .   her   hands   are   shaking  .   this   other   child   must   notice ,   because   they   offer   her   comforting   squeezes   and   bump   against   her   lightly   as   she   continues   pulling   them   through   the   endless   stretches   of   environments ,   not   sure   how   to   disengage ,   detach ,   what   to   do   with   herself  .

they   thank   her   with   a   soft   voice ,   hoarse   from   misuse ,   scratchy   with   dehydration ,   croaky   from   earlier   tears  .   glitch   pretends   not   to   hear  .   they   tell   her   they   hate   it   here  .   glitch   pretends   not   to   hear  .   (   THEY’D   BE   BETTER   OFF   DEAD  .   THEY   SAY   IT   THEMSELVES ,   )   they   tell   her   she   sure   is   quiet  .   glitch   can   feel   her   eyes   stinging   with   terrible ,   terrible ,   wet ,   hot   things ,

they   ask   for   her   name  .   glitch   shakes   her   head  .

i   have   to   go   now  .    

go  ?   go   where  ?   you’re   leaving   me  ?   

well ,   sure   i   am  .   you   can   take   care   of   yourself  .   or   if   you   can’t ,   well  ...   you   know  .   some   tragic   fate   will   befall   you  .   

don’t   leave  .   

no ,   i   have   to  .   and---   and   don’t   tell   ANYONE   about   this  .   about   me  .   i   mean ,   it   doesn’t   matter ,   because  ...   they   wouldn’t   know   it’s   me ,   even   if   you  ...   just    ------    button   it  .   and   don’t   you   dare   die ,   you   little   cretin  .   not   after   i   went   out   of   my   way  .   see   you   around  .

see   you   around ,   see   you   around  .   it   feels   like   a   command  .   an   instruction  .   a   wordless ,   desperate ,   choked   up   cry   of   i’d   better   see   you   around  .

[wilhelmjfink]

November (pt. 3)

If you’ve made it this far, thanks :,)

You are miserably hot. You can feel the fabric of your shirt sticking to you, plastered with sweat. You force the tired muscles to move again, kicking the blankets that lay on top of you onto the floor and far away from your scorching skin. 

“She’s waking up,” you hear the people and commotion strangely clear, having anticipated another brain-rattling voice that yelled and screamed at you until you collapsed. But for now, you bask in the soft silence.

You’re so, so tired. Please, no more. Please... you can’t do it again. 

“Y/N, can you hear me?” This voice is... oddly mellow. Gentle. Comforting. But youre still terrified. Hesitant to get too close knowing it will inevitably turn against you, laughing at you or yelling all around you or taunting you or slowly killing you. Please, no more...

“Y/N, you’re okay. You’re safe now — back home in Alexandria.” The voice is so soothing and convincing. Who was it? “Daryl’s okay. You’re okay.”

Daryl’s okay?

Daryl’s okay. 

No. There’s no way that’s true — you’d seen him get bit and eaten alive with your own eyes, torn to shreds only to come back and do the same to you. You’d witnessed it. It was your fault. This is another nightmare, and you refuse to fall for it; refuse to open your eyes and be faced with what used to be Daryl, rotted jaw snapping at you and cloudy, dead eyes glaring at you. You can’t take it anymore — Jesus Christ, you just want it to end. No more. Please, no fucking more...

“You’re alright, kid. Just relax.”

It’s Rick. 

He’s back and you instantly feel the urge to start apologizing for everything: for leaving, for driving Daryl away, for killing him. For taking away his best friend, his brother.  But oddly enough, he doesn’t really sound upset... and his voice is the sweetest thing you think you’ve heard in a lifetime. 

Whenever he is, you need to find him. 

He’s real, physical, you can feel him, and you need to latch onto it. Beg him to take you back home and out of the depths of your mind where you’re locked away, being tortured for eternity with your biggest fears. You can’t stand it; this fate worse than hell. Far worse than hell. 

No more. 

A warm hand covers yours — you can feel it and it doesn’t feel like pins and needles or scorching fire against your nerves. It feels safe, familiar. It feels like home. 

You pry open your tired eyes with a newly found determination because Rick has got to be somewhere near you and you want to grasp his hand back and never let go. You want to revel in the sensation because its so different than anything you could ever remember feeling and you so badly want it to be real, even if it just feels that way for one minute before he turns on you again. Before it turns out just to be a mirage, another hallucination your mind taunts you with. 

