#he doesn't realize he misses the warmth from his own hands when the metal ones can't leech it so close by to the man he enjoys the company

[chainslobber]

Isn't it funny how Eri's whole plotline was that she had to learn how to smile?

Isn't it funny how she was with Pops for a while who could've given her anything she wanted and she still wasn't happy?

Isn't it funny how we never saw Kai smile--not once--in the entirety of his character development? And people are going 'well at least Pops gave him a home-"

Kinda seems like he was a piece of shit, just saying.

[hermit-lover]

i absolutely LOVE the way you write Xisuma as a father figure 💕

could you write another one where child reader meets Evil X for the first time? a lot of people usually write it so that he's mean and that the reader doesn't like him, but what if Evil X has to babysit them and turns out he's actually soft for children? just soft Evil X content 😌

Babysitting

Character: Evil Xisuma x Reader

Type: Series Blurb (~1.7K) (pt2) pt3 here

Theme: Fluff, familiar, child reader

Summary: Dad (Xisuma) has some Admin errands to run, and with the usual babysitters busy, you get placed in the care of an eerily familiar clone.

TW: Lighthearted usage of teasing nicknames

A/N: I ADORE SOFT EVIL X! In my previous story he's mean but that's because its a nightmare, I love it when he's just a little guy. Enjoy!!

Nerves flutter in your chest as you sit idly on the couch. The cushions are as soft and plush as ever, but you cant shake the urge to squirm. Dad sits next to you, helmet on the table, and various admin screens floating around. You've asked him a couple times whats he's doing, he always excuses it as 'work'. The strange runes on the floating blocks make you all the more curious, but he wont budge. The anxiety creeps around you, and you kick your legs as something to do. You see, your usual babysitters (Stress, Doccy, and Papa K) were busy, so dad had to ask 'someone special'. Whatever that meant. The prospect of a stranger entering your house sent your tummy into butterflies. Dad has reassured you that he trusted this new babysitter, but why haven't you seen him before?

A knock makes you jump, letting out a squeak. Dad stands, patting your head as he crosses to the door. His gloves are always strange to feel, smooth metal contrasted by the leather warmed from his body heat. You prefer when he wasn't wearing his armor. But that couldn't always happen, dad couldn't breathe the Overworld air like you could. Only in your house, which he makes a special thing to be able to. The door opens, and dad offers the person outside a smile.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice." He starts, stepping back to allow the newcomer to enter.

"Don't make a big deal out of it." The stranger replies, stepping into view. The first striking thing is their armor, crimson red. Then their hair; stark white. Thirdly the way their voice sounds eerily similar to dad's- You blink in panicked realization. This man looked almost exactly like dad, and sounded almost the same. Instead of a helmet, a mask covers the lower half of his face. His eyes lock to you. Goosebumps pimple on your arms. His eyes are bright red, and narrow upon spotting you. You shrink slightly.

"Right! Uh- Evil X, this is my kid." Dad gestures appropriately, "Kiddo, this my brother, Evil X. Your uncle of sorts." Uncle? Evil? Whats this guys deal??? You stay silent, eyeing 'Evil X' warily. He eyes you right back.

"So this is the little terror, hm?" Evil X seems to brace slightly, and takes a step towards you. Terror? Dad always said you were an angel. Before you can defend yourself, he jerkily sticks out a hand. "Good to meet you." The formal greeting baffled your tiny mind. Hesitantly, you place a hand in his own. His gloves are warmer, and the metal feels scratchy. Evil X's grip is firm, but gentle in the way reminiscent of Dad. He gives your hand one good shake before releasing. You almost miss the warmth of his palm. Determined to be wary of the stranger, you slump back. His gaze softens ever so slightly. Hm, strange.

"You two seem to get along, and I can't stall any longer." Dads voice draws you from your shell. He trots back to the couch, plucks up his helmet in one hand, then leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. "See you later kiddo, don't be too hard on him." A sly grin tells you he's joking, so you let a smile grace your own lips.

"No promises." You chime back, and dad chuckles. It feels good to know you can make him laugh. Opening the front door, plopping his helmet on, and stepping out. Dad leaves you. Now alone with Evil X, the nerves settle back in.

"Sooo..." He draws the sound out, scanning the room. He still hasn't removed his mask, and it creates an odd vibe in your usually comfy space. "What do you do for fun?" lingering around the far end of the couch, he addresses you.

"I like to draw." You offer, picking at a string on the sleeve of your shirt. Most of your babysitters draw with you when you ask, so maybe?

"What sorts of things do you draw?" He continues, tilting his head and sending his wave of white hair cascading over his shoulder. it's almost mesmerizing, stark white like Etho's but double in length. Not answering him directly, you hop to your feet and pad into the kitchen. Fluffy socks muffling your steps, and causing a bit of slippage on the wooden floors. His own footfalls follow, quicker then dad's, and almost rhythmic like marching. Locating the appliance, you gesture at it. Various drawings are tacked to the fridge, the most recent being one of Bubbles and Etho on horses, because they had taken you horse back riding. It was really fun, and so of course you had to draw it. Evil X hums, tilting his head as he scan your art. Feeling rather self-conscious you watch his reaction closely. "You like drawing the Hermits?" his gaze flicks to you, genuine curiosity coating the question. You nod excitedly, they were always fun to draw! They all look so different, and were fun to hangout with. Feeling more confident you, smile at him.

"Can we draw?" Hope blooms in your chest as you ask, he blinks a few times then nods.

"Sure." With that one word, you turn to try and skitter away. Fluffy socks unable to get a grip, your feet slip out underneath you. For a terrifying moment, your body plummets to the ground. Then two arms grab under your own, and you sag into their hold. A sigh of relief passes through your lips. "You okay?" A worried voice rumbles behind you, becoming once again weightless to be placed back upon your feet.

"Yes." You reply quietly, adrenaline still fading. His arms retract, and you can feel him sigh as well.

"Good, be careful." You spin around as he speaks, nodding in response. He reaches a hand forwards, hesitating a moment to let you lean away. When you don't, he places the hand on your head and ruffles your hair like dad does. Warm blooms in your chest, and you grin at him. Evil X's eyes crinkle, as he smiles as well. "Lets get the drawing materials, yeah?"

"Yeah! It's in my toy room." You turn, and more carefully this time, dash to your playroom. Gathering sheets of paper, crayons, markers, and pencils, you drop them all onto your table. Sliding into a seat, you pat the one next to you excitedly. Evil X sits, knees almost to his chest like dad's due to the height of the chairs. One time you had Doccy sit, and he almost broke the chairs! He had to sit on the floor, which he insisted he didn't mind. Humming, you grab your crayons. Giving a page to Evil X, you prepare to draw.

Evil X being your uncle meant that he was Dad's brother, so you decided to draw them together. Adding the green grass, and red blanket, you planned out their picnic.

Finishing up the blue sky, you leaned back with a grin.

"Look!" you present the drawing to Evil X, it was your best work! Even using two different shades of green to make sure Dad's armor didn't look like grass.

"Wow!" he reacts, accepting the artwork to look at it better. "This is amazing, I love the flowers." Beaming with pride, you bounce in the chair. "How about we hang this on the fridge so your dad can see?" he suggests, and you hop to your feet.

"Can we??" You ask, hopefully. He chuckles, standing up and shaking out his legs. Knees popping with the motion.

"Of course." This time, he leads the way. Carrying your drawing as though it was made of precious gems. Vibrating in excitement, you watch impatiently as he shuffles around other drawings to make space. Finally tacking it to the fridge, he steps back and admires it.

You bounce around him, "You really like it?" He was so hard to read!

"Yeah." Warmth is evident in his voice, "I really do." Celebrating, you grab his hand. Starting a little dance and trying to pull him into it. Chuckling he lets himself be lead. Gently pulling you to slide you across the floor in a controlled circle, you burst into giggles. He twirls, and picks you up occasionally to arc you in the air. Eventually, with one last twirl, Evil X stabilizes you. "Alright alright, what now?" You hum, tilting you head. He mimics.

"Can I braid your hair?" You ask, bouncing onto your toes with a smile. He blinks back, surprised at your words. A beat goes by, and insecurity begins to set in. "If not it's okay-"

"No no- You can." He smiles back, "I just wasn't expecting that question." You keep hold of his hand, tugging him to the couch where you met. Sitting on the cushions, Evil X sits on the floor leaning against the pillow. De-tangling his long locks with your fingers gently, its as soft as you imagine. Cloudy, soft white strands flow through your fingers. He sighs, shoulders relaxing. Remembering what Stress taught you, you divide it into three chunks, and slowly begin to loop them across each other. Its hard work, but once you begin it slowly comes together.

You just finished when the door opens, making Evil X jolt.

"I'm home!" Dad calls, glancing in surprise at you two. "Oh" he sounds pleasantly shocked. Evil X stands up jerkily, braid flopping against his back.

"Good to see you." Evil X greets stiffly, and you realize he's probably embarrassed being caught like this.

"You as well." Dad removes his helmet, "I'm glad you two get along." you recognize his tone, he's happy. A smile graces his lips, and you hop up to stand on the couch.

"Welcome back!" You greet, opening your arms for a hug. Dad places his helmet down, and embraces you. Armor cool to the touch but so familiarly him.

"Thanks Kiddo" he presses a kiss to your nose, causing you to scrunch it.

"So I'll uh- head back." Evil X interrupts, awkwardly lingering by the door much like when he first entered.

"Wait!" you leap off the couch, and slide to him, throwing open your arms for a hug. Only a beat passes before he opens his arms as well and lets you hug him. He's warm, and squeezes you pleasantly before releasing. "I want you to babysit more!" You demand, Evil X glances at Dad. Then looks back at you fondly, ruffling your hair.

"Sure Kiddo, see you soon."

[randomwriteronline]

The lights suddenly burn out.

Only a circle illuminates the pavement.

The room is now a theater.

Pohatu stares, bathed in the shadow of a well-known back; beyond him, beyond it, Beings of flesh and skin (Beings he looks too much alike) stare at his little brother as he stands before them.

"I am Takanuva, Toa of Light and Shadow."

One seems to reach out; another stops them, eyes shining in the dark, curious and excited. To him, it's the apex of a thesis.

"But in the time before time, I was Takua, chronicler of Mata Nui."

There is a familiar theatricality in the voice as it fills every nook of the room, a familiar tone and pronunciation. Vakama would be - will be, when he returns, because Pohatu has decided his little brother will return, alone or otherwise - proud.

"It was my duty to write down the tales of my people: their strife and peace, their virtues and flaws, their victories and defeats, their sorrows and joys."

Through the silver sheen of his mask comes a vibrant golden glow.

"This is the weapon I raise against you."

His metal hand rises, obscure coils snaking through his tendons and robotic components - not as a threat. Merely a command.

"A story."

Then, there is light.

And upon the light, the shadows dance.

Before the stunned silence of the Great Beings' bewildered eyes, once Takua, now Takanuva recounts wordlessly every single chronicle he's ever seen and heard upon and within the Great Spirit Robot in a marvelous display that seems to go on for ages, tirelessly, endlessly, trying to spare no details for his audience although he knows he is missing parts that he will never be privy to. He shimmers like a sun reflected in the pieces of a broken mirror, blindingly bright; Pohatu shields his eyes before they burn completely before his glow, but still feels a warmth envelop him gently in a tight hug that doesn't pierce through his fragile flesh.

The shadows dance upon him kindly, so different from the Makutas', so exactly identical that it feels terribly surprising to realize that their element had been just as natural as his own, that their element had never been as evil as Teridax's actions had convinced them it was.

Through the sliver of his eyelids he sees his little brother's dark puppets dance, fight, cry, fall. He recognizes himself. His skin burns from dysphoria.

He shuts his eyes again before the light or the shadow can tear unwillingly through his flesh once more.

It feels like hours.

The story is a long one.

It's a hard one to tell quickly, after all.

The embrace eventually lightens. The light eventually dims. Pohatu looks: Takanuva is still in front of him, quiet, focused; the Great Beings seem overwhelmed.

One smiles.

It's a smile that misses the point.

"Old legends must be taught," Takanuva speaks once more. His voice is vast, stern, stalwart, still. "But new ones await to be made."

"You were not destined to make any legends!" one among the public shrieks at last, every drop of patience scattered in the still air hanging above them all, their face burning red, their eyes ablaze, their teeth gleaming angrily from the shade: "You had a clear purpose, a simple purpose! You were not destined to be anything! No need for all of this - these wars, these fights, this iniquity, this relentless destruction and death! You were cogs of a machine!"

Their anger turns to a specific face, twists into fury upon seeing that ever present smile. They cannot do anything against it; so their finger points back to Takanuva.

"You are defective! All of you! You're merely a primitive copy of our own world! A distorted image of our old failures, repeated! Our own past mistakes, coming to haunt us!"

"And you blame us?"

Takanuva's voice commands silence.

"You abandoned your people to their fate, shirked away from your duties when the time called, left your world to fester and rot: and you blame us?"

No response.

"Us, who never knew anything? Us, who you have kept on the dark about the reality of everything? Us, who you had destined to die without living from the moment you'd made us?"

No response.

"Our consciousness was a whim of yours. Yes, it is a defect, I suppose - yet we recognize it as something that is only ours, that you have nothing to do with. Our mistakes, our rage, our flaws and bloodied hands are nobody else's but our own. We do not blame you for our history, for the evil that might lurk within ourselves. We have every right to pin our misfortunes on you, who made us to toil away until we would have outgrown our purpose, but we do not."

Pohatu remembers this steadfast determination. He remembers it in a blue Pakari of a Matoran standing his ground with a group of misfits to defend Kini Nui.

"Has your distance from life made you blind, too? Did you not see what I showed you, at the side of destruction? Did you ignore the unity that binds us, that moves us to call one another brother and sister? Did you not recognize love when I put it before your eyes, over and over again?"

No response.

The quiet is embarrassed.

The quiet is thoughtful.

The quiet is ashamed.

"It was planned," a voice rises eventually, meekly. It answers a different question. "We had it all figured out. It was destined to be as we wrote."

"Destiny is seldom written," Takanuva shuts them down. "And when it is it's never clear, nor impervious to being reshaped. Not even those who claim to know it can predict which of its form is the correct one."

It's hard to understand.

Pohatu gets it.

It's the Cordax. It's the thousands of years rotting in a shell. It's the stars being rearranged. It's the poisoned bite. It's the plan from an opposite perspective. It's the betrayal by omission. It's the deceit. It's the defeat. It's the secrecy. It's the carelessness for the lives entrusted to it. It's the death. It's life striving to emulate the death. It's the herald who is at once both correct and wrong. It's the prophesized hero who defeats no villain.

It's growing a body that rejects you. It's being the ticket for an audience with the gods because of it.

It's a virtue. It's a curse. It's nothing.

Pohatu gets it.

"So?" a voice laments. "We too have made mistakes. We need not be reminded; we know too well. What do you want us to do, then?"

"FIX THEM!"

Silence.

Takanuva's words echo through the room.

"Like the Toa Metru returned to save the Matoran! Like the Toa Nuva fought back after Teridax won! Like the Toa Mahri struggled to revive Mata Nui!"

The walls tremble and shake before him.

"Like I failed Jaller, and accepted who I was!"

The gold in his mask is still dim, yet it glows harder as his voice cracks.

Pohatu's hand is warm and kind on his shoulder.

Breathe, little brother. Breathe.

I am proud of you.

Takua breathes heavily, on the verge of tearing up. He is so small and so alone upon this dark stage.

He is not a lone wanderer anymore, with no Koro to call home and no friend to his name; he is not an impatient Matoran anymore, searching for adventure without knowing how far he can go; he is not a young Toa anymore, confusedly holding onto a world of dichotomies that don't quite exist.

He is a storyteller before the Amaja circle.

He knows the story cannot end like this.

He knows there is one last thing.

His brother's hand on his shoulder is a gentle familiar weight that carries the warmth of the Island of Mata Nui's sun.

Takanuva breathes in.

There is a part of his voice that is young when he speaks again - like a child reciting a play as he tries to stave off the stage fright. There is a part of his voice that old and wise beyond its years, saddened, carrying a low rumble of solemn gravity within itself.

He sounds steady.

"Reunite with your people. Make amends for your wrongs. Guide them towards better futures."

That is a command.

"That is the way of the Bionicle."

Silence falls.

No curtain closes.

Someone claps.

Earnestly, vigorously, exhilarated, someone claps.

Someone claps as hard as possible, in genuine awe, and laughs loud, breathlessly.

Velika claps and laughs, smiling bright and wide, eyes twinkling with admiration and respect and unbound joy.

"Bravo! Bravo!"

None of that is for Takanuva.

"What a performance! What a speech!"

None of that is for Takanuva's story.

"Such a range of emotions! Such a variety of experiences! Such rethoric technique!"

Velika claps, and laughs, and smiles, and misses the point.

"Almost like a real person!"

Pohatu is a Toa.

Pohatu is still a Toa.

And only because Pohatu is still a Toa, and only because Takanuva wraps his metal hand around his unnaturally organic arm to shield him, Velika is not yet dead where he stands and keeps on clapping and laughing and smiling until his palms are ablaze, his voice is gone, his face hurts, and silence drapes itself across all beings in the room, across the smile that still doesn't fade.

Angonce looks straight ahead.

His lips are pursed, shut tight, his face looks livid.

Takanuva looks back at him.

They stare in silence.

Not a word.

Not.

A.

Word.

Angonce steps forward.

[heresathreebee]

A Southward Breeze

On the first of each month, each member of the GFS will write a Drabble of 1k words or less based on a selected prompt and using a character played by Joel Kinnaman.

May 2022's Prompt Is: "The problem is,” he said as he leaned in, “if I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

Fifteen years ago, Erik Heller had almost kissed you. It was a mindless thought– an impulsive urge that sprung upon him as he held your face gently in his hands. He could not recall what he had even been excited about– the only thing that lingered was the thought of the color of your eyes and how close your mouth was to his own. He remembered dashing it away and feeling tingly for the rest of that mission. And then he never saw you again. 

You and Erik used to cross paths often, almost as if you were bound to one another pulled together again and again by an invisible thread. He was not entirely oblivious to the warmth of your feelings towards him (perhaps to the depth, though). You hardly spoke a word and yet you managed to convey to this sovereign, efficient assassin that you would protect him, support him, mourn for him if it ever came to that. Yours affection for one another was a rarity in your line of work. 

And then… nothing. For fifteen years. 

It was not beyond Erik's ability to seek you out, to find you in some hidden place anywhere around the world (he was in fact quite confident in his tracking ability even when it came to you). He simply… did not. 

And it baffled even him, how he could simply dismiss the long-standing companionship that had grown between the two of you. But sometimes life takes you in vastly different directions and pulls apart the strongest of bonds. Did you think of him still? A part of him feels ashamed for having not thought of you in years. He had missed you though, sometimes more than he was willing to admit to himself.

There came a day one sunny afternoon in Paris when he stood out from the balcony of his temporary lodgings and surveyed the scenery. The bustling streets, the scent of gasoline and fresh cooked food wafting in the air. He spotted a flashing gold and looked to his left to find a figure a few apartments away, also basking in the picture perfect weather of today. He could not make out her face, but a sense of longing settle deep into his bones as the shape of the person reminded him of you. 

Before he even realizes it, Erik is trotting down the steps to his lodgings and barrelling through the streets. The crowd is so thick it's like pushing through an ocean wave, but he pressed on through the masses with French apologies on his lips and brusque focus. Finally he reaches the sidewalk of your– he doesn't know if it is really you– the stranger's apartments. He climbs the stairs taking them two by two in his haste and wondering if he had finally lost any sense he had previously. Was he simply going mad? 

He counted the doors inward and found the door that had to belong to the correct balcony. It is here that he pauses, drawing in breaths and winded from his short sprint. Not another thought passed through his head as he reached for the knocker and made it clang, the noise seemed almost explosive in the reumy quiet of the hallway. 

What would he say or do? It might not even be… and if it was actually you? What will he say or do? 

