#i hardly even create for myself anymore since i’m burned out and i’m taking a personal sabbatical from that

[theredalbum]

are you deleting this when you get your original blog back?

probably not but i have no desire to use this site anymore unless i’m on sideblogs

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 || (very dark) 70s!Bucky x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: he tried to be sympathetic to your cause, he really did, but he couldn’t just let you get away with disrespecting him like that.  

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: smut (noncon, plus breeding kink and tons of degradation, like very heavy degradation, and multiple orgasms/overstimulation), misogyny, a bit of dumbification, housewife kink, ���sir’ kink (brief), choking, implied anal, spitting (not on the reader, unfortunately lmao), quite a bit more than period-typical sexism, awful awful awful this fic is absolutely awful

                            Brooklyn, 1970.

Bucky’s mornings were sacred.  He had his rituals: showering, cooking breakfast, reading the paper and having his first drink and cigarette of the day, all before he left for work.

But throughout this entire week, his mornings had been ruined by the stupid fucking protest in the park just outside his window.  And to think he’d actually paid more for an apartment with a view of the park— he hadn’t realized then that the “view” was gonna be a bunch of hippies creating awful music and an unbearable smell that left his whole apartment reeking of reefer if he dared to open his window.

Attempting to ignore it for a week only made him more resentful with each passing day.  Each time he figured the crowd would surely leave soon or at least be quiet for the night, they seemed to somehow get louder just to spite him.

He probably should've waited until he was a bit less agitated to go down and try to bargain with you, but he stormed down there instead and tapped you on the shoulder when his presence alone wasn't enough to distract you from your incessant chanting.

“Would you consider being quiet?" he asked firmly.  "I have to work in the morning and—”

“We won’t be quiet until women have equal treatment under the eyes of society and the law,” you interrupted to explain condescendingly, shocking him with your icy tone.  He could hardly believe your attitude, in fact he couldn’t remember any woman speaking to him that way in his life: so far, he wasn’t enjoying it.

“I just thought you could be a little more respectful,” Bucky shot back, even more stern.  “You’re not making anyone wanna support your movement by acting entitled and inconveniencing everyone.”

“I’m sorry the revolution is inconvenient for you,” you replied, but it didn’t sound much like an apology. 

He wanted to say more but you blew him off and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him confused and irritated and livid.  Up until now he had been quietly skeptical about all this talk of liberation but now he saw it for the poison it really was.  A girl like you— who could've been a real looker with some willingness to try and a better attitude— talking to a man like him with so much hate and over what, a polite request?

This could not be tolerated; he couldn't let you get away with acting like that.  And lucky for you, he was exactly the guy you needed to teach you your lesson.

The good thing about hippies high on shrooms is they aren’t the most observant.  When he returned to the demonstration area the next night, he was able to grab you roughly and pull you back from the crowd with almost no trouble at all, dragging you into an empty alley and clamping his hand down over your mouth as your eyes went wide and your throat vibrated with silent screams.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed against your ear, “whatcha fightin’ for?”

He liked the way it felt to have you squirming against his grasp, using all your strength and not even getting close to escaping.  

“How does it feel to know I can do anything I want to you?” he growled against your ear.  “C’mon, sweetheart, can’t you put up a better fight than that?  I thought you believed in equality… you should be able to get away if you’re as strong as I am.”

He felt your warm tears trailing down around his fingers which held your face tightly, the struggle of your limbs slowing and weakening slightly.  His cock was already getting hard as he imagined the moment you would finally give in.

“You remember me, don’t you?  You didn’t need to be so rude, darlin’.  You could’ve just been nice and none of this would be happening.”

Your elbow shot back into his ribs and he exhaled sharply but didn't let go, grabbing your wrists and holding your arms to your chest as he pinned you to the wall.

"Oh, that's not gonna work, babydoll.  I'm so much stronger and bigger than you, all you're gonna do is make me angrier.  Is that what you want, sweetheart?  To make me angry?" he asked mockingly, leaning in to lick the shell of your ear as you tried to turn away.  “Pretty girl like you would make a great wife, why would you want anything else?”

Ignoring your struggle, he reached into your shirt and purred as he groped your chest, your nipples hardening when he pinched them.  “Maybe I can get behind this bra-burning thing if it means having easier access to your tits all the time,” he grinned.  “How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when I can see them through your shirt?  Shouldn’t be showing ‘em off if you don’t want any attention.”

As fun as it was to play with your tits, he had bigger plans, so he reached lower to start tugging down your jeans, your legs uselessly kicking as he exposed your ass and thighs.

His cock was already rock hard as he hastily opened his fly and pulled it out with one hand, leaning back to spit on it quickly.  He spread the fluid with a few strokes over his length, figuring it would be enough to get inside you even if he didn’t really care if he hurt you.  

Your eyes went wide and your head bucked wildly as he poked the head of it against your opening, your body fighting a little harder once again.  The irony of that, though, was that you were already plenty wet in spite of what he had expected; it was so much funnier to watch you struggle now that he knew you were not-so-secretly enjoying it.

“Don’t be so dramatic," he chuckled darkly, "I bet you can take a cock real easy since you believe in all this ‘free love’ bullshit.”

He groaned as he pushed into you, impressed by how tight you were— so tight that it made his cock throb right away, your walls pulsing and rippling around him as he filled you to the brim.

“Oh fuck, there you go…” he hissed, smiling as you sobbed harder and struggled a bit more before finally relaxing into his tight embrace.  "You're gonna take it all, baby, every fuckin' inch of me."

A hard sob choked out of you every time he slammed himself to the end of you; he could feel the hatred radiating from you, the way you would kill him in a moment if only you weren't so weak.  But he could feel your reluctant acceptance, too, and the way it was slowly turning into euphoria— you were finally starting to like how it felt to be helpless to him, it was obvious with the way your pussy gave him such a warm and willing welcome while your pretty tits got even harder.

You clearly wanted to hate him, but your body knew better.

"You think I'm a sexist pig, I'm sure," he chuckled, "but I'm really not— I love women!  And you know what I love most?  Huh?"

He felt you nervously shake your head behind his hand and he laughed.

"I love the way you get so dumb when you get a cock in you.  All those useless little thoughts leaving your head when you're finally getting fucked right."

Your cries got louder even though they were still muffled by his hand, your sweet little pussy giving him a squeeze of encouragement.

"It's okay to like it, babydoll, it's what you were meant for.  Made to be my brainless fucktoy… born to serve me," he growled.  “You really should learn to appreciate," he grunted between brutal thrusts, "that your only purpose is to keep my dinner hot and my cock warm.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and he felt your walls bear down on him tightly, wetness seeping down around him.

"Oh fuck, are you coming?  Shit," he moaned.  "Looks like you really needed to be put in your place, just needed to be used... god, you made a fuckin' mess, too, you soaked my cock…"

Your little hands tightened into fists, pushing against where his arm held them back, but he stayed steady as he pumped into you, letting himself get a bit lost in the feeling of you while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

It felt so damn good to have a cunt coming around him, but it was even better knowing that you were fighting it and still couldn’t stop it, completely helpless to how good he was making you feel.

You almost screamed under his hand when he reached down to quickly rub your clit, your back arching to try to run away from his touch; poor thing, you were so sensitive it probably hurt you, but he was having too much fun watching you realize you were going to come again.

"Yeah, gimme another one, slut," he grinned, your legs quivering as waves of slick coated him and started to even drip down your legs.  "Can't stop coming like the dirty whore you are, huh?  Bet nobody's made you come like this before— cause nobody's given it to you right.  Nobody's shown ya what it's supposed to be like when a man takes you and makes you his."

From the way you moaned softly, teary eyes fluttering shut, he knew you liked the sound of that.

"Yeah, wanna be mine, baby?  Wanna be my little slut?  Or do you want me to pump this pussy full and leave you here on the ground for any other man that comes by to use you if he needs?"

You groaned softly, a weak little noise, and he felt his cock flex; as much as he wanted this to last as long as possible, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“M’close, honey,” he breathed.  “I’m gonna come.”

He laughed breathlessly when you shut your eyes, like you were trying to go somewhere else in your mind, trying to pretend this wasn’t real.  But it was real, and he wasn’t going to let you forget that.  He was elated to make your nightmares come true.

"I sure wouldn't mind pulling out and covering that pretty face you've got,” he hissed.  “It'd be funny to see you go back to your little march and show them how owned you are.  But not today, babydoll, I think there's only one way you're gonna learn your lesson."

Another muffled gurgle from you, and this time it didn’t even sound like protest.  Maybe you were just too tired for that at this point, but it gave him hope that you could finally behave.

"I'm gonna take my hand away from your mouth and you're gonna beg me to come inside you, is that clear?" he grunted, feeling you nod vigorously.  "You're not gonna scream are you?"

You shook your head, and he slowly pulled his hand from your mouth as you gasped for air.  "Please— come in me," you panted.

"Address me as 'sir'," he instructed.

"Please, sir, I— I want you to come," you whined.

He chuckled right against your ear, feeling you shiver in his grasp.  "Honey, I don't give a fuck what you want."

To think you ever resisted your natural desire for submission was absurd now, considering the way that statement made you openly moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Gonna fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll never get it outta you, sweetheart.”

One more orgasm washed over you, making him laugh darkly while he watched you bite your lip to attempt to stay quiet; but that was impossible once he fucked you harder just to spite you, having to hold you tight to make sure he got as deep in you as possible.  Your whole body shook as he slammed into you, and he laughed at how dumb and helpless you looked.

"Bet you're on those new birth control pills," he grimaced.  They really weren’t that new, but he still hadn’t gotten used to them.  "Makes me sick to think you're letting a perfectly good womb go to waste.  Betcha want me to breed you nice and deep, yeah?  Wanna get knocked up?  You don't even care that I'm a stranger, you wanna get your pussy filled by any random man's come so you can have any random man's baby, ain't that right?"

At first he had worried that you would scream or cry for help, but now his concern was more that your moans would be too loud and somebody would catch the two of you in this alley.  Even if it was obvious now that you wanted it, public indecency was still a crime.

Good thing he had a new way to shut you up: his hand tight around your throat, silencing your sobs to blessed silence.  It was so hot to have you entirely at his mercy like that, to feel your pulse beneath his fingers, that he couldn’t stop himself from speeding up his thrusts suddenly.

"Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasped, “fuck, y-you… little whore…”

He had a habit of running his mouth when he was right on the edge, and the way your pussy was milking him for all he was worth made him spit out whatever filth he could think of.  

“Stupid fuckin' bitch," he mumbled under his breath as he fucked you as fast and rough as he could, chasing his high with no regard for your pleasure or your pain.  "Dumb whore, fuck, you stupid— ah, shit— stupid fucking cunt!"

He cried out as he filled you, groaning loudly with every pump of his seed into your waiting body.  Only when he was sure every drop was inside you did he release his grip on your neck, a loud gasp coming first before a few coughs and chokes that only made his cock harder despite having just filled you.

You started to struggle again, and he couldn’t believe it— after everything, did you still not know your place?

There wasn’t much time to relax and enjoy the afterglow when you were already trying to get away, and so he had to hold you tight again while he smiled exhaustedly.

“N-no,” you stammered, and he covered your mouth again as he pulled your head back to rest on his shoulder.  Clearly he hadn’t done enough yet to fuck that word out of you.

“Where ya goin’, sweetheart?” he panted against your ear, still catching his breath, his chest covered in a thin layer of sweat where it was exposed by his shirt.  “You’ve still got another hole to fill.”

[littlewhispersofsolitude]

101 Random Dialogue Prompts

"Why would you do this to me?"

"My head keeps spinning- oh, wait. It might actually be my feet."

"Good god, you're gorgeous."

"Get your face out of the cake!"

"I cannot believe I married you."

"Remember when you told me that I'd never achieve anything in life? Well, it turns out you were right."

"I used to compare your attention span to a goldfish, but I've since then learned that you are much, much worse."

"Every time you sneeze really loudly, it kills my soul just a little knowing that our future child might inherit that."

"How do you feel about meeting my parents? You don't want to? Oh, well they're pulling up in our driveway right now."

"Get the hell away from me."

"You said no, right? Please tell me you said no."

"Maybe I want to be unsuccessful and live with my parents my entire life- no, never mind. No, I don't."

"I'm so lucky to have you in my life. I hope you know that."

"It burns!"

"You're an angel."

"Other than the countless times I was wrong, when have I ever been wrong?"

"What did I do to deserve this?"

"Knock em' dead, gorgeous! I believe in you!"

"Don't hit me!"

"You are so unbelievably strong. So, so strong."

"I hardly liked you to begin with."

"What is wrong with you?"

"You make me so unbelievably happy."

"I am so fucking in love with you, and it hurts that you don't even notice."

"What have you done now?"

"Give me a twirl, honey."

"Well, when is the soonest that you can get here?"

"I'm so tired."

"Wrap them up in the warmest blanket you have before I fucking end you. They're not going to die. Not today."

"You mean nothing to me."

"I'm cold. May I please wear your jumper until we get home?"

"Pack your shit and leave. I mean it."

"You're so talented!"

"I'm proud of you."

"Let's keep it that way."

"I'll kill you."

"I understand the irony of complaining about my hot chocolate being too hot, but nonetheless, fix it, please."

"I'm overwhelmed."

"You only sent one heart instead of two - what's up with that?"

"When have I ever been wrong before?"

"I feel like I barely know who you are anymore."

"I know what's best for you."

"Fuck me if I'm wrong, but there's a hundred seconds in a minute, right?" - "No, there's sixty se- oh, damn."

"Tell me you love me one more time."

"You lied to me."

"God, I hate myself so much sometimes."

"Look at how gorgeous my love is."

"I love that you think I care."

"You just keep coming with the surprises, don't you?"

"Wait- wait, no, not literally-"

"Hey, slow down! I'm a short-ass, remember?"

"Get the fuck off of me!"

"The sheet keeps coming off the bed and I'm just about ready to stick a knife through it or myself."

"Never in my life have I been so insulted."

"Do that again! I dare you- no, I double dare- wait, I triple fucking dare you."

"Kiss me. Kiss me like you damn well mean it."

"Oh, look! Rain! Looks like I get to stay inside like I normally do and not feel guilty about it."

"Do you still love me?"

"All you did was go to space and possibly find signs of life on other planets. I wouldn't call it that cool.."

"You've been through like, three different phones this year and It's only June!"

"The party doesn't start for another five hours; what're you doing here so early?"

"If we die tonight, It's your damn fault."

"I just got soap in my eyes! Fuck! This is the end!"

"My ass hurts.. no! Not- god, you're a dirty minded little shit."

"Your name is Dale? Do you mind if I call you an asshole instead? Seems more fitting."

"I felt that in my soul."

"You can't do this!"

"Wow, look at the sun.. hey, hey, no- don't look directly at it!"

"How's my day going? It's shit, thank you for asking. I woke up with a bitch of a headache and then my fucking Wi-Fi stopped working."

"Thank you for this cuddle time. I needed it."

"You have no idea how much I feel like strangling you right now."

"Why were you going through my personal belongings?"

"I've officially lost my will to live."

"Look at how gorgeous I look in this outfit. You can't beat this."

"I went fishing today, but unfortunately, I caught nothing but a cold."

"Heh.. sorry, that isn't funny."

"Eyes on the- oh, god; eyes on the road!"

"When I said to go out there and make new friends, I didn't mean to create realistic robots and you know that."

"Music is a person's best friend. We're being gender inclusive here."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"You do that and I'll leave you at the furthest Starbucks in town and make you walk home, you hear me?"

"Wow, I really am a piece of shit, aren't I?"

"You're a weak excuse of a human, you know that?"

"See that watermelon over there? That's about the size of my ass."

"What I don't have in looks - which is a lot -, I make up for with personality. Remember that."

"I do so have a special talent. I can wriggle my eyebrows. What can you do, huh?"

"Thank you for giving me a second chance."

"You know I'm right here, right?"

"I can see that you're active on Messenger, so answer my god damn texts!"

"You've got long nails; help me open this package."

"Words can't describe how good you look today, but numbers sure can. 4/10."

"My heart is beating... that's cool."

"If I buy you a pony, will you go on a five minute shopping trip with me into town?"

"You know what we should do for our next date? Take a nap together."

"Smell my feet; they really stink, don't they?"

"When will it end?"

"You and I are stuck together, Pumpkin. I promise."

"I have really bad reactions to certain noises. The worst one is when you open your mouth."

"You know, your cuddles seem to cure the worst of my sickness.. which is homesickness."

"How the hell do you look so good even when you're crying?"

"You leave them the fuck alone!"

[magnhild]

Nora Valkyrie, Identity, and Purpose

Hey everyone, Blaire here, and almost exactly a year ago, I made this mess of a post where I laid out all of my thoughts on Nora and what I thought the show could have in store for her.

And honestly, most of my ideas were way off, and not at all correct. Also, the post kind of flopped.

Thankfully, Volume 8 has given me a chance to redeem myself, and write another, more coherent, essay about my favourite RWBY character; where this Volume seems to be taking her character, and what it means to me, personally.

Buckle up.

To the vast majority of people in the RWBY fandom, Nora is the least-developed character, and the one most lacking in dimension. Most of her character seems to be defined by two things; her energy and love for fighting, and her relationship on Ren.

Volume 8 took note of these conceptions, and addressed them head-on.

Of course, any keen-eyed viewer will have noted Nora’s hidden depths even before this volume, which I noticed in last year’s post. She is perhaps the most perceptive of the main cast, at least, when it comes to people’s feelings and relaionships. She was the only one to really comment on Pyrrha’s crush on jaune, and the first to bring up Blake and Yang’s growing relationship. It was also her level-headedness that resolved RNJR’s argument in Volume 4, Chapter 9.

Volume 7 also showed us her innate desire to protect the weak, and her disdain to those who have the power to help, but refuse. I personally get the feeling that this was her driving motivation in becoming a Huntress; to protect people who cannot protect themselves, perhaps because she doesn’t want anyone to have to grow up as she did. Nora’s fury at Ironwood in V7C7 is esepcially signifigant, because it’s the angriest we’ve ever seen her before, even more so in that this anger is directed at someone with much more authority than her.

But these little details were only the tip of the iceberg. These were traits she already had, and while they help to add layers to her character, they’ve done very little in terms of her actual development. 

This is where Volume 8 came in stronger than any other.

Volume 7 hinted to us that Ren and Nora’s relationship was beginning to get more complicated, between their bickering, Ren’s dismissiveness at Nora, and their kiss in V7C6. By the end of the volume, it was clear that they were still struggling, despite their clear love for each other. Volume 8 carried this thread along, having them split into different parties, and Nora giving Ren a bit of attitude we’ve not really seen her direct at him before. 

She’s frustrated with him, and disappointed that he can’t see what she sees. But despite her tough front, V8C2 then hints that she’s sadder about the split than she’s letting on, after May brings up Nora’s ‘friends’. C3 then brings this to a head, where we get a conversation that sees Nora opening up to Blake and Yang, and revealing a deeply sad truth about herself- that she has no idea who she is without Ren, because she’s spent so much of her life with him and him alone, and her feelings for him have shaped so much of who she thinks she is. We’ve never seen her so hopeless and lost, especially after she reveals that, as far as she’s concerned, all she’s good for is hitting stuff.

Right in these few minutes, the show takes how the audience percieves Nora, and reveals to us that those two core traits are the gateways to a far deeper insight of her character. She’s known for her relationship with Ren, but wait- what about when he’s not there with her? She’s known for hitting stuff, but wait- that’s all she thinks she’s good for. 

It’s revealed to us that, not only is this how most of the audience percievs Nora, but it’s how she percieves herself. And for all her energy and upbeat attitude, deep down, she thinks incredibely lowly of herself. For all her confidence in her fighting abilities, she lacks confidence in herself as a person. 

Surprisingly enough, the ‘who am I?’ character arc is one that was hardly explored at all up until this point, despite it being one of the most common and signifgant character arcs in fictional media. And I don’t think many of us at all could have imagined that Nora would be the one to get that arc, when she’s always seemed so self-assured on the surface.

And then, when Penny is in need of help, Nora takes Weiss’ advice to heart, and does the one thing she believes she’s capable of- being strong, and hitting stuff.

Nora overcharging her Semblance to take down the wall is seen by a lot of the fandom as some kind of win for Nora; as her ‘big moment’. But while it’s certainly a really cool and badass scene, it was far from a triumph for her.

This was Nora at perhaps her lowest point so far in the series. This was Nora figuring ‘well, if this is all I’m good for, I’ll do it to the extreme’. This was Nora thinking her only purpose was to greatly endanger herself for the sake of others, because she figured she was the only one who could. And she almsot got herself killed for it. 

While certainly a defining moment, it was far from triumphant. It wasn’t a win. It was a self-destrcutive act that reflected how little she thinks of herself; that she’s not worth anything unless she’s pushing herself to the limit doing the one thing she thinks she’s good at.

And to drive the knife in harder, it backfires horribly. 

Because now she’s bedridden and critically injured, with scars that are probably permanent; a reminder of her lowest point, forever marked on her body. She can’t fight now, can’t help at all, and Salem has launched her attack on Atlas.

And in her half-unconsious state in V8C7, she realizes this, delivering an absolutely heartbreaking line:

As far as she’s concerned, her last attempt at doing what she thinks only she can do- what she thinks is all she can do- has prevented her from doing anything of worth at all. She lost one half of herself when she split from Ren, and now she’s lost the other half too. The two things that she defines herself by are gone. And the worst part is, we don’t know if she’s awar of the fact Salem has begun her attack. We could very well see her fully wake up, only to realize that the world has begun ending while she was unconsious, and she can’t do anything about it.

Now, this scene, and Nora’s struggle in this Volume as a whole, hit home for me in particular.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’re probably aware that Nora is only of my hightest- and only- kins. And I’ve only been able to relate to her more and more after what we’ve got of her in this Volume.

I am chronically disabled. I have a connective tissue disorder known as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which fucks up my body in a multitude of different ways, but signifigantly affects the joints. For me, it hits worst in my back, ankles, and my fingers. The fingers are my main problem. To make matters worse, I’ve also been victim to intense pains in my shoulder, which came out of nowhere a couple of months ago and have only gotten worse since. The slightest movement aggrevates it. As any follower of mine would know, I am both an artist and a writer. I create both for fun, and I’ve studied writing as a profession. It is these things I’m known for being good at, and not much else. 

Thanks to my disability and my shoulder though, I have to do these things less. Even on perscription pain medication, it still hurts. It hurts to write this even now; my shoulder feels like it’s burning up from the inside. It will only get worse over time.

So, I’m finding myself in Nora’s position. I can’t do what I’m good at anymore, and I don’t know what to do with myself as a result. Not doing these things makes me feel lazy and unproductive, and makes me feel that the people around me will abandon me so long as i can’t keep providing them content. And I’ve gotta say, it hurts a lot, and I don’t just mean physically. 

Because of what I’m going through, it’s especially important to see my favourite RWBY character just so happening to be dealing with the same problem; the same loss of idenity and purpose. We don’t know who we are or what we’re good for without the things we think define us.

While I’m unsure of my own future though, I find comfort in knowing that Nora’s problem will be tackled and addressed; that her friends will help her to rediscover herself and find her true worth. And while we’ve got a while to go until we’ll be able to see the Volume continue, I’m incredibely excited to see where Nora’s arc goes, especially if we can get some backstory along the way. I find myself wondering if her life before Ren is part of why she thinks so little of herself without him- was it the way she was raised to think? Is this the fault of her childood circumstances? Or is this just something she developed on her own, after becoming too dependant on Ren for comfort?

Whatever answers we get, I have faith that Nora’s story will be told well, and I’m very sure that it’s only just beginning. Even if she finds her worth before the end of the volume, her story won’t be over yet, not when we’ve still likely got at least four more volumes to go after this one.

In just seven episodes, Nora Valkyrie has gone from one of the least developed characters, to one of the most interesting and relatable, at least, in my eyes. There is so much more depth to her character than having a crush on Ren, and being the strong girl who hits stuff. There’s a layer of tragedy to her character that we’re touching upon now, and I’m excited to dive into it.

Thank you all for reading!

[tatticstudio55]

Onto the idea that dragons “aren’t the solution”

This is a take I’ve seen so, so many times. And here are some reasons (but not all of them) why i disagree with it.

In the released chapter called The Forsaken, we get these words from Euron:

“The bleeding star bespoke the end,” he said to Aeron. “These are the last days, when the world shall be broken and remade. A new god shall be born from the graves and charnel pits.”

Unreliable as Euron is, Martin is probably using him to announce where he plans to take his story next. He’s about to write a redo-myth where what happened at the *beginning* of Westeros will happen again. The story is falling back in time (metaphorically, of course), until it reaches the “dawn” age of gods and monsters. In traditional mythology - not asoiaf, but actual myths -, that’s where and when these creatures lived. Not during the time of man, before.

And in many of these myths, the first civilizations of humans are built on the remains of a slain dragon. That’s because dragons are a symbol of the chaos from which a new world is built. In other creations myths, giants were the first creature to live on the earth. They then grew smaller and smaller as their kinship with the gods diminished. The asoiaf books have been bringing back “mythical” creatures since early AGOT, when Jon and Robb found the direwolves pups. Likewise, summers and winters are lasting longer and longer, almost as if time was slowing down. Time already “froze” on the other side of the Wall, where the lands of always winter are, where creatures with a very long lifespan are the most “abundant” (the 3EC, the children of the forest, the weirwoods) and where people can “live” indefinitely (as wights). (Moreover, although these “phenomenon” are mostly seen in the North, they’re gradually making their way down South as well.) In “mythical” beginnings, time moves a lot slower: days (and nights too, I assume) last longer and people can live for hundreds of years. And before these beginnings, time is nonexistent. Time slows down in Westeros because it’s making a full circle, back at the beginning (or Beginning). And when time stops, someone blows the Horn of Winter and brings down the Wall.

What does the legend say about the Horn of Joramun? Joramun blew the horn and woke giants from the earth.

