#anyway i won't hate this if it ends up being a stand alone chapter

[north-noire]

My Michael Afton throughout the years! ft. his own little doodles. I'll try to be brief about the timeline and how my Michael was without saying too much since it'll be explored in the Hidden Hands AU fic's chapters anyway so I won't say all the details. Feel free to read if you guys like! I have a lot to say about him.

1983 (FNAF 4) - Michael was 12 or 13-ish when the Bite happened. Very reckless yet adventurous kid. Didn't really hate Evan (William, as much as he had a soft spot for Evan, still loved Michael all the same), just had really bad friends and influence (his friends were mostly bullies) - and didn't really like that he's being told to parent a little brother he had no idea how to take care of. It didn't help that Evan tended to be a tattle-tail sometimes about the trouble he was getting into. Michael also, deep down, got scared of what the bullies would do to him if he dared stand up for his brother or spoke out against them, so he ends up going along with what they did for his own sake. After the Bite, Michael was still deeply guilty about what he did to Evan, and it haunts him every night, knowing he had no good excuse but irresponsibility for what he did to his brother, because after all, it wasn't like William wasn't giving him enough attention. Michael just knew that he deserved anything unfortunate coming to him, but is genuinely surprised that his father kept telling him he loved him all the same. From this point on, he becomes easily troubled, tends to stay close to his dad. Makes sure he follows the rules and doesn't do trouble. Just wants to do a complete personality shift, and is deeply ashamed of who he was before. 1985 (Charlie's death, Fredbear's Family Diner shuts down) - Michael was 15 here. Over the years, he slowly isolated himself from most of the people in his life since he gets worried about his past scars coming back to haunt him. Mostly a recluse and reserved. He's not handling things well after Charlie's death and a family divorce - not to mention the non-existent social life he had. Just prefers to be left alone, but he's nice if you get to know him. Doesn't really have a good relationship with Elizabeth, but is actually pretty close with William. Feels extremely guilty and hates himself/blames himself for Charlie's death. He gets paranoid easily, as he thinks whoever took Charlie is now after him, but his father tells him to not worry too much about it. 1987 (FNAF 2) - (17) Slowly having a good relationship with Elizabeth. Starts to get into stuff like the supernatural and becomes superstitious to a degree over the years. In public, he's mostly polite and nice, but his actual personality shows through whenever he's with his father or Elizabeth - he's sarcastic, and has quite a dark sense of humor, can be a bit of a rebel, he's just more subtle about it. A bit of an over-thinker - he gets lost in his imagination/head easily. Has a (surprisingly) good relationship with his dad, as he's not really afraid to be himself around him - sometimes gifts him funny things or something he knows his dad would love/would use (he gifts William a rabbit's foot - for good luck, he says). He also helped William build the Fun-Times with blueprints and other technicalities (He's not really aware of the questionable features they had, unfortunately). He couldn't really come with his father and Elizabeth on Circus Baby's Pizza World opening due to things he had to catch up with his home-schooling, he had been skipping classes to work on the Fun-Times, but he really wanted to graduate highschool with a bang, so he's giving everything his all, here. Then Elizabeth suddenly goes missing all of a sudden, and, well... I would say more, but my fic sort of takes a canon-divergence route around FNAF 2/SL-FNAF 1 so that would spoil half of the stuff I've been working/writing about! Reference-sheet wise, I just wanted to show how he progresses from a rebellious, happy and adventurous kid into a more reclused, anxious and soft-spoken adult. Sorry for the long post! I've just been wanting to talk about him for some time now. There's a looot more that I've left out but yeah that's because there will be more in the fic!

[scary-grace]

what I don't remember now (part iii/final) - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Tomura's life doesn't end when his death sentence is handed down, and he knows damn well that he's innocent. It won't be long before one of his appeals proves it, and he can come home -- back to his friends, and back to you, the girlfriend who stood by him through the trial. But death row is a nightmare Tomura can't wake up from, and as the years behind bars begin to pile up, Tomura starts to question if it really matters whether he did it. If he'll ever be free. And if you and the other people who love him have forgotten him for good. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is the prequel fic to 'if my heart was a house', and covers what's happened to Tomura since the last time he and the reader saw each other. I did a not-insignificant amount of research into the criminal justice system in Japan, specifically on prison conditions, prisoner treatment, and the administration of the death penalty. There is some dark and potentially triggering content, especially in later chapters(execution, suicide attempt, etc) so please be wary! dividers/banners by @cafekitsune

part i part ii

part iii/final

sixteen

Chisaki has a new lawyer. Tomura knows because the guards are talking about it. Bitching about it, really. Tomura’s fine with anything that makes their lives harder, even if it’s improving things to Chisaki, who’s been a pain in the ass the entire time he’s been on death row. The guards don’t like Chisaki’s lawyer. “Fucking traitor. Who does he think he is?”

“Some pissant little bastard with a savior complex. Has he even met a murderer in his life?”

“He used to be a prosecutor,” one of the older guards says. He glances Tomura’s way, realizes Tomura’s watching and raises his hand to his baton. “This isn’t a peep show, 230385. Eyes on your business.”

Tomura’s business is giving himself a bath, which is hard to do thoroughly when his left hand is so fucked up, and the only ones getting a peep show are the guards, who are supposed to be watching him to make sure he doesn’t try anything. Tomura’s never been clear on what they think he’s going to try. He goes back to trying to wash his hair, facing away from the guards, and listening to every word they say. He’s not going to look, but he can’t turn off his ears.

“Yeah, I heard. His boss was the best in the business. What the fuck happened to him?”

“He probably read some weepy story about how hard life is for the inmates. He should think about how hard it is for the people they killed. He doesn’t have a clue –”

“He does,” the older guard says. “He’s been here before. I gave him the tour.”

That rings a faint bell in Tomura’s head, but not enough to capture his attention. He’s running out of time to shower, and there are parts of his body that he can’t stand thinking about, let alone touching. He closes his eyes and chases a few faint scraps of memory. There were times when he didn’t hate being touched, even by himself. There were times when being touched was all he wanted, and there was someone who wanted to touch him. Someone with warm hands, hands that were strong even though they were smaller than his. Someone –

Someone who’s long gone, just like everything else from before. The guards’ voices filter back in, and Tomura focuses on that instead. “Anyway, Chisaki’s making a mistake,” the older guard concludes. “If he thinks anyone cares about what happens to him – after what he did – he’s out of his mind. And if his new lawyer causes too much trouble, every prisoner in this place will wish we’d killed him the second he set foot on the block.”

Tomura already wishes that. Chisaki’s the only other inmate who still knows Morse code, and he’s constantly hassling Tomura, trying to get him to respond to whatever stupid idea he’s got in his head. He’s also damn sure that Chisaki’s actually guilty, because Chisaki goes the route of trying to justify the fucked-up things he did rather than claiming that he didn’t do them. Chisaki and Sensei would probably get along, just like Chisaki and the prison doctor would probably get along if the prison doctor wasn’t the one conducting the cavity searches. If Tomura could murder one person in the prison, other than the warden and the doctor, Chisaki would be his top choice.

And at the same time, Chisaki didn’t put Tomura here. Chisaki’s not the reason why Tomura’s been forgotten by everyone who cared about him. If it comes down to siding with Chisaki or the guards, Tomura knows who he’s lining up with.

He gets out of the shower on time, but he’s slow getting back into his clothes, and the guards are rough on him while they hustle him back to the cell block. They’re still bitching about the lawyer, and the older guard turns to Tomura as they’re unlocking the cell, pitching his voice to carry. “What do you think about Chisaki’s little lawyer friend?”

Chisaki must be awake, must be listening. It’s his turn to shower next, and as much as Tomura hates Chisaki, he hates the guards more. He doesn’t answer until he’s already stepped into his cell, until it’s already shut behind him. “I hope his lawyer fucks you sideways.”

seventeen

Tomura’s used to holes in his memory. Some of them have been there all along, so familiar that he doesn’t question their presence. Some of them he can see into, if he tries, if someone asks him to look. Some of them are just black. And some of them are important. What happened during his interrogation in the detention center, the one where he supposedly confessed to killing his entire family. What happened the night of the murders, before he woke up in the hospital. Not remembering is normal. Tomura knows the drill.

Which is why he knows something’s wrong this time. Not remembering isn’t supposed to hurt.

But it does hurt. Tomura’s whole body hurts, and even as he wrestles himself awake through the pain, he’s aware that nothing else around him is right. The air isn’t cold. The light that leaks in under his eyelids is gentle, not harsh. He’s not lying on concrete, on top of a futon so thin it might as well not be there at all. He’s in a bed with soft blankets pulled over him and a pillow behind his head, and in spite of the fact that he’s more comfortable than he’s been in years, he’s in excruciating pain.

The pain radiates everywhere, but Tomura can pinpoint a source. His left hand is cramped so tight that he can’t move his fingers. Something about it feels wrong. Off-balance. When he forces his eyes open, he can’t focus them well enough to see what’s wrong. And even if he could see, he can’t lift his hand to eye-level for a look. As bad as the pain is, it’s worse when it’s cut with unease. Something’s wrong. He needs to figure out what it is before it gets worse.

Tomura tries to sit up, then slumps back, hissing in pain – only for the bed behind him to shift, tilting to support him. He swears in shock, cringes away, and then curses with pain again. Why can’t he shut up? No one’s given him permission to open his mouth. Any second he’s going to take a guard’s baton to the gut. Tomura’s head is spinning, and he can’t stop making the stupid, pained sounds that only come out when he’s too confused to keep them in.

“You can press that button,” an unfamiliar voice says, and something’s nudged against Tomura’s right hand, the one that’s not twisted in agony. “For pain relief. It’s automatic.”

Tomura jerks his hand away. He turns his head in the direction of the voice. It doesn’t sound like a guard. There’s a tone the guards use when they talk to Tomura and the other inmates, and whoever this is, they aren’t using it. Maybe talking won’t get him hit. “Where am I?”

“You’re at a hospital. I’m not allowed to tell you where, but it is a civilian hospital,” the stranger says. Tomura’s vision isn’t clearing fast enough to give him a good look at the stranger’s face. “How much do you remember?”’

Tomura wants to laugh. “If I could remember, I wouldn’t be here,” he grits out. “You know more than I do.”

“For the last two years, the government has been required to report any inmate injuries or illnesses severe enough to require hospitalization,” the stranger says. “The organization I work for, One’s Justice, responds to those reports.”

“So what?”

“So,” the stranger says carefully, “when you were hospitalized five days ago with sepsis stemming from gangrene of your left index and middle fingers, it was reported to someone. To us. And now I’m here.”

This sounds like bullshit. Tomura’s out of it on sepsis, whatever the fuck that is, but even now he knows when someone’s lying to him. “Why do you care what happens to me?”

“Because you’re a human,” the stranger says. It’s quiet for a second, other than the hum of the hospital’s fluorescent lights and the steady buzz of the machines tracking Tomura’s heart, lungs, everything. “And, um – you might not remember this, but we’ve met before. My name is Midoriya Izuku.”

Now it makes sense. “We didn’t meet,” Tomura says. His mouth feels like sandpaper and tastes even worse, and the pain radiating through his body gives him zero incentive to check his anger. “You learned all about what they do to us in there and you walked away.”

“I couldn’t do anything then. I can do something now,” Midoriya says. Tomura blinks until Midoriya’s face swims into focus – wide-eyed, freckled, topped with messy green hair. “I founded One’s Justice to combat the human rights abuses occurring in maximum security and on death row. I’m here to take your statement and open an investigation on your behalf.”

“You’re out of your mind.” Tomura looks away from Midoriya. “I don’t remember what happened, and if I did, it wouldn’t matter.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Tomura twists away from Midoriya, jarring his left arm in the bargain, and a sheet of agony drops over him. “You’re stupid if you think this matters to anyone. All that matters to me is what they’re going to do to me for talking to you – so even if I did remember – fuck!”

The pain relief button taps against Tomura’s right hand again. “Based on the doctors’ assessment, the initial injury to your hand occurred some time ago,” Midoriya says. “I have two sources – a former death row inmate and a current client – confirming that a guard purposely crushed it eleven years ago. Pre-surgical scans revealed at least three old fractures, none of which healed properly, and none of which could have been treated with the supplies on hand in a prison hospital.”

Tomura hears the sound of papers shuffling. “One of the doctors One’s Justice works with reviewed the scans and determined that if you’d received appropriate treatment for the prior injuries, the drastic measures taken this time would have been unnecessary,” Midoriya says. “I want to take your statement, if you’ll share it. But I don’t need it to prove a violation of your human rights.”

It would be great if Midoriya shut up about the human rights thing. Tomura’s tired of having to entertain the delusion that anyone cares about it but him. “Drastic measures?”

“Your, um –” Midoriya breaks off. “Your fingers developed frostbite, then gangrene. In order to save your life, the doctors had to amputate them.”

Tomura’s been trying to lift his hand to eye level this whole time. Now he looks down at his left hand where it lays uselessly on the bed. It’s wrapped in heavy bandages, immobilized into a useless club from the middle of his forearm down, but even through the bandages, he can see what’s missing. He coughs, which hurts. Winces, which also hurts. When he speaks, he sounds like he’s out of his mind. “Both of them?”

“I’m sorry,” Midoriya says, and Tomura laughs, his voice harsh and wavering. “No, I mean it! I’m sorry that we weren’t able to do something sooner, but now that it’s been reported, we can track your recovery – and ensure you’re receiving the standard of medical care –”

“Why, so I can be healthy when they kill me?” Tomura swats the pain relief button away, so hard that it flies off the bed and clatters on the floor. “It’s not my business if you want to waste your time, but you should waste it somewhere else.”

“If it’s not your business, I can waste it wherever I want,” Midoriya says. He picks up the pain relief button and sets it down on the bed. “I’ll open an investigation on your behalf. If you receive a request to meet with me once you’re returned to prison, please accept it.”

Lawyer visits have gotten more common in the last year or two. Chisaki sees his lawyer a lot, for all the good it does him. Tomura figures he’ll say yes. It’ll be something to do. Someone to talk to. A reason to get out of his cell. He nods, hoping Midoriya will leave. Tomura needs time to think about this. Time to think about the fact that he’s down to three fingers on his left hand, and that it didn’t have to be that way. The sooner Midoriya leaves, the better.

But Tomura has a question before he goes. “I know your prison source,” he says. “Who’s the one on the outside? People don’t leave death row.”

“Sometimes they do,” Midoriya says. “My other source is Shirakumo Oboro. That’s the name he goes by now. It’s my understanding that he went by Kurogiri in prison.”

Tomura’s jaw clenches tight, only half of his own accord. “Kurogiri’s dead.”

He pictures Midoriya shaking his head. “He’s on parole,” he says. “For the last two years. I’ve met him several times, and every time, he’s insisted that I try to reach out to you.”

A chair scoots back. “Focus on getting better. You’ll hear from me soon.”

Tomura doesn’t answer, and Midoriya leaves, ending the longest conversation Tomura’s had in seventeen years. Once the door shuts behind him, Tomura shifts gingerly onto his back, staring upwards until even the soft hospital lights start to sting. Someone is investigating. Tomura lost two fingers and he’s been in the hospital for five days. Someone is at least pretending to care what happens to Tomura and people like him. Kurogiri’s alive. There’s still someone in the world who cares what happens to him, who knows what’s happened. If there’s one person – if Kurogiri hasn’t forgotten Tomura – then maybe –

Tomura fumbles blindly for the pain-relief button and presses it until his system floods with enough morphine to blunt every feeling and thought. He’s fast and the medicine’s faster, but neither is fast enough to keep out the thought. Kurogiri remembers Tomura, and Tomura barely knew him. The people who knew Tomura best might remember him, too. Magne. Compress. Twice, Dabi, Toga. Spinner. You.

He hasn’t let himself think of you in years. He’s known better than to crack open the door to those memories when he’s so sure you’ve forgotten him. But now it’s unlocked again, and there aren’t enough painkillers in the world to keep the thought of you at bay.

eighteen

“Are you okay?” Midoriya asks Tomura, before the guards have even shut the door to the visitation room. “You don’t look so good.”

Tomura laughs. Or coughs. “Nobody here looks good.”

“I visited my other client last week. He looks better,” Midoriya says, frowning. “He says you were sent to the protection cell again.”

“Yeah, he and I have been trading off weeks.” Tomura never asked one way or the other to confirm it, but he knows Chisaki is Midoriya’s other death-row client, and the guards are making both of them pay for having the audacity to get a lawyer. “Nothing new.”

“He says they keep you in for longer than him. My other source said the same thing,” Midoriya says. “Do you know why?”

Tomura’s pretty sure he knows, but he’s not bringing that up in here. Midoriya can work out for himself that the warden despises Tomura for supposedly killing a grandmother he never met and uses every chance he can get to make Tomura suffer. He shrugs instead of answering. “You set this meeting up. What do you want?”

“First, I wanted to give an update,” Midoriya says. He has a notebook and a pencil, which is all he’s allowed to bring in. The guards read over it before he leaves and redact anything they don’t like, which in Tomura’s opinion defeats the purpose – but it’s Midoriya’s dumb decision to keep showing up with it. “We’ve collected enough evidence to move forward with legal action with regard to the human-rights violations. Since you, my other client, and the outside source were all incarcerated under the same set of conditions for a period of seven years, you’ll all serve as co-plaintiffs in the case.”

Fine by Tomura. It’s not going to change anything for him, but maybe the next unlucky bastard who ends up in Tomura’s cell will be spared some of the shit Tomura’s gone through. “I wanted to bring the paperwork for you to sign today, but they said I couldn’t without prior verbal approval from you, so I’ll bring it at the next visit,” Midoriya says. Tomura nods. “There’s something else I wanted to talk about, though. How much do you remember about your interrogation?”

“My interrogation was nineteen years ago. How much do you remember about nineteen years ago?”

“I have an eidetic memory,” Midoriya says. Huh. “But even if I didn’t, the moment I confessed to the murders I was sentenced to death for would be hard to forget. You don’t remember it at all?”

“If I remembered it, I’d be able to –” Tomura breaks off, frustrated. “If I remembered it, I’d be able to tell you exactly what I confessed to. Most of the shit they said in the trial was news to me.”

“Okay,” Midoriya says. He adjusts his grip on his pencil. “Tell me what happened during your interrogation. As much of it as you can remember. From the beginning.”

“I don’t remember shit,” Tomura says, but the longer he thinks about that, the less certain he is that it’s true. Maybe it’s not that he doesn’t remember anything. Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to. “It was my day off. When they arrested me. And hers –”

It was just a normal day off. Tomura didn’t have big plans for it, except for spending it with you, and taking you to meet Sensei for the first time. Tomura had tried to introduce you to Sensei before, and Sensei hadn’t wanted to meet you, so when Sensei finally said yes, Tomura jumped on the opportunity. Sensei sent a car to pick the two of you up and bring you to the restaurant, to make sure Tomura wouldn’t be late. You got there early. The cops were waiting. Sensei didn’t get there until after Tomura was on the ground. Sensei was the one who stopped you from trying to pull the cops off Tomura and getting handcuffed right alongside him.

Detention center. The first few days it was – not fine, but now that Tomura knows what the rest of it is like, the first few days were easy. He saw you. Spinner, Toga, Twice. You again. Dabi. You – and he still thought it was a mistake, so he was almost more worried about you than he was about himself. They pulled Tomura out of a visit with you and took him away for interrogation, and after that, time slips into a blur Tomura couldn’t pull into focus if his life depended on it.

He can’t remember the interrogator’s faces. They didn’t wear name badges. Tomura was hungry, but they wouldn’t let him eat. He was tired, but they wouldn’t let him sleep or lay down, or even put his head down on the table. Did he get water? He must have, or he’d have died. He wasn’t beaten, but he didn’t feel right. There was a scab on the back of his hand that always seemed fresh, and a painful knot in his upper arm that never relaxed. And none of that matters, because somewhere in the middle of all of that, Tomura confessed to seven murders and stopped being a human being.

“You’re still a human being,” Midoriya says. He never sounds anything but patronizing when he says that, but he looks disturbed as all hell. “What you’ve said about your interrogation is consistent with the reports made by dozens of other prisoners, across all security levels. Your charges and sentences differed wildly, but you had the same interrogators. Those interrogators were arrested and indicted two weeks ago on charges that they utilized multiple so-called truth serums to produce confessions.”

“What?”

“They drugged you,” Midoriya says. “The scab on your hand and the bruise on your upper arm are consistent with injection sites for sodium thiopental and scopolamine, and those same marks were seen on dozens of other prisoners during their intake exams.”

He’s looking at Tomura like he expects something, and Tomura doesn’t have a fucking clue. Tomura’s going to lose his shit. “What do you want me to say?”

“Standard interrogation practices are already coercive and inhumane, and the validity of any confession produced under those conditions is suspect,” Midoriya says. No shit. “You confessed after twenty days of interrogation, likely under the influence of one or more illegally administered drugs. That confession is inadmissible.”

“So?”

“So if you take that out of the prosecution’s case, what do they have left on you?” Midoriya asks, leaning forward. His eyes are overbright. “I think I can get you a retrial.”

“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Tomura says. “Do you think I want to be here until I die of old age? If they knock my sentences down to life without parole – which is what they’d do –”

“That’s not what a retrial is for,” Midoriya says. “A retrial is a reset. A review of all the evidence, including any that’s come to light since the original trial –”

“Which is nothing –”

“I’ve been looking into it. There’s a lot.”

A lot of what? Tomura’s trial was a blur to start with. Now it’s a black hole, pierced by a few memories here and there, strung together by the image of you in the courtroom, in the first row behind the defense table. You were always there. Tomura wasn’t supposed to look back, but every time he did, you were still there, still watching. You didn’t leave him. You never left him, and it’s been so long since he saw you that he’s not sure he remembers your face.

It crashes down on Tomura all at once – the weight of eighteen years behind bars, eighteen silent, frozen years in hell. He sucks down one frantic breath, then another, before the panic and agony crushes the air from his lungs. Tomura claws at his neck, trying to relieve the pressure, and in spite of the fact that he can’t breathe, his body still manages to throw up. He’s conscious, vaguely, of Midoriya reaching out to help, but the guards are already storming into the room. Tomura winds up back in the protection cell, one arm shackled behind his back and the other shackled in front so he can’t even raise his hands to scratch.

No matter how hard Tomura tries to escape into the blank recesses of his mind, he can’t. You’re there now, waiting for him – you and Spinner and Kurogiri and Toga and Twice and everyone, a whole world he stopped dreaming about a long time ago. Now he knows why he stopped. It fucking hurts. Thinking about what was taken away from him, feeling the places where it was torn out, could drive Tomura insane. It will, if he feels like this long enough. If he does nothing long enough. He can’t do nothing anymore.

The guards let him out of the protection cell some featureless amount of time later, throw him into the showers, and drag him to the meeting room without stopping off at his cell first. Midoriya’s waiting there, again, in his suit that makes him look like he’s playing dress-up with his fucking notebook tucked under his arm. “We need to talk.”

Tomura needs to talk, too. He coughs until his voice clears. “The retrial. What would happen?”

“It would resemble your first trial,” Midoriya says. “The prosecution would present their evidence. Your legal team will provide their own evidence to counter the prosecution’s claims and advance your cause. It won’t just be a judge hearing the case. They’ve changed things. Now there’s a panel – six jurors randomly selected from members of the public, three judges. They’ll hear the case and provide a judgment based on a majority vote.”

The rage humming through Tomura’s veins takes on a new target. “The fucking public decided I was guilty before the trial.”

“Things have changed,” Midoriya says. Tomura starts to argue and Midoriya interrupts. “I’ve been out there. You haven’t. And I know things about your case that you don’t. If I petition the court to rule your confession inadmissible, it’ll force a retrial. Without your confession and with the new evidence I’ve collected, it’ll be almost impossible to uphold the original verdict.”

Tomura remembers hearing the verdict. He remembers the applause from the people observing, but more than that, he remembers the muffled sob he heard from behind him. Remembers twisting around to see you, your hand clamped down over your mouth and tears sliding down your face. “What happens then?”

