#i do wish i would've watched training day back when i was supposed to watch it the first time i went to college lol hannibal nbc

[radioregine]

anyway i've been thinking a bunch abt how alonzo & jake remind me of a more grounded hannibal & will and sure enough this one analysis video saw the alonzo/hannibal connection too ... we love to see it

[dwaekkilinos]

savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a horde.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t horde unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the horde up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the horde. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the horde without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the horde up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the horde approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the horde to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the horde getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the horde, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The horde was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the horde following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the horde you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the horde was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The horde.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that horde and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that horde to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

[ssentimentals]

seventeen as their natal charts: dino

sun in aquairus, moon in leo

very intelligent!!! disciplined, unique, passionate about their work - this man longs to hold authority and will have it one way or another, impatient and impulsive, he doesn't like following rules imposed by others, always is striving for the next challenge and is more serious and stoic than he lets on

at certain times you wish you had enough bravery to stand up and disagree with higher-ups, but words get stuck in your throat and nothing comes out. you stare helplessly, looking around to see if maybe someone else has guts to-

'i disagree.'

it's lee chan, of course. fierce determination on his face makes you swoon a little - a lot - and you watch in awe as he calmly stands up, facing management team fearlessly. his puppy-like personality can be misleading, but you always knew that he's much more serious and intelligent than people think. now all of that paired with chan's gorgeous smile and striking confidence and voila, your crush on him was really unavoidable. you almost don't breathe, hearing him talk in defence of whole team, in defense of you. one fact after another, chan didn't leave any room for arguements and looked like he won't accept 'no' for an answer. most of the people looked surprised, but not you. you looked proud. it didn't take long for the management team to reluctantly agree and it took even less time for everyone to crowd chan, congratulating him. 'you were amazing, channie!'

'thanks,' his smile was confident and at the same time bashful as he nodded to everyone, looking around. you stood a bit far back and your heart skipped a beat, when once he spotted you, his smile grew even bigger. 'hey!'

it's me, he wants me. barely breathing, you slowly come up closer. 'have you heard? now you won't have double shifts on the weekends!' he looked like an excited puppy, waiting for the praise.

'i heard,' you say, smiling softly at him. your fingers are itching to fix one hair strand on top of his head, but you hold on. 'it's not only me now, though! there are at least four more girls, who always overworked.'

'well yeah, but i mostly did it for you.'

chan is passionate about everything: his work, his friends, his trainings, god, even his food. to have his laser focus on you is almost dizzying. your throat constricts and you swallow loudly, not being able to break eye contact with him. 'thank you, chan. it means a lot. i would've never- done that. so thank you, really.'

his answering smile is brighter than the sun itself. he looks like he's searching for something in your gaze and you don't know what he found but next thing you know, he asks you out on a date with a confident: 'come to dinner with me. i'll tell you everything about disagreeing with higher-ups without losing your job.' and you said yes.

a true free spirit, he will not settle with anyone who's narrow-minded or controlling; this man loves deeply but also a bit carelessly, his emotional side is complex as he doesn't open up easily. someone who likes to dream big and also has both feet planted on the ground suits best for him, if you fuel his ambition and be his safe place he will bring whole world to your feet

being a light sleeper, you immediately stir at the sound of quiet footsteps. in the darkness of your bedroom, you wait for few more moments and when sound repeats again, you realize that there really is someone in your apartment. chan's supposed to come back only in two days and fear grips your heart as you try to come up with a plan. what to do? there's nothing you can use as a weapon in your bedroom and-

'shit!' there's a loud bang and your legs work before you mind does, pushing you out of the room. 'fuck, that hurt- baby?'

it takes two seconds to register that you're not getting robbed or murdered and that it's channie standing in the middle of the living room. but it takes much more from your body to unfreeze, for your heart to calm down and for your arms to wrap around his body back. 'i'm sorry baby, i wanted to surprise you,' he whispers, lovingly caressing your back. 'you were not supposed to wake up, i wanted to hide all those presents, but i tripped on this stupid carpet.'

only now you notice bunch of designer bags on the floor. chan starts peppering your neck with kisses, smirking in satisfaction at your surprised gasp. 'channie, what is this?' your eyes widen, looking at him. 'for what-'

'for everything,' he interrupts, solemn. 'for everything what you do to me. these five days without you i realized that you are my peace, fuck i hated it there without you, missed you so much. didn't know how to convey, how to tell-' he blushes a little, looking embarrassed. 'and then i just kind of went crazy in the mall.'

you smile, gently cupping his face in your palms and making him look at you. you know very well what he's talking, how hard it is sometimes to put all feelings into words and that it's easier to just buy something, do something - anything to show the love. 'i missed you so much,' you confess and his eyes light up with love and adoration. 'and thank you for the gifts. i'm so glad that you're back.'

chan's arms tighten around you as he kisses you slowly, throughly; he missed your taste so much, he can't not have it again. 'me too,' he whispers right into your lips. 'i'm so glad that i'm back too.'

a/n: i'm all here for intelligent leader!chan agenda :D check out my other works here - nini

[textfromthelookout]

Super is a horribly made cash grab. Something like the Dragon BallZ multiverse would've been a lot more interesting to watch.

Especially the early chapters were we see universes with diffrent "what-if's" like Friza taking over, Planet Vegeta still around, Cell or Buu winning, Goku being raised as sayin, introducing the games etc.

I especially hate how super ignores Vegeta's already established character development and makes him regress. Either they just didn't know how to write a Vegeta like that or simply didn't care.

And god Gohan got the worst treatment ever. I understand the man doesn't fight, it's not what he does and that's a great point to his character but not keeping up with his training especially after cell and buu? Is out of character. The man is smart and knows that a bigger threat can come in at any moment.

Just wanted to leave that, drink some water

Perfectly valid opinion! Nevertheless, I disagree with you, and you’ve given me an excuse to ramble on at length about Dragon Ball, so ramble on I shall.

Super is a horribly made cash grab.

I think you’re thinking of the Z movies (which, for the record, I like). A cash grab’s supposed to be something you make quickly just because you know it’ll sell, and while I’m no economist, I do know you have to follow appreciably current trends when you’re trying to make one. While you may be right, it’s hard for me to feel that something is a cash grab when there was a ten year dry spell between GT ending and anything important that was DB-related coming out—and it wasn’t even Super, it was a little festival special that a bunch of people don’t know about because it never came overseas. Battle of Gods didn’t drop until five years after that, after the first half of DBZ Kai had already wrapped up, and Super didn’t start properly until the second half of Kai finished two years later. You don’t spend seven years feeling out if people are still receptive to something after a ten-year hiatus if you’re trying to make money quickly, is all I’m saying.

Something like the Dragon BallZ multiverse would've been a lot more interesting to watch.

I’ve never read Multiverse so I leafed through the first 400-ish pages to see if I agreed with you, and I don’t. A common complaint about the Tournament of Power is that it’s the most dragged out 48 minutes in existence, and from the looks of it, Multiverse is like if Super was nothing but the Tournament of Power. To me, one of the best things about Dragon Ball is that it doesn’t have to be all high-stakes head-to-head all the time. You get things like the Orange Star High arc, or the filler episode where Piccolo and Goku have to get their driver’s licenses, or the one where Goku doesn’t quite have control over his ki for a day or so because he essentially shorted out the wiring fighting Hit (which is a cool fucking concept that I wish they had done more with). It’s just fun. It opens the door for questions that are more entertaining—and more importantly, more varied—than arguing until you’re blue in the face about who would win in a fight between X and Y.

Especially the early chapters were we see universes with diffrent "what-if's" like Friza taking over, Planet Vegeta still around, Cell or Buu winning, Goku being raised as sayin, introducing the games etc.

Sure, I’ll give you that, Multiverse does knock that concept around a little. The problem is it doesn’t do much of anything with it. The setting is a character too, in its own way—arguably the most important one, since it’s the one that every other character has no choice but to interact with. You’re right, all of those what-ifs would be interesting—if they were set in the what-ifs.

Here, I’ll share one of my favorite what-ifs as an example to try and explain. What if, instead of being able to retreat back to his lab, Dr. Gero was destroyed along with 19 by Vegeta’s attack? There would be no reason to go check his lab out if the android threat is eliminated, so 17 and 18 would still be asleep. Cell would grow unhindered for 17 years, and when he hatches, he could simply go up the ladder and attain perfection without a fight. Goku wouldn’t have died at the end of the Cell Games. There would be no training in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber for anyone. Does Vegeta become an issue again, since his character arc stalls at the part where he’s reveling in his own power? If so, how does that resolve? How would the struggle against Cell play out if they had no warning at all that he even existed? What role would Gohan play in it—or Goten or Trunks, since they’d be old enough to be a factor? These questions and any number of others you could pose don’t even account for the fact that it entirely upsets the timeline—Buu arc would occur before Cell, if it occurs at all. Assuming it does, would they stand a chance in hell against Buu without the power they gained in Cell arc and the seven year gap? Could Cell somehow end up coming into conflict with Buu? In short—how does this change things?

Multiverse answers this with ‘who cares, where does it put you in the power-scaling?’ and that’s not compelling to me in the slightest.

I especially hate how super ignores Vegeta's already established character development and makes him regress. Either they just didn't know how to write a Vegeta like that or simply didn't care.

Define regress. If you’re referring to Vegeta retaining his determination to get stronger than Goku after the ‘you are number one’ speech, that’s. Pretty integral to his character, frankly. Just because he’s learned and accepted it’s not the end of the world if he isn’t stronger doesn’t mean he has to drop the competition entirely. I read it less as a set-in-stone declaration of Goku’s superiority, more like a concession of his own defeat. ‘You’re number one forever because you’re better than me’ vs ‘You win for now, but when the next fight rolls around, I’ll outdo you’, you feel what I’m getting at? He does show up to fight Goku in the tournament during the very end of Z, after all. My point is that it shows Vegeta’s worldview and perception of himself is more malleable now—and so, confines him far less.

As it turns out, that concept of ‘freedom’ is the direction Super chooses to develop him in, and I feel that it pairs very well with what he goes through in Z (spoilers incoming). In Z, Vegeta is restricted by The Way Things Are Supposed To Go. In Super, especially later on during Moro and Granolah, this has a natural continuation in how his past actions in the name of TWTASTG weigh on him in ways that hamper his growth. This has been one of his biggest stumbling blocks for forever—he thinks so goddamn much, he can’t get out of his own head.

His defense of the Namekians and Earth against Moro is motivated in part by Vegeta feeling obligated to right the balance, so to speak—and he says as much, even going so far as to ask Moori if he bears a grudge against him for his actions. He still considers himself a villain bound for hell. In effect, this idea that he has to atone for his sins via being the one to save the day (which essentially amounts to being stronger than Goku on some given day) has snuck in and made itself into the new Way Things Are Supposed To Go without him realizing it.

Beerus realizes, though. I couldn’t think of a way to eloquently get across what Beerus does for him short of copying down the dialogue wholesale, so fuck it, that’s what I’m gonna do, since not everyone has access to the official translation. (From ch 69)

BEERUS: How many planets have you Saiyans destroyed? VEGETA: ? Hard to say. Fighting was the only way of life for my people, so we had a way of racking up sin after sin. B: Sin, huh? V: However, it wasn’t until Freeza’s clan came along and began using us that the destruction and invasions became business as usual. B: You trying to lay all the blame for your wicked ways on Freeza and his people? V: Not in the least. In his pursuit for power, my father built his own kingdom atop countless deaths. Freeza’s clan taking control didn’t help, but the seeds of the Saiyans’ destruction were sown before that. B: So it was the Saiyans’ destiny to be wiped out, then? V: I’d say so. B: Hmph… Ridiculous. V: But never mind that. My people’s problems aren’t your concern. B: I’m saying it’s ridiculous! V: ! W-what? What do you mean? Weren’t you going to show me a technique used by Gods of Destruction?! What could that possibly have to do with the history of the Saiyans? B: Plenty. […] As long as doubt weighs down your soul, this power’ll never be yours to wield. V: D-doubt, you say? B: Your own crimes aside, you’re feeling guilty for the sins of all Saiyans. That’s awfully self-centered of you, mortal. Here’s a fun fact. The one who suggested that Freeza eliminate the Saiyans… was me. V: W… what? B: You still think it was destiny? You’re just gonna accept that? […] Everything those Saiyans did in the past… what’s it got to do with you now? As long as you’re trapped by the past, you’ll never manage to grow past this point. My mind’s always on destruction and nothing else. That’s why there’s no limit to my power. Listen. If you really want this power, you’re gonna have to destroy any stray thoughts and recreate yourself from scratch. Before creation comes destruction. Get it?

Yeah. He takes this and he intentionally divorces his efforts to get stronger from his tendency to dog Goku’s heels in leveling up. Ultra Instinct isn’t a power suited to him, so he gives it up instead of torturing himself over it and works on what eventually becomes Ultra Ego instead. Here’s the thing though. The biggest indicator of Vegeta’s growth to me is that he can’t tap fully into that power because he’s no longer callous and unfeeling, and he knows it. He identifies too much with Granolah to simply destroy him. And he tries to lead Granolah off the path that ruined him for so much of his life. That doesn’t sound anything like regression to me.

The way things stand with Goku and Vegeta right now, the next step seems to be adapting their Ultra forms to them personally, so I’m curious to see how Vegeta will bend that power to the person he is now.

And god Gohan got the worst treatment ever. I understand the man doesn't fight, it's not what he does and that's a great point to his character but not keeping up with his training especially after cell and buu? Is out of character. The man is smart and knows that a bigger threat can come in at any moment.

You could be right, but no amount of kvetching is going to change what the writer wrote, so you may as well stretch your critical thinking legs and ask yourself why the writer thinks this is in character. Speaking from the perspective of a person who makes a hobby of examining these pieces and spackling them together into something cohesive (fanfiction. I write fanfiction, in case that was somehow unclear), this is the more fun option for me. I’m not saying it’s really That Deep (‘don’t put more thought into something than the creators did’, yak yak yadda yadda) or that my personal interpretation is correct and canon or anything, I just know that writers rarely write something a certain way without a reason.

Because you’re right, Gohan is a smart person. I don’t think he did stop training after Buu in the way you’re thinking of, for two reasons. First, he mentions at the end of Super Hero that he’s been practicing the Makankosappo in secret, and the Makankosappo took Piccolo presumably several years nonstop (between OGDB and Z) to make from scratch. Gohan may have prior knowledge to base his experimentation off of, but he has a lot less free time too, between his family and his father’s tendency to one-track-mind the things he’s passionate about—Videl says he’s been in his room working on his ant project for several days. So how long has Gohan been practicing it?

That’s rather theoretical though so, second, Gohan was ready for the Tournament of Power with 48 hours of training, which I don’t think would be possible if he wasn’t at least keeping himself physically in shape. Indeed, when Piccolo is training him (DBS episode 88), his problem is not with Gohan’s practical technique—it’s with his attitude. Freeza notices this and mentions it earlier in Resurrection F as well, that Gohan is going out of his way to leave the people he beats alive. Piccolo describes it as a failure to ‘close the deal’, in the sense that Gohan needs to be able to win in a way that leaves no room for a rematch or a sneak attack at the last second. This doesn’t necessarily mean killing, mind, especially since the Tournament of Power has a no-kill rule. What Gohan has let go to rust is his willingness to be ruthless enough to remove an obstacle that has to be removed. That, I think, is the true meaning of the ‘training’ that everyone in universe harps on him for. Gohan’s always been softhearted, after all.