Re-quoting myself here: “In other creations myths, giants were the first creature to live on the earth.”

So that’s basically what Euron is predicting to Aeron in The Forsaken.

This is hardly human business. Dragons have been used by Targaryen for political reasons in the past, as we know, and if Martin must drill in the point that dragons + human politics = bad with Dany accidentally blowing up King’s Landing, well so be it. The conflicts in King’s Landing were created and perpetuated solely by human. It is nothing but a human business.

What Euron is talking about is a war of mythical scale where dragons might represent one – but only one – of many magical creatures involved in a massive, chaotic do-over: giants, children of the forest, unicorns, white walkers, wights, direwolves, wargs, dragons, etc, etc.

For example, if two Starklings must end up with crowns like in the show (and assuming that Westeros doesn’t fragment itself into 7 separate kingdoms again), I’m certain – I’d bet money on it – that the children of the forest will bring another “Hammer of Water” upon the Neck, breaking Westeros in half for good. Obviously, if CotF do that, it won’t be to settle some political dispute over who gets to rule what, even if the result turns out conveniently for the Starks in the end.

Whoever blows the Horn of Winter doesn’t *only* bring down the Wall. He’s also waking giants and, oh, who else currently sleeping under the earth? Children of the forest, right. Whose help was supposedly indispensable to end the first Long Night.

Whoever bring down the Wall also ensures that dragons will be able to cross on the other side. The part in Fire and Blood where Alysanne tries and fail to get Silverwing to fly across the Wall serves two purposes: 1) it tells us that no dragon has ever been North of the Wall before, and 2) it pretty much guarantees that dragons in present asoiaf time will make it back at the Wall, either to learn the same thing Alysanne learned, or to succeed where she couldn’t since the Wall won’t be there anymore.

Are dragons the secret magical solution, the one missing element needed to defeat the Others for good? I doubt it. It sounds too simple.

But you’re shoving your head in the sand if you don’t think that they’ll be useful. Even in the eventuality that they couldn’t do much against the WW themselves, 1) they’ll do wonders at burning wights, and 2) more importantly, they’ll brings the heroes to where they need to be in order to defeat the Great Other, likely in the Heart of Winter. How else are they supposed to reach that place?

Now, I have my own little theory over what will happen once they’re there, and no, it does not directly involve dragons. To put it plainly, Dany (and maybe Jon; unsure about the third person with them, if there’s a third person) gets inside the Heart of Winter, whatever it is, and burn it down from within. That’s where the “flaming heart” Melisandre swears by comes from (or points to), that’s what was foreshadowed in the HotU when Dany was almost “absorbed” into the rotting blue heart before being saved by Drogon’s fire, that’s probably even where Nissa Nissa’s legend comes from (heart + sacrifice + fire). That will be Dany’s third fire, the one to love (what’s the connection to love? Because she’s inside a heart? I have no clue.) It roughly aligns with all the Samson subtext/foreshadowing. Don’t ask me if they survive it. My first answer would be “probably not”. Maybe they’re meant to be the slain “dragons” that new worlds are built upon. But then again if anyone could survive something like this, it’s Dany.

Of course, none of this will be possible if they can’t reach the Heart of Winter in the first place.

[midnight-hotel]

I was thinking of a Alastor x Reader , where the reader is a fallen angel, and was given up by god, so now that she is in Hell she doesn't know where to go. You can do whatever you want from this, impress me

//Well, I impressed myself so I hope I’ve impressed you too!

Everyone had heard of God’s new plan. It was the biggest thing to happen in Heaven since the day word spread about the ‘Happy Hotel’ down in Hell. A rehabilitation centre for sinners wasn’t such a bad idea thanks to the population issue down there but it was also a ridiculous notion because, well… souls were sent down there for a reason. Now, you had never been human, so you were no expert on whether or not demons deserved a second chance, but unlike the princess of hell, you’d been given the chance to observe the behaviour of human beings and had yet to form an opinion on the matter. Not a proper one at least. However, you did not see demon’s worth so much as to have God banish an angel down to hell for all eternity to see if they can make any impact. It would be one thing to just send an angel down there, but it had been made clear that they needed someone expendable. An angel they could afford to lose should they be killed down there in hell.

That hardly sit well in your stomach and when you saw the arch angel Michael fly into the city centre with news of who would be sent down to hell, you spread your wings and took off to get closer. Whose life were they about to ruin? Angels all around you murmured softly between each other, watching closely as Michael gazed around as if looking for the ‘chosen one’. Everyone waited with bated breath until a name was finally uttered from the Angel’s plump lips.

“Amethyst Hearth.”

The name almost seemed to echo despite the softness of his strong voice and within moments, the crowd parted to show the young angel, a woman who had hardly been in heaven three years. From what you had head, she had been a single, teen mother. A young girl who had been taken advantage of in her youth but did her best to make a decent life for herself and her child. Unfortunately, she died in an accident of some sort.

“N-No! No, please, I couldn’t possibly survive down there!” The woman practically cried, taking stumbled steps back, trying to put more distance between herself and Michael as if that would make any difference to her fate. No one dared speak up, for no one wanted to defy the will of God.

“You’ll be serving our father more than you ever could have here in heaven. Don’t you see, you’ve been chosen, out of millions of angels, god’s children, to do this deed. To make a difference,” Michael’s soft voice spoke, reaching all ears without much effort. Crystal like tears rolled down her flushed cheeks as the angel shook her head, spreading her wings to get ready to fly away, only for a couple angels to finally step in and grab her arms.

“No! Let go of me! I don’t want to! I’ll die!”

You could feel your pulse increasing and clenched your fists to refrain from speaking. This was wrong, beyond wrong, but who were you to defy God’s wishes? He knew all, did he not? Yet you found yourself doubting him more and more as Amethyst struggled to escape. At war with yourself, you caved, spreading your large white wings and giving a single, strong flap, taking you over everyone else before landing once more, between Michael and the young girl. How could you, an angel of over three hundred years, allow such a young angel to suffer.

“Arch Angel Michael, you can’t do this!” You declared firmly, hands trembling lightly but standing strong. “I don’t see why God can’t just send an angel, an exterminator perhaps, down into hell to do his work? Why take someone’s halo from them? Their grace? It’s insanity!” Murmurs started back up at your sudden defence, familiar faces backing further into the crowd so they didn’t have to watch someone they knew make a fool of themselves. “I love God, he is my beloved father, but I can not stand by and watch this young woman lose even more after only dying recently. She stands no chance down there.”

“Miss (L/N), I would hold my tongue if I were you. If you continue to defy god, I cannot be held accountable for what may come next,” Michael warned you, fingers twitching by his side, ready to summon his holy weapon if you were to lash out. Your own hand longed for the comfort of your own holy weapon but you refrained from summoning it out of fear for what Michael may do to you.

“I will not let God or anyone else strip this angel of her halo without good reason. Send an exterminator,” you insisted, narrowing your eyes at your superior, holding up your brave front as best as you could but you could not deny the absolute terror prompting your heart to beat fast enough to harm had you been a regular human being.

You held Michael’s gaze, unwavering until you saw his tense body relax as a sigh escaped his lungs.

“Very well, Father has accepted. We will send an exterminator. Enjoy your time in Hell (Y/N) (L/N).”

Your eyes widened as your lips parted in horror. What? Gasps were heard from all around before you no longer felt God’s comforting warmth around you and the sensation of falling filled your very being. Oh, you were falling. No matter how hard you fought to spread your wings and catch yourself, you still plummeted. It hurt, no, it burned and after what seemed like eternity, you crashed.

Your body collided with a tall standing building, dropping through floor after floor and continuing a few feet after you hit the ground. The building soon followed, crumbling to the ground around your fallen from, unable to move out of the way. Yet nothing landed on you. With your arms and wings spread out, you stared up at the red sky above, dark yet somehow bringing light… Up, way above, was a white dot, much like the sun as it shone down on the earth, only now it was taunting you, reminding you of where you no longer were.

“Why have you forsaken me Father? Was I not right for protecting my fellow angels?” you barely whispered, the taste of blood finally reaching your tongue. You would heal in due time… nothing to fear. No, what you had to fear were the demons slowly making their way around you, gazing into the crater you had created with your ungraceful fall. Guess that’s what happens when you have your grace ripped away from you.

“Is that an angel?”

“What’s an angel doing in hell?”

“They don’t look like an exterminator. Fuck it, let’s take their wings.”

“Heh, you can have the wings, I’m after their halo.”

Voices chimed from all around you and all you could do was watch in a panic as you willed your body to move. You may not have had your halo anymore but you sure as hell weren’t going to let these demons take your wings! Your fingers twitched as the demons pushed each other around to get to you first, pulling weapons on each other despite knowing they could hardly kill each other without a holy weapon. Speaking of… You managed to close your fist and summoned your exterminator’s spear. Having the familiar weapon in your hands gave a wave of comfort to your sore body and an even bigger wave of energy.

While everyone was distracted with fighting each other off, you grunted, pushing yourself off the ground with the help of your spear to prevent you from going back over. It seemed everyone had noticed you stand up, shaking dirt and rubble out of your huge wings as an exterminator’s mask glitched over your face, crack running down the crossed-out eye as it struggled to stay activated. Perfect, a glitching mask. Just what you needed.

“Back off,” you growled, taking on a defensive stance, very aware of the fact that you were surrounded, and horribly wounded. The extent of your injuries could be figured out later, for now, you needed to get out of the open and find a place to hide out. You pulled your wings in tight against your back as all weapons were turned on you from those who hadn’t run off the moment your mask glitched into place. Good, a lot of them were smart enough not to mess with an exterminator. Well, ex-exterminator but they didn’t have to know that now did they?

Heart in your throat and pounding in your ears, you put up the fight of your life. So many demons usually feared exterminators, but many of these fools refused to back down, perhaps believing that they had a chance against a lone angel. You’d be ashamed to admit they were almost right, but luck seemed to be on your side, as you cut another demon down and dashed out of there, running down alleyways, running across empty streets and eventually finding yourself in an abandoned building, barely standing from ears of abuse. You recognised it, much to your own surprise, as a place you have been to before. You’d chased a demon here once. Killed them right in the corner you were sitting in, out of breath and body trembling from pain and fear. You hadn’t trembled so badly since your first extermination. Hell was a scary place, especially when you’ve never been there before. You’ve been here hundreds of times now, only this was your first time alone and with no clear way home.

Your heart didn’t slow all that much, your body too tense to possibly relax any time soon, but your breathing got better, much to the relief of your aching chest. Now calming down and somewhat safe, you uncurled and rid yourself of your mask, but kept your spear by your side. Just in case you needed to defend yourself again – but you weren’t so sure just how well you’d hold up in another fight so soon, so you could only pray that you were safe.

You stretched one of your wings out, curling it around yourself to inspect the damage, finding shards of glass stuck within the feathers and embedded in your wings, staining the once pure white feathers red. That was going to take a while to wash out… You heaved out a sigh and plucked out the shards of glass, causing your wounds to bleed some more but not dangerously. You did the same to the other wing and finally, felt yourself starting to relax when you realised that your wings weren’t broken, just damaged. They’d heal within time; you would be fine.

“Those are some nasty injuries you have there my dear! Why, I’d say you’ve had quite the fall,” a distorted voice suddenly spoke from one of the awfully dark corners of the room. Lifting your head quickly, you searched for the source of the voice, only to find two red, glowing orbs staring right back at you. How hadn’t you noticed them when you came inside?! No- they weren’t in here when you arrived, they had followed you. You quickly reached out for your spear, only for it to slap back down onto the hard ground as a dress shoe clad foot stepped down on it.

“Now, now, let’s not cause a scene, shall we? After the show you just put on, I doubt you’re in any shape to be taking anyone on any time soon,” he chided, kneeling down before you.

A tall man dressed in a red pin-striped suit, bright red and black hair and… hey would you look at that, he was a deer demon… and unfortunately, you recognised him. Exterminators typically knew a lot about those who roamed around in hell. For example, you could name a good number of the overlords, such as the man before you now, grin ever present on his face.

“Radio Demon…” you murmured, making his grin stretch wider as amusement shone in his eyes.

“My, the little angel knows who I am~” he hummed, grabbing your chin in a firm grip, turning your head this way and that as if to take a good look at you.

“You’re going to kill me then?” you questioned, your own (E/C) eyes staring intensely back into his. You were terrified, no doubt about that, but if you were going to die, then you would die fighting. The demon chuckled and shook his head.

“No, no, no, darling! Quite the opposite actually, I’m here to offer you a helping hand!” he declared, standing back up and making a microphone appear in his hand as he stepped off of your spear. Taking this as your chance, you picked it up and stood, holding your weapon defensively, pointed right at his chest.

“I hardly doubt you could help me demon. Now leave me alone before I end your sorry existence right here and now,” you warned him, hoping he’d just back down and maybe come back later. When you could actually stand a chance against him. He merely chuckled again, beginning to piss you off.

“Couldn’t I now? Not even if I offered you a 100% safe place to stay and assistance with your injuries?” he inquired with a raised brow.

You couldn’t afford to believe him. He was a demon, a liar, there was no way he wanted to help you out.

“How can I possibly trust you? Demon’s don’t do nice things for the sake of others, so what do you want?”

Alastor sighed but his smile never faded as he turned around and started to walk towards the exit of the building.

“I never said I was doing this from the good of my heart and what I want hardly matters either. It’s up to you if you trust me or not, but I’d remember where you are quickly. Not many here in hell are going to be so generous.”

So, what else was there to do but follow? After all, at this rate, you were going to die anyway. You never would have imagined that he would lead you to the very Hotel that started this ordeal in the first place.

[sweetchup]

Hate or Love?

Anonymous said: I love what you write could you write a NSFW scenario with Feitan? Maybe add a bit of vanilla and angst?? Just have fun with it! Thank you!

Type: Feitan x Reader

Au?: None

Word count: 3,300

Warnings: Mature Content, Smut, Blood, Vanilla lemon, bondage (rope, blindfold), possessiveness, a little angst (only a sprinkle), and physical assault.

Author note: Thank you!! Feitan is actually really fun to write and I’m actually glad I’ve been recently swarmed by Feitan fans. The Feitan love and thirst is real right now in my ask box.

“Oh man is it hot today!” You say out loud, while fanning yourself with a piece of paper. It was literally scorching though today, you were practically sweating through your clothes. It also didn’t help that you were working in your weapon shop today so you were often hunched over a hot flame or playing with boiling metal. Not that just sucked on a day like this.

Maybe during your lunch break, you should go grab some ice cream from the corner store down the street. Maybe also some lemona—

You are snapped out of your thoughts when the chime, from the front door of your shop, rings. You squint as you turn to face the glass windows which have off a golden hue shining through. You wonder who it is but soon smirk as your eyes finally adjust.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr.Portor~?” You tease causing Feitan to glare at you. As a previous resident of meteor city yourself and an old friend of Franklin, you often gave weapon offers for some of the Troupe members. You actually even got along with the members, even the boss Chrollo who once tried to steal your Nen. But, for some odd reason, you and Feitan could never get along. It was probably due to the fact that you could never keep quiet and always had to speak your mind, which annoyed him to no end. You actually liked Feitan, he was nice company, but the need to tease him more out way that.

“Me would suggest you shut up unless you want something to happen, (y/n),” Feitan threatens, causing you to let out a laugh. Aww what a cutie! You quickly dodge as Feitan throws a knife at your head. Still doesn’t change your mind, he’s still adorable.

“Sorry Feitan I couldn’t help myself, you just looked so adorable trying to glare at me~.” You say, leaning against the front desk causing your shirt to drop showing part of your bra. Feitan blushes and turns his head away. This would have been a clear sign that told you he likes you, he has actually had a crush on you dating all the way back when you were teens in meteor city. But since you're incredibly dense, you haven’t seen the signs up till now and since he’s wearing his robe you can’t see the blush and just think he’s annoyed with you. You just always have to find a way to tease him don’t you?, “So~ why ya here?”

You blink a couple of times as you see Feitan pull up his sword, a sword you made.

“What the fuck did you do? Did you fight a fucking herd of gorillas?”

The sword was absolutely wrecked, like it practically didn’t even look like a sword anymore. The metal part of Feitan’s concealed sword was broken into three separate parts, the handle was ripped and bent, and finally the umbrella part was shredded and burnt in multiple areas.

“Troupe business.” Actually, Feitan didn’t want to tell you that he actually fell into a trap and got surrounded. You already had enough insult ammo against him as it already is. Though, maybe you actually would be concerned about him? Not likely knowing you.

“Troupe business my ass. This is why I don’t give toys to little kids like you, I’m going to have to rebuild this whole thing,” you spitefully say, muttering a little bit at the end. Feitan clenches his fist at your comment. Do you not consider him an actual man? He’s tried before, he’s tried many times but whenever he’s attempted to take you out on a date or spend time with you, you just find a way to insult him or piss him off. He might like you but he is also a man who needs to keep his pride intact.

“Me not a little kid.”

You roll your eyes and walk to the back of your shop. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what a little kid would say!,” You yelled out, your back turned to him as you picked out the items needed to remake the sword. You technically shouldn’t be mad at him since swords will all eventually end up broken but you had spent so much time on Feitan’s sword. Way more than all of the other members combined. So you got a little heated that he was so careless to let it get THIS broken, “plus aren’t you like 5 feet or something?”

“Shut up. Watch your mouth (y/n). Or—“

“Or, you’ll make me regret it. Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me a hundred times.” You say mimicking feitan’s accent, waving your hand off in his direction. Now, you can’t get distracted by feitan, no matter how much you do, you have to get back to what you were doing. Did you melt copper along with the iron into the sword mold last time? Or was it silver? You honestly forgot. You hear a loud shutter and turn around. “Hey Fei? Whatcha doing? Is it too bright in here for your emo ass, or something?”

You stood there confused as to why Feitan had suddenly pulled the shutters down. The action had caused it so that hardly any of the golden light from the sun flowed into the shop. It also didn’t help that you didn’t have any lights on so it made the room hard to see with the limited amount provided.

“I’m going to say this once, (y/n). Beg.”

You blink as you watch Feitan turn around and stare at you. Was he serious? Did you actually piss Feitan off to the point he wanted to kill you? After a couple of seconds of thinking, you break down into laughter. Man, what a load of humbug. He’s probably joking like he usually is.

“H-holy shit. You actually almost scared me. Maybe if you grow a couple of inches it—“

Before you can even finish your sentence you are slammed face first into the desk. Fucking shit that hurt. Huffing, your eyes burn as you struggle to lift your head up from the desk. Blinking the tears out of your blurry vision, you see a pool of blood on the counter. From the pain you could feel, it was most likely coming from your nose. You go to check but as you begin to come to, you realize Feitan was behind you, forcing your hands behind your back. Shit, you were in a terrible position. On top of that it also didn’t help that you just got your fucking head slammed into the counter and couldn’t think straight.

“I’m giving you a final chance since you're one of our acquaintances. Beg. (Y/n).” Feitan whispers harshly into your ear. You could tell he was losing his cool. Honestly if you're on your deathbed, You might as well finish pissing him off and see a sexy angry Feitan. Smirking, you crane your neck to look at him.

“Now why would I beg to a—“

You couldn’t even finish your sentence as you're pushed by your neck into the desk, causing you to slightly choke in shock. You chuckle as you see Feitan’s angry face above you. You were correct, he does look sexy when he’s truly pissed off. He gives you one last glare before looking away from you to grab something. You feel his cold hands around your wrist replaced by a rough prickly texture, probably some sort kind of rope.

“Aww~ what’s wrong feitan? Made ya mad?” You snicker at him. Though you soon regret that as he puts a blindfold on you. This is new, You thought Feitan likes it when his victims see what sort of awful torture he was about to do to them. You grunt as Feitan harshly drags you over to somewhere and thrown onto another table. Your wrist aches from being pressed under your body weight.

You go to complain to him but you lose your voice as you finally notice the cold edge of what you believe to be a knife pressed against your stomach. Damn, he is actually serious about this. You're feeling are actually hurt. Feitan chuckles at you losing your voice midway and you curse yourself out for that one show of weakness.

Now, as much fun it is being tortured by Mr Sexy Goth man, you have other things you have to do such as finishing his sword so what should you do in this scenario? Run? No, he's incredibly fast and agile so that won’t work. Use your Nen? No, you need your hands for that and you won’t be fast enough to get them out in time. Wait, you still have your legs. They aren’t held back and you could focus your aura into them to create a powerful kick. Now, you just need to deal with that knife against you.

You mentally sigh in relief as you feel the knife pulled away from your skin, looks like you don’t have to worry about that after all. Now's your time to act. Your knees are about Feitan’s waist and he’s around 5 feet so, you should aim around here!

Quickly, when the knife is gone, you focus your aura into your legs and send a harsh kick up. You snicker as you feel the front side of your calf come in contact with his face. Bullseye!

As soon as you hear a smack, signaling Feitan is down on the ground, you jump onto your feet and break the bonds tying your hands. With one of your hands now free you rip off the blindfold. It was fun while it lasted Feitan—

You feel the blood in your veins freeze. Feitan wasn’t on the ground in front of you. Where was he? Startled, you go to activate your Nen but are cut off guard as hands grab the back of your knees and you are picked up and slammed against the wall. Crap how could you be so careless, Feitan was right behind you. You should’ve known, it was so obvious.

Suddenly, you turn crimson as you notice something. When did this happen? How in the world did you not realize your clothes were cut into shreds. Everything was out in the open. The only time you could think of this happening is back….back when he took the knife off of you. That’s right. It’s so hot out that you didn’t even feel a change in temp when the clothes got shredded or feel the loss of fabric since you are so sweaty.

Feitan chuckles as he sees your flustered reaction. You glare back at him only to mewl a couple seconds later as he grinds against your heat. The cool silk fabric of his clothes against your naked slit and clitoris felt so good. You clutch onto his back as he begins to bite and suck on your neck.

“Look at you. Mewling like a bitch in heat.” Feitan mumbles into your neck as he grinds harder in. You feel yourself clench at his words. This was so wrong, he hates you right, so why does it feel like he wants it. Why does it feel so perfect? So good. So right.

“F-F-Fei. Please”

Feitan pulls away from your neck and stares at you, placing his forehead against yours. He groans as he looks at you. You annoyed the shit out of him today but damn did you look hot right now. He originally wanted to just torture you, steal something you couldn’t ever get back and leave you begging for him to come back. But now, seeing your tear stained cheeks, your face covered in blood and your stupid ass mouth moaning out for him, he knew he couldn’t be settled for anything less than taking all of you.

“Please what?” Feitan grunts out. Leaning away from you, making you whine from the loss of pleasure. You go to push your hips up back into him but he holds you down. You really wanted more. You didn’t care what all of this meant, you just wanted Feitan, “Answer me.”

“P-please Fei. I want you to-to fuck me. I want you to fill me up. Please! I beg of you.” You tell him, your cheek flushed in embarrassment. He felt himself twitch in his pants, fuck that was too good. He was going to make you beg and whine for a little while longer but he needed you. He needed you now.

You are startled for a moment as Feitan puts you down on your feet but soon blush and moan as you see him pulling off his long black robe and unbuckling his pants. Damn, all that troupe work made him muscular, it was honestly impressive. And you’ve seen Chrollo shirtless tons of times before.

“Turn around. Now.” He orders, which you obey for the first time in your life. A shiver unintentionally goes up and down your spine as you feel his cool hands grab around your waist. The cold touch felt really nice against your hot and sweaty skin. You soon snap out of the nice feeling as one of his hands pulls away to help line himself up at your entrance. “You ready?”

This causes you to laugh. “You care now?”

Feitan tches, clearly unhappy you’re back to teasing him. Hmm… you know something that he would like. You catch Feitan off guard as you stick your ass up into him and give him a submissive yet seductive look.

“C-come on Fei. Prove that I was wrong about you. That even a short ass like you HA—”

Your plan definitely worked alright. Feitan cuts you off as he fully shields himself into you. Damn, you clutch your fist against the wall, you didn’t expect him to be this thick and big. It honestly caught you off guard. You moan as he pulls back out to move. Damn it Feitan, he knows this is your first time and he hadn’t give you enough time to adjusted to his size yet.

“F-fei. Hold it.” You say trying to push him away with your arm but he just grabs your wrists and presses your whole body against the wall. Trapping your body there.

“Shut it, (y/n). Shut your fucking mouth for once in your life.”

Fuck, you really couldn’t do anything. You could only just take it. Take every fast violent thrust he pushed into you. Take every pulse of pleasure that course through your body. Take every insult and word he whispered into your ear. It was so much at once, all your senses were overloaded.

“Fuck, look at you. So obedient. What happened to the old (y/n)?” Feitan moans as he feels your walls clench around him. “You like that huh? Like being obedient to me?”

You did you really did. Being submissive, being obedient, belonging to feitan, that’s what you really wanted. You just wanted him. Maybe, that’s why you two never got along. You never wanted to just admit outright your underlying feelings for him and just pushed him further and further away with your teasing. Fuck, you really didn’t want this to be a one time thing. A thing that will never be brought up again and be just a distant memory.

“F-Feitan, I-I love you. I love you.” Feitan’s thrust stop and silence fills the air. W-why did you say that? Why did you have to let your feelings take over your mind and shoot out some blubbering nonsense? Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut f���

You're suddenly turned over, so your back is against the wall, and Feitan begins again. This time his thrusts are slower, like as if he’s savoring every bit, and he is trying to get more and more deeper, trying to fill you up as much as he can.

“Say it again. I want you to say it again.” Feitan whispers, placing his forehead against yours. Your lips were practically almost touching, “tell me who you love. Who you belong to.”

“You-u Feitan. I love you F-feitan. I love you so much.”

You let a sigh out. Even if the thrust were slower, they made you practically twitch in pleasure. They were so nice and loving. Each one hitting just that right spot. You were almost there. So close.