"Who is it?," came a voice that lilted like a song. He thought he would never hear that beautiful voice again. He was unable to speak his own name, so overwhelmed with the concept that perhaps you did not wish to see him. 

The door fairly flew open and there you stood– a wayside gun in your other hand and a look of pure shock on your face. "Erik?!" 

You must have checked the peephole when he didn't answer and recognized his face. It was you. A loose robe hung from your shoulder with a metallic gold pattern that gave the illusion of being inlaid with sapphires and emeralds. Your freed hair and your comfy slippers made you a picture of domesticity– a quality of life that neither of you had thought possible in your line of work. 

"Ich kann es nicht glauben…" Erik exclaimed in disbelief, "it really is you." 

Head empty of all thoughts, Erik stepped towards you. Instantly he is wrapped in your scent– kitchen herbs and spices cling to you over your favorite perfume and Erik's jacket falls to the floor swiftly. He slides his hands to cup your cheeks delicately, as if he is afraid you will disapparate before him. He enters your home towering over you and looking like a treasure hunter who found gold. 

"Mein Schatz," he gently shushed you as water filled your wide eyes. "I have missed you…so so much." 

With the weight of how he felt now, Erik suddenly balked at how he had ever gone a day without thought of you. Feeling the warmth of your skin in his hands thrust upon him a deep, guttural ache as if a hole he had always known in his heart was suddenly overflowing. He could see something similar fluttering in your own expression. One of your hands gripped his wrist so hard it hurt. 

Finally a tear escaped and tracked shimmering down your cheek. "Erik… you're here. You're alive."  

And I will never leave again, he thought, if you'll have me. 

"I thought I would never see you again," you confessed. 

Erik's drew his face closer to yours until your noses brushed together just as they had all those years ago. There were streaks of silver in your hair now and lines on your face that weren't there before. He wants to see your whole head turn white as you grow old together… 

"Are you going to kiss me, Erik?," you ask with an air of teasing hopefulness. 

"The problem is,” he said as he leaned in, “if I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

He can feel the sigh you realize– it breezes over his chin and your chest shudders against his own. "I don't think I want you to ever stop." 

At this, he smiles. When his lips press against yours, the kiss is hard and long, filled with the weight of an everlasting love you never thought would come to light. And for the rest of your days, that is how every kiss from Erik felt– exactly like the first time in a long time. 

The End

Tags: @yespolkadotkitty @lacontroller1991  @a-reader-and-a-writer   @edwardbaldwin @loverhymeswith @madkovacs @maddu-oliveira @babblydrabbly @klmurr @fairchildflag i think thats everybody?

[awesomerextyphoon]

I love your writing. May I have Loki x Reader? The reader is a sweet, delicate dreamer. Loki has come to conquer the world. He saw her and wants her to become his Queen of Midgard. He kidnapped her. She pleads with him to let her go while she is tied to the bed. He caresses her hair and says she will love him (he doesn't want to use the scepter on her).

***Can I have White Reader x Loki, please? Loki just escaped from the Helicarrier. He saw the reader who is a sweet and innocent creature. Loki doesn't want her dead when he will start battle. Loki kidnaps her and locks her up to keep her safe. When he wins, Loki tells her that she will become his queen.***

Hi! I decided to combine the prompts and make the reader plus-sized. I hope you enjoy! 

His Match

Pairing: Dark!Loki x Plus-Sized Female Reader 

Summary: You’ve tried to live by your grandmother’s rule  of being kind to others, even when the world gives you the middle finger. What if a Norse God decided reward you by becoming his Queen?

Word Count: 1,745

Rating: 18+/Mature

Warning: Kidnapping, Implied Dub/Non-Con, Angst, and some Violence

A/N: Thanks goes to the amazing @angrythingstarlight for beta reading this!

Loki was walking around New York City, scouting Stark Tower making sure the final preparations of his plan was perfect when something, or rather someone, caught his eye.

She walked out of what looked like a women’s clothing store with a forlorn smile. She was plumper than the average female Midgardian last time he frequented the realm. His eyes did not miss the enticing curves that lied beneath her clothes despite her efforts to ensconce herself into the background.

She was a vision.

Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments and it felt like time stopped. His heart quickened in his chest and a rush of blood surged to his groin.

He had to follow her. His Elskan.

“Barton, tell the others I’ll be out for a few more hours. Proceed as planned.”

–––––

He found you entering a rather destitute apartment complex. Its lights and foundation were a bit unsound and gave off a seedy ambience.

Loki grimaced at her living conditions. When he ruled Midgard, she would have only the best.

Casting a simple concealment spell, Loki entered her fairly small apartment. She began mixing ingredients together for what looked to be ‘chocolate chip cookies’. He smiled as he inhaled the sweet aroma knowingly; Asgard had only recently started consuming the sweet. She soon laid out a batch of thick, scrumptious cookies with a satisfied expression.

They reminded him of better times when he and Thor would sneak into the kitchens and swipe confections from under the baker’s nose. Loki chuckled at the memory; those were the days.

Not ten minutes after she placed the last cookie onto the cooling rack did her phone ring. It was her mother. Loki felt dread coming off his Elskan in waves.

Loki could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation, if you could call it that. Her mother constantly nagged her about her weight, life choices, and her ‘pathetic’ attempts to get over her ex-boyfriend. His heart broke as he saw tears begin to fall and the croaking of her voice as she bid the odious creature goodnight.

Several minutes after she cried herself to sleep, Loki entered his Elskan’s bedroom. He spied her diary on the nightstand and decided to read a few pages.

He was fuming within two minutes.

How dare that caustic pig sow treat his Elskan, her own daughter, in a such ghastly manner! Her ‘perfect’ sister always slighting and reminding her on how ‘she’ll never be good enough for anything’ and her father’s callous indifference to her cries for help and solace only added to his rage. Combined with the way her ex-boyfriend, the repugnant gnat, treated her (he cheated on her with someone who ‘wasn’t built like a blimp’ and ‘the only thing you thing you had going for you were your tits’) and he wanted to speed up the invasion just to watch the horror become engrained onto their faces.

And yet, she endeavored to treat everyone with kindness harkening back to your grandmother. She strived to be the one light in one’s otherwise miserable existence.

Well, she can be his light as his Elskan and Queen.

Loki took a deep, cleansing breath. He needed to stick to the plan. When he conquers Midgard, she will be their queen. She will grace the undeserving masses with her elegance and beauty and he will worship her every chance he got.

He just had to make her see it that way.

Gently, the light forest green glow of Loki's magic flowed from his hand to the crown of her head like a halo. He leaned in and kissed her cheek with a smile as he left.

He hated to leave her, but he had a realm to conquer. Though he hoped she’d enjoy the introductory gift.

––––––

You were in your grandmother’s living room; spacious yet comfy with all of her quirkiness and splendor included. It was odd since you haven’t been in her house since your parents sold after her death seven years ago. You tearfully smiled remembering all the good times you had with her, the only member of your family you gave you any true warmth or love.

Her piano was in the corner, barely aged a day with all the music sheets, pens, a light scratches you came to know and love. You took your seat and started to play the piano version of one of your favorite movie themes.

You were so engrossed in playing, you failed to notice someone materializing into your dreamscape.

“What a lovely tune! What is it called?” A smooth, honey-tinged voice broke your concentration.

You turned your head and saw what had to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. He was tall (6’ 10” / 2.08m) easily towering over any man you’ve ever met. He had smooth alabaster skin, light rose undertones with a little blue-red just under his eyes. His cheekbones were immaculate, somehow looked sharp and soft at the same time. He had thin lips with a fair plumpness to the bottom one. His slicked-back, shoulder-length Ponzu/Shadow Purple hair kissed his lean, battle-hardened physique (if the way he’s filling out his outfit was anyway to go by). All of this deliciousness was clothed in a casual Palm Green suit with a Glossy Black tie and shoes.

It took you a full minute to stop ogling him, “Wha-What did you say?”

“I apologize for disturbing you, my lady. I asked what you were playing.” His voice had hints of mirth which was odd considering his appearance. Most people in his league would give you a thinly veiled sneer of disgust, but he seemed genuinely interested.

“Um, well, it’s called Merry-Go-Round of Life from the movie Howl’s Moving Castle. It’s a favorite of mine. I used to play it all the time until…” You trailed off, not wanting to revisit how your grandmother died.

“You do not have to tell me if it brings you such displeasure.”

“Thank you, um…”

“Loki. Please, call me Loki.”

“Loki,” he inwardly moaned at the way you said his name, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Please, continue playing.”

And you did for what felt like hours, all while your sexy dream companion asked about your hopes, dreams, anything he could think of really. You in turn asked him about his life and interests; you even laughed at a story of his brother having to dress like a bride to get his hammer back.

You soon became enamored with Loki. It was refreshing to be noticed with actual interest, not ridicule or pity. He seemed to taken with you as well, if his gentle caresses and not-so-subtle lustful glances he gave you were any indication.

You were glad this was just a dream. You didn’t want your heart to break like last time.

Loki was about to lean in for a kiss when everything faded to black.

–––––

You jolted up from the mattress and screamed once you realized you weren’t in your room.

No, this room was…spectacular for lack of better word. It had high ceilings, large windows, ornate chandeliers, and magnificent balcony. Luxurious dark greens, gold, and black covered the room in splendor. Extravagant pieces of furniture dripped with precious stones metal worthy of queens or royal mistresses of old.

“What is this place?”

You tried to leave but was forced back onto the bed by a force field. You tried to take calm breaths just like your therapist taught you in order to make an escape plan.

No sooner did you calm down than the door open to reveal-

“Loki!”

Only Loki was wearing radically different clothing; looked like he walked right out of a fantasy epic. And yet, his smile was enchanting.

“What am I doing here? I need to go back home.”

He tutted in response, “That would not be wise, Elskan Mín. This world is mine now and this is safest place to be.” He was right. His brother’s team of desperate souls were no match for his cunning and Chitauri Forces. Midgard’s pathetic leaders gave up in less than an hour once their beloved ‘heroes’ were defeated, broken, and laid bare before them.

“You can’t be serious, Loki. I need to leave.”

“And go where? Like I said, this realm is mine now. That rat poison of a dwelling is no more and I have dealt with your ‘family’ as needed.” Loki smirked at the memories. It gave him extreme joy squeezing the life out of that worthless pig of mother, breaking every bone in your father’s body one by one, and leaving your ‘perfect’ sister alive with partially rotten skin. Not even the scavengers or maggots would find or want the remains of the scurvy insect of an ex-boyfriend, though he was still alive..just barely.

Well, at least until he decided on how to destroy the blight of creature.

Though he did make sure to leave two of your real friend were treated well. You needed to have someone to talk to while he was away.

You gazed into his Spearmint colored eyes in one last attempt, “Please Loki! If you love me, you’ll let me go!”

For a split second, you could’ve sworn you saw hurt in his eyes and he glided across the room. You back hit the headboard in you sad efforts to get away from him.

“Elskan Mín, I promise to always love, cherish, and worship every part of your glorious body. You will become Midgard’s queen and my goddess. No. One. Will. Ever. Demean. Or. Slight. You. Again.” he punctuated each word of the last sentence with soft, open-mouthed kisses to your face, neck, shoulders, and collarbone.

You tried to fight him, but it felt so good. His touches sent shots of lightning to your core; plus his lips and fingers were cook to the touch provided excellent contrast to the spike in heat.

You started crying realizing how pathetic this was, to have the first person to profess such feelings be a kidnapper. You were actually contemplating whether or not he was telling the truth.

Loki sensed your sorrow and kissed your tears away. “I know this might be ‘difficult’ at first, but you will love me in time.” He hoped he did not have to use the scepter.

You thought about your dream and all of the effort he was putting into this. It was frightening, but it came from a place of love.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay.

–––––––

@lookiamtrying @jtargaryen18 @sapphirescrolls @jobean12-blog @sweeterthanthis @gotnofucks @mcudarklibrary@saiyanprincessswanie @golden-ariess @navegandoaciegas @stargazingfangirl18 @opheliadawnwalker3 @tilltheendwilliwritee  @imanuglywombat @bucky-the-thigh-slayer @navybrat817 @anyatheladyclown @buckysbunny @nacho-bucky @donutloverxo @stephanieromanoff @threeminutesoflife @angrybirdcr​ @angrythingstarlight @chixkencxrry @hurricanerin @marvelfansworld @the-soulofdevil @captain–barnes @drabblewithfrannybarnes @thebanprincess @winteralpine @leslie2898 @buttercandy16 @propertyofpoeandbucky @hevans-angel @thorfanficwriter @afriendlyblackhottie @avintagekiss24 @syntheticavenger @phant0m-queen @tuiccim​ @blueberrythor​ @river-soul @justthehiddleswrites @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

[genshin-impacted]

empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (4)

Word Count: ~2.8k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy.

Notes: female!reader (she/her), Zhongli/Reader, Zhongli POV, mutual pining ofc, fake politics, can I call this slow burn yet

[Previous] [Next]

Chapter 4 Synopsis: Of the secrets that people keep, how much can they say without saying anything about it at all?

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You are falling for your tutor. That much, at least, is clear to you. Your quickened heart rate, the way your heart flutters when he smiles, and how your mood lifts when he praises you-- if wisdom is to know thyself, then you consider yourself wise enough to know that you see Zhongli xiansheng as more than just a teacher.

But what of him? You wonder, how does he think of you? Does he know what he means to you? Does he feel the same?

“My lady?" Amber asks you, when you dip your head underneath the rose-infused waters of your bath. "What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply back quickly, hugging your knees to your chest. You take a glance at the mauve coat that Zhongli had left on your shoulders and think about how it will still smell like him.

Amber can only look at you in mild concern when you bury your heated face into your hands and try not to think of kind eyes, a warm embrace, and a gentle voice.

(But you do anyway.)

.

.

.

.

Zhongli finds himself talking more freely than ever in your presence, especially now that the two of you have made it a habit of walking around the compound or drinking tea to pass the time together. He talks about fantastical things or expands on random trivia he thinks you would enjoy, even though he finds himself more often than not overindulging.

Your eyes are bright and alert when he tells you about the folktales he had learned when he was younger, so he tells you as many as you can in the cold, wintry months. Under the cozy kotatsu imported over from Inazuma, Zhongli shares slices of mandarin with you as he retells the history of the Qilin to you-- a mythical creature whose stone statues stand at guard in front of the main compounds of the palace.

��In many stories, the Qilin is sacred pets of the gods and rank highly only below the dragon and the phoenix,” Zhongli says, accepting the last slice of fruit you slide into his hands. "It’s said to appear with the imminent arrival or passing of a sage or illustrious ruler."

“I see…” You listen to him attentively, hands absently clearing the table of the orange peels without saying a word. You let out a breath of laughter as you joke, “Hopefully, if I pray hard enough, the Qilin might gift their presence when I ascend to the throne.”

“Nonsense,” Zhongli replies immediately. “If the qilin does exist, you do not need prayer for the qilin to appear before you, as benevolent as you are, my Princess.” He takes the slice and brings it to his lips to taste the sweetness of the mandarin, catching a glimpse at the way you hide your smile behind your hand.

“You have a way with words as usual,” you tell him. “You spoil me with praises, xiansheng; how ever will I survive without them now?” You bemoan, laughing afterwards. Though he knows you’re joking--surely-- he still feels his heart tremble at your words. It is in these moments that he feels keenly how it is to be Amber, abashed by the praise that flows freely from your lips and by the fondness that rings true through the way you speak. To be at the center of your attention is something that Zhongli understands very well to be addicting.

It is only when Zhongli hears the light rapping of knuckles on wood does he realize how long he has spoken and how late it is.

"My apologies," Zhongli says, surprised from his thoughts to bow his head (you fussed at him about apologizing before, but even with your kind reprimands, it is hard for him to kick the habits ingrained in him). "I didn't mean to dominate the conversation this entire time. It's even time for supper--"

"Bamboo Shoot Soup," you pipe up instead, and he can only look up at you stunned as you thank the maid. She sets down the pair of utensils in front of the two of you and clears the table to make space for the large metal hotpot. "It's your favorite dish, isn't it?” You say cheekily, “I thought it was a perfect dish to eat during the cold weather."

What are the protocols to eating dinner with the royal family? Zhongli thinks to himself warily, feeling wildly as though he is constantly stepping out of line despite his learned nature. Still, you would scold him for his distancing, so Zhongli decides to do as the both of you please, as improper as it may be, and waits to be served.

The bamboo soup is beautifully slow-cooked, the broth milky white; just taking a waft of the aroma is enough for him to know that the meat is tender and the bamboo shoots are soaked to the center with flavor. The warmth that pervades is partly due to the fresh heat of the soup but also from the fact that you had remembered a detail he shared in passing. (He says ‘in passing’ but he had gone into detail about where to procure the best ingredients for each component of the meal while you listened to him with eager nods. The bamboo shoots, he recognizes, are from Qingce Village. Did you remember even the smallest details from your conversation when he speaks?) Like many other times before, he is speechless. It seems as though you are constantly surprising him-- for the better.

"What happens next?"

Zhongli blinks, the steam from his bowl rising up to his face. "Pardon?"

"Oh, never mind! We should eat first!" You say, smiling widely in a way that makes his heart leap. You pick up your chopsticks and click them together playfully. "But tell me what happens next in the story later on, Zhongli-xiansheng."

"One day you'll find yourself someone who listens to you and you'll talk their ear off."

Zhongli remembers Guizhong telling him this time and time again, though he never believed in it. He is old-fashioned, he always replies back. He is overly burdened by the expectations of his family and passionate in things that most others cannot care to relate to. How would he know that someday, as proof of the wisdom (or perhaps abundance of hope and love) that Guizhong held, he would find someone who cared enough to listen and look at him as though he knew the meaning of life itself?

The bright-eyed gaze you shoot at him lasts only a moment, and perhaps you don't even know the magnitude of your gesture, but Zhongli feels his chest burn nonetheless with gratitude and soften at the kindness you have shown him. He reaches out to place his hand gently on yours. "Thank you," he says, squeezing your hand. "I'll be sure to not lose my place in the story then so you can hear the rest of it."

He blinks when you look at him, frozen and wide-eyed, and that is when he retracts his hand, feeling as embarrassed as you look. "Ah, my apologies again--"

"No, it's-- it's alright," you stammer, looking down at your bowl. Zhongli feels his face redden and he drops his gaze as well. "But yes, you better remember! I'm counting on you!"

"Yes-- yes, of course," he says, clearing his throat. "It would be my pleasure to." Before Zhongli can wallow in mortification, he hears the beginnings of your laugh and looks up to see your smile as wide as ever. And just like that, he can feel himself be at ease again, just as you have always made him feel with your presence.

"Perhaps next time," he says, a small smile dancing on his lips, "my lady can tell me a story instead."

"Only if you fill in the details I missed," you quip back easily, and he laughs.

Even with an impeccable memory, Zhongli still cannot remember the last time he has ever laughed so easily and so readily as though he could never run out of laughter. He thinks of quiet hours in his study, pouring over pages of text without speaking till his voice grows hoarse from disuse. He remembers days of entertaining guests who never truly listened to what he was saying, and he finds that he is the happiest he has ever been for a long time.

He has you to thank for that.

This is why he responds back, with a soft reverence that is reserved only for you. "Of course." He returns your smile with his own. "I would be honored to, my Princess."

.

.

.

Reverence should be a tone well-practiced and used in the royal court, but when Zhongli stands aside during the proceedings, he hears very little of it directed toward you. You have half of the court talking over you despite your grace, and he can clearly see your patience wear thin when your presence goes unacknowledged by one of the court officials.

"My studies have been going steadily," you speak unto the crowd, clearly and powerfully, as though you have always known how to command attention. Projecting your voice, you maintain your gaze on all of them as you speak. Zhongli can see from the way your hands clench at your side that despite your display, fear has not left you, and for that, his pride for you seems to overflow.

"With the xiansheng, I can foresee being able to replace my great uncle for the time before the end of this year," you say. "I will have prepared myself dutifully until the time has come--"

"The end of this year?" One of the nobles exclaims in protest, making you pause. "How would you be ready at the end of the calendar when you have started lessons, not even yesteryear?"