“You’d be acquitted,” Midoriya says. Tomura doesn’t know that word, and Midoriya spells it out, looking at Tomura with the kind of pity that makes Tomura wish he was back in the protection cell. “You’d be free.”

Free.

Tomura can’t remember the last time he thought about being free. Freedom is something abstract, something unreal, something that doesn’t exist on death row. Tomura’s not free to talk. He’s not free to sleep when he wants to sleep or eat when he’s hungry or drink when he’s thirsty. He’s not even free to die on his own terms – the state will kill him, or he’ll die here of natural causes after a life that’s lasted way too long. Freedom is a joke. Tomura’s tired of laughing.

But Tomura wasn’t always here. Tomura was free before. Midoriya’s saying he could be free again. “Do it,” Tomura says, and Midoriya looks up. “I want the retrial.”

Midoriya nods, but there’s a look on his face Tomura doesn’t like. “What?”

“I wouldn’t suggest a retrial if I wasn’t convinced we could win,” Midoriya says, “but I wouldn’t be doing my job as your lawyer if I didn’t warn you that there’s a catch. The government doesn’t like granting retrials, even when they’re warranted. In exchange for the retrial, they’ll demand that you waive your last appeal.”

“So if I win, they’ll let me go,” Tomura says. Midoriya nods. “If I lose, they’ll kill me.”

“And they’ll do it fast,��� Midoriya says. He looks like he’s going to be sick. “The last time the original charges were upheld after a retrial, the defendant was executed within a week. So I understand if you –”

“They’re going to kill me anyway,” Tomura says. “I want the retrial.”

“Then we’ll do it.” Midoriya’s expression takes on a hard, determined cast that makes Tomura feel ever so slightly better. So it’s not all bullshit idealism and optimism that’s more likely to get Tomura’s hopes up than get him out of prison. Now he looks like a lawyer. “This is going to be different than your last trial. It’s going to take a lot more from you. Can you handle it?”

“I handled this place.” Tomura gestures with his left hand, sees the evidence of just how much he couldn’t handle it, and clenches his fist at his side. “Whatever else there is. I can do it.”

“Hey!” A guard raps on the door, startling Midoriya and scaring Tomura. “Time’s up!”

“Right. I’ll file the motion, and I’ll be back as soon as I hear,” Midoriya says. Tomura nods. His stomach is tying itself in a knot. “And one more thing. Is there anyone you want me to reach out to? Anybody who should know?”

“Talk to –” There’s a split second where Tomura can’t remember Spinner’s real name. “Iguchi Shuichi. Tell him. And –”

“I said time’s up!” The guards barge into the room. “That’s enough.”

There are four guards. One escorts Midoriya out, or tries to, and three of them grab Tomura, hauling him roughly out of his chair. They know better than to beat Tomura up in front of his lawyer, but one drives a fist into Tomura’s kidneys from behind, and Tomura’s so busy gasping for air as they drag him into the hall that he can’t ask Midoriya to look for you. But he will. The next time Midoriya comes back, Tomura’s going to tell him about you. Tell him that if there’s going to be another trial, he needs you to be there. So you can see it go the right way this time. So Tomura can turn to face you after the verdict and know he’s coming back to you.

nineteen

Tomura wore his prison uniform to the trial – the prosecution insisted – but for the reading of the verdict, he gets to wear a suit. Or has to wear a suit. He had a suit when he was on the outside – Sensei insisted – but everything Tomura owned on the outside is long gone by now. All he has left to his name is whatever he had on him when he was taken into custody, things he hasn’t seen in almost two decades. Things he’ll never see again, if this goes the wrong way.

Midoriya seems optimistic. The rest of the legal team does, too. Tomura’s in too much shock to be able to tell. Midoriya wasn’t joking when he said he had new evidence. The picture he painted of the night Tomura’s family was murdered rewrote Tomura’s entire life, and Tomura understands now why there are so many things he doesn’t remember. Why Sensei made him see his family again. Why Sensei testified against him like that in the first trial. Tomura went into the retrial still thinking that Sensei had cared about him. Sensei was using him the entire time.

Sensei’s going to be arrested, regardless of what happens to Tomura now. One of Midoriya’s friends – some psycho prosecutor Tomura wouldn’t mind sending on a field trip to death row – is already on the case. They’ll get him, and he’ll pay for what he did, just like Tomura paid for it. Like Tomura’s still paying for it, for another few minutes if he’s acquitted and another week or so if he’s not. Hope still hurts, sharper than the constant ache in Tomura’s bones, harder than the lump that never seems to leave the back of his throat. He’s ready for it to be over.

“It’s all going to be fine,” Midoriya says encouragingly. He and the rest of Tomura’s legal team are hanging out on the other side of the bars of the holding cell, doing everything short of popping champagne like they’ve already won. “None of the new evidence we presented was rejected, you were great on the stand –”

“And Deku absolutely killed it on cross,” the guy who’s in charge of preparing witnesses crows. He has the loudest voice Tomura’s ever heard, and the first time Tomura talked to him, he walked away with a headache. After so long in silence on death row, he can’t handle that kind of noise. “Better start thinking about what you want to do when you get out of here, Shigaraki. You’ll be free as soon as those geniuses on the panel figure out how to count to nine.”

“Your character witnesses were great, too,” Midoriya’s co-counsel says brightly. “It was amazing! Usually people who’ve been locked up as long as you have don’t have people anymore, but your friends were so happy to hear from us. It was like they’d been waiting this whole time.”

Tomura hasn’t had a chance to talk to his friends yet. Not directly. He’s written to them, and Midoriya’s made sure the letters have gone through – and he’s seen them, one after another, as they’ve taken the stand and given evidence about who Tomura really is. They all look good. Toga, Spinner, Twice, Dabi. Even Magne and Compress, who Tomura hadn’t known for all that long before he was arrested, got up and answered Midoriya’s questions about Tomura’s behavior, about what Tomura said about his family and how he sounded when he said it. About Sensei, because they all met him. Apparently Tomura’s the only person who ever met Sensei and wasn’t instantly overcome with bad vibes.

You’d probably have said the same thing, if you’d taken the stand. But you aren’t on the witness list. You aren’t in the courtroom, either. It took Midoriya two months to find any number to reach you by, and that number must be out of service or something. Even though he’s called you every other day, he says you haven’t picked up once.

Tomura waits until the rest of the team is distracted, then catches Midoriya’s attention again. “Did you call today?”

“Not yet,” Midoriya says. “I was going to wait until – after.”

Right. That’s probably smart. Smarter than what Tomura wants Midoriya to do, which is call you right now and keep calling until you pick up or until he’s called back to the courtroom to hear the verdict. “But after the verdict, I think there’s a good chance she’ll call me,” Midoriya says quietly. “Before – I mean, she has a lot of reasons not to pick up for unfamiliar numbers.”

“What do you mean?”

“Um – oh, I guess you wouldn’t know,” Midoriya says. He looks uncomfortable. “The news coverage of your first trial was – brutal. They were hard on you, obviously, but they were hard on her, too. Really hard on her. There were people following her. Reporters, and stuff. She lost a job – not the one she had before the trial, a new one – because they wouldn’t leave her alone.”

Tomura feels like he’s going to be sick. He clenches his jaw. “So when she sees a number she doesn’t know, and it’s some guy she’s never met who wants to talk to her about you, it probably makes her pretty nervous,” Midoriya concludes. “Once the verdict comes out, she’ll know why I’ve been calling. So I think we’ll hear from her then.”

People were following you because of him. You lost a job because of him. Maybe you’re not just ignoring Midoriya’s calls because he’s a stranger – you’re ignoring them because you know he wants to talk about Tomura, and you don’t want anything to do with Tomura anymore. That doesn’t sound like you. Tomura loves you. What if you don’t love him anymore? Why would you still love him? It’s been nineteen years. You moved on. You must have moved on. Why wouldn’t you –

“Hey,” Midoriya says at once. “Hey. Don’t worry about that right now. Everything’s going to be fine. We’ll get the verdict and then we’ll work everything out.”

“Call her.”

“Oh, um – I don’t know if that’s a good idea –”

“I don’t care if she picks up. Call her now and hold the phone up through the bars,” Tomura says. Midoriya hesitates. “If this goes wrong, I’m dead in a week. Call her.”

Midoriya places the call, then holds it up to Tomura’s ear. Tomura listens as it rings, rings, rings – and then there’s a click, some static, and your voice, for the first time since he told you to leave the courtroom. “Hey there. I’m not able to come to the phone right now, but if you leave me a message, I’ll get back to you when the stars align. Or in one to two business days. Whichever’s faster. So, like I said – name, number, after the beep.”

Tomura shoves the phone away before he can hear it. “Get out.”

“What –”

“I need to be alone,” Tomura says. “Get out.”

“We’re not going to just leave you alone,” the press liaison for One’s Justice says. “There have been concerns in the past with our clients’ safety while waiting for a verdict –”

“I’m not going to kill myself,” Tomura says. “I need to be alone. Get out.”

Once they’re gone, Tomura slumps back against the bars, his eyes burning. That was your voice on the phone. You’re older. You sound older, like Tomura’s older, but you’re still you. You’re out there somewhere – maybe married, maybe single, maybe happy, maybe not – and if Tomura gets out of here, he can find you. Find out what happened to you. What you were doing, all that time you were supposed to be with him.

The list of things Tomura’s scared of has shrunk over the time he’s spent in prison, down to exactly one thing – the idea of spending the rest of his natural life on death row. He thinks he’ll be scared going into his execution, but he won’t know about that until it’s moments away, so he won’t have time to really lose it. Right now, both of those fears feel distant, like he’s looking at them from a bird’s-eye view. The fear that’s immediate, that’s overwhelming, is that he’ll find you again, and you’ll have forgotten all about him. Not that you’ve moved on, not that you’re married, not that you’re so angry at him that you’ve been ignoring Midoriya’s calls. That Tomura’s such an insignificant footnote in your life that you barely remember his name.

That’s what Tomura’s scared of. That’s what he’s always been scared of, ever since your first date – and second date, that same day when you got coffee together instead of freezing outdoors. Even though it went well, even though he got your number, even though the two of you talked until the coffee shop closed and they kicked you out of the building, Tomura was halfway convinced you’d never call him. Things like you didn’t happen to people like Tomura in real life. He was a decent first date, like you said, but someone like you probably had a lot of those. Tomura wouldn’t stand out.

But you did text him. That night. And when he showed up at the library the next day you were happy to see him. When you had a spare second to talk, you asked him out on a third date before he could say a word. You asked about the first two. I figured it was my turn.

Tomura was amazed at how confident you were. Later he found out that you were too worried about losing your chance with him to be anything except blunt, and he was amazed by that, too. Yeah. I guess it can be your turn. What do you want to do?

Let’s go do something fun, you said. The arcade? I suck at games, but maybe you could teach me.

Tomura had had fantasies about something like that. Dumb-ass, cringeworthy gamer fantasies, but the fact that you were going to be in them shot them into overdrive. There was just one problem. I’m not a good teacher.

I bet you’re better than you think you are, you said. When are you free?

Tomorrow, Tomura said, on some weird impulse to play hard to get. Or maybe it was just so he wouldn’t tell you the truth: Any time, if it’s for you.

You weren’t telling the truth, either – there was one arcade game you were really good at, and it was the claw machine. You were good enough at it that you could actually decide what you wanted to grab instead of just grabbing anything, and you wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t caught Tomura staring into the machine. See something you like?

The corgi, Tomura said. He wasn’t sure how he knew you wouldn’t laugh at him, but he was right. You weren’t laughing. You were studying the machine like it was a math problem you were trying to solve. Don’t waste your money. That thing’s never coming out of there.

Wanna bet? You already had your wallet out. I’ll get it for you in four turns.

Your confidence was easy to fall for. Tomura still didn’t want you spending all your money. I’m buying the food later. Whether you win or not.

Deal. You fed a coin into the machine and grasped the controls, glancing Tomura’s way with half a smile on your face. You looked mischievous. Looking back, Tomura thinks you were anxious, too. You wanted to impress him, just like he wanted to impress you. Get ready. We might end up with more of these things than we want to have.

It took you four turns to get the corgi Tomura wanted, and on three of those turns, you came up with a plushie. You had them tucked under your arm when you presented the corgi to him, and you were grinning. One torpedo-shaped corgi plush, as requested.

I didn’t ask. As soon as Tomura said it, he kicked himself. You did something nice for him. Why did he react like a jackass? I mean –

I know you didn’t ask, you said. I wanted to get it for you.

Tomura’s mouth went dry. His hands were shaking when he reached out – past the plushie, to you. Why?

You gave him an odd look. I want you to have things that make you happy.

The other plushies were in the way. Tomura couldn’t figure out how to hold onto you, and he couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t pure stupidity. Don’t you think it’s dumb?

No, you said. You looked down at the plushie, half a smile on your face – and then you looked back up at Tomura, and your smile got bigger. Nobody looked at Tomura like that. Not if it makes you happy.

Tomura was happy. He wasn’t happy very often, and it was usually cut with something else. The closest he got was with his friends, and this was like that but not, simpler and more complicated at the same time. Complicated because of all the things that lay beneath you liking him, you wanting him to be happy even if it was over something dumb. Simple because you meant it.

Tomura waited too long to say something. He saw some of the anxiety flicker back across your face. Do you want it? you asked, and Tomura kissed you.

Tomura’s kicked himself for that every so often, before he was locked up and after. Kicked himself for giving you that second of doubt that you made him happy, that he wanted you. If he survives this, if he gets out of here, he’s not going to screw around for a second longer. He’ll get his shit together as much as he can, and then he’ll find you. Even if you’re over it, over him, he needs to make sure you know that it was real, all of it. Real enough to last twenty-one years and longer. Real enough to have kept him warm.

The door opens, and Tomura scrubs at his eyes and straightens up. Midoriya’s there, and so is the rest of the team, and so are the guards. “The verdict’s in,” Midoriya says. “Are you ready?”

He’s spent all day reassuring Tomura. Now he’s the one who looks antsy, and as the guards unlock the door, cuff Tomura’s hands, grab him by the shoulders and hustle him along, Tomura finds himself weirdly calm. He heard your voice again. He remembers you again, and it helps as much as it hurts. That’s more than Tomura ever thought he’d get. It’s enough to get him through the next few minutes on his feet.

The courtroom is different this time. The faces of the panel members show nothing as they file in, and although the seats behind Tomura are full, the room is silent. Tomura’s heart is beating painfully hard, and he taps into his memories of you one last time, thinking back to how you never put your hand on his shoulder when you kissed him. Your hand was always over his heart, and he imagines it there now, steady and strong. And warm. Even if he never sees you again, he has that memory for the rest of his life.

“We have returned a verdict,” one of the panel members says. She’s holding a folded piece of paper. “Will the defendant please rise?”

Tomura gets to his feet. He makes eye contact with the panel member and holds it. And then he waits, while she puts on her reading glasses and unfolds the verdict, to find out how long the rest of his life is going to be.

This is the final chapter of this fic! The story continues in if my heart was a house. Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you there!

[annaphoenix1994]

Family of Four

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

"You sure you don't need an extra set of hands to help, L.T.?" 

"No," Simon sighed, ensuring all of the bags were packed that would be going home with him, double checking to make sure Kiera's after-care bag had everything she needed to help with the healing process. "Already in enough stress as it is." 

No matter how much Simon was annoyed with Soap's pestering, he truly admired how persistent Soap was when it came to being there for Simon. Aside from Kiera, Soap was the only other person Simon could count on when he needed someone to confide to or to get something done. 

When Simon needed help cutting the wood for the crib, Soap would help him. 

Well, Soap eventually pried his way into helping him by picking at him - giving Simon pointers on sanding the wood to refrain from splinters. Simon hated the unnecessary advice but ignored it. 

When Simon had anxiety about Kiera's due date, Soap was there to offer him a shot of whiskey to soothe his nerves, the pair having a glass of bourbon even though Soap hated the burn of Wild Turkey. 

He was stressing immensely on this particular day. Kiera's mother was at a doctor's appointment and today was the day Kiera was cleared to go home after three days in the hospital. She still could barely walk on her own, let alone walk out of the hospital with two babies when she needed a wheelchair to make it to the truck. The time of her discharge was getting closer and closer and the more he thought about it, the worse his anxiety got. He had ended his and Soap's phone call out of haste, pushing his friend's offer to the side as he wanted to be the only one to handle the situation. 

"Are you alright, babe?" Kiera asked, taking notice of his worry. 

"Yes, love. Just ready to go home." He forced a smile. She knows I'm lying. 

"Won't you let Johnny come and help? He's dying to spend more time with you and the babies-"

"I don't need his help right now." He huffed. 

"You mean you don't want his help right now. You know you'll need it." 

I wish you'd stop reading my mind, love.

"Fine. Having another set of hands to help get you and these babies out of here will be nice." 

"There we go," She giggled. "Finally getting somewhere. Won't you call him back and tell him you'd like his help?"

"Then that's giving in to his prodding." 

"No, it's not. It's letting him know that you want him around." 

Although there was something else that began to eat at Kiera's mind. She knew Simon welcomed Soap for any other occasion other than spending time with the newborns - a boundary Simon had set immediately with no intention of letting Soap cross it. 

He was jealous. 

Jealous of the thought that Jacob or Evie would prefer Soap over their own father.

She watched him huff as he removed his phone from his pocket, dialing Soap's number and putting on speaker as if he were proving to Kiera that he was calling his comrade. 

"Hello?" 

"You can come and help if you want-"

"Already halfway there, L.T." 

"W-What?" 

"I knew you'd change your mind," He snickered. "Figured if I came anyway, you couldn't say no." 

"Don't push your luck, MacTavish." 

»»-------¤-------««

Once Soap had arrived at the hospital, he failed to conceal his smile of excitement as he walked through the hallway and towards the elevator, swaying from side to side subtly as the elevator hoisted him up to the second floor. 

Slowly, he arrived at the door that separated him and the ones he cherished dearly, knocking quietly as he could feel Simon's presence inching closer to the door, a smirk splaying across Soap's face as he knew Simon was already irritated by giving in to accept help. Soap knew Simon hated asking for help. 

"Well good morning, L.T." 

"Yeah," He huffed, standing aside to let Soap pass by. "Where's your better half?" 

"Oh, that's below the belt, L.T. A little curious, are you?" He poked, enjoying pressing his buttons. "Oh! You meant Teeter? She's with Kiera's dad and the wranglers sorting cows." 

Simon scoffed at Soap's usual crude words, walking towards Kiera's bed as the nurse was disconnecting the monitors and I.V.'s from her arms. He smiled down at her softly before glancing at Evie and Jacob - Evie being awake and looking around as Jacob was sound asleep. While the nurse continued to talk to Kiera, Simon couldn't help but put his finger into the bassinet, his heart swelling at Evie's warm hand as she curled her small fingers around his. Don't ever grow up, lass. 

"When will you finally let me hold my niece-"

"No." 

"Come on, L.T. Would you rather me push Kiera's wheelchair while you-"

"No." 

"I need to know what you want me to do here," He scoffed playfully. "You're making it harder than what it really is." 

"Don't mean to." 

"Then just relax. I'm not going to snatch up my nephew and run away with him and I'm not going to snatch your daughter and give her to Teeter so she has a first curse word." 

"He has a point, Simon." Kiera shrugged as he hastily offered his hand to help her move into the nearby wheelchair. 

"What do you want me to do, love?" He sighed. 

"Well, you already ran our bags down this morning and the only thing we have left is to take me and the babies home," She smiled. "Let Johnny put them in their carriers and take them down while you push me, okay?" 

She knew Simon didn't like her suggestion, but he nodded anyway, reaching down to curl his fingers against her cheek before turning towards Soap, motioning him towards the couch that housed the two carriers they would be taken home in. "I'm going to get Evie first and put her in since she's awake." 

"Okay, L.T." Soap nodded, watching Simon carefully has he gently grasped his daughter within his large hands, holding the infant so delicately that looked unnatural for a man like Simon Riley. 

He watched as Simon grinned down at his daughter, the light murmurs and groans leaving Evie's lips making it impossible for Simon to be the only one who enjoyed it. So perfect you are, lass.

With careful steps, Simon approached the carrier before easily lowering her into the seat, that familiar swelling in his chest as her bright eyes stared back at him with perfect lashes to outline her eyelids, her little mouth forming into an O with a bulb-like shape on the tip of her top lip. Soap watched how carefully Simon secured Evie into the carrier before stepping back to the bassinet to retrieve the pacifier. 

"Can...Can I put Jacob into his seat?" 

Expecting a quick and sharp decline, Soap was shocked when Simon shot him a glare instead, showing a gleam of thought behind his dark brown eyes. He watched as Simon looked back at Kiera, watching her nod as if she were telling him it was okay before he subtly nodded at Soap, watching him make his way towards the bassinet with Simon close behind him. "I-I don't want to wake him up, L.T..." 

"You won't. Just grab him gently and pull him into your chest."

"R-Really?" 

"I've managed to master the art of picking up a sleeping baby within the last few days. Trust me. Cradle his head and put your other hand at his lower back as you pick him up then let him lay against your chest." 

Soap nodded at Simon's explanation, gently and slowly reaching into the bassinet to grasp Jacob's sleeping form, the infant so small in comparison to Soap's own hands. No wonder Simon freaks out about holding you himself, Soap thought. 

He held the infant close as he approached the carrier, Simon stepping aside an extra step to give Soap room as he gently lay Jacob in his carrier, the pair of men shocked at how naturally it came to them with no prior experience with children before. 

In fact, both Soap and Simon stayed away from children every chance they got. 

"Alright, L.T., package secure." Soap nodded with a grin of pride plastering his face, chuckling at how Simon stepped closer to the carrier to ensure Soap had fastened it right, passing him of the mental test as Jacob stayed asleep.

"You ever going to quit with the military talk, MacTavish?" 

"Don't plan on it, L.T."

[charlie-pippin-faraday]

my danganronpa v3 chapter 3 investigation and trial running commentary:

would it be too obvious to predict that kiyo killed angie? because it seems like there was a ritual involved, and he's the ritual guy. and he wouldn't shut up about the resurrection ritual angie wanted to do being like an offense to proper rituals or whatever

you know people have been saying "yeah they're definitely dead, positive, i watched them die" so many times i'm starting to get suspicious

the instant kiyo was like "the spirit medium should be a girl" i knew it was gonna be tenko, and i had the immediate thought of "she's about to die, isn't she?" which only grew stronger as she was saying all that uplifting stuff to himiko

"alright himiko i'll see you later!" i have the sinking feeling you won't

"i'll see you all after the seance!" no you won't, tenko

this singing strongly reminds me of being in church lol. no tune, rhythm, or pitch, everyone's singing terribly, it's barely more than a chant lol

there was a huge obvious thunk in the middle of our song and we just kept singing?? lol okay

kiyo looking at tenko surrounded by a pool of her own blood: "something is amiss." yeah ya think???

tbh i expected there to be a double murder at some point. there was one in each of the previous two games (both in chapter 3, if i recall correctly), so this isn't a surprise

even though i 100% saw it coming, i'm a little bummed it was tenko. i fucking HATED her at the start but she was really growing on me

however, i DID predict that all of the girlies would end up dead, and they took out 2 of the 3 of them in one fell swoop

lmao maki you can call kaito stupid as much as you want, but i see through your ruse. i too was once an angry, brash teenage girl. i know that "he's so stupid i can't stand him" is teenage girl code for "i want him so bad i don't know how to handle it." and like, someone treating her kindly, including her in the group constantly, and believing in her on blind faith alone has got to be out of the norm for her, i get why he gets her so bent out of shape lol

she really did punch him super hard in the mouth tho lol

i miss having kaito around, my buddy my partner in crime. was really missing him the latter half of this chapter

but he's with me at all times in spirit, now that i have the kaito monopad theme! it's like i stuck up a picture of him in my locker, that's what that feels like. he's always there, cheering me on, inspiring me. a constant reminder...of Him

now, as for this case, i do not have nearly as clear of an idea of what happened or who's guilty. i'm definitely more confused than last time. last time i knew basically how the murder happened. this one i'm stumped, on both murders. there's so much that doesn't make sense, idk how it happened. OR who did it. my only hunch is that i think it could be kiyo? but that feels like too simple an answer just because of all the occult stuff and i have no clue why he would do that

"i believe that inner voice will lead me to hope as long as i listen to it" keebo you don't happen to hear the voice of makoto naegi in your head, do you?