“Fuck (y/n).” Feitan curses out as he places his lips on yours. A passionate and loving kiss that takes your breath away. He was close. You could tell, his thrusts were getting more and more frantic and unpredictable. He isn’t wearing a condom either and you doubt he’s going to listen to you about pulling out. Crap, you clench at the thought, this is dangerous. Really dangerous. Maybe you’ll take one more risk for today.

“F-Feitan. I’m going to cum-m. Fill me up please. Fill me up with your cum.”

“You—shit.”

Feitan couldn’t finish his sentence as you moan out reaching your climax. As your walls clench and suck around him, it brings him to his end. He groans out as his warm cum fills you up while your walls flutter around him, milking him for all he is worth.

You pant out, tired from the events that had just taken place. Man you felt like you had just run a marathon. Maybe even two. You could honestly take a 12 hour nap around now. Though that thought is short lived as you feel Feitan move again, making you shutter.

“Huh? Fei-i? What are you...?”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Feitan. He looked hardly tired at all and only had a light shine of sweat. He chuckles darkly at your shocked expression. You couldn’t take anymore, your nerves were already starting to flare from overstimulation and he wasn’t even going fast. Also now that the adrenaline was out of your body you realized how sore you are and how much in pain your nose was. It might even be broken.

“Feitan-n please no more-e.” You beg, looking for any mercy from the man in front of you. But he only smirks back.

“You shouldn’t have opened your mouth (y/n). So don’t blame me for what’s happening next.”

After all, you belong to me now. And I’m taking everything.

Bonus:

(Later; back at the hideout)

“Hey Fei! How was getting your swor— oh man holy shit!! What happened to you?” Phinks shouts; running to his bitter bud who was a mess; hair all messy, clothes crinkled, skin sweaty and a little bit of blood on the side of his cheek. Phinks goes to touch it but Feitan slaps his hand away and walks away. “Feitan!”

Phinks just stares as he watches Feitan continue down the hallway, back to his temporary room. Phinks turns towards the others who were also just as confused.

“Man, (y/n) did a number on him. I wonder what he did.” Franklin mutters before looking back down at his cards. He had never seen (y/n) lose her cool around anyone before and he had known her since they were kids. He grabs a card and places it into the pile, “6”

Shalnark hums in agreement and places a card down as well “7. I wonder as well. Maybe Feitan insulted her looks?”

Machi scoffs “Not likely. I bet Feitan got too nosy when she was doing her work.”

“Feitan being nosy? That sounds absurd.”

Little did they all know of what really happened and that Feitan was actually smirking as he walked into the hideout.

[suekre]

So ive followed you a VERY long time (like from the deviantart days lmao) and i only just realised that you were talking about ocd in that post. Just wanted to let you know that i have ocd as well and god it is exhausting and i know exactly how you feel! I finally start therapy for it in 2 weeks. Pls know that i love your art and you very much and appreciate everything you create and share with us. All the best!! X

Hey you, I know you! Thank you for coming to my inbox and sharing this with me, I appreciate that so much. :) I am SUPER happy for you that you are about to get the help you need, that is awesome. I wish I could have had it at the time!

(And oh boy, the good old deviantart days, haha! Always happy to have my longtime followers around! :D)

OCD is exhausting indeed. People who aren’t affected can’t imagine what a nightmare it is. I, personally, am more prone to intrusive thoughts than actual obsessive-compulsive behavior. When people hear „OCD“, they usually think of obsessive hand washing or „leaving out every black tile while walking through a kitchen“ or so, while it can manifest in other ways. I didn’t know back then. I just thought I was going completely crazy at the time. I think I mentioned my disorder at times but I never actually openly talked about my own experiences (where I come from, mental disorders are a big NO NO, because it’s all in your head, just pull yourself together, other people are ACTUALLY suffering, it’s just dumb thoughts, you just need to think positive, y’know).

I kinda feel like doing it now. Just to get it out, and also to occupy my brain and hands and hey, maybe someone else can pick this up and find themselves in my own experiences. I sure know how relieved I was when I found out I wasn’t alone with my what I thought was a ‚Very Weird, Unique and Niche Problem‘.  

I gotta admit first - I’m doing much better nowadays. Even my worst days, as horrible as they may feel at the time, do in no way compare to the hell I went through in the second half of 2015. I have come a long way since my last (and so far worst... omg, oof, I hope there won’t be another) episode of intrusive thoughts. But, oh boy, was it intense.  It was the absolute worst time of my life, ever. I’m not writing this to scare anyone. Anyone who is familiar with this, will know how bad it is and anyone who can’t relate at all won’t feel affected anyway and will maybe even think something along the lines of „What the fuck?!“. I get it. It DOES sound crazy.

I have always been an overthinker. I always needed more validation and reassurance than other people around me and for the longest time I had no idea why that was. It was usually subtle - always kinda there but never strong enough to actually affect my life in a negative way. I just felt off at times, and not always super good. But I was generally ok, I could always manage.

Until that one episode that changed my life forever. I know that sounds dramatic but, even though I am in a good place nowadays, it sure DID change my life. I was 31, I lived together with my then-boyfriend and I still remember the exact date. Friday, July 24th, 2015. I remember the exact moment when my entire mind collapsed. It’s so weird, it literally happened from one second to the other. I am not making this up to sound more dramatic, it was a matter of seconds.

I was on my way home after work and I felt… restless and stressed. It felt good to get off work (it was my first full time job and... it didn’t go well, to put it nicely) but I was no longer really looking forward to my week off, and our trip to our favorite Open Air the following week. I picked up some dinner on my way, I came home, and I saw my boyfriend in the middle of the living room, he was making some preparations for our upcoming trip. When I saw him, tall and handsome and smiling at me, I smiled back but inside I felt like crying. My smile was fake. Kissing him felt weird, and also fake. And all of a sudden, there it was. The life changing thought:

„I don’t love him anymore.“

A simple thought. I had weird thoughts before, like anyone does, but they never had any greater impact on me. This time, though, that one thought knocked me off my feet. Not literally, I had turned into a pillar of salt somehow. This was the Perfect Man Of My Dreams (at least that was what I thought back then). The man I wanted to spend my life with, the man who made me happy every day! How could that even be, how could I even think something like that?

I felt even more restless. I didn’t tell him, of course. When he asked how my day was, I put on my fake smile again and said it was okay. We ate our dinner (although I had instantly lost any appetite), and I kept looking at him and the thoughts... just kept coming back.

You don’t love him anymore. What if you don’t love him anymore?

On repeat. It was awful. I just couldn’t shake them off.

It’s the stress, I tried to tell myself. You’re overworked. It’ll be good, you just need some rest.

But I couldn’t relax. My heart was racing, my blood was pumping. I didn’t know what was going on. I begged him to leave his work undone and take me out for an after work drink and he agreed. All the time, the thoughts wouldn’t leave my mind. I didn’t want to think them, but they were merciless, they just kept coming back. I felt so helpless.

A few drinks later, I had calmed down a bit, at least so much that I could stand to look at my BFs face again without feeling guilty. There you go, I said to myself, not quite convinced, you’ll be good. It’s already wearing off. When we crawled into bed later, I was tired and relaxed (and tipsy) enough to sleep and convinced that this was just a little glitch, that things would be just fine in the morning.

When I woke up, I felt exhausted. My heart was racing... and the thoughts came back IMMEDIATELY.

You don’t love him anymore. You gotta leave him.

What. The. HELL!? Why are these thoughts still a thing? Why are they still there? Why do they keep coming back?

I kept trying to push them away but the more I tried, the more intense they became. As if they tried to spite me. I started losing focus on everything else around me, the world slowly started to blur. It was just Me And My Thoughts from here. I tried my best to hide my state, and I think I managed for a while, but I felt like a robot any time I talked to someone. When people would pick up on my confusion, I usually brushed their concerns off. It’s nothing, I’m good.

I mean... how do you even tell someone that you just. can’t. stop. thinking. about whether you still love your boyfriend or not? According to the world, that is something you “just feel and know” after all. Except that I didn’t. I had no clue. I couldn’t feel anything. But, according to the world, that was perfectly normal, too. “Honeymoon phase is over at some point, babe. That’s everyday life, you grow comfy, it’s no longer a flash of feelings every day, you know that. You guys have been together for a while after all, what did you expect?!” ... what I felt didn’t feel like comfy everyday life either, though. Comfy everday life shouldn’t come with high key anxiety, sleepless nights and a loss of appetite at any lived second. If that was comfy everyday life, I sure didn’t want it.

So, what do you do when you have no clue about something? Right! Google! Go and ask the world! “How do you know that you still love your partner?”, “Is the love gone?” ... I spent hours, DAYS doing that, but no answer I found was remotely statisfying (or maybe it was for a minute, but the reassurance never lasted long) and I felt that those articles didn’t actually understand what I was asking in first place. I would spend every day like that. Permanently asking myself the same questions, analyzing myself, testing if the Big Feels for the man had decided to come back... nah, not really. Maybe NOW? If I just look at him close enough?! ... maybe if I squint a little?! Fuck, still nothing! Niente! Nada! I am a horrible person, aaah!

(Our open air trip was an emotional disaster by the way, I felt horrible all the time, and the permanent rain didn’t help. -3/10, do not recommend).

If I had known at the time that I wouldn’t spend just a few days but (more or less) six months with this shit... oof. I was already exhausted after those few days.

Over the course of the next weeks I stopped eating almost entirely. I just couldn’t. This permanent tight anxiety knot in my stomach made me want to throw up at the mere thought of food. At my worst point I weighed 138 lbs (63 kg), at 6 ft 1 (1,85 m). I often joked about how I had almost reached runway model standard. I was sick, I was weak, I was scared, but I just couldn’t eat and the bits I DID force myself to eat were burned almost right away by my crippling anxiety. (I still have clothes from that time, and I sometimes beat myself up for no longer fitting into them before I remember that I should NEVER fit into them EVER again.)

Instead I smoked a pack a day. I hardly got any sleep and when I did, it wasn’t relaxing. Always in Fight and Flight mode. My body was at alert level any minute, any day. I’m still asking myself how it could be that I never actually... collapsed. I was always tired, exhausted and malnourished... I dunno, you tell me.

The thoughts never really disappeared. They kept coming back in all variations. You don’t love him anymore. You have to leave him. You may not want to, but you have to. You don’t love him. I had very few “good moments” in between but in those good moments, my mind was usually frantically looking for explanations and reasons behind all this. For ways to improve my relationship, to feel better about my boyfriend. I came up with the WEIRDEST shit. Almost every day I found something new that bothered me. One day he was a little boring. That’s it! We gotta go out more, do more stuff, that’ll change everything. ... aaah, no. Guess not. The next day, it was something else. The day after THAT, it was something entirely different again.

I was suddenly prone to making some HELLA weird impulsive decisions, too. „I gotta break off contact to that one person RIGHT now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!“, “I gotta talk to my mom about THAT particular incident in my childhood right now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”, “I gotta make a trip to the mall JUST NOW, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”… the decisions made total sense to me the second I made them, for about ten minutes at most, but the initial rush of relief started to fade again quickly and I frantically started looking for new solutions. Google was my best friend. I couldn’t go a day without googling exessively. Overthinking, pacing, googling. Any day, any hour awake. Over weeks. A few months even. My mind was constantly reeling. It was a bottomless pit.  

I cannot put into words how exhausting that was. Sometimes the idea of throwing myself out of the next window seemed SO tempting, not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted the thoughts to stop tormenting me.

(I was out of regular therapy at the time, btw. I thought about calling my therapist about it but never did it. I felt isolated, I literally thought I had to do this all by myself.)

At some point, a few months into it, I somehow transferred to zombie mode. The thoughts became a little less intense over time. They were never gone but not quite as nagging anymore. But any time I wasn’t in alert mode, I felt just hollow instead. Sucked dry of any joy, of any emotion, of any sign of life. I just... functioned. Still tried to hide it. I dunno how well I did with that. Probably not at all well. I kept it all to myself, just because it felt that ridiculous. Tried to find excuses. “I’m just tired.”, “You know, there’s a lot going on in my head right now, but I’ll be good.” ... truth is that I don’t remember a whole lot of that time, it’s all blurry. There are just a few significant moments.

Such as that one evening, after work, when I left the building, made a few steps and stood five (or ten? fifteen??? who knows?! not me.) minutes on the spot, motionless, because I could no longer remember my way home.

I got fired from that job, by the way. I’m sure it was mostly due to low performance, I get it, but I can’t blame my poor state alone - they were also assholes.

Anyway.

I had, of course, never stopped the googling and one day, after hours of browsing any niche I hoped I hadn’t browsed yet, I somehow found a blog written by a young woman like me. The description tackled almost all of my thought patterns and I was blown. away. She asked herself the very same questions, with the very same twists, and... she even had a name for it.

ROCD. Relationship Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I cried for what felt like hours. Out of relief. There was a person in this world who knew exactly what I was going through. And she even had tips how to overcome it. It wasn’t the first time I had heard about OCD, but as it had never affected me in any way before (I, too, associated it with compulsive hand washing and tile jumping), I wouldn’t have thought of it. After doing my own intense research on the subject, a huge part of me and my life finally started making sense to me. Not much was known about ROCD at the time, but it kinda didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was the OCD part. The subject of the thoughts is entirely interchangable. It’s the chain of thoughts itself that has to be broken. Don’t focus on the relationship. Break the chain instead.

The internet also recommended exposure therapy but as therapy wasn’t an option at the time (weird German laws... regular health insurance covers only a limited amount of therapy lessons within a certain span of time and I had used mine up and there was no way I could pay myself), I decided to try it myself, the key points being:

* No more googling, no more reassurance. Learn to live with the uncertainty, learn to live with Not Knowing.

* Let the thoughts happen. Watch them pass by. They’re just thoughts, they can’t harm you. Don’t fight them, just recognize them and let them stay, they’ll get less scary over time.

* Focus on other things, as hard as it is. Try to occupy your mind and your body. Any minute you spend doing something else but brooding is a win.

It all sounded so very abstract at the time, but I was determined to give it a try. Oh gosh, was it hard. After months of emotional torment and getting used to unhealthy ways of coping, it was SO DAMN FUCKING HARD to NOT google. To NOT think. It felt like torment all over again. How was I supposed to just let the thought sit with me!? It was scary, I didn’t want it! Just ONE little peek, only a second, come ON! I won’t do it again after that?!

Oh god, it was the worst, it really was. Trying to break the chain while I was so desperate to save my relationship was terrible. I honestly don’t remember HOW I made it... but I made it. I somehow... clawed and bit my way out of it. I went right through the pain and made it. It’s not actually a linear process but there comes this point (and I know a few people I met on online platforms who would back me up on this) when you know the worst is over. You just know it. Things weren’t exactly good by the time the thoughts were history but I had reign over my own head again, I could actually SEE the world again, and that was worth everything plus my body weight in gold.

I’ll stop right here because the following months weren’t about my OCD anymore, but about figuring out needs, figuring out myself and what I wanted from life and this particular relationship and it’s not quite relevant and another story. (I DID love my ex-BF but it turned out he wasn’t at all good for me, I had ignored all the red flags for too long, and it didn’t take long after this for us to go separate ways)

I hated this particular time in my life while it lasted but I have learned and taken so much from it. It has changed my life in so many ways. I learned that things are never set in stone, not for anyone. That there will always be uncertain times on our ways. That change is always scary. That it’s okay to be scared. That staying in crappy situations for the sake of it isn’t always the right thing to do. Sometimes, doing the right thing (aka leaving a relationship that isn’t good for you) can make you sad. Love does not equal compatibility.

Looking back, I am - in a very bizarre and twisted way - grateful for the experience. It was an incredibly important lesson for me that taught me to be kinder to myself, to look out for myself and to listen to my own needs. That I should put myself first at times. For the first time of my life, I really got in touch with myself and my own emotions. I learned to understand them, I learned where they come from. I learned to cut myself slack at times.

The list goes on and on, but you get my drift. I know myself inside and out at this point. That wasn’t always the case. Not until 2016.

It still comes back at times. Not with such full force, but it keeps creeping back in, pretty much any time I have to deal with uncertainty in my life. Bad news at work, not hearing from a friend for a while that I’m dying to hear from (inevitably thinking that they MUST be mad at me) or when I spot a few symptoms of sickness that I’m not familiar with (I practically never get sick). Not Knowing What Will Happen drives me CRAZY. I hate uncertainty, I need my life to be stable and calm to fully function.

Now, in COVID times, it’s mostly the fear of suffering from an incurable disease. AGAIN. I’m familiar with that, too. I’m not even scared of catching the virus, I just fell right back into overthinking any symptom I have, even if it’s just a short pain in the neck or whatever (you know, things that one usually brushes off). When my life was busier, I was MUCH better at handling those thoughts. Most of the time, they didn’t even come up in first place. Sitting inside and avoiding contact 99,9% of all times, and having little to no actual distraction („reading/watching movies“ doesn’t help me personally, it does’t occupy my mind enough, I usually just stare right through the pages/screen), however, leaves FAR too much time for the thoughts to unfold, once they come up.

This subtle but lingering concern for my health puts my body into a permanent state of anxiety once more. Fight and Flight mode. The pace of my heartbeat is always slightly, but perpetually, increased. It isn’t always outright panic attacks, it’s this constant state of having to be… alert. Something MIGHT happen, y’know. Be prepared. Relaxing and doing nice things becomes almost impossible. Instead, I get tired and exhausted. Depressed, even. It sucks the joy right out of me. I feel like living under a glass dome. I see what’s happening around me but I am unable to connect, emotionally. People keep living their lives and I can watch them, but I can’t be a part of it. It’s a deeply crushing feeling. I manage to somehow function but I don’t really feel alive. My abandonment issues and fear of „getting left behind“ kicked in again, too. I want to catch up and take part but can’t so I stress myself over THAT, too. This only adds to the exhaustion and makes me feel even more isolated.  

Hello, vicious circle, my old friend.

I didn’t even realize that I had such huge potential to fall right back into it. It all started… I dunno, by mid/end of January?? It’s a bit blurry this time. It is directly connected to Germany’s recent lockdown, though. A massive case of Not Knowing How Things Will Turn Out. I failed to take better care of myself in the past few weeks. And now I’m here. AGAIN. Ugh.

But well, as I said, it’s not as bad and, as I said, I have at least learned some important things over the years. In this particular case of intrusive thoughts, the first rule is: NEVER GOOGLE SYMPTOMS. And never google shit like „chances to survive (whatever illness think you have at the time)“, either. The mind longs for reassurance but googling symptoms is BAD, as we all know by now. It’s not even reassuring when you do it. Because you’ll inevitably end up diving through the vast internet for HOURS, picking up an entry that some person named Kevin made on a cancer forum way back in 2004, saying that his uncle died the next day after finding out he has cancer and that is, OF COURSE, what will happen to YOU, too. There is no other way. YOU WILL DIE.

Excuse the text walls. I took an opportunity to ramble about my own experience, for the first time ever since it happened (not including the few short talks I had with the few people I met on internet forums).

To anyone who made it this far: Thank you so much for reading. It sure felt good to write this down for once, even if it’s just a short summary (yes, really, I mean, we’re talking six-ish months here), and the descriptions fall woefully short. If anyone affected by the same happens to read this -  I am so, SO sorry you are suffering so much. You are NOT alone and you are NOT weird. Talk to someone. Open up. To your doctor, or you therapist, if you have one. To a person you trust. It is the worst but there are ways, there is help. I wish I had known at the time it started for me.

You know now. :)

P.S.: DON’T FUCKING GOOGLE:

[fandomn00blr]

Day 92

of @the-wip-project​‘s 100 Days of Writing

Just wanna shout out @the-wip-project​, because the prompts this week, about the Heroine’s Journey, have been really great, and I’m shoving them all in a place ‘for later consideration’ (like when/if Spawn ever actually starts going to school again instead of all these puzzled together socially-distanced pre-school things that are eating up all my spare brain cells at the moment with orientation meetings and home visits and zoom meetings). 

I WILL say that Centaurworld (which I cannot say enough good things about as a great musical cartoon show, watchable by both children and adults) is like, the perfect example of both the Heroine’s Journey and the tension between it and the classic Hero’s Journey (without spoilering, the main protagonist, who is a horse, believes herself to be on a Hero’s Journey, but comes to the realization over and over again that she cannot, in fact, achieve her aims on her own...it’s a recurring theme for several of the characters, in fact!).

But for now, here’s another random snippet from that Samson and Anders BFFs thing I seem to be writing now. Both of them may also believe they are on their own Hero’s Journeys...but ya gotta have friends! (contains references to Samson’s lyrium addiction):

Anders reaches into his robes toward his potions belt. “I have some with me if you think it’ll help?”

“No.” Samson’s eyes dart frantically to the mage’s robes and he licks his lips. “Should probably just...get through it...I think...”

“I could try something else to treat your symptoms, then? If you’d like.” Anders’ fingertips begin to glow again, with a different sort of magic than before. Green creation magic. Regular healing magic. Without the help of his demon passenger.

“I’ve already tried elfroot and even paid some old hag in Lowtown to mumble some spell and wriggle her old wrinkled fingers over me. Doesn’t do anything for me.”

Anders laughs and the glow from his fingers gets brighter and spreads into his hands. “Stronger stuff, then…”

They’re still standing out in front of the Rose. And a mage wielding this kind of magic out in the open like this is sure to get some attention. Samson grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the closest alley while the magic begins to wash over him, like a panacea, already relieving some of his discomfort.

“You reckless idiot,” he snarls, pulling his hand away like it burns him instead.

There’s no denying it feels good, but what then? He’s gonna just hold the mage’s hand forever? Hardly a permanent nor practical solution, shackling one’s self to a mage who clearly enjoys showing off more than protecting his own hide.

“I’m not scared,” Anders balks. “Not anymore. Not since Justice showed me something bigger than myself.”

“Then you’ll be locked up or dead soon. And then what of your precious ‘Cause of Mages?’”

Anders glares at him, and his healing magic flares even brighter. A defiant one, then...unbroken by his undoubtedly difficult time in whatever Circle he’s spent time in. If he’d been brought up in the Gallows, Meredith would’ve made him Tranquil long before he had a chance to find confidence in a demon, but Samson somehow doubts his rebelliousness comes from his being an Abomination. It’s far too human. Too easy to poke holes in. Demons or spirits or whatever aren’t nearly so complicated.

“You already look a lot better...” the mage tells him with an air of smugness Samson can’t help but want to wipe from his face.

“Won’t last, though, will it?” Samson smirks. “Your magic tricks aren’t exactly a cure...”

Anders frowns, and he feels Justice stirring restlessly inside him again. “I...I’m trying to start a clinic!” he blurts out.

Samson raises an eyebrow at him. “A clinic, eh?”

“Yeah! For some of the refugees and other people here who can’t afford to go to the Chantry for healing. Or don’t want to...for...whatever reason. Mages, too, of course!” Anders’ hands, still glowing with his magic, begin waving excitedly in front of him as he keeps talking, creating a mesmerizing effect as the green trails move back and forth in front of him. “I could teach them. They could volunteer or just take what they learn and help people. It’ll be free, or funded by donation...whatever people want to contribute!”

He finally stops to take a breath, and his hands fall to his sides. Samson breathes a small sigh of disappointment when the glow begins to fade and Anders looks up sheepishly at him.

“I’m, uh...still trying to figure out some of the details,” he says.

“That’s awfully noble of you. But how exactly are you planning on avoiding Meredith’s goons? Your magic isn’t exactly subtle.”

“I…”

“Hmmm…” Samson scratches his stubbled chin. “You might be able to set up in one of the filthy hovels in Darktown,” he says ponderously. “Templars don’t really like messing around in the undercity unless they have to.”

“You...you think that’d work?”

Samson nods. “Gotta be ready to pack up and move fast if someone squawks, though.”

[writingsbysam]

Penance

  This time, one of the thousands and thousands and thousands of times, he’s bleeding out in my arms. It’s not like the first time, not a broken bronze chest plate and ravens picking out the maggots. There’s no funeral games here, no truce in the war, and no golden urn. Just a sweatshirt and the distinct smell of gunpowder. It’s my fault again, my rage provoked, taken out on everyone and anything within reach. I’ve always been worse than a hurricane, burned worse than the hottest days of summer. He dies protecting me, and my penance is no longer death, but having to live eternally without him. (How can one kill a god?)

  Iron bites into the flesh more, the new technology running through the world faster than Zeus’ lightning, a band of wanderers from a land further than Hyperborea. He’s struck by an arrow this time, and I hardly have to scream before the people from the sea stab him through the heart. I dragged him into this and three ravens croak out a mocking song that sounds strangely more like laughter than a lament. It’s the beginning of the curse that will haunt me for eternity. There’s always some war or another, even if the format changes. 

  One would think that three war deities would be far too many, but that never seemed to stop the Moirai for declaring me the third puzzle piece to the particular tripartite hell that is war. The first time I see Athena roaming the halls of Olympus her face is pinched with pity, and sympathy. I only see Ares see once, eye bags the size of a small nation, and crazed mutterings escaping through his lips. I’m scared that one day I’ll end up like him. 

  I meet the war deities of other pantheons, eventually. I see Inanna –or Ishtar as she’s sometimes known depending on the century and the people– quite often and there’s something ancient and all-encompassing about her presence that makes the skin crawl. She’s like if Aphrodite and Athena had a baby and it’s frightening.

   It’s a battle between Babylon and the Elamites. I shouldn’t be here in theory, but the curse holds strong, wherever he is, I’m with him always. I’m never a leader anymore, there’s a little less guilt in that, just a foot soldier. Inanna likes to run around as one of her sacred prostitutes, shell necklaces and gold armbands draped over Tyrian purple robes. She’s beautiful and mischievous but deadly as a viper, a combination of nightshade and honey. She holds my hand when I flinch, always watching the spear pierce my love just above the navel. I don’t love her, can’t love her, but her presence calms the roar in my skull. She’s a friend for a nearly a thousand years, until one day she fades away in a mirage and a watery smile. I may never have that luxury. (How can one kill a god?) 