"I can't imagine the magnitude of power placed upon the shoulders of the inexperienced,” another one drawls. “Perhaps, ah, the Princess will consider taking a husband to make up for it?"

Zhongli doesn't realize he's gripping imprints into the palm of his hands until he goes to raise his hand and realizes they have gone numb from his tension. The nerve of some of the nobles-- some of which he can recognize have never sought to be on your side. He wishes nothing more than to be able to provide them a verbal lashing, but he knows that neither you nor he can do anything at this point in time.

With knowledge comes power, and you do not know enough to utilize the title you have nor the inherent authority that comes with it. Though one day, you will, if he can help it, regardless of what has been expected of him.

It makes his skin crawl to know that many nobles look to him and believe he is on their side. How many times have they requested him to keep you away from the main chambers to check on your great uncle? How many times have they hoped he would provide falsities and ignorance in the guise of guidance so that you would never truly ascend to the throne? Even with the promise of power beyond his wildest dreams, Zhongli cannot bring it to himself to manipulate you in such a manner. Even though his hands are clean, he still cannot help but taste sin on his lips for knowing the harm that exists against you without your knowledge.

When is the right time to inform you, if at all? Is it kind or cruel of him to keep this ploy from you? (Is his judgment even sound, as muddled as it is with his rapidly growing feelings for you?)

You narrow your eyes, your lips pressed in a straight line, but you refrain, once again. And Zhongli feels a burst of pride at your show of restraint and composure fitting of a lady of your status. "Yes, this may be one of the things I will take into consideration, and I appreciate--" Zhongli feels himself tense at the way you spoke, "--the counsel of the court, though I still foresee my way coming to fruition regardless."

There is a stilted silence that follows your words, and you look toward the messenger who has come with the land's grievances in letters. "I believe this matter can be discussed at a later time," you say with finality. "Let us look at the first report from the harbor."

Using what you know from your lessons thus far, you guide the conversation towards solutions for the problems brought to the court by the people. You are too inexperienced to make decisions on your own, gathering opinions from your council; corrupt or not, they know more about managing land than you. But Zhongli sees how you watch carefully as the discussion continues, letting the information sink in so that you can utilize it in the future, and he is reminded again of how far you have come from a princess holding that urn to the prospective empress quietly learning how to lead a country.

(Is it any surprise at all that he is enamored with you?)

Court adjourns after hours, and Zhongli follows you as you leave first, your robes billowing behind you seamlessly as you hold your head up high. The guards bow their heads as you pass by them, your ladies-in-waiting slowly retreating from the room when you arrive, closing the door behind them. The moment everyone is gone, you sigh in relief, your shoulders dropping to a more comfortable height as you stretch your arms and legs.

“I applaud you on your conduct during court,” Zhongli says finally, amused by how nonchalant you act in comparison to how high-strung you are in front of others. “That was an impressive display of authority.” He sees your face flush from the compliment as you stammer out your thanks. He chuckles. "Perhaps I should start getting used to calling you 'Empress’ then, Princess.”

"Yes?" Zhongli replies, confused. "Is that not a title you would like to be referred to?"

"'Princess?'" He hears you echo, turning yourself to him, and Zhongli loses his train of thoughts when he sees your expression with brows pulled together, disconcerted. "Just... 'princess?'"

"No--well, yes..." you say, trailing off. Your hand, out of habit, nervously reaches up to fiddle with your brooch. "I was just thinking you would have normally referred to me a little differently is all."

Zhongli tilts his head slightly in thought as he watches you press your lips together in what he assumes to be in embarrassment. Has he been calling you differently without his knowledge? He doesn’t think so; you have always been the Princess for him, and he, your xiansheng.

But, ah, he thinks, he has not always called you ‘my Princess’ has he? (Astonishing what one word can change.)

For a brief moment, Zhongli’s mind wonders whether he has overstepped his boundary, but he quickly reminds himself with your words, that if you truly did not want him to call you by that, you would tell him. The fact you protested at his recent use of your title… It was the slip of the tongue; Amber has referred to you by the same title, and Zhongli has always, in some form, coveted the same level of intimacy that the two of you possessed. His fondness for you must have seeped into his words, and he would never have anticipated having you reciprocate.

That being said, could you blame him for feeling pleased that you wanted to be referred to as his Princess?

“But 'Princess' is fine,” he hears you say, gathering the composure to sweep your hands down your gown and appear nonplussed. You take out your fan and hold it to your face as you begin to walk toward the study. “I don’t mind it. You should call me as you so wish, I--”

Your laughter is enough as a sign of validation, but then he hears you say, shier than you have ever been, “My xiansheng,” and he thinks his heart balloons until it takes up the entire expanse of his chest with how much affection he feels for you.

"It is soon time for our next lessons," he says, following behind you without pause, "my Princess." And he watches, enamored, as you look back at him with a smile blooming on your face. "Is that... alright with you?"

“Yes,” he says to you, feeling as though that is the only thing he can say. You shoot him another captivating smile and turn, and all Zhongli can do is walk only a step behind you.

.

.

.

And he follows you for as long as you will allow him, hoping his choice to keep the darkness at bay is the right one.

[l-wannabe-l]

Short Circuit

Chapter 5: New Avenues

Austin gets some distressing news, and a new enemy enters the ring.

Mostly a chapter of these two growing closer. Plus some plot I guess.

The roads thinned out the longer I drove. The Connor’s remained quiet for the most part, Sarah Connor the only one to speak giving me directions to avoid crowded roads. I didn’t need them, and the urge to take actions against her for daring to order me about is strong, but my mission and side objective are too important to risk aggravating the matriarch. She finally stops after one final order to pull into an abandoned garage next to a gas station. The T-800 leaves to open the garage door, the simple lock it has breaks under the sheer strength of the T-800 model. As soon as the car is parked the others climb out. Sarah quickly herds her children as far away from me as the small space will allow. I grant them their ill perceived safety as I walk along the wall on the opposite side. I stop near a door as I receive a message. A message sent by Skynet and received across time and space.

“Mission Failure”

My sudden inaction goes unnoticed by the eldest and youngest Connor but not by Aria.

“Austin, what’s wrong?” A certain lilt to her voice indicative of concern, similar to when she spoke to John and her mother. A concern more likely directed towards them, given the glimmer of fear still present in her eyes when she looks at me.

“Skynet has deemed me defective, my mission has been labeled a failure.” I respond, my voice ringing hollow even to me.

“You said you abandoned your mission. Why are you surprised?” She asks but her calm demeanor indicates she isn’t as surprised as her words make her out to be.

“I lied.” A strange feeling changes my tone without my say. A grave itching sensation as if something is trying to claw its way out from inside me. My teeth grind against themselves.

"So you were still planning to kill me." This time Johns is the one to speak.

"Of course I was!" I don’t have the patience to pretend anymore. Processing the news, and this new feeling takes precedence over keeping up the facade. I turn and walk out the door. Silence will be more beneficial to me than answering any banal questions they might have. The sound of the door opening again alerts me to Aria's presence, I see her just out of my periphery. The light from the gas station showing off the shine in her dark brown hair. She pulls her cardigan closed across her bare midriff. The night had dropped several degrees, she must be feeling the chill that resulted from it.

“You ok?” She asks. I understand this question to be a very common nicety among humans. Oftentimes an honest answer is not at all what the asker desires.

“I’m still in functioning form.”

“That’s… good but not what I meant,” She says, coming to sit next to me on the bench pulling up her legs to hold them close to her, “I mean what are you going to do now that you don’t have a mission anymore?”

“I still have one objective.”

“You do?!”

“I still haven’t been loved by you.” I tell her. She flinches back when I turn to look at her head.

“You were serious about the whole love thing?!”

“I was, still am.” Now without Skynet, the only purpose left to me is the one I assigned myself, “I don’t have any purpose otherwise. I was never meant to return to my time, Skynet would have no need for me anyway.” I tell her bluntly, that fact seems to change that clawing to a weighty bulk. My form sinking under it involuntarily. Aria lets go of herself, letting her feet hit the ground. She leans forward to meet my eyes, a smile just barely on her lips.

“Join the club. Looking for purpose is something every human struggles with.” She says as she stretches her arms upward. Her cardigan falls open to reveal a glimpse of a leather harness carrying a small sidearm. So that's where she got that gun.

“But I am not human.”

“No, but it looks like you’re going to have to learn.” She says as she stands. Most likely intent on rejoining her family but stops as she looks back at me. She lifts her hand, reaching out before pausing.

“Can I?” she asks. I nod. After all, there’s nothing she can do to harm me so what... oh. 

Oh

Slim fingers card through my hair, or what substituted for it. I register the warmth of her palm and the texture of her hand as she musses up the styling before working to smooth it back.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh right, sorry,” She removes her hand removing the warmth but leaving behind another new “feeling” to deal with, “Your second lesson, some people show affection through physical contact. The why and how depends on the situation and the type of relationship. I was... trying to comfort you.”

“Is it always like this, these signs of physical affection?”

“Not exactly, It’s usually only done when people are close to each other.” I stand to be more eye level with her, despite the obvious height difference. As I do I take note of the slim distance between us and her reaction, the dilated pupils that show off more of the forest hue of her eyes, and a slight hitch in her breathing.

“I want to be closer to you.” Her eyes widen at my words, a rosy dusting settles across her cheeks, curious, “How close are you to John?” Aria lets out a breath, body seemingly deflating at my question.

“Oh right, you want to be closer to me like John, my brother.” She remarks seemingly talking more to herself than to me. “I don’t know if there is a clear answer to that other than the fact that he’s my brother. Let’s just head back inside. We can figure the rest out later, Ok?” She looks at me one more time before turning away. I realize that her eyes didn’t show any fear or trepidation when she did. I follow after her back into the garage. When I enter I see the T-800 sitting in front of a mirror fixing up what looks to be a gash wound on his head. Carefully arranging his hair and tissue to conceal it. Sarah Connor stands between him and John who’s busy fiddling with a radio that was obviously taken from the police car.

“What did we miss?” Aria asked after taking in the sight.

“Mom and I cracked open his head,” John answered distractedly. Pointing vaguely in the T-800’s direction, “We reprogrammed him so now he can learn to be less weird.” They must have switched him from ‘Read Only’ to ‘Write’. Aria looks like she’s going to speak but is cut off by her mother who pulls her away to speak privately. It won’t do any good considering my sensors work at a higher capacity than a human’s so I take a seat on a nearby metal chair to listen in.

“Aria, I know I went along with this back at the hospital but if I understand correctly that thing was using a false truce to try and kill John later on?”

“That’s about it. He apparently played his part so well Skynet basically abandoned him because of it.”

“...It just admitted to planning to kill us.”

“Yes but he isn’t gonna now though, and isn’t that good news,” She said, but a tremble in her voice makes the statement sound more like a question. By the silence that follows Sarah Connor obviously doesn’t believe it. Aria lets out a tired sigh, “Mom, you didn’t see him out there, he just looked so... lost,” The admission has me looking over at them just in time to lock eyes with Aria before she quickly turns back to Sarah who isn’t convinced.

“That is still a Terminator.”

“All the more reason to have him here where we can keep tabs on him rather than out there doing who knows what.”

“Having both of those things around is just putting John in danger!”

“He’ll be in danger anyway. Skynet will try again and Austin has the most up to date information. If we turn him away we'll be exposing ourselves to dangerous surprises.” Sarah seems to concede, walking away to retake her place next to John. Who managed to get the radio working. The blank static from the police radio gives way to voices talking quickly about vandalism, murder, theft, more murder, and the missing status of a young girl. Kathrine Brewster.

Across town in the shopping district. A boutique window begins to light up, not by the electrical lights installed but by the streaks of lighting emanating from a silver sphere growing and heating up before bursting and disappearing in a blinding flash. A slim feminine figure is left behind crouching amongst the mannequins. The woman takes a moment to scan her new surroundings before looking at them. She doesn’t find what she’s looking for, the clothing they wear burned beyond repair and recognition. No way to make accurate replications. So she takes to the streets walking along the sidewalk, her long blond hair the only modicum of decency but she continues unbothered. A beep catches her attention; the sound comes from a car being unlocked. The woman who owns it walks quickly unaware of the newcomer or their intentions until she spots them after getting into her car. The woman’s nudity caught her by surprise. 

“Omg,” She whispers to herself in disbelief before the concern sets in, “Are you ok!?” She calls out in an attempt to help but receives no response from the approaching naked woman who is currently scanning her vehicle. While outdated to the mechanical being, it is rather high-end for the time. A good choice of transportation.

“Do you want me to call 911?” The woman tries again, thinking the poor girl in a state of shock or something of the like. The blonde finally faces her, giving a soft smile that doesn't reach her eyes and reaches forward to touch the clothing near her neckline. Fingers splayed and placed methodically to sample each type of fabric.

“I like this car.”

“What?” The woman asks, confused. Her last words before the Terminator quickly swipes her hand away, efficiently slicing her neck. She easily lifts the woman out of the car and drops her onto the pavement. Leaving her there to bleed out. Clothing reminiscent of the dying woman's begin to take shape on her naked form. Detailed down to the hair bun. She lets herself into the car before starting it up and driving off. She helps herself to the woman’s purse pulling out a cell phone, a quick disassembly gives access to the inner workings and the service it’s connected to. Liquid metal seeps into the SD card allowing her to search the database for names, faces and addresses. A list quickly forms of future enemies of Skynet, of people she is tasked to terminate. She charts a course for the nearest address. The Brewster residence.

[imagineabrighterworld]

Tenya Iida with a Princess S/O

You first meet him as a page

Tenya Iida was the second son of a family of nobles. There was no doubt that he would have a bright future ahead of him. You were the crown princess of the land, your brother instead opting to travel as an ambassador. This meant it was up to you to greet each of the noble families closest to the crown.

Bunching the fabric of your skirts in your hands, you wend your way down the spiralling staircase to the main foyer, your ladies in waiting trailing after you with varying levels of excitement. Today you got to meet the noble families of Florrum! It was scary, but it was also a little exciting. After your brother passed the crown to you, it was now your responsibility to make the people love you. A scary thought, but you were ready for it.

“Ooh this is so fun! I hear the Iidas’s and the Eijiro’s are coming today!” Your best friend and lady in waiting Ochako Uraraka squeals from behind you. “The Todoroki’s are already here too! Shoto was kinda cute don't you think?”

“She knows that silly.” Momo Yaoyorozu chides, pulling Uraraka slightly in order to fix a stray strand of hair out of place. While she didn't speak it, she used the excuse of managing Uraraka's hair to avoid speaking about the young white and red haired noble. "We just met them yesterday.”

You pause your trek down and pull the two girls to hide behind the banister as your father’s voice echoes in the room. Four voices accompanied his own, two of which you didn't recognize. Those must have been the Iida's. The third was a boy who had accompanied Shoto Todoroki, his name was Izuku. So either the fourth was Shoto, or it was the youngest Iida son.

Peeking around the corner, you scan the group of adults before looking at the younger boys following them. It was indeed Izuku Midoriya, and a boy who looked much like the eldest Iida.

His eyes flash to yours upon noticing the three of you crouched like spies. Immediately he rushes to his father’s side, grabbing his hand and chopping the air in your direction with vigor. “There are three strange girls over there!”

With an embarrassed queal, you duck further down and use the top layer of tulle fabric to cover your face. On the other hand, your ladies in waiting stand up to get a better look of the boy.

“So that's Tenya?” Ochako questions while nudging your arm. “He looks kinda serious.”

“ ‘Raka it is not polite to call strangers by their first names.” Yaoyorozu helps you up despite your tremblings. “Come on, my lady, let’s see him.”

He was overbearingly polite, but it was sweet

Standing in front of Tenya Iida you bulster up the courage to look him in the eye after being dragged by your friends to approach him. It wasn't queenly at all, and now you missed your elder brother more than ever. He was good with greeting people. This was still new to you.

The boy bows a perfect right angle, nearly flinging the glasses off of his face. You wouldn't be surprised if they weren't his first pair to go flying. “My apologies Princess! My name is Tenya Iida, from the prominent Iida family! It is an honor to meet you!” 

His father smiled crookedly behind you, looking at his son and back to you. He bows his head. “Princess, it is a pleasure to meet the future queen.”

Glancing back at your friends for strength you curtsy to the men in front of you, grateful your hair was blocking their view of your flushed cheeks. “Likewise. I hope you enjoy your stay here. My staff are ready to cater to your every need.” Was there something else you needed to do? Was there a piece of etiquette you were missing? There had to be, why would the young Iida still be bent at the knee if you did say the right words?

Your question is answered as the elder Iida taps his son on the shoulder. “That will be enough Tenya.”

The boy straightens immediately, his face pink with sheepishness. “Right!”

Looking him in the eyes, a smile creeps its way onto your face. 

He was cute. 

“Pardon me Tenya Iida-”

“Yes princess!”

“Would you like to join my friends and I for a game?”

He looks put off, but soon a look of excitement replaces it. 

“I would!”

Now friends, Tenya stayed at the castle to become a squire, and became somewhat of a guard

He was now a decent acquaintance, someone you enjoyed being around. Surprisingly he grew to like your little touches and was accustomed to how you would cling to him when you were afraid. It was endearing. But unfortunately it didn't last after your quirk finally presented itself.

Now at age 14, you couldn't see yourself without your friend by your side. Iida had fully integrated himself into your clique of ladies in waiting and squires. Your shyness seemed like it was finally out of your system, allowing you to bloom and show your potential as Crown Princess! 

Walking in the market place with Tenya by your side, you greet the people by name, having jotted down notes ages ago to help remember the faces of your kingdom. 

“Isn't this wonderful?” You question your friend as you examine a dressmakers shop, peering in through the window before the scent of honey bread pulls you away to the bakery. “Everyone is so lively and peaceful. After the contract with the Todoroki’s, everything has been tranquil.”

Tenya hums in agreement, his eyes glued on the dress you were staring at moments before. He moves along with you after you give his hand a small tug. 

The hand holding was a small rule of yours- of his. Ever since he lost track of you in a market place at the age of 8, he vowed to hold onto you whenever you two went out. He didn't want to risk losing the future queen. And his best friend. 

Suddenly you feel a warmth course through your body. In an instant you jerk your hand away from his and use it to. stable yourself by holding onto the table behind you. 

The baker screams. “Look at what you've done!”

“Princess!” Tenya reaches out to you before halting, looking at something on the ground.

In fear, you look at yourself, wondering if something had spilled onto your clothes, but there was nothing there. Next, you check your arms. It is from your arms that you realize what has happened.

Your quirk, after years of waiting, had finally shown itself. 

What used to be a simple wooden table with baskets of bread on top, was now solid gold. The metal had already begun creeping down to the ground beneath you and up your arms and legs.

You screech and back away, scared to touch anything else around you.

The townsfolk watch in amazement as the creeping gold stops in its tracks, slowly pooling back to the table where it stayed there. 

“Princess-” Tenya attempts to reach out for you only to be waved away. Your heart was beating out of your chest, gold hued tears spilling from your eyes. “Please- don't touch me- I don't want to hurt you.”

Slowly clenching his now empty hand into a fist, he nods. “Lets get you to the castle.” Removing his cloak, he drapes it over your shoulders and guides you back to the castle.

He doesn't touch you.

Your quirk was dubbed the golden touch, a blessing and a curse

Once news spread about your ability to turn normal objects into pure gold, you become the most highly sought royal of the nine kingdoms. This meant you would need even more guards than ever. It was not at all an ideal situation for you, as your parents now were questioning whether finding a suitor with a strong quirk would be better than simply hiring arms. 

You fought against it, not wanting your life to be dictated by a quirk you didn't want. For 14 years you were quirkless, for 14 years you were happy, why now did it choose now to ruin that happiness?

Learning that Tenya was a potential knight of your personal guard left you winded.. Or in your case, glowing

Now at the age of 18, often hiding away from the public and sometimes even your own friends, in fear that your emotions would stir up trouble, you are met with a letter that could potentially change the course of your life. Possibly.. if you could convince your parents. See, you were the Crown Princess, the future Queen. Queens weren't supposed to fawn over their knight.. but maybe you could be the exception?