LMAOOOO @ kokichi and miu going back and forth about "cum dumpster" and gonta just being like ".......anyway what should we talk about now?"

the taxi game should just be called "reckless driving: the minigame"

"soul bro"????????? kazuichi soda is that you?????

"as a self-proclaimed expert of stepping through floorboards" i'm glad kokichi can make fun of himself as well as others

i mean once they said the loose floorboard was inside the magic circle, the magic circle that kiyo drew and that kiyo told us not to step on, in order to perform the seance that kiyo put together and convinced us to perform........the answer there felt kind of obvious

kiyo was acting very sus the whole trial, trying very hard to pin the blame on himiko

the very unhinged nervous laughter gave it away tbh

is miu saying that she makes keebo look at her shit everyday? also, why go through all that? wouldn't a camera be easier?

why is everyone bullying keebo PLEASE stop

i would just like to say, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart: what the FUCK, kiyo

i didn't expect this game to include an incestuous serial killer, yet here we are

"i nearly went mad" you know what my dude i think you can cut out the word "nearly"

"all the girls here are worthy except maki and miu" hey shut the fuck up, those are my two favorite girls!!!!

"i have finished my explanation to you, friends" we're not friends

"i'll watch over you as a ghost! as your friend, i'll watch over you!" please don't. and once again we're not friends

now i know why i couldn't figure out what happened in these murders or why they occurred - it's because kiyo is INSANE and just did murders for funsies

"i'll put in the effort until everyone trusts me" i see that kaito finally got through to maki

she's still annoying but i'm glad to see that himiko finally grew a bit of a backbone and fought back. and it's heartening to see tenko inspire her, maybe she'll be more interesting as the rest of this game progresses

i do feel bad for her tho, they cruelly took out both prongs of her love triangle at once. she wailed about being alone now, which is sad, but i sure hope she doesn't come to ME for comfort or friendship; despite these developments i'm still not interested in hanging out with her

i thought he was gonna end up annoying me endlessly, but kokichi has become very fascinating. what's your motive, my dude? why do you do the things you do? what's your endgame? i don't understand you and i'm never hanging out with you, but i'm curious

gonta carrying himiko on his back is actually the sweetest thing

bro holdup is kaito dying??????? no no no!!!!!! i need more information IMMEDIATELY!

oh great, i get kiyo's mask as a present, exactly what i wanted

on to chapter 4!

[mimisempai]

The end of loneliness 2/7

Chapter Summary

Professor Crowley finds it hard to concentrate on his lessons after spending the night with Aziraphale. Even if it was just a one-night stand, he can't stop thinking about his one-night lover. 

So much so that he imagines all sorts of solutions to find Aziraphale.

But fate sometimes has surprises in store...

Notes

👀👀👀👀

On Ao3

Rating G - 3322 words

Masterpost here

As soon as he entered the coffee shop, Aziraphale saw Muriel sitting at a table in the back, waving their arms to let him know they were there.

He went to the counter to order his breakfast, and when he had it, he joined them.

Once he was near them, he said softly as he sat down in front of them, "Good morning, Muriel.

"Hi Zira!"

He couldn't help but smile in amusement at the diminutive name his new friend had given him. 

When he'd introduced himself during their first Modern Literature class together, Muriel had said bluntly, "Well, I'm going to call you Zira, if that's okay with you, of course, because Aziraphale, while lovely, is way toooooooo long!"

Aziraphale had immediately agreed, because even though he didn't hate his name, well, not really, sometimes he felt it like a shackle fastened to his foot.

"Aziraphale, my boy, you bear the name of an angel, so you must act like one. You must prevent evil from tarnishing you and stay pure. If you don't, hell awaits you."

For a long time, Aziraphale had done everything in his power to conform to the rules laid down by his mother and her church. To live up to his name. To be the perfect angel. Until one day he opened his eyes and realized that the principles he had to follow were making him hate a part of himself, and worse, they were making him hate himself.

"So have you been to Serenity?"

Muriel's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he couldn't help but chuckle as he saw them so excited they couldn't even sit down.

Smiling mischievously, he simply replied, "Yes, I was there."

Muriel, seeing that he had no intention of saying more, sighed. 

"I won't have to worm it out of you, will I?

Aziraphale only replied with a smile.

Muriel took a sip of their coffee, then clapped their hands after putting down their cup before saying, "Okay, so you were at Serenity last night, and when I called you this morning, you weren't alone.  Does that mean you met someone there?"

Aziraphale nodded and again answered simply, "Yes."

His friend insisted, "And what were they like?"

Aziraphale replied, "He was..." 

Then he paused, realizing that in all the things he'd revealed to Muriel, he'd never mentioned his preferences. 

But he'd decided not to hide anymore, so he continued, "He was very nice.

Muriel replied, "So?"

Seeing his friend's reaction, or rather non-reaction, Aziraphale breathed a small sigh of relief that Muriel, being perceptive, didn't miss. 

Aziraphale's friend placed a hand on his arm and said gently, "It's all right, Zira, after our first conversation, when you opened up to me about what brought you here, I more or less guessed where your interest lay. And even so, I wouldn't have been surprised or even shocked. We love who we love, we are who we are. As for me, I love you very much and I am very proud of you.

Aziraphale couldn't hold back a small gasp as it was the first time anyone had known and approved of who he was. Much more moved than he could express, he simply nodded. Muriel squeezed his arm gently before continuing in a lighter tone, "Don't think we're changing the subject. I want to know more about HIM."

Then, a little more seriously, they added, "I mean, if you don't mind talking to me about it, of course."

Aziraphale, a little embarrassed but encouraged by his friend's sincerity, wanted to confide in them anyway. Leaning forward, he said in a slightly lower voice, "First of all, HE is incredibly handsome, and when I say handsome, it's because I don't have an accurate adjective to describe him. Let's just say he's the stuff dreams are made of."

"Aw..."

Muriel giggled and kicked thei feet under the table as Aziraphale continued to tell them how the evening had gone, at least as far as he could remember. Of course, he didn't go into detail about the night itself, but his blissful expression at the mention of it was enough to give Muriel enough indication that it had been more than pleasant. 

Just as he finished his story, his friend asked, "And will you see him again?"

Aziraphale's expression was sad as he shook his head before answering.

"No, it was just a one night stand."

"Oh, that's too bad." 

Muriel gave him a little kick under the table and added, "But you told me he was a regular at Serenity, so who knows? Maybe if you go back, what's a one-night stand could turn into more?"

Aziraphale shook his head and replied, "I don't know. Last night was easy, we both knew what we wanted. At least I know what he wanted. It was clearly just a one-night stand to stave off loneliness. So trying to get more, I don't know. I don't think he's interested. Honestly, we're not in the same league at all. What would a guy like him want with someone like me?"

Muriel gave him another kick under the table, this time much stronger.

"Ouch! What's the matter with you?"

Muriel pointed a finger at him and said in a scolding tone, "You're going to stop talking bad about yourself right now. I've only known you for a short time, and I can already tell that you're an extraordinary person. You're adorable and very kind. You said you wanted to turn your back on your past, so I think you really need to forget everything you've been told. I don't know this guy, but I know that whoever he is, you are worthy of him. Because you're you."

Aziraphale, again speechless and moved by the way Muriel spoke of him, thought for a few moments in silence before replying, "I don't know, Muriel. In any case, I've had a good time tonight, and that's more than I could have asked for. As for the rest, we'll see."

He emptied his cup and grabbed his bag.

"We have to go, classes start soon."

Muriel just nodded and told him gently as they followed him, "Just don't close a door that's just been opened."

**********

A ringing jolted Anthony awake and he wondered for a few seconds where he was. As he fumbled for his phone, memories began to come back to him.

"Crowley, are you awake? I just need to know your schedule for the classroom occupation."

It was Nina, a colleague and friend. 

Shaking off the fog of sleep, he replied, "Morning... yes, the schedule is ready."

"With the class list?"

"Yes, with the list.... Yes, it is. See you later. "

"See you!"

Anthony put his phone back on the nightstand and sat up in bed before turning to face the most adorable sight imaginable.

The man he'd just spent the night with was standing in front of him, blushing, hiding part of his anatomy with his clothes and looking everywhere but at Anthony.

In a hesitant voice he said, "Ahem.... uh... Good morning... uh."

Realizing that his one-night lover didn't know his first name, he chuckled slightly and replied, "Anthony.

"Well, uh... Good morning, Anthony."

"Good morning...? I don't think you told me your name either. "

"It's... Aziraphale."

"I've never heard of that name, but it's really nice. It suits you anyway. So, Aziraphale, did you sleep well?"

The other man blushed adorably at the compliment and nodded before turning away, seemingly searching for something. When Anthony was confronted with the second most beautiful sight imaginable, he realized what the other man must be looking for and after looking around, called out, "Aziraphale?

Aziraphale turned sharply.

"Yes?"

"I think I found what you're looking for."

Anthony reached for the boxers he'd just seen on his side of the bed and held them out to the other man. Aziraphale took them, blushing, but Anthony couldn't help but hold them back as he said, "I didn't see them last night in the dim light, but... really? Tartan?"

He realized he'd cut Azirapale to the quick when he snatched the garment out of Anthony's hand and replied, "Tartan is stylish."

Anthony, not wanting them to part with the wrong impression, crept up behind Aziraphale and, placing a hand on his shoulder, said gently, "Hey, I wasn't mocking you. In fact, I think it's kind of sweet."

What Anthony realized was true. In fact, everything about his one-night stand was sweet. He shook his head and stood up.

"I'm going to go freshen up in the bathroom." 

When he came out a few moments later and saw that the other man was almost finished getting dressed, he couldn't resist his instinct and spontaneously asked, "Would you like some breakfast?"

Sadly, he saw the other man shake his head and Anthony felt the need to justify himself, "Maybe it was a strange thing to ask. I... one-night stands aren't my habit, so I don't really know the rules. Sorry."

"Well, as you know, it's not my habit either. So I don't know any more than you do, and I don't know if it's strange to ask. But if I say no, it's because I promised a friend that I would meet them for breakfast."

Anthony, a little disappointed, nodded before saying as he approached, "Well... uh, Aziraphale, that was... that was nice."

What an idiot, it was more than nice. It was the best night he'd had since... he didn't want to think about it.

"Yes, it, uh, it was. Thank you."

Anthony shook his head. 

"I'm the one thanking you."

They exchanged an awkward smile, then Aziraphale held out his hand.

"Goodbye, Anthony."

"Goodbye, Aziraphale. Take care."

Then Anthony watched his one-night lover walk toward the door, and the sound of it closing made him realize it was all over.

"Professor? Professor Crowley?"

The voice of one of his students snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Class is over, can we go to our next class?"

Anthony coughed before answering, "Yes. Let me give you your homework for the next class," then turned to the blackboard to hide his blush before continuing to write instructions on the board.

"Don't forget the commentary due to me by the end of the month, and I want you to have answered these three questions for the next class."

He waited until all of his students had left the room before he fell back in his chair and sighed. It was no less than three times that his students had caught him lost in thought, and twice in the same class. What's more, it was only his third lesson this morning.

The problem was that he couldn't get Aziraphale, the man he'd met the day before, out of his mind. 

He'd thought several times about having a one-night stand to stave off loneliness, but each time something had held him back, a remnant of attachment, the feeling of betraying his lost wife, even though it had been four years.

Then, yesterday, Aziraphale entered the bar and Anthony was immediately drawn to him. He didn't know if it was the other man's aura of innocence, the fact that he didn't look like the usual customers, or simply the same loneliness he had seen in Aziraphale's eyes, but the attraction had been immediate and undeniable.

Aziraphale was so expressive.

Anthony saw his face again and again at different times of the evening and night. 

What a night. 

The innocence, the eagerness of Aziraphale once he'd felt comfortable with Anthony, had been simply intoxicating. 

To say he'd been disappointed when he'd declined Anthony's invitation to breakfast would be an understatement.

Why hadn't he asked for his name? His contact information?

Wait, he'd said he was a student at the university, and Aziraphale wasn't a common first name. Maybe if Anthony did some research...

Anthony laughed to himself. He didn't even know what university the other man was attending.

But since Aziraphale knew that Anthony was a regular at Serenity, maybe he'd come back. But what if he came back looking for another one-night stand? Anthony didn't like the feeling of jealousy that washed over him at that moment. 

He laughed at himself again. How could someone be so jealous about someone he didn't know.

Though they did know each other. Anthony had told Aziraphale more than he had told his closest friends in the four years since his wife's death, and it seemed to him that the other man had revealed a lot about himself that he hadn't told anyone.

"Professor, may we come in?"

Once again pulled out of his thoughts by his students, Anthony motioned them in.

Then he shook his head. It was time to focus on what was important. 

His work.

**********

At noon, Aziraphale and Muriel left their classroom together.

"By the way, Aziraphale, I forgot to tell you, I'm going to meet Eric, my boyfriend, who's also on break, so I won't be able to have lunch with you."

But Azirphale's attention was drawn to the conversation between two girls walking ahead of them.

"It was really weird, today I had an advanced astrophysics class and the professor wasn't paying attention at all."

"Who's your professor?"

"That's Professor Crowley."

"Never heard of him."

"But you have, even though you're new, you must have heard of Professor Anthony Crowley! The one all the students are in love with."

"Aaaah you mean the professor I've heard is special with his gorgeous red hair, golden eyes, and he never smiles, which makes him even more mysterious?"

"Yes! That's pretty much it. And that's what's weird, because this morning we saw him smile three or four times in our class and also twice we had to call him because he was lost in thought."

Aziraphale paused.

Anthony, teacher, red hair, golden eyes, that was a lot of coincidence. 

"Hey Zira! Are you listening to me?  I just told you I won't be joining you for lunch."

Azirapahle shook his head, turned to Muriel, and replied, "No worries. Make the best of it. Besides, I'd like you to introduce me to him one day, this boyfriend you're always talking about."

"Yes, I will, don't worry! He wants to meet you too, since I've only talked about you in the three weeks we've known each other."

Muriel patted him on the shoulder.

"I really must go. I'll leave you here, okay?"

Aziraphale nodded and watched in amusement as Muriel took off at their usual lively pace.

He headed for the exit of the establishment, before walking to the usual little corner that he and Muriel had become accustomed to occupying for lunch. It was a bench at the far end of the campus green, shaded by a weeping willow, which made it the perfect spot when the midday sun was shining brightly, as it was today. Not to mention the sense of security this improvised shelter gave Aziraphale, who was still not too used to the crowds of the university and the city.

A few moments later, he sat down on the bench and began to unwrap his sandwich, which he ate while observing the nature around him and the few birds flying nearby.

He had just finished the last bite when he saw a blackbird land on the grass nearby. Without making any sudden movements, Aziraphale took the few crumbs left in the wrapper of his sandwich and threw them not far from the bird, which had not yet flown away.

He watched as the little bird approached the few crumbs fearfully before pecking at them hungrily, casting a few glances at Azirapahle, who didn't move.

When the blackbird left, Aziraphal leaned back against the bench and looked at his watch.

He still had three-quarters of an hour before the next lesson, so he closed his eyes and enjoyed the warm rays of the sun streaming through the leaves of the tree.

*********

Crowley tucked his belongings into his bag and, as soon as the last students had left, he left the classroom to take his lunch break.

For once, he didn't want to be around the hustle and bustle of the university restaurant and decided to find a quiet spot outside to spend his break.

Since he was one of the last to go out, all of his usual spots were either occupied or too exposed to the sun. With a sigh, he made his way to the university's green area.

He was about to despair when he spotted a bench under a willow tree in the distance.

But as he approached, he saw that this bench was also occupied. So much for a quiet break. He sighed again and was about to turn around when he noticed the familiar silhouette of the person sitting on the bench. 

He took a few steps towards the bench and stopped dead in his tracks.

Even from behind.

Even though he'd known him for less than twenty-four hours, there was no way he could have mistaken him.

His one-night stand.

Aziraphale.

He was sitting on a bench a few meters away from him. 

At his university.

Anthony's heart started beating faster.

Go forward?

Walk away?

It was one of those moments when he knew deep down that the decision he was about to make could change the course of his life.

Then he took a few steps forward and whispered, "Aziraphale?"

The other man straightened as if startled awake, looked left and right before turning around.

Anthony first saw the same surprised shock on his face that had been his own, then Aziraphale whispered, "Anthony?"

Anthony joined him and, pointing to the empty seat next to him on the bench, asked, "May I?"

Aziraphale picked up his bag and set it on the other side before nodding.

"Yes, yes, please."

Anthony sat down next to him and for a few moments they remained in silence.

Suddenly they both spoke.

"What are you d-"

"Why are you h-"

Then they both laughed, embarrassed, and Aziraphale motioned for Anthony to speak.

Anthony asked, "What are you doing here? Don't tell me you're a student at this university?"

"Yes, I am a student here."

Then he seemed to catch on and continued, "Oh, you're a professor here?"

Anthony chuckled.

"Of all the serendipities... what classes are you taking?"

"Literature."

Anthony couldn't hold back a sigh of relief under Aziraphale's puzzled gaze. Seeing his expression, he explained, "I'm an astrophysics professor."

Aziraphale didn't lose his puzzled look.

"Why do you look relieved?"

"Well, it would have been complicated. If I'd been your professor."

But what was he talking about? He was talking as if it was a given that they would continue to see each other. Talk about putting the cart before the horse. Anthony tried to correct himself.

"I meant it would have been complicated by the fact that we had a one-night stand. Since I'm not your professor, it won't be a problem."

You are a professor of astrophysics and you look like a babbling idiot. 

Aziraphale, still looking a little confused, replied, "Oh, okay.

Anthony started to unpack his food to avoid Aziraphale's gaze, which he could feel on him, when he heard the other man mumble something he didn't understand.

Intrigued, Anthony looked up to see Azitaphale biting his lips before looking away.

He asked softly, "What did you say? I didn't understand."

Aziraphale, his eyes now downcast, asked, "You mean in the hypothetical case of us having a relationship, it would be no problem because you're not one of my teachers?"

Anthony immediately replied, "No, no problem at all." 

Then he froze, understanding the implication of what the other man had just said, and impulsively asked, "Would you be interested?"

Aziraphale raised his head sharply and asked, "Interested in what?"

Anthony asked in a more measured voice, looking Aziraphalein the eye, "Would you like to go out with me?"

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[supercilium-sulcos]

Fragile Peace

[ Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. ] Chapter 1/5 Words: 1204 Rating: T (for canon-typical action and violence in later chapters, romance) Warnings: spoilers for the entirety of BotW. Link/Zelda eventually. >> AO3 << Summary At last, the storm has passed. The time has come to rebuild what was lost. Zelda takes the future of her kingdom into her own hands, but there are some who still linger who wish to see her mission fail. The princess and her knight find that, even with Ganon gone, evil still lurks in Hyrule. [ Post-BotW ] Chapter 1: Stability Darkness. Putrid and chaotic, it swirls around her. She fights against it with all she has but it seeps into her pores. Corruption. It’s spreading – it always is, but it’s spreading to her now, too. She bats it away like it’s a leech. It burrows deeper. Darkness is not the absence of light, her mother’s journal had said. It is a testament to the existence of light. Know this, and you can conquer any shadow. Never had the light felt so far away. How is she supposed to believe in what she cannot see? How can she fight the embodiment of evil when it exists in everything around her? It is not water. It is not tangible. But the darkness rises to her chin, and she knows it will drown her. She takes in a deep breath, just barely remembering to close her eyes, the darkness rises – rises -- Zelda snaps upright. 

Chest heaving, cold sweat soaking her clothes and sheets. Numb hands feel her arms and face for any signs of corruption. All she feels is her own clammy skin. Where am I? she nearly asks aloud. It’s dark, but not the kind from her nightmares. Starlight and torches illuminate a bit of the large, circular tent. Zelda shakes when she holds her breath again. Anxious eyes comb through the entirety of the tent. It seems there are no other occupants but for one Hylian – the stable master, who has fallen asleep in his chair at the desk. From the open tent flaps comes a faint orange glow. Zelda fumbles with the covers and follows the light. He sits with his back to a woodpile in front of a fire, twiddling a charred stick in the flames. Just seeing him there, relaxed as he is, keeps her panic from building. If Link senses no danger, then she is safe. Perhaps someday her subconscious will understand that. “You can’t sleep?” she wonders. Link lifts his head to see her. He shakes his head. “Neither can I,” Zelda says unnecessarily. She finds a patch of grass to settle down on beside him, cradling herself in her own arms. Eyes close. She is exhausted. It’s been weeks now and she has yet to sleep through the night. At first, it was from the relief. She was alive, Link was alive, Ganon was gone forever. Order had been restored. She had so much to see, so much to learn from her century-long absence. But relief flickered away into nothingness. Ganon’s destruction had not rid Hyrule of its scars, it had not brought back her loved ones, it had not cleansed her of her hundred-year fight. Zelda left the ruins of her home believing that it was all over and she could rest at last. But night after night, she finds herself back in the bowels of the castle, fighting. And failing. A whoosh hits her ears and a warm fabric sweeps around her shoulders. At first, she thinks it’s a blanket. She peeks out, touches the cloth, and she realizes it’s Link’s travelling cloak. It’s worn and frayed at the edges, but the material is thick. It smells like Epona. It probably smells a bit like sweat and dirt too, but it’s been a while she since had a proper bath herself; she’s acclimated to it. Zelda huddles up and tugs it around her for warmth. Only once it envelops her does she realize how much she’d been shivering. She shuts her eyes again, hoping she might feel rested without giving herself to slumber. “Aren’t you cold now?” she murmurs. Link reaches for her hand beneath the cloak. His thumb swipes the back of her hand, parallel to her knuckles. It’s one of his tracing signs that he taught her so very long ago. A horizontal line for no. A cross for yes. She’s not sure if he plans to pull his hand away; Zelda squeezes it between both of her own, and he lets her. Somewhere out in the plains, crickets hum and the grasses sway. Fire crackles, logs splitting and charring to keep the night at bay. A restless horse snorts in its stall. Zelda rests her head on his shoulder. He breathes, his heart beats. The wind blows his hair against her cheek. All these things, she thought she appreciated. Zelda knows better now. Because now she knows how easily this serene night could be shattered. Once, this could have lulled her to sleep. Now she is afraid that she may wake to find it’s slipped through her fingers again. “Is Kakariko far from here?” No, he swipes again. “Let’s go, then,” she says. “We’re awake. The weather’s fair. Why not ride?” A swipe back and forth – a very firm no. Zelda lifts her head, hoping she is not too delirious to be indignant. Link frees his hand from hers to speak freely. You need rest. Epona, too, he signs. “I’m fine, I’m…” She rubs at her eyes. Bites back the yawn building in her throat. Warmth has stolen her sense and made her drowsy. If she had the energy left, she would fight it. “I’ll rest once we reach Kakariko.” Link only looks at her. He is not one for smiles, and he has none for her tonight. He nudges her drooping head with the corner of one knuckle. She makes a tiny noise of discontent… and realizes how much she sounds like a child. When he throws a bucket of water over the fire, she does not protest. She does not complain when he picks her up, or lies her atop the sheets of her cot, or tucks her under the covers. For a moment, only a moment, she thinks his fingertips might linger on her hair. She hears a footstep, and knows he’s turning away. Leaving her. She grabs his sleeve. The sound that leaves her is… anguished. Zelda wishes it were not so – it ill befits a princess to show so much weakness. She has lived through worse than this. Yet the thought of him leaving now, just when she is about to be consumed by her night terrors in Ganon’s maw once more… her courage fails her. “Please,” she begs weakly, “don’t go.” Link carefully pries her hand from his arm and sets it down on the bed. He walks away. Tears well up in her eyes. She is so exhausted, her strength is sapped, and all she has left is this weakness and terror. Zelda has never felt so alone in her life. From the corner, she hears… rummaging? The waking world is fast fading, but Zelda opens her eyes to peer out at the tent. Link has closed the flaps and secured them. He walks towards her with a wooden chair under one arm. The chair falls to her bedside, and Link sits down. His hand closes around her wrist. The touch is gentle, but it calms her. He gazes into her eyes, and she needs no words – verbal or not – to know what he’s thinking. I’m here. You can rest now. And it brings her some comfort to know – even if she’s plagued with another night of twisted dreams, she will wake with Link by her side.