  The next one I meet is the Morrigan, who lands on my shoulder in the form a crow as I gaze out over the peat. I flinch noticeably and she grows into a raven haired woman before my eyes. She says nothing the first meeting, just stares on out across the ocean over my shoulder. It’s years before I see her again.

 This time the Romans gather off the coast, but no fighting will take place today, just trade. He’s sitting there, wearing a woad dyed cloak and a Roman helmet but he is not one of them.

  “He will not die today,” Morrigan says in her distinctive croaky voice. I stare holes into his eyes, thankful for the invisibility of the divine for once. 

  “I know. He will tomorrow. It’s why you’re here, goddess, is it not?” I resign myself to my fate. A wolfen grin, the one I’ve seen when Athena creates a new weapon, splits across her face. 

  “Among other reasons. Am I not allowed to see my favourite Greek?” she laughs.

  “How am I your favourite?” I ask, not sure why, surely she talks to Athena more. 

  “You’re the only one who visits, even if it’s just for him. You’re even the Dadga’s favourite,” she laughs and it reminds me of the day the Moirai cursed me just a little too strongly. Morrigan is probably my best friend, someone who might understand even more than Inanna.

  It happens again the next morning, a version of me screaming at the general of the legion about a price, and an arrow through his temple. It hurts just as bad as the first time, and in fear of Morrigan I can’t let my tears fall. The warrior god and the goddess of might must be strong, right? 

   It happens again and again and again, all at the same time endlessly. Until one day, the future has no more need for fate and this time he gets to bleed out in my arms. Both of us, mortal and immortal, one 17 years old and desperate and the other 3,206 years old and still desperate. This might be the last time I see him, the curse is broken, and he might finally get some rest. Maybe I will too. 

  I strap rockets to my feet the week afterwards, shooting across the planet like a comet, taking down bad guys and finally living up to my title “God of Just War” (no war is just, whatever the Moirai thought. I lost everything to war and no one should have to do the same.) Morrigan joins the team after the biggest threat yet, claiming that she had nothing better to do. Her hair’s cherry red now, and she goes by a different name, but she can still kill a man with a paperclip so I don’t judge. We gain others who don’t know what we’ve done and make some sort of makeshift family, but I still weep for him, still long for Inanna’s overbearing smile. Morrigan is closer to mortal every day, as am I. I dream of him dying every night, of the threats to come (Morrigan and I compare notes in the morning, prophecy never quite left the both of us), and of the Mediterranean coast.

  I wake up in a cold sweat one night after a particularly rough mission, watching a teenaged boy get shot in the chest reminds me too strongly of my former curse, and I walk into the kitchen to find a certain redhead brewing hot cocoa. I sit down across from her and stare off for a time, could’ve been a minute, could’ve been an hour, could’ve been a year. I talk of inconsequential things for a bit before she looks me in the eyes. She’s muttering to herself before she says, 

  “What’s the point of being a hero, with all the things we’ve seen, all the things we’ve done?” she says. Her voice is thick and hoarse with an unnameable emotion, the croak that marks her voice out from all others, the one that commands the words of power finally re-emerges. 

  “Penance, I think,” a mirthless laugh escapes my lips, “we’ve done a lot of bad shit in our 3,000 years. Gotta wipe the ledger clean somehow, huh, Red?” Her eyes go somewhere far away as she slips into the old language, the one older than even the standing stones that dot the Emerald Isle,

  “Why, Achilles? Why us? Everyone else is gone or insane. Ares disappeared in 1945, Athena in ‘46, and Inanna… oh god Inanna… I don’t remember her face.”  I do, I’ve seen it every night since she disappeared into the Iraqi desert. I answer my birth tongue, a Greek older than Greece. The syllables sit clunkily in my mouth, the sounds rusty from disuse,

   “I do. I see it every night, bright as the day she left us. Morrigan… I think it’s because we already know how to be mortal. We cannot die because we have regrets.” 

   “What of Apollo, or Poseidon? They were mortal for a time and they’re still dying or dead,” she asks. 

   “They’re Olympians, they’re arrogant. We’re different. I… I can’t be forgotten because I started out mortal, to these days of science I was real therefore I can’t be forgotten. It’s the one thing the damned Moirai promised me when I left for Ilium, that I would have everlasting glory,” I ramble. Morrigan raises a perfect eyebrow, 

  “You think too much, Philos,” the Greek a halting stop in the lilting tongue. 

   “You’re probably right,” I admit, “it’s just I know why I do this. It’s for Patroclus. It’s penance. I save people because for three thousand years,” my voice hitches harshly, “I couldn’t save him, and I can’t make someone go through what I did.” Her brows knit into a mask of worry.

   “Let’s put on a mind numbing movie and just laugh our asses off for an hour, alright?” she says in English. I reply in Greek, savoring my time speaking my native tongue, 

   “Raise a toast with me first,” we both raise our mugs, “to Inanna, wherever she is, and to our penance, however long that may be.” She clinks her mug with mine and puts on a movie. 

  The two of us, the last of the gods, huddle together on a couch passing stories until the dawn, sharing our penance together. And if the next time we save the world, while the rest of our teammates are okay and eating a metric ton of pizza, I look at her across the room and mouth “This. This is why we do this” well that’s none of your business. 

 Sharing our penance is a little easier together. 

[the-darklings]

—𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒊 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅;

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 9.6k+

summary: “You were friends once.”

warnings: swearing, angst town.

notes: Welcome back to “pain and suffering”. Please fasten your seatbelts, keep your limbs inside the cart at all time, and enjoy your ride!!! Also, thank you for reading this fic. Every note/comment/reblog/message means the world <33

children of ares series: 01 | 02 | 03 | . . | 05 |

[4 YEARS LATER]

“Well, well, if it isn’t my father’s loyal little bitch.”

Your eyes slide towards Iosef, drilling into him with a stony expression. Cocky and as irritating as always. Some things never change.

“Don’t you have kindergarten, little boy?” you wonder out loud.

His nostrils flare, eyes bulging at your dismissive tone and he jumps up from his seat. His friend holds him back, shooting you a brief, panicked look.

“What did you say to me, bitch?” he spits out in harsh Russian as you calmly shrug off your coat, dropping it on an empty chair as you sit down.

You don’t answer him, checking your phone instead, and the spoiled brat continues spitting words he no doubt thinks make him sound tough. It grows old quickly, and your eyes lift back to him again, considering. His friend looks increasingly uncomfortable under your scrutiny.

“Shut up, boy.”

Tarasov’s voice cuts through the room with a coldness that snaps his son’s mouth shut right away. The Russian enters his office calmly, removing his coat as his guards scatter around the room. Your eyes meet and your eyebrows rise in a silent question. Tarasov actually looks apologetic.

“What is it that you’re doing here?”

Iosef bristles at his father’s tone, clearly haven’t expected the older man’s displeasure to be directed his way, and pulls himself out of his friend’s loose hold.

“We need to talk, father,” he informs shakily before shooting a vicious glare your way. “But this bitch needs some manners to be beaten into her first. You didn’t hear the disrespect she showed me. We should—”

“You will shut your mouth and get out of my office,” Tarasov cuts his son’s tantrum off firmly as he pours himself a glass of vodka. “We have business we must discuss.”

“But—”

“I will not repeat myself again, son.”

Iosef stands gaping and chastised, his cheeks flushed a blotchy red. Even the guards look uncomfortable though hardly surprised at the exchange and you suppress a grin. Avi just looks like he’s watching the same episode of soap opera go down for the hundredth time.

The spoiled brat shoots you a dangerous look and you wink at him, crossing your legs and turning to face his father. Iosef spits to the side before storming out of the office and slamming the door loudly in his friend’s face. The spare hurries to open the door after him, scurrying after Iosef and you can’t help but chuckle lightly at the theatrics.

“My apologies about that,” Tarasov mutters in clear irritation, nodding his head towards the door before he gestures at the vodka bottle. “Care for a drink?”

You shrug before nodding, a sly smile in place. “Didn’t take after you, did he?”

Tarasov manages to look both annoyed and put out all at once, and you grin wider when he places a glass of crystal clear vodka in front of you.

“No, I’m afraid he rather took after his mother.”

“My condolences, then.”

Tarasov actually laughs at that and salutes you before drowning the glass in one gulp. Avi offers him the bottle again, and the man pours himself another without hesitation.

“Yes, rather unpleasant woman, is she not?” he muses, and continues without waiting for a reply. “But never mind that. Business always comes first. The ambassadors?”

Your fingers brush against the expensive glass and the liquid inside sloshes to the side. Lifting your eyes, you meet Tarasov’s expectant stare.

“Dead, of course,” you inform him, feeling surprised he would think anything else would have brought you back home. “Did you expect anything else?”

Tarasov leans back in his expensive leather seat, regarding you with a hard, searching look. “It took you longer than planned.”

You shrug again, feeling peeved but knowing better than to let Tarasov smell a weak spot. “They were very paranoid. I had to go deep undercover to gain their trust. But it’s only two months. Nothing that affects your expansion plans. I was very thorough. No traces will be found.”

Tarasov nods his head, looking pleased and takes another sip. “So,” he begins deliberately, and you feel his scrutiny shift into something less casual and more ruthless—the very thing you know him for. “We move closer towards the end of our partnership.”

Partnership? Is that what he thinks this thing between you is? Avi, too, blinks as if taken aback by the choice of words but doesn’t comment.

“Two more jobs, yes,” you intone flatly, staring him down.

Tarasov’s lips twist thoughtfully. “Perhaps more than that.”

Your hand drops away from the glass, and your eyes narrow. “No,” you say, your voice icy. “Two jobs. No ifs or buts about it.”

Tarasov’s chin rises and his lips curve. In that action, the last five years are stripped back and you’re staring at Tarasov who came to New York with a vision of control, of power. While your relationship has more than mellowed out over the years, there are still rare moments like these. Glimpses of the powerhouse of a man he is. Brilliant. But cautious too. That’s one thing you always admired about him—his relentless but clever manoeuvring. It would be a lie to say you haven’t learned much from him because you honestly have.  

He hasn’t laid a hand on you since that first time either. But only because you have never given a chance to do so again.

A part of you likes to imagine that you’ve gained his respect over the years, but you have no illusions of where exactly Tarasov thinks you belong.

Beneath him. Because he always has to be in control.

“Santino D’Antonio makes you brave,” he remarks softly, his accusation clear and you scoff under your breath. Tarasov’s slight smile transforms into a frown and it sharpens his features into someone to be feared. Respected. “Do you think his favour makes you immune? Your contract is still mine. Do not forget that.”

“You don’t have to worry,” you shoot back easily, not missing a beat. “My loyalty is yours. For now.”

“You do realise how easy it would be for me to open a contract for your head if it wasn’t, don’t you?”

Your smile sharpens and you laugh. Low and cold.

“By all means,” you tell him, cocking your head to one side as you fight back a grin. Once it would have terrified you to hear him say something like that. But now you feel amused at best. “The last two months have been so boring. I would love to get some free entertainment. But rest assured that if you send anyone after me, I will send you their cold, dead corpses back.”

Tarasov’s lips curl in a faint sneer and he takes another swing of his drink. He drowns this glass too. His austere blue eyes drill into you but you don’t flinch away, holding his stare.

“You’re not John.”

Your smile fades at his soft, mocking accusation. He speaks it in Russian for added insult and for a moment you only peer at him without a word.

There’s a rustle of clothes when a few guards reach for their weapons as if sensing the drop in the mood. Avi shoots you a warning look but you don’t bother turning his way.

You’re not smiling anymore.

Tarasov watches you with an expression that challenges you to do something. To shed blood and forfeit your life.

Years ago, you might have. Anger always burned brighter in you than fear. Something tells you that years ago, you would have leapt right at him, sliced him open even if you were shot moments later. The satisfaction of knowing that you’re taking him out with you would have been enough.

Instead, you sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before you open them again, looking right at him. You stand to your feet and the guards shift, pulling their weapons out. As if that would make a difference. If you wanted to kill Tarasov he would be dead already. But you can’t. Not yet. Rules, rules, rules. Winston would be proud.

You grab your still full glass and lift it to your eyes, inspecting the clear liquid inside.

“You’re right,” you state calmly, shooting him a brief look. “I’m not John. I’ve failed plenty of times in the past. But let me remind you of one very interesting tidbit of information…”

Lifting the glass to your lips, you drown the vodka inside, hissing slightly at the vivid burn you feel spreading down your throat. You roll the empty glass in your hand before turning it upside down and slamming it on the oak table separating you. One of the guards points his pistol at you.

You ignore him, leaning closer towards Tarasov with a grin.

“Unlike John, I’m still here.”

You incline back slowly, allowing your ghost of a smile to linger and turn to grab your coat.

Tarasov watches you from under heavily furrowed brows, looking less than pleased. You wave at Avi, too, knowing that neither of them is going to attempt something today. Killing you now would be too much of a loss for Tarasov at such a crucial time. He’s already lost John—a loss you know haunts him to this day even though it’s been five years already. John might have almost singlehandedly created the foundation upon which Tarasov established his kingdom, but the battle for power never ends. Not in New York. He can’t afford to lose another triumph card. Not right now, at least.

“I’ll be seeing you around, boss.”

“I always found it to be a rather ugly piece of work.”

Your lips curl into a faint smile when you hear crisp footsteps come to a stop beside you. The painting in front of you glows in the light and you hum, contemplating.

“I don’t know,” you say back, still watching the painting. “It always struck me as a rather lonely piece. An old woman waiting for her beloved to come back home from war, even though she knows he’s dead. Tragic, isn’t it?”

“Depends on your definition of tragedy, I suppose.”

You chuckle and the second voice joins you soon after. It’s an easy moment and you feel the tension in your shoulders melt somewhat. Your head turns left only to be greeted by familiar green eyes and a crooked smirk.

“Santino.”

“Ciao, bella,” he greets, his teeth gleaming in a wide grin. He steps closer and kisses your cheek, lingering for a beat before pulling away. His heady, expensive cologne fills your nose and you watch him when he pulls back. He grips your hand in his own, finally stepping back as he takes you in. “As always, you are a vision.”

You snort but your smile lingers. “Very smooth.”

Santino’s smile widens, knowing and smug. He looks as sharp as always, his tailored three-piece fitting him to perfection. Always one for fine taste.

“I didn’t expect you back in New York for another month,” you begin when he finally lets go of your hand. “Is everything alright?”

He slips his hands into his pockets, peering at you intently. You’ve grown used to the intensity of his regard over the years but sometimes—on a rare occasion—it still manages to catch you off guard.

“I’m touched by your concern, cara mia,” he answers after a pause as if snapping out of deep thought. “But something has, unfortunately, come up. My, ah, father has passed.”

Your eyes widen, lips parting in shock, and you swallow as you continue standing there in awkward silence. “I—” you fumble before sighing. “I would say ‘sorry for your loss’ but…”

“But good riddance, am I right?” Santino guesses with a small, understanding nod. “He was not a particularly loved man or boss. Especially not in his final years.”

“He was still your father. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tilting. “Don’t be. It was a matter of time only.”

You hesitate, an obvious question burning on the tip of your tongue. “And the High Table seat?”

His eyes sharpen and he glances behind him, jerking his head to one side. The guards inside the large gallery room step outside at once, and your eyes flicker to them, startled.

Slowly, you turn your focus back towards Santino, and don’t bother masking your surprise.

“It is not for their ears,” he says by the way of explanation and you control your confused frown. “This discussion I wish to have with you alone, cara mia. Walk with me?”

He offers his arm to you and you take it after a brief pause, regarding him with open curiosity. Linking arms, you start slowly strolling through the large space. Despite the many questions you have, you wait for him to start speaking first. When you glance at him, he appears to be in deep thought and perfectly happy to simply walk with you in silence for the moment.

“We do not know yet,” he begins after another few minutes of stillness. “He left a will, of course. It will be read in two weeks time. His successor will be announced then.”

“But?”

Because you can feel the unspoken word lacing every word Santino speaks and he pauses momentarily, looking towards you.

“But,” he mutters tightly. “If you had to make a guess as to who will be named the next heir?”

“Santino—”

“Indulge me, bella.”  

Exhaling slowly, you frown, thinking your words through. You’ve gotten an insider look into Camorra’s affairs during these last few years through him—a fact that Santino originally received a lot of criticism for, especially from his father. With time and your rising status, the bitter mutters subsided but you know that there’s still those in the Italian ranks that would rather never see you and him in the same room again. Still, your unlikely friendship has brought them a fair amount of success and business, too. 

Partnerships such as yours—John Wick’s old partner and presumed heir to the Camorra seat—always draw attention. Over the years, your “collaborations” have drawn plenty of attention as well. Many considered you either Santino’s whore or Tarasov’s spy. Neither is true but people still like making stories up about your involvement with both men.

You don’t blame them for their suspicion, either. It’s a well-known fact that you work for Tarasov first and foremost, and people rarely let that knowledge slide. The same way they always question the nature of your relationship with Santino. As if it could be defined so easily.

“I think your father saw potential in you,” you start, looking away from his expectant stare. “But perhaps not in the area you see yourself in. And—”

“And?”

“And I think that in these last few years the old man was grooming Gianna for the seat,” you explain hurriedly, though it pains you to do so. “I—sorry. I could be wrong—”

“No, bella,” he disagrees, his voice light. His eyes are dark though, almost like a brimming storm. “I think you are exactly right. On this, we agree. Bravo.”

“Santino—”

“Join me for dinner tonight?” he asks abruptly, stepping so close you feel the brush of his suit. “It’s been three months. I have missed your company.”

You gape for a moment at the sudden change of topic. “I don’t think this is the best time…”

His expression tightens, clearly picking up on your weary tone. “Did something happen?”

Shaking your head, you step to the side, unhooking your arms and let your eyes focus on the beautiful statues around you. “No. Tarasov simply saw it fit to remind me that I’m still his little puppet. I guess you could say I’m a little cranky,” you joke, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

Except, Santino is right there. Only a step away. His eyes are two chips of ice—any previous amusement or ease wiped clean. You’ve seen this side of him plenty of times. Mostly during jobs. When he had to be cruel. When fear had to be introduced in order to get results.

Some like to call him the Smiling Shark and you could understand why. Between the two of you fear has always been easy to come by.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No,” you tell him with a slight shake of your head, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Tarasov is smart. He knows how to hold power.”

“He’s a fool,” he cuts in, voice low. Angry, you realise, and it makes you look up at him again. “Stuck in his old ways because he thinks they will save him and his empire.”

“You don’t believe in the old ways,” you point out, half-accusation and half-observation. Santino’s mind has always worked differently. He’s never lacked vision nor the ruthlessness to carry it through, even if it means stepping on peoples’ toes. It put a large divide between him and those who still follow the old code of conduct. So while he always gets results, he doesn’t have many friends to show for it. “Tarasov does. It’s a way of life for him and many others.”

“Well I believe in taking what I want, when I want it, cara mia,” Santino says and in his eyes, you can see the ambition, the haughtiness that drives him forward because he believes that his vision of the future is right. Because he thinks that rules don’t apply to him because he disagrees with them. “Not standing around and feeling sorry about a few cracked eggs along the way. Their old ways are dead. We are the future of our world.”

You stare at each other for a charged moment and that’s the way it always is between you now. He always says things that force your hand, tear at the wall between you, and it’s up to you to always put it back up.

Footsteps fill the gallery, echoing loudly long before anyone comes into the line of sight. Pulling away from him and choosing to ignore his fervent stare, you turn in the direction of the newcomer.

It’s Ares.

You shouldn’t be surprised. Not many would have the nerve to step into a room after Santino dismissed them all for privacy.

The sharply dressed woman halts at a respectable distance, wiggling her eyebrows at you with a wink.

Good to see you, you sign.

Likewise pretty viper, she signs back as her teeth gleam.

“Is it important?” Santino demands, turning around to face her as well.

His second in command only nods, her smile fading quickly and the heavy furrow of her brows tells a troubling tale. Ares is cool under pressure. No problem is too big for her. So it must be something major if she’s this sullen.

“I should head off anyway,” you speak up before Santino can, glancing his way. “I have a few errands to run. I’m working on something new. I think you’ll like it.”

He hums, checks his gleaming Rolex, and lets his eyes snag onto yours again. “My driver will pick you up at 7pm sharp. I assume the Continental? How come you still continue to use that place even after I told you that my penthouse is open to you at any time?”

Why indeed.

“Their dry cleaning is cheap,” you deflect and rush ahead when you notice his lips part as if to argue. “And I haven’t agreed to dinner.”

His mouth stretches into a lazy grin at your words. He reaches out and the back of his index finger brushes against the surface of the delicate chain around your neck. Something flickers across his expression; a look you don’t get to see long enough to decipher before his hand drops away.

“Mhm. Would you like me to beg for the pleasure of your company, then?” he wonders slyly as he reaches to take your hand in his. His own hands are warm and it shocks you every time he touches you for some reason. Perhaps because it’s hard to grasp the idea of someone so cold-blooded being so warm. “On hands and knees, perhaps? Is that it?”

“That’ll be a day,” you state dryly, unable to hold back your own reluctant grin at his theatrics. “Fine. I’ll join you. You already know what I like.”

Santino grins like a shark he so often gets compared to, his fingers tightening around yours. “Indeed I do, cara mia. Indeed I do.”

“—so here I was six years of age, no, perhaps seven,” Santino recalls, just as engrossed in the story as you are. “Witnessing what I believed to be a miracle. I tell you, bella, my mother’s lasagna was the finest you could taste anywhere in Naples. No, in the whole of Italy. It felt like being held in her arms. On a sunny day, we would sit on the rooftop terrace overlooking the entire Gulf and marvel at the simplicity of life. The sweetness of it.”

“Yes, I can imagine little Santino with his wild curly hair running around the kitchen covered in sauce,” you tease and Santino laughs; a rich, genuine sound as he brings the wine glass to his lips. “No task too hard. Mischievous as always.”

“I would look good in an apron, no?” he poses with a teasing grin, gesturing to himself and you don’t hold back your laughter. “I would have you know that I was her favourite little helper.”

He pauses, his smile fading a little.

“Those are my fondest memories of my childhood,” he tells you quietly, his voice dropping and you almost want to take the last few moments back. If only to go back to the carefree, open expression he wore before. “Then came her death and the warm dream ended. Gianna and I grew apart. Our father began treating us not as his children but as his heirs. ‘One day you will rule an empire’, he used to tell me. Tsk, tsk. What does an empire mean to a seven-year-old boy, hm? Empty words only.”

You keep silent as you listen. What comfort could you offer him that wouldn’t feel empty? He doesn’t need you to comfort him. He needs someone to listen. So you do.

Santino stares at the empty space behind you, lost in thought, before blinking and giving you a slow smile. “My mother would have loved you though. She was a vicious woman but with people she loved…she would have done anything for them. I think she’s the only thing my father ever truly loved. They both balanced and challenged each other daily. But she did make him better.”

“So unlike your father,” you say after a moment, realising that he’s waiting for some form of response from you. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“No, perhaps not, cara mia,” he agrees but sounds thoughtful. “But you had his respect. Which is something I struggled to gain even at the very end.”

“He loved you, Santino. In his own way.”

“You always have to be strong,” he whispers, his voice pitched lower in imitation of the imposing man you’ve only met a handful of times before. “Never let them see you weak. Because the only thing others respect and follow is strength. If you let them see you as vulnerable, they will slit your throat and throw your body to the sharks. Do not bring me shame by being weak. I was eight.”

He blinks slowly as if seeing the memory right in front of him.

You run your fingers down the stem of your wine glass before lifting it in front of you. The motion catches Santino’s attention and he glances at you in confusion.

“A toast,” you state, your own voice hushed. “To parents who perhaps tried but didn’t succeed.”

He makes a small sound at the back of his throat, a smile curving his mouth although it looks strained.

“What a pair we are, eh?” he wonders idly as he taps his own glass against yours.

You lick your lips, the rich taste of red wine lingering on your tongue, and nod your head once. “We are what we are,” you tell him in Italian and watch genuine delight bloom across his features.

“Ah, bella, I do love it so when you speak my mother tongue,” he remarks and slants his head in consideration. “It suits you beautifully.”

You give him a disbelieving smile, casting your eyes over the otherwise empty restaurant pointedly.

“A bit excessive, isn’t it?” you question jokingly, deliberately changing the topic. “Buying out the entire restaurant just for dinner?”

Santino watches you through half-lidded eyes and gives you an indulging little smile—as if you’re missing something obvious. “Special occasion. I assure you, I don’t do it just for anyone.”

Before you can say anything else in return, your phone starts ringing.

Casting an apologetic look his way, you pull it out, standing to your feet. Santino nods his head with a faint smile as he salutes you with his glass.

Take your time, the gesture says.

Both of you have an old understanding. Business comes first.  

You don’t venture too far away, your table still visible from where you come to a standstill. Turning the phone in your hand, you press Answer, holding it to your ear.

It’s not a number you recognise at first glance so you begin with a flat, “Hello?”

“(Name).”

Your blood runs cold.

The car is silent.

Despite the pleasant evening, your gaze is focused solely on the outside. Santino sits opposite to you and his gaze is focused on you.

After the call ended, you forced yourself to gather whatever remained of your tattered composure. But, of course, he picked up on the fact that something has happened right away even if you refused to divulge any details.

It irritated him greatly, you could tell.

But he still offered to drop you off at the Continental.

Sometimes it still surprises you just how far you stretch his limits and how far he lets you.

Santino’s golden ring gleams in the streetlight that filters through the car window, and you shift in your spot, finally turning to face him.

He’s watching you pensively, his cheek resting against his folded fingers, elbow leaning on the door.

“If you are in some sort of trouble,” he speaks slowly, his voice dripping with that cold promise of bloodshed. “You need only to say so, cara mia.”

“No trouble. Promise.”

His eyes narrow. He doesn’t buy it and you don’t blame him. You’ve been restless ever since the phonecall, your ears still ringing, and it’s difficult to hide that sort of thing. Especially from someone who knows you well enough to pick up on the little hints.