You figure you must’ve lost your mind when you recognize the person sitting beside your bed as Daryl, his hand limply overtop of yours. 

Of course this was too good to be true. He looks like he’s asleep. Yanking your hand back you’re afraid that when he wakes up, he’s going to have already turned. And you don’t want to see that ever again — you can’t see that ever again. You were so tired of the guilt. Just make it stop. His head rests on his forearm with his hand hovering over him, like he’d passed out waiting head in hand for you to wake up or probably turn so he could be the one to stab the knife in between your eyes. 

Your subconscious screams at you to run because you just can’t do it again. You can’t be trapped inside your mind anymore.  You barely whisper the words to him, wanting him to hear your pleads but treading lightly as to not awake him: “Please, Daryl, make it stop.”

He hears you and stirs. 

With a gasp you jerk away. 

But you can smell him, the familiar scent of cigarettes and leather wrapping itself around you in a welcoming hug — you couldn’t smell him before. He has a black eye and a purple gash on his lip. He didn’t before. But he looks so young and peaceful when he’s asleep you almost can’t look away, despite the fear of what lies ahead whenever he decides to wake up. 

Someone moves behind you and you careen your head around and there sits Rick, a faint smile gracing his lips.

Strangely enough, you don’t feel the need to run and hide. 

It’s oddly deceiving, you think, and you eye him warily, unsure of what to make of the situation the way your body is reacting. You always trust your gut. You look back at Daryl. 

He hasn’t turned yet — he doesn’t look sick yet either you observe, and you think that maybe this time you will be able to have a little bit more time with him before you have to put him down or he comes back and tries to eat you alive, tearing you to shreds. There’s a knot in your stomach and your hands are clammy and you feel light headed — it must be obvious because Rick leans forward and you flinch. 

“Hey,” he says softly to you. You hesitantly turn away from Daryl to face him and you feel strangely calm. Safe. Not afraid like you should be; not on edge, ready to run at any given second.  Though you can’t help but throw fleeting glances over your shoulders at Daryl as he shifts, still too naive to relax “You’re alright, Y/N. You’re okay.”

You’re okay. You’re okay. Are you really okay? You want to believe him — you want to believe it so, so badly. But you’re doubtful. You’re certain that your dream is about to take a nasty turn, just like they always did. But this one felt fine. Were you really okay? 

You swallow hard, eyeing him cautiously before dropping the question that’s been on your mind. “Daryl?”

“He’s okay, too.”

He’s okay, too. 

Your voice breaks weakly. “Really?”

He chuckles, obviously having bared witness to your nightmares as well, very aware of your skepticism in believing him. But those words, they don’t even make sense when you first hear them. You were so sure, so convinced that Daryl was gone. You’d seen him die. More than once. And yet... here he was, slowly coming out of slumber by your side, living and breathing and alive. 

“He found ya downstream, soaked to the bone n’ hallucinating and...” he continues before trailing off and you blink at him stupidly, not comprehending that there was a reason for the nightmares and hallucinations that you’d experienced. But still, they’d felt so real... they still do. “Hypothermia gives ya... fever dreams, or somethin’ like that.” Hypothermia. You rack your brain for the last thing you really, truly remember that you can decipher from the visions in your mind, so distinctively real and hard to distinguish from reality. Rick notices the wheels turning inside your brain and offers more insight. 

“Said he saw ya tackle some walkers and y’all fell right into the river. Then ya just... disappeared.” His face was somber now and your guts churned at the thought. While you were literally held prisoner in the depths of your unconscious  Daryl was wide awake, probably in excruciating pain, and he probably thought he had just witnessed you die, too. God, you know how awful and debilitating those thoughts had been for you. You wonder if he’d felt the same way — you sure hoped not. You’d never wish that horror upon your worst enemy. 

“He’d ran into some people — bad people. Ended up in a shootin’ match, and one of ‘em rammed into him, threw him off his bike over the edge or somethin’. Got stabbed with one of his own arrows.”

You cringe. Well, that would explain the vague memories you  have of him laying motionless in the creek bed. So far, all of your recollections of that scenario are real. Now you’re just having a hard time pinpointing exactly where it all went wrong. 