I will concede that it is very stupid that he apparently doesn’t recognize Piccolo’s ki when by all rights he’s probably the person most familiar with it. I consider that ‘out of character’, in that I have no clever explanation for it, but given that it isn’t load-bearing so the story functions, I mainly shrug and ignore it. That’s the healthy thing to do.

completely forgot to say... I *hate* how bulma is now. Nothing to the bulma we saw in Z, even at her most vexing she was never like the one we see right now. Genuinely massacred her

Personally I would be angrier about Videl in your position, because boy does she just not exist in Super. More to the point, I don’t know exactly what you mean by this. Unless I’ve misremembered/misread something, Bulma is still doing what she’s done from day one. She’s still smart. She’s still willing to try using her charm to get what she wants. She still builds things that are plot-crucial (Goku Black arc couldn’t have happened without her replicating her own time machine! Which she couldn’t have done had Future Bulma not counted on her and left her own notes!) She still wants to get a look at every would-be destroyer of Earth du jour, even though it’s really not a good idea. If you’re referring to her occasional shallowness/bitchiness/pettiness, that never went away, you know. That’s a pretty big part of Bulma.

Just wanted to leave that, drink some water

Cute, but I’ve been on the internet too long to get upset when a random stranger boos something I enjoy. Thanks for the opportunity to write way too many words about it though! 2500 of them, in fact! I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts on them.

[bestworstcase]

on the topic of people misinterpreting the Blacksmith (as some "high authority of the universe") what do you think of the criticism that Ruby/RWBYJ should've asked her what to do about Salem?

IMHO people saying it's bad writing that no one asked the Blacksmith to help them with Salem are wrongly presuming omniscience (and misinterpreting their character). that is, they assume the Blacksmith knows all about Salem and what's going on in their world AND that the Blacksmith has the power and will to help them. when in reality the Blacksmith is very open about the fact that they will only help those who wish to be helped; I take this to mean that even if a member of RWBY or Jaune had asked, they would've been told it's something they must sort out themselves. especially since the Blacksmith has never gotten involved in interpersonal conflicts, as far as we the audience are aware. they fix issues within the self, the ego, etc. not ideological disagreements or any other kind of conflict involving two or more people.

honestly i think the more salient answer to that criticism is that all of these kids, to varying degrees, grew up in a culture of heroes and monsters—and as huntresses all of them were embedded in an institution whose core purpose is to uphold that false dichotomy, one established on a foundation of lies by a man who went to considerable lengths to avoid being questioned on the truth. there has been an overt and very pointed narrative thread about them learning to think for themselves and how difficult and scary it is to not have anybody they can trust to guide them. that’s the journey they’re on.

would it have been productive to explain what’s going on back home to the blacksmith and pick her brain on what they might be able to do to fix it? probably! she’s not omniscient or all-powerful, but she is profoundly compassionate and insightful—i’ve no doubt she would have had very helpful things to say, if they’d asked.

but would it make sense for these characters to do that? after they’ve spent almost their entire lives alternately fighting to just survive or being actively trained not to ask questions? after they’ve spent the last year and a half watching nearly every adult in their lives let them down, lie to them, and/or manipulate them? after the emotionally harrowing couple of days they’ve been in the ever after? ruby just clawed herself out of the deepest darkest hole you can be in and still come out alive and all her friends are reeling from how close they came to losing her.

frankly i think it would be out of character and disappointingly contrived for any of them to be able to collect themselves enough to do something as sensible as asking the blacksmith if she has any ideas for how they might negotiate a truce with salem.

like that’s actually bonkers.

the only reason the brothers came up at all is because the blacksmith set those pieces out on her work table and even then the kids almost overlooked them, quite reasonably given it’s been months since jinn answered ruby’s question and they’ve had a lot of far more urgent matters to deal with since then! and folks expect salem to be at the forefront of their minds?!

stories are not logic puzzles! characters acting like human beings is definitionally not poor writing unless the character in question isn’t supposed to be human!

that said, while salem herself was not mentioned by name the blacksmith absolutely told them the answer to the Salem Problem—it’s embedded in what they say about the cat and the brothers—and ruby’s experience in the tree not only restored her hope but helped her eclose from the limitations of heroism to become herself; she is visibly concerned for and sympathetic to NEO. neo! the woman who psychologically tortured her! if ruby can implicitly forgive and make peace with that and wish neo well on her journey toward healing, then ruby can certainly put the pieces together re: salem without needing the blacksmith to hold her hand about it.

(indeed i think there is a nonzero chance that ruby, at least, did not ask because she already knew the answer.)

i do get the sense that the blacksmith knows of remnant’s… predicament, at least in very general terms—i think that’s why they had the brothers’ figurines on display so prominently, as a subtle invitation for the kids to ask.

if i’m right and dark did ascend after leaving remnant, then the blacksmith would know of the massacre and salem’s curse at minimum; but i think it’s also worth pointing out that when ruby needed a glimpse of the Real Summer Rose to help her slip the chains of the Idea Of Summer Rose, the tree was able to provide. so while i don’t think the blacksmith is all-knowing, they do seem to have a fairly high degree of awareness of what’s going on in remnant.

(also salem is two hundred million years old and the ever after is a place a couple of kids can stumble into by accident; i would honestly be a bit surprised if salem doesn’t know about the ever after at all, and not the least bit surprised if it turns out she’s actually met the blacksmith herself. she’s… really fucking old.)

but yeah i can’t imagine the blacksmith telling them anything she hadn’t already said about the cat, or neo, or the brothers. the notion that the blacksmith would condemn salem or feel any interest in helping the kids beat her is laughable; balance is allowing salem and ozma and the brothers the chance to heal. that’s the solution as far as the blacksmith (and the narrative) is concerned. she doesn’t have to say salem’s name to make her stance emphatically clear.

[fightaers]

the silence stretches, kills.

never had sakura encountered a silent naruto before, or maybe she had. the most prominent memory she could think of had been that first time they went out with yamato-sensei. sai was there too, she remembers this: their first mission as this haphazard, weirdly-stitched group that sakura had once assumed were simply a poor imitation of what team seven could've been, when it... when it wasn't. because yamato-sensei was never kakashi-sensei's replacement, and neither was sai sasuke's, but it had felt like it back then for a while. for a second.

like a proper genin team who had grown up together well into being chūnins, and nothing so devastating had ever happened to them that they would ever think to go on their separate ways. sasuke had never been taken. naruto never left. and kakashi-sensei would've stayed, stuck around, watched them grow.

naive, she supposes. sakura has always been so damned naive; the girl left behind constantly playing catch-up. she remembered being curious about yamato-sensei's abilities, then. should she have suspected him more ? should she have connected the dots further ? how was she supposed to expect tsunade-sama and kakashi-sensei specifically choosing yamato-sensei and the powers he had unfortunately inherit as a way to reel naruto in when the fourth tail emerged ? and that is where the memory leads her to: a silent, quiet naruto. still under the administration of her healing hands.

it's always like this, she had told yamato-sensei then, an exhausted smile shaping her guilt-ridden face as her hands stay, and it heals and it heals and it heals, the only things i can ever do for naruto are these little things.

when the silence finally breaks, naruto's answer filling the space between them, sakura isn't sure if it's relief or heartbreak that settles in the hollow of her chest. she has a suspicion it might be an odd combination of both. like something in her finally letting out: finally. after having walked on what felt like a tightrope for so long, sakura fell — and the impact of this metaphorical fall would surely hurt, but the tension of having to balance herself for so long will be lifted. there is no need to pretend here anymore. not as much, anyway, and that —

that has her cracking a small smile. perhaps if she were more vindictive, sakura would've mockingly laughed. she doesn't. instead, her head bowed, she feels the tears gather around the edges of her lashes, pathetic, and the medic-nin is quick to wipe them away. and sakura thinks: so, she doesn't measure up against sasuke. what now ? ❛⠀you would. ❜ is all she hears herself say instead, stubborn and guileless, green eyes pointedly train on a pattern of the wooden floor a few metres away.

you'd stand a chance against sasuke, if we were younger, and naive, and your twelve-year-old self would still want me, but that's not the case, isn't it ?

their youthful years are long gone. naruto and sasuke's made their choices; had chosen their person. sakura just isn't in the equation. and so — she wipes at her eyes again, determined now, before she marches right up to him and grabs him by the shoulder. and sakura smiles. she smiles and it's heartbreaking and it's sincere and it hurts, but she smiles, and she declares, ❛⠀don't worry about me, naruto. one day... one day there's gonna be someone who'd choose me first. who'd pick me first. who won't ever forget about me. ❜

who won't ever leave me. ❛⠀i'll be fine, okay ? so— so don't worry about me. i just—i wish we'd been honest from the start, you know ? come on. you don't think i'll be mad at you for being truthful, huh ? you idiot. ❜ and sakura hugs the blonde, using her strength to her advantage as she pulls him in, buries her crumpled face into the safety of his shoulder. and she means it, why would she turn away from any truth, ugly or otherwise ? so he doesn't love her like he loves sasuke. she still loves him. that's always been enough.

❛⠀i'm not going anywhere. i'm still team seven, aren't i ? ❜

@fighterbound / cont'd.

[devcted]

it felt kind of selfish to ask your children to pick between their happiness or your expectations, regulus being forced into this box that he didn't even find pleasure in solely because it's what the family wanted. she hates the sadnesses in his voice, looking up at him gently as hand comes up to rest on his soft cheek for a second. "sweet boy." she says warmly. "love isn't supposed to be conditional." not real love anyway, and it amazes her that ones parents could fail so terribly at the one thing they had to do especially with their amount of privilege and money.

she looks at him confused what would regulus do that would've gotten him disowned? other than cheating on his rich and pretty girlfriend with a lowly peasant like herself. "well... if they do disown you, then you can always stay with me and my family." she smiles a little as her hand brushes down to his neck, blue yes flickering at his lips. "I think you and me could have some really fun sleepovers." she teases in a low voice, running her hand lower down to his chest again. she smiles a bit when he said he'd drop his family for her, this life of his. "really?" his fingers still against the bareness of her exposed back giving her goosebumps as he moves along it. she's trying to focus on his words but they only turn her on more, it seemed like a dream to hear that regulus seemed to want her so bad for so long after all this time. "sometimes people get hurt when you go for the things you truly want...daphne is pretty and nice but I don't think she'd look as cute as me with her lips wrapped around her finger when she pretends it's your pretty dick in her mouth." she teases with a purr, biting down on her lower lip as she licks away the excess from the lollipop. she can see where his eyes goes and it makes her smirk a little wishing she could do more but they'd definitely get caught in this little spot.

his next words take her a bit by surprise even though they were exactly what she was wanting to hear him say. she didn't expect him to be so forward or so quick about it, as far as daphne knew this was still her boyfriend and it would still be cheating but he asks bee to be his regardless and it makes her smile a little especially in the way that he does it. "I've been yours since the day I met you on the train, regulus. no matter or family or your.... relationship with daphne or whatever rumors people might be saying about you, even if true I think you're the most perfect man in the world and I want to be yours so bad that it's all I can think about." she says as blue eyes look into his own with a soft him. "that's what unconditional love is my sweet prince."

she should be happy he hated sex with daphne but she also hated the idea that he was even able to experience that knowledge. the fact she ever got to touch him makes her pout selfishly, wanting to hate the girl for even feeling pleasure but knowing how insane she seems. but bee doesn't have much time to dwell on her anger because regulus says two words, such few letters feeling like heaven. "in love?" she smiles. "so you're in love with me?" it's all she's ever wanted.

she giggles up at him, wanting so badly to kiss him, which seemed crazy considering she already knows what his spit tastes like. he promises to cum a lot for her and she leans up into his space a little, nudging her nose against his as she laughs. "good, because I want you to fuck me for a long time." bee says warmly. "you'd be surprised what I can't handle with you...maybe I should suck your dick before you go down on me just so we're sure none of your cum goes to waste."

she liked the way he begged for the candy, wanting it back inside of his mouth to the point he could barely speak without breathing deeply. she'd never been so turned on in her life and if she could she'd be on hee knees right now but instead she settles for putting the candy back into his mouth and watching as his tonuge rushes to gather her spit, playing with it and sucking it as his hand slips down pushing her skirt up a little so he can touch her nearly bare ass, only thing in their way were her floral panties as she lets out a soft moan at his touch. "you know if you fuck me real good at the inn...I'll let you fuck me anywhere." bee says playfully because she knows he will. "but right now I need you to kiss me and then take me to that room." her eyes flickering up at him again watching as she plays with the lollipop between his perfect lips before reaching to pull it out again but this time to only get it out of her way for a moment as she captures his lips in a hungry kiss as she slides her tongue into his sweet tasting mouth.

“no, probably not,” he answers a little sadly. he’s been trying to avoid the reality of how hellish his life is going to be when his parents find out he doesn’t want to be what they expect of him anymore. it was 'easy' enough to squash down, all up until he decided he’s betraying voldemort. once they find out, he’s inevitably going to lose them, cast out almost voluntarily like sirius once was. it almost makes it irrelevant how they feel about his love life— he just hopes they don’t start getting suspicious too soon when they hear about the break up.

“this stays between us, but i think my parents are going to disown me like they did sirius anyway… there’s something i’m planning on doing, and it doesn’t line up with their ideals. and then there’s you.” he steps closer to her, gaze roaming her body as he’s in her space. “you don’t have to tell me to drop my life for you,” he teases, a mischevious smile tugging at his lips. “i’d already do it.” he leans in, wanting to touch her face but his hand still exploring her lower back, slipping underneath the fabric of her dress. “do you know how long i wanted you? i know i should care that i’m hurting daph, but all i can think about is how your lips looked around your finger…” lashes flutter down as he looks at her body again, gaze lingering at her breasts.

“what happens is i ask that you be mine,” he replies softly, his fingertips tracing her skin. they’re stopped behind the building, away from the crowd, but he still wishes they were more alone than this. “will you be mine, bumblebee?” her nickname is said playfully, his palm sliding against her back teasingly. “even if my family is horrible, and i cheated on my girlfriend for you… even if you find out all of the bad rumors about me are true?” his tone grows softer, more somber as he realizes she’s going to see his mark if they have sex. “do you really want me like that?”

he smiles a little at her comment about daphne being bad. “i didn’t like lying to her… i wasn’t very attracted to her and i never had a crush on her. i was trying to make the relationship work because back then i still wanted to do what my parents wanted. but it felt wrong even then, to have sex with her when i wasn’t fully interested. there was only one person i thought about like that…” his green eyes cut to her again, as if to indicate it was her. “but i didn’t know if things would work out, between me and the girl i’d been in love with for so long.”

her words are filthy and it makes his mouth dry, body flushing because he never expected he would get this from her, even though he imagined it vividly all the time. “i can cum multiple times, if that’s what you’re asking… i can’t promise i’ll last very long the first time, but i’ll definitely get hard again.” he has a difficult time getting rid of his erection even when masturbating to the thought of bee. “can you handle all of that inside of you?” his fingers are gently caressing her shoulder blades now, his gaze heavy as he holds her own.

he sucks on the candy and can see that she’s staring, her eyes glued to his mouth as he pushes the lollipop against his tongue. he almost moans against it when she says she wants him to touch her, just the image in his head making him feel hot. then her fingers reach up, tugging the stick to pull it from his mouth. he lets his lips go slack, the candy dragging against them as she pulls it from him, covered in his spit.

he watches her take it, wondering if she’s going to do what he thinks she’s going to do. her words make him even harder than he already is, the already present ache between his legs worsening as he shivers a little. she tells him she pictured her lips around his dick and his heart is racing, already imagining how good she would look doing that and how much pleasure it would give him if the length of him was pressed against her wet tongue. "please..."

he already feels like he can’t breathe because he’s so turned on, but then she raises the lollipop, sliding it against her tongue and into her mouth. he watches closely, the way it shines with his spit as it drags against her pink tongue, mixing with hers. she closes her lips on it and sucks, just as her hand ghosts around his dick, almost touching him but not quite. a quiet moan escapes his throat, feeling desperate and almost light headed as he watches her suck on his spit, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. “please let me taste… i need to taste you and i need you to suck me.” all he wants is the lollipop back in his mouth so he can suck off her spit, his mouth watering at just the anticipation of it.

she asks if he wants to play with her and he hums in agreement, licking his lips. “yes, pretty girl,” he purrs, staring at her as she keeps sucking the candy. “put it back in my mouth… i want to taste.” he sounds like a broken record begging for her now, but it's impossible to stop.

her hand guides him to her ass and he allows his fingers to go a little farther, slipping underneath the skirt of her dress and touching her from over her soft panties. he squeezes one cheek, looking down at her with lust as he massages her ass, realizing that they’re in danger of being spotted by anyone who walks by. he doesn’t care, though, too enamored by how soft she feels against his palm, squeezing hard as he watches her slowly pull the lollipop from her pink lips.

he takes it with his free hand, keeping eye contact with her as he opens his mouth, making sure she can see his tongue as he slides the candy against it. he closes his lips against the lollipop, her spit against his lips, making him moan. sucking down on it, his eyelashes flutter, his hand still squeezing her ass. he’s never been so turned on before and it makes it worse that they’re in public, standing in each other’s space as he sucks at the candy, covered in the taste of her.