[cellophaine]

Lingered Affection (Chapter III)

Chapter I, Chapter II

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 5081

Series Summary: You thought breaking up with Matt was the right thing to do. For his sake and yours. Life went on as you navigated through it with the lingered love and affection you still had for each other, neither of you could let go.

Chapter Warnings: Bloody situation, medical procedure involving needle.

Author's Note: I felt like I messed this chapter up BAD. REAL BAD. I hope you will somewhat enjoy it. I'll go cry in the corner.

As always, any likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Taglist: @juniebugg <3

Gif Credit

A few days had passed, the weather was still as cold as ever, and you still missed Matt. It was something that you anticipated, but still, it should be easier by now. Out of sight, out of mind, right? But, unfortunately, that was not the case with him. This gut-wrenching pain was still here, and it only got stronger the longer you parted from him. He called less and less as the days went by, his last voicemail sitting opened in your inbox.

"I won't call or message you anymore. I understand that you want to be alone and you want some time to yourself. But, just, please, with all of my heart and being, know that I care about you so much. I will do anything if that means you will talk to me — even if to say you hate me. I can handle that. The silence hurts worse. Please, we can meet up and talk. I miss you."

Why did it have to be this hard? You knew you could never tell him that you hate him or anything remotely close. You still loved him, after all. But you couldn't tell him that, face to face, as he would know right away that it was the truth, and all of this was for nothing. You delved your own hands into your gaping, bleeding mortal wound and couldn't scream out for help, for you knew that it was useless.

You found yourself on the streets of New York, again, walking towards Balsley Park with purpose. What was the purpose? You thought you might have an idea. You were going to find out anyway.

"Hey, Foggy."

He perked up at his name being called. He stood up, getting ready to welcome you, before being interrupted midway as an old lady closed by threw bird seeds on the ground, caused an influx of pigeons to flew past him in the most impolite way. Foggy turned to look at the lady and muttered the most sarcastic 'thank you' he could come up with. You chuckled, raised an eyebrow at him. Then, he came to stand before you and asked:

"Do you want to go to a cafe before I get bird feces all over me? I'm pretty sure that woman can control those evil creatures."

"Sure. Let's go."

It wasn't long before both of you were seated across from each other in a small and cozy coffee shop nearby. You took a sip of your hot tea nervously while Foggy studied you. Finally, after waiting for you to put the mug down, he spoke up:

"Did something happen between you and Matt?"

There it was. The question that you dreaded. You had a clear understanding that this would have come sooner or later. Still, you were hoping that you didn't have to be the one who told Foggy or Karen the news because they were his friends, not yours. However, they welcomed you with open arms, and you had come to cherish them dearly, despite knowing that it was all Matt's doing.

"Yes." You sighed.

Foggy looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue.

"We broke up."

Your voice cracked a little at the end. You cleared your throat, trying to brush it off. You didn't want to say it out loud, didn't want to talk about it. Hadn't you tortured yourself enough already? Bottling it all up inside, not letting anything slip out. Because you were afraid, you couldn't get all the regrets and the aches back in once it got out. Wasn't it better to be in denial and pretend everything was okay?

Foggy's eyes widen, seemed to be taken aback by what you admitted.

"You guys seemed fine. I mean, more than fine. As a matter of fact, very happy."

"Well, we weren't perfect, Foggy."

He huffed out a breath in disbelief.

"There's no such thing as perfect."

He called your name softly, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"Is it because of his other ... you know, duty? His ... nightly activities?"

He raised his brows meaningfully at every pause. Shaking your head, you abruptly stopped the motion. Wasn't that ... a part of all the reasons why? Not because of him engaging in those ventures, putting himself in danger, beating up criminals, but because of how inadequate you were in those nights when he needed you the most. You could deal with bruises, swellings, and shallow wounds. You could stitch him up quite nicely if he needed you to, but what about collapsed lungs or internal bleeding or something so much worse? Claire was a lifesaver when it came to those situations. But she was no longer around. You weren't equipped to handle that. Wouldn't it be better to be able to assist him somewhat when he was out there?

"I just feel like he could do better, you know? Our time ran out, and it was in our best interests to take separate paths."

Foggy rolled his eyes at you.

"That's bullshit. Everyone knows that's bullshit."

"Believe what you want, Foggy. It's the truth."

You shrugged nonchalantly, hoping to fool him.

"You want to know how he's been? He's had more injuries, like he just randomly threw himself into the middle of the traffic. As if he's collecting bruises for fun. He's closed up and wouldn't tell us what's going on with him. He's been going to Fogwell's gym a lot, too, beating the hell out of the punching bags, as if he had some sorts of personal vengeance with them."

Your heart seized at the mention of Matt sustaining even more harm. His reckless tendencies were something that you were familiar with. You understood and accepted it, but it didn't mean that it was easy for you to watch him going out every night, throwing himself at danger with little regard to his life. To hear that his recklessness had only increased, this sinking feeling inside of you only felt heavier, like it was dragging you down, determined to drown you.

You let out a shaky breath, tried to keep your voice even.

"I'm just a liability, Foggy. He'll understand what I did for him was for his own sake, eventually."

Sitting up straighter to keep your shoulders from shagging, you decided to tell Foggy how you felt. Because you were so tired of convincing yourself that if you tried hard enough, you just might be deserving of Matt.

"A goodbye was all I could offer him. Swipe the plate clean so that he could start over with someone else, someone better."

Foggy reached out for your hand from across the table, squeezing it kindly, a sympathetic expression on his face.

"You and I both know that's not the truth. Matt is not one to look for the best person. If anything, he wants to be the best person he can be for you."

Your heart lurched at the words. He continued.

"I care about you. You are my friend too, whether you like it or not. Even if you and Matt don't get back together."

You couldn't help the surprised expression at his words. You had assumed that when you had gone out of Matt's life for good, Foggy would be gone too.

"Thanks, Foggy. I appreciate that." You squeezed his hand back.

"So, is there any way that I can do to get you to talk to him?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's my decision. And I need to go through with it."

He nodded solemnly, accepting your final resolution.

"I won't interfere more than I already have. Just know that it wouldn't hurt to talk to him. I respect your decision either way."

"Thank you, Foggy. I appreciate that."

Leaving the coffee shop, you walked back to your apartment. You turned the conversation you had with Foggy over and over in your head. You were so used to leaving people and being abandoned yourself, that you accepted once people realize they could do better, you would be left in the dust, like a forgotten toy under a kid's bed. You were, without a doubt, believed in what you told Foggy: Matt would move on, he'd be better, eventually, just not with you.

Back in your place, you sat down in front of your desk, with the window facing you. Snow started falling again, twirling beautifully and leisurely in the air, like they had all the time in the world. You thought about Matt's apartment, filled with lights filtering through the big windows, and the time you spent with him at the place. You were happy, the little happiness you allowed yourself to enjoy after what felt like a long time. But you also allowed yourself to be greedy, to the point you didn't want to let go. Now, it turned back and attacked you relentlessly, even though there was nothing else but ash and ruins left in your heart.

You flipped your beloved sketchbook open to the page that you had run your fingers over the edges so many times. A detailed pencil drawing of a face concealed by a black mask, leaving only the mouth and the jawline in the open, standing out on the material. You thought back when your gnawing suspicion slowly reached its breaking point, to find something unexpected on the other side.

For a few weeks after the attack, you tried your best to recall the masked stranger's features in the hope of expressing your gratitude if you had the chance to come across him. You drew him as the memories of him came back to you, hazy at first, but the fog started to clear out, allowing you to see him better. At first, the sketches were vague, and now, with more details, you were almost sure that he looked like a certain lawyer you knew. You were conflicted with yourself. It simply couldn't be. Matt was blind. How was he able to "take care" of your attacker? The guy was massive. There were so many coincidences, ones that you couldn't explain, but the similarity was so apparent that you couldn't ignore it.

You had plenty of chances to observe Matt since he stopped by the cafe nearly every weekday, sometimes on the weekend, even on your days off. May teased you with the possibility of Matt hoping to see you, specifically, but you rejected the silly notion immediately. He couldn't have visited just to see you, could he? Sure, you two shared lengthy conversations. Eventually, you found yourself enjoying his company and, even more, his flirtatious remarks. You grew to look forward to seeing him whenever you worked. You should have recognized the red flag since getting close to people and letting them get close to you was something you wanted to avoid, but you walked forth and ignored it. It was harmless, right? He must have come for the coffee. The teasing, flirtatious comments he made, seemingly just for you, was only a bonus for him.

You looked at the newest sketch you made of the man in the mask when the door chimed. The uncertain tap of a cane pulled a smile on your face.

"Matt! Here for your usual coffee?"

He chuckled.

"Sorry, not today. Foggy called in sick today, and I was supposed to meet up with a client over lunch, but they bailed on me. So I sat there alone for 45 minutes until they finally called and asked to be rescheduled."

You frowned.

"I'm sorry that they wasted your time. So, what brings you here?"

"I wanted to see you. Well, in my case, to hear your voice."

Your face flushed red at his unexpected confession. You were used to his harmless teasing, but there was something earnest laced between the words. You stammered for what to say in return. Before you could come up with a complete sentence, May walked to where you stood and spoke out for you.

"Oh! Hey, isn't it your lunchtime already? It's your lucky day, Matt. So get her out of here!"

You turned your head, glaring at May, mouth open agape with betrayal. She gave you a not-so-subtle wink, and you just wanted to dive off a cliff. You looked at Matt, noticed the slight rose tint on his cheeks and ears. He gave you a sheepish grin and said at the same time as you scrambled to save your face.

"You don't have to do that. I don't want to take your time."

"I would love to get lunch with you."

The words hung in the air between you. You thought your face couldn't get hotter, but it did. Matt smiled bashfully, extending a hand in your general direction.

"Shall we?"

You hesitated. May made a shooing hand motion at you. Finally, you gave in, taking off the apron you were wearing. After getting your wallet from the backroom, you walked towards Matt and offered him your arm.

"Alright. Let's go."

You ignored the fluttering of your heartbeat when his hand brushed over your bare arm, settled itself comfortably in a gentle grasp on your upper arm. You tilted your head slightly to look at him better. With how close you were, you could see the faint facial hair and the way his mouth quirked up slightly at the corner, showing the barest hint of teeth. You didn't miss the ghost of a black eye and a small cut beneath it. At this angle, a pang of familiarity hit you again — the image of the stranger in the mask fleeting in your head. You had to make sense of this.

You two sat in a booth in a restaurant, with the scattered patrons talking in a just-right volume, lounging around. Your food hadn't come yet. Matt broke the silence.

"You said you're an artist, right?"

"Yes. That's my main job."

"How does that go for you?"

"Pretty decent, I would say. I can afford the sky-high rent here and some. And I love doing it."

You smiled fondly at that.

"I wish I could see your works. I bet they are exquisite."

You thought about it for a second.

"You can, in a way. I mean, I can describe them to you. Or you can use your hands to touch my stuff and feel the texture."

His brows rose high, his eyes widen. He choked on the sip of water he was taking, coughing into his suit sleeve. The realization of what you'd just said dawned on you; you blushed and stammered.

"I ... I mean ... not like that. I mean, like in a non-sexual way. No, I mean, you can touch my artwork any way you like. It's your experience; you can do whatever. Can you even sexually feel something? Of course, when it comes to intercourse, but I mean touching an object sexually. You know what, I'm going to shut up."

His smile broadened as you struggled to dig yourself out of the situation. You groaned, covering your face with your hands, looking at him through your fingers.

"This is going very well, isn't it?"

He let out an amused laugh.

"That was very hard to hear, and if I have to be honest, that wasn't a good save at all."

You exhaled through your mouth, dropping your lower arms on the table.

"I will never be able to live this down. So I must leave the country. Maybe I can catch a train to Canada."

Matt reached out with his hand, hesitantly looking for yours. You moved your hand. He deftly felt for your wrist, gave it a gentle squeeze. You internally told your heart to keep it down because you were sure everyone in this place could hear it, including Matt. Why were you so nervous?

"It's alright. This can stay between us. I'd miss you terribly if you skipped town."

You rolled your eyes at that, even though he couldn't see it.

"Yeah, right. You'd miss the coffee I make for you more."

"I'm serious. I would miss you. I enjoy your presence and our conversations. Do you?"

That was unexpected. You had a million different scenarios in your head about how this lunch would go, but you didn't predict this. You decided to tell him the truth. There was no harm, right?

"I do."

Two simple words, filled with earnestness. Matt beamed at your response; the smile lines around his eyes imprinted on his face, and you found yourself wanting to run your fingers over them. So, to distract you from your dangerous thoughts, you decided to use this opportunity to act on your suspicion.

"I feel like we've met before, way before you started coming to the shop. You look very familiar."

Matt's smile dropped slightly. Then, he adjusted his position and said:

"Maybe I just have one of those faces, you know? The typical face you see in some people."

"No, that's not it. I find your facial features incredibly familiar, especially with your lips and your jawline."

"Oh really? I didn't know that you took your time staring at my lips."

He grinned, one eyebrow raised playfully.

Fuck fuck fuck. You kept digging yourself in holes today, didn't you? What was up with you?

You cleared your throat loudly in an attempt to save your face, quickly added:

"I often memorize people's faces. It's a way for me to gather inspiration, study people's face proportions and all. I find it interesting. I'm an artist, after all."

"Are you saying I'm not the only one you stare intensely at? Now my feelings are hurt."

He laughed lightheartedly, followed by your giggles. You didn't know what it was about Matt that made you feel at ease. You wondered if it was the loneliness that got to you, or if it was you simply liking Matt for being himself?

Matt picked up the conversation.

"Alright. If you spent so much time watching me, I would love to hear your read on me."

"First of all, I didn't watch you. I observed. And second of all, are you serious?"

He shrugged, motioned with his hand, encouraged you.

"Yeah. Why not? I want to hear what you have."

This is your chance. To see if the man sitting across from you was your saviour that night.

"Okay. Stop me if I go too far. If you absolutely must know what I think of you, here goes ..."

You felt his stare from behind his red glasses. You took a deep breath and started:

"You're blind, but you're not helpless or powerless. Sometimes, I forget that you can't see with the way you move around. It's almost like an act. I feel like you're hiding something, with all the bruises on your face and knuckles."

He went silent. You stopped yourself.

"I'm so sorry. Did I go too far?"

"No, no, that's alright. Foggy said that as well. It's strange having two different people telling me the same thing. For the bruises, I'm just clumsy. I knock over stuff sometimes. I'm ... blind, after all."

You mused over the confession. Were you going crazy, or did he contradict himself there? It was so apparent that it might as well laughed at you. Was it possible that Matt and the masked man were the same people? Your thought was interrupted as the waiter put down two plates of steaming food.

"I hope I didn't freak you out or offend you."

Your voice was small, full of guilt. You glanced out the window, tried not to look at him. You felt something warm engulfed your hand. You looked down to see Matt had settled his hand over yours, and gave it a light grip, full of comfort.

The familiar crush and warmth rushed through you, clearing the last of the haze, and you knew you had your answer.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. No offence taken. It takes a lot more to upset me. There's nothing I'd like more for you to be comfortable with me."

You smiled. The clarity you had was liberating and confusing at the same time. Matt Murdock being some sort of hero or vigilante. Maybe he did this because he enjoyed beating someone up. How would you know? More important of all, how was that possible? You ended up with more questions than answers, but at least, you had the truth.

The lunch went by quicker than you thought. The food was great, and Matt was even better. By the time both of you had to go back, you found yourself wanting to stay there in the restaurant with him, even if it was for only a moment longer. Matt walked you back to the cafe, saying goodbye, not before reassuring you that he had a great time and hoped you two could do something like this soon. The way his hand lingered on your arm just a moment too long tinted your face red. You had a soft smile on your face for the rest of the day, and May took every chance to tease you about it. You wondered if you would get a chance to see him in his other identity again. Lucky for you, you didn't have to wait for long.

It was another hot summer night, two weeks after your brunch with Matt. It was 8 PM, the sky started darkening quickly. Since May had to attend a wedding over the weekend, she allowed you to close early since your last brush with near death. So you wrapped things up quickly. Closing the side door behind, you hurried to the main street until a dark figure appeared in front of you, making you shrieked, pulling out the thick paper cutting knife you stored in your pocket. The shadow slumped down onto the ground, holding their hands up in surrender with great effort. You tentatively stepped closer, inspecting the dark figure, eyes roved over the black mask, the black attire and some drops of blood trailing out of the dark material.

"It's you!"

You exclaimed. The knife in your hand shook less. Finally, the silhouette spoke out, their voice gravelly and desperate:

"Please, I need help."

Helping the stranger into the backroom of the cafe was no easy feat, but you didn't dare to stop to take a breath. Still, you managed to sneak in a comment:

"What you need is help from the hospital, not help from me, buddy."

"No ... no hospital."

"Fine. It's your funeral."

After laying him down on the couch, you frantically searched for the medical kit. Pulling it out from the top of the cupboard, you settled quickly beside him to find his shirt already pulled up past his pectorals, revealing a toned and scarred body; his bloody and bruised abs rose and fell rapidly to his rough breathing. Well, it would be a dead body soon enough if you wouldn't stop staring and get to work.

You used a small towel to clean away some of the blood, to take a better look at his wound. A knife wound on his stomach, not too deep, thank God, the stitching up should be easy enough.

"Got ... shot. Grazed ... my arm ... hurt. "

Shit. You carefully rolled up his sleeve. Just like he said, the bullet only grazed his arm but still made quite the damage. It cut his skin open, the blood seeping freely through the edges. You grabbed a clean cloth, carefully pressed on the wound on his arm. He grunted.

"Hold onto to that. I'll take care of the cut on your stomach first."

He held his hand over the cloth. You cleaned more blood from his abdomen, then ran to the kitchen, washing your hands and upper arms as thoroughly as you could, and came back with a pair of clean gloves. After putting them on, you started preparing the needle and the thread. Once that was done with, you turned to him, keeping your voice as calm as you could manage:

"I'm going to stitch you up now. Do you need a painkiller or sedation?"

He shook his head quickly, muttered some breathy words.

"No ... you have ... sedation?"

You hesitated.

"... nooo. But I can try knocking you out or something."

He chuckled; the vibration made his body stiffen instantly.

"No ... just ... go for it."

Bracing yourself, you lined the edges of the wound together and started your work. Your hands shook lightly, but you managed to keep the stitches somewhat even, and the cut sealed shut. You blew out a relieved breath, secured the gash with sterilized gauze and started preparing for the bullet scrape on his arm. He had stayed very still, made it easier and faster for you to go through with the whole procedure quickly. Every so often, an agonizing grunt would escape his gritted teeth, making you falter for a brief moment.

"You either have insanely high pain tolerance, or you do this every other day because you're handling this very well. For a person who was bleeding from two injuries with others in God knows what places."

Finishing up with the stitches on his arm, you sealed it close with a clean bandage. He sat up cautiously, releasing a hiss of pain. You helped him sit up fully, leaned on the couch, and grabbed a new warm towel to clean up the rest of the blood on his body.

One hand holding his arm, the other made gentle swipes at the blood that was drying up; you assessed him. His rough breathing had even out. Some droplets of sweat raced down from his jaw to his neck, and you outstretched your hand toward them. He startled at the contact; the free hand came up and snatched your wrist.

"Hey, relax. I'm just cleaning the sweat off. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have fixed you up."

He let go of your wrist.

"Sorry. Habits."

You snorted, muttered 'of course' lowly. You softly dabbed the sweat off his neck. He made a pleasant throaty sound like he was enjoying your touch. You two fell into the comfortable silence until you decided that there was no use in not talking about the obvious, to you at least.

"Did you come here tonight on purpose? For help, I mean."

"What do you mean?"

His head cocked slightly to the side, looking at you as if he could see you through the mask.

"Did you know I was here and that I would be willing to help you ..."

"... Matt Murdock?"

You let his name fall quietly, like a final prayer, connecting two sides of him and shattering the illusion he put up with you. He took in a sharp breath; his whole body tensed up.

"How did you know?"

You huffed out a laugh in disbelief.

"Seriously? It's not that hard connecting the dots, although the concussion did a number on me, and it took quite a bit for me to remember everything from that night. I had my suspicion about you being the masked man since you're blind, or supposed to be, and I still don't know if you're really blind or not, but it was the only explanation."

You didn't tell him, but it was hard not to take notice when his injuries went beyond the busted lips, the scarlet bruises on his cheeks and around his eyes. He could school his expression to be impassive, but you noticed the slight wince he made when he moved his body anyway.

"So, are you actually blind? Or you can see the whole time? Do you have a superpower?" You added.

Matt sighed in defeat. There was no use in hiding anymore. He reached up to push the mask off his face, eyes trained forward.

"No, I am legally blind. When I was 9, I came in contact with a radioactive chemical, which blinded me. But it enhanced my other senses. I can feel and hear things in a wide range."

"So technically, you can somewhat see things around you?"

"Yes, I can only see an outline. Not many details. I can hear more than I can see."

You fell into silence once more. Matt's lips pressed into each other, contemplating something. He wouldn't face you; his fingers fidgeted with the mask.

"Are you upset? That I didn't tell you about ... this?"

He gestured to himself.

Were you upset? You didn't feel like it. You didn't feel like you had the right to be mad at him for not telling you. What was the relationship between the two of you? You talked; you had lunch once; you flirted, occasionally. Who were you to him anyway? So that was what you told him.

"I'm not mad. I don't think I should be because I had no right to. I'm not your friend, Matt. I'm just ... an acquaintance to you, at best."

"Acquaintance? I consider you to be my friend."

Matt responded, a puzzled look on his face.

'But friends don't do what we're doing. Friend doesn't feel what I'm starting to feel for you.'

You kept the thought to yourself. Then, clearing your throat, you asked him.

"Did you know that I would help you, even if I didn't know who you were?"

"Yes, I had no doubt."

He answered with no hesitation. It tugged at your heartstring the fact that he trusted you would take care of a stranger. You wanted to reach for him, caress his face, brush your thumb over the corner of his eyes, over the curves of his lips. You found yourself wanting to violate the code you had set for yourself; the thought was dangerous, bearing red in your vision. You pushed it aside to allow yourself this one small moment.

You took hold of his hand instead, silently swiping your thumb over his bruised and bloody knuckles. He squeezed your fingers, putting his other hand atop of yours. You wished you could soothe the pain, erase the marks that engraved on his body. You knew there was so much more to Matt, but what you hadn't known then was the pain lurking underneath the surface, the perpetuate conflict he had with himself, always threatened to swallow him whole. It didn't matter, nonetheless. The time would pass as your understanding of him grew, welcomed you in the eye of the storm, his storm. Yet, you felt peaceful and at home.

[vannybarber]

The Prenup: Part Four

Summary: After four years of being together and finally being engaged, Chris wants you to sign a prenup.

Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, chris getting his ass handed to him, a lot of pain.

Part One Part Two Part Three

As soon as you heard that, you slam the door in his face.

"Y/N, what the hell? Open the door. What are you doin'?"

"No, I'm not opening the door. How are you gonna finally see me and knowing I'm upset with you, greet me with "hi baby"? You fuss at him through the door.

"I'm sorry okay! Can you please open the door? We need to talk."

"Don't raise your voice at me. You're only making it worse for yourself." You shift your weight on the other foot folding your arms. "I can do this all day."

"Come on babe, I'm serious." So were you.

"If I open this door, you better act like you have some sense."

"Alright, alright. Just open the door please."

You hesitantly walk over and open the door seeing him stand in the same position. Your face is torn up and you wrinkle it more when your eyes land on him. Although you won't admit it, a tiny part of you are glad to see him. Just a tiny part.

"Can I come in?" He looks at you and tilts his head sassily.