“You saved his life, tacklin’ those walkers before they got him. He was still all disoriented. They woulda got ‘em had you not been there.” 

Your throat aches with the pressure of sobs you want to release but you’re not sure why so you fight them. 

This whole time you’d been convinced that you’d killed him — that his demise had been on you entirely.... but in reality, it was the opposite? You wouldn’t believe it. 

“He went after ya — best he could, ya know, with the arrow ‘n all....” He tries to add on lightheartedly and you throw him a tight smile just to humor him, your mind still reeling with the pieces of the puzzle you’re trying to put together. “Found ya about half a mile down the river talkin’ to yourself.” 

Your cheeks redden but it makes sense. 

“Tried to drag ya home best he could, but when you didn’t come back, we all went out searchin’ for the two of ya.” 

So, that’s that. 

How simple and justifiable it had all truly been that whole time. You can’t help but feel stupid, embarrassed, as if you could’ve controlled any of those hallucinations. You were in such a bad state of mind when you’d set out to search for him that day that it was so easy for your unconscious to draw up and use your greatest fears against you. It made sense. It all made sense and it was such a relief that you genuinely smiled to yourself. 

“You’ve been out for a few days now. Fever finally broke.” You look back over at Rick and he motions behind you with a nod of his head, a small smirk returning to his face. “He’s been waiting for ya.”

So you turn back to Daryl who stirs once more as he wakes up, blinking the fogginess if sleep away lazily and pushing himself upright. You don’t mean to jump but you’re so instinctively afraid that he’s going to bite you again and please, please make it stop. Just make it stop. 

No. Rick just explained it all in detail, every last part of it, answering every question you’d had. Daryl is fine. 

In fact, his eyes are the brightest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. They find yours and you freeze, holding your breath in anticipation. Rubbing his face in his hands with exhaustion, he shakes his head in disbelief. “Christ,” he finally mutters, his tone coming out normal and familiar — not as snarls and growls and gurgles. But when he notices how a scared you look, how skeptical you are that he’s even real, his look softens. And you’d be lying if you didn’t feel every single worry and fear and every ounce of immeasurable full you felt dissipate into thin air. 

Those fucking eyes. 

Now it’s your turn to your stare at him incredulously. 

He looks down and you see his features become painted pink and you smile. “Y/N, I...” He stops when you reach out delicately, your fingers gently brushing the stubble along his chin, basking in the feeling of him; how real he was, how warm he was. 

Could it really be? There was no fucking way. 

You’d watched him die right in front of you  so many times, each one burning the horrific image into your brain, sure to give you terrible nightmares and flashbacks for a long time to come but that was something you were willing to deal with if he was really here with you. 

Was he really here with you? He looks just as distraught as you feel; though somehow just as relieved as you are, too. 

“Y/N, you… I thought...” he looks away as he searches for the words but you can hardly hear them, focusing on his vivid features that were right in front of you. He was more beautiful than you’d ever thought he could be. “I heard ya scream and... and when ya fell into the river ‘n I couldn’t find ya, I was so sure...”

His eyes are glistening with tears and you have this hurricane of emotions inside you only feeling him against you can subdue. “Daryl?” Sounding much quieter, much less courageous than you intended, you had to physically force that name out of your mouth. It had only left you in screams and cries lately, but now it tasted so nice and you had to say it again just to make sure it was actually him. “Daryl.” You swallow down a sob you can feel choking you. “Daryl? Oh, my god, Daryl...” you draw in a ragged breath in attempt to collect yourself but fail miserably. “Daryl, you.... you’re...”

The tears start — but these ones are far different from the ones you were so used to. The tears of fear and guilt and devastating heartbreak. These were tears of utter disbelief and pure joy. 

These tears didn’t hurt to cry.

There was just no way. 

Daryl shushed you, leaning forward and wrapping a comforting arm around you but you don’t miss the way that he winces at the movement. “S’alright, I’m ‘ere.” Your eyes trail down his broad chest, covered with a thin grey t-shirt that accentuated the textures underneath it over his ribs, a thick bandage covering something up and hiding it away. Not a bite, you tell yourself. It can’t be a bite. Right? They told you he was fine. Unless this dream was about to take a turn for the worse — far more brutal than the others, it waited in the corners of your mind, waiting for the moment to jump out and send you whirling into a panic. “Look at me.”