Since Chicago, he knows the worst parts, and it still bewilders you that he of all the people doesn’t pester you for more.

“Very well,” he mutters flatly, his eyebrows heavily pinched and he finally removes his gaze from you, studying the scene outside. “If you say so.”

The flickering New York lights crawl over his figure and you debate whether you should say something after all. It would be unwise. Not to him, at least—not with the history between you all. There are no guarantees as to how he might take the news.

“I know about it, you know?” you finally speak after a stretch of uncomfortable, tense silence between you. A rarity. “Even if you never told me.”

Santino continues looking outside but you don’t miss the slight roll of his eyes. “You would have to be a bit more specific, bella. Know what, exactly?”

He’s being petulant because he doesn’t like not being in the know—not when it comes to you, at least.

“About you going to Tarasov to buy out my contract and pay off my debt to him.”

That gets his attention.

His hand drops away, his eyes snapping to you in disbelief. It lasts only a second before he composes his expression, arching one eyebrow at you with an air of cool disinterest.

“Oh?”

Normally, you might have rolled your eyes at his behaviour, at his poor attempt to deflect. But instead, you simply peer at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Santino shakes his head with a click of his tongue. “What would have been the point?” he questions you with a slight sneer. “The deal failed. I do not particularly enjoy discussing failures, cara mia, you know this.”

“The point,” you tell him, your voice soft. “Is that you could have told me anyway. To manipulate me. To use the fact that you tried to help me as a means to make me feel as if I owed you. There’s a thousand and two things you could have done but you didn’t say a thing. For years. Why?”

“Who called you?”

His voice is clipped and you know it’s because he’s unused to being forced in a corner verbally. It’s not a comfortable position for a man of his status to be in. The car slows in the traffic and the silence between you is more prominently felt then. Tension is not a foreign thing between you, but it is rarely of this nature.

After a few minutes, the car begins moving again, crawling along the streets and you sigh, deciding to let the conversation drop. Another stalemate.

“Do you trust me so little, hm? Is that it?”

Inhaling sharply, you focus back on him and find that a frown has transformed his features into a foreign expression.

“It’s not about trust,” you argue, your voice weak and ignore the mocking scoff he releases. “It isn’t. Can you—just let me handle this on my own.”

Santino looks like he’s about to say something else but the car halts, and the familiar dreary walls of the Continental are clearly visible through the window.

You reach for the handle without hesitation, not waiting for anyone to open the door for you as you step out. It’s better to leave the suffocating tension between you back in the car than to deal with it now when you’re unsure if you can keep yourself together.

The air is still warm but the evening chill has set in, and you wrap your arms around yourself, pulling your long coat tighter around your shoulders.

A hand halts your journey before you can take a step further, and you turn to find Santino’s fingers lightly wrapped around your elbow. His expression is conflicted, unhappy.

“I do not wish for us to fight,” he says seriously, and his words lack their previous sharpness.

“Neither do I,” you whisper back because it’s true. You reach forward and place your hand on top of his. “Please trust me.”

His mouth curves into that devilish, wicked thing you know has charmed plenty of men and women alike. “Oh, that is a dangerous thing to ask of me, amore,” he notes mildly, his gaze heated. His eyes drop to your mouth and you feel a shiver crawl up your spine that has nothing to do with the cold. “A dangerous thing indeed. But perhaps I can…”

He leans closer, his warm breath brushing against your parted lips but you turn your head to the side at the last moment, his mouth ghosting over your cheek instead. Your eyes squeeze shut and your expression crumbles. He lingers for a moment, inhaling, before chuckling faintly against your ear. The sound lacks warmth.

“Five years,” he notes quietly; a soft, bitter undertone running through his words. “Five years, and he still stands between us.”

“Santino, please,” you breathe against his ear, pained, but he only presses another light peck to your cheek before pulling back.

Your faces are still only centimetres apart and he smiles, his eyes roving over your features with an expression you have only caught glimpses of in the past. It’s still impossible to miss the virulent disappointment lining his face though.

“The woman with blood on her hands,” he murmurs gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he chuckles under his breath. Teeth gleaming and his dimples visible. “Like the sea on a stormy night, unyielding and unafraid. I am a patient man. I can wait.”

You wish it were that simple. You wish you could see yourself the way he does. He sees something special, but you only see an off tilter person who is haunted by everything she has lost. How could he even say that you’re unafraid when he knows how you hardly get more than a few hours of sleep every night? How you wake up with a scream tearing out of your throat because you’re back in that underground facility, back with Kishi and his unwelcome touch, back with the torture he put you through? When he knows exactly how badly it still haunts you?

How can he even care when the last five years have been nothing but an attempt to forget, to bury, everything that you’ve ever felt for John? Like your every step hasn’t been haunted by the shadow, the memory of him, wherever you go.

Back then everyone knew you only as John’s associate.

You’ve been forced to hear his name on an almost daily basis for years. And you’ve grown to resent the comparisons, the never-ending questions, the danger he put you in by simply leaving with every passing day.

And now…now he’s back in your life, you don’t know what to do. Don’t know if you should do anything at all—not after the hell his departure put you through.

It’s not something Santino could ever understand.

“After everything we’ve been through,” you utter, at last, exhaling softly. “It’s not a ‘no’.”

He hums, one side of his mouth curved upwards but it lacks the usual bite you’re used to seeing. “Ah, but it is hardly a ‘yes’ either, is it?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth, but his eyes snag onto something behind you, in the direction of the staircase leading up to the Continental. It’s like a switch being flipped. His faint smile fades; a cool, haughty indifference smoothing his features out in its place.

Your head turns slightly and you spot Charon on top of the stairs, watching your exchange with a blank expression. He nods his head in a polite greeting when your eyes meet but he doesn’t acknowledge either of you otherwise.

“I am a call away, bella,” Santino reminds you in smooth, clipped Italian and you know the switch is purposeful as your attention returns to him. “Do keep that in mind.”

He cradles your hand in both of his and you shift in surprise. His lips press against your knuckles and he winks before pulling away, shooting a pointed—almost sarcastic—look behind you as his tailored suit ripples with his movements. He fixes the invisible creases absentmindedly and you suppress a snarky comment.  

One of his burly guards opens the car door for him, but he pauses just before getting inside. His bright green eyes lift to you and he regards you for a silent moment. “Sleep well, carissima.”

The door shuts and the entourage of three cars disappears down the street.

Charon waits till you climb the stairs before speaking. “Nice weather we’re having this evening, Miss Vipress.”

“I’m sure Winston will be thrilled to know that,” you shoot back pointedly, giving him a sideways look. “Speaking of the old man. Lounge?”

Charon inclines his head in confirmation, not commenting on your previous loaded statement.

You pull the door open, stepping inside without waiting for the man to follow you.

Santino’s quiet words plague you as you walk, echoing through your mind like a bell, and you grit your teeth.

I am a patient man. I can wait.

When he said that you never did point out the simple truth you both know.

Santino is not a patient man. Has never been one.

Yet he still continues to wait for something you’re not sure you can give him. 

“Bastard.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Twelve across,” you mumble, pointing at the paper before collapsing heavily onto the expensive leather chair with a groan.

“Oh! Much obliged,” Winston responds with a nod of his head, looking down to fill in the blank line of his crossword puzzle. “You look positively miserable. I presume there’s a reason for that?”

The older man peers up at you from above his glasses, tapping his pen against the paper as he waits for you to speak.

You fold your arms over your chest and exhale, eyes sweeping around to see if anyone is taking a special interest in your conversation. Seeing you with Winston is hardly a new or exciting thing but you’re both high profile enough for people to try their luck. You hesitate for another moment before turning your weary gaze his way.

“An old associate of ours called me.”

For a moment he only peers at you in hushed silence. There’s no doubt in your mind that he knows exactly to whom you are referring to.

“Retirement is not stimulating enough, I see,” he comments lightly, and his eyes flicker around too, assessing. No doubt measuring how safe it still is to be having this conversation out in the open. “Did this associate give you a reason for their call?”

You swallow, and your lips tremble.

For a moment, Winston looks genuinely concerned though he masks it quickly with that professional, cool detachment.

“His wife died, Winston,” you whisper, and your voice catches. “Terminal illness. He asked me to attend the funeral.”  

His reaction mirrors your own earlier one to hearing John relay that same information to you. A slackening of his expression, a slight widening of the eyes before the information is processed in the brain, and a response to such tragedy is offered.

“Heavens.”

He shakes his head slowly, and his disbelief is genuine, you can tell. Disgruntled sort of sadness washes over his face before it’s wiped clean, and the manager sighs; a worn, weary breath.

“A terrible price to pay for freedom,” he notes, and lifts his glass of brandy, taking a large sip. “Did he say anything else?”

“He wasn’t exactly in a mood for a chat,” you bite back, your nerves frayed and he shoots you a dull look.

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, dear.”

Exhaling, you close your eyes, rubbing your forehead where a tedious twinge now throbs. “What the hell should I do?”

Winston leans back, lowering his glass onto the crisp white tablecloth, and stares at you for a beat. “The real question is what do you want to do?”

Your arms lower. “He asked me to come to the funeral. He—he didn’t sound like himself.”

“His wife has just died, I would assume not,” he states, his voice monotonous, and it’s your turn to shoot a look his way. But he only spreads his arms out with a shrug. “Honestly, what is that you expect me to say (Name)? Do you want me to tell you what to do? Discourage you? Or pat you on the head and send you on your merry way? These are choices, and they are yours alone to make. You know the risks.”

“Things—” you voice cracks, and your fingers tighten painfully. In this light, the faint scars around your wrists peak from beneath your jacket sleeves and you stare at them. Even after all these years, the reminders of your time in Tokyo are still visible. When you needed him most, John was there for you. But is this really the same? “It’s been five years, Winston. It’s not that simple anymore. Things are very different from what they once were.”

“Indeed they are,” he agrees easily, and leans closer suddenly, a glimmer of a cool smile lingering on his face. “You weathered the storm his departure caused. You’ve grown fangs. The world has moved on, as have you. He is no longer one of us. Once upon a time, you might have owed him a great debt but that has long since been repaid. Whatever you do now depends solely on what you want to do, and not on what is expected of you. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t owe anyone a damn thing.”

His words wash over you and you allow the exhaustion, the sadness, to show. “If it were you��what would you do in my place?”

The older man leans back at that, and you hold his gaze, unblinking. Winston presses his lips together and seems to consider your words for what they are; a call for guidance.

“Regardless of everything that has come to pass,” he begins, and exhales as if considering if he should continue. “You were friends once. The type of friendship I have never seen in our world during the long years I’ve been a part of it. Nor have I witnessed anything like it since. So, from the sound of it, your friend rang you because he needs you. Because he is alone and hurting. Johnathan would have known the risks. But he still took that chance because he trusts you.”

It’s a miserable, wet day.

Befitting for a funeral, you suppose. Despite how cliched it is.

The heavy rainfall beats harshly against your black umbrella and you watch the small, solemn ceremony from some distance. The mood is vastly different from the last time you saw John. There was happiness and joy thick in the air back then. Now, grief hangs like a suffocating blanket around everyone present.

You’ve considered approaching John before the burial began. You could just make out the outline of him from where you stand, but something has been keeping you back.

A part of you still doesn’t want to see him. A part of you doesn’t know how, exactly, you will react when you do.

Four years.

Four years since you’ve walked away from him and his blushing wife, choosing to close that chapter of your life.

You’re a different person now—no longer caught in the chokehold of your love for him. In hindsight, this should be easy. Despite everything that has transpired between you, you did part on semi-good terms. Even if those first two years have been near unbearable to live through, you still managed.

I’m still here.

Lingering bitterness still haunts you though, and you think that perhaps it’s only human of you. Some things cannot be so easily forgotten. John is simply one of them. And with how much you loved him, is it really any surprise? Some betrayals hurt more than others.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” a familiar voice speaks from behind you, steps drawing closer till he comes to a stop beside you, his umbrella bumping against yours. “How’s your spoiled Italian princeling doing?”

“Marcus,” is your aloof greeting, and you don’t bother looking at him. “Always a pleasure.”

“Oh my, did I offend?” he wonders frankly, his voice dripping with sarcasm and your lips press together. “Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the exact same thing,” you tell him, lifting your umbrella till you can see his face. “But I’m not nearly as nosy as you are.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow, his expression suspicious. “John happens to be one of my oldest friends. And you just so happen to show up on the day of his late wife’s funeral.”

Your grip the umbrella in your hand so tightly the plastic handle creaks.

“I have always respected you, Marcus,” you whisper, your voice frigid. “But if you ever try to imply what I think you just tried to imply again, I will slit your throat and watch you choke on your own blood.”

Your head turns in his direction—a show of just how seriously you mean those words—but Marcus is smiling faintly, amused.

“And here I thought you only liked to watch your targets convulsing in agony from a safe distance,” he muses, his tone humorous. “Word on the street is that you don’t like getting blood on your hands anymore. I suppose that makes me special then, doesn’t it?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Marcus’s smile widens but it’s more biting than friendly though you doubt your own expression is any better. While you have never been the best of friends, you have always liked each other just enough to care about one another. Even if only a little; even if only because you shared a person in common who you both cared about once.

After John left things between you changed.

Marcus never had the power to help you in any substantial way to deal with the aftermath of John’s departure.

Santino did.

A choice Marcus has never quite let go of. To him, your decision has seemed like a betrayal.

He’s never said it to your face, but you know that he holds it over you to this day.

This, here, is your first time seeing him in almost a year.  

A part of you wishes it wasn’t under such unpleasant circumstances. But a part of you also wishes that he didn’t hold your survival over your head either. You’ve learned much from him in the past, and you long for your relationship to go back to what it once was. Sometimes you still catch yourself hoping that there’s some way for you to mend the cracks John’s retirement has created between you.

“He called me.”

Marcus digests your words, not rushing ahead as most would. Always the methodical bastard. “He called you,” he repeats slowly, the sharp disbelief clear in his voice but you don’t see the need to explain yourself further.

The funeral party starts dispersing, the service over, and you see few people pat John’s shoulder in a shallow display of compassion. John hardly responds though, standing stiff and silent at the front. As if something like that could ever console him. It makes you wonder if these people know him at all, despite how convincingly he must have played his part in the last five years.

He stands alone for a moment, gazing at the now empty space where the casket previously stood, and you find yourself swallowing thickly.

He turns reluctantly and begins walking back towards the cars without a backwards glance, and you absently wonder if he’s feeling similar pain to what you did. On his wedding night four years ago, you walked away with the full intention of burying John Wick in your mind.

For the last four years, he’s been as good as dead to you. Only his ghost lingering near.

Marcus clears his throat. “Shall we, or do you prefer standing in the rain all day?”

Ignoring his tone, you cut across the graveyard, the older man right behind you. You sincerely doubt that John is, in any way, unaware of your presence. You can domesticate any animal you want but their hunter instincts are still there, just buried deep.

You’re nervous, you realise, the closer you find yourself to him.

And then, there you are, face-to-face and everything and anything you want or could to say flees from your mind.

John is different yet exactly the same.

His hair is longer, is your first, bemused observation. Few new lines are marking his face as well; an indication, more than anything, that he is indeed just a man. Not some monster others like whispering about even to this day. As if they know him, as if anyone does.

His dark eyes find yours for a second, and it genuinely shocks you what you see reflected back at you.

Grief and pain.

So blatantly displayed that it unnerves you. John you know—knew—rarely allowed so much as a millimetre of weakness to show through. He always found a way to remain untouchable, removed from the fabric of the world others clung to.

John has always been the man who made the impossible possible.

Except now.

Except now that he’s a grieving husband staring back at you with those still too familiar dark eyes.

He looks empty.

“Hello, John.”

It’s a slow reaction that earns you a small scoff from Marcus but you can’t bring yourself to care. Maybe he understands, or maybe he doesn’t at all. Still, you’re grateful for his presence here because he takes the lead, exchanging a few quick sentences with his old friend. John, much to your surprise, looks wary to see him and their interaction lacks warmth—not that you expect John to be very emotional given the type of man he is.

A thousand different things come to mind as you stare up at him, but they all tangle together as you find yourself unable to speak at all. There’s a sudden stab of irritation at yourself for even bothering to come—for being foolish enough to even attempt to see him again. The truth is, now that John is here—right in front of you—you don’t know how you feel. You keep waiting for something: anger, happiness, annoyance, anything. But it’s a tangled ball that only tangles further when you try to unravel it.

You think about the last five years. Think about all the blood you had to shed because of him, and find yourself frowning.

Marcus shakes hands with John, and you try to recall a single word of their conversation only to come up blank.

Marcus has clearly picked up on the fact that John is not feeling too comfortable with his presence here, and turns to go.

You linger behind. John has invited you for more than a brief encounter, it’s clear on his face as his silent stare fixes on you.

Marcus, having noticed your absence, stops and you hear him turn to look at you over his shoulder. He waits for a beat, but when you don’t move, he only makes a sound at the back of his throat; something that sounds vaguely displeased.

“Don’t forget the consequences.”

The disapproval in his voice is clear but much to your surprise he still walks away, giving you two privacy.

Except, deep down, you’re no longer sure if you have anything left to say to the man before you.

Not anymore. 

“You look well.”

You keep your gaze focused on the outside.

There’s only the two of you left inside his beautiful home, and it makes you feel trapped. There has never been a version of events inside your mind where you would get to see John again. So it unsettles you to be with him, here, inside his home. All while he stands there in his dark suit that marks the depth of his grieving. If you close your eyes, you can almost pretend the last five years haven’t happened at all.

Except, they have, and it feels disrespectful to even be here.

Every corner of this house is a shrine to Helen.

To John’s life with her; to his endless joy and peace with her.

Wherever you looked during the reception, trying to mingle with the guests to draw less attention, your eyes always snagged on the dozens of pictures scattered around.

This house feels more like a graveyard than a home now. It’s clear that the absence of Helen is felt in every corner of this once loved space, and by none more so than John himself.

He stood apart from the guests the entire evening—a short, few hour affair that felt more like a necessity everyone wanted to hurry along for John’s sake—and it’s impossible to miss the weight of pain on his shoulders now that everyone is gone.

“You sound surprised,” you respond neutrally, feeling increasingly awkward. “It’s been years, John.”

You hear him step closer behind you.

Your shoulder blades tense on instinct—they always do now. You don’t like having people behind you anymore, not where you can’t see what they’re doing. Santino, surprisingly, is the only one you can tolerate to have behind you without instinctively wanting to aim a weapon at him. And even that took years of trial and error.

“No, not surprised,” he tells you quietly. “I always knew you’d be fine.”

Then, mercifully, a spark of anger ignites in your chest. “Is that so?” you question tightly, and you know you sound cold. “If only you knew. People were eager to line up and try their hand at getting rid of me,” you mutter and turn to face him with a vitriolic smile. “Didn’t work out too well for them though.”

“I didn’t know about that,” he remarks, confusion clouding his features. “The last time—”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you cut him off because the last thing he needs right now is more guilt or worry. “Why did you call me, John?”

He stares at you for a long minute, silent. Once it would have been a normal exchange between you but now—

Now, it’s clear that neither of you knows how to talk to each other anymore. How to ignore—or not ignore—the giant elephant in the room. It’s becoming painfully obvious with every second here that there’s a wall between you, and you have no idea how to tear it down—or if you even want to.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his words soft and low, though it’s hardly what you want to hear. “I guess I had no one else I could call.”

You were friends once.

Swallowing, you turn around and walk deeper into the room, creating some distance between you. Regardless of everything, something about John still calls to you. And isn’t that just disgusting?

“I’m really sorry about your loss,” you inform him, meaning every word but still refuse to look his way. “But it was a mistake to call me. I came only out of respect for our old friendship. We both know what would happen if anyone in my world found out about me being here. You get out, and it’s forever. That’s what you wanted.”

“I just thought—”

“Thought what?” you interrupt, your voice jumping in volume before you force yourself to breathe. “That Tarasov is going to let me come down for afternoon tea?”

John’s expression falls, his lips slightly parted, and now he looks sad on your behalf and it makes you angry just to see it. “Tarasov…so you still…”

You hum loudly, mocking, as you nod your head with an icy smile. “Yes, still. But don’t worry. I’m getting very close. And once I’m there, well.”

His gaze sharpens at that, and in it, you see a glimpse of old John back. “You plan to go after him.”

Not a question.

You don’t respond either because you both already know the answer to that.

“He’s one of the big ones now,” you tell him, and wonder why your words sound like an accusation. “You did your job rather well. Well done.”

John takes your anger calmly. Something tells you it has less to do with his stoic nature and more to do with the fact that…

That perhaps he feels like he deserves it.

“We should talk,” he speaks, at last, his tone cautious. “I know you have questions about why I did what I did.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished. “No John. That’s not what I’m here for. I can’t keep doing this anymore. We existed in the past, and that’s exactly where I would like us to stay. I stopped wondering or caring about your motives a long time ago. Like I said earlier, it’s been years. Things are different now. I’m different.”

“People don’t change,” John argues evenly, though it sounds more like a statement. “Only times do.”

There isn’t much you can say to that. Because, for once, you want to return his old kindness. Telling him everything that has happened since his Impossible Task would only devastate him more. He doesn’t deserve that. Not after what he just lost.

However, it still doesn’t stop the silent resentment bubbling inside your gut. Hurting him now would be easy and a part of you wants to.  

You were right though; it’s been a mistake coming here today and seeing him. The uncomfortable roll of your stomach only confirms it.

“I should get going,” you say, though your words lack emotion, lack anything that once rang through your voice whenever you talked with him. “I have a job coming up.”

It’s a lie. He knows it too.

“You could stay for a bit,” he murmurs, unsure. “I have some—”

“I should go,” you cut him off, firmer this time. “Remember what I said last time we saw each other.”

You certainly do. You let him go. Allowed him to have his new life, and now it’s his turn to allow you to do the same.

John nods, looking down and a tiny, insignificant part of you longs to stay.

He never did though.

Your heart hardens with that thought.

“Let me walk you to the door, at least,” he suggest instead, and you follow him silently, your fingers tightly clenching onto your jacket. “Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to.”

You halt by the door, and glance up at him, hesitating. “No, I didn’t,” you agree softly, meeting his dark stare. “But I’m glad that I did.”

Your words fade away awkwardly, and you swallow again.

A million unsaid things pass between you and you give him a slight smile.

“Take care of yourself, John.”

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but a shadow falls over the door, ringing the doorbell.

You break the eye contact between you, and he reaches for the door where a delivery woman stands on the other side, staring at you both expectantly.

Smiling, you nod your head at him and brush past the woman without another word.

For the second time in your life, you walk away from John Wick.

This time, there’s no pain.

There’s just a faint longing for something you thought died a long time ago.

. . .

an: *new player has entered the chat* ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

We are just getting started, heh~~

As always thank you so much for your support. I see your names pop up in my notifications and it warms my heart dfkjhgfdjkg YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!!! Loved it? Hated it? Let me know!!

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Makeup Session

Follow-up to a discussion (link to part of it) where @sluttyspiderpolkacock agreed to trade some venison sausage to Alastor if he agreed to get in drag. And then this follow-up discussion. So Alastor showed up at Angel’s room to get his makeup done, and also preemptively sulk about the fact that Angel thought he didn’t WANT his makeup done.

Angel

Something felt off. Tone was hard to read through text. It certainly didn't hold a candle to Angel's forte reading the body, but he was nonetheless possessed by conscience to descend the grand stairway to collect the aforementioned head from the freezer. Much as it shook him to his core to be using his precious palettes on the thing ( _mental as well as physical in the sense that he couldn't help feeling Vaggie's same shiver when the eyes locked on him_ ) , the spider found himself blending the finishing touches off a perfect cadaver's smoky eye before reaching for a radio. " Hey Smiles, if ya up, getcha grinnin' mug in 'ere. I got somethin' ta show ya. "

Alastor

Instead of responding, the radio crackles and plays a stanza of a 50s song with a female singer: “* Now if I call him on the telephone, and tell him that I'm all alone, by the time I count from one to four, I hear him knock, knock, knock, knock on my door—*”

Knock, knock, knock, knock. It’s the Radio Demon.

https://youtu.be/MeT9Glm_Jgg

Angel

" Hehe, very cute, Al. " Angel left the radio playing on his vanity and repositioned the head before going for the door. " So I did that practice run ya wanted, " he said lethargically with a flourish toward his station, " Not that I don't do up faces like yours on th' regula', but since ya _insisted..._ " Leaving the door open, he returned to the head and held it up to present his work in the light. " I went an' did it. Ya still game fa this look? "

Alastor

Alastor stepped in just enough for the door—pushed by who-knows-what—to swing shut behind him. He glanced over Angel's makeup station before focusing on the head. "Decided the head was useful after all?" he asked dryly. He glanced over the look—seemed like just smudged eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick, all basic black—and after only a second or two said, "It's fine."

Angel

" Usefu-? Nah, nah this was fa you! " he explained with a pull of his vanity seat to offer, " Bone structure's actually... _not_ that big a deal. With contourin', ya can pretty much create any shape ya want. A course, only within' the ma'gins a ya face, but even then ya can do a helluva lot. I once _completely_ erased my peripheral eyes fa a client. They got definition, but ended up lookin smooth as a bambino's ass. " Angel caught himself rambling with a sigh. Alastor only gave a fuck about the venison. He was wasting his time. _But---_ " ... What I _do_ wanna check out is ya skintone, though. I'd guess youse neutral all th' way through, but since we ain't human anymore an' the inside a the wrist trick ain't so reliable, I'd haveta experiment with ya cheeks. "

Alastor

"I said you could chuck it out if it wasn't useful." He unlatched his hands from where he'd clasped them behind his back, took the offered seat, hooked one ankle over the opposite knee, and sat perfectly straight. Very professional, not terribly welcoming. "I prefer the shape my face currently has."

