#i once read an entire chapter about a character talking about how much they love carrots

[smartass-hoot]

published stories have such a no-nonsense and cutthroat kind of pacing like,,, where are the grocery runs? the casual moments of gay panic? the slowburn that edges the living fuck outta you? the sideplots that are borderline crack but written so well? LIKE FUCK THE PLOT, GIVE ME CHARACTERS

[ambrosiagourmet]

I love Izutsumi. She's got a great design, she's a fun addition to the main party, she adds some new tension, and she's honestly one of the reasons I read dungeon meshi in the first place. I mean, "the most cat to ever girl" is an extremely appealing hook to anyone who loves cats and girls (me, I love cats and girls).

However, while I have always liked Izutsumi, I finished the story kind of feeling like I didn't really get her. I felt like I had a decent grasp on her character an character arc (she's a traumatized teen given space to feel safe and open up, and because of that she realizes that she can't grow without letting go of the coping mechanisms she once needed). But I didn't feel like I really understood her role in the story as a whole.

She follows the group of her own accord, after a coincidental meeting and a misunderstanding of what they can do for her. She's never super invested in saving Falin, at least not compared to the rest of the group. Though they do help her escape Maizuru's shackles, and are clearly good for her in general, she doesn't really have a healing Moment with the group the way that Senshi does with the hippogriff soup.

And yet, she gets an entire chapter, the third-to-last chapter, dedicated to exploring her growth and future. She's the one who frames much of the falling action, who lets us check in with everyone. She's the one who helps talk Laios into accepting his role as king. She may join the story part way through, but she is there for most of it. So Izutsumi! What's your deal!?

Well, I think I've come up with an answer, at least for myself, that I really like. Two of them, even! Though they both really work together to form the overall point - Izutsumi is the character that most helps the story face towards the future. Here's why I think that.

So the first of these "ah-ha" moments was when I realized that Izutsumi really is the best supporting evidence for Laios' point about the good things that wouldn't have happened if Falin hadn't died.

If Falin hadn't been eaten by the dragon, Izutsumi probably would still be a slave. It was because of Shuro and Laios' parties both being in the dungeon to rescue Falin, as well as Marcille's use of ancient magic in the resurrection, that she got the chance to escape. None of that would have been the case if Falin hadn't died. Shuro wouldn't have separated from the group and joined up with his retainers, Marcille wouldn't have revealed her knowledge of ancient magic, and Izutsumi never would have even met any of them. They are only part of her life because of Falin's death.

Though this isn't explicitly pointed out by Laios or Izutsumi in the scene, I do think you can very much feel the presence of it. For one, when Marcille reflects on the journey and how much it made her realize she didn't want to lose everyone, her relationship with Izutsumi is prominent:

It's the main original group at the top and center, but when you read it right to left, it’s Izutsumi and Marcille who might catch your eye first. And it's specifically Marcille and Izutsumi's relationship on display here, not just Izutsumi's presence in the group in general.

Also, after Laios' statement about how none of their adventure would have happened without Falin dying, it is Izutsumi who gets the final word:

Izutsumi is also the one here who is the most forward-facing. Chilchuck is trying to correct Laios, Senshi is focused on the immediate future, and Izutsumi is talking about her new goal.

And I want to talk about that goal in general as well, because it’s also interesting how it comes up. In that moment, everyone is trying to remind Marcille of her less destructive desires - to eat food, to share it with them, and to meet Chilchuck's family. All of which are previously established, existing desires. When prompted by Chilchuck to join in, however, Izutsumi offers something new:

That's interesting, isn't it? It's kind of funny, of course, to see her rambling on about a completely new thing, her own personal motive, in the middle of everyone working together to reach out to Marcille. Izutsumi doesn't even know who Yaad is! But at the same time, it’s kind of meaningful. Amidst the focus on desires that everyone already had, she adds a completely new one to the mix. It’s even the final bridge that lets Laios reach Marcille.