You willingly obey, eyes still welled with tears unable to be stopped, trying to swallow back the deep irrational fears that keep threatening to rear their ugly heads. While that was all so lucid there’s something different about this time that has you so assured. So confident and almost excited. 

You’re at a loss for words, in every sense of the phrase. Was it really all just a dream and were you finally awake, like some bad ending in a cheesy movie? What in the hell had happened? You were confused. Had it really been just days? It felt like a couple hours had passed from when you were trudging through the snow in search of him.  

Daryl is very much real and very much alive. You choke out another sob, covering your mouth in disbelief. Daryl is here, living and breathing. He simply stares at you, drinking in your appearance now that you’ve finally woken up and come back to him. 

The mutual feelings of devastation and loss had taken a toll on both of you. But it made the relief you were both feeling that much sweeter  

Taking a chance and deciding you truly have nothing left to lose, you grab onto his head and pull him toward you with a passionate, needy kiss. 

After a few seconds he pulls away and looks at you slightly confused, cheeks rosy. You fucking giggle, giddy like a child, still unfathomably relieved and overjoyed and you pull him back in for another kiss. 

This one he accepts much more willingly and melts into you, his hand reaching out to cup the side of your voice and the jolts of energy it sends through your nerves are painful anymore. They’re amazing; the most wonderful sensation you could ever imagine. 

Pulling back, you take another second just to look at him. You desperately want to replace every faux memory you have of him now with these ones — the feeling of his rough hands holding your cheek as he hovers so close to you you can feel his breath ghosting your lips. He’s unsure of himself now, unsure of what to do next. So you reach out to him and brush your thumb gently over his swollen eye. Though dark and painful and vicious, it’s still real. Those deep, icy blue eyes you’ve lost yourself in countless times — they’re real. He’s real. 

Finally you gather up the courage and ability to speak again, but all you can manage to muster out is “You’re alive.”

 You’re not even mad when he starts to lecture you. “I could say the same to you, girl. The hell’s the matter with ya, leaving here by yourself lookin’ for me? Ya could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

He truly didn’t know that you had died a hundred times to save him. 

That you had walked through a hundred hells to find him, to make sure he was okay. 

That you had lived through a hundred lifetimes for him.

But you didn’t care. He was okay. So you’d do it all over again if you had to.

Alright you caught me I’m a sucker for happy endings 

Thanks for reading!

@crossbowking @jodiereedus22 @apossiblegentleman @mtngirlforever @sourwolf-sterek32 @winchester-angel @cococruzzmayanns @qrangr @cole-winchester @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @twdeadfanfic @crazyaboutnorman @deliciousassafrasssandwich @bunnymother93 @96ssi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ima-mther-fckn-starboy @thatsoragan @lonewolf471

[silence-burns]

Something Different //part2

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Slow-burn Crowley x asexual!reader. When Crowley notices you actually have a weak point, he becomes very interested in taking advantage of it. But not everything goes as he expected.

Word count: 3,114

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

How long does it take a coffee to brew? Does the amount of sugar change it? If it wasn't boiling, how would it taste right after pouring the water? Would it taste just fine or does waiting for the drink to cool have that much of a meaning?

You closed your eyes just for a while. The day has been exhausting and far from enjoyable, but you couldn't leave it behind yet, as you still had much work to finish. And that required some help. A very slowly cooling help.

Something shifted behind you.

Faster than you would honestly expect in your state, you throw a spoon that was lying next to your hand at the thing that appeared in your very quiet, very empty apartment.

Crowley flinched when it hit him hard right in the forehead, not doing him any harm. The spoon landed on the ground with a loud clink.

"Seriously?! A spoon? What did you expect it to do?" Crowley looked at you in pure disbelief, massaging his head. You hoped he would have a dark bruise soon.

You waved your hand, in which you had a demon-killing knife.

"To distract any idiot that thought I wouldn't have my baby in my back pocket, within reach," you grinned, proud of yourself. You were half-dead from sleep deprivation but you still managed to stun your guest.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, nodding appreciatively. He clapped his hands in a mocking manner and you saluted. If he wanted to play, he should remember two could do this.