"Cut the attitude Christopher." You walk away towards the bed signaling he could enter.

"We're not gonna get anything solved with you acting like this" he huffs, slamming the door.

"How do you expect me to act? We wouldn't have anything to solve if you hadn't done all this. All this time you had to think and you still can't get that through your mind."

"I still don't see why you're making such a big deal. This is protecting us both. I don't touch your money, mine doesn't get touched either."

You almost slap him.

"Chris, that's if we were to divorce. We haven't even gotten married and you're already thinking about divorce?" What the fuck is wrong with him?

"You always say to be extra cautious and careful. That's what I'm doing. Megan thinks it's a good idea and when is she ever wrong?"

"You know what's sad Chris? Megan is such a bitch and you can't see it. She literally tries to dictate every little thing you do. She's your publicist, not your wife. You talk about how you love your freedom and independence, which I give to you, but when it comes to her, whatever she says goes."

His hands are rubbing his face, like usual, when he's in a predicament. He's not saying anything, which makes you even more upset, but you continue anyway.

"I truly don't think you understand how you're being right now. You're letting someone else dictate our relationship. You don't even talk to me about it, so I'm sitting on the sidelines watching you play the game. It's clear in itself that you are still not ready to be in a relationship. How? I don't know. You had fucking 4 years."

"Its not that easy, okay? You know how all my past relationships have gone. Somehow I was still being used for everything. Whether it was money, publicity or whatever. You don't get it."

You sigh and run a hand over your forehead. It's obvious you aren't going to get anywhere with this, so what was the point of him even coming here? Hold on.

"How the hell did you even find me? I haven't talked to you all day." He looks up and at the wall, bouncing his leg nervously in the chair he was seated in.

"You had your location on and I drove over here." You roll your eyes and this upsets him. "You freaking left without telling anyone where you were! You could've been hurt. Or even worse."

"I told your momma I was fine." He scoffs.

"You've got to be kidding. You just have to be."

You've had it up to here with this man. Clearly nothing was going to get resolved and both of you are stubborn about it, so you want him gone right away.

"Chris just go. You're wasting time. I told you to come in here with some sense, but you must've left the little that you had at the door."

"You're my future wife. I'm not leaving you. We need to work this out." Haha. That's funny.

"Well according to you, I'm most likely going to be your future ex wife." Okay you were being dramatic but whatever. "Let me help you understand. After 4 years of a relationship, you propose to me. Then you get a prenup behind my back by the advisory of your hating ass publicist. You signed it without even letting me know you had one. Do you not see the issue at hand here?"

You deadpan him for his reaction. You needed some form of indication that he gets what you're saying. That he realizes he's being a dick.

"I mean...I guess? I just didn't think you'd be so bothered. If we never get a divorce then it's fine. The prenup won't matter." He sits up in his chair and looks at you what looks like to be genuine confusion on his face.

Why do you even bother?

"Yes it would matter. Because it will forever be there. And in the back of my mind, I will always feel you picked your money over me." All his confusion washes away at this and is replaced with realization and guilt. "You know me better than most of my own family does. And you know what my intentions are with you. None of them require money. If you didn't have money like you did, I still would be with you Chris. Why? Because I love you."

There's a silence.

"I honestly don't know what to say." And you could tell. Any words he wanted to speak barely got through transformation because he would just clamp his mouth shut.

"Chris I just want to be alone right now, okay? I really don't need this at the moment." Yeah, the fact that you're pregnant. And he still doesn't know. You thought about telling him, but now you want to hold it off being that this didn't go as planned.

"Babe-"

"Chris please. Just do this for me. It's the least you can do." You sit on the bed and cross your legs. You were in a bind that didn't seem to be letting up any time soon.

"Well it was a long drive and I have to use the bathroom." You swat your hand to the restroom for him to go. Anything to get him moving faster. He walks in and shuts the door behind him. Meanwhile, you grab your phone and contemplate whether you should turn your location off. If you kept it on, at least they would know where you were and that you were safe. But you don't want him back here.

After 4-5 minutes or so, you didn't hear the toilet flush and you wonder what he's doing in there.

"Chris what the hell is taking you so long?" The door clicks open and you look, only to see Chris standing in the frame with a pregnancy test in hand.

He has your positive pregnancy test.

You forgot you left them on the sink counter. Fucking idiot. You internally start freaking out and you jump out the bed. He spots you and stares at you. Knowing him for so long, you had never seen this look o his face before. Turns out, it was a look of betrayal. Why would he feel betrayed?

"You're pregnant." His voice is monotonous and his eyes don't leave yours for a second.

You on the other hand, are darting your attention around the room, looking anywhere but at him. You feel a sense of guilt. Probably because you weren't telling him and he had to find out like this.

"Yes- yes I am pregnant" you speak lowly, fiddling with the end of your shirt.

"And its mine right?" That made you mad.

"Of course it is! How the hell could you ask me that?"

"Well I don't know how to fucking feel! You were just gonna let me walk out of here without telling me you're pregnant with my baby!?" Now he's out the bathroom and a few feet away from you.

"I don't owe anything to you right now. I would've told you eventually. When I was ready." He goes silent.

"Are you going to keep it?" This time his voice is meek and lower than his normal tone. You look up and his face is pained. He is all for 'my body my choice' and completely supports that, but he'd be lying if he said that the thought of you, ya know, wouldn't hurt him.

"Yes I am keeping the baby." He let's out a huge breath.

Even though you couldn't have been more than 5 weeks, you had already felt like a bond was formed with your baby. And knowing Chris has wanted kids since forever, you couldn't take that away.

"Well I'm happy." But you still weren't all the way there yet. You didn't forget what had just happen.

"You still need to leave." The little smile on his face had vanished and he looked down.

"Are you gonna come back?" He was making it slightly difficult to keep the same hardness with him. You still loved that man, even through all your anger you have with him.

"I will, just not right now. Or not today at least. I still need to think. I'll be back home eventually." As you're speaking he sets the test back in the bathroom and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"Well I guess that's better than nothing", he replies still visibly upset. "I guess I'll just head out now." He walks towards the door and hooks his hand on the knob. You quick get up and to your own surprise, you wrap your arms around him.

He's stiff for a few moments, which makes complete sense, but hugs back. You take in his scent and you almost give in. You hadn't smelt him in a while and it drove you crazy. You pull away and adjust your shirt. He looks at you one more time.

"I love you Y/N." You nod your head and he leaves the room.

"I love you too Christopher."

But he couldn't hear you because he was already half way down the hall, thinking about how he was going to make this right.

heehee😏i think this is a little more than what i gave in the last chapter. we're not through yet you guys ❤

@mayafatimakhan @attitude-times @shawn-youth @traceyaudette @kyraroseficreblogs33 @radi0active-thoughts @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @ohbarracuda @katelyneannxo @jennamarieee623 @craycraycraic @ilikeurdad @captainson-of-coul @joanne-stan @ilovetheeagles @cristinagronk16 @kelbabyblue @onyourgoddamnleft @jessycatth @misz-adrii @geminievans1 @saltyflowermakertaco @a-moment-captured @harrysthiccthighss @dauntless2022 @allboutdatmarvel @ineedpineapple @illyrianprincess @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @marianas-studyblr @obliviatevamps @thevelvetseries @coffeebooksandfandom @shamelessfangirl-3 @quietmyfearswith @kissme-hs @lvgllre @arabescapr @careless-intuition @lady-x-red

[technowoah]

THESEUS - a dsmp story ( DreamSMP x Queen!Reader)

CHAPTER FIVE : AND I REALIZE THREE FUNDAMENTAL TRUTHS AT THE EXACT SAME TIME.

Chapter Summary: You had gotten what you wanted, but at what cost? Nightmares ensue, and Dream’s true colors begin to show.

pairing: c!wilbur x queen!reader

an// IM BACK!! hopefully yall like this chaper cause this is the last one that I wrote in the past, Im writing chapter 6 rn so it might take a while. Also sorry for not posting requests I really wanted to get this chapter out there

⚠︎ swearing, dsmp spoliers(?), angst, arguing, smoking, explosions, gaslighting(?), not proofread.

Series Masterlist 

"Good job you two! This is all yours now.”

Dream had led you and Eret back to the castle, all of them still battered and bruised from the war they recently had. You had already taken off your armor and now you were wearing underneath your L'Manburg outfit that was torn and burnt showing some of your skin which was also burnt or cut. You had noticed on the way to the castle that Dream had kept on looking at the outfit that Eret and you had on with disgust, like a taunt.

You could finally relax in the huge castle that you apparently deserved because you and Eret had taken the first lives of the citizens of L'Manburg. In your heart you knew that L'Manburg was still a country. They all have two more lives and they will build the country up again with those two lives. You sighed then kept walking into the throne room. you looked at the two big thrones that sat next to each other. One for a king and one for a queen.

"Why are you standing there? Sit down! Relax!" Dream patted one of the thrones.

You and Eret had sat down on the thrones next to each other looking around the huge throne room and Dream smiling right in front of them. Once you both sat down you tried to sit up straight, but you wanted to slump down into the comfy, plush, velvet and gold chair. The two of them sat on velvet and gold thrones while in burnt and torn L'Manburg uniforms. It was a sight to see, and if someone didn't know the context of what just happened, this scene would've made sense to them.

"I'm happy you did this. You deserve all of this." Dream said while walking along the marble floor.

"It's beautiful, but I'm exhausted." You let your head fall to the side. You sighed wanting Dream to leave so you could finally get some rest.

"I bet."

"Eret are you okay?" You spoke up after Dream.

Eret had a look that you couldn't make out. He just stared off into space in his own mind. He shook his head after you called for him again.

"Yeah, yeah I am fine. I'm just thinking." Eret quickly responded.

"What are you thinking about?" Dream said in a monotone voice.

"If we did the right thing." Eret sighed.

You slowly nodded because you were thinking the exact same thing. They were traitors, you had built somewhat of a connection with those people you helped kill. And now what? you're living in a huge castle and apparently you "Shouldn't be feeling this way", Dream claimed.

"You two are overreacting. They are fine." Dream said bluntly while staring at them with a straight face.

That was a huge lie, their lives were taken today. They're not just “fine”.

"You two were never a part of that place anyways. This is your home! Why would you need to wear those hideous colors? They look bad on you, it's unflattering. There is no need to go back." Dream explained.

You hang your head not knowing what to say to the man, there wasn’t really anything to say but you spoke up hoping the words will come to you.

"I don't-"

"You don't have to say anything, it's okay. You're safe now. Did you get hurt?" Dream asked.

The bruises and scars said differently.

"Remember when I said that?" Dream pushed the question.

You rubbed a burn mark on your wrist and laughed a bit. "No! Actually I don't. We're safe now, but that doesn't mean we aren't hurt." You chuckled in disbelief.

"Well maybe if you listened to me you wouldn't be so anxious. If you listened you wouldn't have been so hesitant. You're safe." Dream said sternly.

"Maybe you're tired, Dream. We're all tired. Shall we go to bed?" Eret stood up and held out his hand to help you up from your seat.

You accepted his hand and started to follow Eret through the huge castle making your way through the huge, high ceiling halls. The three walked towards the king's and queen's room in the castle, Dream kept a slower pace and walked behind the two wanting to get one more word in before leaving the castle.

"If you two are ever in doubt just remember that you are on the right side of history." Dream said then turned around to leave the two alone.

You both stopped and turned around to see Dream’s back facing the both of you as he walked away. You and Eret eventually made it to your new bedrooms. There was a big door which held a huge room made for the both of them to sleep in and two separate rooms next to the bigger door which were made for one person. Eret and you stood in front of the bigger door staring at the intricate designs on the door not speaking to each other.

"So?" Eret laughed.

"So!" You exclaimed while chuckling.

"Are you okay sleeping in that huge room tonight?" Eret asked.

"I'm not totally comfortable with that, but it would be weird if we slept in the same bed. Don't get me wrong! You're a great friend, but-"

"Y/N/N stop! I'm okay with that too. I wasn't looking to sleep in the same bed. Yes we're married, but we're just staying friends, hey we might get a divorce later." Eret explained.

"If I do, we won't be king and queen anymore." You said softly to your husband.

"Is that what you want? To be "queen"?" Eret asked while putting air quotes around the word queen.

You paused for a moment then answered his question.

"I don't know where I'm supposed to be, Eret." You looked up at him sadly and he pulled you in for a hug. It took you everything you had to not cry into the L'Manburg uniform Eret was wearing. Today drained you mentally and physically, your hands were raw from shooting arrows, you had burn marks on your skin and your feet hurt from running through the kingdom. You weren’t sure about where you would go, because this didn't feel like your home.

"Let's go to bed and we'll talk in the morning. Rest on it because I'll happily divorce you so you can find your place in this huge kingdom." Eret laughed and let you out of his arms.

You chuckled and then let him go walking into what was supposed to be the queen's room and right next to it was the king's room which they both walked in after saying goodnight and closing their doors finally having time to themselves after a long day.

You finally took off the L'Manburg uniform and laid it on a velvet chair in the corner of the huge room. You stared at the uniform before going to the nearest closet and picking out something to wear for that night. The queen's room was basically the huge couple's room that you found before, but just with a smaller bed. There were still trinkets, jewelry and even clothes in the closet. you took a nightgown out of the closet and sat on the plush bed. You ended up laying down staring at the high ceiling thinking of the predicament Eret's question brought.

You finally retired for the night and crawled into bed and got under the soft covers. The window was open so a soft cool breeze was blowing through the room letting the curtains flow with the breeze. If you left you wouldn't have anywhere to go except back to L'Manburg, they would never let you back even if you tried. They probably hated your guts by now, so maybe divorcing wasn't a good idea. You had a set home here, you had food, clothes, and you weren't under attack every minute. you didn't have to watch your back for any enemies.

Your mind slowed down as you finally lulled yourself into a deep sleep forgetting the troubles in your mind for only a moment.

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

The sunset fell over the horizon making it a gold, red color. It was beautiful. The trees were illuminated and the lakes had a certain glow to them. you could see mobs began to crawl out of the ground and caves, but you was safe up here.

You looked down and saw the familiar obsidian walls. It seemed like a faint memory, but in reality the walls were real. It was like you could feel the stone underneath your feet at this moment. you could see inside L'Manburg.

you saw Tubbo and Tommy laying in the grass talking to one another. you saw Fundy sleeping in the grass next to them. There were two new faces you had never seen before. It was a woman with short pink hair and another man with a shaved head. It might've been your mind putting people in your dreams to fill space. Then you saw Eret sitting by a small river letting his bare feet flow in the water. It was a peaceful scene.

"Beautiful sunset isn't it?" A voice showed up beside you.

It was Wilbur. He had his uniform on, it was clean like the war didn't even happen.

"It is really beautiful." You agreed watching the sun continue to lower over the trees.

"You know everything the sun touches is yours? It's all of ours. It just so happens that you can see the sunset and sunrise from L'Manburg. You can do anything as long as you see the sun rise and fall." Wilbur said, keeping his gaze soft at the sunset.

You hummed but stayed quiet admiring his words and the sunset.

"Let me tell you what I wish I'd known when I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story. After you took one of my lives away I understand now. You can't control other people and their motivations."

You hang your head in disappointment, but then Wilbur continued.

"But I know that we can win. I know that greatness lies in you, but remember from here on in that history has its eyes on you. History will forever have its eyes on you no matter what you do." Wilbur looked into your eyes as the sun set on the two of them the stars began to shine.

The light brown eyes Wilbur had turned darker because of the sunlight being gone. You looked out back at the mobs in the forest and the huge towers in the sky made the kingdoms members. you turned around and looked into L'Manburg. Or what was considered L'Manburg.

There was no one there anymore, instead of people there were huge amounts of TNT that filled the walls behind them. you could hear faint voices around them, people that you didn't know. It sounded like chaos. you whipped your head around to Wilbur who was dressed in a brown tattered trench coat, brown pants, and a white shirt instead of the L'Manburg uniform.

He had a cigarette in his mouth and matches in his hands. He smirked at you as the voices around you got louder and your head sounded like you were in the middle of a tornado. your head was buzzing as your eyes couldn't focus on Wilbur in front of you. It felt like these moments were happening right in front of your all at one time.

"You want to be a hero Tommy?"

"You know if I die, this country goes down with me."

"if respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, then respect is nothing, right?"

"Kill me, Phil. Phil, kill me, Phil kill me! Phil, stab me with the sword, murder me now, kill me! Look-"

"You know Y/N" Wilbur started next to you. He lit a match and turned around to L'Manburg which was now filled with TNT.

"Somethings. Somethings were never meant to be." He threw the match into the huge pile of TNT and all in a second the obsidian underneath your feet disappeared as you fell into the explosion beneath you.

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

"Fuck! Where am I?!" You shot up from your sleeping position in a cold sweat.

You frantically felt around the bed trying to convince yourself that you were physically at the castle in your bed. You finally caught your breath and laid back down in your bed finding yourself staring at the ceiling again. Even with the window open blowing cool air into the room, your skin still felt hot. You ended up tossing the covers off of you and making your way towards the entrance of the kingdom to get some air.

That dream was so much stuff in it you couldn't comprehend all of it. It was like Wilbur was there as if he was talking to you directly and it wasn't a dream and it made you second guess yourself and think that it may have not been a dream. You finally made it outside and sat on one of the steps that led people up into the kingdom. you sighed and breathed in the fresh air and it immediately relaxed your body and mind. You were alive, you were here and sadly Wilbur wasn't there. You closed your eyes and felt the breeze around you until you were startled by a figure beside you.

"You're up late. I thought you said you were mentally tired." Dream chuckled sitting beside you.

"I had a bad dream." You sighed.

"Hey don't take my name in vain like that" Dream laughed trying to bring up your mood.

Dream sighed and stood back up when he didn't get a response from his companion.

"Come one, let's go. Let's get your mind off of the one bad dream." Dream held his hand out, gesturing to you to take it.

You took his hand and then released it letting him lead the way to wherever the wind may take them. The dream is currently still stuck in your head. The voices from different people confused you and made your head spin.

"You want to be a hero Tommy?" What did that mean? Was someone threatening Tommy? Will someone threaten Tommy? You grew to care for that kid.

Who said "If I die, this country goes down with me"? What country. L'Manburg?

"If respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, then respect is nothing, right?" That one stumped you the most. you didn't even know if this was being spoken to you or to someone else. All of them except for the Tommy one.

Were they all even dreams? The one that haunted your mind the most was the one where someone was telling a man named Phil to kill them. Were you there for that moment? Did Phil kill the person? Who was Phil? All these thoughts and questions plagued your mind so much that your feet mindlessly carried you wherever Dream led you to.

"Here we are." Dream led You on top of a hill, a tall enough hill to see the main attraction. The place you missed the most, L'Manburg.

Tears started to form in your eyes and you tried blinking them away. All the moments of that dream appeared in your brain, but even stronger. you never felt these emotions before. Maybe L'Manburg was your home all along. you missed seeing Tubbo, Tommy, Eret and Fundy doing their own thing while your and Wilbur had a deep talk inside the van. you had spent weeks with them growing too attached to them and then ended up becoming a traitor.

"That place. You never belonged there. You're too good for them." Dream started and you stayed quiet watching the stars begin to disappear.

"Do you trust me?" Dream asked.

You stayed quiet not having the answer he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear you say that you trusted him when in reality you couldn’t, you weren't fully there yet, not anymore. 

"They lied to you. It's not your home." Dream continued on letting you listen and not talk.

"How did you know if someone said it was my home or not?" You asked, startled.

"I might've been keeping an eye on you. I wanted to make sure my flower was okay." Dream kept his gaze on L'Manburg.

"Stop calling me that." You sighed.

"I never started. This was the first time I said that. Who called you flower?" Dream suddenly got serious, staring at you.

you kept your sights on the obsidian walls, not sparing him a glance. The stars began to fade and the sun peeked over the horizon. As they stayed longer the sun rose over the walls of L'Manburg. You started to remember the words in the dream you had.

"You know everything the sun touches is yours? It's all of ours. It just so happens that you can see the sunset and sunrise from L'Manburg. You can do anything as long as you see the sun rise and fall."

L'Manburg stands for independence. Independence. That word kept ringing through your head like a mantra until a few voices below the hill and near the walls alerted you.

"HEY! Hey Wilbur! Give me back my shit!" Tommy yelled as he stomped after the older man.

"Wilbur get Tommy to stop shouting and give him his swords back please!" Fundy yelled trailing behind the two.

"No not until he learns not to go start stabbing shit!" Wilbur yelled back at the other two.

You missed that. you missed the bickering and the nonsense they all shared. you were upset that Tommy still hadn't learned his lesson and you wished you were there beside them at that moment.

Dream spoke up giving you a look you couldn’t quite get. "You are never allowed to step inside those walls again.

"What gives you the right to tell me what and what not to do? Who does that make you? Who do you think-"

"YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO GO IN THOSE WALLS!" Dream yelled getting dangerously close to you.

You continued to stare at those blue eyes as the bright sun rose over the dark walls of L’Manburg. you didn't say anything but descended down the mountain alone with the sounds of Tommy, Fundy, and Wilbur bickering in the background, wishing you were there and not next to the man next to you who was staring at you angrily.

"I know what’s good for you! I know what's good for this country! Just trust me Y/N!" Dream yelled starting an argument

"Would you calm down! You came here to be all quiet and now you're yelling at me. You might want to be quiet before Wilbur hears you. Or do you want me to get him myself?" You yelled back, getting furious.

"Oh you wish! He doesn't care for you as much as me, Sapnap and George do! They agree as well!"

"Don't put words into his mouth!" You accused

"Oh! So if he cares so fucking much he would've help save you. And do you know what would happen if he saved you?! You would've died! I saved you! You were in a perfect situation and all you had to do is not complain! You're always overreacting." Dream ended with a huff and rolled his eyes while turning away..

you were speechless at this point. Overwhelming emotions consumed you. you couldn't believe you were overreacting. Maybe Wilbur wasn't everything you needed. you were overreacting, you were being selfish too. Dream was right. Dream walked over to you pulling you in a hug with L'Manburg was still in your sights.

"I did everything because I love you. You're too precious for them, you're not for them. They don't deserve you, you deserve someone who wants the best for you. A flower that needs a home and I'm here to give it to you." Dream softly explained.

Your eyes kept tearing up at the words and different emotions flowing through you. The sights on L'Manburg make your memories and questions come back. Where did you belong? But more importantly who was telling the truth?

Taglist: @hi-imuwu @k-l-a-w-s

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 13

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

A/N: Future you, r u okkkk

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

You stared at Bucky and the gentleman who was with him named Sam Wilson, completely dumbfounded; as if they both had three heads. They were seated across from you, Bucky with a glass of water, and Sam with a bottle of beer in his hand. Sam was just finishing his beer, as well as his speech about his business proposal which had to do with you taking photos of his new products, and models.

Bucky introduced Sam as a long-time friend and an owner of a sporting fit apparel named The Falcons. The name did ring a bell as soon as you heard it. You suddenly remembered passing through it while you and Bucky were strolling down Fifth Street, vaguely telling you about a friend who owned it and six other stores scattered in California, Chicago, London, and Australia (and was planning to branch out more in Asian countries); and here he was right in front of you, hiring you as a photographer for his big-time business.

Sam didn't give you a sliver of time to intervene with his flawless little speech he had committed to memory, as he spoke so fast. Some words were even incomprehensible to you — or perhaps it was just because the world was still whirling around you, given the prior event that just took place.

And now this.

You tried to give Bucky some kind of signal by giving him a look but he encouraged Sam further and urged you to listen to his proposal.

"So, y/n..." Sam rested his hands on the wooden table, his attention solely focused on you. "What do you think?"

If only you could tell him the truth that your mind was completely blank, you would. But you didn't want to embarrass yourself or Bucky for that matter, so you just gave him a smile and did the first thing you could think of. "Mr. Wilson — "

"Oh, you can just call me Sam. There's no need for formalities."

You nodded. "Sam... Do you mind if I have a little discussion with Bucky? It will just take a moment."