[venomous--fics]

Day 30

Anon Requested: i’m the same anon as before, the one who would like for you to see their ideas! i think i’ll just sign myself as -💡so that’s easier for you lol

(the majority of my ideas are angst, i have a thing for angsty things so yEAH)

• this one is something along the lines of: Eddie and reader have been dating for a long time, like a few years of something. Reader is one/two months pregnant but Eddie doesn’t know, she’s waiting for the right moment to tell him since they’ve both been very busy at work. One night they’re out for a date and they get attacked, reader ends up at the hospital but luckily both her and the baby are safe. However Eddie (who still doesn’t know about the pregnancy) breaks up with her bc he’s scared that she’ll die since they already got attacked a few times bc of him and Venom. after a few months he sees her in a store or something and notices the fact that she’s now heavily pregnant and idk THINGS GET ANGSTY

A/N:

Had you known how today was going to end, you probably would've asked to stay in the hospital at least one more night. You know there was no way that you could've, but it was wishful thinking.

Eddie seemed tired and strung out. Every direction seemed to point the same way to him. Danger was left, right and every which way he turned his head. And last night was the final straw. He couldn't keep putting you in these situations and he couldn't ask you to stay in them.

You got hurt, sure, not too bad, Hell, barely even a scrape, but it landed you in the hospital for a good two hours. And that was enough for him. People were putting two and two together, which meant he would never know a day of peace- Something he should be used to at this point.

But you took last night as a good wake up call to finally tell Eddie the truth. Things could only go up from here, right?

"Eddie, we need to talk." You said as you watched him toss his keys onto the counter.

He rubbed the back of his head as he paced back and forth in front of the couch. What does he do? What was the right thing to do.

"Yeah, I think we do."

"I know things didn't go exactly according to plan," You started, pulling at the sleeve of the hoodie Eddie let you borrow, "But, I really have to say something."

"Can I go first? Before you?" He stopped in his tracks, "Because I've been thinking, a dangerous thing, I know- But, uhm, I.. I don't think this is working."

You knew what he meant, but your brain worked faster than your mouth, "What's not working."

"Us being," He halted, not truly wanting to finish that statement, "Together."

It was almost like someone drove a train right into you. It felt like everything just stopped. He couldn't be serious right.

"Eddie-"

"No, no." He cut in, "It- I can't- We can't protect you. What are we supposed to do if you get killed one of these times? You don't deserve this shit."

"I can protect myself, thank you very much."

"Now is not the time to be high and-"

"You're being selfish." You snapped, "We both knew something like this could happen, but, now that it is, you just want to let me go? If I'm in danger when I'm with you, the hell do you think is gonna happen when I'm not with you?"

Eddie didn't have a good answer for that. This was supposed to be a quick, somehow underwhelming fight. He was supposed to say the thing, you'd cry about the thing and then you'd leave. That's how it always worked in those shows he watched.

"I don't want to go. I hope you know that." You said.

"I need you to."

Should you still tell him? Or would he change his mind out of some sick form of pity? Maybe last night was really an excuse. Maybe he just didn't want to be with you anymore. That was the type of guy Eddie always said he was- Or claimed to be the opposite of.

Maybe he really couldn't just be honest and say commitment wasn't his style. It scared him and maybe he just realized that he's in too deep for his own liking. Maybe he just decided that he can't go down that path again.

"Seriously, you deserve better."

"What about you." You raised an eyebrow, "What about Venom? Does he want me to go too or are you being an ass about it?"

"Don't bring him into this. This is my choice-"

"There's three of us, not two."

"And? It wouldn't matter what he wants right now. I need you to just go and be safe somewhere else."

"That's not fair and you know it."

"I don't care."

You were starting to feel the anger bubble up inside you, "Yes you do! That's why you're trying to do this! You're such a- God, Eddie, what is wrong with you?"

"Everything, apparently."

"Do you just not want to be with me? Is that it?" You spat out, "Are you just making me go because you're bored of me? Because you can say it."

"No-"

"Because that's the only reason that seems to make sense to me. Most people in your position would beg me to stay so you could protect me."

You had to stop yourself from getting worked up, remembering the doctor's words of, "Please, no more stress. You got lucky this time."

Whatever. He wanted you to go? If that's what he really wanted, then you'd let him have it. What's the point anyways? There was no reasoning with him when he's like this. You learned that ages ago. Sometimes he gets so far up into his own ass that he just cannot see any other point of view.

"Fine. I'll go." Was all you could say. Your entire being went into autopilot. You didn't even bother grabbing your things. You swore to yourself that you'd go back for it all later. You slammed the door behind you.

You never really went back.

Part of you remained at the apartment. Your things stayed in their place. Eddie was always too tired to put them in a box, and Venom practically begged for mercy, insisting that they stay put. If you never came home, the least Venom could do was watch your things collect dust.

You were always texting and calling, but he never answered. Often times, he's make the mistake of sending you right to voicemail after two rings, which caused a text or two to come in.

Can we talk please? It's important. I should've said it before I left, but I know you. You're a man beyond reason.

Arrogant. The word I wanted in that last text was arrogant. Can you just answer the phone.

Eddie, I can tell you're reading these.

Eddie, please just pick up your phone.

It went quiet again. A few more missed calls.

You'd try again later. And by later, that meant in a day or two. If it was so important, Eddie thought, you'd find some other way to tell him. You were a persistent person after all.

Maybe you were right about the arrogant thing.

"I want to know what they have to say."

"No." Eddie said, "Whole point of- No. The answer's no."

"I want to know."

"And I said no."

"This is your fault, Eddie, now you can either fix it or keep moping like the cry baby you are."

"Hey, why don't you do us both a favor and just butt out?"

"That's hard to do when all you can do physically and mentally is mope around."

Eddie rolled his eyes and tossed his phone onto the cushion next to him. Venom was right, he was behaving like a child, but if that's what he needed to do to be able to make it day in and day out, then he should be able to do it in peace. Maybe not quiet, but he'd be damned if he didn't get his peace.

You were on the other end of the spectrum. Most days were good for you. You stayed with Anne and Dan for a few weeks as Anne helped you find a place of your own that would be big enough for you and the little guy, or girl. Anne seemed more excited than anyone else. She already proclaimed herself as Auntie Anne.

Dan was promoted to the handyman, being tasked with helping you babyproof your place. He took great pride in it, claiming it was good practice for when him and Anne had one of their own.

And despite it being months since you last saw Eddie, you still spent some days just wallowing alone and missing him. He stopped reading your texts, and now instead of sending you to voicemail himself, he let his phone do it for him. You never left messages, though.

You liked your new place, but it just didn't feel home to you. All your things were moved in and filled all the possible empty space, but it just wasn't enough. But you had to get past that. You had to tell yourself that Eddie's probably moved on.

You should too. How else were you going to stay sane raising his kid.

Eddie decided, just to shut Venom up, he'd go be sad outside today. He was walking aimlessly through the city, dodging people who got too close. He'd stop and watch a few people every now and then, but nothing kept him entertained.

"Look, over there."

Eddie lifted his head and with Venom's guidance, saw what he was referring to.

You were just across the street, loving on a small cat that was owned by the shop keeper. He was an older guy who you befriended through your time in this part of the city. He was so nice, and his cat was just so sweet.

"You're just the sweetest, Petunia." You cooed as you gently handed the cat back.

Mr. Murray, the shop keep, chuckled as the cat simply hopped over his shoulder and onto one of the outdoor shelves. Petunia had made herself cozy amongst the packaged foods, purring softly.

You looked over the apples, "So, a little bird told me that you were having surgery?"

"Ah, yeah." Mr. Murray took a seat in his old chair, "Got a bad knee. Doctor's going to try and fix it."

"I hope that goes well. Will you need help with the store?"

"Oh, no, no." He waved whatever you were suggesting off the imaginary table, "My eldest daughter is going to take my place for a few weeks. You, my dear, shouldn't be lifting a finger."

"Tsk, tsk," You playfully clicked your tongue as you grabbed a few apples, "I'd be fine. Trust me, I'm sturdy."

Murray chuckled at your words, "You look like you're about to burst."

You chuckled with him, "The doctor says I got a few weeks left."

"Best not speed it up then, huh?"

"Since you won't let me help," You teased, handing him some cash for the fruit, "Maybe I'll drop a pie off. That sound like a good deal?"

"That would be wonderful."

"Have a wonderful rest of your day. Bye, Petunia." You waved to the cat.

"Don't be a stranger."

Mr. Murray's train of thought seemed to derail as he watched a man follow you. You were too far for him to say anything, and he was far too slow to catch up.

You, however, knew that someone was following you.

"Y'know," You started, a few by passers thinking you were talking to yourself, "For a guy who is supposed to blend in and disappear for a living."

You stopped in your tracks and turned around, "You suck at it."

Eddie stumbled a little.

"Why are you following me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked.

"I asked a question first."

"Why didn't you tell me-"

"It's none of your business."

"None of my business?" His voice raised a little, before he quickly straightened it, "That's- You're pregnant with my kid!"

"And so what?" You said, "You wanted me to go, so I did. What? You want me back now?"

"A little, yeah."

"I can't do that, Eddie." You said, "The hell am I supposed to do if you just magically decide that yet again you can't do something right and you wanna leave."

Eddie stayed put, fighting the urge to just kiss you and take you home.

"I'm not going to just let you waltz in and out of our kids life just because you have issues."

"I'm not going to do that."

"How can I be sure."

Eddie's hands shook as he carefully reached out for your hands.

"I'm sorry, okay? You were right, I was being an ass."

"Sorry isn't going to fix this."

It could fix it. You knew how this was all going to end. You wanted to be with Eddie, no matter what.

"And for the record, I did try to tell you, but you never answered me."

"I'm sorry." Eddie begged, "I don't know what I need to say for you to believe me."

"You really think I'm-" You stopped yourself, "You have a lot of ass kissing to do."

"I'm sorry, and I'll do whatever you want me to."

You still had reservations, but when you thought about them, they really didn't seem like that big of a deal.

You moved your hands and cupped Eddie's face, "I want you to stay with me. No more fighting, or being all high and mighty."

"I can do that-"

"And I want you to understand that I'm stubborn, and I'm not going to listen to you the next time you ask me to leave."

"I won't ask you to leave again."

You stared at him, desperately fighting every emotion you had in that moment.

"I was so dumb. I- I thought about what you said, and you were right. But I was too afraid that maybe you-"

"Found someone else, and moved on, yeah yeah. No, that didn't happen." You moved back, adjusting your grocery bag, "Nobody wants to date a pregnant lady."

Eddie stood before you, looking awfully nervous, "Can we just start with a clean slate?"

You turned around and continued walking, "No."

"No?" Eddie followed after you.

"No. That's what I said. A clean slate means we're gonna forget this all. We're not. We're going back to my place to talk about it."

"Oh," He said, "That's it?"

"You want me to be dramatic? I can do that."

"No, no. I'm good. But, are we...?"

"Why don't you invite me out to dinner first?" You playfully rolled your eyes, "Men these days. Always just asking for my hand rather than get to know me."

Eddie was quick to take your hand and walk alongside you, "I swear I'm going to work way harder to make it up to you- And I'm not going to be that big of an ass. And our kid is always going to have me around, okay? I swear. Because that's what I want. I want you, I want them. I just want this."

You looked over at him, "You're not going to change your mind?"

Eddie quickly shook his head.

"You're not lying to me?"

Again, you got a head shake. And now you weren't sure if that was Eddie's doing or Venom's. Well, it wasn't hard to tell.

"Thank you, V. I appreciate it." You said as you got out your building keys, "Fine, I suppose giving you a second chance wouldn't be the worst thing ever."

"I'll make it worth your while." Eddie pleaded.

"I think you doing that is why we're in this mess."

Eddie sheepishly follow you up the stairs. He wanted to follow you to the ends of the Earth, if that's what it took. You weren't asking for that, so following you up the stairs would have to do.

[donutloverxo]

Princess

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs and welcome and much appreciated. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+. Please🙏🙏

Based on a request. Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Summary - Your pussy is sore so Curtis uses your mouth.

Warnings - explicit sexual content (m/f) , age gap (reader is in her early twenties, Curtis is 34), innocent/naive reader, dub con, oral (m receiving), soft dark!Curtis, au, porn without plot.

Pairing - Curtis Everett x reader

Word count - 2k

You were jerked away when you heard the knob to your room on the snowpiercer rattling, and then being closed as his footsteps followed.

You didn't remember a lot before the train, you were just a kid when the old world came to an end. 

You saw glimpses of grass and sunlight in your dreams, you weren't sure if they were dreams or just fragments of your imagination. 

But even in your wildest dreams, you didn't imagine a bed this soft and a room this big. Big enough to fit the bed and two dressers and a large mirror. It was decadent and all you could wish for and more. 

So it should make you happy to be here. In a comfortable bed like a princess. Shouldn't it? 

It didn't. You wanted to enjoy this time while it lasted, but your gut told you that you were temporary. Just here to warm the leaders bed. 

"Curtis…" your face heating up as he studied you, his powder blue eyes twinkling in the dim light, getting rid of his coat and cap. Goosbumps erupted all over your body as you held your soft comforter upto your chest,to give you some sense of modesty and dignity even if Curtis had taken it all from you and made you a woman just weeks ago. 

You used fantasy to escape your grim reality quite often. It's easier to dream of a Prince Charming riding on a white horse to save you then to accept reality for what it is that you would've been stuck working in the greenhouse for the rest of your life… all alone. 

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he hissed, tearing the comforter away from you, holding onto your wrists to reveal your beautiful breasts to him. "You're mine now. You can't hide from me."

"I'm sorry…" you hung your head in shame, and so you wouldn't be caught peeking a glance at Curtis pulling his shirt over his head, followed by him unbuckling his belt. 