"Well, so now that we can talk properly, what are you looking for here?" you gestured to your crappy motel room, where you've been residing for the last few days.

The Winchesters were out, dealing with something big on their own. You were tired after your last hunt and wanted to rest and regain your strength before going to the field again. Lucky for you, there wasn't much of a job for a hunter anywhere close to where you were staying, so you decided to take a short vacation - no one knew how long would it last. You had a bad feeling about what the boys were after, but they didn't want to make you a part of it, at least not yet. You were actually pretty confident they would reach out for you sooner or later, but there was no point in rushing things. If they were going to need you, you had to be in shape for when the time came. And for now... well, no one ever said that having some well-earned free time had to happen in a perfectly clean area. Especially when you were diving in the possible cases in that state.

Crowley admired the pile of dishes almost falling from the sink on your left.

"What makes you think I would only make a visit to such a lovely and courteous person like you if I needed anything?" he asked slyly.

You muttered a curse under your breath, already tired of dealing with the demon and his moods.

"Dude, I know you far too well, sadly, to be fooled by a crap like that. Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"I've never said that."

"But you still try to pull a fast one on me. It says something even if you personally don't. So?"

Crowley smirked smugly, not bothered even a little, and you felt your blood boiling. The bastard didn't even have to say anything to annoy the living shit out of you. That definitely required some skills, but you were far from commending him on his unusual talent, quite the opposite actually.

"I only wanted to check on my favourite hunter, see how life is going... I see it's as miserable as I thought," Crowley glanced around with an air of pomposity. You had to admit the rest of the small apartment didn't look much better than the kitchen.

"I had better things to do than to clean and scrub the floor," you shrugged, raising your chin. "Some of us don't waste our time spying on and disturbing others."

"Oh my, and what is so absorbing?" he chuckled.

"Maybe finding an effective way of killing you?"

"I could give you some lessons on that, and some other subjects..."

You brushed off his flirt, ignoring it just like you have for months now. It looked like Crowley couldn't take a hint even when hit with it.

"I don't need your help with anything, and most definitely not with killing demons. You may not recall it, but I have almost killed you twice, man. And even now, I'm this close to doing it again if you don't stop talking and leave me alone."

"Don't flatter yourself, darling. I have only let my guard down because of some other... events that have been distracting me..."

"You should name yourself the King of Lies, Crowley. I could have finished you with a blink of an eye," you snarked, leaning on the counter behind you, but not putting your knife down. Crowley may not be your main enemy right now, but you still didn't trust him.

“Please, darling. You sound like I have never done the same...”

“Maybe because you didn’t?”

“May I remind you that time when you were rotting in my prison…?”

You shrugged, looking him straight in the eyes. You could see he was starting to get irritated with you, probably not used to be treated without respect.

“It wasn’t your work,” you declared with confidence.

Crowley’s eyebrows raised with disbelief.

“I am the King of Hell, and I ordered my demons to capture you,” he said slowly as if he had to explain something to a child.

“Exactly,” you nodded approvingly. “You only gave orders. I, on the other hand, had to hunt you down myself, without anyone’s help. And, let me repeat myself, I was successful,” you added proudly. You could see Crowley boiling with anger. Oh, it looked like you just stepped on someone’s pride… What a shame.

For a moment you could swear Crowley’s eyes flashed red, but it was gone before you made sure. It sent shivers down your spine and made you clench your hand on the knife harder, but the demon didn’t attack you, coming back to his senses quickly. Crowley cleared his throat, bringing a smile back on his face. Smug bastard.

“If you excuse me, it looks like I’ve got something to take care of,” he nodded in goodbye theatrically, before disappearing. The faint odour of Sulfur filled your small kitchen, making you open the window.

“So now we have quiet days or something?” you asked the air, but no answer came.

Well, you certainly weren’t going to miss that annoying bastard. You still felt a little bit pleased with making him that furious. It was a few months since you stopped hunting him, just like the Winchesters did. Crowley may be a pain in the ass, but you needed him from time to time as he has proved his utility on a few occasions.

The only thing you weren’t so sure about him, was why did he have so much interest in you. At first, you didn’t even notice that until the Winchesters asked you about it, claiming that Crowley usually didn’t pop out of nowhere without any particular reason, or at least not for any hunter they knew.