Sam leaned back on the cushioned couch of the booth and nodded. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

You didn't give Bucky the time to question why so you immediately stood up, grabbed Bucky's hand from across the booth and dragged his body towards one of the closets the bar rarely used. You closed the door behind you, and switched the light on. Even with the small lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, the inside of the closet still looked dingy, and the dust crawling on the walls and flying in the tight air space were clearly evident.

"Bucky, what the hell is going on?"

"Isn't it great?"

You smacked his arm. "Steve just told me he's getting me fired so that I can focus on my career as a photographer."

"That's even greater!"

You smacked his arm harder this time. "I'm not done." You hissed. "He's giving me one week to figure things out and then I'm fired. If I don't have shit figured out in that one week, I'm not gonna be able to pay for bills. Did you say something to Steve when you came here this morning? Don't lie to me, James."

He was rubbing his arm, brows furrowed. "I told him nothing."

"You showed him the photos I took last night. What was that all about?"

He sighed in defeat. "I just made him realize that you needed to be out there and not stuck here. You said it yourself, y/n, you're stuck in a rut and the only way to get yourself moving is to break from that routine. To go out there and explore the world."

"And then you just swoop in and bring your friend?"

"Yes."

"So, Steve just happens to realize that I needed to go out there and explore the world, and then it just so happens that your friend needs someone to photograph for his business?" You scoffed. "Bucky, do you expect me to believe that this is just one big coincidence? That you're not the one pulling all the strings in this little weird puppet show?"

"Yes, okay, I may have done something about those, said something, but — "

"Oh my god, you can't do that." You had the urge to get some air, and to pace back and forth as you tried to put your thoughts into words, but the space felt tighter the more you spoke. "You can't just walk into people's lives and, and... control everything! This is not just about chasing a dream, this is also about survival. I'm not rich like you. I don't have a safety net when things fall apart. You... You can't put all your trust in me."

"Well, someone needs to." Bucky sternly answered. "And if that someone should be me then so be it."

"I don't even know why you're going to great lengths for me." You looked down on the floor. "I... I don't get it, Bucky. I don't get you at all."

"Hey, hey, hey, listen to me, doll." His hands made contact with your skin, lifting your face to look at his blue eyes. "I apologize for taking things too far, I guess I could act so rash as well but I just wanted to do what I know is right and what would make you happy. Seeing you last night was... heartbreaking."

"So, you pity me." You sighed. "Everybody does."

"Call it what you want, y/n. But people who pity you won't ever believe in you and in what you do. But here I am putting all my trust in you. Your boss Steve does too. And Sam." A smile formed on his lips, making the insides of you flip.

"Your friend Sam sounds like a big deal and he hasn't even seen my photos. How can he trust me to do all this for him?"

"I put my word in for you. I told him if I was wrong, then to hell with me. And if you're worried about people assisting you during the shoot, don't. Sam has people all over and he just needs your beautiful eyes and hands and brain." He laughed. "Sam's a good guy and you're not going to be working for some big corporation. I know you hate those. This is perfect for you, trust me. And right now, all I need you to do is say yes to Sam, say yes to me, and most especially say yes to yourself. Please?"

The atmosphere became lighter, and the room didn't feel that tight any longer. His flattering words forever engraved in your mind. His warm hands stayed on both sides of your face, his face pleading.

You sighed and nodded your head slowly, finally convinced. "Okay, yes."

A grin started to crawl to his face and for a moment, his face drew closer to yours. "Okay, good. Now let's get out of here and tell Sam the good news."

You nodded but a touch of disappointment came, as Bucky's hands left your face. You never knew the presence of Bucky's skin against yours was one thing you could miss. You didn't even know if you should.

As soon as you sat down, you told Sam the good news and quickly ordered a bottle of champagne. You were supposed to get it for them but Bucky told you to sit down and let loose for a while, so you did.

Nat approached the booth with the cold champagne, and some glasses. She bent down and whispered to you, "You better tell me what's going on here. I wanna hear everything."

Sure, she did. Nat always wanted to. When it comes to water cooler gossip or any kind of gossip for that matter, Nat always wanted to dig her nose into other people's stuff. With a wink and a slight sway on the hips, she retreated to the counter and took more of people's orders. Beside her, you noticed Nick steal a glance in your direction but was averted away by people trying to get their drinks.

"Alright, let's toast." Sam declared. Bucky was just finishing filling yours when you focused your attention back at the two gentlemen in front of you. You thanked Bucky and mirrored Sam as he raised his glass. Bucky followed, his eyes with a luster glaze on you. "To new partners, beginnings, and to y/n."

"Thank you, Sam." You laughed, clinking your glasses. "And to Bucky, for trusting me enough to do this."

"To Bucky who wouldn't leave me alone until I said yes." Sam replied, emptying his glass.

You gave Bucky a look and shook your head. Being the cheeky man he was, the ends of his lips curved slightly which triggered the beat of your heart. The sudden changes you have been feeling when it came to Bucky have been scaring you but it wasn't a "bad scary"; it was the kind that excited everything inside you. A thrilling feeling that left you wanting more.

At the taste of the sprinkling cold champagne, for a moment, you were brought back to last night's events. A montage-like of red, blue and white lights illuminating the street, Howard waiting in the limousine, Wandavision, and then Bucky. After that, it was just Bucky's presence beside you and as you looked back at him, all you could think about was his soft warm lips pressed on your forehead. The entirety of it felt like you were living a dream — there were parts you couldn't remember and parts that you could, and the latter were just the ones you kept replaying in mind (even with Bucky in front of you), trying to imbue this dream-like memory and convince yourself that it was a memory.

Nat's voice pulled you out of your thoughts (and boy, were you thankful for it). "Hey, your shift's almost ending." She reminded you, passing by the booth, then turned to face Bucky and Sam. "Anything you want from the menu, boys?"

"No, thank you." Bucky replied then turned to you. "We should also be heading up."

"Oh." Nat's change in voice was so evident that you wanted to pull her out of here as soon as possible. "You guys are heading up, huh?" She teased, her eyes now on you.

"It's not what you think." You said. "He's just looking after me. Parker's gone to some corporate retreat for a week."

"Man, you're a babysitter!" Sam butted in, punching Bucky's arm lightly. "Oh, I can't believe this."

"No, I'm not."

"You can't even take care of your damn self, how are you gonna take care of her?"

"Shut up, Sam!"

"He's actually taking good care of me." You said, looking at Bucky.

"I'm sure he is." Nat chuckled which made you step on her foot. She cleared her throat in response.

"Anyway, I gotta go say goodbye to Steve." You said, standing up. "Hey Nat, do you want me to say hi to him for you?"

With her mouth slightly open, and eyes furrowed, she replied very slowly. "No."

You smirked. "Okay then."

You headed towards Steve's office, leaving Nat stunned in her place. Steve's office was slightly open so you didn't bother knocking and just went inside. "Hey, Steve. I'm off for tonight."

"Sure." He replied. "Hey, about earlier."

"What about it?"

"I'm doing it because I truly believe in you." He smiled. "And your new friend Bucky does so too."

You smiled at him right back. "Yes, Steve. Thank you."

"Take care, y/n."

"You too, boss!"

And with that, you headed towards the booth where Bucky and Sam were.

Out on the side of the street, the three of you parted ways, Sam hailing a cab and you and Bucky heading towards the apartment building. Once the elevator doors opened, you stepped inside and was greeted by its metallic smell.

"Hey, Bucky?" You said, quickly grabbing his attention. "T-thank you for this and for basically everything you've done for me for the past few days."

"Please, you don't have to thank me for this. I'm just really glad I'll be able to help you."

"And I promise once I get my shit done, have money and everything, I'm gonna pay you back — "

"Hey, hey, hey." He cut you off. "Who said anything about paying me back? You don't have to do that, okay?"

"But I feel like this is all too much, like, there's this thing tying me to you."

"Is that a bad thing?" He asked.

"When it comes to money, yeah kinda. And you've bought me all kinds of stuff — "

"Y/n, just..." He sighed. "You don't have to do or say anything. You don't have to worry about paying me back and even if you will, I won't ever ever accept it. Can we leave it at that?"

You sighed in response, the little ding! right on time. "Yeah, okay."

By the time you got in the apartment, you practically ran towards your room because of how exhausted you were but before you could even open the door, there was one more thing you needed to do.

"Bucky?"

“Yes?”

"I-I'm sorry again about last night and no," he was about to do his face whenever he cuts you off, "please, don't cut me off, let me finish."

Bucky walked towards you, his back facing Peter's room.

"This is about what I said... when I asked you to, uh, kiss me. You were right to stop me. I was drunk, sad and vulnerable and the moment wasn't right. It wasn't right. I would have regretted it the next day and would be so ashamed to face you. I might actually avoid you for a month." You sighed. "I'm really sorry you had to see that side of me. A kiss at that moment would be really inappropriate. When we — if we ever do, um, it wouldn't be like that... just like what you said. You said that right? You said, and I quote, not like this. 'Cause I keep hearing your voice saying that in my head." Bucky nodded, affirming it. "Okay. Um, yeah so in conclusion... I am sorry."

He slowly smiled, nodding his head. "You make a lot of speeches."

"Yeah, I'm the queen when it comes to it."

"And apology accepted, of course."

You warmed up with a smile. "Okay, thank you. Good night."

“Good night, doll."

Once you turned around, you felt a strong force on your arm, spinning your body which then collided with Bucky's, together with his lips crashing on yours.

It was like an impulse you couldn't avoid: for you to close your eyes, to move your lips in his rhythm, and to savor his breath. He tasted like cold champagne, and mint, with a hint of coffee. His lips, luscious, warm and soft; you were afraid of tearing them apart with your teeth. He kissed you with all the fervor of a lover. A lover talked about in books, movies, in fairytales.

Bucky's hands found their way around your hips, pulling you closer towards his body, while you rested yours on the sides of his face, pulling every inch of him, craving more of him. Slowly, you opened your eyes and tore your faces only an inch apart, foreheads touching. Lips empty but still hungry. You stayed right where you were; You never dared move an inch and so did he. You were still like statues. The only movement was the rapid rise and fall of your breathing.

Bucky's hands slid from your waist. You felt his fingers on the nape of your neck, his thumb tracing your lower lip and giving it a small, passionate kiss.

"Just like this, doll." He whispered. "Just like this."

[liptonsbabe]

Havoc [Thomas]

A Maze Runner fanfiction

//

Summary: When the reader, the second-in-command of the village goes out into the maze looking for a way out, the last thing she hopes to find is a whole new community on the other side of the walls. Much less, when it seems to be inhabited only by boys her age.

Warnings: none

A/N: Hey! This is my very first fanfic here and i decided to start with some tmr stuff ;) English not my mother language so please let me know if something is wrong. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter one: Leaving home

YOU WAKE UP THAT DAY WITH AN INCREDIBLE MOOD, although things in the village were not encouraging at all.

The dew hadn't fallen yet when you were already in front of the maze, impatiently waiting for the doors to open. You were carrying a backpack with the breakfast on your back, the belt resting on your hips, and an awl strategically hidden in your back pocket.

You didn't understand why your heart was beating so fast even if the night before had been the worst of all. The disease was progressing, it was devastating the village and the parents were leaving their children alone. You trembled in your place. You've never seen anything like that before. The illness, the confusion, the tiredness, the agony. The desease was ending with all of you. If you and the trackers didn’t find a way out as you had promised, then the village would be devastated.

You couldn't allow it. You weren't going to give up. Maybe the answer was out there, waiting for you and you weren't going to keep it waiting.

Maybe the feeling of your restless heart was a good sign. Maybe your heart was sensing things that you could not know and, with a little bit of luck, get it right as he almost always did.

The village had exits from its four points, so, as the sun was in the west that day, you decided to start with the east gate, considering it a good sign. You pulled your hair up in a high ponytail, ate an apple as fast as you could, and waited for the doors to move.

A curtain of dust and pebbles rose in front of your face as you listened the doors opening. That day the main corridor to the maze had a strange smell, but you thought that your nose was already damaged by the medicines and infusions that you had been smelling in the nursery, so you ignored it. You adjusted your boots waiting for the stench to disperse when a strong pull carried you backwards, scaring you.

“What the hell...? Asenat! "You muttered releasing the grip on your shirt. The girl smiled haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest “How many times do I have to tell you to not pull me like that? I hate being pulled!

“You can do it as many times as you want, I honestly don't care, I'll keep doing it anyways”

“You're an idiot”

“Where do you think you are going?” Cassidy asked, standing next to Asenat, both of them staring at you with their arms crossed over their chests and frowning. You rolled your eyes

“To do my job, the same as you should be doing right now”

"You are no longer a tracker”

“I am the leader, I can give myself that position”

"Second leader," Asenat corrected you, "After Richard, and he was the one who gave you the order to stay in the village, remember?"

You clicked your tongue as the trackers were already leaving to the maze. Asenat caught your shirt between her fingers again preventing you from running. Cassidy sighed, shaking her head. If something was clear to them about you, it was how stubborn you could be.

“Yes, I remember”

"Do you still have those headaches?"

"No," you lied. You'd been feeling terrible headaches for a couple of weeks now, before Richard fell sick from what the villagers called the glow. The man, who was also a tracker, had found you in the middle of your section with a terrible bruise on the back of your head and a pool of blood surrounding you. He carried you to the village, and when you were sufficiently recovered, you mentioned having a terrible pain and falling unconscious hitting the stone. Richard didn't need to know more to remove you from your job, forbidding you to return to the maze until your headaches were better. Until the night before you hadn't felt any pain, so you assumed you were fine “I'm great, don't worry about me. It was an accident”

"Yeah, are you sure?"

“Completely”

"Even if it were so, you are not allowed to go out," Cassidy said, determined. "We need you here, my friend."

"I'll be back before dark”

"Things don't work that way anymore," Cassidy replied, looking at you with a frown. "Richard hasn't died yet." His rules are still ours and since when we can do whatever we want?

“Don’t say it like that”

"You know Richard is not going to survive" Asenat lowered her voice preventing any other villagers from hearing her "he will die like the rest of the infected and when that happens all this will be over. We can continue with the rules that he made, but that will not be enough. There are families dying every day, our duty is to take care of them. We have a pact, okay? Treat the disease first, look for a way out later”

"How long are we going to keep waiting?" You asked, taking a step forward. Asenat sighed, "Three? Four? Another five years? This place is falling apart. If we really want to help the remaining villagers we need to find a way out, take them home, give them a better life, heal them "

"Nobody assures us that we will be better out there than here"

"Let's take the risk, we won't lose anything just by trying"

"We have kids in here, even babies. Their parents have died and they depend on us.

"This time it will be different" you said looking at them pleadingly "It's crazy, but something tells me that today we will find the answers we have been looking for. I could assure you that. Do you believe me? Do you trust me enough to believe in what my heart feels?”

Cassidy and Asenat looked at each other. Richard was still sick, confined to his cabin with the doctors trying to keep him alive. The night before he had lost part of the skin on his arms and his uncontrollable anger had made them tie him to the bed, however, that didn’t mean that in his small lapses of serenity he did not realize what was happening in the village.

Asenat shrugged her arms, leaving the decision to Cassidy. In her role as a teacher, she had no say in that situation and she didn't really care too much. You were reckless and almost always clumsy, but you had good ideas and that had helped you become te mainstay of the village. However Cassidy as the third in charge represented the third head of the monster. She would be the leader at Richard's death and if you didn't get back from the maze in time and that terrified her. She was not afraid of responsibility, nor making important decisions, but that represented visualizing a future where the three of you were not together and she preferred not to think about it.

"You know we do," she replied. "There hasn't been a single day when we doubted in your good judgment, but ..."

"It's different," Asenat said rubbing her chin. "The village doesn't feel like it used to. We are used to death, we can handle it, but the feeling of having it lurking over our heads is unbearable. The maze is not better. It is changing. I listen to it every night. The steel lobsters clattering through the halls. The giant woke up and will not go back to sleep”

"Cassidy," you called her, squeezing her hands. The girl sighed, thinking of the possibilities you guys had. Staying with your arms crossed was not an option, but neither was breaking the trust Richard had placed in all of you. Asenat watched you. The three of you shared the same fear, the same confusion and the same dread of losing the entire village. There were children who required the presence of someone capable to guide them, men and women waiting in fear to be infected with the glow and babies crying to feel the arms of their dead parents. You clenched her hands tighter. You needed to be covered for a few hours only and, in return, you would find the way out. You could do it, you trusted your instincts “Please...”

Cassidy sighed.

"We'll cover you until lunchtime, that's all."

"I only need that”

"Come back in one piece, will you?" She begged, looking at a small boy approaching. You leaned down, taking him in your arms letting out a groan as you picked him up. George was eight years old, he didn't weigh the same as five years ago. You kissed his cheek, returning him to the ground “The boy would go nuts if something happened to you”

"Are you going back to the maze?" George asked looking at you with his huge brown eyes. You nodded. Then you were hit by the little boy's suffocating embrace “the lobsters will hurt you!

"They are asleep now”

"They can wake up!"

"I doubt it little one. Don’t worry, I'll be fine. I'll be back at noon and we'll have a snack together, what ya think?”

“You promise?

“I promise”

"Okay, you can go," he said. You laughed, ruffling his hair

"Thanks, puppy. Stay with Asenat, okay? She can scold you while I'm gone”

"Ya’ heard it, boy," Asenat said, rubbing her knuckles at the top of his head. George complained, "You will stay with me the rest of the day and help me teach the little ones how to count to ten.

“That's not fair!”

"Life isn't fair, brat." Come on, maybe we can grab some chocolate from the kitchen later, huh?”

Asenat held out her hand and George took it enthusiastically as they walked together towards the largest cabin that you used as a classroom. George spun on his feet saying goodbye with a bright smile on his face. You blew him a kiss and Asenat turned to show you her middle finger. You smiled

"Take care of him, will you?" I highly doubt that Asenat will do it properly”

"I'm going to watch her. Now go before I regret it. And (Y/N)” She said, stopping you as you walked towards the main corridor of the maze. You turned around, waiting for his words “Don't die out there. The maze stinks enough to add the stench of a corpse” You nodded. It was a fair deal

“No prob”

You finished your run in your section faster than you expected. The meal would not be until three hours later so you decided to make a stop to rest. You sat on the floor against a wall. Hot sweat was running down your neck and the fucking headache was back. You closed your eyes, tired. It was terribly hot, and the stench of rotting meat numbed your nose.

You drank water, the little sip you had left, and put it back in your backpack. You were going to eat some of the apple slices you took with you, but the pain in the back of your head kept you from even chewing. You stood up wanting to continue your hike when the headache went down your neck and then numbed your spine. You leaned against the wall. It was covered in vines, moss, and fungus. You wiped your palms on your pants and started walking again.

The migraine erased your sight. For a second the world around you seemed to move in luminous spirals forcing you to close your eyes. The sound lightened and you swore you heard a static signal on your eardrums.

The floor spined over and over again. You dug your nails into the palms of your hands feeling the blood pour out from the sides, staining the stone. You heard the drops hiting the floor and suddenly everything stopped.

You were sweating. Your soaked shirt stuck to your body, your hair matted on your forehead and you opened your eyes. Pushing back the hair you noticed that this was not your section, that in some inexplicable way the maze had changed drastically and there was no way to return home.

Your heart beat madly. You fell to the ground on your knees, your head aching every second screaming in agony. You crawled down the corridor without understanding its course, but recognizing small fragments of leaves pointing a path to the north.

was that the way out? You, without being aware of the pain, could you have operated some kind of lever, changing the composition of the maze, leaving it unrecognizable? You weren't sure.

You kept crawling. The leaves spreading across the path, turning into a corridor covered in dust and dirt. You complained in pain and in the confusion, you managed to hear voices from the other side.

You buried your nails in the stone rising up. You pulled forward slowly approaching until you reached the exit (or the entrance?) of the maze. The wind ruffled your hair. Then your hands touched the green grass and the pain stopped.

You stayed alert. Your senses fading little by little from fatigue. Your head ached, your hands ached, your back ached. You heard the clear voice of a boy and, unaware of it, you got up as best as you could.

You got up with the help of the leaves on the wall. You narrowed your eyes focusing on the meadow stretching out in front of you. It was not the village, it was not the exit. The walls of the maze were surrounding the meadow and you could only think that the pain had caused you allusions.

Then the torture returned. You clenched your teeth. Your vision became blurry, however you could distinguish completely unknown figures in the mist. Your ears recognized voices, men's voices, and, unable to bear another second, you fainted.

[emily-the-fae]

Sound of a Heartbeat

Part 5. Walking makes the road

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 6

Unbelievable, but I'm finally back with a new chapter. I've been going through a lot of stuff with my studies and personal life for the past month and here it comes. Finally done with the editing. Most definitely not the best chapter in the story, but it has to be here to keep the storyline together and moving. Anyways, enjoy. Like and comment if you do, I'm very happy to receive feedback.

PS Dracula back to the story soon:)

I still have no beta and English isn't my mothertongue.

Pairing: Dracula X OC

Warnings: probably none, skeletons on sticks...the usual stuff

Wandering into the lands ruled over by darkness itself has never been pleasant.

The next morning was freezing cold, just as the passing night - no warmth was brought by the little sunlight that came - and upon waking up Shari briefly wondered how she wasn't dead of the cold yet. Her mornings were something like crawling out of a tomb every time - the kind she imagined when she heard the stories of vampires awakening, though no doubt they must have still felt better than she did. Those bastards.

Morning light was dim and weak, there were torn scraps of greyish mist laying low above the ground and the forest was eerily quiet. Shari knew the sun had to be very low, but nevertheless up, which meant that she had to be on the move already, and yet she couldn’t force herself to move a single inch, as if the forces of the castle were sensing her approach and weakening her on purpose.

She hadn't entered any towns - in fact, hadn't seen any in the previous eight hours or so of her walking the day before - and though her food supplies weren't awfully low, her health seemed to be protesting and weakening at hourly rate, demanding normal human conditions and rest. She needed warmth and a bed, and she was sure as hell that where she was heading she would either get those only already in Dracula's den, or won't get it at all.

- So? Are you up? Heading? The faster you rise, the faster we'll be there, - Shari sat back against the tree trunk, taking a gulp of cold water from her flask - she wouldn't mind Trevor's whiskey right now, but the hunter took it all with him; Rodo was seemingly relieved that he was free of his duty of being her personal heater, he jumped up and ran around the forest opening, stretching his stiff muscles. At least someone had energy left.

- You know I'm really beginning to hate you now... - she yawned.

- I believe you have already mentioned that.

- Not enough, apparently.

- Oh, come on, you like my company. Besides I'm the only one helping you so hey...

- Ok, ok can I get my food at least?

- You can eat on the go! Come on! - she whistled for Rodo even though she knew he couldn't hear her. Shari stood up purposefully slowly and made the first hesitant steps to follow her guide. Oh where were those wonderful times when she could stay in bed almost all day if she was feeling under the weather? She could kill for such a possibility at the given moment. There was a screech of another winged demon somewhere in the distance, Shari shuddered, brought out of her thoughts and Rodo turned his head briefly, seemingly considering whether he should bolt to search for the other creature, but quickly averted his muzzle from the direction and followed Shari, jumping from tree to ground and back up.

It was going to be a long day.

- Did you walk the same way? First time you found his castle? - the scenery about them was dreadful to say the very least. The forest was greyer now, less green, less alive than on the route before. The few small villages they passed were seemingly abandoned completely for decades if not centuries and Shari felt rather than acknowledged that the farther she went, the worse it would become.

- Not quite, - Lisa replied, her voice all too lively for a ghost. - The direction I came from was a bit more disturbing than here, - Shari briefly wondered how that should have looked, if this desolation seemed lively in comparison. - And I also went alone you know, so...

- Oh, yes, thank you, my wise guide for leading my way... Probably to the dinner table of a very aggressive vampire, - Shari bowed mockingly, then coughed again, swallowing the blood the pooled to her mouth.

- Calm down. There won't be anyone there, I'm quite sure.

- A-ha! So now you are "quite" sure!?

- Don't be mean, I'm trying to save your life here.

- Exactly me for some reason, - Shari snorted sarcastically.

- For the same reasons you helped Adrian. Because I can't just walk past... and because I feel rather than know that helping you is more than just helping one particular person. Just like you felt about him - didn't you?