Tugging open the heavy wooden doors of your room you walk across the lounge area to the staircase leading up the turret. It was from the turret where you sat at the balcony and watched the world from above. You didn't have much say in the matter on when you could leave the castle now that every thief and king knew of your quirk, but this balcony did offer some reprieve from your loneliness. 

“Don't get too close to the railing princess, we've already replaces it twice now.” A familiar groggy tone says from beneath you. You look into the tired eyes of the Captain of the Guard, Aizawa Shota. His scarf was partially bound around his fists as he pulled several of the knight trainees closer to him. “Turn it to gold again and you'll be signaling to every mercenary in the land which room you are in.”

With a sigh you step back and adjust your elbow length gloves to keep your skin from touching the metal bars. “I understand.” 

He mumbles under his breath before turning his attention back to the recruits in front of him. There was around twenty in total, some you recognized from your old travels in the town outside of the castle. But there was one that caught your attention and held on tight.

Tenya Iida. 

The same rush of warmth hits you as you run back into your room, holding the wall as you spiral downstairs. Unbeknownst to you, your golden touch seeped right through the gloves, turning the turret walls and steps pure gold. Only when you were in your room pacing back and forth with cheeks as red as a rose did you see the mess you had made. Nearly everything you came in contact with was gold, even your hands. 

Looking into a mirror, you whisper in horror as gold flecks spread up your neck like an expensive collar. “Why is this happening?”

Always the gentleman, Tenya came to your aid

“Princess?” A knock resonates through the room. “I saw you earlier- I don't mean to intrude but it would be dishonorable of me to leave a girl to cry alone!”

You pull the door open slightly, peering up at him with wet eyelashes and a pink nose. “You saw me cry?”

He halts his prepared speech, his mouth open as he tries to come up with the right words. 

“You.. You looked distressed. So I assumed..”

“You assumed I was going to cry.” You wipe your eyes, a teasing smile on your face. “That’s rather bold of you Sir Iida.”

“I-I-” He bows his head, “I apologize for my bluntness!”

He definitely had potential as a warrior, but you were also focused on something else

You had to admit, as you both grew older, you were more than twitterpated  He was charming and bluntly honest, unlike the suitors you were presented with that would leave you in tears of frustration. Did you need to lower your standards in order to make your family happy? You didn't think so. And beyond that, Tenya was a knight, one who came from a noble family. His pedigree wasn't important to you, but it would definitely help in getting your parents approval.

Observing the trainees from above, you take deep and slow breathes to keep your heart beat steady. With a few months of testing your quirk, you've realized it was emotional based. Rather than golden touch, it was more of a golden aura. It reacted with you. 

But it was difficult to keep your heart at ease when Tenya Iida came into the picture. 

Your heart skips a beat when the sound of his laughter raises to your turret. He was with Midoriya and Ochako, your lady in waiting most definitely there to keep her sights on the green haired knight. How you wished you could join them. Laughing with them. Talking like you had before. 

Tenya looks up at you from his spot below. He didn't have his glasses on, and his hair was slicked back to keep out of his eyes after his long training session with Aizawa. He smiles and waves. “Good evening Princess! How about joining us today? I can assure your safety.”

The tiles underneath you turn a rose gold as your heart stops. 

Could you join him?

Aizawa was the best wingman you could hope for

By some heavenly fortune, the Captain of the Guard saw your struggle and stepped in. Why he did it? He said nothing. Maybe it was because he could smell the desperation rolling of the two of you and grew tired of it.

“Just get down here Princess, I’m going to be here the whole time.” Aizawa motions you down. “If you don't join us he won't focus, and that will cost the head of whoever he spars with.” 

The blood flushes from the face of a blonde knight looking extremely uncomfortable at the prospect of sparring with the young Iida. 

“Ah- Okay, I'll be down soon.” You catch a glimpse of Uraraka giving you a thumbs up, missing the way Tenya watches you with a look of excitement mixed with dread. 

Of course he wanted you to join him and your other friends, but.. He hadn't been as close to you ever since your quirk presented, what if he stumbled or messed up while you were watching? Would you think less of him? Would you kick him off of your guard? Would you be ashamed of being his friend? Or were you no longer friends?!

His engines begin to smoke as he panics, his face blank though his mind was running a mile a minute.

Damn your shyness!

Taking the stairs two at a time, you scramble to your vanity to check your hair and add small touch-ups of makeup before launching yourself out of the room. You barely remember to inform the guards at your door of where you were headed before continuing your journey to the training grounds.

What did you do to deserve such a perfect vantage point to watch them? To have the opportunity to see your knights train? Or rather, to see Tenya, a boy who for the years you've known him, refused to train in front of you. 

And now not only was he inviting you to watch, but even the Captain of the guard agreed to it!

Finally at the front doors of the castle, you brush the tulle layers of your dress and do a once over. Everything was in place, and you had no spots of gold to rat out the thrumming heart in your chest. You looked fine!

Taking the left path to reach the training grounds, you can’t help but pick up the scent of smoke. It was odd, but you knew where the smell was coming from. It had to be Iida. He was the only one with a quirk that gave off the smell of smoking fruit. An odd combination, but you were used to it after all the times he short circuited as a child by bump in trees. 

What was he stressed out about?

Thats what you would ask when you found him, but instead, he found you.

Turns out he was just as shy as you 

Iida had spent a good five minutes pacing in a circle, pressing the fine grass into odd circles. He wasn't ready! He was definitely not ready for you to see him! You were his princess, someone he held in the highest regard, and someone he wanted to protect. Ever since he met you and discovered what kind of person you were, he vowed to become a knight so you could rely on him. You were infinitely precious to him, and so he worked hard every day so he could protect your smile. 

“Aizawa Sensei-” His engines were roaring to life, and he couldn't help but run. Where he was running to? He didn't know. But before his captain could order him back he was already running around the side of the castle to reach the front doors. He assumed you would get to the grounds by the side doors, but life had it out for him as he bumped into you and took a tumble to the ground.

Your golden aura was your second best wingman

When words failed to work, your quirk led the way. It was emotionally activated after all.

Iida’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates as he sees you laying underneath him, excuses were sticking to his tongue, unable to come out as he processed the vulgar situation. 

Which, wasn't as vulgar as he saw it. You were laying on the grass next to him, half underneath him as he used an arm to prop himself up in order to keep from crushing you. 

“Ah-!” He sits up swiftly, bowing until his head was pressed flat against the grassy floor. “My humblest apologies Princess! I didn't mean to hurt you!” 

You slowly sit up, plucking a blade of grass from your hair, seeing it had turned gold under your touch. In fact, gold was already spreading from your body to your clothes and to the earth below.

But this time, you didn't feel embarrassed. 

“Tenya?”

The young knight raises his head to look at you, his face tight with anxiety. 

You reach out your hand and cup his cheek, allowing a golden glow to cover you both. You smile and place a small kiss on the tip of his nose. “Its alright.”

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 4

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

EXTRA WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS THE SOURCE OF MOST OF THE WARNINGS FOR THE STORY. Please don't kill me. THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER, I PROMISE. It's not over yet. I can't promise you won't hate me when it's over, but I will not leave you here. There's more.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

In case you missed it: Chapter 3 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Ch 4

Pre-dawn is too damn cold, she decides. She has to visually check that her fingers are actually doing up the buttons to her ragged denim jacket. She lost sensation in her hands a while back, and it’s the only way to make sure they’re actually doing their job. Her jacket is utterly unsuitable for the current temperature, but she doesn’t expect to need it for much longer.

Just before sunrise, Crowley told her.

The sky is already lightening on the horizon, the medium gray more obvious than she would have thought against the stark black, but, then, she’s never had much occasion to be out quite this late before. She’s usually done at the diner by six, singing at the club by ten, and in bed by two at the latest. She hopes Crowley is punctual. She can’t decide if the waiting or the cold is worse.

Except that, yes, she really can. The waiting is definitely worse.

The sound of shifting gravel pulls her out of her thoughts, and she turns to find the King of Hell himself smiling beatifically at her. She shivers, not bothering to search out the source of her discomfort, as she is rather spoiled for choice at the moment. She’s out in the freezing dark, about to hand over her life and soul to a demon because deranged cultists got it into their heads that they should use her blood to start an apocalypse (and who knew there was more than one of those outside of Sunnydale, seriously).

Shivering is probably the most rational reaction she’s had in a while.

“Hello, darling. Pleasant evening with the boys?”

He’s got more sass in one off-the cuff remark than she has in her entire history, and for a moment she can only marvel at the affected innocence in his expression. It's almost convincing. She opts to remain silent rather than take his bait. He smirks, the expression natural and only a touch derisive.

“No surprises, then? No sidekicks to save you at the last minute from the bad, bad demon?”

“I thought the torture didn’t start until after you kill me,” she sighs, hugging her arms tighter around herself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill. Maybe she’s got a little spark in her, after all. He laughs, a friendly, personable chuckle that would set anyone else at ease, reassure them of his honorable, benign intentions.

“Come on, Crowley, what's the hold up? I was here on time. Can we just get this over with already? I could have gotten one more round in with Dean if we were just going to stand around, shootin’ the breeze.”

Even watching for it, she can only just see the tick in Crowley's jaw, the slightest tension that betrays...something. She doesn't know what or why, but Crowley has more than a little unhealthy obsession with the elder Winchester brother, and she is pleased she managed to crack his veneer even for the briefest moment.

At least I don't have to worry about Dean, Andy thinks, relief creeping into the sea of dread that is her stomach. Her deal with Crowley was not only about stopping the apocalypse but also keeping Sam and Dean and even Castiel safe.

“Once you're gone, I won’t harm a hair on their precious heads, nor any other part of them,” he swore to her a mere eighteen hours earlier.

“I’m hurt you don't find my company more pleasant, love,” he murmurs, taking a couple of steps closer. He slides his hands in his coat pockets, the very picture of nonchalance. “I do try my best to be cordial, even congenial, after all. But since you’re so very uncomfortable, I suppose you won't object, then, that I took the liberty of inviting a few friends whose company you seem to prefer. What a lovely party we’ll have when they get here.”

As if he’s summoned them, a pair of lights appear in the distance, growing larger with every passing moment. Headlights, she realizes; a second later, she hears the distinctive roaring of a very particular car engine, and before she can turn back to Crowley, the Impala leaps out of the darkness, skidding across the hard-packed dirt road, coming to a halt bare inches from the demon’s impeccably shined shoes.

Andy stumbles back, choking in the cloud of dust the car kicks up, only to hit something solid. Impossibly strong fingers dig into her chin, lifting her face out and away as cold, thin metal is pressed to the side of her neck, and only now does she freeze.

“Let her go, Crowley,” Dean growls, his gun drawn and aimed even before he exits the car. “This isn't her fight, and you know it!” On the other side, Sam and Castiel climb out, Sam drawing his gun and moving to flank the demon.

“I do heartily protest, sir,” Crowley says, his tone mild and conversational. The blade digs in ever so slightly under her ear, and a thin trickle of warmth slides down her skin to soak into her collar. Dean doesn't flinch, but his eyes narrow, and he readjusts his aim.

“Not only is the lady at the epicenter of this fight, she's gone and made herself the brightest star in the show. Ask her yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

“How-” she manages through fear-numbed vocal cords. Dean should be unconscious, snoring blissfully away in his bed where she left him. She made sure to leave no sort of trail they could follow, and she checked that they were all asleep or otherwise occupied before she took off.

“I wasn’t asleep, Andy,” Dean replies, leveling his gun at Crowley. “And I’ve been tracking since I was seven. Gimme some credit.”

“I wouldn't do that, if I were you, Moose.” Crowley’s words freeze Sam in his tracks, and the blade on Andy’s neck digs in a little deeper. The flow of warmth down her neck widens just a touch. The sheer smugness in Crowley’s tone sets her teeth on edge, breaking through her stupor, and she grabs the hand with the knife, pulling at it with all her might. She, of course, doesn’t make a dent in the demonic strength, but she’s got to try something.

If you asked her later, Andy would swear to you that the searing pain that drags along her neck parallel to her jaw line right then is pure Hellfire. Deep down in the darkest recesses of her mind where all the worst truths lurk, she knows she’s feeling the bite from Crowley’s knife, but in that instant all she is aware of is the agony of the wound, of Dean’s enraged roar, and the juxtaposition of Crowley’s gentle touch pressing her own fingers to something hot and slippery under her jaw.

“Hold pressure there, sweetheart, or you’ll bleed out too soon. Wouldn’t want you to miss the finale.”

Her knees buckle, and she drops, but somehow she stays upright long enough to see Crowley’s demons approach out of the darkness. She tries to warn the boys, but time moves with a dreamlike lethargy that betrays every one of her good intentions, and, anyway, her voice doesn’t seem to be working at the moment. The roar of gunfire all around her sounds faint in comparison to the rushing in her ears, and she is powerless to stop Crowley’s plans from reaching fruition.

“You...said...you wouldn’t...”

“Well, pet, you aren’t dead yet, are you? I’ve got, what, at least another three minutes before you snuff it, by my count. Plenty of time to conclude my business with the Winchesters and their featherbrained friend before you expire.”

Though he was right behind her only a moment ago, Crowley appears abruptly next to Castiel, who at the moment is distracted by two lesser demons both wielding machetes. She realizes as she watches Cas easily fend them off that they, just like Andy, are only a distraction, only bait to tempt the bigger players to overextend themselves.

Too late, she sees the perfection of Crowley’s plan. In all the confusion, she loses track of Sam, and she wrenches her eyes away from Dean’s staggering form only to watch as the angel blade in Crowley’s hand bursts through Castiel’s chest. Then her gentle, confused friend is gone in a flash. The demons vanish, and she can’t find Sam or Dean, can’t reach them, can’t make her voice work to call out.

The quiet is wrong, so out of place after the violent cacophony. The roaring is gone, the gunfire silenced, and all that’s left is a terrible wheezing, gurgling sound that takes her too long to recognize as her own labored breathing.

“Crow...ley…”

“I’m here, darling. What do you need?”

“Lying...bastard…”

“Now, now, sweetheart, are those really what you want your last words to be?” He lifts her easily from the ground, carrying her the few yards to where Dean lies sprawled in the dusty gravel. His shirt is stained black in the retreating darkness, and Andy can only be thankful that she won’t make it to sunrise to see what exact shade of red is spreading over him. Dean’s far hand scrabbles on the ground, stopping its frantic search only when it finds his brother’s.

Sam’s still form doesn’t return his brother’s grip.

“After all, I’ve done you a favor; I didn’t have to give you the opportunity to say good-bye. I can’t promise you adjoining cells, but I’m sure your torture will coincide with his occasionally,” Crowley continues conversationally, “so, really, the two of you should be thanking me that you’ll at least get occasional visiting privileges. It pays to be on good terms with the king, after all. And, who knows? After a couple hundred years of good behavior, I might even be persuaded to-”

“Why?” It’s all she can manage as he lays her on the ground. Dean reaches for her with his free hand, and she is just able to find his fingers. Their eyes meet, but her vision is blurring as breathing gets tougher, and she can’t see what he’s mouthing to her. Even his eyes, such a luminescent green only hours ago, are fading into the remaining dark of the night.

“The Winchesters, dear, it’s always been about the Winchesters. Oh, the fanatics and their doomsday ritual were real enough, as was your blood. I just simply took advantage of the situation, as any intelligent monarch would do. Settled things with the apocalypse groupies, rid myself of some major pains in my rear, and now I get you, to boot! I do love when a plan comes together.”

Dean’s fingers tighten in hers, and she tries to grip his back, but the harder she holds on, the less she can feel him.

She’s not really feeling much of anything but cold now.

“Shut...up...already.”

“Always ungrateful in the end, even after everything I do for them,” Crowley grumbles from above her. But then he does shut up, and she finally feels something besides the cold.

Relief. ...

Chapter 5

[yzkhr]

Part two of the Love Language miniseries!

Once again, I dedicate this to one of my favorite Shinran authors, @meitanteisachi

Part three might take a little while since I'm in my lazy mode. So please forgive me if the next part will be late 🤧

Warning: Probably my longest fic ever. So long that I need to divide into two parts. I kinda got carried away.

-

Receiving Gifts-You feel loved and appreciated when your partner or someone gives you a gift. It doesn't need to expensive, just something sentimental and thoughtful.

She was seven when Ran received her first memorable gift from Shinichi.

She remembered how It had been a month since her mother moved away, turning her life upside down. At a young age, Ran forced herself to be responsible; learning how to cook without burning the food, doing household chores that her father never knew how to do, and taking care of both a child who's too young and a grown man who's too immature and broken to live on his own.

It vastly made a growth and development in her character. Teachers and classmates alike noticed the way she had matured, from the way she handled her emotions—always putting on a smile and being the bigger one in the petty fights— to her mannerisms and gestures that resembled an older sister.

To them, her mother leaving became somewhat a good thing, with her maturity blooming early.

If only that were true.

No one knew that as soon as she opened the door of the empty detective office, Ran would be filled with her mother's presence; Hearing her voice, seeing her face, and even missing her scolding. Instead of saying anything to her father however, she brushes it off, puts on a facade, being a mother, a wife, and a daughter all at the same time to a drunk and emotionally unstable man.

But at the end of each day, entering her room and not crying was impossible. Her eyes watering at the sight of the empty bed that used to be filled with her mothers' scent, all gone. And like the child that she was—that she should be— she would sobbed and whimper silently, until exhausted enough to close her eyes and unaware that there's no one beside her just to sleep.

Ran was sure no one knew or was even remotely aware of her secret. After all, her smile shined and eyes glimmered in school so different from the distraught face she wears each night since last month.

But she had underestimated him.

On the day of her birthday, everyone greeted her with their own set of trinkets and gifts. Most were letters and drawings, filled with gratitude and love through the used of poorly executed writings and simple but meaningful pictures. Ran was happy to received all of them, whether they were small—like a piece of her favorite candy— or expensive and big, such as the dress given to her by Sonoko.

But unlike all her other birthdays, she didn't feel as contented and satisfied. There laid a gnawing feeling inside of her, aware that she'll never have what she truly wished for.

As they walked home from school, Ran expected Shinichi to give her at least some sweets. So, when he invited her to come by his house she agreed with a nod, genuinely having no idea.

So, she stood for a few minutes outside the mansions' gates, reading out some letters to pass time. She became so engrossed at reading that she didn't even notice him go outside until he was finally in front of her. Catching a set of feet just in front, she looked up. Her eyes widened as soon as she saw a fairly large and fluffy inanimate object in Shinichi's hands, holding it out to her.

"Here you go, Happy Birthday, Ran." he greeted, tilting his head on the side behind the cute teddy bear grinning from ear to ear. Instinctively, Ran accepted his gift and brought it close to her chest, feeling it's soft synthetic fur.

She slowly scrutinized it, it's features somewhat reminding her of...

"M-mom?" whispering incredulously, she glanced at Shinichi. Still wearing a smile, he nodded.

"That's right. Even if you don't talk about it, I know you miss your mom. You've been crying a lot too--"

"I wasn't crying!" she denied, but her mask slipped a little when he deadpanned.

"Yes you were," he stated calmly, as if he saw her doing so. She glared.

"How would you know? I never cried in school!"

"I'm sure before we go to school you do. Your eyes were always a little red and puffy when entering the class after all." he argued back. Instead of being embarrassed, Ran found something more important to point out.

"You were watching me?" she questioned, eyes curious. She didn't know why, but the thought of Shinichi watching and observing her made her smile(and a little nervous).

In an instant, gone was the confident and composed childhood friend of hers, image being ruined by his immediate coughing as if he swallowed a huge thing, cheeks flushed a healthy red, and a stuttering mess as he negated her claim.

"B-Barou! Those were just coincidences!!" then he slightly looked away, seemingly afraid to meet her violet orbs. Scratching his still blushing cheeks, he changed the topic.