He glanced at the head again. "Yes, well, that's why I decapitated somebody who matches my complexion." He paused. "I suppose that didn't last after freezing him, though. But how much skin tone matching do you need to do with black eye shadow and lipstick?"

Angel

" Ya ain't up fa foundation? It's beauty base level one, Sweetie, it evens ya out an'... " Angel hummed and took a moment to lean in to judge his skin. " ... Ya know what? Ya don't even need it. Youse one a the lucky ones. Who would a thought ~ ? " With a shrug of his shoulders, he took a knee and pulled a package of wipes from a drawer. " Should clean ya up some, though, just ta make this whole process easier. " He opened them up, a puff of a fresh, sweet scent emanating from the package. " Allow me, uh. " Eyes flickered to his posture. " Or you wanna handle it? " he asked, " No harsh chemicals or anythin', just clean an' good fa ya. "

Alastor

There's the slightest narrowing to his eyes that suggested he wasn't quite sure what "foundation" was, but, whatever it was, he didn't fully trust it.

The squint didn't quite go away when Angel withdrew the option of foundation; but he did offer some actual conversation. "I don't think my skin's entirely natural. Never looked into what's changed about it, though."

He glanced down at the package. "Go ahead." And, after a moment, he uncrossed his leg, leaned forward, and planted his elbows on his knees to give Angel easier access to his face.

Angel

He fluttered a short series of disbelieving blinks, not expecting him to pass any opportunity to take up something easy enough to handle himself. Nonetheless, he put on his professional poker face and started with gentle sweeps from his forehead. " Ok, close ya eyes, " he instructed as he continued.

" Whatcha meanin'? Ya sittin' in front a me while soundin' like youse comin' from a cell tower miles away. Ain't nothin' natural about the lot of us, anyways. "

With that, Angel started looking  little more closely for indications of what he meant. " I don't... _think_ there's anythin' weird about it. And that's comin' from a perpetually peach-fuzzed _bitch,_ " he joked, " Ya tellin' me givin yaself a full body once over wasn't the first thin' ya did when ya dropped 'ere? "

Alastor

Alastor tisked to himself at Angel’s surprised blinks; the sound didn’t emerge from his own mouth, but as a click coming out of the still-on radio nearby.

“No, the *first* thing I did was look for pants. But of course examining my body was the second thing.” He shut his eyes obediently. “I mean it doesn’t act quite like skin is supposed to. Not in a way that’s ‘unnatural’ but ‘artificial.’ Doesn’t react to substances it’s supposed to, doesn’t smell like skin—” He made a vague, dismissive gesture. “Natural side-effect of being dead, no doubt. Never you mind. It doesn’t need foundation, I’m sure that’s all that matters.”

Angel

Angel couldn't help blowing a raspberry, but managed to duck and cover in time to avoid any inadvertent spitting.

" Right, _right_! Not _everyone's_ lucky enough ta have long luscious _fluff ~_ " he teased, quickly discarding the wipe before bringing out his choice of liquid liner.

" E'ryone's got their own musk. _Believe me._ Yours ain't the _worst._ If it does anythin' weird with my shit, we'll play it by ear. Open. " Angel uncapped the liner and drew a thin line on the back of his hand for Alastor to see. " This shit didn' come around until the 60s, but it sure beats melting a pencil with a lighter and sufferin' minor burns fa a killer cat eye, " he laughed before motioning for him to close his eyes again via his own.

" Don't worry. Ya good enough not ta need foundation. Ya probably ain't even gonna need much lip, either. Ya smile's gonna be takin' care a most a that. What _I'm_ gonna be havin' fun with _here,_ is givin' ya some pretty dramatic eyes! "

Alastor

“I know I’ve got my own musk. My musk smells like a machine, not a person.” He wasn’t kidding; he smelled like the interior of a secondhand electronics store, all burning dust and hot electrical components. He could hardly ever smell it himself, but he knew his scent.

He examined the liner briefly, then shut his eyes again. “I can handle the lipstick myself, when it comes to that.”

Angel

" Ok! I'll do it with ya so you can copy me, " he asserted, moderately chipper. Angel then habitually reached to steady his chin as he approached the first sweep, but stopped himself in favor of taking the challenge without any unnecessary contact. Instead,  he braced an elbow upon his vanity and shut his left eye, as he did while aiming down iron sights. " Ya ever done it before? Or like, watched ya mammina? "

Alastor

“I’ve done it. Not in a while and I’m not quite as good without a stencil, but I’m not a complete embarrassment.” He does an admirable job of holding his head still while talking. “I expect lip stencils aren’t a thing anymore, are they? Can’t recall the last time I saw one.”

Angel

" Perfectin' the cupid's bow ain't no easy feat ~ " he commented as he worked, followed by a chuckle.

" They fell outta practice when people sta'ted realizin' they was mostly fa white chicks who ain't _got any._ _My_ theory is chola liner's some genius _shade_ about it... _Badumtss~_ "

" Can't imagine you'd be able ta see what'cha doin' if ya tried usin a stencil _now_ though, with that huge smile a yours takin' up half ya face!  "

Amused with himself, he paused to chuckled a moment before the rest of what Alastor said processed. " _When_ 'ave ya done it before? "

Alastor

“Well, they work just fine on Creole gentlemen, too.” That liner joke is a mix of references a little too specific for Alastor to get, so he let it pass without comment. “No, of course I can’t see what I’m doing smiling like this. Why do you think I’m going to do my own lipstick?”

The corner of his mouth twitched wryly at Angel’s question. “Oh—pfff.” The huff came out as a burst of static as he rolled his eyes up and tried to remember. “Mainly the twenties, some in the forties... smattering of times since then... seventies or nineties or aughts—don’t think I ever did in the eighties. But probably only a dozen times in the last fifty years. Like I said, ‘not in a while.’”

Angel

" I know e'ryone _loves_ the 80s... " he groaned, " Unpopular opinion, but _somethin'_ went pretty fuckin' _wrong_ in that decade... " There's a twang of personal resentment to his tone, sharp as the glinted gold off razor clenched teeth.

" Ok, open up an look up so I can do the bottom. "

Though it disappeared just as quickly as he snickered at his own innuendo, further still as all eight eyes lit up.

" AH! So ya fuckin' DABBLED! What ELSE ya been holdin' out on me with, Al? Ya 'ad fun dickin' with drag? Would ya 'ave done it more if ya 'ad the chance? Figure bein' the fuckin', RADIO DEMON's a full time job, but wit' THAT kin'a title... ain't no one gonna be fuckin' wit' YOU. "

It did occur to him that the lack of frequency would answer his question, but he shoved the logic aside for his own wishful thinking. His fluff started to shimmy with excitement and he halted his work in favor of steadying himself on the ground as he were readying a running start.

Alastor

“I spent the 80s in the 10s. Missed most of it.” He opened his eyes and looked up.

“I’ve done it as much as I’ve cared to.” A shrug. “You know I have a skirt, I’m on the record as having sung a drag queen’s part on a musical album—and yet you’re surprised I’ve done drag? What did you think the skirt was for, flagging down taxis?” He scoffed. “I’m sure you must think I’m just another one of those *tediously* defensive men who have allergic reactions if anything even slightly delicate brushes their skin.” There was an edge to his voice that matched the tenseness in his posture since he’d come into the room.

Angel

" Nah-nah-nah, if youse anythin' it's fuckin' nothin' _I've_ ever known. " Angel smoothed himself out, taking a moment before cursing his season and getting back to work.

" Less than a musical number afte' learnin' youse this Ove'lord level hotshot who ate fuckin' cities fa breakfast, you were in th' kitchen treatin' the whole house ta dinner. If ya gonna kick my ass fa anythin', I know it ain't gonna be fa the same reasons I gotta be watchin' my back on th' streets, Da'lin'. "

He then sat back on his mile-long haunches to judge his handiwork from a distance. " Alright! Step Two's done! Whatcha think? "

Alastor

Alastor regarded Angel skeptically for a moment; but then finally relaxed a bit, some of the tension draining out of his shoulders. “And yet you were so convinced that I was looking for ways to wiggle out of this little meeting.”

He turned toward the mirror, studying the eyeliner. “Fine so far.” After a pause, he added, “You don’t think the smudged eyeshadow is going to be too much on top of my natural eyelid color, do you?”

Angel

" Youse a _dealmaker ~_ " he sang as he collected his shadow pallette, again showing Alastor test strokes on the back of his hand, " Wigglin' through loopholes what th' likes a ya do. Like an art. But th' kind that has fuckin', hidden scary shit subtext in th' background that haunts ya fa decades. An' I wasn't about ta let ya wiggle ya skinny ass outta _THIS~_ "

" I'll... " He scrutinized the shades before settling on a sparse swatch with subtle hints of glitter. " Work off whatcha got. Change a plans. I'm doin' ya lips a da'k red and enhancin' the natural shade a ya lids. "

Alastor

"You're right, I *am* a dealmaker. If I was that opposed to getting a little paint on my face, do you think I would have agreed so readily for nothing but a bit of sausage?" He scoffed again. "I agreed to your terms because there was no downside to them. Congratulations on managing to insert a downside that didn't previously exist in the terms—I wasn't expecting to get publicly accused of being too cowardly to wear makeup."

He eyed the new swatch doubtfully. "Do you have one that's less sparkly? Sparkles aren't terribly... me. I mean," he gestured at his ridiculous red getup, "that's not to say I'm not *flamboyant*—but I'm not *that* kind of flamboyant."

Angel

" Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I'll make it up t' ya an' take ya t' work wit' me sometime. _Not_ ta do wit' whatcha thinkin'. I'll show ya where I been gettin' all my shit, but ya _cannot_ be fuckin' seen. "

His conscience screamed, alarm bells wildly ringing throughout the backstage of his brain.

" New deal? " he asked with a new selection of charcoal grey, " I'm startin' ta think ya deserve better than a single color palette. It'll go with ya- I mean, MY, bowtie. "

Alastor

"*Thank* you!" At the apology, Alastor immediately brightened. "That's hardly necessary—but, I admit, I do wonder what you *are* going to pull out if 'what I'm thinking' has already been ruled out."

Alastor glanced over the newly proposed color and a game show bell dinged his approval. "How many palettes does one need to just cover eyes and lips?"

Angel

" Well, that last venison treat I got from th' street, but at work... we got a lot more where that came from. A candy store fa cannibalistic radio demons, " he joked, " Kiddin'. Specifically _not_ fa cannibalistic radio demons. Unless ya gonna _pay,_ but I doubt ya gonna be interested in th' usual package deal anyways. I'll just take ya in through the back. "

" Close ~ " Angel instructed once again before sweeping his brush, " As many as there are different tastes in th' world, Sweethea't. Not e'eryone's satisfied doin' or wearin' th' same thin' fa all a eternity. It gets _borin' ~ _ "

Alastor

"*Do* you? Maybe I was a little hasty when I decided the porn industry doesn't have anything that would appeal to me!" Laugh track. "I'll take that under consideration."

He closed his eyes. "I can hardly wear all of them at once! And I don't exactly have plans to do this again any time soon."

Angel

" I already introduced ya ta hentai. Am I gonna have ta show you vore, too? " A snicker. His crusade to find Alastor's niche interests had already been put to rest.

" That's a _shame ~_ Guess I better make this count then, ah? Ya gettin' mascara. By th' time I'm done wit' them lashes ya gonna be able ta clear a room wit' a couple bats. "

Alastor

"I've heard that one already! And ever since then, have been haunted by wondering what my rare voluntary victims get out of offering themselves up." He stuck out his tongue, bleh.

"Oh, good. I always enjoy clearing out a room with nothing but my face."

Angel

Angel couldn't help a flurry of giggles as he reached for his go-to wand. The _Radio Demon_ was _cute._

He applied the mascara generously, taking care to smooth out any clumps as he went. Bittersweetly, he sat back and kept himself from nitpicking any details to touch up for the sole sake of drawing out the process.

" Well, there ya 'ave it. The face of a _"Cha'min' Demon Belle"_ in ya _own_ right. Almost. Lemme find ya a bran' new one. Brushes an' applicators I wash, but lipstick goes directly on. "

Alastor

Alastor opened his eyes and leaned in toward the mirror to inspect the results. Angel was better with mascara than him. No surprise, really.

He had a new accent on when he next spoke: "Well! I do declare, you have done a simply *marvelous* job!" It was very much charming demon *Southern* belle, and he'd quite clearly practiced it before. He switched back to his usual voice before continuing: "I don't mind scraping off the last layer of germs with a hankie, it worked fine for us in New York." But he wasn't going to *complain* if he got a fresh one.

Angel

His jaw slacked. Of _course_ the amount of time and attention Alastor must've put into his voice would add up to him being able to pull off such a _sound_ outside his register. Much as Angel tried, he could never get nearly as close to sounding that _feminine,_ clear as a  _bell,_ pun intended. He was as much endeared as he was jealous.

" ... _Damn, dude,_ " was all he said on the matter before busying himself with his lipstick drawer. He pulled out his own favorite alongside a brand new burgundy shade, wordlessly breaking the safety seal and tossing the plastic.

" It's all yours. Now look. "

Folding his secondary elbows over the surface of his vanity, he joined Alastor at the mirror and twisted the cap. " Ya can go for whateve' shape ya want. Flat, pointed bow, rounded bow, a shape shorter than ya natural smile that looks like ya got a permanent pout. I like ta call that one th' Betty Boop... "

He flashed his eyes over as he racked his thoughts. " Pointed bow prolly best fa a big smile. They'd round out on they own with ya stretch, " he explained before beginning to draw out the shape on his own lips.

Alastor

Alastor cleared his throat with a rumble of static and winked at Angel. "Still convincing, I hope." Of course it was still convincing. He'd heard himself.

He'd wondered how he was going to make it look good with a smile—he always had trouble with that part. *Pointed* bow. Made sense. He watched closely as Angel demonstrated.

Angel

Angel rolled his eyes. All eight of them. " Yeah-yeah, _that's_ the word. _Convincin' ~_ " He snickered with a wink of his own and made a couple faces in the mirror.

" Yeah, pointed bow'll do it. Don't be afraid ta exaggerate some. It ain't gonna look as ridiculous as ya think it will so long as ya own it. If it ain't feelin right, ya can always take some edge off with a claw. No 'arm done. "

He then rested his chin in his palm to watch him in the mirror. " _Go fa it ~_ "

Alastor

He watched until Angel was done—even copying Angel's hand motions with his own, tracing his tube of lipstick in the air—and then he said, "Got it." He sat back and made a twirling gesture with one finger. "Turn around. No facing me and no facing any mirrors facing me."

Angel

" What- " He rose a brow sky-high. " _Seriously?_ C'mon, man, it's not like ya _strippin'_ in 'ere. " Nonetheless, he obliged with a turn to his bed and a dramatic drop of his face into a pillow before giving Alastor a sextuple thumbs up.

Alastor

Lightly, Alastor said, "Everyone's entitled to their quirks. This one's mine." He waited until Angel was flopped before turning back to the mirror and pursing his lips.

He looked so *tired* when he wasn't smiling. The eye makeup really didn't do anything to hide that. He tried to focus on his lips instead of his eyes, copied the motion Angel had done, and examined the results. It took him a few tries to get an outline that looked alright when he smiled, and then he filled it in. Not bad, he thought. Made his fangs stand out more.

"All right. You can come inspect the results." Alastor glanced at Angel, face down in a pillow, and added, "If you haven't smothered yourself."

Angel

Angel twisted back around, a vague pile of pink striped limbs promptly realigning into a comfortably casual lounge.

" _Hey ~ !_ Not BAD, Mista _Twelve_ Times ~ ! " he complimented with a snap of his fingers, " That's gonna getcha e'rythin' I got left, uh-kay ~ ? "

Folding his arms behind him, he got up and leaned about Alastor on all sides to appreciate all angles of his ( for the most part ) work.

" ... ... Next time ya do anythin' like this, take me wit' ya, ah? "

Alastor

"Even without the skirt?" He'd put the Southern belle voice back on. "Well, bless your heart! Aren't you the generous one?"

He stolidly endured the scrutiny—this was the least pleasant part of the whole process, *the scrutiny.* "It's not something I do often, remember—I don't get much out of it. But if a reasonable opportunity comes up, I'll keep you in mind."

Angel

Angel stepped back with a sheepish laugh, test-stroked hand over his mouth. " Fine, fine, I won't put ya through anythin' else. Ya can 'ave summa my venison wheneva ya want. Youse a good sport ~ "

His many arms then made quick work of cleaning up his vanity. The head could go away later.

" Here, ya can take these, too, " he said with an offer of the rest of the makeup wipes, " Fa after dinner. An' any other time ya feel like freshenin' up. They _do_ work _wonders_ on _blood ~_ "

Alastor

"Do they! How handy." Those were going in... nope, his pockets were currently occupied, that was where he was stowing the glut of spare bow ties he'd suddenly acquired. He dropped the makeup wipes through a little portal, they could hang out in another dimension for now.

Angel

The corners of his eyes rounded wide at the sudden sight. " Didja just...? " Angel vaguely gestured towards the floor, still in the midst of processing what he just saw. " Give my shit ta HENTAI? He even HAVE a face? "

Alastor

Alastor laughed. "I'm sure he'd find some use for them!" He got to his feet; they were about done here, weren't they? "But, no! I've got more than one little dimension I can open up. That one happens to be—well—more or less my travel trunk, I suppose. It has too much in it for me to call it a handbag!" He opened up another small portal and fished out a saxophone. "This wouldn't fit in your average clutch, would it?"

Angel

Angel snorted. Of all the nefarious uses he could've been seeing of his power, he had to witness the storage unit. " Ahh I getcha I getcha ~ " he said as he pulled a pistol from his fluff and fussed with the magazine, " It ain't no entire fuckin', _dimension,_ but pretty damn close. I can fit a _lotta_ shit in 'ere ~ Once shoplifted an entire Christmas dinner! " He then put it away and looked at the portal, a curiously conniving smile stretching his face. Without much thought, he picked up the head, gave it a toss, and dropped to peer into the portal like a wishing well. " ... _Oh shit, it's actually GONE!_ " he exclaimed, eyes sparkling in amusement before his experiment.

Alastor

"Really! Just in your fur, or is there some sort of magic—Wait *don't—*!"

He tried to seal up the portal. It was slightly too slow to keep the head from falling in. He stared aghast at the point where the portal had been, then glowered at Angel. "You don't see me chucking half-thawed meat into *your* wardrobe!" He opened a smaller portal again on Angel's vanity, leaned over to peer in, then played an annoyed buzz as he sealed up the portal and opened a new one in midair just above eye-level so he could reach up into it from below. "If I have to take everything out to clean it, you're helping."

Angel

" I like ta call it _AbracaBIMBO-!_ " The spider erupted into a flurry of giggles and raspberries, arms clasping his stomach as he rolled on the ground. " I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I wasn't thinkin'! I just! 'AD TA TRY IT! " Swiping his tears, he looked up into the portal and sprung up. " Wait, that leads t' ya closet?? I'LL GET IT! " Angel then shoved his head and primary arms into the space and began fishing for leverage to pull himself through.

Alastor

Alastor grabbed Angel's shoulders to jerk his head down out of the portal, but the portal wasn't quite high enough and Alastor wasn't quite tall enough to keep Angel's arms out of it. "Either you remove your arms now, or I fish them out in an hour so the doctors can try to reattach them to your stumps. Your choice." The portal narrowed threateningly.

Angel

" What's the big _secret_? " he echoed into the void before popping his head out, " Ya said you'd make me help ya _clean!_ What's the big idea wit' not lettin' me sneak a peek _now ~ ?_ " Angel almost whined. Singular ( and he presumed inadvertently _punk_ ) as the Radio Demon's fashion sense _seemed_ to be, if he kept a skirt in there, the curiosity surrounding whatever else he could he stowing into an endless void all but _killed him._

Alastor

"And if you tell an acquaintance he'll help you clean your room, does that mean you'll hand him items and tell him where to put them, or does it mean you'll give him *carte blanche* to pull open all your drawers and paw around in them?" The portal sealed shut and reappeared on the other side of the room; the lights dimmed briefly as Alastor called up one of his shadows to dig around for the head instead. Apparently it wasn't safe to keep it within arm's reach (or throwing distance) of Angel.

Angel

" _Cart lunch-?_ " His brow tweaked but his eyes rolled shortly after. He's got to be the cagiest person he ever met. " Alright, alright, _jeeze,_ " he groaned as he folded both sets of arms, " So if I get outta the _Acquaintance Zone, **then**_ could I see ya closet? " Angel posed the question with air quotes, resigning himself to the fact that he'd either have to start controlling his second nature assholery, or make apologizing to him a habit. Neither sounded fun, but the latter sounded painful. Much _more_ painful.

Alastor

"*Carte blanche.* Permission." Alastor considered the question for a long moment. "No."

The shadow pulled out the head. With a gesture from Alastor, it threw it down on the bed. "What did it land on?"

The shadow half pulled out a wire laundry basket full of books (which now also contained the face wipes). Several disembodied voices muttered disapproval as Alastor facepalmed.

And then immediately un-facepalmed to make sure he hadn't smeared any makeup on his glove.

Angel

Narrowed eyes and pursed pout, Angel merely watched the head land. It wouldn't have been the grossest thing on his sheets. He'd start caring again if Fat Nuggets woke up and started nosing it.

" What? I get blood on ya diaries? " he teased, " Ya got a whole fuckin' secret dimension in there. Why don'tcha keep books in a, _I dunno, **bookshelf**_ instead a a _laundry basket?_ "

He was one to talk, having repurposed every possible thing in his room as a hanger.

Alastor

Alastor gestured demonstratively at the shadow, which pulled the top book out of the basket: a massive tome bound in black hide, held closed with three locks, and sporting an eyeball on the cover that looked alarming like one of Alastor's. The eyeball blinked and rolled around until it fixed on Alastor and Angel. "*Yes,* actually." Alastor gesture dismissively; the shadow dropped the book in the basket again and shoved it back into its separate dimension. "Because bookcases are harder to haul in and out of a small portal than baskets and boxes."

Angel

Angel blinked intermittently. He was running out of feet to eat. " ... Took ya mo'e fa a talker than a writer, " he commented dryly, eyes gluing to the floor as he pondered just how much of a _jerk_ he could be even when he wasn't actively _trying._ He drummed his fingers over his arm. _Questions, apologies, questions, apologies._ He was beginning to tire _himself_ out as he spaced and spiraled into his lack of grace. He couldn't hear a thing for a hot second.

Alastor

"I am. But talk is temporary, and some things need to be recorded. Recipes, rituals, messages..." Had Alastor managed to shame Angel? Give him a moment to bask in the awkwardness. Ah yes, this was where he was at home: making people uncomfortable.

Then he broke the silence. "Lucky for you, that particular book happened to be the only one in the basket that *likes* blood."

Angel

" ... 'Scuse th' FUCK outta me: _what?_ " He was conflicted as to whether he was more relieved or _disturbed._ Now his brain isn't going to be able to rid itself of the thought of certain inanimate objects _also_ enjoying his pain for a good while. " Ya feed ya feelin's _blood?_ " A second too late he realized he was stating the obvious.

Alastor

"Not *often,* no; but it helps keep its skin supple and rejuvenates some of the wards running inside." He shrugged, like this was a totally normal and not at all weird thing to say about a book.

Angel

" Wa'ds like- _oh,_ " he pieced. Literal bloodbaths in the spa were no secret. That much made sense to him. " So, uh... welcome? " Angel smacked on a wide, hopeful grin that left his eyes.

Alastor

"Ha! No, you're not winning points for this. Consider yourself lucky it wasn't leaking and didn't land on something more delicate." He gestured toward the door. "Now, before we have any more mishaps?"

Angel

" Ya can't blame _me,_ ya walkin' _Funhouse a' Horrors,_ " he scoffed with a strut towards the door. He opened it with a deep flourish, completely forgetting about the rotting head in his bed. " Afte' you. "

Alastor

"I can, I should, and I will."

Was Angel just going to leave that there? Well, if he'd forgotten about it, far be it for Alastor to remind him. He swept out the door past Angel, pulling his belle voice on again to say, "Such a gentleman!"

Angel

Chuckling, Angel canted his head to watch the demon walk out before turning back to his room.

" Be good, Nuggsie! I'll feed ya afte'- _oh fuck._ "

With about the same amount of thought as before, Angel swept the head out the window with a calculated rond de jambe before taking after Alastor.

Alastor

And off to get his hard-earned sausage.

[theveryinsignificantpotato]

Reunited

Good Omens! Crowley x reader

TW: I lil gore and I called Gabriel a Bitxh, I describe what I think falling from heaven in the GO universe would look like, so if you don’t want to read about flesh melting in Sulfur (Which boils at a temperature almost 700º above that of human skin ;) yeah, I do research and know weird things) you prolly shouldnt read for your own sake

I had wayyyy too much fun making this, I think you’ll like!

(Holy shit, this is 5 pages long in google docs 0-0)

—-

"You're done." Gabriel says, staring at me with cold eyes, he was only a few feet away, standing with his arms crossed

"I'm sorry?" I ask, looking up at him from whatever I was doing

"Head office has caught wind of your comments at the almighty, might I remind you of what happens when you ask things like that?" He says coldly 

"You're going to kick me out for one question?" I ask, my jaw dropping "Angels haven't fallen in forever, you have no idea what they will do to me! You can't do that!" I say, anger resonating through my vocal chords as I speak

"That isn't my problem. Come with me, you know what happens if you resist." He replies, turning on his heels and beginning to walk away

I sigh, tears welling in my eyes as I abandon what I was doing to follow the archangel, not wanting to invoke the wrath I would surely be met with if I didn't.

I waited until he had me at the edge, where all the others had fallen thousands upon thousands of years ago before saying anything, he was ready to send me off quietly, no ceremony or anything, just a quiet riddance of the angel hardly anyone liked - not since Raphael, anyway.

"You know, I never minded you so much, Y/n. Pity you have to go out like this." He says, looking at me with some form of pity

"You know Gabriel…" I begin sweetly, picking my head up to look at him "You're a real bitch." I finish, clenching my fist and straight up decking him as hard as I can in the nose before diving off the edge.