That shut the girl up for considerable time.

They walked all day long only making one small stop to rest during - at least what was supposed to be - midday (it was very hard to understand where the sun was behind the treetops, clouds and fog). Shari coughed up blood and swore like a sailor, but Lisa only let her sit down long enough to gulp down some food. If she wasn’t killed by some night creature, she would sure as hell be tired to death with such a guide pushing her to the limit. It was visible how the closeness of their destination made the ghost more and more agitated.

The dawn was already close and Shari was ready to give up the hopes of getting to her goal on that day - ever, to be honest, judging by the condition of her lungs – her body desperately wanted her to drop down and call it a night. The forest around them was dreary and dense, the mist had never lessened since morning; Shari was cold, slightly wet and unbearably tired and even Rodo seemed to lose some of his enthusiasm, even though the darkness should have empowered him. Maybe being around humans rubbed off on the creature a little.

- Shush, - Lisa turned to Shari as they walked on, gesturing for her to cut her whining and keep quiet. Shari stopped abruptly looking around in alert, trying to see through at least some reasonable distance between the tree trunks. Finally she understood what picked her companion’s attention: clearing began to be noticeable before them - it seemed that the woods were all of a sudden coming to their edge.

They carried on walking in silence for a few more minutes until they finally reached the end of the trees – the edge of the forest. The final border between the darkness of Dracula’s lands and the normal world. Shari gasped in surprise and horror: in front of her was a few feet sandy drop covered here and there in greyish grass that led to a whole field, dry and dead in dim yellow lights with no snow upon it, weak bushes appearing here and there. It seemed that the mere presence of the undead somewhere nearby sucked the life out of the lands. Peculiar graveyard formation occupied a part of the land - human skeletons hanging on tall sticks, all in varying poses, as if frozen in their deadly agony, dried with ages and falling apart. Whatever happened there, it was nothing good. If this was what the owner of the lands decided to expose to lone travelers, it was quite obvious there would be no “welcome” shield ahead.

There was no visible end to the field, at least the reddish mist coloured by the light of the setting sun made it impossible to see far in the distance. Shari coughed, dusty air tickling her throat, and looked back to the ghost in confusion. Was this what they had searched for?

- Are you sure this is…?

- My reaction precisely when I first saw this place, - Lisa was amused, watching the healer's fearful face. - Come on, we're almost there now.

- Wait! What, there? To those? - she gestured actively to the mass of aged corpses, but Lisa payed no attention to her reaction. - Lord, why do I always get myself into the deepest trouble I can find? Could've stayed somewhere safe and warm, healed a bit, but no-o I had to be right here, torn apart by bats and hell-knows-what-else-inhabits-this-place, - Shari mumbled to herself as they descended into the valley, her feet slipping upon rocks and sliding on the unsolid sandy ground.

- Oh, come on, it's not as scary here. You’ve surely seen worse - Lisa replied, - they were walking deeper into the field, navigating their way between the mutilated skeletons, as the reddish-grey twilight around them was darkening minute by minute.

- Maybe. Doesn’t mean I want to see more.

Just as the words left her mouth, there was a blood-chilling howl somewhere in the distance and a horde of great black bats, apparently awoken by the sound, appeared out of nowhere, flapping their wings above their heads rapidly; Shari yelled and dipped down in fear. Rodo on the contrary jumped up from behind her back, trying to reach the annoying loud things and succeeding in catching one of the creatures between his sharp fangs. Shari only crouched down lower, as she heard the struggles of the defeated being next to her ear. Then a snap - the animal stopped moving, as Rodo tightened his jaws, probably breaking the thing's stamina. Just as abrupt as it began, the flapping of the bats above her stopped too.

- Lisa? Are-are they gone? - her voice was slightly shaking, she awaited the dreadful howl to repeat even closer.

- Shari, stand up! Shari! - she heard Lisa's voice coming from behind her back and turned around, her eyes searching for the ghost, as she realized that Lisa has moved much further away than she expected. Shari was on her feet in an instant, finally noticing what stood behind the ghost's transparent form, her mouth fell agape at what she could see before her now.

A wide set of steps that led to doors so tall that she felt her head spin even looking up at it - the dark stone walls went up and disappeared in the low greyish mist. Her ghost companion was at the top of the steps already and Rodo was gladly running up to the doors, apparently recognizing the smell of his own home of some time ago. Shari followed behind him hesitantly, looking around for any sign of movement.

- Come on, don't be shy, - Lisa cooed, as if luring in a small child. Her greyish form paused on one spot, waiting for Shari by the door. The girl looked around one more time as she joined the ghost on the final steps,

- Are you... Sure? This doesn't look completely abandoned. I mean, can you be sure he isn't home? That he won't be back soon? Clearly you can’t, why am I even asking… This was a terrible idea straight from the beginning, - she was visibly shacking, clenching and unclenching her fists, stepping from one foot to the other. The whole journey suddenly felt like a big mistake that could still be possibly abandoned if she did not take the final leap. Shari put her hand on the door handle then pulled away in fear. She took a deep breath, putting her palm back more steadily on the door, but was still hesitant to push it open. She paused. There was once again the dreadful howl from before, now closer to them, the creature producing it still not visible. They were standing in almost complete darkness.

- Go! - Lisa pressed.

Rodo leaped on spot beside them.

Shari held her breath – and finally pushed the handle and jumped inside, scared to even look in forward and terrified of what was awaiting behind, diving head-first into unknown - if he is there, let it be, she'd rather be torn apart by him than by whatever thing outside that let out those blood-freezing sounds; Rodo slid in too, in a ghastly manner, his massive form unnaturally smoothly squeezing through the small gap in the doorway and the next moment the door was shut behind her with a loud blow. She was finally inside Dracula's castle.

[dahoomanprincess]

Miraculous: Tales of Redbug & Kuro Neko

Chapter 1: Origins Pt. 1

3rd Person POV

beep beep beep beep

Luka groaned as he was woken up by the alarm, his sister's alarm. He rubbed his eyes and slowly got out of his bed. He noticed that the alarm was still ringing which meant that Juleka was still asleep, she was a deep sleep after all. He then looked over to her desk and saw the yellow sticky note with the words 'first day back at school :(' written in purple ink stuck to the mirror. Luka smiled, first days back at school were tough, luckily he had finished school the year before, and went over to Juleka's bed to try and wake he up.

He turned off her alarm which, still hadn't waked her up. "Juleka, wake up, it's time for school", Luka said while slowly shaking her, trying to wake her up, but it was no use. She had been sleeping and still remained sleeping. Luka noticed and did the only thing that he knew would wake her up. He removed the sheets from her and started dragging her off the bed by her legs.

That seemed to do the trick as she stirred and woke up. She took notice of what was going on and tried to move closer to the other edge of the bed; where her pillow was. "Luka stoooop, let me goooo, I wanna go back to sleeeep", Juleka whined as her older brother was still dragging her off the bed.

"Hmmm... how about... no.", Luka said, with a mischivious smile on his face. Juleka huffed and said, "okay, okay, I'm awake", which caused him to let her go. "Now what do you want?", she asked, annoyed at him for waking her up. "Come on Jules, it's your first day back at school!", Luka told her. "Oh how exciting", she sarcastically said, adding an eye roll too. "Can't you be a bit more excited?", he asked, knowing well that Juleka despised going to school, and most of all interacting with people that were out of her friend group. "No", she responded with a straight face.

"And why's that?", he asked, even though he already knew the answer. "Oh you know, homework, eventual exams, talking to people, getting asked to answer questions and there's a high chance that Chloè's going to be in my class again.", Juleka answered, playing with the hem of her pyjama shirt. "Three years in a row!? Is that even possible!?" "Everything's possible when it comes to Chloè, Luka, I thought that by now you'd know it.", she said, adding a huff at the end. Juleka hated Chloè, well practically everyone did apart from Sabrina, her 'slave'. "But isn't that the school's thing to decide in which class students go?", Luka asked again. Juleka just shrugged.

"She won't be in your class this year Jules, don't worry", he tried reassuring her. "She will", Juleka responded. "Won't" "Will" "Won't" "Will" "Won't" "Will". They continued like that until Luka decided to do something. "You know what, I'm so confident that she won't be in your class that I'm betting €20 on it." Juleka smiled and rolled her eyes before saying, "And I'm so sure that she will that I'm betting €20 AND the loser has to buy the winner anything of their choice" "Anything?" "Anything"

Luka smirked and said, "Well Juleka I hope that you thought this well because there is this new guitar that I've got my eyes set on..." She then smirked back and said, "Luka, I hope that you have enough money saved up because there is this nail art set that I have been saving up for too..." They looked in each other's eyes with a challenging look and then Luka held out his hand and said, "Deal?", by which Juleka responded by shaking his hand and saying "Deal".

~~~

beep beep bee-

Kagami hit the snooze button on her mobile for what felt like the millionth time that morning. Why couldn't she sleep till noon like all the others her age that she sees on social media do? She pulled the covers back on her and tried to continue sleeping in the warmth of her bed.

Why couldn't she go to normal school like everyone else instead of being homeschooled? She barely got any holidays as she had to be the best of the best according to her mother. Kagami did want to do good in school, she wasn't one to not care about her grades, but also a break once in a while would also be good. Many people would say that they would prefer to be homeschooled, but it wasn't the case for her.

She wanted to be normal; go to school, have some independence, ineteract with other people, make friends. That's what she wanted most of all; to have a friend. Sure she did go to fencing lessons, but nobody would talk to her. Everyone saw her as the formal, strict, cold fencer, but she wasn't at all like that.

Kagami just needed a chance where she could be herself.

knock knock

She huffed, there went her 'extra' sleeping time. She responded with a groggy "mhm?" and the door to her bedroom creakily opened. One of her mother's servants walked in, stood near the door and said, "Your mother is waiting for you in the dining room." Kagami just responded with a thumbs up while still laying down in bed. The servant nodded and left her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Kagami reluctantly got out of her warm bed and streched before seeing what she had first in the morning. "Fencing first", she thought while seeing her timetable for the day, "I can wear the uniform after having breakfast and shower after fencing. Mother won't know if I stayed in pjs for now anyways..." She wore her slippers and made her way downstairs to the dining room.

~~~

Luka and Juleka were at the side of Françoise Dupont school, where students can park their bikes. Luka had gone with Juleka as he had been called to work at his part-time job in the morning that day.

"Do I have to go to school?", Juleka whined. Luka sighed and said, "Yes Jules, you have to if you want to succeed in life." She huffed and muttered something under her breath which he didn't hear. She then said, "If Chloè's in my class this year will be another bad one..." Luka smiled knowingly, he knew how Chloè makes everyone's lives a nightmare. "Well if she is in your class you will win the bet, and if she isn't you won't have to be bothered by her. It's a win-win situation in the end." "More like a lose-lose situation...", she muttered, but this time Luka had heard her.

"Aw come on Juleka- hey, isn't that Rose?", he started, but changed the topic when he saw Rose, Juleka's best friend (or maybe more) climb up the steps. Juleka looked at where her brother was looking, smiled and nodded. "Then go talk to her, and say to her from me!", he said. He had known Rose as during that summer him, Juleka, Rose and another student, Ivan, had started a rock band called Kitty Section. Juleka nodded and with a "bye Luka, love ya" she went off running. He responded by saying, "bye Jules, have a great day at school."

He then got on his bike and started biking to his workplace when he saw an old man slowly crossing the road while there was an oncoming car. Luka quickly got off his bike, ran to the man, grabbed his arm and took him to the other side of the road, on the sidewalk. "Are you okay sir?", Luka asked the old man whose life he had practically saved. "Yes young man, thank you for saving my life back there.", the old man replied, "I don't know how I can repay you for your act of kindness and for risking your life for me." "Don't worry sir, you don't have to give me anything.", Luka told him, smiling, "I have to go now, have a good day sir!" He crossed the road to get his bike and continued biking to his work.

The old man walked to a side road and took out a black, wooden, octagonal box with a strange Chinese symbol on it in red. He smiled and while looking at the box said, "Thank you very much, young man."

~~~

"We have arrived at your destination, Ms. Tsurugi.", the voice of Tatsu said as Kagami and her mother arrived at Mr. D'Argencourt's fencing academy. She went there three times a week for private lessons in the morning, plus her lessons with the other fencers in the afternoon. She usually went to her fencing lessons alone but since it was the start of a new term her mother had to pay Mr. D'Argencourt for the lessons.

"Tatsu, open the doors", Tomoe demanded. "Yes, Ms. Tsurugi", Tatsu replied and the car doors opened. Kagami went out and was about to head inside the building when she noticed an old man wearing a shirt with a Hawaiian print on the floor, trying to get his cane so he can get up. She cast a quick glance at her mother when an idea formed in her head.

She started jumping, as if she was trying to catch something that was flying away, while moving closer to the old man who was looking at her with a confused look. When she got near him, she quickly bent down, gave him his cane, whispered, "here you go sir" and helped him stand up. He smiled at her and she winked back before returning to her mother.

"Kagami! Where did you go?", her mother demanded. "I'm sorry mother, but a paper flew away and I went to retrieve it.", Kagami said, smiling slightly. Her mother's blindness did have its advantages at times. Not that she wanted her to be blind, but it made stuff like she just did easier. Tomoe just nodded and started walking inside. Kagami went after her, waving to the old man, who waved back, before she went in. After both of them went in, the old man got out another box, identical to the one before but with a different thing inside, and said, "Thank you very much, young lady" before walking away without the need of his cane.

~~~

Luka was almost half-way to his job when the ground rumbled and he almost fell off his bike. He saw everyone's confused faces and then heard gun shots. He saw a lime green glow from a bit further away than he was and saw something rocky grow. Some people were taking out their phones to see what was happening and he did the same. He went on the news website and saw Mayor Bourgeois saying that all Parisians must stay home until the current situation was under control.

Then his mum called him and he answered. "Luka is everything alright?", Anarka said, with slight panick evident in her voice, "where are you? Are you already at work?" "I'm fine mum, and I still haven't arrived to work yet. I was about to head back home." Anarka breathed a sigh of relief and said, "Okay, at least you're not hurt. I went out to do some grocery shopping but I'm staying here till everything's all under control. Now head home and call me when you arrive, 'kay? And try to call yer sister, she didn't answer when I called her." "Yes mum, I will, bye" "Bye Luka", she said, and then he hung up. He got on his bike again and started cycling back to the Liberty, taking the route where there wasn't this supervillain thing.

Kagami had just started her fencing lesson when the ground shook and she fell over, shocked. Her first thought was that there was an earthquake but then she heard a very deep voice, like how monsters sound in movies. It was as if Paris was suddenly being attacked by a monster, but she reminded herself that monsters only exist in fictional stories. Mr. D'Argencourt ran over to get his mobile and it was shown that Paris was indeed being attacked by some sort of supervillain.

Nah, she had to be dreaming. Maybe she had hit her head when she fell over from the earthquake. Yes, that had to be it. Kagami tried pinching herself to see if she actually was dreaming and it hurt so she wasn't dreaming. But then how was there a literal stone monster? Her thoughts were cut short when her mother demanded that she get her things quickly so that they return home immediately. That's what she did and then the two females were on their way back to their house.

Luka arrived to his house boat and immediately called Juleka. It wasn't unlike her to forget to charge her phone or not notice when someone was calling her but he was still worried. Fortunately, she picked up after a bit. "Yes?", she said with a whisper. "Juleka! Are you okay?", Luka said. "Yes, yes, we are hiding in the school so we don't get caught. But this rock monster took Mylene and Chloè with him. I don't mind him taking Chloè but not poor Mylene!", Juleka said. Luka heard a faint snicker from someone near Juleka when she said the Chloè part.

"Are at work or back at home?", she asked. "I cycled back home, do you maybe have any idea on what has happened?", Luka said, wondering what Juleka was referring to when she said monster. "I might have", she replied, "Kim was picking on Ivan about I don't know what-" "Our drummer Ivan?" "Yes, that Ivan, he is in my class. Anyways, then Ms. Bustier sent him to the principal's office and then a giant stone monster thing with Ivan's voice ripped our class wall apart and took Mylene and Chloè since Kim disappeared somewhere." "So you're saying that Ivan got turned into some kind of monster!?", Luka exclaimed. "Yes, but I have no clue how. Maybe he will explain after he turns back to normal.", she calmly said. Juleka had always been a fan of horror movies so she loved these kind of things. "Maybe. Oh, and mum told me to tell you to call her. Tell her that I am safely home, will you?" She said that she will, and after they said their goodbyes Juleka hung up.

Meanwhile, Kagami had arrived home, luckily not attracting the attention of the thing that was outside. She asked her mother if she could go to her room and Tomoe nodded. Kagami removed her shoes and placed them besides the door before running upstairs to her room. She switched on the television and found a channel where the news was being broadcasted to try to understand what on earth was going on.

She rewinded the news a bit to when they started. "As incredible as it seems, it's been confirmed that Paris is indeed being attacked by a supervillain. The police have been struggling to keep the situation under control." Nadja Chamack said. "Be confident, the strong arm of the law will come crashing down on the...", Officer Roger said as he tried lifting an arm that was in cast, probably broken. "... I mean the other arm", he continued, wincing after lifting his injured arm.

Kagami got up from the sofa to go change when she noticed an unfamiliar wooden octagonal box on her desk. Luka had also noticed a similar box on his bed when he had walked in his and Juleka's room. They both picked it up at the same time and said, "Huh? What's this doing here?", before they opened them.

[annaphoenix1994]

Ch.76 - Family of Four

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

More Soap and Simon bickering; Pure fluff; Kiera gets released.

"You sure you don't need an extra set of hands to help, L.T.?" 

"No," Simon sighed, ensuring all of the bags were packed that would be going home with him, double checking to make sure Kiera's after-care bag had everything she needed to help with the healing process. "Already in enough stress as it is." 

No matter how much Simon was annoyed with Soap's pestering, he truly admired how persistent Soap was when it came to being there for Simon. Aside from Kiera, Soap was the only other person Simon could count on when he needed someone to confide to or to get something done. 

When Simon needed help cutting the wood for the crib, Soap would help him. 

Well, Soap eventually pried his way into helping him by picking at him - giving Simon pointers on sanding the wood to refrain from splinters. Simon hated the unnecessary advice but ignored it. 

When Simon had anxiety about Kiera's due date, Soap was there to offer him a shot of whiskey to soothe his nerves, the pair having a glass of bourbon even though Soap hated the burn of Wild Turkey. 

He was stressing immensely on this particular day. Kiera's mother was at a doctor's appointment and today was the day Kiera was cleared to go home after three days in the hospital. She still could barely walk on her own, let alone walk out of the hospital with two babies when she needed a wheelchair to make it to the truck. The time of her discharge was getting closer and closer and the more he thought about it, the worse his anxiety got. He had ended his and Soap's phone call out of haste, pushing his friend's offer to the side as he wanted to be the only one to handle the situation. 

"Are you alright, babe?" Kiera asked, taking notice of his worry. 

"Yes, love. Just ready to go home." He forced a smile. She knows I'm lying. 

"Won't you let Johnny come and help? He's dying to spend more time with you and the babies-"

"I don't need his help right now, love." He huffed. 

"You mean you don't want his help right now. You know you'll need it." 

I wish you'd stop reading my mind, love.

"Fine. Having another set of hands to help get you and these babies out of here will be nice." 

"There we go," She giggled. "Finally getting somewhere. Won't you call him back and tell him you'd like his help?"

"Then that's giving in to his prodding." 

"No, it's not. It's letting him know that you want him around." 

Although there was something else that began to eat at Kiera's mind. She knew Simon welcomed Soap for any other occasion other than spending time with the newborns - a boundary Simon had set immediately with no intention of letting Soap cross it. 

He was jealous. 

Jealous of the thought that Jacob or Evie would prefer Soap over their own father.

She watched him huff as he removed his phone from his pocket, dialing Soap's number and putting on speaker as if he were proving to Kiera that he was calling his comrade. 

"Hello?" 

"You can come and help if you want-"

"Already halfway there, L.T." 

"W-What?" 

"I knew you'd change your mind," He snickered. "Figured if I came anyway you couldn't say no." 

"Don't push your luck, MacTavish." 

*

Once Soap had arrived at the hospital, he failed to conceal his smile of excitement as he walked through the hallway and towards the elevator, swaying from side to side subtly as the elevator hoisted him up to the second floor. 

Slowly, he arrived at the door that separated him and the ones he cherished dearly, knocking quietly as he could feel Simon's presence inching closer to the door, a smirk splaying across Soap's face as he knew Simon was already irritated by giving in to accept help. Soap knew Simon hated asking for help. 

"Well good morning, L.T." 

"Yeah," He huffed, standing aside to let Soap pass by. "Where's your better half?" 

"Oh, that's below the belt, L.T. A little curious, are you?" He poked, enjoying pressing his buttons. "Oh! You meant Teeter? She's with Kiera's dad and the wranglers sorting cows." 

Simon scoffed at Soap's usual crude words, walking towards Kiera's bed as the nurse was disconnecting the monitors and I.V.'s from her arms. He smiled down at her softly before glancing at Evie and Jacob - Evie being awake and looking around as Jacob was sound asleep. While the nurse continued to talk to Kiera, Simon couldn't help but put his finger into the bassinet, his heart swelling at Evie's warm hand as she curled her small fingers around his. Don't ever grow up, lass. 

"When will you finally let me hold my niece-"

"No." 

"Come on, L.T. Would you rather me push Kiera's wheelchair while you-"

"No." 

"I need to know what you want me to do here," He scoffed playfully. "You're making it harder than what it really is." 

"Don't mean to." 

"Then just relax. I'm not going to snatch up my nephew and run away with him and I'm not going to snatch your daughter and give her to Teeter so she has a first curse word." 

"He has a point, Simon." Kiera shrugged as he hastily offered his hand to help her move into the nearby wheelchair. 

"What do you want me to do, love?" He sighed. 

"Well, you already ran our bags down this morning and the only thing we have left is to take me and the babies home," She smiled. "Let Johnny put them in their carriers and take them down while you push me, okay?" 

She knew Simon didn't like her suggestion, but he nodded anyway, reaching down to curl his fingers against her cheek before turning towards Soap, motioning him towards the couch that housed the two carriers they would be taken home in. "I'm going to get Evie first and put her in since she's awake." 

"Okay, L.T." Soap nodded, watching Simon carefully has he gently grasped his daughter within his large hands, holding the infant so delicately that looked unnatural for a man like Simon Riley. 

He watched as Simon grinned down at his daughter, the light murmurs and groans leaving Evie's lips making it impossible for Simon to be the only one who enjoyed it. So perfect you are, lass.

With careful steps, Simon approached the carrier before easily lowering her into the seat, that familiar swelling in his chest as her bright eyes stared back at him with perfect lashes to outline her eyelids, her little mouth forming into an O with a bulb-like shape on the tip of her top lip. Soap watched how carefully Simon secured Evie into the carrier before stepping back to the bassinet to retrieve the pacifier. 

"Can...Can I put Jacob into his seat?" 

Expecting a quick and sharp decline, Soap was shocked when Simon shot him a glare instead, showing a gleam of thought behind his dark brown eyes. He watched as Simon looked back at Kiera, watching her nod as if she were telling him it was okay before he subtly nodded at Soap, watching him make his way towards the bassinet with Simon close behind him. "I-I don't want to wake him up, L.T..." 

"You won't. Just grab him gently and pull him into your chest."

"R-Really?" 

"I've managed to master the art of picking up a sleeping baby within the last few days. Trust me. Cradle his head and put your other hand at his lower back as you pick him up then let him lay against your chest." 

Soap nodded at Simon's explanation, gently and slowly reaching into the bassinet to grasp Jacob's sleeping form, the infant so small in comparison to Soap's own hands. No wonder Simon freaks out about holding you himself, Soap thought. 

He held the infant close as he approached the carrier, Simon stepping aside an extra step to give Soap room as he gently lay Jacob in his carrier, the pair of men shocked at how naturally it came to them with no prior experience with children before. 

In fact, both Soap and Simon stayed away from children every chance they got. 