"W-Well, Happy Birthday. You can use that stuff animal when you feel, you know, lonely." he dazed off, then glanced over her shoulder. As if realizing something significant, his eyes widened.

"It's already sun down! You gotta go home now or Occhan is gonna scold me!"

Ran followed his advice right after. As soon as she arrived home, she found her father in a sober state, and was even the one who tried to cook dinner for the both of them. Eri called later that night, which made Ran happy. She still asked her mother when the woman will come home and Eri would always reply with a vague answer. She didn't pressure her mother anymore, not wanting to ruin both their day.

That night as she entered her room, strangely enough, Ran didn't feel lonely. She also didn't feel the need to exhaust herself, now having a sweet stuff animal to comfort and fill her warmth. She settled on her soft bed, hugging the teddy bear tightly. And for the first time since her mother's moving away, Ran didn't cry.

-

They were thirteen, she recalled, when she received her second most thoughtful gift from him.

"Hey Ran, did you find the kitten?" Ran glanced up, hearing her name from Sonoko. She shook her head as an answer.

"It's still missing. I tried asking around but they said they never saw it." her bestfriend looked at her worriedly, knowing what she was thinking.

A few days ago, her, Sonoko, and Shinichi found a little ball of fur on their way home from school. They all took pity, Ran specially. So, the three teenagers took upon themselves to look after it until just a week ago, it disappeared. They searched everywhere around the area, trying to spot a little black kitten with huge and round green eyes. Unfortunately, they never succeeded.

Seeing Ran's mood depleted, Sonoko patted her back as comfort, grinning.

"Don't worry about it! I'm sure it has found an owner by now." Ran smiled, being reassured but still a bit dissatisfied. She decided to adopt the kitten after all but it was still nowhere to be seen.

To lighten the mood, Sonoko changed the topic to new shops, magazine, and gossips. Since the teacher was late, the Suzuki Heiress was unstoppable.

Rans' attention was grabbed however, when a certain someone entered the classroom. He was yawning, not bothering to hide his sleepiness. Rubbing his blue eyes languidly, she noticed how the dark circles under them became even more pronounced than before. Her eyes also became aware that there were some lines seared into his skin—scratch marks.

As if conscious that someone was watching him, Shinichi turned his head around, meeting weary blue with observing violet. It only lasted for a second, with the former looking away and going straight to his desk.

Shinichi had been acting weird lately. It started a week before, with him telling Ran that he would be late and she can just go ahead without him. True enough, he always came late ever since, which normally rarely happens.

Another thing to note would be his physical state. He looked restless, eyebags so obvious along with the constant yawning and even sometimes sleeping through an entire period. The last part wasn't new, but Ran heeded how easily he fell asleep, unlike back then where he needed to toss and turn his head for a comfortable position.

The last thing to caught her eye would be the little scratch marks. She would've been convinced that it was another case but seeing the scrape from his arms threw her off guard. They were shallow, but it didn't wave off her suspicions any less.

So, Ran decided that after class, she would visit him, whether he liked it or not.

The day went by rough, with Ran not being able to focus thanks to a sleeping classmate who looked far too exhausted for a normal student. Sonoko, looking at her stressed friend, ask her out to eat that sounded too appealing but she had to refused, knowing that if she didn't find out the reason for her best friend's odd behavior, she'll be the one to act weird next.

Knowing Shinichi's detective instinct, Ran knew better than to follow him on the get go and get caught. She waited an hour around the area, before making her way to the Kudo Mansion. The only problem now was how to enter without being seen.

She treaded through the stone path, finding the gate unlock. The middle schooler shook her head, both thankful and a little scared. What could he be so busy about for him to forget closing the gate?

Once Ran reached the front door and checked, that's when the immense feeling of worry kicked in. Shinichi also forgot to close the front door!

'What's happening to him? Is a case stressing him this much? Did something terrible happened? Why isn't he telling me--'

Her thoughts were abruptly stopped when the sound that something metallic fell reached her ears, making her anxiety increased tenfold.

Wasting no time and completely losing her initial target, Ran rushed in like lightning, fear evident in every step.

Upon reaching the kitchen and thoughts of her bestfriend in danger flooding her senses, she barged in.

Only to find the great detective Kudo Shinichi rubbing his head, and a couple of pans and plastic bowls scattered around the tiled flooring.

They gaped at each other, unable to register the current scenario. Ran was broken out of her trance however, when she noticed a light bump growing on the top of his head, which he was rubbing a while ago before he froze.

Previous distress setting in once again, Ran hurried by her childhood friends' side, helping him to stand.

"What happened?" she asked, examining and touching the bump. As if electrified by their contact, he flinched and backed away slightly, eyes a bit hazy.

"R-Ran, what are you doing here?" he seemed more concern of her presence than his own well being which made her glare.

"You've been acting weird this past week!" she accused as he treaded away from her, a bit too cautious. She took note of how his left hand slid behind him, fully intending to hide something away from her sight.

"Weird what, me? Barou, I've been perfectly normal. You're just overacting." the response didn't sound so convincing when he was literally sweating and avoiding her scrutiny.

"Yeah, then why were you always late this week?" the interrogation began.

"I was busy with a case Megure-keibu presented me, that's why." gaining his composure, Shinichi answered in a confident manner but that didn't drop any of her suspicions.

"Then what about you being constantly tired these days?" Ran pressed on, ambulating near her suspect. he kept his ground, so sure she was the one who was weird, not him.

"The case was so hard that I couldn't find time to sleep." he casually said, looking bored and done with the questioning.

She kept on walking towards slowly and when she was finally in front of him, she smiled innocently.

"Okay then, I have one last question to ask," he smiled, thinking he won. Then, feigning obliviousness, he consented.

"Fire away."

With those words as her signal, Ran forcefully yanked his left arm that he had been so carefully shielding and him having no time to react, she succeeded, revealing the scratch marks as her last piece of evidence and a.... kitten!?

Silence ensued. Until a mewl came out fromm the little ball of fur. Ran examined the little thing, coming to her conclusion.

"Please don't tell me this was the little kitten that's been missing since last week." she quietly pleaded for him to deny, but all he offered was a gulp and a weary nod.

Anger and bewilderment filled Ran, as she shook her head as an attempt to calm, but seeing the kitten that she had been desperately looking for, for the past few weeks made her burst.

"Why didn't you tell me you had the cat!? You knew that I was looking all over the neighborhood! I even told you I was going to take care of it--"

"That's exactly why I took it!" he interrupted, his excuse perplexing her thoughts even more than before.

"What?" he sighed and put the little kitten down gently, moving to the counter and sitting on one of the tools.

"Well, remember when you first tried to take it home? It was really aggressive, wasn't it?"

She did remember her hand getting scratch and almost bitten when she endeavored to adopt it. So, she gave a nod.

"Well, knowing what you were planning to do, I decided to take it to a friend of mom's who happened to be a vet and get it checked just to make sure. She said it was fine but it seemed a bit violent to humans so she advised me to take care of it so that it will get used to the environment. Knowing you, you would've been dumb enough to just take it without any examination and might get yourself really injured." she tried to refute his last statement but decided against it, knowing he was probably right.

But there was one thing that didn't made sense. "Then why didn't you tell me about it? If I had known I wouldn't have wasted my time, you know." hearing her question made him clearly uncomfortable, eyes now travelling anywhere but hers and cheeks tainted a light pink. They kept quiet, him contemplating while Ran patiently waited.

Knowing his loss, the detective whispered but she still heard it. "I was planning to give it to you next week. I just wanted it to be a surprise."

For some really unexplainable reason, Ran felt her heart beating faster than normal that she might die, face heating up, and even having a stampeding elephant on the pit of her stomach.

"Shinichi..." she uttered, not knowing what to say. Still looking the other way, he misinterpreted her calling as scolding.

"I know, I know. I shouldn't have done that. I should've told you properly and you wouldn't have to put so much effort into finding--"

His next lines were suddenly gone when she wordlessly went in front of his sitting figure and patted his hair softly, just like petting a feline. He stammered and tried to speak but found himself to be voiceless by her next words.

"Thank you, I really appreciate it..." she wanted to say more but was being suffocated by the swarming butterflies in her stomach, not allowing her to do so.

"You better be..." he mused, trying to lighten the mood and to calm his racing heart. As if by magic, he felt a sudden urge to close his eyes and lean on her posture, loving the way she stroke his hair so gently. And so he did.

Ran was taken aback by the unforeseen intimacy but didn't complain. They stayed like that for a few minutes, until she felt almost all of his weight on her, coupled with his heavy breathing that she concluded he fell asleep.

Slowly, she moved him to the sofa of the living room, all the while trying to not burst at the feeling of his breath on her neck. Succeeding, she grabbed a pillow and a blanket from his room, finally setting him down on the couch.

Ran couldn't help but feel guilty, finally figuring out that she was the reason of all his strange behavior all along. It explained his worn out expression throughout the entire week, having to take care of an aggressive kitten without having any prior experience must be exhausting, and it showed through his sleepless nights and lack of energy at everything in class.

Then, her eyes travelled to the little scratches and wounds all over his arms. They were nothing serious, but they must have at least sting. Wanting to at least alleviate the pain, Ran brought the first aid kid from his room and tenderly tended to all of the gashes and marks, and him not even flinching one bit despite being supposedly a heavy sleeper, became proof of how much time and effort he put for her surprise.

Ran went home that day, carrying his gift with her. She knew that he was supposedly giving this next week, but the teenager was pretty sure that Shinichi wouldn't be able to handle another week of torture like that. So, she left a note to make sure he didn't worry.

Years passes after that, but Ran would never forget the kitten he gave her, and the inexplicable giddy feeling with it. Sonoko would remind her how happy she was that she couldn't physically stop smiling for a while that it weirded many out but personally for Ran, it was worth it.

-

(Has a part 2 because it's so unnecessary long)

[tomthesoftie]

I love Mob! Tom too much. and I would like to see Reader and Tom as a couple but Tom doesn't know anything about Reader's past because she has lost her memory. and as they are a couple, Reader is Tom's weak point so his enemies try to capture her but she has reflexes to defend herself from before she loses her memory because she was a contract killer, if that's ok with you

at peace

a/n: this was hella darker than i planned, as well as longer... so i didn’t make this fluffy at all, it’s just straight up angst, heavy angst,,, also i wrote this at like 2-4 am so sorry if it gets kind of confusing, i’ll reread it tomorrow... enjoy xx

warnings: heavy angst, wiped memory, major character death, sacrifice

masterlist                     prompt list

You walked into the dark room, senses heightened. A pulsing ringed in your ears as you looked around.

“Hello?” You said, hand gripping on your gun. The sound of someone running didn’t go by you. You snapped your head in the direction it came from. “Who’s there?” Your gun was out of its holster, pointing into the darkness. “Show yourself.”

A figure tried to grab you but you easily dodged their attempt. You punched your target in the gut, causing them to keel over. In their vulnerability, you grabbed their arm and twisted it behind their back. They groaned in pain as you dug your gun into their temple.

“Who do you work for? What was your plan?” You asked, adding more pressure on the gun with each question.

The man grunted and struggled in your grip. He didn’t reply, only kept yelping and mumbling “bitch” or “motherfucker.”

“Answer me!”

“This is our plan,” a deep voice roared behind you.

Then, everything went black.

You shot up in the bed, breath heaving. Sweat was dripping down your forehead. You looked around, but you were still in Tom’s room, snuggled in the blankets of his bed. The space beside you was empty but a dent lingered on the mattress where Tom slept. He had already gone to his office, like always.

What was that dream you just had? Why was it so familiar? And why did it feel so real?

You shrugged off the dream, knowing it couldn’t’ve been real. You haven’t the skill to fight that you had whilst attacking the stranger. You assumed it came from dating Tom and watching action movies. 

You walked out of the mobster’s mansion, into the garden in the backyard. You walked through the vibrant flowers, feeding them with freshwater you’d gotten from the kitchen. Birds chirped happily around you, singing you a welcoming morning song. They’d practically became your friends. You felt like Cinderella, excluding all the labor and step family, whenever you came to the garden. 

You’ve had nothing to do since Tom restricted you from leaving the property. He’d told you someone was coming for you, saying that you were his biggest weakness. He even told you to cut off all communications with friends and family, keeping them off the radar. You couldn’t refuse, besides, you wouldn’t try to anyways.

You skipped and twirled on the dirt trail, humming a quiet tune. You basked in the sunlight and the butterflies fluttered around you. You were nearing the mansion once more. The butterflies and birds had gone away, leaving you in solitude. 

There was silence. It was a familiar silence. Your senses heightened. You could feel that something was off. A deep voice softly spoke to another from behind you. You knew that voice from somewhere, you’ve heard it before. You gripped your metal watering can. Something about your grip felt routine.

You heard the grass rustle and you moved ahead. You knew that if you were closer to the house, you’d be able to get help faster.

Help. Where did all the mobster’s men go? You were the only one outside. There was definitely something wrong.

You felt the warmth a someone’s hand hovering over your shoulder. You gripped it, kicking them in the gut. You turned to see a tall man. Even bent over, he was still taller than you. A wave of fear washed over you, telling you to run but your body moved on its own. You continued to punch the man on the side of his head, hitting a specific point to knock him out. The sound of his head slamming onto the ground didn’t faze you as you prepared to attack the larger, scruffier looking man.

“A failure. Even with your memory wiped he can’t beat you,” the familiar voice said, appearing from the shadows.

The ringing of a gunshot filled your ears. You didn’t flinch or wince. You were still. Something took over you. Memories started flooding back into your mind, one by one. There were images of life before your memory had been taken. Everything fit together perfectly now. You hadn’t met Tom in a coffee shop. He saved you. He saved you from this man standing ahead of you now.

“What do you want from me?” You growled.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you. More precisely, I want to kill you,” he said, pointing the gun at you.

“Was I hired to kill someone that you knew?”

“No, buttercup. You are precious. At least Mr. Tommy thinks you are,” he grinned at you sickly.

“But you wiped my memory before I even knew him,” you stated.

“I didn’t, but he did.”

“What?” You were confused. How did Tom know you before he saved you?

“He watched you everyday for every hour. He found your work inspiring and motivating. Let’s just say he fancied you from the very beginning.”

Without a word, you dashed towards the man, attacking him at every angle. He was able to predict every move and was left completely unharmed when you pulled away.

“Don’t just stand there! Fight back,” you shouted, furious.

He raised his gun, pointing it straight at you. This wasn’t anything new for you. You were trained for these situations.

Building up speed, you ran towards him, swerving so that he couldn’t shoot you. You jumped, climbing to his neck. Your legs wrapped around his neck and elbow knocked his head. He visibly loosened his grip on the gun, and you pounced at the opportunity. 

You stood ahead of the man, safety off, finger ready to pull the trigger.

“I will do it,” you said, a fire burning in your eyes. “You took my memory, my passion away from me. I’m going to avenge myself,” you seethed. He fidgeted, “Hands where I can see them.” His hands shot right up. “I could kill you right now; take back what everything I’ve missed. This can be practice before I go back to the field.”

“Darling?” Your boyfriend’s voice penetrated your glowing red ears. 

You didn’t reply. You were radiating with anger and hatred. You felt powerful, though. The fate of this man’s life was in your hands.

“Y/N/N,” Tom placed a hand on your shoulder, “I can do this.”

You shrugged off his hand, only seeing red. Your breathes were deeper, heaving your chest up and down. Your teeth grinding, you were itching to pull the trigger.

“You deserve to suffer,” you cackled.

The man’s expression was practically begging for you to let him go or make his death fast and painless. 

“Y/N,” Tom spoke up again.

“No! He’s mine to get rid of,” you snapped.

“We need to interrogate him. He’ll give us the answers we need,” the mobster tried.

“What questions? All of them are answered. Aren’t they, Tom?” Your gaze switched to the brunette. “Or are you hiding something from me? Something important?”

The mobster’s men took the burly man captive, leaving you and Tom to sort out your business.

“What d’you mean hiding something from you? I told you the truth about everything.”

“I don’t remember meeting you at a coffee shop,” you glared at him.

“What? Of course we did. How else would I’ve met you? Your memory can’t be trusted, darling. You were wiped, remember?” A stern look rested on his face.

“Oh, how could I forget? But not to worry, it’s back now,” you sneered, “You stalked me?”

“Stalked isn’t the word I’d use, more so observed and protected,” he stated.

You laughed darkly, “I don’t need protecting. I’m a contracted killer, Tom. Get that in your head. Besides, you did a shit job of protecting me, or maybe this was your plan all along. You wanted to take me as your own, so you wiped my memory and told me we were in love.”

“I would never do that, darling. That’s completely absurd,” his brows furrowed, “now please, let’s go back home. We need to pay even closer attention to any intruders.”

You pointed the gun at him, “No. I don’t need your protection. Not anymore, at least.”

“I’d put that down if I were you,” he finally realized you weren’t the same old you anymore; he’d have to put up a fight no matter what.

“What are you gonna do? Shoot me,” you said innocently. You snorted, “Doubt it.”

“I will do it,” he said darkly, the love in his eyes gone.

“Who goes first?” You asked childishly. Before he could reply, you pipped, “Oh, I’ll do it.”

The loud banging of a gunshot rang louder than normal. Time seemed to slow. The birds chirped in a sad tune while the butterflies lined on the branches of your favorite tree. You smiled at them. They replied by gently flapping their wings. You reveled in the sense of peace. You laughed and laughed, remembering your shot, a feeling of victory coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, love!” Tom rushed to your side, clutching your body before it hit the ground. “You’ve gotta stay with me. Fuck, there’s too much blood.”

You smiled lazily at the boy, dropping the gun to the ground. You felt the blood warming your body. Your vision became hazier and everything around you seemed so serene.

“It’s alright, Tommy, no more weaknesses now,” you managed to whisper.

You were numb with love. Everything good in your life rushed into your mind. You felt lighter. Finally, you were freed from your everlasting torture. No one to kill, to run from, to weaken. The birds chirped their welcoming morning song, leading you into the whiteness. You silently thank them, eyes starting to flutter shut.

“I-I lo-love yo--”

Warm. Cold. Peace. Anger. Content. Sad. Two different worlds, two different emotional states. Maybe sacrifice is for the better. 

[chaos-in-bright-pink-hair-dye]

The stars still shine as bright

So, @ordinary-dust happy fucking birthday! Since I can't give you a gift irl I wanted to at least write or draw something for you and well why not both actually. I love you and here have this Kobrastar so that you don't have to create all the content for this ship yourself as you said XD

It isn't easy to be brought back into a world that is nothing like the one you left twelve years ago but in the end it doesn't seem as hopeless when you have your partner by your side.

wordcount: 1358

warnings: death mention

Kobra wiped his hands to get rid of the grease and dust, there was something wrong with 27 and he, for the love of the Witch, couldn’t figure out what. He checked and took apart everything at least twice looking for broken gearing, corroded parts, exchanged all the belts and hoses and just couldn’t find what’s bothering his bike so much. Everything seemed in perfect condition yet she always whined and growled in a way that made Kobra’s soul ache when he tried starting her and his inability to fix it was driving him crazy.

The twelve years of standing under a sheet, getting dusted on, uncared for, becoming another ghost of the past really took a toll on her, it was wonder no one stole her, actually. He could probably thank Cherri or Dr. D for that, he was a legend in the zones of course, but when you’re a killjoy there’s no respect for your things after you die, someone needs them more and there’s no arguing with that so no matter how great The Fabulous Killjoys were none of their stuff would be left if it wasn’t for the radio crew.

It was weird to wake up into a world without them, Kobra knew them since his first day in the zones, he couldn’t imagine the desert without Dr Death’s broadcast blasting from the radio on long rides, without Cherri stopping by to brag about another clap he barely made it out of alive or without Newsie’s familiar laugh on the waves. But it’d been three months and they were really gone. And so was BL/Ind. It didn’t feel right, it was all they fought for, all they died for but it just didn’t feel right. The Girl did defeat them and now that there was no revolution, there was no need for four mismatched teens who knew nothing than running on gasoline and gunpowder, there was no place for them anymore, they were out of their time, imprints of the past somehow brought back, lost and trying to find their place in the world they didn’t know and that didn’t need them. They couldn’t go back to their old lives, there were no old lives to go back to after all, but they couldn’t go back to the city either, they simply didn’t belong.