He was… beautiful. You never knew anyone could be so handsome. His shoulders wide, a light scattering of hair all over his torso, multiple scars on his body. But they only, strangely, made him more appealing to you. 

He climbed on top of the mattress, nudging your knees apart and situating himself between them. He growled as he looked at your bare sex, using two of his fingers to part your lips as you hissed in pain. 

"It's… I'm… sore," you explained when he looked up at you. 

He nodded back to you, pushing barely an inch of his forefinger inside you, he didn't want to hurt you. Your pussy was clearly swollen and overworked. If he gave into his urges he would be sure to cause you pain, and even worse, lose what little trust you have in him. 

He had suffered enough to last him seven lifetimes. He already knew he was going to hell for all that he had done. It wasn't like he could doom himself anymore by forcing you to be with him. And he deserved you. After all that he had gone through. You were his light at the end of one long and shitty tunnel. 

He pulled his hand away when he looked at your face, pinched in pain. Instead settling on fondling your breast as he thought about how to take care of his erection. 

He had taken your body four times the previous night, which was why you slept the day away. How he managed to go out and get stuff done, and be the leader was beyond you. 

"You like what you see, princess?" He taunted you when he caught you staring at his hard cock. 

The little pet name was initially what he used to mock you and how shy and delicate and innocent you were, but now he had come to cherish you. He wanted to protect you as if you were his sweet little scared princess and he was your brave knight. 

You immediately averted your eyes and started sputtering nonsense, your brain froze and you literally didn't know how to answer him. And Curtis had made it very clear that when he asked you a question you were to give him a proper, clear and honest answer. Or face grave consequences. 

"Um, yes?" Which was the truth. You had seen a few male genitals in your life, they were all… not very appealing. But it was different with Curtis. His was beautiful and intimidating at the same time. 

"Then how about," putting his leg over yours, he crawled to the top of the bed, kneeling before you with his hard, pulsating length was right in front of your face. "You make me happy."

"Oh…" you simply stared. Your friend had told you that you were 'one lucky bitch' to have a man like Curtis who spends hours pleasuring you with his mouth, his fingers, and his manhood, but never forced you to return the favor. You didn't even know how you would go about doing that. 

You had explored your own body before. Partly because of your curiosity and partly for some relief. But Curtis touched you in a way no one else could, he made you climax harder than you ever had before, you were pretty sure you passed out once from the sheer intensity of it. 

But… how does one go about doing the same with a man's special place? 

"Hm," you looked at his slit, it looked somewhat similar to your bud, you held onto his length, putting your thumb over his tip where the pearly liquid oozed out of--with which he often loved painting your whole body with, or pump you full of it and just watch it seep out of you. 

You realised how bold you were, that you should seek his permission before touching him there, you looked up to see him pleased with your actions so you decided to keep going.

You lightly pressed your thumb on his slit, making him hiss, you whipped your head up and pulled your hand away. 

"Sorry…" you sniffed, your vision becoming blurry as your eyes teared up, "I've never.. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry…" you sobbed. 

"Stop," he said softly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

You really were such a scared little lamb. Years of pent up frustration, where he had to make do with just his hand, didn't help making you feel safe with him either. But what the hell was he supposed to do when he had such a beautiful woman next to him as he slept? 

"Just listen to me. Can you do that?" he asked, cupping your jaw as you meekly nodded. "Open your mouth as wide as you can," he told you, pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb. 

Oh. It made sense. He puts his mouth on you so you should be able to do so on him as well. You opened your mouth with an 'ah', panicking just a bit when he put his hand around your throat, but he hushed you and asked you to relax. Since your body, mind and soul really did belong to him now, you immediately calmed down, knowing that he won't hurt you. Not too much anyway. 

He pushed his length in your mouth. The taste wasn't at all what you expected. Not that you were sure what it would be like anyway. It tasted creamy and salty at the same time. You coughed and sputtered around him, your spit trailing down your chin. You thought that the mess would make him angry but then you recalled how much he enjoys the mess he makes of you. 

He stopped when he felt his tip hit the back of your throat on his palm, "Good girl," he cooed, stroking your need. "Look up here," he ordered as you looked at him through your big doe eyes, "Keep looking at me okay?"

You didn't know if you were expected to give a verbal answer, because you couldn't… Not with a mouthful of Curtis. So you nodded the best you could. 

"Hands on your thighs," he said as you put your hands on your bare thighs with the palms up. "Right now just sit there… just like that," he rasped as he pulled his hips back before bucking them forward, "And look pretty. Fuck… that mouth of yours… and it's all mine to do whatever I want with…"

He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs. 

You did as you were told, sitting and taking his assault on your mouth and throat. His ejaculate, your tears and your saliva drooling all over your lap. He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs. 

You could feel slick running down the side of your leg, not wanting to ruin the pristine white sheets and to create some much needed friction you closed your legs together. 

He stopped his hips, the tip of his cock still in your mouth as he saw you squirming. "Touch yourself." He said. 

Your eyes widened as you realised what he meant. You couldn't risk pulling him out of your mouth to protest. You were too embarrassed to do that in front of him as well. 

"That's an order," he growled as he fucked in to your warm mouth, making you choke around him, pushing him closer to his release. 

A shaky hand made its way to your core, past your pubic hair and between your thighs. You tried to emulate how Curtis touched you. 

First he touched your thighs and kissed them all over. Then your ass and then he'd tease around your lips, torturing you for what would feel like forever before touching you where you most needed him. 

You gathered your intimate juices, spreading them around your vulva before rolling your pearl between your fingers, moaning around his length. 

"That's it, princess… come on, come with me," he groaned, slowly fucking into your mouth, holding off his release so he could watch you fall apart as he came in your mouth, one hand tangled up in your hair and another pinching and twisting your nipples. 

Soon you were whimpering, you tried to tell him that you were close. Thankfully he seemed to understand as he picked up the pace. Fucking into your mouth till you could feel streaks of his release on the back of your throat. 

You held onto his thigh so you could sit upright as your orgasm washed over you. Your nails digging into his skin as you screamed around his length. 

"Swallow it all," he commanded as you gulped down all that you could. 

You took in some much needed oxygen as he pulled his softening cock out of your mouth, your chest heaving as he laid down beside you and pulled you into his body.

He thought you'd want to sleep after. Since you were so swollen and tired. He'd have to take it easy on you from now on. Maybe use your mouth every now and then to give your pussy a rest. 

But then… 

Were you grinding against his cock? 

He propped your chin up so he could look at your face, the most innocent look on it. 

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Um… are you done?" you asked, tracing a scar on his chest. 

"You want something, princess?" he asked, pinching your buttock as you yelped. 

"I was thinking… we could make love? It doesn't feel right not to. You know?"

"Right, of course, princess. Since you asked so nicely." He smirked as he climbed on top of you. 

Taglist -

Permanent: @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @thehumanistsdiary @navybrat817 @la-cey @captainsdolly @bluemusickid @zaddychris @the-wayward-robot @aikeia @kidney9-9 @notyourtypicalrose @selfcarecap @miraclesoflove @saiyanprincessswanie @gotnofucks @efferuse @americasass91 @coffeebooksandfandom @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes @sweeterthanthis @cloudystevie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @tenaciousperfectionunknown @labella420 @golden-ariess @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @starbooty

Chris Evans characters: @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @angrythingstarlight @goldenfightergir @dangerouslovefanfic @melchills-j @xserenax-13

[shinneth]

hello~!! didja see the journeys ep with paul yet? what did you think of it? 👀

Oh, I sure did! Less than 24 hours after it came out, no less. Which is saying something, since I've not watched any of the Pokémon anime since XY (more had to do with getting rid of cable + general burnout; not to knock on XYZ, but Best Wishes hurt me).

Thoughts on it? Well, a little on the mixed side. Least I can do is go over it in more detail. Without watching Journeys at all outside this episode, I've got the overall gist well enough. So, guess it's time to pick this apart.

Cramming 2-3 plots in one episode was a misstep imo

I heard the last time Ash's reserve group at Oak's lab was featured in Journeys, it did a less-than-stellar job showing them off. Apparently, a good chunk of them weren't even seen in that episode, let alone had a role in it. This episode rectified that and made sure every single one of Ash's currently-owned Pokémon was at the very least visible, as even the ones who only got background/still-shot moments at least got to display an element of their personality. That much I greatly appreciate. Guess it's inevitable that pulling this off well will only become increasingly difficult as the series presses on with Ash as a protagonist, so at the very least I can respect this episode for going out of its way to make the vast majority of these Pokémon relevant in one way or another.

Especially since the Fire-type brigade had a special purpose in helping Ash's Gengar learn Will-o-Wisp. And as someone who values the strategic aspect of Pokémon battling, I'm super happy it was this move that Gengar learned and not something like Fire Punch. I enjoyed seeing this being shown in such detail! It really did feel like stepping back to the older seasons that actually put effort into showing off the importance of training.

However, as I watched the episode, I noticed how much time was being invested in these two plot points and remembered this is supposed to be the episode where Paul returns after a 12-year absence...

And from what I understand, Paul ain't gettin' any more appearances after this. This is it! This is all we get after a decade-plus of nothing!

So, in all honesty, I think at the very least the plot of Ash reuniting with all his Pokémon, Goh properly getting acquainted with them all, and the training for the Masters 8 should have been its own episode. Because I do believe it's very important to honor history and give everybody their due diligence when the anime gives them time to actually show up and matter.

Now, with Gengar learning Will-o-Wisp? That meshes in well with Paul showing up. I'd keep that. But the abundance of nostalgic fluff (that I love, but I gotta tell it like it is) really made this episode feel more than a little truncated in the areas that should have mattered most.

It was a competently written comeback for Paul...

On a superficial note, I am a little bummed that Paul didn't get any tweaks in his design (such as colored irises, which Ash was granted from Best Wishes onward; before then, his eyes were just as dotted and black as Paul's). I certainly didn't expect him to get a new outfit or anything since they didn't give Dawn that much (... from what I recall they DID give that to Serena, buuuut Serena's from the era of customizable PCs so I guess that makes a little more sense? Didn't play Gen IV's remakes, so idk if they offered that in those), but it would've been cool.

Then again, I HAVE heard about the interview in which the logic for never ever letting Ash age for the sake of keeping some "feeling like the first day of summer every day" sentiment... much as I roll my eyes at that, I've pretty much given up on the progression of time EVER being feasible in this series. Up through DP, I could at least pretend Ash was aging a year per major region (minor quests like Orange League and the Battle Frontier didn't warrant full-year lengths to me). At this point, given the design and how many generations we're in now, there's really no other choice than to accept this is basically Anime Simpsons time-wise.

Paul having his own Gyarados, Garchomp, and Metagross was completely believable, of course. He's been doing this Pokémon training thing just as long as Ash has, and there was zero indication that he would have stopped after Ash beat him. Unlike Gary, Paul didn't decide on a career change. He was set on challenging Brandon again (more on that later...). So, yeah. It would be perfectly logical for Paul to have about as many reserves as Ash. Reggie's got a big-ass backyard for that, after all. And all three of these Pokemon are ones I'd totally see have Paul having on his own journey.

Would've liked a longer battle, ngl

I'm not sour that Paul lost to Ash again here. Ash losing to Paul at this stage probably would have damaged his cred significantly (considering what all he's accomplished from XYZ and Sun/Moon) - this is right before the Masters 8 stuff starting up, after all.

But I think I would have at least preferred a tie.

Then again, with a certain other plot element I'll get to in a bit, I suppose that might have weakened that message a tad. Really, though, I would've liked a longer battle. I'm just used to Ash/Paul battles being lengthy affairs, full of twists and turns and crazy-ass strategies being utilized. Like, in all fairness, all 3 of Ash's Pokémon gained significant abilities from this battle alone (Lucario got Bullet Punch, Dragonite got a crazy-ass combo move, and Gengar got Will-o-Wisp). I am bummed we didn't get a resurgence of Counter Shield - THAT would've been cool to see make a comeback! And it's one of Ash's few legitimately clever tactics. Though I guess that technique was more of a Dawn-related thing, ultimately. Still, didn't stop Paul from copying it in the Sinnoh League :P I wanna say Dragonite's made-up technique may have been some kind of loose reference/spiritual successor, but in practice it looks like they serve completely different purposes.

Thanks to so much time being eaten up with Ash's Pokémon reunion, there sadly wasn't much left for there to be an epic fight. What little we got was good enough, and it was very nicely animated.

The real appeal in Paul and Ash's rivalry, though, was in how Paul actually made Ash question himself and his methods/motivations. Paul on the outside came off as someone who should have no business being as good as he is because he isn't all about the "love and friendship" aspect of Pokémon. Naturally we're past that development for both of them, but this extended into their battling as well. Their first full battle was loaded with multiple switch-outs on both ends, Ash being forced to wonder what Paul had planned when something didn't immediately make sense to him, and it was just a glorious display of battling psychology.

I guess switch-outs being forbidden from the off in this battle played a role in how this could have been just a little bit more in-depth. And it'd be foolhardy to just expect this battle to be right up there with both of the full battles that happened in DP. The characters are both in very different places now compared to then.

Still, I couldn't help but roll my eyes a little when Paul actually wondered "Oh shit, is Burn really affecting my Metagross' strength?! The thing that the Burn status effect has always been?!"

ofcoursehefuckingknowshehasafuckingmagmortarwithflamebodyandREALLYfuckedpikachu'sshitwiththeburnstatussowhytheeverlivingfuckisheevenwonderingaboutthistohimselfgoddammit

... a GYM LEADER you say

So. I'm of two minds about this.

It's REALLY COOL the series itself is acknowledging that Paul is far too talented to just be an aimlessly-wandering nobody trainer and gave him something that'll elevate his status and reflect just how his presence positively affected the series.

Bonus points if (and this is SUPER-DELUSIONAL OPTIMISM btw) Paul actually became a Gym Leader for the next series AND was adopted into the game canon by actually being a Gym Leader in the Scarlet/Violet games.

On the other hand...

COME ON, HE IS AT LEAST A FRONTIER BRAIN CANDIDATE

YEAH FUCKING REMEMBER THAT? LAST THING WE KNOW PAUL DID POST-LEAGUE WAS GO OFF TO CHALLENGE BRANDON AGAIN.

WHEN ASH BEAT BRANDON, HE WAS OFFERED A POSITION TO BE A FRONTIER BRAIN.

SO EITHER

PAUL BEAT BRANDON BUT TURNED DOWN THE OFFER BECAUSE WHY BE A FRONTIER BRAIN WHEN YOU COULD BE A GYM LEADER AND IT'S NOT LIKE THE ANIME ESTABLISHED FRONTIER BRAINS > GYM LEADERS OR ANYTHING OH WAIT YES IT HAS

"It’s a group of facilities, somewhat like a Gym, but more intense where you challenge and battle against an amazing group of powerful trainers called Frontier Brains." -Brock

OR

PAUL JUST NEVER DEFEATED BRANDON I GUESS

(also lowkey I really really really would've loved for Paul to meet Cynthia again...)

His behavior in the battle this episode DID have him more in, say, a "gym leader's" mindset, I would say. I'd go as far to argue that Paul wasn't really putting his all into any of those matches with Ash. He really seemed interested in drawing out new powers from his opponent. The few times where he shows something of a reaction during the battles, it's when one of the three new powers/techniques started showing that aura-like flare.