"Alright, L.T., package secure." Soap nodded with a grin of pride plastering his face, chuckling at how Simon stepped closer to the carrier to ensure Soap had fastened it right, passing him of the mental test as Jacob stayed asleep.

"You ever going to quit with the military talk, MacTavish?" 

"Don't plan on it, L.T."

[fandomlovingfreak]

Mrs. Weasley, Dear (10/?)

George Weasley/Reader

Sequel to You Can’t Marry A Malfoy

Word Count: 1598

Rating: E for everyone ( trigger: pregnancy )

MasterList Link I AO3 Link

Summary: After their whirlwind romance, including a Pureblood Marriage Contract with a special clause, confessions of love from both, and a quick wedding, everything seems right in their world. Domestic life seems like it was meant for them.

Notes: We could be possibly nearing the end of this series (i’ll estimate 3-5 more chapters)! Which is sad, but all good things must end eventually! I’m excited to see where my Charlie Weasley series goes, but don’t worry! I’ll have more George and even more Fred content in the near future!

Enjoy

"Do you need help?" (y/n) is currently reaching for something on the top shelf of the cabinet, her pregnant stomach making the endeavor more difficult than normal.

I hear her sigh deeply before turning towards me, "Could you get me that mug?"

Chuckling, I reach over her shoulder to snatch up the violet mug she wanted. "Here you go, darling."

(y/n) frowns, taking the ceramic from me, "thanks." She sets it down on the countertop, "I'm sort of sick of suddenly being unable to reach for things."

"Luckily, you have me." Not only am I taller than my wife, but I was able to get my body within seven inches of the countertops. I joked about it once last week and caused her to tear up, so I won't be doing that again, but it was still sort of funny. Usually, (y/n) was always a good sport with his lighthearted teasing, but he's found out pregnancy hormones and joking sometimes do not mix well. Especially the random burst of irrational anger after he made a joke about how her sweater not fitting right, and she threw a shoe at his head. It missed, but she's bound to hit her target one of these times if he's not a little bit more careful about what he teases her about.

"I would rather be able to do it alone," she pouts, sitting down at the kitchen table. The caffeine-free tea sits in front of her in the violet mug, steam steadily rising from the rim.

"Soon enough." Three-ish months to be somewhat exact, which is insane. Time goes by so fast it feels like these days. 

"Not soon enough," she takes a sip of her beverage. George admires her, the frown lines between her eyebrows, the way she refused to do anything with her hair this morning. The mornings were always spent with only him, and she knew untidy hair and all he loved her. Why put effort into something silly like made-up hair when she felt tired constantly. He rather (y/n) was comfortable than made-up. Plus, she was adorable in his oversized sweater.

"Mum wanted to know if we've chosen a name," he tries to steer her in another direction to take her mind off of her annoyance. 

"What did you say?" She asks, already fully knowing what he told his mum.

"I said no." So much for steering the conversation.

"Was she disappointed? It's not like we haven't thought about it, but I want the gender to be a surprise. Something fun in the moment after--well, everything." (y/n) rambles on nervously. She hates the idea of pain in any amount. She has disclosed this with me multiple times in the past months. Assuring her I'd be there, right beside her the entire time, could only do so much to quell her anxiety, but I honestly don't know what else to do. It kills me to see her frightened.

"I know, dear. She just wanted to get a head start on the kid's sweater. You know how mum is." 

(y/n) rolls her eyes fondly, "your mum and her sweaters..."

"Gotta pass on the tradition to the next generation." He grins at his wife, "do you need anything else before I head out?"

She taps the side of her mug with her fingernail, "Could you pick me up some of those blueberry muffins from that shop in Diagon Alley before you come home, please? The ones with the sugar on top."

George rolls his eyes, "I meant anything right now, but yes. I'll get your muffins."

"Thank you, darling." I lean down so she can kiss my cheek.

"I'll be back around five-thirty." I shrug on my coat.

"Sounds good."

I apparate to the Hogsmeade location, set on stocking up the shelves before students come into the store this weekend. McGonagall had only sent me a few messages about what the Hogwarts students were up to with Wizard Wheezes products this year. With the shop moving into Hogsmeade, the mischief had only increased. McGonagall tried to sound annoyed when she wrote, but I know she thought it was just a tad bit funny. I had to hand it to these kids; they were creative with the products I provided them with. The letter had made me proud, honestly. Fred would've loved to know we're still creating chaos years after 'graduating' from school. 

***

I finish up the inventory and balancing the books around four, letting my new employee, Carina go home early. She's proven to be a great asset to the team so far. She was a year younger than Ron and had been in Hufflepuff. Real nice girl who knew nearly everything about each product and could sell each item just as well.

Locking up the door, I apparate to Diagon Alley to take a quick peek into what Ron's doing and to, of course, get my wife the muffins she requested.

"How's it going?" I ask when I walk into the original shop.

Ron looks up from where he's talking to a young wizard.

"Good. Why are you here?" Ron asks, excusing himself from the customer.

I pull a face, "can't I check in on my own store, Ronald?"

Ron rolls his eyes, "Yes, but you rarely do these days."

"Yes, the Hogsmeade location is doing well; thank you for asking."

"That's good. I'm sure McGonagall has complained."

"Multiple times, dear brother. But, that's the purpose of this lovely establishment. Causing chaos."

"All I care about is that the testing is no longer done on me."

I put on a mischievous grin, "I wouldn't be so confident if I were you."

Ron's eyes widen comically, "have you been slipping me stuff recently?"

"Remember when you fell asleep in your soup two weeks ago, and Hermione convinced you that you were just tired?"

"You poisoned me!" 

I roll my eyes, "I was testing a product. I'm practically lining your pockets, Ronald."

He mutters something under his breath, "Can't you test your products on yourself, perhaps?"

"I have a child on the way," I cross my arms, "you don't understand the stresses of having a pregnant wife and child on the way. Besides, the woman tried to take my head off last week for making a joke about her sweater. I'm already in mortal danger with (y/n) around."

"Hopefully, next time, she'll hit her target."

"You wound me, Ronald," I grin, "anyways, if the shops all good, I have to be off. The wife needs those muffins from that place down the street."

"Armadill Confections. They close at four-thirty. You ought to head out to catch them before they close up or (y/n) probably will finish the job."

"Ha-ha. I'll see you soon, Won-Won." I snicker when he rolls his eyes at the nickname.

I catch the witch working at Aramdill's right before she starts closing up the bakery. "Hi, Sorry! By chance, do you still have any of those blueberry muffins with the sugar stuff on top? I promised I'd get my pregnant wife some--"

The witch is maybe around my mum's age with slightly greying hair and kind green eyes. She chuckles, "of course, dear. I have four leftover from today. I can wrap them up for you if you'd like?"

"Yes, please. How much do I owe you?"

"It's in the house. I have a daughter who is pregnant currently, and she loves these muffins."

I chuckle, "I can't just take them for free. I'll be back probably in the next week anyway."

"I insist. I know how it feels to crave something specifically. And like you said, you'll be back again. Please, I insist."

He feels grateful that someone would be so kind, but really, he can pay! "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes. Next time you come in, bring your wife in. I would love for her to try some of the other things I have."

"Well, thank you. She's going to be thrilled to get an offer to try some of your other stuff. She raves about these muffins in particular." I grin. (y/n)'s going to be tickled that the shop owner wants her to come in, "I'm George Weasley by the way."

"You don't say!" The witch looks surprised, "I went to school with your parents. You look a lot like your mother's brothers."

"Mum thinks so too. Well, thank you again. Have a good night."

***

"(y/n)," I yell when I walk through the door. Setting down the brown box on the countertop, I shrug off my coat.

"Hello," (y/n) stands on her tippytoes to press a kiss to my cheek. "You got the muffins!" She opens the little pastry box, taking one of the large blueberry muffins out.

"The shop owner wants you to come in whenever you want more muffins. I guess her daughter is pregnant too, and she has some ideas on what else you might like."

"Oh?" (y/n) asks in between bites, "that's nice. That'll probably be two days from now, honestly. I can't get enough of this woman's baking. It's so good."

"Lemme have a bite," I give her my best puppy eyes.

"Fine," she hands me the last bite of the muffin.

Popping the last bit of muffin into my mouth, I chew appreciatively. "Merlin's Beard...that's quite possibly the best thing I've ever eaten."

"Right?" (y/n) nods, "I got it in my head that I needed them like last week. You have no idea how satisfied I feel right now."

I can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, "I'm sure, darling, I can't understand."

Taglist: @paigeyisme

[paper-cloud]

i. the crushing weight of what happens next

part of "(there will be a) tomorrow"

fandom: prospect (2018) characters: ezra, cee rating: T words count: ~3K context: post-canon general warnings/tags: see series masterlist warnings/tags for this chapter: ezra's pov. angst. not graphic descriptions of wounds, blood and amputated limbs. mentions of minor characters' death. (probably very) inaccurate but anyways vague descriptions of medical treatments and post-anesthesia symptoms. taglist: @ravensmutty @buttercup--bee @thegreenkid (again, thank you all for your interest and encouragement! :3) @krissology @ezrasarm @bonktime (please forgive my nerve, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you'll explicitly ask me to! just thought about someone else who might be interested and you guys are AMAZINGLY talented and inspiring "prospect"/ezra writers. it's not my intention to waste precious moments of your time! 🤡

[SERIES MASTERLIST] [MAIN MASTERLIST]

He'd have thought it was almost ironic – opening his eyes to the light only to see nothing. To feel pain.

He'd have laughed about it, most likely. A bit later, he'd have acknowledged it was a reasonably fair compromise; for him and any other wretch that'd ever dared play dice with darkness and miraculously made it out alive.

And in the very end he'd come to laugh at himself, too.

He knows the drill. Someone who trades their own life with the contract of the highest bidder doesn't see the universe in black and white, let alone is in a position to draw the hypothetical line between the two of them.

Must be an even more wicked universe than he's ever cared about, then.

At least, that's where the struggle of opening his eyes made him stumble upon; when a blade of light thrust through that hint of a gap he'd pushed himself to create in the middle, resonating through the dark coils of unconsciousness like a harsh, unforgiving bell.

A skilled mariner over silky rivers of natural redundancy and rapids of professional edges, Ezra is a man who can appreciate a sharp wit when he recognizes one.

That was too much even for him.

Floundering in between a blinding whiteness and a black hole that wasn't even completely black, but permeated by a thick, suffocating haze that filled every ghost haunting his mind with its stench. With the color of diabolically lush leaves.

Forest— spores— poison— death.

It hadn't been enough to let him dangle in apnea above a roaring vortex of lifeless emerald; take him away from the grey flow whose elusiveness he'd come to appreciate more than he'd ever hated to endure its chaos— from the bubble built on the routine series of one last jobs that, in the end, never really were.

There'd been a moment when, from the higher parts of the room, his pupils tumbled down, tripping over a patch of green discreetly lurking in a corner.

He almost threw up.

It had taken him a while to clear out the misty grit clotted in his corneas— focus on white walls, light wood paneling... a harmless seedling in a pot.

He'd breathed heavily, deeply. He sure hadn't got much relief from it. Still, he'd been able to hear its sound, louder than he'd ever heard it before, the musical, cooling mesh of oxygen particles in and out of his lungs almost begging his fingers to be touched.

Oxygen.

Fresh air.

Had he been less sore – less convinced it was just the residual effects of anesthesia pulling pranks on him –, he would have burst out laughing. Even more so if some poor soul of the medical staff nearby would have called for reinforcements from the other side of the space station before storming into his room.

He'd be laughing now, too. The best he can manage is sitting on his bed, leaning his back on the headboard – which is what he's struggling to do right now— and well, sometimes the room lighting still slightly bothers him. Of course, with all the painkillers and antibiotics they've given him, he wouldn't feel like the wound on his stomach is swallowing the entire arsenal of stitches and bandages.

He just wouldn't like her to get the wrong idea.

He blinks several times, like a man who no longer trusts his eyes. How can he, when they're burning like that, in such a different fire from the one from days before – damp and flickering? For reasons he can imagine, she seems to be faltering. Totally beyond his comprehension, he could swear she's smiling at him. Something inside his ribcage creaks oddly, while the curve of his chest arches upward.

"Birdie."

It's just a huff of breath, weak and hoarse, yet scratches his throat all the same, in a way that its walls feel studded with rock spurs. Actually, Ezra doesn't remember talking since they left the Green behind – which, being him, is saying something – and it's like an eternity has passed since their pod docked up there.

The nurse who let her into his room has just left and Cee sinks her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She's still smiling— just the faded shadow of a smile, now that he takes a better look at her.

"How's your wound?"

It sounds a lot less plain than he expected.

She hasn't moved towards him any further, and for now she's not showing any hints at wanting to. In her irises, Ezra recognizes thumping stars and cerulean clouds, all clustered in the black circle cut by the large porthole next to his bed. All before catching the thin mist veiling them. As if she did want to reach those stars, let herself get carried away by those streams of bluish dust, but she had no idea how or what to do there.

He looks down, the borders of the bandages over his abdomen slightly raised under his black short-sleeved tee. He clears his throat.

"S'healin' nicely", he says, with a deliberate lightheartedness that costs him a sharp, bizarre inflection in his voice. He closes his eyes soon after, tilting his head condescendingly. "That's how the nurse feels about it, anyway... S'not like I can feel much more right now."

This reminds him of those vacuous moments between brief, chaotic waking states and delirious dreams. When he'd managed to reconnect some essential key points scattered around in the talks of surgeons and nurses; the weariness he felt from simply gathering he was on a space station due to enter the orbit of Mesos in three cycles and something standard hours. All while his only solid reference point – the only indisputable proof he was still alive – was the sequence of beeps chirped by the medical monitor perched nearby. Constant, not monotonous. Friendly, even. Sometimes, he actually comes to miss it.

"A trust fall to the extreme, I'd guess", he snorts, a sly laugh as weak and heavy as the words trudging out of his mouth. As the whole rest of him.

Whatever answer she's considering, Cee freezes it in a quick purse of her lips – maybe a nod, but for his own good he'd rather be doubtful. Then she starts looking around.

There's a chair under the board firmly anchored to the opposite wall – probably a desk or something he's never needed to test, whatsoever. She grabs it and puts it next to his bed. She sits down, bringing her legs to her chest, squeezing them in her arms.

Waiting for what, Ezra has no idea, and he's afraid she doesn't have any, either.

He doesn't speak, though, nor does he encourage her to do the same. Her pearly gaze roams steadily but unhurriedly from him to somewhere beyond him, her nose buried in the gap between her knees. He studies her carefully, two purple crescents above her cheeks, a few hair strands swinging down her face without her wiping them out. The nights she's slept through haven't been any more peaceful than his.

Trust, he recalls in the meantime.

It sure brings an odd taste to his mouth. Something close to sweaty spacesuits, grimy paths and gone-off ration bars. A single word for two human beings forced to share the same air filter for days; that, and the image of a dead body left to rot miles behind and the desperate commitment not to end up in the same way.

His gaze just happens to trip over his right side, taking in the deflated sleeve over the emptiness that saved his life. When he lifts it back to the girl, meeting her eyes just before they can flutter away, he realizes they were both looking at the same spot. And he realizes something else— something he's already understood, yet not quite.

There is no tube binding them now.

"Why d'you do it?", he mumbles a split second later, almost like somehow the thread of his question has immediately knotted to the one of his previous thought.

He huffs. He shouldn't even have asked her, in all honesty. Seeing her like this, at least he should have put it in another way, danced around it, it's not like he’s never been good at stalling, after all—

"Comin' back", Ezra says instead, and when he swallows, he mainly does it to send his heart back down his throat. If he'd died without being given the last chance to be this straightforward on this matter, he would have probably kicked his ass all the way to the other side. 

This time, Cee doesn't avoid his gaze. He shouldn't be surprised by how collected she looks, given the calmness she handled his infected arm with and then told him about when she used to slip into Jata Bhalu carcasses. But he can't help it when he thinks she can't be much older now than what she was then.

He watches her breathing in, wobbling her pupils here and there, seemingly considering his words. She's not afraid, not any more than what she seemed to be when she walked into his room. Maybe she's just better than him at playing pretend – but this, he can't tell whether it's more of a good than a bad thing. Especially for her.

One thing he can tell is that she's not the same girl who pointed a trembling gun at him before running away into the woods. He knows she's not afraid.

He knows...

So is it the hunter's instinct he has to blame if he feels she is?

"Guess I've seen too much death on that forsaken moon to just... turn my back on one I can help– one I can do something about."

If he was standing in front of an entire mountain crumbling down into the ocean, he wouldn't hear its sound. ‘Wouldn't even be the worst he deserves. She did hesitate before adding the last few words, but Ezra refuses to believe she did that because she was afraid of hurting him. He may be a wretch, but not a fool.

Kevva, for a man who's always managed to untwist himself from far tougher situations with the tangles of his tongue alone, he's sure having a deal of trouble – and he wishes he could put all the blame on his current physical condition.

There is no word he doesn't have to weigh carefully now, to prevent it from taking too sharp edges once out of his lips. He may float around it forever. But once he's let her go without saying anything, he'll hardly find the courage to look within himself again, more than after any other job that hardened his hands with calluses and tarnished his eyes with blood.

He doesn't know for sure. In fact, everything he was sure to know – about the turning direction of the universe and the one of the wheels in his head – has already collapsed in front of him, tracing a flaming tail. An unforgiving meteor following a trajectory far beyond his grasp.

He just knows silence scares him, in a way that a wrong word will never do again. It terrifies him. More than as a talkative person, as a castaway on a hostile moon for too many cycles to keep their count – with the only company of a mute. Silence is green; the green of the most poisonous pollen, lethal in his brain just like toxic spores enveloped in his lungs. The green of snake scales ready to stand and scratch his flesh until liquid crimson pours out of it.

And at the end of the day, this is the only fucking thing he can tell himself to know without having his guts churning and chest heaving a beat later.

"Stop looking at me like that."

It's more of an exhausted prayer than an annoyed remark. Ezra blinks, stunned by the sudden return from the shapeless stream of his thoughts.

"Like what?"

"Like you're looking for the words to thank me", Cee settles back into her chair and this time she lets one leg touch the floor, "Tell me you owe me, and you– you're sorry about what you did."

Ezra sniffles. "Would it be bad?" 

"No, it—". She closes her eyes for a moment, clenching her jaw. "Just no good", she breathes out, calmer.

And the discordant note in those words conjures up ghosts not yet vague enough for Ezra to be able to tolerate them without something twinging inside him— like a violent flutter of wings. Voices groping their way up ravels of compromises. Damon, deep in the forest. Himself, with the mercenaries in the Queen's Lair. Cee, days before that. After he—

She's right— those words she hasn't said yet, but whose shadow he feels looming every time he catches her wetting her lips.

Some things just can't be split evenly.

"This is not the Green", she states, suddenly more confident but no less exhausted. "If you're going to hang around just because you need to, once we reach Mesos¹ you'd better be on your way."

Ezra doesn't interrupt her. A faded echo starts making its way into his ears. A former prospecting partner, many years ago. An easy job on a forgettable Fringe moon.

Gems don't have an expiration date. Deals do. Strike 'em if you need to, get rid of them as soon as you can. Unless you care to dig a quicker way to your grave.

He didn't pay attention to it, then. He'd thought it was just the empty rhetoric prospectors drop absentmindedly to fill the time between an unrewarding digging and the next. All the more so under the rickety advice of a couple too many.

His eyes still wide open, hands shaky, he merely reciprocated the awkward bottle lift of his partner, whom he didn't know more than the meanders of that quarry. A toast to a faceless future – a nothingness still more reassuring than what was all around and behind them. Not to the darkness of the cave, basically unbreakable if only for the red halo thrown by the twinkles of sharp, sinister Prystines². Not even to the two poor bastards that had set out with them, ending up skewered a few hundred paces behind – one by mistake, the other to return the favor of saving him from the clutches of a furious Aiu³.

Like an idiot.

Several contracts later preventing him from missing a beat in front of similar hiccups, the logic of that statement no longer sounds so absurd to Ezra. Luckily for him, Cee understood it long before him.

"I was just lookin' for the words to tell ya you'll be better off without me—"

Half a truth. Half a heartbeat. After all, she isn't the only one of them who knows how to sell it.

He leans his head back against the headboard, eyes half-closed, a sly grin baring a couple of his upper teeth. It would almost be intimidating, except that the glint hitting them doesn't quite match the dying one in his eyes.

"—But you beat me to it", he finishes, and he sounds like he's about to fall asleep.

He slowly turns his head away, looks through the porthole. His gaze clutches to the passing asteroids outside, distant nebulae spraying the sidereal black with hues of purple, blue, red— then green, again. A climbing plant squeezing him from the inside, discomfort starts creeping on him an inch of his body – what's left of it – at a time.

He doesn't want her to think he's angry at her, and it's the only concrete foothold emerging from the fluid, magmatic chaos in his mind.

How could he be, when she came back to get him?

She didn't have to.

She doesn't have to be here, either...

"I'm sorry", she suddenly blurts out.

He meets her eyes again, a mix of bewilderment and disapproval shading his own. He shakes his head.

"Don't."

"I just—". She starts fiddling with the extra fabric created by the folds of her sweatpants. Then she sighs deeply. "I have no idea what I'm gonna do now."

He snorts. "Not that it's s'pposed to make you feel any better, but... neither do I."

He doesn't have a hazy helmet choking the glimmer in his eyes, an air filter breaking some frequencies in his voice— maybe just those making him sound sincere, while saving those trapping him into the swamp of self-loathing.

He was nothing but honest when he told her the rules of the game on the Green. When he openly admitted he was a killer, and when he assured her he wouldn't trade her for the Sater's Aurelac. And she's always seemed to believe him, maybe for that kind of desperate inertia that washes over people when they need something to cling to. Whatever the case, Ezra can only hope she wants to believe him now. But she doesn't speak, and for a moment his fear of not saying enough overcomes that of crossing her boundaries.

"But w—", he immediately bites his tongue, "—you still have three cycles to figure things out. Someone up here will be able to help you. Even so, please know you'll always have my most sincere gratitude."

The effort of lining up all those words and so few pauses to catch his breath casts a thick fog over his ears. His eyes suddenly hurt again and he finds himself squinting.

What happens next, he just records it, hardly managing to follow each cause-effect relationship. A series of events softly raining on him without making a noise, while he can quite imagine them to be way more prolonged in time. Cee leaning towards the lighting panel on the wall, sliding her finger counterclockwise, and the white coating the walls turning less painfully bright; her getting up, walking away, dwelling just before the door. "I'll come to check on you tomorrow", she says, sniffling.

She tilts her head, holding his gaze in her watery one for an agonizingly slow while – Please, don't ask me why.

He blinks once – Of course.

Then, the automatic door is once again engulfed by the wall, closing behind her with a metallic rustle.

Tomorrow.

His heart is taken by a spiraling jolt that leaves an empty cave behind. When it falls back into place, Ezra finds something has tripped in there, shapeless and quivering like the nucleus of a newborn star.

Hope, terror and everything that lies in between. 

___________________

NOTES:

1) Mesos — Invented planet. Its only raison d'être is that "mésos" in Greek means "middle" and my intent was to frame this story in a moment of transition (after those of movies) for both Ezra and Cee. 2) Prystines — Invented kind of crystals. They're implied to be huge, red and very sharp, thus endangering the path through the cave. 3) Aiu — Invented predator, ideally a big feline.

A/N:

Yeah, uhm... at this point, if someone was ever to give me any kind of feedback, constructive criticism or random thought, I think I'd just melt into a puddle for the attention alone. And to all those who came all the way down here, your bravery shall not be forgotten. ♥️✨

In my defense, it's (almost) all P**** P*****'s fault & of his habit of taking orphans under his wing from one planet to another.

I know people in the fandom generally tend to make Ezra and Cee go along straight away after the movie, so this will be a slightly different take on things, I guess... But even if I don't know if I'll keep this series going atm (life & maturity exam suck), a final reconciliation is definitely on the way. ;)

Oh, and any beta reader that should feel like helping me out for when I'll have the next chapters ready is warmly welcomed! My DMs are always open and I swear I don't bite! :3