It is, in fact, even an idea that comes back later to help out another lord of the dungeon. The idea of finding new goals and feeling new desires... this is exactly how Kabru reaches out to Mithrun, after the Winged Lion is gone

So yeah, Izutsumi's presence here, both in what she's actively choosing to say as well as what she represents of the consequences of Falin's death, supports the story's ideas of moving forward. Of accepting the past, and finding new reasons to live.

Which is all really good, and that alone works pretty well as an answer to what Izutsumi's role in the story is.

But oh, oh. There's more. Something I realized after having thought of all this, because I still couldn't let go of the feeling that there was still something I was missing.

And as I reviewed the things I loved about Izutsumi - her sometimes unhealthy ways of coping with trauma, her struggles with isolation, her skill with fighting, her selfishness contrasted with the ways she grows to care for and protect the group, her perpetually guarded nature, born from the seeming impossibility of ever fitting in or finding a safe place to just be herself - I realized something.

Izutsumi...

is a foil to Falin.

Where Falin copes with isolation and trauma by being eternally caring and struggling to say no to people, Izutsumi copes by constantly saying no to everything she can. Falin is often considered selfless, but does have selfish desires that she can’t easily express until a moment of crisis. Izutsumi is delightfully selfish, but chooses to stick by her friends when they need her. They are both transformed, against their will, into partly monstrous hybrids, and they both will have to live with that - there is no undoing what has been done to them.

Falin anchors the group in the past. Izutsumi pulls them towards the future. Neither would find freedom without the other - it is Falin's death that leads to Izutsumi joining the party, and likewise, it is Izutsumi who inspires the realization of how they can save Falin.

And Falin is her future, as much as Izutsumi is Falin's. Both learn to be a little more like each other, even though they never meet. Falin gets a little more selfish. Izutsumi gets a little more willing to bend.

In this context, I feel like I have finally started to understand just how important Izutsumi is to the story. She is a proof that they cannot just go back, and she is a clawed, happy-to-scratch-anyone-who-pisses-her-off reminder, at that. In any conversation about what the group wishes would have happened with Falin, she cannot be ignored or brushed aside.

She is a reminder that, even in the midst of a tragedy so big it feels like a shadow you will never escape, you have yet to met all the people you will love. Hell, some of those people might even be catgirls. We should all be so lucky.

[kamaluhkhan]

TIME TO PRETEND

pairing: luke castellan x gn!poseidon!reader word count: 5k chapter summary: you're the eldest child of poseidon and the hero of the last great prophecy. you left your demigod life behind after defeating kronos. now, years later, you find yourself back at camp half blood for the summer.....which means dealing with luke castellan, and all that history (tension?) left unresolved between you. warnings: some nicknames for reader are based on female characters (mermista, sailor neptune) but they're still written as gender neutral. reader has tattoos. mention of alcohol + death (post-titan war). spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series, mostly references to the last olympian. timeline is all over the place but set in the early 2000s for vibes. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 author's note: welcome to another product of my pjo hyperfixation !!! i wanted to finish the nemesis!reader series first but it's summer and i felt like reworking my tsitp series in a camp half-blood setting with bb luke. so prepare for childhood friends to lovers drama! summertime vibes! nostalgia! angst! would love to know what y'all think about this and if you want a part 2 so feel free to scream at me in the comments. otherwise, enjoy and thanks 4 reading 💙

♪: time to pretend by mgmt

YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

1 new message 

from: LukeNotSkywalker

to: Mermista86

subject: you are GETTING that record deal

Hey,

Your demo CD just came in the mail — and, Connor as my witness, I’ve already listened to it five times!!! 

It’s amazing. You’re amazing. The label would totally lose out if they didn’t sign you. 

Things have been pretty chaotic around here, with the summer term happening soon. Speaking of which: are you coming back? Chiron gave me the list of returning campers and counsellors this morning and said he hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I���d ask. I know you’ll be busy with the band, but if you get the chance, it’d be really great to see you.