It was even weirder when you thought about how many times you got on his nerves just to annoy him, very much like he did to you. You were enemies for the majority of your lifetime, at least because of your labels as a hunter and a demon, and now it wasn’t actually that different. You were not friends. You couldn’t stand working with each other and almost always ended up irritating the living shit out of each other. Sure, there were those rare times when you could actually talk like civilised people and not fight or throw things, but what did that mean? What did that mean to Crowley, was the more complicated question. Could this be that he was just bored in Hell and wanted something fresh and new?

Well, guessing by his rather rushed departure, you were almost sure he wasn’t used to being treated not like the king he claims to be. He wasn’t your king, so why should you act like he was?

You yawned, looking at your almost frozen coffee you forgot about. Who says that women are complicated? Have they never met a demon?

Probably. It looked like you were the only one who demons clung to. Yay.

Dealing with humans was a lot harder than one would think. Of course, it got easier the more information known about them. It let you predict their behaviour, to get them interested or willing to do something. The best results were given by acknowledging their darkest, deepest secrets or weaknesses, even though it was difficult to find them out. But Crowley was patient and perceptive and that usually earned him access to a person’s soul. Usually. For those who he had no time to carefully drop the bait, he usually seduced or made one of his demons seduce.

But, apparently, you seemed to be almost as resistant as he himself and could see through his plotting, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get to you. It was more frustrating than truly dangerous, especially now that you were not actively hunting him down. But Crowley was not one to give up so easily. You were talented, determined and he would greatly appreciate using you from time to time, even if it meant he had to blackmail or provoke you. After all, he was the King of Hell. Why should he hold back?

Crowley approached you, sitting at some second-rate bar in the middle of nowhere. Oh, he perfectly knew why you were here, as he has been watching your actions for the past week, heating them from time to time to keep you and himself entertained enough. Why would he do that, one may ask? To prove a point. An important point.

You barely raised your eyes, with your head leaning on your arm on the bar’s counter, a half empty glass loosely grasped between your fingers. Black circles under your eyes contrasted with the rest of your worn-out face, still partly covered in dust. Your clothes still smelt like fire and a ghoul’s nest, as you probably didn’t have the time or strength to properly wash yourself. No one could blame you if they knew about your last week. It was understandable you were in pressing need of whisky, even as nasty as the ones served in a place like this.

“Hello, darling,” Crowley flashed you a bright smile that could lighten up the whole room if it was meant to do that. You sloppily thought you wished to smile back when your knife entered his body, but you were too weak to even move somewhere away  from him.

“I hate you,” you muttered instead, letting your tired eyes slide shut once again.

“Darling, there is no need for such offensive words. Or did something happen?” he asked in a poorly concealed mocking tone, perfectly aware of what happened.

You growled loudly, not bothered even a little by the weird stares people around gave you. Crowley laughed.

“I suppose it’s because of your recent… case? Or maybe I should say, cases, darling?”

“Screw you, Crowley.”

“Me? Why me? Did I do something to you?” he tried to sound offended, but it wasn’t that easy to do with a smile plastered to face.

“Don’t play with me, Crowley, I’m not in the mood. I know you had to do with those ‘unusual’ cases that are literally making me die from exhaustion,” you snapped at him.

“Me? Darling, accidents happen and...”

“Like hell!”

“Actually, Hell is doing quite fine from what I’ve witnessed. Besides, it would be a shame if you died right now as I still have not prepared you a room...”

“You are so funny,” you growled out sarcastically, eyeing him furiously.

“Say it again, please.”

“You wish. By the way, what made you do all of this? Is it because of our talk? I had never considered you to act like that,” you asked, curious about his motives.

Crowley shrugged.

“I have not even the slightest idea what you are rambling about. Did you see me anywhere, creating any of this mess with my hands?”

“Oh, come on! Are you really offended by what I said? Are you five?” you raised your head, your emotions granting you some strength.

Crowley didn’t move. You could see how pleased he was with his idea of messing in your recent hunts and making them a lot harder. If you had any doubts before, now you were sure whose fault it was.

“If it’s too much, you can always admit it and ask someone for help,” Crowley declared, making it obvious as to who he had in mind to seek help from. So there was his motive – he wanted to make you beg for him to stop and admit that he was stronger and smarter than you. Your previous conversation must have hurt his pride more than you thought.