I'm certainly not saying Paul wouldn't make for a good Gym Leader. Given the subtle showings of his growth in the episode, such as Infernape actually following Paul's suggestion; something he wouldn't have done in DP regardless of Paul's prior ownership of him... also, him telling Electivire to play and all that, yeah. That's indicative that he's not as excessively rigid as he was before. Paul has the maturity and discipline to be an excellent Gym Leader; certainly 8th Gym Leader material for sure.

My thing is... this is very much beneath him. If the episode had more time, maybe we would have gotten Paul saying that in his pursuit of gaining power, he realized that wasn't ever going to stop someone out there being more powerful than him no matter what he did.

We could have gotten something like, Paul admitting that his fascination with seeing power really felt the most rewarding when his influence drew power out from his opponents.

Looking at the facts, almost every time Paul and Ash battled in DP, Ash would either get one of his Pokémon evolved or they'd learn a significant new move or ability (or technique). Paul is really good at making Ash dig deep and bring out the best in all of his Pokémon.

It stands to reason that Paul's passion might lie in bringing out the true potential of other trainers; it gives him a better battle to have that improves his own team while simultaneously benefiting his opponent.

With a specific sort of focus like this, added with the fact that Paul has zero type preferences of any sort (all we know is that he really likes powerful 'mons who are as good at tanking hits as they are at dishing them out), that really screams "Frontier Brain" more so than "Gym Leader".

In all fairness, it's never outright said whether or not Paul accepted the offer to become Gym Leader. Which can let me headcanon that while he went to Professor Oak to educate himself, it wasn't necessarily to become Gym Leader. Paul's realizing that he can't rely entirely on self-taught methods to ascend in this way of life. Whatever he becomes in the future, Paul's clearly taking the steps necessary to reach the level he seeks to be.

So while I wasn't really thrilled about Paul being used as the "measuring stick" for Ash's chances against anyone in the Masters 8, at least there's an implication that Paul isn't exactly spinning his wheels, either. Much as I'd love to have him be part of the Masters 8 (no guesses on who I'd have him replacing in that), clearly the powers-that-be did not have that intention from the onset.

Hell, one can argue that Paul becoming Gym Leader is just his stepping stone to reach greater heights. After all, it's not uncommon for Gym Leaders to later challenge, on on rare occasions, defeat and replace members of the Elite Four.

So there's an ounce of hope here. Of course, I don't expect we'll ever actually see Paul in the anime again. Maybe 24 years from now. I'll be lucky to be alive by then!

Paul plz

gawd you're still so tsundere af

BITCH YOU HAVE BEEN IN NO LESS THAN FOUR POKEWORLD EQUIVALENTS OF THE SUPER BOWL

SHUT YO' ASS UP

I'd post more pics/gifs but I ran my limit now

So uh... yeah! Those are my thoughts on the episode. In a vacuum, it's great, had lots of nostalgic potential and at the very least they didn't completely ruin Paul like they EASILY could have. Kudos on the writers for making him show his maturity through his subtle cues rather than making him overtly friendly like the rest of Ash's recurring posse.

I really do enjoy more strategic elements being employed in the battle and the episode overall. I feel like Gengar's Will-O-Wisp especially will be a game-changer for Ash's chances in the Masters 8.

However, I would've really appreciated having more time, maybe not compact this episode with three major events, y'know? I'm sure there's a filler somewhere in Journeys that could've been trimmed out to facilitate this.

Also not thrilled about the prospect of Paul becoming a Gym Leader as it's very much beneath him (unless this is some clever-ass tie in to the games and god is that ever wishful thinking or his stepping stone to reach the top), but I do like that I can infer that Paul's at least found a reason to battle for his own sake now.

Yeah. Remember when Brandon asked Paul why he battles? We never got an answer to that, ever.

So this might be the closest we get: not a Gym Leader aspiration, but a necessary step in Paul's mission to bring power out in others to improve his own style.

Could use some work, but considering I'm almost certain this is all of Paul we're gonna get from here on out, I'm just gonna treasure and headcanon the hell out of it.

[herherteartear]

blanket kick

précis— Peter's not the suave man he would hope to be in front of his crush. instead, he's a blushing mess that haunts his memories and causes him to take out his frustrations on his blanket. luckily, you prefer cherry cheeks over smooth lines any day.

pairing— Peter Parker x enhanced!maximoff!reader

a/n— this is my first standalone written story and my first time writing for marvel! i hope you guys enjoy thisss<3 i'm also open to creating drabbles to continue this if anyone's interested????! pls enjoy and pls comment and let me know ur thoughts!!!

there are many ways to describe Peter Parker, but none could ever wholly capture the true essence of the boy

besides the obvious stuff,, his intelligence , his insanely good looks , his teenage awkwardness,,

it was a hard feat to string along words to describe the way he carries himself , the way he is with others , the way his heart loves with the same ability a sponge soaks up water and soap

Peter's had crushes before

perhaps more than he'd like to admit

(can't blame the boy, who gave Ty Lee the right be that cute!?)

but when he sees her, his heart begins to swell and suddenly, he forgets how to breathe..

or how to think... talk. y'know normal human stuff

in all honesty, Peter has tried his absolute hardest to block out their first meeting from his memories

he doesn't regret meeting her, of course not! never would he even repent that embarrassingly wonderful day

he only wishes it would've gone a little differently

let's set the scene, shall we?

the sun was shining brightly, the sky was a Carolina blue, the clouds were the prettiest porcelain color, rimmed with lace

Peter was riding in an awfully silent car that Happy was driving to the airport. despite being terrified of what's to come,, the fight Mr. Stark had recruited him for,, the boy was thoroughly enjoying this adventure.

the car came to a stop, which did little for Peter's nerves. he gathered his courage before stepping out, eyes squinting at the brightness of the yellow sun. once his eyes adjusted, they landed on the prettiest head of hair he had ever seen

(although he did think the same for Hermione Granger)

Peter had never been on a plane before that day. but even then, his sparkling eyes stayed trained on her,, completely ignoring the brilliant private jet behind her

"oh? Happy, i thought it was just us?" her voice made Peter's ears burn. he swallowed thickly. you blinked at Peter, curious but also intrigued , you smiled.

to which Peter choked. on air. your eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"a-are you okay?"

"god, kid, get ahold of yourself."

"i-i'm okay! it's– i'm– i'm fine!" Peter quickly stuttered out.

"well, Yn, this is– uh,, what's your name again?" Happy turned towards the boy who's cheeks were now redder than a firetruck.

"oh! i'm Peter– Peter Parker. it's nice to meet you- not that i don't know you. well i don't, y'know not personally. but like from the news.. not that i believe the news! they're awful to you, but i mean i guess i do sometimes– but never about what they say about you–"

"i'm Yn Maximoff. it's nice to meet you too, Peter." you cut him off before Happy strangled the cute boy. you had an amused smile

he was cute

finally getting on the plane, Peter had hoped he would be able to sit far away from you and wallow in his embarrassment,

maybe sneak a glance or two.. imagine a couple of scenarios where he wasn't a doofus,

but that's not quite what happened.

after witnessing just how much the new kids was able to ramble,, Happy was not about to spend a whole ass plane ride remotely close to him

so he took it upon himself to make the kiddies sit together.. much to Peter's dismay.

like!!? did Happy not see how Peter crashed and burned in font of you?!

you, on the other hand,, had the opposite reaction.

being the youngest avenger, you don't get to be around people your age too much,, which isn't something you're complaining about!!

you totally made the decision to be an avenger and you happily welcomed the consequences..

that didn't mean you didn't get lonely at times. especially now with the accords and the team breaking up., things got a whole lot more lonely

your sister, Wanda, had made her choice to leave the compound. you completely understood why, but a part of you had hoped she would've taken you with her

although, staying at the compound did ensure your safety.

it was a weird time for the avenger's , it felt wrong for you to say some of your teammates were criminals

it left a sour taste in your mouth

you glanced from the window seat to see Peter nervously wringing his fingers. you frowned.

"are you okay?" you asked, gently. Peter's eyes widened and his heart jumped to his throat. he wanted to say something, something cool or aloof, something that would make up for his ranting earlier

"i've never been on a plane before." Peter squeaked out. he dropped his shoulders, rolling his eyes at himself. that was the highest pitch he had ever heard his voice. you took in his clearly anxious posture.

"lets switch seats? maybe looking out the window will help you." you stated. before Peter could quickly shake his head, because how rude would it be of him to take your seat?, you were already stood up.

"oh god!" Peter breathed. he quickly shifted over to the seat you once occupied. he wanted to put up more of a fight, but the way you were swaying due to the turbulence, made his palms sweat in fear for your safety.

"you, like, swing from buildings and stuff, right?" you asked. he turned to you with a nod. "are you afraid of heights? or do you just not like planes?"

oh god. oh. no. you thought– you thought he was scared of being on the plane. Peter wanted to shrink in a hole and hide. you probably thought he was such a baby! that he could handle swinging from hundreds of feet in the air, but a plane is where he drew the line?

but what else is he supposed to say? 'oh, no! it's not the plane I'm scared of. it's just your beautiful smile and the way you smell like cocoa that gets me sweating'

wtf.

that was so wrong in so many ways.

"um, no, no. i'm okay, just– just a little nervous, is all." Peter tried to force out a chuckle. but it come out more like a cough. you mouth formed an 'o.'

"ohh, okay." you paused before your eyes lit up. "how about we play a game? to distract you?"

"o– okay.."

"can you talk with spiders?" Peter lifted his eyes from looking at his hands hovering above yours,; he let out a much more relaxed laugh than earlier.

you took advantage of his distraction to swiftly bring your palm from underneath his and slap the top of Peter's hand. he jumped.

"ouch!" he playfully pouted. you eyes glanced down at his lips. you giggled nervously. your hand went to hover over his, him now being the one to do the slapping. "of course i can't talk to spiders! i– i feel like i should probably be able to shape-shift into a spider in order for that to happen, y'know?"

you nodded thoughtfully. "that's true.. you didn't hear this from me, but i heard there's an Ant-Man going around." Peter looked at you with wide eyes.

"no way! that's crazy! does he like turn into an ant?" you bumped his hand with yours in order to get his attention back to the game. his hand burned at the feeling

"i don't know-" you said in a singsong tone. "it's just what's being said around the compound." you quickly slid your hands to avoid Peter's attack. he huffed.

"how are you so good at this?" he knitted his eyebrows to focus on how to attack quickly without hurting you.

"it's a game i used to play with my brother and sister." you answered. Peter finally took his chance to slap your hands, to which you squealed excitedly as you had tried to move in time. Peter and you fell into a fit of giggles.

you both leaned against your seats, still facing each other. your hands fell on top of Peter's.

the brown haired boy quickly slid his hand out from under yours, not because he didn't enjoy the contact, but because he was worried you'd feel how clammy his hands were

you frowned slightly at the loss of contact.

"a– are we really fighting your sister?" Peter wondered out loud, without a second thought.

you shifted uncomfortably. Peter quickly noticed; his heart sped up and he mentally scolded himself for being so inconsiderate.

"not because i think she's evil! i mean,, i know that's what the news says.. but they also think Spider-Man's like thirty. and i'm not thirty! its just everything's crazy right now.. with the accords., i can't even imagine how you're feeling! probably terrible.. oh, g od wait, not terrible, i'm s–"

you had been watching with an endearing look in your eye. you had come to find that you enjoy watching Peter ramble.

his eyes would become unsettled and shaky, his body would begin to become more and more animated, but his voice

gosh, his voice was something you wanted to listen to for the rest of your life

but you could tell he was getting more and more skittish. so you put him out of his misery

"terrible probably wouldn't be my go-to word, it's up there though.. at least i got to meet you." you smiled softly.

Peter's eyes ran over your soft features. night had fallen, so the windows of the plan displayed an almost picturesque display of the moon and stars. the light hue of color the moon provided painted your face in a way that clouded Peter's thoughts.

with your comment of being grateful to have met him, Peter wasn't in control of his mouth for much longer.

"so pretty." he breathed. both of you guys froze.

Peter's face quickly morphed from love-sick to mortified. you blushed violently.

deciding you didn't want Peter to fall into another rant-like apology (because if you got to listen to him talk for that long in this setting, you might just drop the 'L' word) , you said,

"let's watch a movie?"

the two of you sat, shoulder to shoulder, watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but being too hyper aware of their thighs pressed together and brushing hands to actually pay attention

upon arrival, both teenagers walked off the plane, sleep deprived , but with thumping hearts and dazed grins.

Peter threw himself on his hotel bed that night,, hiding under the covers

his thoughts replayed your interaction over and over (and over and over) in his head

the boy shoved his head, face first, into the stiff hotel pillow and let out a muffled groan

Peter flipped himself over, stared at the ceiling, before remembering his spouts of unnecessarily long explanations

he thrashed his body, kicking his poor blanket in frustration but most of all, out of embarrassment

he calmed himself down once his memories refreshed themselves over your gentle giggles and how soft your hands were

Peter fell asleep with cherry red cheeks and a blissful grin.

because despite those small mess ups, despite the futile way he beat his covers in humiliation, Peter treasures that day like no other.

[theglitterypages]

Title: Sweetheart Part 2

Pairings: Armin x fem! reader

Part One

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2000+

••••••

“Fix your postures!” you commanded, your hands are on your back as you walk in front of the Cadets. Levi stood behind you with a smirk on his face, he's been a little gentle with the Cadets these days but now that you're back to kick ass with him this would be so fun.

“Kirstein! Straighten up your back!”

Jean immediately obeyed while Connie was staring at you with wide eyes, this was not how they remembered you few days ago, you were soft spoken then, all sweet and all smiles but now they are seeing the tigress that Levi was talking about.

Levi was even more gentle in handling them because Levi rarely shouts yet his words carries heavy emotions but you, you can do both.

“She's the sister of the commander that's why she has the guts but I bet she's all cry and whine if she faced a Titan.”

You have a good sense of hearing and you heard what the Cadet has said about you, it wasn't the first time that someone underestimated you because of your gender and because you're Erwin's sister, it's one of the stereotypes, you don't actually mind but what you heard next took every single strand of patience inside you.

“Bet she's a good screamer in bed.”

Levi balled his hand into a fist, he may call you brat and have endless argumentd with you but he treats you like a sister and hearing the Cadets say those filthy words to you makes his blood boil but then when he saw how you tilted your head in both sides and how your eyes went blank he already knew that you can handle it yourself, you're not a simple girl after all so he let you do what you want.

Your eyes wandered around the Cadets, you were hurt by those comments, you hated being looked down just because they think you had it easy because of your brother when in fact you almost die a lot of times in the past and those wounds from Titan attacks heals in time but those words that serves as daggers stabbing your heart won't.

After a minute of searching you found the pair that you heard, the two men were standing beside Armin Arlert, it would've been a great view if the assholes weren't standing beside him, Armin Arlert's face screams peace, those blue eyes are calming.

“I bet she's been sleeping with the Captain.”

That was the last straw, Armin immediately threw hard punches towards the two guys who are both taller, and probably a couple of years older than him, he had enough of their dirty mouths, he knew that he's not suppose to do that but he couldn't stand them talking shits about you like that, his knuckles got red because of the impact and when he looked down at the two fellow Cadets, both their nose were broken as they lay flat on the ground.

Levi was shocked to see Armin straight up punch his fellow Cadets but he secretly smiled, he knew that the kid is promising. Everybody just need a little push to unleash their demons, seems like Armin Arlert has been unleashed just now.