‘Hey, Speed, want some help? Can’t stand the wailing anymore’ familiar cheerful voice from behind Kobra’s back jerked him out of his thoughts. How long has he been staring into nothingness? He quickly glanced around, the ground was still covered in spare parts, misplaced pieces of metal and plastic and screws, and he was still holding the cloth covered in motor oil, now more brown and grey than white, one tear rolling down his cheek, he quickly wiped it of before turning to Jet smirking in the way that earned him his reputation and name, teeth bared and every word dripping with venom that wasn’t really meant: ‘Thought ya were outside helping Party and Ghoul with the car, needs care too. And knowin’ Ghoulie it could be putting a bomb under the hood and not that I wouldn’t like bein’ dead but few more days’d be nice.’ but he knew Jet noticed the movement of his hand, the slight tremble in his voice, he always did.

‘Can’t take a break to visit my favourite crewmate?’ Jet rolled his eyes leaning on the doorframe ‘Plus Party and Ghoul were throwing hands over some fuckin’ bullshit as usual when I left so ‘s your brother I’d be worried about.’ the older killjoy laughed. His laugh died away turning into a warm smile as his eyes got caught on something on Kobra’s chest. Kobra loved Jet’s smiles, he didn’t smile often, at least not when anyone could see him but on the rare occasions when he did Kobra could swear the desert sun didn’t feel so bright in comparison anymore.

‘You really never go anywhere without it huh?’ Jet uttered with amazement as he walked slowly to the younger killjoys still not lifting his gaze from the small ring of gold hanging from Kobra’s neck on an old beat-up chain, the metal shining bright in the dim lighting of the room. ‘I know how much it means to you. And... it means a lot to me.’ Kobra whispered softly wrapping his own hand around Jet’s, he could feel the heat radiating from his skin, Kobra’s hands were always cold but but Jet’s burned with the warmth of thousand stars and Kobra would like to pretend it was the only reason he like being close to Jet so much but everyone knew it wasn’t true.

‘Zone rats like us might not really praise these but it was your mother’s and… and I appreciate this so much yk.’ He smiled at Jet who finally looked up and back at him, sometimes Kobra forgot how beautiful Jet Star really was. He might be covered in sand and dust, infinite scars covering every part of his body, his bright blue and purple hair not really so vibrant anymore and his eyes clouded with worries and stress even tho he tried to bury them deep underneath loud laughs and ironic remarks but again and again Kobra realized he’d never seen anyone more beautiful than the boy standing in front of him, every little imperfection making him love him even more.

‘Maybe I wasn’ talkin’ about 27 before, Kobes.... You’re not really yourself, I can see it.’ Jet whispered laying his hand gently on Kobra’s cheek, worries visibly reflecting on his face. 'None of us is okay, Star.’ Kobra snickered as he wrapped his arms around the older boy’s shoulders pulling him closer. He missed hugging Jet, he missed his smell, he missed the strength he hugged him back with that made him feel so safe.

‘Is true.’ Jet had to admit, none of them really felt like themselves but how could that be of any surprise. How could you feel completely okay waking up after over a decade of being dead. ‘Doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun, hm. Just the two of us. Party and Ghoul will find a way to entertain themselves and maybe if we’re lucky they won’t even burn the whole place down.’ Jet laughed winking at Kobra, bright blue curls falling into his eyes before he left a butterfly like kiss on the side of his neck. 'Heard there’s a party in The Nest tonite, how about we take the AM. Haven’t seen ya wear that pretty red dress in a while’ this time Kobra was the one to kiss Jet on the corner of his mouth smiling as he saw the bright blush on his cheeks covered in freckles. He always thought it looked like the night sky somehow found its way onto his pretty face and wondered how his name matched him so perfectly in so many ways.

‘Sounds nice, Shiny’ he kissed his partner again before sliding his ring from the necklace and back onto his finger where it belonged. They did have their beads to prove their pledge but he always liked the way their rings were special and he never took his off unless there was a high chance, he could lose it and even in that case he still kept it close to him tucked safely underneath his t-shirt.

‘Okay, by the car in fifteen. Gotta get those two boogies of our tails’ Jet winked and Kobra before quickly disappearing into the dark hallway and Kobra had to smile. He had to smile ‘cause he loved the boy so damn much and Destroya fuck it now he really had to go find the red dress. He had to smile ‘cause he knew Jet would look beautiful in the fifteen minutes they agreed on casually leaning on the white car he praised so much with glitter in his hair, his eyes shining in the setting sun and smiling in such a way that everything around would seem to disappear. And everything could be fucked but it didn’t really matter when he had Jet Star by his side again.

ID: Digital drawing of Kobra Kid and Jet Star slow dancing and lovingly smiling at each other. Kobra has his right arm on Jet's shoulder and his left hand in his hair and Jet is holding Kobra by his waist, Jet is a little bit taller than Kobra and their noses are only few centimetres away from each other. Kobra Kid is wearing red dress and has two little black stars painted on his cheekbone. Jet Star is wearing a black crop-top and his curly hair is black at the top turning purple and blue the longer it gets, he also has glitters on his nose, cheeks and in his hair. The background is a gradient going from yellow in the middle of the image through purple to black at the edges, the yellow functioning as a backlighting giving Kobra and Jet warm yellow rim lighting. There are little white blurred lights all across the scene. /End ID

[queenharumiura]

Hayato looked at the window, he has been in the hospital for a few months now as he wasn't sure who he was, all that they knew was the little they could find on his wallet. Name and from where he was, although the information was all false, but they still used the false name. A few days later he was finally found as he stares at the woman in front of him. "Who are you?" A nurse got in looking confused. "Oh miss? Are you lost? This patient doesn't have a family." - TYL bc I CAN.

[Unprompted ask] One r00d prompt after another. I don’t know if I did this one justice, but I sure did try! I hope I kick you in the feels.

Haru woke up to find herself in a hospital one day. Racking her brain, she could vaguely remember an explosion of some sort? She looked herself over to see bandages wrapped over every which way on her limbs. She couldn’t help but sigh in lament. “Surely he wouldn’t mind a scar or two… right? If he did, I married the wrong man.” She joked to herself, fighting depressing thoughts with something more light-hearted. Her stuff lay right beside her on a table.

Within the few months that Gokudera had gone missing without a word, Haru had done her best to fill in, but it was obvious that she could not do a perfect job. Not to disparage her own intelligence, but Gokudera was also extremely intelligent in his own right. That much she had to begrudgingly admit. Additionally, there were some things that required brute strength, something she did not have.

The most she could do is use her intelligence to quickly go through paperwork and make heads or tails of things. Whatever required brute force, she’d have to trouble someone else to get the job done. It would be a lie to say that Haru wasn’t a mess, overwork was evident in her face from all the all nighters she’d pull.

Gokudera probably thought he could go crazy with how busy he was when he filled in for Tsuna, who had passed away, but what about her? She now had to fill in FOR THE FILL IN! On top of that, she was riddled with worry about how her husband had been missing for months.

Even now the Vongola was struggling to stay afloat, but everyone was pitching in to help, and for that, she was grateful. For some time, Haru started acting as the proxy for the ailing Storm Guardian, stating that he had returned from a dangerous mission and needed time to recover. As his wife, she was speaking for him.

Of course, that was a lie. No one else knew except for a select few that Gokudera was missing in action. It was stressful to say the very least and she worried day and night about where that husband of hers was, but she never voiced a word of complaint to anyone. She had to stay strong and do her best for whenever Gokudera returned.

She would occasionally attend meetings and do her best to live her life as normally as she could, but things were never that easy. As she spearheaded her way to involving herself deeper in the mafia politics, the more dangerous things became for her. The more horrors she had to face. The very things that Gokudera had shielded her eyes from over the years.

She felt guilty for sure, but she also felt upset. Was she that untrustworthy of a wife that he didn’t want to tell her these things? No, she knew that it was likely a vain answer such as, ‘not wanting to make you worry too much.’ How silly. The moment they exchanged their marriage vows, they agreed to accept everything about the other. No matter how dangerous and scary things were, she would have to put up with it and push through.

This is how a Yakuza wife must feel in those movies. She couldn’t stay here for long. Taking her stuff from the side table, she climbed off the bed. With no one around, she went walking down the halls, searching for someone who could discharge her when she came to a sudden stop. There, staring out the window was a familiar figure. “Hayato?” She rushed over to his side, grabbing his face in her hands to get a good look at him. It’s him.

She recognized those eyes everywhere. Every scar she remembered (and a few new ones) were exactly where she remembered them to be. When he asked her who she was, she jumped back in surprise. Was this a joke? She searched his eyes and realized that he wasn’t joking. He couldn’t remember her. How much memory loss did he have? Was it that he forgot about her entirely, or he couldn’t recognize her? Did he forget about the Vongola?

Just how bad was his situation that he, with his incredibly memory, forgot everything? ‘It’s possible that his mind forced him to forget so he could focus on recovery.’ Did that mean he had to forget about her too?

Right, she probably gave him more stress than anything, huh? She felt like deadweight before, but she felt utterly useless now.

Next, a nurse came in to tell her that he didn’t have a family.

What nonsense was that? He had a family! He had a wife, and he had a half-sister, who was still alive, mind you. She was about to say something, but something came to mind. The nameplate aside his bed, the lack of a wedding band.

This man was her husband, but also wasn’t her husband at the same time. He had a new identity here at this hospital. He couldn’t remember her or the vows they exchanged back then. Perhaps, he’d be happier living out this life here unaware of the dangers his previous life offered him?

No, if his memory would ever return, he wouldn’t forgive her for leaving him there. She fiddled with her wedding band on her finger, hiding it from view. Yes, it was better this way if he didn’t remember a thing.

“No… I recognize him, he has a family. He has a half-sister who I can call to come pick him up.” She glanced at the hand that wasn’t wearing his wedding band one last time before she looked away. “He’d gone missing a few months ago and we’ve been looking everywhere like crazy.” She spoke as steadily as she could, but the shake in her voice couldn’t be disguised. Before tears welled up in her eyes, she bit her bottom lip hard enough that she could taste metal. “Please give me a moment, I’ll make the call.”

The woman left the room and made a call, making arrangements to bring him home, and telling for Bianchi to come with a different identity, one that would match the backstory of the identity Gokudera had according to what he carried in his wallet.

…

…

“You didn’t tell him? That you’re married?” Bianchi asked as she handed Haru a cup of coffee that she got from a vending machine. She had finished talking to the doctors about getting Gokudera discharged. They were getting him ready to leave.

“No, I thought it would be better for him not to know. I want him to focus on recovery.” Haru said as she took a sip of the bitter coffee. “Don’t you think you could help him recover by being by his side?” Bianchi questioned, unsure of why Haru was being this passive. Before, Haru would insist on being by his side, nursing him back to health. She would’ve fought tooth and nail to ensure his steady recovery.

It was something that Bianchi always liked about Haru, her earnest nature in caring for those she loved. It was something that she could relate to, after all. Unfortunately, Reborn was gone from this world.

For a time, Haru was the only one who could understand her feelings of the anxiety losing a loved one, but that didn’t comfort her. After all, the one Haru ‘lost’ at the time was her own brother. So Haru’s passive behavior was questionable.

A bitter smile flashes across Haru’s face, her thumbs rubbing against the warmth of the coffee cup. “You know, I’m going to do it. Be a messenger.”

“You-! Absolutely not! Who put such a stupid idea in your head!? You know what happened to the last messenger! They killed him!”

The younger woman didn’t react, taking another sip of her coffee. “They demand to see someone who has some rank within the Vongola. I may not be an able fighter, nor am I heavily involved with politics… but I am the wife of the right hand man. That in itself gives me enough rank to qualify. This is to show our ‘sincerity’ about wanting to proceed with peace talks.”

This was a woman who was determined to do something for the sake of others. She may be somewhat of a coward, but Haru always seemed to have a heart of a lion if it meant she had to protect something. In this case, she had her friends and her family to protect.

Haru had the confidence in being able to hold her own in peace talks, but she’d be thinking too optimistically to assume the Millefiore weren’t simply asking for another sacrifice to make an example of.

Logically speaking, she was the best option. They could fulfill their sick desires and the Vongola, in theory, wouldn’t lose much. She wasn’t a fighter. She historically wasn’t involved in politics. She only involved herself recently due to Gokudera being MIA. Sure, the Vongola would lose some face, but their battle strength won’t weaken with her death.

Who knows? Maybe they’ll become stronger in the name of vengeance. Wouldn’t that be nice if that’s what they needed to win?

“Even so, that doesn’t mean that you-“ “I know my status. My rank is empty. We can lose another guardian or an able fighter. Letting me go would yield the smallest damage. I’m sure if Hayato regained his memories, he’d volunteer himself to go, but… Bianchi… I’ve already lost him once, haven’t it? I can’t lose him again, don’t make me do it.” Haru’s stony countenance shattered as she broke down into tears.

Did she want to die? No. Did she fear death? Yes, but she feared losing Hayato far more than that. She already thought she’d lost him before and she refused to send him off to his death a second time.

Bianchi quietly pat her back, understanding the conviction the woman had to keep her husband safe. She understood the sacrifice that Haru was steeling herself for in order to ensure the Vongola didn’t lose out on too much.

She understood it all logically, but she still didn’t want to admit to it. This girl, was her brother’s wife. That meant she was her dear sister-in-law. Why did things have to turn out this way? It was incredibly vexing and unfair.

“He’d never forgive you.” He would never forgive Bianchi either for letting Haru go as a messenger. She hoped that by saying this, she could shake Haru’s resolve.

The brown-haired woman pulled away from Bianchi, wiping away her fallen tears, steeling her heart once more. “The dead don’t ask for forgiveness. I’ll find a way to convince everyone. If we’re lucky, they won’t touch me, a non-combatant.”

That’s a lie.

“It’s too dangerous to send a guardian there, and they’re needed on other missions.” That’s the truth, and she’d know, because she had a hand at assigning guardians to different tasks. She’d purposefully sent many of them away so they couldn’t stop her and volunteer themselves instead.

As much as she believed in their strength, it was too much to assume anyone could get out alive when in the middle of the Millefiore base with all their forces looking down on you. It was much too risky, and organizing a rescue mission would be even more tricky.

She believed it best to simply use someone as a discardable piece and she nominated herself.

“Don’t tell him about anything. Let him heal at his own pace. Hopefully, he’ll never remember about me, that way, he won’t ever had to lose me.” You can’t lose someone if you can’t remember them.

What a blessing in disguise. “There has to be another way.”

Haru shook her head. If there was a plan that had a good probability of succeeding, Haru would gladly take the option, but there wasn’t. The Millefiore was just too strong and their hands reached far. It wasn’t worth the risk of losing a guardian or two for a plan that had less of a 10% chance of succeeding.

“I won’t hesitate to sacrifice myself to protect everyone for a while longer. I’m sure Tsuna-san and Hayato would’ve done the same. Think of it as me giving back for all the times I was protected.” She was going to make herself truly useful.

“If… he ever regains his memories… tell him I’m sorry for being selfish.” She didn’t want to lose him again. Hopefully her sacrifice would push the Vongola in the direction of victory.

Surely, he could find someone better. Someone who could help him more than she could.

…

…

“Those bastards! Who let her go through with this!?”

“How did she die?”

“The tests show poison. She hid it within her ring. Where did she get her hands on such a thing?” Eyes turned to look at a certain individual who said nothing.

She could only remember something Haru said a couple days ago:

“If they’re serious about a peace treaty, I’ll do fine. If it’s a ruse, I’ll make sure they can’t get any useful information out of me.” She fiddled with her ring that had a mechanism to inject her with lethal poison should the situation go down south.

It was a bit morbid, but adding this feature to her wedding ring was poetic in her mind. Before she could be used, she would save herself with death.

Bianchi looked down at the woman laying in the casket that the Millefiore had so ‘graciously’ sent to them filled with Edelweiss flowers, symbolizing courage and devotion.

“Don’t let her sacrifice go to waste. We have work to do.” 

[captainsassmanes]

Prompt: After Alex finds out about Michael/ Maria he gives up on him and Michael ever being really together. He is convinced that he's the worst thing to happen to Michael. He tries to make Michael's life easier by avoiding him and helping with Project Shepherd. So when Michael breaks up with Maria because he realizes he's still in love with Alex, Alex doesn't understand why he wants to be with him and becomes super insecure in the relationship. So Michael has to show him they're still cosmic.

I took some liberties, anon. I hope that’s okay.

It had been the longest year of Alex’s life.

His seventeenth year living alone with his father had felt long. His first deployment felt long. The second even longer.

His first year being in Roswell with Michael but not being with Michael? The longest.

He’d been proud of himself when Michael and Maria sat him down, neither able to look him in the eye, on the back deck of the Pony, each of them looking across the empty field instead of at each other.

Alex had clamped down on his emotions, swallowed his protests and sadness, and smiled, as genuinely as his muscles would allow. He had nodded along as Maria did all the talking, explaining how Michael was always there to help her, there for her when her mom kept getting worse instead of better, made her feel safe and adored. He agreed when she said she deserved to be loved.

In the moment, he hadn’t been able to find the words. How could he express his happiness for his friend without breaking down with his own loss?

With a hug for Maria and a quick glance to a stoic Michael, Alex had left.

Sleep left him wanting that night. He moved from his bed to the shower to the porch to the bed to the couch, restless and uncomfortable. Without his permission, Alex kept imagining life from then on. There would be no way to avoid them and he knew, for his own sanity, those relationships had to be over. Maybe one day he’d rebuild with Maria though he couldn’t picture it now.

But Michael?

Alex sat with his third glass of whiskey, mindlessly petting a sleeping Buffy’s head, trying to slow his heart rate. It was done. He knew Michael was the one, his person, the one he wanted to spend his life with. He’d known it when he was surrounded by computers, orders being barked in his ears across the country. He’d known when his lungs were filled with hot, desert sand and his ears echoed with explosions. He’d known it as soon as Michael put a hand on him at the airstream, turning him around and stopping the world.

Michael was the one.

But he wasn’t his. And he never would be.

“May your happiness last forever,” he toasted with a slur to the darkness. With a swig, the dark liquid was gone and the glass landed on the floor with a loud clank. Clumsily, he took off his leg, fingers not moving the way his brain was commanding. Eventually he felt the sweet release of the last latch and tugged the sock off, tossing it onto the couch.

Somehow, he managed to get to the front porch, hopping and holding on to anything he could find, too unclear to remember where he last had his crutches. He landed with a groan on the rocking chair, holding his arms and rubbing to keep warm against the early morning chill. The sun was shining through the trees, casting large shadows next to pools of warmth on the ground.

As he watched the sunshine spread and claim its territory, Alex made his decision. He’d do the right thing by Michael. He’d get all the intel he could from Project Shepard and then shut that shit down for good, make sure Michael and the Evans were just another trio of nobodies from Roswell. And he’d do it all while staying away. Michael wanted easy, simple? Maria wasn’t the only one who could give him that. Alex could be a ghost, vanish into the background to give Michael a chance at the life he deserved.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

So, for a year, Alex was an enigma. He went to work during the day, boring data analysis he could do in his sleep. But at night, he used his clearance and the information he not so legally obtained to hack into old records, disbanded programs, anything that looked like it could possibly be associated with UFO investigations.

Kyle checked on him regularly, bringing him greasy bags of goodies from the Crashdown or his mom’s empanadas. He’d stay, sometimes, chatting about interesting cases at the hospital or quietly combing through new files, sometimes updating Alex about the latest town gossip.

Never about Michael, though.

The last month had been insane after he’d acquired the final pieces of the Shepard puzzle and handed them over to a newly risen Max with his five thousandth apology.