But there were some options he apparently didn’t think of.

“Oh, but I already did,” you laughed, looking over your shoulder when you heard someone entering the bar. You pointed a finger at the newest guests. “And there is my cavalry, ready to fight any evil, suited or not.”

Sam and Dean finally noticed you at the bar, but the relieved smiles froze on their faces when they recognized the person sitting by your side. You could almost see how they were one step from running to you with their blades drawn. Screw the human witnesses, it’s the Winchesters time.

You waved your hand calmingly, though, making them stop in the middle of the bar. You gestured them to stay low and that you were doing just fine. Sam raised his eyebrow, not convinced, but you made the thumbs up gesture. He shook his head disapprovingly, but took a sit at one of the tables next to Dean. He made sure to have a good sight of the two of you, just in case. You were grateful to him. Sammy always tried to help the best he could.

Crowley observed your actions, giving the boys just a glimpse of an eye. They weren’t a real threat, at least not at the moment. Right now though, Crowley had an excellent chance of taking notes on you. It was almost like a blessing, as someone sarcastic would say.

“Oh, so the boys are here too,” he nodded to himself. “What a surprise. How nice of them.”

“Yeah, it’s nice indeed, because I’ve heard they are kind of busy right now. Are you happy now? You wanted me to call them to make a trap for all of us?” you asked half-jokingly. The three of you were almost invincible together and you were pretty sure that with the boys’ help, you could take care of your mess with ease.

“Maybe later,” the demon took a look at the Winchesters. “It would be even nicer of them, if they cared for you as much as you think they do.”

You ordered another drink after finishing the one in your hand. Crowley’s behaviour is perplexing. He rarely talked in so many riddles.

“What do you mean?” you had to ask, when he didn’t seem like explaining his words.

“Which one do you think cares for you more? The one checking out the blondie or the brunette?” Crowley gestured to their table.

You looked at them and then shrugged. Nothing was out of ordinary for you.

“I don’t know. Both probably, I mean, they both came there.”

Crowley squinted his eyes, surprised by your answer and the lack of emotions you should have had. It almost made you laugh.

“What? Should I be jealous? Crowley, please...”

“Why not? Samantha looked interested in you...”

“Sam was more focused on you than me, if it makes any difference to you. And even if he wasn’t, why should I forbid him from finding someone? It’s not like we are together or something...” you laughed at the last part and the ridiculousness of the thought.

Crowley looked like he was still thinking about it.

“Crowley! One more minute and I’m gonna think you are setting me up!” you snapped at him, losing your good mood quickly.

“What would be so bad about it? Maybe it’s my new hobby?”

“Setting people up? Are you mad? Did something possess you?” you started to worry seriously.

“You wish. But just think about it – I’m not saying Moose is the best choice for you, but he sure has some… values important in...”

Your drink flew to Crowley’s face, soaking him in the middle of the sentence. For a brief moment you looked at each other in silence, both taken-aback. You raised from your seat, waving at the Winchesters to stay where they were.

“I don’t have either time nor patience for poor jokes like that, Crowley,” you said in a low voice.

“Maybe it was not a joke?” the demon didn’t move at all.

“It better be.”

You left the money on the counter, nodding at the surprised bartender and approached the boys, moving out from the bar with them. They shot Crowley a death glare on their way out.

The owner of the bar took the money you left, eyeing the demon who now was completely dry. It looked like your drink must have missed him, the man thought, not noticing even a one drop on the expensive suit. The wealthy have always been the luckiest one. At least, almost always.

“A tough one, huh?” he asked lightly, hiding the money.

“It looks like it,” Crowley said, not looking at him. He was still keeping an eye on the door, now closed.

“Nah, don’t worry, man. You’ll find another one – it shouldn’t be a problem with your look.”

An idea sparked in Crowley’s head. A wolfish smile crossed his lips.

The bartender turned around to take something from the shelf behind him. When he came back, Crowley was gone and the only thing that was left was a huge tip. The man looked around, pretty sure that it wasn’t possible to move out of the bar that quickly, but as there was no other possibility, he mumbled something to himself, moving on to the next customer.

[Part 3]