Anyways, I’m leading the next Shield & Sword session, so I’d better go. Talk soon ;)

- L

FOUR YEARS LATER

TURBULENT WATERS? ALT-ROCK BAND MIDNIGHT SIRENS HIT ROUGH PATCH AFTER LEAD GUITARIST GETS INTO VIOLENT ALTERCATION 

the cover is the nail in the coffin: a blurry picture of you, an electric blue guitar forgotten at your feet, lunging forward into a crowd, with your bandmates on stage behind you in shock. 

you’d gone all this time without any major incidents, and one stupid chimera managed to burn down everything you worked for in one fell swoop.

“that’d be $8.50,” the cashier informs. 

you tear your attention away from the magazine, instead fishing through your pocket for some change. meanwhile, the cashier furrows their brow, leans down slightly to get a better look at you underneath your sunglasses and baseball cap. 

“hey, do i know you?”

“nope,” you say instantly, slapping a $10 bill onto the counter. “keep the change.” you gather your pile of necessary roadtrip supplies (slushies, m&m’s, and goldfish) before rushing out the door, your half-brother trailing behind you.

you slide into the driver’s seat, set each slushie in a cup holder, and hand the rest to percy once he’s slipped into the passenger side. 

“seatbelt,” you remind him. you shake your hair out after removing your baseball cap disguise. “i promised your mom i’d be responsible.” 

percy does as he’s told, though not without mumbling about how he’s practically an adult and a demigod who’s been in much more dangerous situations than a car ride up to long island. you just tell him to put on some music, even though he has a point. he’ll be 18 in august and you’re only five years older, but the fact is that you gave sally jackson your word. 

plus — you’re his older sibling, so gods forbid you let him get hurt. a seatbelt seems like a band-aid solution for one of the most powerful demigods out there, but still.

percy flips through a few radio stations while he sips his blue raspberry slushie. when he doesn’t find anything good, he opens the glove compartment and surveys your music collection before sliding a cd into the stereo. 

instantly, the familiar sound of david bowie’s voice eases the tension in your shoulders.

“good choice?” 

you nod and percy smiles triumphantly. you reach over to steal a few goldfish from the bag he just opened and ruffle his hair playfully, for good measure. 

you’re perfectly happy, driving along a long island highway while getting lost in the glam rock world of ziggy stardust, but it isn’t long until percy interrupts: 

“are you finally gonna tell me what happened, or do i have to read it from some trashy gossip magazine like everyone else?”

“well, your dyslexic ass can barely read so….”

you look over at him briefly, and laugh when you see him stick his slightly-blue tongue out to you. 

“at least my dyslexic ass is actually decent at ancient greek. luke told me you failed the reading test, like, a million times.”

your heart twinges at the mention of your old friend. 

friend.

if you could still call him that. 

thankfully, percy doesn’t give you much room to dwell on the past, too focused on your drama-filled present.

“so, what is it? you got kicked out of the band? lost everything? have nowhere else to go?”

you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “i did not get kicked out.” 

“then, what happened?”

“just the usual.” you shrug. “monster attack, mortals who can’t see through the mist. i tried to explain it away after — something about how i saw someone in the crowd attack another person and i stepped in to help. most people bought it, but the media loves drama and the label’s worried i’m a flight risk now. apparently, everything will blow over if i just keep a low profile for the next few months. so….no. i didn’t lose everything.” you take a deep, like when anyone other than children of poseidon are about to go underwater and they’re not quite sure when they can come up for air. 

“i just don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you finish.

“damn.” percy offers you a blue shark gummy (or whale - you and percy had already debated the shape of the candy that sally packed for the trip, and the jury’s still out). you gratefully accept. “well, i know it’s not the best reason, but i’m excited to spend the summer together.”

despite everything, you find yourself smiling. 