Max had squeezed the files in his hand, knuckles turning white and papers wrinkling, before pulling Alex into a surprise hug. Max had whispered an emotional, “thanks,” before letting him go and walking away. That moment felt final, like Alex could finally close the book on the disaster that was his family’s legacy. With his father in military prison for the foreseeable, Alex was finally free of obligation.

The next few nights after handing over the last of Shepard, Alex sat in the bunker, computers silent, only a few lights on, and breathed in the peace of it all. At first, he’d sit with a smile on his face, shoulders relaxed, and hands unfurled. He slept well for the first time in a long time. But on the third or fourth day, sitting in that bunker with no work to be done, no worries to be had, a new reality struck Alex.

He had no purpose. And no one.

His job was through. Responsibilities complete.

It was these thoughts running aimlessly through his mind that put him in his comfortable sweats with a glass of whiskey in his hand. As he decided a Scott Pilgrim rewatch sounded good, his phone rang, Kyle’s name popping up on the screen.

“Hi.”

“When were you gonna tell me, Manes?”

Alex stupidly looked around the cabin for the answer to Kyle’s question. “Tell you what, Valenti?”

A muffled scoff greeted Alex. “About you and Guerin? Liz just told me. I’m so happy for you, man!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Alex stood up from the couch too fast, spilling his drink a bit and trying to cover up the wet spot on the floor before Buffy came to get sloshed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“They split up, Alex.”

He froze, afraid that if he moved Kyle would say just kidding and his heart would shatter. He took a deep breath before mumbling, “I haven’t spoken to either of them in, like, a year.”

“Yeah I know that, you dumbass, but it doesn’t seem to matter.” Alex rolled his eyes at Kyle’s enthusiasm.

Grabbing some paper towels from the kitchen, Alex leaned over and cleaned up his mess, Buffy never moving from her prime location on the couch. “What doesn’t seem to matter, Kyle?”

“Ugh, oh my God you have to get out more! That he hasn’t seen you, Alex! He broke up with her for you! He still loves you!”

A wave of nerves moved through him but he was in strong denial. There was no way. They hadn’t seen each other, hadn’t spoken. Michael didn’t feel anything for him, at least nothing that wasn’t disgust and anger. Plus, Maria was perfect, they fit well together.

“This doesn’t make sense. If you’re fucking with me-“

“No chance in hell, dude. I would never mess with you over Guerin. Never.”

Alex dropped the towels and sat back on the couch, eyes staring at the black tv. “I’ve gotta go.” He hung up before Kyle could say another word and felt the phone fall out of his hand.

Hope.

He’d promised himself it was done, that he was done. Michael had made himself clear: loving Alex was the worst thing that ever happened to him. Alex had been determined the fix what he could to keep Michael and the people he loved safe. He did that. He did it while staying out of everyone’s way. He did exactly what he was supposed to, followed his plan to a T.

So why would they break up?

He grabbed a glass of water and downed it, gasping for air once it was gone. He refilled it and repeated one more time. Confused, scared and exhausted, Alex climbed into bed, a tolerant Buffy allowing him to hold her close. It took a few hours for sleep to come, so many scenarios and thoughts clouding his brain, keeping it too busy to shut down.

Eventually, he started counting Buffy’s soft snores and he fell into a restless sleep.

The sound of metal against metal woke Alex, hand instinctually reaching into his bedside table for his gun. But he paused when he noticed his room was filled with sunshine, Buffy was missing but not barking and his intruder was humming a Fall Out Boy tune he couldn’t find the name of.

He wiped his eyes and quietly slid his prosthetic on. Kyle must be in one of his moods. Maybe feeling guilty about the bullshit he called with the night before.

Turning the corner, kitchen in full view, Alex thought he might faint. Flipping pancakes in his cabin like he owned the place was Michael fucking Guerin.

The warm feeling that coursed through his chest couldn’t be denied. Michael looked perfect standing there, first thing in the morning, in his socks making breakfast. He was smiling, still humming the same song while Buffy sat wagging at his feet. Alex covered his mouth, physically restraining himself from speaking, afraid he’d beg Michael to never leave.

As he stood silently watching, that warmth turned to anger and bitterness. This was such an invasion of privacy. Alex knew he’d locked the door the night before. And, besides, they hadn’t spoken in months. Michael’s solution to that was to show up, uninvited? Play the domestic game?

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” Alex said when he found his voice and was confident he was in control again.

Michael jumped slightly but the smile never left his face. “You know me. Don’t need ‘em. Hope you’re hungry. Made your favorite.”

Moving a bit closer, Alex furrowed his brow, sure Michael had no clue what his favorite food was. Excitement flooded his veins as he watched Michael put the finishing touches on churro pancakes.

“Go on, sit down. I’ll grab you a coffee.”

Maybe it was the early hour or the shock of seeing Michael or some combination of both, but Alex moved in a daze to the small table and took a seat, wrapping his hands around the mug of perfectly made coffee Michael placed in front of him.

When the churro pancakes slid under his chin, Alex was pulled out of his shock.

“Michael, what the hell is this?”

He got a smirk in return, all straight, white teeth and plump, pink lips. “Just tryin’ to do something nice, Private.”

“Why now?”

With a mouthful of pancakes, Michael shrugged and asked, “why not now?”

Alex pushed his plate away, stomach churning with anxiety. “It’s been a year, Guerin. Your relationship had its run and now you don’t wanna be alone? So, where’s Alex? Bet he’s just sitting there, alone and pathetic, waiting.”

Michael shook his head and straightened his posture. “No, that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Alex stood and walked outside, needing space and more air than the cabin could offer. He gripped the wood railing, counting his breaths and listening to the birds chattering. The sun was pushing through the branches, tossing light here and there, a sliver of it landing on Alex’s hand, warming one up while the other stayed cool.

The door squeaked open and he heard Buffy’s paws on the decking before he felt Michael standing next to him, giving off a warmth he missed.

“I’m gonna make an assumption so I apologize in advance if I’m wrong.” Michael sounded hesitant, unsure. He waited for a response from Alex but must have decided he wouldn’t be getting one. “You’ve always hated Roswell.” Alex raised his eyebrows, his body naturally responding to the truth.

“I’m guessing you didn’t realize it was the only place that felt like home until you were overseas.”

Alex didn’t know what to say. The idea of agreeing with Michael didn’t sit right with him but he couldn’t deny that while he was spending nights in makeshift tents and praying the last bomb was the last bomb, he wasn’t dreaming of Roswell.

“So, you always hated me?”

Michael laughed and shook his head. “Jesus, we’re so good at this communication shit, huh?”

Alex laughed, too, and looked out over the property, watching a squirrel grab an acorn and run off with his treasure, holding it selfishly in its paw. “I guess so.”

“You left me. You helped me realize I was bi, you were so nice to me and then you were gone. I resented you for ten years.”

“Michael, I told you that I shouldn’t have-“

“Shut up. Just let me finish.” Alex pouted as Michael raised his hand. “When you came back, I hoped. I was an ass about it sometimes, I know, but I hoped we had a shot, that you still felt the same way about me. About us. But you didn’t want to be seen with me, didn’t want people to know about us, you pushed me away over and over again. So, after everything, with my mom…”

“You needed someone who’d stay close.”

Michael nodded and looked at his boots, kicking a twig onto the dirt. “I didn’t choose Maria to hurt you.”

Alex scoffed, “fucking felt like it, though.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Alex shook his head, his bottle of empathy run dry. “I told you I loved you. That I wanted to start over again. I was ready.”

Michael nodded. “I didn’t believe you. And I shouldn’t have to work on your timeline.”

Alex tilted his head toward the cabin. “Okay. So why should I have to work on yours now?”

Michael bit his lip and looked toward the trees. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence, listening to the sounds of undisturbed nature around them. Alex was still angry, filled with confusion and caution, but he’d be lying if he said simply being in Michael’s presence didn’t bring him comfort.

“I don’t get your analogy.”

Turning, Michael leaned against the banister and Alex had to look away. With his tight t-shirt and curls blowing in the breeze, Michael looked like a fucking dream.

“The war analogy?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, that one.”

“It’s a bad one, but I convinced myself I didn’t love you. Then I was with someone else I know I loved and realized it’d never come close to how I feel about you.”

Blinking rapidly, Alex refused to cry. When he knew he had control of his voice, he asked, “are you gonna look away again?”

Michael slowly slid his hand into Alex’s and squeezed. “Never.”

[artificialqueens]

Indomitable; shattering glass doesn't fix hearts (Trixya) - Dymphna

Hi! I began posting this on AO3 awhile ago but decided to bring it here as well since… well, I don’t know, it’s the fic I like most that I’ve written myself. I’ll be the first to admit it takes quite awhile to get to the actual plot but… bear with me guys! I hope you enjoy, any feedback is appreciated :) <3 

You can find me at my blog @tropicaldepressionkatya 

-

Who the fuck wears nude shoes to a hunt in the woods? Trixie couldn’t believe her own stupidity. She’d think it was her first hunt. When she glanced down at her feet, the mud was already all over the soft shoe. The fabric soaked it all up, and Trixie wanted to just take them off, preferably throw them in a fire as well. Unfortunately, she had made a choice. And the price was a pair of perfect nude colored heels.

So there she was, crouched, a once beautiful pair of shoes on her feet, her hair in a ponytail. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, eyes not leaving the tree. The tree where the demon was supposed to appear.

Everything had led her to that point, and she was prepared. Salt, salt bullets, iron, even. The thing about demons was that they responded differently to certain things. Salt always kept them out, but couldn’t always kill them. Iron only worked on some.

After Trixie had seen a hunter with angel blood kill a demon, she had cursed her own parents for not sleeping with angels. The runes, which apart from looking amazing, also made them better at, let’s say, everything. They had knives and swords that were given to them by the angels themselves, buzzing with light and slicing through the demons with ease. After a hit in the chest, they crawled back to where they came from.

Trixie was jealous, but she couldn’t change her blood type and decided to let it go. She had killed plenty of demons all on her own, without runes and fancy knives. She was an amazing hunter, even though working alone could get her killed faster than she’d like.

Her legs and knees were beginning to hurt, the demon hadn’t showed up yet. Beginning to get impatient, Trixie cocked her gun, checking the bullets, cleaning her knives.

“Did you hear that?” Someone hissed, a little too loud, to be sneaky. “Someone is here.”

Changing the position of her feet, Trixie stopped breathing, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.

“It’s probably nothing. Let’s get this over with.” She exhaled again

Two women walked towards the small open spot, the tree in the middle. Big, majestic, demonic. Probably all Trixie’s favorite things, it just missed some pink.

The smaller one, wild curls bouncing as she glanced around, reached for a bottle, which she sprinkled over the tree. Trixie caught a glimpse of a tattoo. She had no idea what they were doing. The other woman, a little taller, wearing a tight dress and black pumps, almost tripped a couple of times, before she lighted a match.

Trixie liked to think she was pretty smart, but she didn’t realize that the girls were going to light the demon tree – her demon tree –on fire until the match was thrown towards the tree.

“What the fuck?!” Trixie jumped up, her voice a low growl. “Do you have any idea what the fuck you’ve just done?!” She yelled, grabbing her gun and cocking it again.

“Oh my-“

The smallest girl also pulled out a gun, black and modern, yet not a revolver. Trixie knew her bullets wouldn’t kill a human, but the long shaft looked intimidating.

The taller blonde, apparently a lot slower than her friend, pulled a machete from her back. The fire reflected on the metal. It seemed so close, too close. Trixie might have been angry, but her job was protecting the mundane, so she lunged forwards, yanking the smallest girl closer to her. “Watch out! Your fucking fire is gonna bite your asses.”

Stunned, they looked back. Just shortly, but Trixie had lowered her gun. “I hope you know that this town is seriously fucked now, it’s y’all’s fault.”

“We actually saved the town!” The blonde called, machete loosely dangling in her hand. “You don’t know what we’re talking about.”

“Whatever,” Trixie put away her gun. “I’ll drop a flower on your grave.” She turned her back to the girls, jogging away. The girls wouldn’t hurt her. Not when she saved them from getting severe burns. Trixie thought it was weird they carried weapons, but consumed by anger and annoyance, she didn’t think to give it, or them, any attention.

“Is she wearing nude shoes? Out of fabric? Is she stupid?”

-

Throwing the shoes back into the sink, Trixie rubbed her eyes, sighing. As expected, those shoes were ruined. Now all she had was a pair of pink and white cowboy boots and a selection of ugly black and blue pumps. After she’d saved the town from the demons that were going to flood the town, she’d go shopping. Her formal wear was beginning to thin, all her nice clothes destroyed during working hours. So there she was, in black jeans and an orange sweater. She hated that sweater. It tickled her all the time, and by the end of the day, her skin would be red and itchy.

The sun was beginning to rise, and Trixie realized she had lost another night of sleep to working and not being able to sleep. The coffee maker was way too loud, deafening almost, in the quiet motel. She didn’t like coffee, but the lack of tropical redbull forced her to do things she didn’t like.

Slipping into her white boots, Trixie took her shoes, strutting through the hallway. The lights were on, but there was no sound, no living soul in sight.

The dumpster next to the motel doors were something that had put Trixie off at first, but it was the closest to the woods and the city. After all, it was convenient. From where she was standing, she could see a crushed wall and an obvious hole in the roof. She hoped no one was dumb enough to use those rooms.

She dropped the shoes in the dumpster, sighing once again before she turned around.

“What is a pretty lady like you doing up so early?” Trixie had almost bumped into a tall man. He had a lot of muscles, and light hair. Generally speaking, he was attractive.

“Not just appearing and scarring other pretty ladies.” Trixie didn’t mean to snap, but his gaze held something offputting and empty. She tried to brush past him, but he spoke again.

“Come on, we’re already here, let’s make the most of it.” His voice was deep, but missed the warmth Trixie liked.

“I have an appointment in two hours.”

“Oh, with a boyfriend?” He teased, and Trixie turned fully back to the man. Her face was blank, something she always had been able to do. Resting bitchface, people said. Others said she was just a bitch.

“No, with the police. I’m helping them.” Trixie was bluffing, but she had a certain confidence, one that people simply couldn’t ignore.

“Oh,” His voice dropped in volume. “What are you investigating, hm?”

“Classified,” Trixie smiled, waving. “I’m going to get ready now.” The man didn’t say anything else.

Closing and locking the door behind her, the coffee maker was done, and she poured herself a cup. The key to delicious coffee was lots of sugar and milk. A lot of it.

Walking over to her suitcase, Trixie frowned. FBI clothing. Her last formal skirt was covered in blood stains, after she had raided a vampire nest a few weeks ago. She really needed to go shopping.

Since she didn’t have much choice, she picked a dark pant suit. One of the few positive things about it was that she had a pocket for her lipstick.

Moving to the small bathroom with her mug in her hand, clothes over her arm, and shampoo bottle in her other hand, she bumped the door open with her hip.

She’d been in the motel for a few days, so she knew the water took ages to heat up. So Trixie turned on the shower, carefully hanging the clothes over the sink as she sipped the last of her coffee. The motel towels were crappy, they always were, but bringing her own was just something she couldn’t afford. She was usually on the road, anyway. The apartment she owned in California was just collecting dust. She hadn’t been there in four months.

But having a place where she could stack all of her stuff, her books, her bills, and pictures was nice. She planned on going back for some time after her current job.

She stepped into the shower, the water turning dark with dirt almost immediately. Her feet and legs had been gross, covered in dirt. She’s washed most off when she got back, but dirt was annoying like that.

Her flowery and over-expensive shampoo covered the smells of her adventure and the lack of sleep, even though her makeup was going to finish that job.

Whatever she had to do, she would. She was going to fix the mistakes of the girls in the woods. She didn’t have a choice, really. She wouldn’t run away, even though it’d probably be safer.

-

“Miss Johnson?” Trixie turned at the sound of her fake name. When she was an FBI agent, she was Jessica Johnson, a widow. “Your coworkers have arrived.”

“I-“ Trixie bit her tongue, offering the officer a polite smile. “They’re here sooner than expected. Delayed flight,” She explained. “Could I talk to them for a minute?”

“Of course, they’re with officer White.” He said. “I’ll take you, Johnson.”

“Please, call me Jessica.” Trixie followed the man, wondering if they were real agents. Her fake ID was convincing, but with the shoes she picked, she’d never be fast enough to outrun an agent.

“Well, here they are. If it’s fishy…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Call me when you’re done, okay?”

Trixie closed the door behind her. The doors in the whole building were rather heavy. Trixie wondered why that was. But when she spotted the two agents, it was a good thing the doors were heavy.

She pulled her gun, pointing it at the woman with wild curls. The blonde pulled her gun a little later.

“What are you doing here?” Trixie snapped. “You set a very special tree on fire, no way they would let two idiots be FBI agents.” Trixie slowly cocked the gun, her eyes following every movement of the girls.

“We are,” The blonde spat back. “I’m going to reach in my pocket, grab my ID.”

Trixie nodded, balancing her focus over the blonde and the girl with dark hair. The blonde fished out an ID, it looked real enough. Then again, so did hers. “Isabel?”

“The one and only,” Isabel lowered her gun. “That’s Rose.”

“Sounds like the fakest names ever,” Trixie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m the FBI agent. Y’all are imposters.”

Rose scoffed at the same tone as Trixie. “Well, girl, what was a real FBI agent doing in the freaking woods at night? Alone?”

“Important stuff, but that’s-“ The door was flung open, startling Trixie, who turned to the person. It was the man from that morning. “What the-“

Even though the man only hit her with one hand, his power was enormous. As she was being thrown against the floor, she realized that it was a demon. Her vision got blurry, the air was slammed out of her lungs. She needed to get up. She needed to protect the girls.

She forced herself up, slightly dizzy, but she had fought in worse shape. The blonde girl, who Trixie had written off as not so bright and slow, had a blade in her hand. Trixie would recognize blades like that everywhere. Freaking angel bloods. Of course they were, no one else would be as stupid to burn a demon portal tree. The other girl, Rose, reached for a weapon, but the man – demon – hit her with his fist, full against her head.

“Shangela!” The blonde called out through gritted teeth. Trixie’s head was too messed up to connect the dots. She didn’t care, anyway. It didn’t matter who these girls were, as long as they would be alive when Trixie left the building, trying to come up with a great lie.

She cocked her gun, the metal cold against her warm fingertips. She could feel blood drip down her neck. The blonde girl lunged away from the demon, hissing when he clawed at her skin.

Narrowing her eyes, Trixie had trouble keeping the gun straight, seeing straight. She shot. She was pointing at the demon’s head, but missed. It hit him in the shoulder, an unnatural sound leaving his mouth. Even if he was just distracted for a moment, the blonde lady, Isabel, jumped back forwards, slamming her fancy knife into the demon’s chest. With much more strength that Trixie thought was possible for a skinny thing like Isabel, she repeated the action multiple times, until the man opened his mouth, the demon circling out before vanishing with an agonizing scream.

Isabel was panting, dropping the dead body and rushing to Rose, or Shangela’s, side. “Hey,” She whispered, so softly that if Trixie had been standing two steps back, she wouldn’t have heard it. She wouldn’t have heard the desperation, fear and slight crack in her voice. “Shangela, Shangie, are you there?”

Trixie wondered how no one had noticed a gunshot or the obvious sounds of a fight. She just assumed the walls were soundproof. She hurried to the door, seeing a few officers frown at her. She smiled politely, closing the door again. Getting that body out would be a problem.

“Is she alright?”

“Fuck no,” The blonde snapped. Trixie was almost sure her name wasn’t Isabel. “Damn it, why did I leave my Steele in the hotel?” She ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip before getting up in frustration. She kicked one of the chairs before a few creative and impressive cuss words left her mouth.

“That isn’t gonna solve anything,” Trixie bit at the woman. She moved closer, her first-aid classes coming back. She had plenty of experience with wounds. Her head had stopped spinning, and the blood hadn’t dropped onto the floor, so she knew she was good. Better than the girl – Shangela, she assumed – on the floor.

After a quick glance, she knew the woman needed a hospital, or a real doctor, at least. She remained calm, speaking slowly to not alert the other girl. “She probably has a concussion. I can’t tell if she’ll wake up all by herself. I think she needs a doctor.”