Eren and Mikasa immediately went beside Armin to put a hand on his shoulders trying to calm him down silently, the blonde teen was heavily breathing, “I was taught by my grandfather to treat women right, you don't talk dirty shits about them like that, respect a woman the way you respect your Mother.” Armin growled through gritted teeth, he's surprised of the damage that he had done to the two men, those broken and bleeding nose gives him some sort of satisfaction but as he tore his blue eyes away from the two, he met your eyes.

You were frozen on your position, you were planning to do punch them first but Armin's action made you stop, you see the blonde guy as a soft one, the type of person who wouldn't even dare hurt a fly but here he is proving that he knows how to throw a good punch, when your gaze met, the anger on his eyes vanished, his face softened as his cheeks turned bright red including both of his ears.

With a small smile you made your way towards them, Connie, Jean and Sasha were standing behind Armin now too, checking up on him, you've deduced that he's like the baby in the group, suits him, he does look like a baby.

You looked down at the Cadets lying on the floor and grabbed their collars so you could lift them off the ground.

Everybody gasped at your action but no one dared to interfere. “I would love to have you two on our squad next expedition but we're the one leading the whole team which means...we're the first one to encounter titans and if we're unfortunate we'll be the first ones to get eaten too. I'll show you how I cry in front of the Titans then.” you let go both of their collars and let them land butt first on the ground.

You turned to Armin and smiled at him genuinely, “I appreciate your efforts for breaking their nose for me, Cadet. Thank you.” you smiled as you pat his head, Armin looked up at you with a smile, his cheeks flaming red, “It's natural human decency, M-Ma'am. No need to thank me.” you smiled at him and pursed your lips before walking away so you could go back to the center of the scouts.

“Captain Levi would take over now.”

Levi stood beside you and the Scouts saluted at him, “Take care of some written reports for me, brat.” he ordered and you nodded as a response as you walked away from the training grounds but before you could even went further, you heard grunts and gasps behind you.

You saw how the sole of Levi's boots collided with the face of the Cadets, you winced and bit your lower lip as you see how Levi kicked them hard.

“I'll make sure you two would learn how to respect your superiors now and women in general.”

You started to feel bad because you're damn sure their jaws would be dislocated because of Levi's signature kick but you remembered that they're assholes and they deserved it so you proceeded to go on and take care of the written reports instead of watching their ass get beaten.

°°°°

It was already dark when you've decided to take a walk to try and breathe some fresh air, you looked up at the dark sky, the moon was shining brightly.

Your eyes settled on the mysterious moon, you've always been fascinated of the moon, when you were a kid you often cry to tell Erwin that the moon is a creep because it keeps on following you, your brother would always hold back his laughter and would assure you that he'll protect you from the moon.

A part of you wishes that you two should've stayed as kids then, your brother has been seeking to find out the truth and as he gets closer to that truth, you're slowly losing him. You immediately wiped a tear away, you should just be happy for your brother and make sure he'll be safe, that would be enough.

You lifted your arms towards the sky as if reaching the moon, it is beautiful yet awfully frightening but the stars cast out those fears, as the stars shine brightly in the night sky you felt at ease and you smiled to yourself before putting your hands back to your pocket. It's getting colder now.

The cold wind embraced your whole and you shivered strands of your hair escaped from your messy hair bun. When the cold was too much for you to handle, wearing thin clothes is not a wise decision so you've decided to go back inside just to hear a hissing nearby, if you're right the hissing comes from the tree nearby.

Out of curiosity you slowly made your way towards the tree, you just silently prayed that it's not Cadets that are making out outside because you've witness a pair making out behind trees before and you wouldn't want it to happen again.

But as you got closer to the tree you confirmed that it wasn't a couple doing something nasty outside, it is an angel silently sitting down.

“Aren't you suppose to be sleeping by this time now?”

Armin's eyes widened as his head snapped on your direction, his mouth gaped open as while his brows raised in surprise. "I c-can't sleep Ma'am.” he stammered and looked away from you, not that he doesn't want to see you, it's just that the thin material that you're wearing is revealing your cleavage. He had to gulp and remind himself that it's not appropriate to look at women like that.

“Mind if I sit down beside you? I couldn't sleep either.”

“I-I don't really mind.”

When your arms accidentally brushed, Armin wanted to flinch but he didn't because he wouldn't want to offend you and when you looked at him you can still see how red his cheeks were even if it's dark. “Thank you for what you did, earlier. I don't really mind such comments anymore, it wasn't the first time and it probably wouldn't be my last either.” you chuckled bitterly, you've worked hard to be a skilled fighter so you could prove to everyone that you're not a woman living as your brother's shadows.

But sometimes life is fucked up, actually most of the time it is fucked up.

“You should inform Commander Erwin about it. I mean they're crossing the line, they're talking as if they know you.”

“How about you, do you know me?”

“It feels like...I do.” he silently whispered as he looked down on his hands, you followed his gaze and your mout gaped open when you saw that there's a bandage covering his knuckles. “By the walls, Armin...w-what happened? You shouldn't have done it, I could've taken care of them myself.” you grabbed his hand and examined it, not that you can see through those bandages but you just feel like doing so.

Armin could've taken away his hands from you but he didn't, feeling your soft skin against his is comforting, he's forgotten that he shed a tear when Mikasa put those bandages around his knuckles, he didn't break any bone but it's red and sore, he's not really cut out for scenarios like that but it was worth it because he was able to defend you at some way, in the little way that he could.

“It's just sore. I'm not really good at punching, you know. I used to get beaten up as a kid, they'll steal my food and Eren and Mikasa would come to rescue me but now, I finally...I finally get to do something for someone.”

“Why didn't you fight back before?”

“Because I can't and I'm not as brave. You know, when I came face to face with a Titan, I—I was frozen. Eren got eaten and it was fortunate that he's alive.”

You didn't notice that you stared caressing his knuckles as you listened but it seems ljke he doesn't notice too so you let it be, “But look at you now, I've heard from Erwin that you're a smart one. You've figured out who is the female titan right?” Armin looked at you and his blue eyes widened in shock as he saw how close you two were.

He knew that in one wrong move he can finally know how would it feel to have your lips press against his, if he'll move his head forward maybe he can feel how soft those lips are.

But he stayed back, he respects you. He's attracted to you but he knows his boundaries, his grandfather told him to grow up as a gentleman and all that and he thinks of Mikasa, if Mikasa would be treated so inappropriate by a man he wouldn't like that, he wouldn't like that to happen to his sister.

That's why he would behave himself around you and he'll choose to be contented of just staring at you, it's more than enough.

“W-Well it was a gamble and I was already late...it was—”

You kissed his cheek to shut him up. The poor guy looked at you as his whole face reddened, both his ears flaming up.

“W-Why d-did you do that?” he whispered as he looked away.

“I just want to. Can you promise me one thing?” you asked as you leaned away, Armin looked at you with curiosity before he opened his mouth to respond, “It depends, make me promise something that I can fulfill.” he told you. When he promised someone, he'll always make sure that he can fulfill because he hates it when promises are broken and he wouldn't want to break any promise to anyone, especially to you.

“Each one of us has our own expertise, I want you to focus on yours and if you find yourself in a fucked up situation, don't hesitate to go to me, call out my name or somethin', I have your back now, Armin.”

“Then call out my name too if you need me.” Armin told you bravely, he doesn't have any idea why he felt this way but the moment he saw you after bumping into you, he already know that he's attracted, he told Eren about it, Eren teased him and he's not amused, not that he hates it but he's afraid that you'll hear.

He often watch you from afar, most of the times you are found with the Captain, probably why some thinks the two of you are in a relationship but as you sat beside him under the moonlight, his heart was filled of hope.

“Good night then, sweetheart.” you whispered as you gently press your lips on his cheeks again, as usual, he was frozen and you stood up to walk away so you could go back inside already.

Armin followed you with his gaze as a sweet smile made its way across his lips, his eyes sparking with glee.

“Good night, sweetheart.” he whispered.

[wickedpact]

A ranking of all the TTT stories in order of how much I liked them.

(Oh god this is so long)

1 My Mother's Axe

BABY ANDYYYYYYYYYYYY. Honestly this one had the trifecta of developing a character's motivations, developing a character's backstory, & developing their personality. The story starting out with Andy teaching Nile to use the axe was so charming and fun, and you could feel that chemistry they had in Opening Fire, the way they teased and bickered with each other so naturally. I loved the wedge between them on the subject of the axe, how Nile was perhaps a little too young to understand Andy's feelings about whether or not its the 'same' axe. I also love how the axe is obviously the symbol of the franchise and hugely important, but you never get a sense of exactly how important it is to Andy until you read the story.

I love the entire Ship of Theseus theme, and how it feels so natural that for Andy she has to get attached to the idea of things rather than the things themselves because she'll always outlive the things themselves-- the axe is symbolically her mom's axe, even if physically it isn't. And I love how she clearly clings to that concept so tightly. "This is the labrys she held in her hands...." IT GETS ME.

And the fact that this sense of BELONGING, of FAMILY, of CULTURE is so important to Andy that she clings to it (figuratively and literally) with both hands. And of course it's important to her, she spent so long alone that the woman doesn't even remember her birth name. That axe (or the idea of that axe) is all she has left of her mother and that family/culture she was born into.

PLUS on that note I love how Andy doesn't remember if her mom was her actual biological mother, but it doesn't matter to her. This woman was her mother in all the ways that counted. And how her mom BETRAYED AND KILLED Andy but Andy loved her so much that she avenged her and carried her axe for thousands of years. THOUSANDS OF YEARS!!!!!!

I also loved how the story transcends the timeline of the whole franchise and seeing Andy through the years. Loved seeing her with the varying squads and with varying axes. Also baby Andy was so cute. It was cool seeing her so young. like holy fuck. Andromache The Scythian, Immortal Warrior (but smol). Love that.

Also I think this one is one of the few ttt stories that doesn't suffer from length problems.

tldr: goddammit greg you've done it again.

2 Zanzibar and Other Harbors

Zanzibar my beloved. I've said before, but it's downright comedic how little regard there was for Joe and Nicky's character designs in this story. The same person who does the colors for the regular comic did the colors for this one too, and you can tell, every panel of this story was Beautiful.

Ik there was A Lot of criticism of this one (lmao @ how the fandom had no idea what was to come) but I thought a lot of The Discourse was a bit dramatic. I did think Nicky came off as a little oblivious to Joe's feelings in this story, but I've said before, I honestly think that was a 'tone not translating' thing. It felt like Nicky was nagging Joe for [checks notes] saving innocent people, but Joe was so amused by Nicky's complaints I really do think it was supposed to come off as teasing.

Plus I know the 'Joe running off into danger and Nicky reluctantly following' dynamic wasn't popular (I'm a pretty meh on it meself) but I did love how Joe's impulsiveness (if you want to call it that) was interpreted as heroism and not hot-hotheadedness. All of the examples Nicky and Joe talked about included Joe explicitly saving people. (and it also took A Lot for the nazi to actually provoke Joe).

I also feel like their characterization here was closest to the movie canon-- the bit where they hear the woman scream and Joe goes running in to save her while Nicky swoops in on Joe's heels to comfort her while Joe and the nazi were fighting reminds me of the train car scene. Joe had suggested First that they go find Nile because she needed to be protected, and Nicky later added that Nile probably also needed emotional support. Similar reactions.

But it was So Good, the themes of queer community and the enduring nature of queer culture are Not themes you see in media that often and it was such a delight how it was done. Also it's one of the few more modern TTT stories that has a completely valid excuse for taking place when it did. Chef's kiss.

3 Passchendaele

I love the Duality between seeing baby Andy and then seeing Mama Andy in the very next issue. This story doesn't have a ton of meat to it, but the entire concept of Andy adopting a war orphan straight off the battlefield PLUCKS MY TENDER LITTLE HEARTSTRINGS, and I think it's especially poignant for comic!Andy. I think most people wouldn't think twice about movie!Andy doing something like that but comic Andy is so hardened and almost cruel sometimes, and seeing that even for her the world hasn't beaten all of the compassion from her yet is SO!!!!!!! this woman contains MULTITUDES okay, she's violent and angry and tired and Done but she's also so kind and compassionate and THE STRENGTH OF HER!!!!! Also the idea of her and Yitzhak co-raising a kid together is so damn cute. It was #mysterious pre-Yitzhak-story but now it's cute. holy fuck. It's cute.

& the headbonk panel of her and Zeus lives in my heart. anyways.

4 Many Happy Returns

I Know people weren't thrilled about Booker being in this one, but I've developed a pet-peeve about that: this story was *not* booker-centric. Booker only exists in this story to the extent required to explain the importance of the gesture Nile makes towards him. If there was a story about Booker making some grand gesture of kindness to Nile no one would be saying it was Nile-centric. bc it wouldn't be! Booker exists in this story to explore Nile's kindness, its not about him. I saw that a couple times and it bothered me. anyways.

AAAAAAAAAA I loved this one, the art was beautiful, I loved how Andy Nile and Booker were drawn (like their comic selves but.. more looking like actual people). I loved Andy and Nile's Bants, how Andy wanted to jump right in and Do Violence but Nile was basically telling her to hold her horses.

I feel like I'm just repeating the post I made on this story a few days ago, but I LOVED how Nile's plan revolves not around violence or Cool Mercenary Skills but on Nile's own life skills (as she canonly did a lot of minimum wage job-hopping before the marines in comics canon). Her plan used her skills, not the skills of an immortal warrior, and HER SKILLS were in fact more useful for the situation! lov to see Nile's resourcefulness and planning skills.

AND HOW NILE WAS PROBABLY WATCHING BOOKER??? it's so Much bc 1.) nile knew booker A SINGLE DAY and yet he made such an impression on her emotionally that she had to keep an eye on him and 2.) she said in the movie she wanted Booker to get off free with an apology. Yes she's a member of the team but that doesn't mean she's necessarily going to follow orders like a good little soldier. I also love how she convinced Andy to go along with it. her HEART, her KINDNESS, her THOUGHTFULNESS, UGH.

5 The Bear

Honestly I have like no negative things to say about this one other than a.) character design issues which is less about the story itself and is more of a 'tog comic in general' criticism and b.) too short, but it was supposed to be a tease, so.

But I loved Yitzhak, I wasn't expecting to really like him at all but like I said in my other post, he tickled me. I love characters who are Kind™, especially if they have little reason to be so given their backgrounds. Chef's kiss. Lov him.

6 Bonsai Shokunin

I know this one was a little controversial bc of the outsider POV but whenever I see people upset about that they never point out that the Outsider Guy (the samurai) existed as a reflection on Noriko. His ideas are explained in the text to develop hers. The whole story follows how she gave mercy to a scared young man and in response he murdered Noriko, repeatedly! Who gave him the right to inflict such pain and suffering on the world? In his opinion, the lack of response from the gods was his permission. And for Noriko-- over and over again she dies and suffers because she gave mercy, which lines up with her ideas in FM about how it's their fate to rule mortals and if they don't align with that plan/fate/whatever then they suffer. It shows some background to those ideas and how they developed in her mind outside of Ocean Madness™. Additionally, his idea of 'the Gods have done nothing to strike me down so it's fine if I do these things' kind of explains how Noriko may justify her own morally corrupt actions-- she's died so many times and it's never stuck. Maybe if she did die any of those times, or while she was in the water, maybe that would've been a sign she was doing something right, or at least doing something normal. But she hasn't died. Fate isn't done with Noriko yet. And maybe there's a reason for that. In her mind, it's just not a very pleasant reason, is all.