He screamed angrily and I looked back up at him, giving a small wave as I felt my body gain momentum.

I'm not sure I really processed my actions before going through with them, the demons weren't likely to just accept me outright, I would probably just be outcast, or killed or something. I couldn’t be sure of anything right now, not even sure if they would let me call myself a demon at all once I got to hell. All I know is that I’m falling right now, my body feels weightless and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. 

My wings unfurled as a natural response to falling only to be snapped backwards by the force of the wind, causing me to scream in pain as the bones cracked, feeling the white feathers peel from my wings. I fell for what seemed like hours, the pain in my wings continuing throughout the time, and I cried, sobs racking through my form as I left a trail of tears falling behind me. 

When I finally made it to hell my body hit what was the most painful landing imaginable, the scent of sulfur invaded my senses and I felt my angelic flesh begin to melt in the boiling liquid. It had to have been well over 800 degrees, and I was almost surprised that it didn’t just end my existence immediately upon coming into contact with my body. 

I screamed, I screamed as loud as I could before my head went under, and I felt the liquid flood my mouth and lungs, destroying my cells inside and out of my body as I thrashed around desperately. I don’t care at this point what demon hears me, all I want is for someone, anyone, to help me end this pain. 

Apparently someone did hear me because it wasn’t long before a hand grabbed my arm from under the liquid, pulling me onto the edge. I didn’t have the strength to move or even open my eyes when they finally had me out of it, my body heaved as I coughed up the liquid that had entered my lungs.

“I’m dying” I sob raspily when I finally catch my breath “He said I was being cast out, but he just wants me to die.” My body curls up on itself, pulling myself into the fetal position next to this demon.

“You aren’t dying.” He says, looking at his hand, which was badly damaged from reaching into the sulfur to pull me out “Your angelic cells are, the last of your powers are going to go into creating new cells for you- demonic ones. The worst of the process is over.” he explained

“So they’re taking everything from me…” I say dejectedly, not moving my body

He looks up slightly “Yup.” He replies, popping the ‘P’

We sit there in silence for a while, him staring out at the sulfur pool while I raspily try to catch my breath. After several moments in a painful silence I finally find the strength to sit up and open my eyes, he took my arm with his good hand to help ease me to a sitting position. The first thing I noticed about him was his hand, covered in what had to be third-degree burns almost up to his elbow. 

My angelic instincts kicked in upon seeing it, and I gently take his hand in both of my own, causing him to jump. “What are you doing?” he asks, staring at my hands

“You helped me, all I’m doing is returning the favor.” I say, directing whatever power I had left to healing his hand, and his skin quickly began to repair itself “There.” I say gently, releasing his hand from mine 

“It’s going to take you longer to heal now, you really can’t be going around doing things like that down here.” He reminds, and I can feel his gaze on me 

“I know,” I mumble, staring out at the yellow liquid that had taken away all of my angelic properties including my skin itself and sigh dejectedly “So you’re a demon, then?” I ask

“I am.”

“So what made you decide to help me? Aren���t you supposed to not care about anyone else? Chaotic Evil and all that?” I ask

He takes a moment to come up with a response “I… I don’t know. I was just sort of drawn to do it.” he finally says

I think over his response for a moment, deciding that he too felt extremely familiar, his voice above all else. It didn’t take me long after that to come to the realization that I haven’t seen this demon’s face even once in the amount of time we’ve been talking. I pivot my body so I’m facing him, and I freeze immediately when my eyes meet his face.

He stares at me in confusion, slits going down his ever-golden iris’ in a snake-like manner that was unfamiliar to me. He looked so familiar yet so not, (I suppose several thousand years will do that to someone) his red hair being the thing that was the most striking - I only ever knew one angel with that pretty Copper hair of his… “Raphael…?” I ask quietly, reaching out to his face.

He frowns “They don’t call me that anymore.”

“What do I call you, then?”

“Crowley.” He mumbles, taking a minute to look into my eyes, he seems to be trying to come up with who I am through all the third-degree burns 

“Crowley” I repeat with a smile, my first smile since falling, “Tell me you know who I am, Crowley, please.”

His eyes look over my features, taking in as much detail from my healed flesh as he could, and after a moment he seemed to remember, his jaw dropped and he leaned back slightly “y-y/n?” he asks with wide eyes

My smile grows wider and I nod happily 

A wide grin grows on his features as he continues staring at me “I never thought I’d see you again!” He cheers, leaning back towards me to wrap me in his arms happily

Thankfully, at this point most of my torso had been restored, so it didn’t hurt too badly, even when I returned it tightly, wrapping my arms around his shoulders to keep him close to me. “I didn’t think so either, but I am so glad…” I trail off, leaning back from his embrace

He releases me from his grip, giving me a small frown “But you’re fallen now, what happened?” he asks

I shrug “Gabriel said I made comments at the almighty, but all I really did was ask a question- I don’t even remember what it was.” I explain

He frowns “Damn, they haven’t dropped any of you angels down here in forever, I didn’t think they would be so tetchy.” he comments, earning a nod from me "you're the only one, right?"

I nod once more in reply "it was quiet, but I'm sure Gabriel has told everyone about it by now." I reply

He raised a brow "he's never been one to boast, don't tell me that's changed."

I shake my head "I mean that because I may or may not have called him a bitch and punched him before I fell, he'll have to explain the broken nose to his colleagues." I say, earning a loud laugh from Crowley

"You haven't really changed, have you? You've wanted to punch him since day one." He stands up and offers me a hand “I think we should get a drink.”

I take it with a smile, now the majority of my skin has returned from the neck down, with the exception of my wings, and I can do things without excruciating pain. "I believe you're right." I say with a smile, allowing him to pull me to my feet "But Raph- I mean Crowley, I've never been on Earth before, won't my lack of skin and torn up wings draw attention?" I ask worriedly

He smiles at me “Humans are almost always oblivious, don’t worry so much” He replies, snapping his fingers

A second later I find myself sitting next to him in a really nice Bentley car, Queen playing softly over the radio as he began driving. I was startled by the transition, but I quickly relaxed, “Where are we going?” I ask, frowning

“My flat, it’s safer to talk there.” He replies

“You have a flat on Earth? Does hell know about that?” I ask, and he only shrugs in response

“They don’t really care too much, most of the demons probably won’t even notice you in all honesty. If you stick with me I’ll show you how everything works, alright?” He asks

I nod “Alright. Thank you, Crowley.” 

He nods and spares me a glance “You’re skin is growing back, I can almost recognize you.” He says with a slight smile

I gently bring a hand up to my face, finding that the flesh surrounding my mouth and upper jawline had returned almost fully, and I can’t help but smile a little.

-

Crowley kept to his word, for the next few years he would teach me how to navigate hell, to keep my head low, and what demons I should avoid. He was very kind to me, and honestly even getting the chance to see him again is all I could ask for. 

I knew him long before he fell, we were best friends, practically inseparable. We crafted the stars together while talking and sharing ideas in almost all moments of the beginning, I had even began to catch feelings for him. The only reason I didn’t fall with him is because Lucifer didn’t like me all that much, so I didn’t hang out with those who became the early demons. 

-

More than six thousand years since I last saw them and I suppose I had forgotten how much I truly missed y/n, they were always bright and fun and after a few years of time with her as a demon I wouldn’t want to go back to not having her around. She has been staying with me at my flat for most of her time here, and we spend a lot of time together between dinners with Aziraphale (Whom I learned was actually one of their few friends in heaven, the greeting between the two of them was quite adorable, especially when y/n’s face lit up happily upon seeing him and she ran to give him a bear hug) and drives in the bentley. Driving with her will forever be my favorite thing, she’s gotten attached to the old CDs in the bentley (and we all know what happens to those ;)) so I’ll often find myself being suckered into going on a drive to nowhere in particular just so we will end up singing along with Freddie Mercury really loudly and horribly. It’s now my favorite thing ever. She might be my favorite thing ever.

Now Armageddon is approaching and I can't help but fear that it's going to be over for both of us. We’re doing all we can, y/n, Aziraphale, and I, but sometimes I worry that it won’t be enough. I won’t be able to be with her in hell like I do on Earth… and yes, I mean _be with her_ be with her. 

Aziraphale suggested I kiss her, or at the very least tell her - but I’m not sure…

-

We were in the flat when it finally happened, watching some movie with Crowley on the couch and I dared lay my head on his shoulder. Armeggedon was only just short of seven years away and I wanted to make sure I had the chance to get as close to Crowley as I could just in case we didn’t make it out. I couldn’t help the relieved sigh that escaped my lips when he smiled, looping his arm around me and lacing his fingers through my hair as I cuddled up closer to him.

As the movie progressed we seemed to get closer and closer, beginning with his head resting on mine, sharing a throw blanket between us, and him shifting his or my weight as an excuse to pull me nearer to him, and by the end of the movie I felt like I was practically in his lap - not that I minded it so much. 

When the credits began to roll, he snapped his fingers to turn the TV off, and I found myself not wanting to move from him, “Can we just sit here for a while?” I ask, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck 

“I was going to ask you that.” He replies with a quiet chuckle, leaning down to rest his nose on the side of my face, giving me gentle eskimo kisses on my cheek, “Look at me, y/n.” he requests

“I can see you.” I reply with a giggle, turning my head towards his so we end up nose-to-nose, and I can feel his breath hit my skin gently. It doesn’t take long before he finally tilts his head to the side so he can catch my lips with his, and I can’t help but smile as I close my eyes and kiss kim back. Thousands of years I have wanted this, from long before he fell I have dreamed of this moment, I had thought all hope was lost when he did, and against all odds, here I am finally. I sit up in his lap to get a better angle, draping my legs gently over his and wrapping my arms around his neck. I feel his arms wrap around my waist to hold me as close as he can before pulling away to rest his forehead on mine.

“I need to tell you something.” he says in a whisper, his golden serpent eyes staring deep into my e/c ones

I return his gaze, “Tell me everything, Crow.” I say softly

“I love you, y/n. I’m not supposed to, but I really love you,” he says softly, and I can see the honest adoration in his eyes as he speaks

I smile wide “I love you too,” I say happily “Crowley I have loved you almost literally forever.” I peck his lips one more time, pulling my blanket around both of our shoulders' 

He grinned and hugged me close, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in a long while.

[nootgi]

Spotlight

MLQC Victor

MC deals with the drag of life and tries to face her emotions. Will she accept the hand that reaches out to her or push them away like she always does.

A/N: HHH victor is my biggest comfort character so it feels right to get back into writing with him. Also one of my favourite fic tags hurt/comfort! I hope you enjoy it ^-^ 

Word count: 4478

There was a white light shining above me and the brightness pried my eyes open. When my eyes finally adjusted I was standing, surrounded by darkness. All there was, was a bright spotlight. 

I tried moving my body but it felt like lead, stuck in its place no matter how much I struggled. My mouth was too dry to cry out, the only thing that seemed to respond was my eyes. They bounced around, trying their best to understand but there was nothing in the dark abyss. A small whimper slipped out of my throat and suddenly the shadows began to move. 

One by one, eyes started to appear, all so familiar yet so cold. All the warmth was taken from them but the piercing one of them all were those ruthless purple eyes. They were so sharp as if cutting into my soul and laying my faults out to bare, so calculating as they judged me. Desperately I tried to defend myself but nothing came out except pathetic sobs, my face stung in the cold void from the downpour of tears. 

In the middle of a sea of darkness, eyes judged me as I lost myself. 

My eyes snapped open and I found myself in my apartment. My body shivered from the cold sweat mixed the draft from the open window beside my desk. It seems I fell asleep whilst working on Victor's proposal…

Victor… What was that dream? My brows furrowed as I tried to remember the dream but the more I tried, the more it broke apart. All I remember was the cold. My deep thoughts were disrupted by my phone alarm ringing, when I turned off it's obnoxious beeping, it set in that it was Monday. The start of a new week, the bright beginning! To shed the dead weight of last week and get to it!! The sheer thought of putting on that mask made me groan. The past week has been draining to say the least, Kiro's behind the scenes set was swarmed with fans, leading to extra security detail to be reviewed and approved. Then Reek messed up a sponsorship deal which meant the whole episode had to be re-filmed but since it was such short notice some guests couldn't attend. That in turn caused some public backlash which caused many late nights of apology to passionate fans. With so much on my plate, I couldn't help but look eagerly towards the weekend already. Just 5 days, that's just 120 hours. 

I put on my shiba slippers and walked towards the bathroom, able to take it slow this morning since it was a late start. When my light flickered on, I glanced up into the mirror to catch my reflection for a second before looking away. If you look too closely every flaw will bloom. I brush my teeth, staring at the tap like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Probably was in this apartment honestly. Once my bathroom routine was finished, I started to prepare breakfast when my phone rang again for the second time. 

"Anna? What's up?" I answered with a yawn, looking at the calendar hung on the wall. 

"Have you forgotten!? Today's presentation day!!" I gasped as I saw the red circle and arrows all point to this day. 

"It slipped my mind! I'm coming as fast as possible so please hold them off!!" My words tumbled out as I stopped all my breakfast preparations, throwing on my clothes and heels. Anna gave me a 30 minute window as a maximum. Once I got my files together, I sprinted out of the apartment. Mowing over my landlady who grumbled about running in hallways. I couldn't stop, this was too important. 

'You can't even remember something so important as this? You really are pathetic.' 

No time to address my thoughts, I reach the LFG building in record time. In front Anna stood there with a coffee and a grim smile. I took the coffee out of her hand, chugging it down, not knowing when my next break was. We walked quickly across the lobby as Anna filled me in on who was attending this talk. Ever since the company took off, more and more investors have begun to take an interest. If this talk goes well, we can begin to take on bigger and better productions… create a company dad would be proud of. Just the thought of it made my heart leap. 

When we stopped in front of the boardroom, Anna turned to me with a frown. She began to fuss over my hair, my skirt and the messily tucked shirt. I try to bat her hands away, not wanting to keep them waiting when a dark shadow looms over the two of us. I turn around quickly, getting immediately absorbed by sharp purple orbs. Victor. Just as I was about to speak, a sharp pricked my heart and cut my words short. There was something building up in my chest, like a string being wound up so tightly. 

"You're late." He says bluntly, it feels like he's speaking down at me…

"Sorry, just slipped my mind." My words left me before I could stop them, Anna looked over at me with her eyes wide. 

"If this kind of talk 'slips your mind' maybe you shouldn't be here at all." He doesn't pull any punches, huh? Brushing past the two of us to enter the room. Anna reaches out to pat my shoulder but I turn around with a practiced smile. 

"Let's do our best!" She nods reluctantly and enters the room. I take a few moments to relax my clenched fists and push down the emotion blooming in my chest. This is business, nothing more. Once again that mask slips on and the talks begin. 

After a long 5 hours, the end is finally called allowing me and Anna to collapse into our desk chairs. Both groaning at the ache in our feet and relief that the end is in sight. All that's left is the investors to speak amongst themselves and begin preparations should they choose to back us. 

"I need to go pee!" Anna blurts out weirdly, standing up instantly. I look at her questioningly, watching her back as she sprints off to the toilet. Guess she really needed to pee..? Thinking I was alone I let myself sink back into my thoughts. In my mind the talk replayed over and over, every little mistake stuck out. The long pauses between a question and answer, words and numbers blending into one and worst of all my voice cracking. Slowly the small regrets spiral into a kaleidoscope of my worst moments. All the shame and embarrassment caused the red in my cheeks to burn and my eyes glaze over. 

'How could someone like you ever make him proud?' Those words slip venom into my thoughts as the bright office lights are dimmed by the shadows growing. Suddenly the space around me changes and again I feel piercing eyes surround me. They're judging me. Who wouldn't? My skirt is short, my shirt is wrinkled and my hair is hardly in the ponytail anymore. The chances of getting the investment seemed bleaker, the tension in my chest grew more insistent. I tried to ground myself, digging my nails into my palms and looked around to distract myself. 

Just a few more hours and the fragile mask can be put to rest for today. 

"Earth to dummy?" Fingers snap in front of my face and I'm dragged back into the bright office light. Victor was standing beside me, a frown etched into his usual poker face. 

"Yes? Sorry." I look back down instantly, trying to avoid his eyes. My hands began to fidget causing me to hide them under my thighs. 

"Are you okay? You don't seem… like your usual self." He pauses, thinking of a way to phrase his sentence. When my mouth opens to respond my mind is conflicted between two responses. The truth or the usual lie… what good would come from the truth? 

"Nothing, just monday blues." I shoot him a tired smile, as his mouth opens to press on further Goldman returns to call us back to the room. Anna arrives at the same time and immediately we're swept back into the business talk. 

… In the end… WE GOT THE FUNDING! Me and Anna screamed at each other as soon as we stepped outside of LFG. Passerbys looked at us oddly but we couldn't bring ourselves to care. This was definitely the push our company needed to grow. We rush back to the office to tell the team the great news. Willow, Kiki and Minor upon hearing the great news suggest a night out. A round of drinks to toast to our future. Feeling the adrenaline from this morning leave my body, I pass on the celebration but promise to treat them all to lunch one day. The company closed early, the spirits bright, warm and lifted. You couldn't tell it was monday. 

So why is it that I feel so hollow? 

As I leave the building with the gang, Anna pulls me aside. 

"Just know I'm here for you." Those simple words gave a prick of warmth, my smile is just a ghost by this point. I just nod, fearing if I speak that knot in my throat would snap. I waved them all off and began my walk home. The crisp autumn wind kept my lonely self company, dancing around my body and trying to enter the warmth of my clothes. 

There was nothing to occupy my thoughts other than the crunch of the leaves under my boots. Anna's words and Anna's warm smile replayed in my mind, chipping away at my resolve built out of ice. I want to reach out, I want to talk but every time I cry out I'm silenced. Why should my darkness taint their light? Why must I burden them with nothing? There was swell of emotions that caused my footsteps to increase till I began full sprinting down the street. My lungs and legs burned as I collapsed inside my apartment. 

The mask finally shattered and the ugly emotions bubbled out of my chest. Sobs wracked my body and my arms wrapped around myself. 

On my cold apartment floor, I cried myself to sleep. 

There was a knock at my door, breaking my sleep at the very first rasp. My body was stiff from the floor and my eyes felt puffy. Rubbing my eyes a little aggressively, I open the door and see a delivery driver. I tilt my head confused as he leaves a bag in my hand, leaving without payment. I locked up my door once again, putting the bag down in the kitchen to retrieve my phone. It was 11pm. There were a few drunken texts from Minor and pictures from the girls updating on their night out. I laughed fondly at the picture of Minor with his ass stuck in a bush when Victor's face flashes on the screen. He's calling me. My mind blanks as I let the phone ring, once the call drops I let out a sigh of relief. 

With that the days blended into one repetitive cycle, each moment becoming more taxing than the next. It was always paperwork, meetings, filming and then home. My only relief is the click of my front door locking. I settled down at my desk with some cup ramen and began my work again. This is the quarterly report for Victor, it had to be perfect. Otherwise- I don't think I could handle his critique. If you could even call it that… more like an emperor looking a gladiator in the eyes as he puts his thumb down, sentencing the poor soul to death. I laugh slightly at the thought of Emperor Victor, he is a good leader, confident and smart. Yet compassionate and looks out for the little guys. I don't think there is a thing in the world that can shake Victor. He's so perfect, you forget that he is only human. 'Stupid perfect Victor and his perfectly perfect hair and his handsome face.' I grumbled to myself, finishing my dinner and getting back to work. 

When I put my empty cup ramen down, the heavy weight of the fork inside knocks it down onto the floor. The clattering sound echoes around the apartment, serving as a reminder that I'm alone. I groan and get up to clean when I finally take notice of my room. Clothes, fresh or used, thrown across the room, my snacking habits revealed from the countless chip packets, cup ramen and chocolate wrappers. When did my room get like this? When I turn to my desk I see the building pile of used dishes from weeks ago, there was even dust beginning to collect on them. I should clean… 

Finding no motivation to clean, my productive flow was cut off for today. No matter where I looked, there was some sort of reminder of my failures. That feeling in my chest had started to build again so I climbed into bed. Surrounding myself in the only warmth I could accept, I laid there tracing patterns onto the duvet mindlessly. Time ticked away as the warm glow of the evening diminished into darkness. I didn't even move from the bed to turn the light on, the darkness far more comforting. In all that time the only thought through my head was: I'm lonely. 

It was my own fault really, I push everyone away the second I feel bad. I'm too busy drowning in my own pity that I can't help people that need help more. I'm disgusting. Pathetic even. Crying over something I caused myself, over something that could be so easily solved! Even when that painfully obvious truth was there my heart remained shut, not letting in the people most dear to me. 

Another memory began to play in my mind. Stood in my teacher's office. My head was bowed, my eyes focused on the fidgeting of my fingers, as he scolded me over crying about his harsh feed. 'This is life!' and 'Stop being so fragile!' played in my mind. You shouldn't be here. Victor! My gasp slips out as I realise that I'm sobbing, my pillow drenched. I sat up, trying to supress my loud sobs and held my hand against my heart that felt like it was beating out my chest. Stop- Stop, Stop! I begged myself to calm down, feeling that I was losing control on the emotions I reigned in so tightly. 

That night, I cried alone in the darkness of my apartment. Begging for anyone to save me.

After that night I decided to take a sick day, feeling unready to feel the world's cold embrace. Anna had offered to present the report to Victor but I rejected it saying that I could still do it. I picked up my phone, opening my contacts and almost dropped it at the amount of missed calls from Victor. Had I been avoiding him that much? I clicked on his chat to see his messages, all seemingly concerned but who wouldn't worry over their 'investments'? If to borrow a few words from Victor. I was about to click off till Victor's face popped up as a call. Out of habit I picked up instantly, my body responding slowly to my mind screaming no. As I scolded myself mentally, I heard from the CEO after almost 2 weeks. 

"Hello? Are you there?" There was some traffic in the background, he must have been just walking into the office. 

"...Yes-! Hello Sir!" Great response said no-one.

"Sir? I thought I told you to call me Victor. Anyway I decided to call since I've been notified that a certain little idiot is sick." He heard already? I only told Anna… 

"Y-yeah, really sick- You shouldn't worry though!! Only a small hiccup, should be back on my feet tomorrow." I wave my hands around even though he can't see me. There was a pause only hearing the ding of an elevator. 

"I hope it is, business doesn't stop for anyone but… If you need anything at all, just- call me." The way he spoke so tenderly at the end caused my knees to shake and my eyes to well up again. It's there! The hand that I could reach out to…

"Thank you Victor, goodbye." My voice threatened to break as the knot started to tighten again. I couldn't possibly drag him into this mess, drag him into me. The well of tears remained on the edge, threatening to spill as Victor bid his farewell too. I knew there was more he wanted to say but he also knew I didn't want to hear more. When the phone call ended, I dropped back down into my bed and stared up towards the ceiling. What shall I do today? 

The apartment felt too stuffy for me so I decided to take a walk, my legs carried me to the park. Despite it being autumn there were still children running around, jumping into piles of orange leaves or the old man that fed the bird by the fountain. I walked towards the fountain, taking a seat a few spaces away from the man. I had accidentally spooked some of the birds but they settled back down. I had apologised to the man but he laughed and shook his head. 

"You were more cautious of these birds than any busy body in this city." He says gesturing to the few people that sprinted through the park, holding briefcases or speaking rapidly into their phones. That would've been me too… 

"I would've been them on any other day." I force a sad laugh and look up to the sky.

"That's the problem with you young uns, always pushing yerselves too hard. Though I cannot pass judgement, I was the same back in my hay days!" When I finally look back at him, he keeps his eyes trained on the birds he feeds. 

"How did you… escape it?" Was there a way to get out without hurting anyone around me, without burdening them?

"The answer is so simple my dear, find your warm place." My warm place? Where could that be? My eyes catch a scene of a father holding his daughter tightly in his arms as she cries over her scratched knee. My eyes widen as I watch him tickle her, raising her high above his head to bring back the smile on his daughter's face. The man watches with me, his eyes holding the same nostalgia that rings in my heart. 

"And… If your warm space is gone? Then what?" 

"They never leave you. Just as a river never flows the same forever, you can find comfort from elsewhere but that doesn't change the memories of the past. The path it has carved remains." It was true that my father was the only one I could confide in with my emotions. He read me like an open book at times. I used to think it was because dad had a superpower but he always told me 'If I didn't know what my princess was thinking what kind of papa would I be!' Is there anybody that I could trust like that? 

"If you don't mind my asking, what is your warm space?" I turn to the old man and see he's already gone, the birds around still remain undisturbed. I guess that's my time at the park, done. I got up, deciding to stop by convenience store to get some more snacks. What could my space be?

Just like that another month flashes by and the final contracts have been signed. Miracle Finder has gained another 2 investors through LFG. In order to celebrate, Victor had arranged a party to be held. I say party- it was more of a formal ball! When I asked Victor about it he just said his typical response 'This is a networking event, whilst it might be to celebrate the company I hope you don't grow complacent.' UGH! Stupid Victor!! I screamed in my head as I entered the main hall and was instantly submerged into the high class society. The long night of fake smiles had just begun and my mood was just not there. However it felt nice to see my late night studying of the guestlist was paying off. The whole time at the party I felt his eyes on me but he never once approached me. Every time I couldn't look back at them. 

The night was going well but my feeling of dread continued to grow and grow. Not being able to shake it off, my discomfort was apparent enough for Mr Kim to point it out. 

"Are the old men scaring you Miss." He laughs, the group joining in on the laughter. I try to force a laugh, sounding more like a cry for help, I shake my hand. 

"No no! It's not like tha-" I get cut off as the group bursted into laughter and just like that my dream flashes in front of my eyes. The chandelier that hung above us feeling like the spotlight, the men's loud laughter attracting the prying eyes of everyone around. People began to whisper and hiding their smiles behind their hands. They're laughing at me. I bow trying to excuse myself but Mr Kim reaches for my hands. In panic I slapped them away and ran off and I failed to notice the pair of sharp violet filling with rage. 