“Okay, okay,” The girl breathed out, returning by her friend’s side. “Hear that Shangela? We’re gonna call Pep for you.”

“Who the hell-”

“Did I fucking ask you anything?” The blonde snapped probably harder than she intended to. She released another shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I’m really frustrated. I can’t carry her all by myself. Could you please help me?”

“My Jeep is outside,” Trixie said, looking at the still unconscious body. “But the body. We can’t become wanted after y’all burned a demon portal.”

Isabel closed her eyes, grinding her teeth. “Fine. I’ll take care of the body. Can you cause some distraction?”

“Isabel,” Trixie smiled. “Distraction is my second name.”

-

From the corner of her eye, Trixie could see the younger woman drag the body behind her, doing surprisingly well for her slim and breakable form. The officers were gathered around her as she clutched her forehead. The wound wasn’t deep, but stretched long enough over her face to worry some. Her agonizing groans were rather convincing, and men were always looking for a damsel in distress.

“I- it was a man! How did you not see him?! He rushed over there!” Tears were streaming over her face, and Trixie was amazed at how amazing she was doing. “Please, he said he was going to kill me!”

Several officers shuffled away, to the direction Trixie pointed at. Two stayed by her side. “Miss, it’s going to be okay. Come with us, we’ll make some phone calls-”

“No, no,” Trixie wiped her tears away. “I- I should go home.” Trixie wiped at the last tears. “I’m okay, I’ll be okay. I just… need to get out of here.”

“I understand, miss,” One officer said softly, a soothing tone to his voice. “Should I go and grab your purse?” He already was moving towards the door when Trixie saw Isabel hurrying back inside.

“No!” Trixie cleared her throat, hoping her voice would break just a little. “It’s fine, I can do that myself. Can you please help him get behind bars?” The innocent flutter of eyelashes broke something in the man, his eyes softening. It wasn’t the best thing for an officer.

“Thank you,” Trixie sniffed, wiping under her eyes again, offering the man a smile. She got up from her crouched position, taking the offered hand before she slowly skipped back to the room. Isabel was already inside, A bright grin on her face. “Good enough?”

“Yeah,” She said, a hand pressed against Shangela’s arm. “Help me with her, okay?” Trixie didn’t even have time to brag about her theatrical skills and charm.

Trixie put the lady’s arm around her neck, gently lifting her to her feet. The other girl did the same. “So, I’m guessing you’re not Isabel?” As she groaned softly under her weight.

“Aquaria,” She muttered back, walking as fast as she could. Even though no one was walking in the main office, they didn’t know how fast they’d be back. The black Jeep was shining around the corner, and Aquaria let Trixie alone to deal with the unconscious girl as she opened the door. The two of them gently laid the girl on the back seat. She’d been out for a good ten minutes, and Trixie was beginning to worry.

Hopping in her car, the blonde was already sitting in the passenger seat, typing furiously on her phone. “Who’re you calling? We’re bringing her to the hospital.”

“No!” Aquaria snapped once again. She really seemed on edge, and Trixie couldn’t blame her. “How do you think they’ll look when they see her with all those wounds? With weirdly shaped scars? Too many questions. Besides, Peppermint can get her back on her feet in just a few hours.”

Aquaria pressed call, and was getting frustrated pretty fast. Trixie watched the girl on the backseat with caution and worry. She hoped this Peppermint person was as talented as Aquaria claimed her to be. If she wasn’t, Shangela would be dead by morning, she guessed. But Trixie felt like she couldn’t argue. Shangela had angel blood, after all.

“Okay,” Aquaria breathed out. “Here left. Pep will be there in half an hour.”

“That’s fast, where’s she from?”

“She’s in France, right now,” Aquaria glanced at Shangela, her curls decorating the last seat. “She needs to set up a portal, but she loves us. We’d do anything for her, and so would she.”

Trixie decided to say nothing. So Peppermint was going to travel by portal. Right. Sure. Whatever.

Trixie followed Aquaria’s direction, parked in front of a rather fancy looking hotel, at least in comparison to her motel, and helped carry the brunette to their room. Room 015, first floor, luckily. The hallways were thankfully empty.

“Let’s bring her to the bed,” Aquaria opened the door with a key, and Trixie was stunned. How in the world could they afford that place? The kitchen was small and neat and the dinner table had 4 spots. The table was decorated with a white tablecloth and yellow flowers. There even was a rather large lounge. “Over here.”

Trixie followed Aquaria’s lead, Shangela’s eyes sometimes opening a bit. At that point, Trixie wasn’t sure if she was affected by the hit on her head or if the demon blood had been too much for her. The burns in her legs and arms had been big.

Gently, they placed the woman on the bed, which was big and looked incredibly soft.

Aquaria brushed Shangela’s hair out of her face with a fond look on her face. “You’ll be okay, Peppermint is on her way.”

Trixie felt like she didn’t belong in that moment, too intimate and familiar. “Wanna help with the hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Pep likes hot chocolate. We’re kinda friends, I guess. We don’t need to pay her anymore, so I make sure we always gets some chocolate when she comes to the rescue.”

“Oh,” Trixie whispered, nodding her head and following Aquaria back to the kitchen. Now that there wasn’t an unconscious girl hanging between them, Trixie noticed that it wasn’t white and gold, but a soft pink cream color and bronze. The couch was one of the few shades of brown that Trixie thought didn’t look like shit, and the painting above a dresser had blue and pink tones that matched the walls and the kitchen cabinets. “I didn’t know hunting paid this well.”

She let her fingers glide over the dresser, which was spotless. Cleaned that morning, probably.

“Oh, it really doesn’t,” Aquaria smiled, opening the cabinet to grab a pan before moving to the fridge, which undoubtedly was too large for a hotel room. Aquaria’s mood had shifted, she didn’t seem too worried anymore. “You get creative, though. Lots of people die, you know. The unsaveable. We just…”

“Take their money,” Trixie finished. She hadn’t done that often, found it a rather disrespectful thing to do, and got what she wanted by lying, shoplifting, and going on dates to fancy restaurants. “I thought y’all angels were nice people.”

“Being nice doesn’t bring bread to the table,” Aquaria added some sugar to her mixture. “Can you close the curtains? Peppermint will be here soon.”

Since Aquaria didn’t say why, Trixie didn’t think it was her place to ask. She just did what was asked, muttering her questions under her breath, growing annoyed with the whole situation. In all honesty, she should probably go to her motel, try to solve the case, and forget about Aquaria and Shangela. But her curiosity was sparked, and if there was one thing Trixie knew about herself, it was that all questions should be answered.

So Trixie let Aquaria babble on and on and on. Humming or chuckling where needed. She talked a lot, stumbling over her own words from time to time, earning a genuine giggle from Trixie. It only took Peppermint about ten minutes, before she literally walked through the wall.

“What the fuck?” Trixie chocked out when she saw the light wall darken, the core so black, it looked as if nothing had ever been there. “Aquaria, What the fuck is happening?”

Aquaria glanced over the edge of her phone, an eyebrow raised. “Oh,” Aquaria dropped her gaze to her phone again, shutting it off a few seconds later. “The portal.”

Aquaria moved closer to the wall, a bright smile of excitement on her face. It was as if she had forgotten about Shangela. Or that she didn’t really care. Trixie shrugged those thoughts off, because it could just be her coping mechanism, and because it definitely wasn’t her job to judge whatever was going on between them.

A woman with black braids and pink lips stepped through the ‘portal’, smiling brightly as she spotted Aquaria. “Hello, dear,” Her voice was soft and gentle, and Trixie could imagine her hug being comforting and motherly. “What happened? Where is she?”

Aquaria led the woman to the room, and Trixie felt left out and unsure what she should do. It was a familiar feeling, even though she rarely paid attention to it. She preferred to work and travel alone, not wanting to take care of anyone, or being a burden for someone else. However, it did get lonely.

But Kim had warned her for that, yet young and dumb Trixie had been fueled by anger and fear, and she never thought about what it had meant, getting into the business. Now that she was almost ten years older, Trixie knew, and had to live with the consequences every day, sleep with it every night.

She hadn’t worked together since Kim, and even though she wouldn’t call saving Shangela’s live working together, she didn’t mind listening to Aquaria’s rambling, or the change of scenery. Sometimes, Trixie wondered if she made the wrong decision by working on her own.

“You okay?” Aquaria had her hair pulled in a high ponytail, the grey-ish tone in her hair more prominent now that she was opening the curtains again. The sun was shining, and even though Trixie doubted it would warm her skin up, it was pleasant to know she wouldn’t need a raincoat.

“Yeah,” Trixie gently shook her head, coming back from wherever her mind had wandered. It was a place she didn’t like to visit. “Is she going to be okay?” Trixie pointed at the door. The door was closed, and she swore she could hear a faint whisper.

“Pep is fixing her,” Aquaria’s hands were balled into fists. “She’s been through worse, Shangela,” The blonde let herself fall on the couch, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. Trixie could see the hint of dirt under her nails. Maybe it was blood.

“What about you?” Trixie couldn’t believe she forgot to ask that. Her social skills were rusting, that was obvious. The occasional hook up didn’t require much talking. Most of the time she was lying, anyway. She couldn’t be Trixie Mattel, often she had to be Jessica, or Isabella, or Alice. It was easy to forget who she was, even though fighting always brought her back.

“I’m fine,”

“No demon blood?” Trixie had a hard time believing that. Aquaria had been dressed in a skirt and the thinnest white blouse she’d ever seen. “Want me to take a look?”

“No, when Shangela wakes up, she’ll do it, it’s fine.”

“You sure?” Trixie carefully stopped herself from correcting Aquaria. If Shangela wakes up.

“Yeah, runes will heal it in no time.”

Right. Aquaria had angel blood. Trixie tensed up. “I can look at yours, if you want. I make killer healing runes, just so you know.”

“No,” Trixie sounded harsher than she meant to. “I mean I’m fine. I should just … go.”

“What?” Aquaria sounded surprised, pushing herself up and shaking her head. “Hell no, you’re staying. Wouldn’t it be better if we solved this case together?”

Trixie scoffed. “It’s obvious y’all need it, because you set a portal on fire.”

“Geez, let it go,” Aquaria chuckled. “We’ll work on that, it’ll be good in no time.”

“Let it go,” Trixie scoffed, pushing the tip of her shoe into the carpet, which looked too soft and expensive for an hotel. “I could be on my way home, but no, I might have to stay for weeks if it’s as bad as I think it is.”

Aquaria raised an eyebrow. “Weeks for closing a broken portal? Girl, how aren’t you dead yet?”

“What?” It came out harsher than she meant, but Aquaria seemed unbothered.

“I already texted someone from back home, she’ll bring some stuff and we’ll be done here in like, two days.” Aquaria looked at her nails, sighing in annoyance when she noticed that the baby blue polish had chipped a little bit. “I have to fix this.” As much as she tried to hide it, Trixie guessed she wasn’t fine, too restless to be okay.

The girl walked away, but Trixie wasn’t done. She often spent weeks trying to find a solution, and this freaking teen just let someone bring the answer to all their problems to them? Well, the solution to some problems.

“What do you mean? What is she bringing?”

Aquaria, who had an air of slight arrogance around her, looked at Trixie as if she was the one who figured out how to use the potty two days ago. “Some sort of dirt made from iron and salt. A few sticks with runes. I don’t know, we’ve used it for ages.” Aquaria spoke while painting her nails a cute orange, soft yet outstanding. “Where are you from?”

Dumbfounded by the simple question after Trixie had come to know something major, she just stood there for a long moment, trying to grasp the meaning of the words, before they hit her in the chest. “I live in Cali. Well, my house is there. I travel a lot.”

“I can tell,” Aquaria didn’t clarify what she meant, and when Trixie was about to ask, about to be offended, the girl began talking. “We’re from Boston. We go home often enough, Raven has a large place. Sometimes we do smaller cases in little groups, the big ones all together. We’re with a lot, you know.”

Trixie, for one, couldn’t imagine working with a large group. That only meant more people to look after, more people to protect. She couldn’t even protect one extra, how the hell was she about to take care of a group? However, Aquaria didn’t seem to have that problem.

“Sounds like fun,” Trixie rolled from the heel of her foot back to her toes. “Does this Peppermint person always take so long?”

“She won’t be ready before dawn,” Aquaria closed the bottle, blowing her nails with elegance and a certain laziness that was fascinating. “You can leave, if you want. It was really nice to bring her here.”

“I-“ What was she supposed to say? “It’s fine, I hope she’s okay,” Trixie glanced back to the closed door. “Can I come over tomorrow? Just to check if she’s okay.”

“Of course!” Aquaria stopped blowing her nails to smile. “Maybe you could help with cleaning up some more demons. You seem like a good hunter.”

It did feel indispensable to leave Aquaria, a foolish girl who painted her nails before fighting demons, possibly alone to kill maybe a dozen of demons. “Sure, why not?” Trixie scratches her nose, careful not to smudge her makeup, a strange tingle in her chest. “I’ll come over at noon?”

Aquaria nodded, giving her an awkward wave while not stopping her blowing. When Trixie left, she knew for a fact that Aquaria wasn’t looking at her.

-

Her fingers were shaking when she tried to open her room, the faint smell of something disgusting not bothering her for the first time since she checked in. She couldn’t stop the tremble, her heart was throbbing in her throat, and tears were threatening to well up any moment. It was weird, Trixie didn’t know where it all came from.

And yet she did.

Careless banter with someone who understood what she did. Someone who knew more than her and wanted to work together. She hadn’t worked together in three years.

When the lock finally clicked open, Trixie pushed herself in, hoping to find relief in the motel room, an empty room, a silent room. Nothing changed.

So, deciding that facing her feelings would be too hard, she kicked her shoes out with more force than intended, and moved to the little kitchen. The glasses had been dirty when she arrived, and she had only cared to clean one. Filling it with water, she took a small sip. Even though it did cool her down, she still felt like crying, like fainting.

I love you.

The words were loud and clear in her mind, she could even imagine that stupid crooked smile.

She threw her glass against the wall with a yell. She reached for the used plate in the sink, which soon followed the glass. Some of the glass hit the wall, jolting back at Trixie. She didn’t know if something hit her. Not then. She didn’t care.

See you at dinner, loser.

She leaned with her palms on the itchy tablecloth, her breathing uneven when a large tear rolled over her cheek. She never saw her at dinner.

[poklina]

I guess this is sorta a continuation of eposide 2x10(but pretending simon clary relationship doesn't exist cause im in denial) but do you think you could write something where simon and jace talk a little more about the fact that jace basically risked his life saving simon and jace admits his feelings for simon

hey Friendo hows ur night? mines pretty good i hope you enjoy this mass of disgusting fluff pal

daylight--1.2k

The Institute smelled of burnt charcoal and ozone, like the way the air smells right before a thunderstorm, all metallic and harsh. People spoke in hushed voices as they milled around, checking off a list of the Downworlders laying on the floor, going to the infirmary to get their various wounds checked out, kneeling down and closing the eyes of the fallen Shadowhunters that dotted the Institute. It had been a couple hours since Valentine had been apprehended, but the sword was missing, and everyone that was available had already been dispatched out into the streets of New York to try and find it.

Simon sat on the steps outside, legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows as his eyes closed and his head tilted up towards the sun, letting the light was over him like it hadn't been able to for the past couple months. Simon had forgotten how nice it was to just be in the sun, as it glowed over his skin and sunk in to bones that had been too cold for too long. His mind was whirring with all of the possibilities this new ability lent him; he could go back to school, he could see his mom, he could be a regular person again.

Clary had gone back inside a couple minutes ago. Simon told her that he just wanted to "process" out here for a moment, and while that was mostly true, he also didn't want to go inside and face all of the dead laying on the marble floor quite yet.

"Simon, what are you doing!"

His eyes snapped open as his head whipped around toward the voice.  A flurry of legs, arms, and blonde hair were all he could see as whoever they were yanked him up and started dragging him towards the open doors. When he finally got his bearings and planted his feet on the ground, Simon saw that it was Jace, arm still bloodied from the last night.

"Jace, Jace, don't worry, I'm fine, I can be in the sun now!"

Jace's hands dropped from their place on Simon's shoulder, and he turned to look at him amazed.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm not burning! I only just found out and it's awesome because now I can stop living in the boathouse and hey, maybe I can help you guys with missions too, I know Clary would love that-"

"Oh. Okay. Well, sorry about that"

Jace breaks Simons rambling train of thought and starts to walk back inside. Simon feels like he should let him go, but there's something that he hasn't done yet.

"Wait, Jace!" He takes a step forward and grabs his bicep, and Jace immediately shakes him off.

"What?"

"It's just, ah. I never thanked you for risking your life for me."

"Yes, you did. We've been over this. Can I go now?" Jace is fidgeting like a kid, eyes darting up, down, and sideways but never meeting Simon's.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, I guess I did. Well, uh. Thank you. Again. For that. And for this too, I guess."

Jace cocks his head, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, I drink your blood and now I can't get burned? Seems pretty convenient to me."

"Oh. Sure. You're welcome." He makes another attempt to escape, but there's one last question that's been nagging at Simon ever since Clary's face melted away and turned into his.

"Hey, Jace? I know this is kind of a weird thing to ask, and I really don't know if I even should ask it because it's like, really awkward but-"

"For the love of the angel Simon, spit it out." Jace has finally stopped looking everywhere but at him and now all Simon can see is the bright blue-brown of his eyes, and the dark circles underneath, and the red rims; so now Simon knows that this is a really bad idea but he's never been god with that whole "filter" thing and-

"Why you?"

Silence.

Jace doesn't break eye contact, but Simon can see how badly he wants to, in the way his fingers start to rapidly drum against his thigh.

"You know, it's just that Izzy could've done it instead-"

"Izzy wasn't there. I was the only one who could do it."

Simon is surprised by how shaky and uncertain Jace's voice is, but surprised even more by how strong it sounds at the same time. This is the tone of voice you use when you want someone to drop the subject.

But then again, Simon's never been very good at picking up social cues.

"Oh, okay. Well, you did a really great job acting like Clary. I mean, I thought you really actually cared about me, which I know is absolutely-"

"I do."

"-insane...wait, what?"

Jace looks like someone has just lifted a 20 pound weight off of his shoulders, and once he starts talking, it's like he can't stop.

"I do, Simon. I really, really do. I have for a long time, and I really didn't know what to feel so I just pushed you away because I was scared but then you helped Clary and I find Madzie and you sacrificed yourself for us so when Clary told Luke and I that you were hurt I knew, I just knew that it was my turn to save you so I made Clary draw the rune and when I saw you I couldn't think of anything and Simon please don't ever do that to me-us again because I meant it Simon. I meant it." He'd been running his hand through his hair incessantly and was back to doing that thing where he didn't look Simon in the eye and it looked like he was backing up, trying to escape this confession that he'd never meant to make.

For the first time in his life, Simon is truly speechless.

"And I know that you probably don't feel the same and this was a really bad idea to tell you but I had to and now I don't know what to do Simon please say something."

Simon feels like a fish out of water. How do you respond to someone that just confessed their feelings for you? Especially when you just got hit by a train that made you realize that you feel the same?

"Simon, please."

Jace is looking at him again, and those bright blue-brown eyes are filled with longing and pleading and desperation and Simon? Simon just does whatever he thinks he should.

Which is apparently lunging forward and pulling Jace's stupidly tall head towards his own and kissing him like he's never kissed before.

He feels Jace flail around him before he relaxes into in, sliding his hands against Simons shoulder blades and pressing against him.

They stand like this on the steps to the Institute until someone breaks for air, and even then they still cling to each other, muscles straining as they try to pull together a past that should've started much sooner.

"So uh. Thanks," Simon croaks out against Jace's throat, "for everything."

And so they stand there. Bodies pulled in tightly together, and as they start to kiss again because Jace's mouth is like crack because it's that addicting, Simon feels the warmth of the sun on his back and the solid heat of the body in front of him and he thinks that he hasn't felt this warm in so long.

Yea. He could get used to this.