There were things I was kind of meh about tho. I did kind of wish we saw something of Noriko and the team, or smth explaining the way she was before her dip in the pool-- personality, likes dislikes, etc. but it wasn't bad or anything. It was super vague tho, I had to read it a few times before I got what it was going for. Liked the art. Liked the bonsai metaphor. And of course I Respect the decision to use the 1300s (1200s? I don't remember off the top of my head) rather than using the last 200 years.

7 Strong Medicine

Honestly looking back, this one made me kind of sad because both this one and Bonsai Shokunin explored character's ideas on Fate and The Divine and how that intersects with immortality and I totally thought that theme would be continued, especially with Love Letters. But Then It Wasn't™.

Admittedly.... I had to re-read this one to remember most of it. I liked Booker's ideas on God, 'The conductor of the symphony just may not be very good at his trade' but the plot itself was kind of forgettable. Some fuckin cowboys try to kill a doctor (their second) because he couldn't save their sickly brother. Book tries to stop them, gets killed, and then comes back and kills them all before they get the doctor. Alright. I liked the artstyle because the characters were ugly in a similar way that leandro's are, but way more bearable.

I love the Irony of Booker concluding that there is no such thing as fate or destiny and nothing has meaning, AS HE UNKNOWINGLY SAVES MERRICK'S GRANDFATHER FROM BEING KILLED. Booker getting fucked over by life/god/destiny yet again. It also kind of explains about where the fuck hell Merrick's interest in immortal mercenaries even came from.

I originally had this one a lot higher and then I thought about it and moved it down like two spots.

8 Never Gets Old

I liked seeing Booker interact with his kid. And we got a name for the kid! Philippe was a little bitch though, he was a little obnoxious. I liked how Booker was so thrilled to experience a restaurant with his kid (and since we know he was there before, it can be assumed he went with all of his kids and yet he was so charmed each time). It fits with his line to Nicky in the moon landing story about how you don't appreciate beautiful things 'unless you have someone to share them with'. It was charming to see Booker interact with his kid, and to see him so happy. Also lmao @ Booker's big fat Ye Olde Crush on Andy.

However at the same time it was like.. of all the things to write about,,, I guess? Booker's Night Out...... alright. Especially since Book had so many stories.

I don't know, it was alright. The old man killing him really came out of nowhere, (but the 'Salut, asshole!' panel was funny tho).

9 How To Make a Ghost Town

I've hit a point where talking about these stories has gotten less fun. I liked this one but I felt like Achilles getting lynched was not really necessary for a story that was already tragic (a story that already involved Achilles doing a lot of suffering at the hand of bigots). When we first got the blurb for this story I thought it would be about Andy returning to the squad and making friends with Booker after losing Achilles and them butting heads on the idea of family and when to cut off ties. So a little bit of my underwhelmedness about this one might be just my expectations being different.

Honestly I was pretty interested in Andy and Achilles' relationship and I would've liked to see more of them-- like, what was their dynamic like? What did they love about each other?

But anyways Andy leaving and Achilles getting killed anyways feels so pointlessly tragic (which I suppose is the point..... I don't like tragedies) she left to save him and yet people killed him anyway. Meh.

I did love the bits about Andy wanting to have a domestic life (Andy and her multitudes again) and the little detail about how she buried her axe near the road but he buried his guns under his bed-- he was an escaped slave, he never had the luxury of assuredness like Andy did. It was a sad story.

10 Lacus Solitudinis

'You put this one above love letters crim??? how could you???' easy, lmao.

There was stuff in this one I liked. But to talk about stuff I didn't like: (I'll keep it brief, I know ragging on this story has been done time and time again)

UH, setting aside the 6 year cold shoulder between Joe and Nicky, I thought their chosen method of conflict resolution was... bad at best. Nicky's inability to talk about his feelings was also annoying, especially since the entire point of this story is a fight Joe and Nicky had, and yet we don't get both sides to the story, which is...... important? That fact is especially annoying bc in the absence of Nicky explaining his side of the story, it's absolutely a possible (and admittedly probably unintentional) interpretation of the text that we do get that Joe routinely resolves conflict between him and Nicky by simply cutting Nicky out of his life entirely until Nicky just. caves? Even if it takes years?

WHICH i could get into that interpretation and how fucked up i find it. but im not going to. out of restraint.

I don't know, I think there are a lot of interesting ways to go about this conflict but 'Nicky wants to kill a guy and Joe refuses to acknowledge his existence until he stops because he thinks Nicky is too much of a Good Boy to get his hands dirty like that' ('I wont watch as the world turns his (...) compassion into something ugly'. ) wasn't.. how I would've done it. (I mean you know Joe doesn't give a shit about what Nicky is doing in a moral way, because Joe doesn't even care or mention that Booker is killing those cops too. Joe only cares because he doesn't like the idea of Nicky changing in a way he finds undesirable.)

admittedly I've said before, I do like the emphasis Joe's reaction puts on Nicky's kindness. Joe has a complete inability to cope with Nicky simply Not Being Kind. It speaks to the steadiness of Nicky's compassion all those years. but still that fact doesn't make it the conflict feel worth it

hm. I said I would be brief and I wasn't.

oh well. basically I thought there was interesting conflict potential there but it wasn't done the way I would've liked, and the way it was done leaves a lot of disturbing (and again probably unintended) interpretations to lie.

What I did like? Andy and Joe having that pessimist/optimist dynamic. Joe nerding out about science. Andy not being impressed by The Achievements Of Man. I loved Booker needling at Nicky about his outdated slang and also trying to give him Older Brother advice practically in the same breath. I loved Booker giving The Worst relationship advice ever and Nicky being like 'I Will Not Do That, Ever, Thanks.' the family vibes were so good. The Joenicky vibes left a lot to be desired tho.

11 Love Letters

I talked about my problems with Nicky in this story (and Lacus Solitudinis). I don't know, the story isn't bad but I do hold a little bit of a grudge towards it because its very existence begs the existence of a solo Joe story and we didn't get one. If we never got this story, then we could happily count Lacus Solitudinis and Zanzibar as The Joenicky Stories™ and move on with our lives. sigh.

I remember when we first got the blurb for this story I was really curious about why Nicky specifically + the setting, and the answer kind of feels like 'the author had an idea for a story like this and saw ttt as a good enough place to utilize that idea'. Plus I was really underwhelmed by the Romantic Sentiment in the letter. If you look at it line-by-line, the majority of the letter is actually Nicky talking about how lonely and disturbed he is, rather than actual,, yknow,,, Romantic Sentiment. I mean, compare the van speech and this letter and this letter is just kind of meh in comparison. I liked nicky calling joe wise! and I liked the brief sun/moon metaphor! and otherwise it was eh. It didn't even have cute squad banter, which is why Lacus Solitudinis is above this one.

12 An Old Soul

Nun orgy. Nun orgy?????? Nun orgy.......

The whole story felt like a setup to have a nun orgy. Why did Booker have abs? Why did they do that to Andy's nose? ?????? the art was good at least.

nun orgy.

[siriushxney]

* . PAPER RINGS !

pairing — lando norris x reader

rating — fluff

wordcount — 2.3k

warnings — cursing (it's me who are we kidding)

song — taylor swift | paper rings

note ! — before y'all jump down my throat about "what the hell is a toque” — it's a hat. us canadians call it a toque. also this is long overdue, but I hope you like it!

when the light of day melted into the dark of night, and long, tiring shifts slowly came to an end, it wasn't an odd sight to see large groups of people piling into bars for a drink or several. with an extra hour and a half added onto your normal shift time due to your bosses inability to do what he was supposed to do — leaving stacks of paperwork you had to go through, along with a few of your other colleagues.

now walking into the packed bar — bags long forgotten in your cars, you couldn't find it in yourself to cringe at the strong smell of alcohol that burned your nose as you walked through the door, nor did you care for the way the heels of your feet stuck to the ground with every step you took.

after a day like today, you weren't sure if you'd mind anything.

sheila — one of your colleagues raised a stiff hand and slammed it down on the counter, gaining the attention of the bartender. “we need like, fifteen shots stat!” the bartender immediately got to work, pouring glass after glass — sliding them in front of the five of you, before turning to serve another guest.

“that asshole gonna get my foot down his throat if he dumps that much paperwork on us again,” she downed her first shot and reached for another one, “all of that should have been sorted out in the morning, not thrown onto us as we were packing up,” the rest of you agreed, downing a shot quickly as you tried to keep up with the loud mouthed girl.

you turned your head away from the conversation that had started between the others, choosing to stare curiously at the screen in the corner displaying reruns of a race that took place today.

feeling a body skim yours as a group of men slid into the barspace to the left of you — a majority of them sporting an orange and blue item of clothing, something you had connected quickly to the orange and blue car that had been on screen moments earlier.

looking back to the tv hanging from the ceiling, you tried to wrap your head around what all the numbers meant — a small bump caused you to look down, a younger man of the bunch staring at the tv proudly, “do you watch f1?” he turned his head to look at you as he finished asking his question.

f1... Is that what this was called?

“no, but I'd rather watch that then the football game that's on,” the boy looked at you with wide eyes, slightly in awe of how blunt you were. he nodded slightly before turning his attention back to the tv. “ I assume you do. you're wearing the colours of one of the cars,” you felt bad as you watched the boy curl into himself slightly.

ha looked over to you once again — “you can say that,” his eyes glinted a little bit as he spoke, a proud smirk coming across his face as he leaned in closer, not close enough to make you uncomfortable, but close enough that he could speak without the bar hearing. “I race for them — see that orange and blue mclaren? thats me.”

that was definitely more interesting than the news.

“so what might that mclaren driver's name be?” his head turned back to you, a slight red tint covering his cheeks, and climbing to the tips of his ears.

with a single hand outstretched to you, he introduced himself, “I’m lando norris — and who might you be?”

“Y/N.”

—

that day had happened a few months ago — and in that time, your friendship with the young driver had only progressed.

days you used to spend simply reading in the comfort of your own home, was now spent bouncing from bookshop from book shop — lando recommending you all the books that he had been in love with at the moment.

you had to refrain from telling him you had already read them, having looked him up on instagram a day or two after the initial meet — the photo of him cozy and comfortable in his bed with the stack of books perfectly visible to his side.

the types of books a person read could tell you a lot about their character — and with lando, it was all good things.

“okay, and then this one is semi based on a true story — like half true but has a lot of action and drama sprinkled in there-” he rambled on about the book he held in his hands, his eyes darting between you and it as his hands ran over the spine and pages of the book.

even knowing the writer, plot, and ending — you couldn't bring yourself to put an end to his ramblings. instead, you stood to his side and nodded eagerly as he spoke words with such excitement.

for any other person, you would have cut them off and told them that you had read it — but for some reason, cutting lando off was the last thing you wanted to do. he wasn't the famous young driver for mclaren who was always eager for a challenge on the track. he was just lando.

the boy who had a mini library growing in his room, filled with books from every genre. he was the boy with the odd affinity for milk. he was just normal.

and for the first time in your life — normal felt nice.

—

“lando, you're insane.”

“maybe a little bit, but insane is fun sometimes.”

when lando said he had something fun in mind for the two of you to do, the last place you expected to end up was on the shore of an ice cold lake — the wind blowing harshly against your body, making it sway slightly with the force.

lando had already taken off his jacket, now standing in just his shirt and bottoms.

“I’m not going in that,” you backed away from the boy as he stripped more and more of his clothes off, dropping them in a neat pile on the ground.

he shrugged, pausing in his action of removing his jeans, “are you not going in because its cold, or are you not going in because you don't have a swim suit?” while the lake technically was still warm enough for swimming, the thought of the water 's temperature that was lowering daily paired with the strong winds, didn’t exactly spark excitement in you.

“both.”

“it’s either your coming in by your own will, or I’m dragging you in.”

“you touch me and I’ll hurt you — that’s a promise.”

a mischievous glint appears in lando’s eyes — he knew what he was about to do was going to get him in trouble, and most likely hurt in the end, but the thought of doing it overpowered his thoughts about what would happen after.

there was no going back.

in a split second lando had his arms wrapped around your waist as he dragged you closer to the lake — despite the heels of your feet digging into the ground, he had still succeeded in getting you close enough that if he threw his body weight towards the water, you would soon follow.

and that’s exactly what he did.

a laugh from lando, a squeal from you, and the whooshing of the air rushing past your ears was all you could hear before you found yourself submerged under the cold water.

you clawed your way back to the surface with the help of lando’s arms, which were still wrapped around your waist — as soon as you felt the coldness of the air reach your face, you were turning in his arms and swinging.

“I’m fully clothed you asshole!” you brought a fist down lightly on the top of his head — the water squishing out at the action.

“stop- don’t- stop hitting me!” lando laughed as he let you go, swimming backwards slightly as a way to get away from your violent swings. “I know that you're fully clothed- that's what makes it so funny,” the curly haired boy couldn't contain his laughter at the end — his voice railing into the squeaky laugher that you had come to love.

without the support of lando, paired with the additional weight of your heavy winter coat and soaked wool toque and mittens, you began to struggle slightly to stay afloat. “lando-” the water climbed its way up your face before washing back down as you kicked harder.

his laugher stopped as he kicked his way over to you — grabbing around your waist once more and holding you to his body.

with the distance closed between the two of you, the feeling of his warm breath against your face was unavoidable — as well as the feeling of the heat radiating from his body, even through the layers you had on. neither of you spoke, both trying not to move — for every movement brought a wave of discomfort with your muscles tensed up from the cold. but as time started to tick slower, and all you could feel was the other — the last thing on both of your minds was the temperature of the water.

“you’re turning blue, lando,” as much as you wished you would've stayed in that position forever, the sight of lando’s cheeks and lips draining of its naturally pink colour concerned you. even with layers upon layers of clothes on, you found yourself shivering — and with lando in nothing but his boxers, you doubted he was doing much better than you. “I think right now is a good time to get out,” lando didnt reply, only bringing the two of you closer to the shore.

with chattering teeth, bodies curled in, and fast feet, lando and you made your way to his car — both jumping in the minute you could get your hands on the door handle. neither of you cared for the seats wetting as you sat down.

“I think I have some towels in the back from my training — can you grab them? I’ll get the heat and everything going,” you leaned into the back of the car to the best of your ability, pulling two towels out of an orange gym bag, and bringing them to the front where lando and you sat.

lando wrapped the towel around his shoulders — the shaking constant and harsh, rocking his body violently.

“I would say I told you so, but I feel too bad to even insult you,” with your jacket, toque, and mittens stippped off and thrown onto the floor, you wrapped your towel around your shoulders much like lando had.

“awe, youre so considerate — I didn’t think it through.”

“trust me — I can tell.”

the sound of the heaters on blast and the clattering of teeth was all that filled the car. lando had seemed aggravated at your comment — the way his body turned slightly away from your own, his eyes never meeting yours, and the fact that there was no laugh following or during his words.

what had you said or done that pissed him off?

“are you mad at me?”

lando turned slowly, his eyes still not fully meeting yours — but he looked like he was less angry and more conflicted. “I’m not mad, I’m just- just,” the words were on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to say them. “forget it.”

“no, I wanna know what's wrong — please tell me?”

he angled his body to face yours after a few moments of no response, making it so him and you looked at eachother with ease. “back out there on the lake- did you… did you feel anything?” your body tensed at his question — it was the last thing that you thought would come out of his mouth, so it took you by surprise. “because I know I did — and that scares me.”

you struggled to find a string of words that made sense to you, “I mean, yeah I guess I did — what did you feel? just so I can make sure that I felt the same thing.”

“I felt like I wanted to stay in that position forever — like I wanted to kiss you,” the words he spoke were soft and genuine. “all I felt was you.”

it had taken months for you to put a name to the feelings you had when you were around the british boy, but now, more than ever, did you finally know what they were.

they were love.