Cold winter air bit at my cheeks as they glowed red and cooled the warm tears staining them. My mind conjuring up the worst scenarios, adding more straws to the camel's back. I need to regain control- I can't show weakness! If I can't handle this, I'm not worthy for the company. What would dad say? Would he wipe away your tears or try to fight those men. My laughter escapes me when I think of my Dad. 

"Laughing and crying? If anyone saw you they'd think you're insane." That deep voice rang out from the balcony door. I turn around and see Victor walk towards me, his suit jacket hung in his arms. Those words had a teasing tone but his face was tense, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. Without thinking I meet Victor half way, reaching up to soothe his eyebrows. Despite his shock he leaned into my touch, face slowly relaxing into the usual poker face. Even this close I couldn't look him in the eyes. I could feel his search my eyes but I kept mine trained on his tie. With a sigh he takes a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe my eyes softly, the soft material soothing the rough skin. 

"Dummy." Those words caused my dam to burst as I fell into Victor's embrace, crying. He said nothing, holding me tightly till I tired myself out. 

That night I cried in his warm embrace, that protected me from the cold winter's night. 

When my eyes opened I was still on the balcony, laying on the bench covered by Victor's suit jacket. My head was resting on his lap as he looked out at the night view. Still in a tired daze I stare up at his face. The city lights created an orange glow that caressed his face and defined every single one of his perfect features. My eyes trail up his face from his lips to his nose and when they finally reach his eyes, he's looking back. With a gasp I sit up.

"Finally awake? I wasn't expecting you to snore so much." He says, a slight quirk to his lips. 

"I do not snore!" I gasped and hit his shoulder lightly till I realized what I did. When I was going to apologise he rubs where I hit him and frowns. 

"Someone's getting bold lately." His tone was serious but his eyes were nothing but playful. It caused a genuine laugh to bubble out and my cheeks puffed as my smile was pulled widely. When my laughter died down, I realised I was looking Victor in his eyes. Were they his eyes? Instead of the sharp purple blades they were like a soft vortex, swirling with stars and emotion. My words were stolen as I got lost in his galaxy.

"Looking into eyes now?" His voice was soft, practically a whisper but it was the only sound in the frozen night. 

"I- I was so scared." I admit to him. Victor reaches to tuck my hair behind my ears, the simple gesture causing my heart to race. 

"You don't need to fear me. I'm here for you." Those words again, the hand is there again. Tentatively I stretch my arm, placing my hand in his warm palms. In his hands I place my trust. A river never flows the same forever. 

There was a white light shining above me and the brightness pried my eyes open. When my eyes finally adjusted I was standing, surrounded by darkness. But this time was different. In darkness shined a pair of purple eyes, they drew closer to me. My eyes tightened shut as he entered the spotlight. I was terrified, I didn't want to fall again. He wiped the tears that poured down my face and whispered into my ears. 

"Open your eyes." I trusted him. I opened my eyes and the eyes that were cold were illuminated with light. The eyes turned into familiar faces, filled with warmth. 

Anna stood there with a supportive smile. Willow, Kiki and Minor were grinning from ear to ear. It was like a fog being lifted from my mind, I saw everything with new clarity. There was still darkness but never once was I alone. He was always by my side. My eyes snapped open as my phone began to ring. 

Ah! I must've fallen asleep whilst watching TV! I picked up my phone and it was a call from Anna.

"Boss! I sure hope you're ready for the storm coming…" In the background I heard Kiki whine at the comment and Minor cheer excitedly.

"I'm more than ready." I laugh, looking at my cleaned up apartment, not a stray sock or wrapper in sight. Food was cooking in the oven for the home party. The sun shone through the open curtains, its rays falling onto a photo of my father. Beside that was the matching shiba cups I had gotten with Victor.

Everyone faces their own demons, but that doesn't mean you should do it alone. I learnt that the hand wasn't to drag me out of the abyss but to connect our lights and face the dark together. 

[freddiesaysalright]

Soft in Love Part 2

A Gwilym Lee x Student!Reader Fic

Summary: Y/N is an acting student in her last semester of college. When a professor unexpectedly can’t make it for the senior capstone class, a very famous (and handsome) substitute is called in. When they connect, they face a few challenges.

Word Count: 2.7k

Tag List:  @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @benders-diamond-earring​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @anincurablefangirl​, @kiainspace​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you all enjoy this next part! Sorry it’s taken a little longer than usual, I’ve been pretty busy at work.

Warning(s): None! Well, more pining, but hey, y’all asked for this.

Part 1

Part 2 here we go!!!

That night, you went to Sloan’s for pizza and a movie. Since you lived on campus as part of your scholarship, you tended to hang out at Sloan and Andrew’s apartment once classes were over and homework was done. You had a room to yourself, but it wasn’t spacious, so the three of you normally were at their shabby, typical New York apartment with little space and even less furniture.

“So, what should we watch?” you wondered as you plopped down on the couch.

“How about Bohemian Rhapsody?” Sloan suggested, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “Y’know, so you can really see Gwilym in action?”

Andrew groaned. “Come on, Sloan, we’ve teased her enough.”

“What?” she shot back. “They were really connecting.”

“Connecting?” you questioned. “We barely said two words to each other.”

You had neglected to tell them about running into your substitute in the library. You were keeping that moment to yourself. It felt like something private, even though it was perfectly innocent. You wanted to keep it in your heart. For now, at least.

“All that eye contact,” Sloan continued. “It was like Edward and Bella in there.”

“If it was like Edward and Bella, he’s more likely to murder me than anything,” you retorted. 

“Edward doesn’t kill Bella!” she argued.

“He turns her into a vampire!” Andrew pointed out. “That’s the same thing!”

“No it isn’t!” 

“Yes it is!”

“Okay, Jacob!”

“Guys!” you interjected. “If we talk anymore about Twilight, I’m going to kill myself. Let’s just pick a movie.”

“I still vote for Bohemian Rhapsody,” Sloan said. “Y/N should see at least one thing our new professor is in.”

“I think we should watch a classic,” Andrew replied. “I haven’t watched Casablanca in a while.”

“One vote for Bohemian Rhapsody, one vote for Casablanca,” she said, then looked at you. “Would you like to cast a vote, or add a contender?”

You thought for a moment, but you already knew what you were going to pick. You just wanted to give Andrew the illusion of having a chance. You tapped your chin with your forefinger.

“I’m gonna go with…” you paused. “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Oh, come on!” Andrew mock complained. Then he smiled. “Alright, I’m gonna order the pizza.”

“We’ll start the movie,” Sloan assured him.

As she picked up the remote, you considered telling her about the library. You weren’t sure why Sloan should be allowed this information and not Andrew, but you’d noticed he had sort of drifted from you while you were dating Daniel. Now that you and Daniel were broken up, Andrew was friendlier than before even. It made you a little confused. And the distance really hurt you.

But you looked at Sloan and thought about what she had said so far. You didn’t think she would tease you about the library, but she also would likely turn it into something it wasn’t. She had a tendency to gas you up for things that were hardly ever a big deal in reality. So you decided not to tell her. The moment would remain just yours. And Gwilym’s, of course.

The movie began, with the pizza arriving about half an hour in. You wouldn’t call yourself a huge Queen fan, but you liked their hits. You admired the movie’s aesthetic, but you especially admired Gwilym’s performance. He looked so cool with the curly hair and the seventies clothes. It was rather unlike the man you’d met earlier that day. Not that Gwilym didn’t look cool, he just wasn’t as glam. At least, not on that level.

When the movie finished after the Live Aid scene, you had gotten a little emotional. You wiped your burning eyes and sniffled.

“So, what’d you think?” Sloan asked, switching the television off.

“It was good,” you choked out.

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’re such a sap,” Andrew joked.

“Shut up!” you returned. “I just have feelings. There’s nothing wrong with that!”

He laughed. “Nah, I guess you’re right.”

You stretched out on the couch, nudging his thigh playfully with your toe as you giggled and yawned. He smiled back at you.

“I’m beat,” you sighed. “I think I’ll head back to my dorm.”

“You know you’re always welcome to stay here,” Andrew said.

“I know,” you replied. “But I don’t like to intrude. Plus, your couch is lumpy.”

“You could take my bed,” he offered.

Something about the way he didn’t look at you when he said it rubbed you the wrong way. If Andrew had feelings for you, you wished he would either say it or get over it, but not say things like that to leave you wondering. You knew it could never be that way between you, so you hoped for the latter.

“I’d rather be in my own bed,” you said, keeping your tone light.

You got off the couch and stretched again. As you put your backpack on, you thanked them for the pizza and then bid them goodnight. 

Sloan closed the door behind you and looked at her roommate.

“Could you be any more obvious?” she said. She continued by doing her best Andrew impression. “Stay here, sleep in my bed, suck my dick.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he returned, disappearing in to his room. 

You headed back to campus, which was only a few blocks away, your mind racing. Everything from your chance library meeting with Gwilym to whatever the hell had gotten into Andrew was swirling around in your mind.

As you passed the coffee shop closest to campus - frequented by mostly students and faculty, you spotted Gwilym though the window. You watched him as he pored over the book you had recommended, sipping his drink with something of a refined air about him. The temptation to go in and say hello was overwhelming. You were just so drawn to him for some reason. But you decided against it, remembering the way Sloan had compared you both to the cringiest couple perhaps ever written. Showing up suddenly at the coffee shop after one earlier chance meeting seemed very stalker or Edward Cullen-ish. Even if it was genuinely a coincidence. With a sigh, you moved along.

Gwilym lifted his eyes from the page he was reading and looked around. He felt as if there was someone he knew nearby, but as his eyes scanned the room, he saw only strangers. Movement by the window made him look out, but he missed who or whatever it was that created the motion. He blinked in that direction, his mind drawing up - for some reason - an image of you standing there. 

Something resembling disappointment crossed over his heart, but he pushed it down. He didn’t need to be wishing to see you anywhere outside of class. His phone ringing brought a welcome distraction.

“Hello?” he said, picking it up.

“Gwilym, hi!” chirped the voice of Dr. Bennett. “I just wanted to check on you and see how the first day went.”

“You’ve just given birth, and you’re worried about me?” he returned. “Emily, that’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t scold me, Gwil,” she answered lightly. “How’d the class go?”

“If you must know, it went just fine,” he told her. “I’ve been introduced to everyone. You have a very talented class there.”

“Excited as I am to have my son, I am a bit bummed I won’t get to teach them,” she agreed. “But, I’ve left them in very capable hands. I’m glad it’s going smoothly.”

“It really is,” he said.

“What do you think of Y/N?” she asked.

His chest tightened.

“She seems like a lovely girl,” he said stiffly.

“She’s a real star,” she went on. 

“I haven’t heard her sing yet, but from the way you and Dr. Curtis talk, I feel I should have a handkerchief on me or something.”

She laughed. “She’ll impress you I’m sure. Be careful there.”

He paused, wanting to know more about what she meant. It was an odd thing to say about a student. Was she joking? Was she giving him some warning about who you were? Were you not what you seemed? He wanted answers, but decided to ignore it entirely. That was the best way to deal with something like this, in his opinion.

“How are you and the baby?” Gwilym asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Perfect, so far,” she said. “Just ready to get home.”

“I’m sure.”

“Hey, Gwil,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Please keep me updated on everything,” she requested. “I’ll come and see the show at the end of the semester, but I want to know how everything comes together.”

“Will do,” he promised.

“Thanks,” she said warmly.

“You get some rest now,” he said.

“Will do,” she replied, and he heard the smile in her voice.

They said goodbye and hung up. Gwilym’s mind still reeled with her warning. Be careful there. Be careful of what, exactly? Perhaps it was better if he never knew.

On Thursday, you showed up to class early, as usual. The auditorium was empty except for Gwilym. Your heart rate quickened as you approached him. 

“Morning,” you said brightly.

He turned his head and smiled at you. “Hello, Y/N. You’re early.”

“I’m always early,” you said with a shrug. “How’s the book?”

“I’m only three chapters in, but it is interesting,” he replied. “Fond as I am of Shakespeare’s plays, it’s his poetry that really gets me.”

“Oh, really?” you wondered.

He nodded. “Yes. Poetry and songs I think are the most intimate forms of writing. The authors put their feelings out and wrap them up in beautiful language. And somehow, that makes others feel it. As if it were their own. If that makes any sense.”

You pondered his words a moment. You thought of every time you’d sung in your car at the top of your lungs, the words of a song just punching you right in the heart. 

“It makes sense,” you said. “I didn’t realize you were so into that stuff.”

“There’s a lot about me that may surprise you, Y/N,” he said.

You met his gaze, searching for the meaning behind that. He cut his eyes away before you did, clearing his throat.

“Would you like to get started?” he asked. “We can begin with your solo, ‘The Boy Next Door’.”

“Sounds good,” you agreed. “Want me to sing acapella or play piano?”

“You sing, I’ll accompany you,” he returned.

“You play piano?” you questioned. “You certainly are full of surprises.”

The teasing tone felt a bit unfamiliar to you. Were you flirting with him? If you were, was it wrong?

“I play piano, but not very well,” he replied humbly. “I can play a simple tune like this.”

You smiled as you both took the stage, you stopping in the center and he taking a seat on the piano bench. You waited for his cue, and then when he began, you opened your mouth and began to sing.

“The moment I saw him smile

I knew he was just my style

My only regret is we’ve never met

Though I dream of him all the while

But he doesn’t know I exist

No matter how I may persist

So it’s clear to see, there’s no hope for me

Though I live at fifty-one-thirty-”

Gwilym missed a note on the piano and stopped, bringing you to a halt as well. You shot him a questioning look.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not good enough to turn the pages on time.”

“Oh, is that all?” you teased. “Here, I’ll stand next to the piano and turn the pages for you.”

“I’m very much obliged,” he returned.

You walked over and stood to the side, looking expectantly at him.

“From ‘so it’s clear,’” he told you.

“So it’s clear to see, there’s no hope for me

Though I live at fifty-one-thirty-five Kensington Avenue-”

You turned the page.

“And he lives at fifty-one-thirty three.

How can I ignore the boy next door

I love him more than I can say

Doesn’t try to please me

Doesn’t even tease me

And he never sees me glance his way…”

You stole a glance at Gwilym as you held  this note. His face was screwed up in concentration as his eyes followed the music. His hands, which were large and smooth, moved gracefully. His long fingers pressed the keys with ease. He looked very handsome.

“And though I’m heart sore, the boy next door

Affection for me won’t display

I just adore him

So I can’t ignore him

The boy next door…”

You held the note and came off of it slowly and softly. Gwilym did the same with his final note. As the song closed, you looked at each other. A moment of softness passed between your gazes. Gwilym was beginning to understand his friend’s warning. You were so...charming.

“That was very good,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly.

“I’m impressed you knew all the words,” he remarked.

“I’ve been a fan of the movie since I was little,” you told him. “I literally wanted to be Judy Garland.”

“Well, you don’t have very far to go,” he said. “Although, I believe Y/N Y/L/N is perfect just as she is. You don’t have to be Judy Garland.”

Heat came to your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you said again, looking at the floor.

You paused, searching for something to say in return, some compliment to pay him.

“The piano playing was -”

“Please, Y/N, let’s not go there,” he said, a smile pulling at his lips. “My piano playing is absolute shit.”

He held his breath as the words left his mouth, fearful you might take offense to the language or feel he was getting too comfortable. When you clapped your hand over your mouth to stifle the most adorable giggle he’d ever heard, he was relieved.

“It wasn’t shit!” you protested. “Really, it wasn’t!”

“I appreciate you trying to bolster me, but the most redeeming part was playing through your page turn, which was executed flawlessly.”

You laughed some more.

“Well, I am known around here for my page turning skills,” you joked.

“I have a feeling you’ll be known for many things, Y/N,” he said. “Including turning pages for barely capable pianists.” 

Your smile lingered on your lips as your classmates began entering the theater. Sloan eyed you questioningly as he saw how close you were standing to Gwilym. When had you drifted that way? You hadn’t felt yourself move.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you stepped away, back toward center stage. Gwilym got to his feet and followed you, turning to address the other students.

“Welcome back, everyone,” he said.

He took roll quickly before getting into rehearsal. He and Lily were working on their early scene in the wagon. You watched him ease her into comfort with him. She was six, just like her character, Tootie, and though not shy, did need to warm up to people. Sloan’s sister took a seat in the audience, and you saw her soften as she looked on as well.

“Isn’t that sweet?” you said to Sloan as she approached you.

She looked over at Gwilym going back and forth with her niece.

“Precious,” she said flatly. “You and Gwilym seemed pretty cozy.”

You rolled your eyes, but knew you still looked flushed. 

“Oh, please,” you said. “We were just practicing.”

“Y/N, look at me,” she said with uncharacteristic seriousness.

You did.

“I know we’re joking about how hot he is and all that, but it’s not smart to think any further than that,” she said. “He’s a professor - at least right now - and both of you could get into trouble.”

Defensiveness surged through you.

“You’re talking about it like we’ve been sleeping together or something,” you said, harsher than you meant to. “You’re the one who’s been making the jokes. Nothing’s happened, so spare me the lecture.”

“Y/N, I’m just trying to be a friend,” she said.

“Look, it’s perfectly normal to connect with a teacher,” you returned. “It’s nothing more than that.”

She looked you over, skepticism coming over her sharp features.

“If you say so, Y/N,” she said with a sigh. “But, for the record, I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you were looking at him when we walked in. Ever.”

She walked away, leaving you stricken where you stood.

[twdteacakes]

TWDG Oneshot Game - May 2020 Prompt

Unfulfilled Plans

A/N - So this fun challenge was created by @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale. It allowed me to go outside me comfort zone and write a fanfic including characters I don’t usually work with. Since the theme was unrequited love, I thought it would be interesting to explore whether or not Marlon had feelings for Brody before and after the raider incident. However, I personally don’t ship Marlon and Brody. I think there’s too much toxicity that surrounds their relationship, so I’d never want to see them get together. I hope the inclusion of Marlon as the central character doesn’t put people off, but if it does, then I completely understand.

“...So, after the hunting trip, I’ll lead Brody back to my office. Then, I’ll show her the picnic basket that I’ve already setup on the balcony. We’ll eat our candy bars and y’know, shoot the shit, and that’s when I’ll tell her how I feel.” Marlon finished explaining his elaborate plan.

Louis sat opposite him at the picnic table, completely slack jawed. “Whoa. I never pinned you as the romantic type, but… That actually doesn’t sound half bad. I think she’ll love it.”

Marlon’s pale blue eyes sparkled with hope and elation. “Really?”

“Yeah, dude, of course!” Louis replied, hoping to sooth his best friend’s worrying and banish any nagging doubts. “You agree with me, right, Mitch?”

Mitch was sitting to Marlon’s right, busying himself with a wood carving and not paying attention in the slightest. He paused, silver blade mid-stroke, and briefly glanced up. “Oh uh, yeah sure.” He mumbled, before returning to his current activity. 

Marlon frowned at Mitch’s total lack of interest in their conversation, since it carried so much weight and importance. However, he ultimately decided not to challenge him on the subject - after all, Mitch was never the social type.

“What about you, Aasim?” Louis asked, searching for a second opinion, as well as a way to brush off that awkward encounter.

Aasim was perched on the table’s edge with his back to the trio. The best response he could offer was a cartoonish shrug, although he seemed to be holding his tongue.

“Oh come on, you must have something to say.”

“Well… If I were you, I wouldn’t go through with it- at least, not today. The food situation is stressing everyone out, so unless you bring back something worthwhile, I doubt Brody will be in the mood.” Aasim finally weighed in with a factual response.

Marlon felt his heart sink like a lead balloon. Meanwhile, Louis scoffed and shook his head. “Alright, Mr Killjoy, thanks for that.” 

“You asked!” Aasim snapped back.

“Forget it.” Louis muttered, before addressing Marlon directly. “Dude, don’t listen to these knuckleheads, they haven’t got a clue what they’re talking about. You and Brody are gonna need to unwind, so this is the perfect time for a date. You totally got this!”

“I got this. I got this.” He whispered, repeating those words of encouragement like a mantra. A smile crept across his face, as he daydreamed about the date which awaited him - where he and Brody would relax on a red checkered picnic blanket, and gaze wistfully at the starry night sky. He had romanticised such an occasion countless times, but never believed it would actually come to fruition. But now, it was only a few hours away. He could hardly contain his excitement.

“Speak of the devil.” Louis commented, gesturing with a flick of his head at something not within Marlon’s line of sight.

Marlon glanced over his shoulder, to see Minerva and Sophie approaching the school gates, along with Brody in tow. The morning sun kissed her rich, pale skin and set her red hair ablaze. She caught his eye, and a smile painted her rosy cheeks as she waved. Marlon’s heart kicked into overdrive, and for a split second, he thought he might keel over on the floor and die.

He could feel his lips twitching and palms sweating profusely as he waved back. And just like that, their short interaction was over, and Brody turned away, returning her attention to the twins.

Marlon swallowed hard, attempting to combat the lump forming in his throat, before forcing himself to stand. His legs quivered, reduced to jelly. “Well, time to go.” He declared, his voice cracking.

“Good luck, man. I’ll be rooting for you.” Louis said, treating his best friend to a wide, toothy, confident grin.

“You’ll need it.” Mitch chimed. Perhaps he had been listening after all.

He ignored that snarky comment and gave Louis a small nod, expressing his gratitude through body language. He then collected his bow and headed towards the hunting party, even though his body was screaming at him to run in the other direction. “You three ready to head out?” 

“Think so.” Sophie answered. Brody was quiet - most likely because she wanted to get this over and done with.

“Where’s Vi?” Marlon questioned, addressing Minerva in particular, since her presence was not anticipated. 

“She wanted to stay behind, so I said I’d go instead.”

“Fair enough.” He responded, feigning interest. “Alright everyone, let’s go. We’re burning daylight.”

Minerva and Sophie exited through the gate first, while Marlon hung back. “Hey, Brody, can I talk to you after we get back?” He requested. “Privately.”

Her brow became knitted with confusion, but she masked that impulsive reaction with a pleasant smile. “Sure.”

Marlon’s heart soared, whilst he had to stifle a relieved laugh. “Great. Can’t wait.”

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

“I forgot all about you.” Marlon whispered softly. He stared at the picnic basket, which had been jammed into the cupboard many moons ago, with a somber expression. Laying eyes on that object again rattled him to the very depths of his core. Why did I never get rid of it? He questioned internally. It’s just sitting here, collecting dust. Did I take the candy bars out? Ugh, I don’t even want to imagine what state they’re in now. 

I guess… I could just never bring myself to do it.

He gently shut the cupboard door and continued rummaging through his desk drawers, searching for a bandage. His arm was in bad shape, and needed immediate medical attention. He had slashed it on a piece of rebar whilst refortifying their defences, and there was no end in sight to the bleeding.

A knock at the door halted Marlon in his tracks. His first instinct was to ignore the visitor, but when they persisted in their knocking, he knew he had to take action. “Not now!” He shouted.

“It’s me.” Brody’s muffled voice replied.

“Brody- come in!”

The door creaked open, and Brody stepped inside. “What happened here?” She questioned, wearily eyeing the blood trail, and the state of disarray his office was in.

“Nothing, it’s just-” Marlon paused to take a breath, in an attempt to calm his shot nerves. “I can’t find a damn thing in here.”

“Do you need some help?” She offered.         

He slumped down in the comfy, leather, reclined chair and mopped his forehead. “Please.”

Brody walked over to the mattress situated in the corner, where Rosie was sleeping peacefully. She crouched down, and tore off a small piece of fabric from the blanket, before approaching Marlon. She floated through the delicate, silver moonlight like a ghost, and in that moment, he saw how incredibly exhausted she was. How tired her once brilliant, glistening, sapphire eyes had become.

She silently cupped his injured arm and began to wrap the makeshift bandage around the deep cut. He did not protest - the only thing that escaped his mouth was the occasional hiss, as he winced in pain. 

“It’s almost been a year.” She uttered, in the ghost of a whisper.

“Huh?” Marlon barely managed to croak out.

“It’s almost been a year… Since the twins-”

“Brody.” He interrupted, on the verge of snapping. He saw her shudder. “We swore we wouldn’t talk about that. Ever.”

“Right. I’m sorry.” Brody apologised. Her voice quivered as she blinked rapidly, fighting back tears that yearned to break free. She sped up, and finished bandaging his wound in record timing. “There, all done. That should heal in no time.” She stated, readjusting her brave-faced mask, after it had momentarily slipped. She then retreated to the other side of the desk, whilst Marlon checked her handiwork.

“So… Was there something you wanted?” He asked, meeting her skittish gaze. 

“No, not really. Well- sort of. It doesn’t matter. I should go.”

Oh. She came here to talk about the twins. Marlon thought, the realisation finally sinking in. He watched as she headed towards the door. He only found his voice when her hand grasped the cold, metal knob. “Wait!”

She froze, and glanced back at him. Misery swirled around her irises like a dark, twisting vortex, and he knew he was the source of such suffocating guilt and shame. What even was their relationship anymore? Did it have a label? It was impossible to wrap his head around. This secret… It had brought them closer together, but also driven a wedge between them. The damage was irreversible.

A year ago we were supposed to be starting a new chapter in our lives.

“...You don’t have to go. I’d actually like the company.” He stated, his tone oozing with sincerity, along with hints of desperation. Please don’t go. You’re the only one who understands- the only one who could ever understand.

Brody hesitated, torn between two choices. Eventually, her gaze settled once more on the mattress in the corner. “Rosie will keep you company. Just- try to get some sleep, okay?”

And with those parting words, she vanished. 

Although disappointed, Marlon wasn’t surprised. His crush on her had faded, but some feelings still lingered. However, he knew in his heart she would never reciprocate those feelings. Besides… Those days where he could happily daydream about picnics and star gazing were long gone.