“I felt the same thing — all that I could feel was you and your stupidly perfect body against mine,” both of you giggled slightly at that. “and all that was running through my head was that if you had asked me to do anything with you, I would have done it — hell you could have asked me to marry you with paper rings and I would’ve said yes.”

lando stared at you with a calm look on his face — his eyes drinking you and all of your features in. “I’m glad — because I was thinking the same thing,” his hand fell on top of yours, bringing a warmth to the back of it. “and no need for paper rings when I can promise you the real deal when the time comes.”

“like I said before, I would marry you with paper rings lando,” you leaned in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. “now kiss me you goof.”

he didn’t have to be asked twice.

[dearlyanqels]

In The Past

izuku midoriya

21+ age, so yeah they are age up, kinda sad for the most part, but it's good. I hope

warnings: drinking, abuse (slapping mainly, mention of miscarriage, mentions of you puking.

this is fiction, please remember that.

it was half past two a.m, and izuku was just taking one more drink, he felt the 7th beer rush down his throat, it no longer burn, it just soak his strength away. earlier that day it was fine, he was helping kids, helping his best friend train as well, until the friend spoke of your name, saying how you were back in town. after that, images of you seem to pop everywhere he went: getting coffee, eating out, hell even the fungus drink he has in hand made him think of you.

things he said were on repeat in his head, the words to spoke to you, the actions, the look on your face when did the things he promise not to do, then the sudden leaving. he press the glass rim to his mouth chugging it down, the bartender smiled and ask if he needed another one, izuku shook his head, instead he ask for liquor this time. the sweet, new burning taste drip down his next as he chug it

"fuck" he softly said placing the glass down.

"you think the world fucking revolves around you, huh?" you yelled. he watch as you pace in circles "why? just fucking why? you push me out of the way when it comes to cameras, when it comes to your hero work. we been together for five fucking years, all through high school and through extra hero training school. I'm not asking for a fucking fame lighting. no I'm asking for once to show everyone your girlfriend" he sigh and let you yell as you take off your dress and into some pjs. "maybe you don't want anyone to know because you're still not over her.." you said putting on a baggy shirt "what the fuck is that suppose to mean? huh y/n?" he ask getting up, getting close to you, you knew what you said. "you heard me, you're not over her. I see it, everytime someone mentions her fucking name your eyes spark, your smile gets wider and suddenly I'm pushed away."

he look at you with anger, none of you were drinking tonight, it was just a regular night. until questions were ask when you two walk around, the denials he said to the camera men as you drift out of the way. "y/n I do fucking everything for you, I'm on your back and call every time. I been there when you woke up and you fell asleep, I tell you every fucking night that I love you. and what do you do huh? bitch about my affection for you, bring up the past. I'm sick and tired of it y/n." he push past you, and walk down the hall way, you followed him and pulled him back. you weren't finish "you don't see that I know that, I give you everything back. so don't say I don't. yeah I do bring up the past because it seems that's where the fuck your head is at all the damn time." you said he look at you and he chuckled, you look at him with confusion. "so I'm stuck in that past all time? okay well if I am, you would have my child, you would've kept the promise of trying for another one, instead of putting it off." you look at him, then your belly, tears almost threaten to come out.

"you know damn well that miscarriage was not my fault izuku. how fucking dare you bring that up" you said, he said something that made you slap him. he clench his jaw and turn around he walk right into the living, he grab every picture you two had, even the baby bump ones and threw them, none of them hit you. he was pissed, and you were fed up. you didn't care at the moment so you grab his hand place his promise ring then slap him harder. "I wish I never promise you anything." you said turing your back, the glass cut your feet, but you didn't care until he pulled you and slap the shit out of you. that's when he awoke from anger self and notice how you stood there still, with his red hand on your right cheek of your face. "y-" you smiled at him.

"don't worry, the media won't know, so you can still have hero work, so you can have the future of kids and a perfect wife. I'm so done with you" he watch as you walk to the bedroom, he heard bags being pack, then a phone call, he look down at the ring, then the baby picture the he recently through. "kat is picking me up, never contact me, don't even think of me" just as the flash the door open up and katsuki punch the shit out him. "you fucking clean this shit up, I'll be back in the morning" he said pulling you out.

after the memory he found himself at katsuki's old house, it was yours now. he look at the ringer button, he sigh and press it, forgetting his finger was there so it was constant noise. he rest his head on the door until open it making him fall on top of you. "um, exuse me?" you said, he look up seeing your face, your eyes and lips. his lip quivered, he truly miss you, he was sorry he really needed to say that. "izuku? what– are you drunk? oh god" he heard you say, he was instantly pulled in and drag up stairs to the bathroom, he was place on the floor. "I'm not mad, just wondering why you are here. it's like four in the morning" you said, he grab his phone and check:

4:17 AM

he tch and lean back on the tub "I'm— burp —here because I need to apologize" he look at you and smiled, he notice you smiled at him "about what?" you ask taking the shirt he had on, he knew why you took it off. "for what I said two years ago, i know it wasn't your fault– burp –and yet I said it was. and with her.. after you and i-i broke up, I did sleep with her.." he turn over and open the lid to the toilet, he heard you get up and find a rag to wipe off his face, he felt bad now. "I don't know why, why I am here.." he tried to get up, but his energy ran out with him puking, so he tumbled a bit you tried not to laugh. "come on, you need to to change" he felt your arms wrap around him to help him walk "you– I'm sorry, can we talk more when I'm not like this" he felt you nod and then was place on a bed, a guest room, he look up at the ceiling until it was covered by a new shirt. "hurry up, katsuki is coming by in the morning we can talk before or around 12" you mumble. "now change I'll be in the room across." you kiss his temple showing that you cared still about his wellbeing, he nodded off and smiled.

in the bright sun, he heard two voices talking to one another. he heard his best friends, and then yours.

12:30 PM

he sigh and got up he look at the table two pills and water with a nice note "take the fucking pills and meet us out" he knows the hand writing and language so he quickly did and hurried to the living room he was met with a child hugging his leg, and three people starring at him. he pick up his niece and walk over to them "so, y/n told me why'd you came over, it was to apologize. so do it, I wanna hear." he look over at eijirou who smiled and gave him thumbs up, he's the one who told izuku you were coming to town actually, izuku put the kid down and took your hands "I'm deeply, truly, sorry for what happened two years, I'm kinda getting my memory last night and I said that already, but I am. those words, the abuse I gave you.. I'm sorry I really am yes I did sleep her after we left but now I no longer speak to her. and i got drunk off my arse last night because I didn't want to cry and so yeah.. I'm sorry, I know it's gonn-" you shut him up by hugging him.

"yeah, it will be awhile till you get my trust and forgiveness. but I'm sorry too, when I said those words about how push me away and you lived in past.. I'm really sorry and I know you should only have the best.. izuku I'm sorry I los-" izuku pulled you in, he knew those next words, he knows you didn't lose the baby on purpose, you were under major stress and anxiety that year, which cause the child to be lost. "can we try again? as us again?" you ask, he smiled and kiss your head. "yes, we can this time I'm telling everyone who's mine. I dont want to make you feel out of the picture or anything below me." you laugh and shook your head "you don't have too babe, it's fine just don't leave me hanging" you said "wait before we kiss let me go mouth wash" he ran off gargle, swish, then spite then ran back to dip you and kiss, his niece yelled ew while you both smiled into it "you fucking make her cry, or lay one hand on her and I will end you right then and there. don't think when I punch that day was weak I didn't want to kill you. but you pull shit like that, I will bury and make sure no one remembers you" eijirou kiss his husband "baby, I highly doubt he's gonna do that because I will murder him before you do, now come on you two get dress, we have a double date to get too"

[miyanom]

Sweet Tea in the Summer

MASTERLIST | REQUESTED BY: @goodandevil18 

GENRE: fluff

PROMPT: “Did you seriously just climb through my window?”

NOTES: I’m so sorry for the long wait! But here is the Zuko oneshot that was requested, I’m hoping to be able to get the Sokka one out soon, but the words for this were just flowing out. 

Zuko sat in front of the pond, though his back was turned to the turtle ducks that usually took up all his free time in the afternoon. Instead, his attention was entirely focused on the girl sitting across from Aang and Katara as they all drank tea together in the garden.

During the war, when he was training Aang, it was easier to ignore his blossoming feelings for his old friend as she spent most of her time with Katara or Sokka. But now that she was practically living at the palace with her father as one of his council members, it was harder to ignore that she existed.

Y/N threw her head back in laughter, but Zuko couldn't hear what Aang said. Not that it mattered much to him, not when Y/N looked like an absolute angel with the sun shining down on her like that.

"Zuko, why don't you come join us?" Katara called out, finally snapping the boy out of his thoughts. The Water Tribe girl - who had refused to call him by his official title ever since his coronation - stared at him with a knowing look in her eyes.

"I-" His voice came out fairly squeaky, causing him to quickly avert his gaze as a blush crept onto his cheeks. He cleared his throat with a quiet cough before attempting. "I can't. I have a meeting to get to."

"Oh, come on," Y/N rolled her eyes, a grin taking over her features. "You're Fire Lord Zuko. I believe that means you can stay for one cup of your uncle's new Tea, without your council getting too annoyed."

Zuko's eyes flickered to her for just a second, before he stood up and turned around to head inside. The simple phrase "I'm already late" leaving his lips as he left.

Y/N stared at Zuko's retreating figure with a frown. A sigh escaped her lips as she lifted her cup back up, taking a small sip of the sweet tea Uncle Iroh had prepared for them.

Katara crossed her arms. "I seriously don't know how you put up with him all the time," she grumbled. "I've only been here for two days and I already-"

"Sweetie," Aang spoke up sweetly, his soft smile immediately relaxing Katara.

Y/N's eyes flickered between the young couple, they had been dating for 2 years now. Ever since the war ended. Y/N found their relationship cute, even if Sokka had gotten to the point where hearing "sweetie" one more time would make him jump into Unagi infested waters.

"I don't understand how it was so easy for you two," Y/N muttered. "Going from friends to- to this!" She waved her hand in the direction of the couple who had just shared a kiss right in front of her. "I want it to be that easy for me and-"

Y/N suddenly cut herself off with a fake cough, looking down in embarrassment.

"For you and Zuko," Aang finished for her. "Is that what you wanted to say before you coughed?"

"Yeah, thanks, Aang," Y/N rested her forehead against the palm of her hand, not wanting to look at her friends.

"Oh, come on, Aang. Who else would she be talking about?" Katara giggled.

"I can't believe you two are making me wish that Sokka was here right now."

"What would he do that we can't?" Katara asked, sounding annoyed that her best friend would even suggest wanting her brother's company more than her own. "Sokka gives the worst relationship advice! Just ask Zuko!"

"Zuko asked Sokka for advice?" Y/N lifted her head. "Why? About who?"

"Sweetie!" Aang glanced at Katara, whose eyes widened as she realised what she had said. "No one, Y/N. It was a looong time ago. Right, Katara?"

"Right!" Katara squeaked, nodding her head a few times.

Y/N stared at the two with a raised brow, not believing them for even a second. "You two are the worst liars I have ever met. And I know Sokka!"

"We aren't supposed to say. I'm sorry, Y/N," Aang frowned. "He made us promise."

"Why though? Please, give me something to work off here," Y/N begged.

Realising this might be the only chance she had to convince Y/N to say something, Katara quickly spoke up. "You should tell him how you feel tonight! Before he gets advice from someone better than Sokka."

Y/N visibly deflated at that. "Why would I do that if he likes somebody else?" She let out a sigh as she stared down into her tea cup. "I guess it makes sense, he has been avoiding me recently, and just brushes me off when I do get the chance to speak to him."

Aang and Katara shared a look. Y/N wasn't just overthinking things here. Zuko had been brushing her off recently, but that was because of Sokka's stupid advice. It had nothing to do with Y/N.

"You have to try, Y/N," Katara told her. "You'll only be more heartbroken if you don't. And... and if it doesn't work out, then I guess you can come live with me in the South."

Y/N let out a quiet laugh. She had been pestering Katara about that for weeks now, saying that if her best friend in the Fire Nation had gotten sick of her then perhaps it was time to go visit Katara and Sokka's home for awhile. It didn't hurt that it was currently summer in the Fire Nation, and a refreshing break to the snow would be nice this time of year.

"Okay, but when he rejects me and tells me he never wants to see my face again, then I hope you know that I will never leave the South Pole."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Katara smiled softly.

Zuko sat his desk, his head in his hands. He didn't even have any meetings today, he didn't know why he said that. Honestly, he would've loved nothing more than to join them for tea, to hear Y/N's laugh up close. But Sokka's squeaky voice had weaselled its way into his head, telling him to play hard to get.

So now here he was, wasting the evening away in his office in an attempt to avoid Y/N's judging eyes. Surely by now she would've realised he was lying about the meeting.

Maybe she was too busy with Aang and Katara to remember that she practically had his entire schedule memorised like the back of her hand - he had forgotten one meeting with one of the Fire Nation officials, so Y/N had taken it upon herself to make sure he would never do it again. When he had asked her about it, she told him that it was so he could have at least one stressful thing taken off his shoulders.

It meant more to him than he would ever admit.

Zuko's eyes widened as he lifted his head just in time to see Y/N halfway through the window, obviously having climbed inside.

When their eyes met, a sheepish smile appeared on the girl's face. "So... you come here often?" She asked awkwardly.

Though her stupid question wasn't what he was focused on. "Did you seriously just climb through my window?"

With her feet now touching the ground inside the office, she dusted off her pants. "Yes..." She noticed the dead-pan look her was giving her. "But you gave me no choice!"

"I gave you no choice?" His brows furrowed in confusion as he stood up and pointed at the door. "There's a door right there, Y/N!"

"If the guards announced me, you would've come up with a stupid excuse to leave," Y/N pointed out.

Zuko went silent at that, knowing she was probably right. "I-"

"No. Stop talking," she held her hand out in his direction, signalling for him to stop. "I need to talk. And then I'm gonna climb back out the window and we'll pretend this never happened-"

"Okay?"

"Zuko, what did I just say?" She whined. He couldn't help but smile, though instead of replying, he simply nodded. "Thank you. Now, anyways... Zuko, I think - at least, I hope - I'm not the only one who feels this way. But I really like you, okay? Wait, no... No, I mean I do but it feels like more than that! Maybe- I think I'm in love with you. Wow was that weird to say, how do Katara and Aang do it all the t-"

"You love me?" Zuko stared her in shock, only able to watch as Y/N stopped rambling and took a hesitant step back toward the window.

"Y- yeah, so... so I think I'm gonna climb back out now," she whispered. "Sorry."

Just as she was about to throw her leg over the side of the railing, he quickly rushed forward. Taking her hand into his own, he effortlessly pulled her away from the window until she stood facing him.

They both stared at each other for just a moment, before Zuko whispered. "I love you, too."

Without a second of hesitation, Y/N slowly pulled Zuko's face down closer to hers, their lips pressing together gently as they kissed.

Zuko was beginning to realise something else, he should have never listened to Sokka's advice. If he hadn't, then maybe he could've been kissing her for much longer.

As they pulled away, Zuko found himself saying the first thing that came to his mind. "Is that Uncle's new sweet tea?"

Y/N blinked, before letting out a laugh. "Yeah, I had more before I came. Surprisingly, it helped my nerves."

Zuko smiled softly. "Good. I'm glad you came and told me."

"Me too."