“me too, kid.” 

“it’d give me a chance to kick your ass in sword-fighting.”

“you wish!” you nudge his shoulder, both of you giggling. once the laughter’s died down, you glance at percy once more. “hey – did you tell anyone i was coming?”

percy shakes his head. “why?”

you take a long swig of your drink until you’re on the brink of brain freeze. 

“no reason.”

it’s just after lunch when you arrive at camp half-blood. 

you weren’t sure what you were expecting — maybe not some futuristic technological developments that had been discovered within the years you were gone, but definitely not for camp to look pretty much exactly the same as when you left. 

instantly, you find comfort in the familiar scenes: a dragon, peleus, guarding the magical borders; dryads and satyrs picking strawberries in the fields next to the forest; chiron standing near the central guidepost, greeting and guiding every camper in the right direction.

chiron smiles down at percy and practically does a double take when his eyes land on you.

“mx. l/n! it has been a while. are you here to drop off your brother, or do you plan on staying for the summer?”

before you can answer, someone appears behind him. 

“perce! hey!” 

“hey, luke.”

luke gives him a side hug, and percy shoves him away with a laugh when he ruffles his hair. it’s then that luke acknowledges you, though he looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“i thought i’d never see you again. what are you doing here? ”

chiron turns to you expectedly. “i believe you have yet to answer that question of mine as well.”

“staying for the summer…” you adjust the shoulder strap of your backpack, uneased by luke’s cold demeanor. “i hope that’s okay.”

“of course!” chiron’s smile grows wide, eyes crinkling. “you’ll resume your position as head counsellor of cabin 3.”

“so i’m dethroned? just like that?” percy guffaws.

you nudge percy’s shoulder. “fulfill the next great prophecy, and then we’ll talk.” 

percy rolls his eyes playfully. luke, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to appreciate your tongue-in-cheek remark. his jaw tightens, and he suddenly finds a deep interest in the clipboard he’s holding.

chiron clears his throat, likely sensing the tension. “yes, well, i’m sure you remember how things work around here. if not, mr. castellan has been keeping this ship afloat. he's always here to help.”

“always.” luke smiles, but it’s elastic, threatening to snap at any moment. someone calls his name, and he walks away to deal with whatever chaos is waiting for him.

summer — age 15

you weren’t exactly conscious when you first arrived at camp half-blood. 

apparently, coach hedge, a satyr and protector, found you just in time and had to practically drag you up half-blood hill after a particularly gruesome fury attack. 

when you woke up and saw luke sleeping next to you in a chair, his curls overgrown and falling onto his eyes, you thought you had died and gone to elysium. 

you took in your unfamiliar surroundings. some sort of infirmary, with only your best friend next to you, the one you hadn’t seen in almost a year since you’d parted ways. 

then, you remembered what was happening before you passed out; it was more likely that you were being tricked into a false sense of security by that fury, who definitely planned on devouring you later.

with a newfound sense of urgency, you decided it was time to get out of there before it was too late. you were reaching for your knife when you felt a hand grab your shoulder. without losing a second, you twisted your body around, weapon at the ready.

whoever it was watching over you sure looked like luke. he was wearing a bright orange shirt and leather cord necklace with one clay bead. another point of difference was the jagged scar that cut across his left cheek.

“it’s just me,” he said, gently. “you’re fine here. you’re safe.”

you weren’t convinced, kept your knife in front of you to keep distance. “prove it.” you narrowed your eyes. “tell me something only luke would know.”

“you’re left-handed.”

“that’s a great observation,” you scoff.

“storm is your favourite x-men character.”

“that’s a very popular opinion.”

“your aunt would make us mango lassi after swim camp when she got home from work,” luke tries for the third time. “and, my mom - she used to call you ‘starfish.’”

your heart skipped a beat.

that was the confirmation you needed. 

the knife dropped from your hand, clattered on the wooden floor, as you pulled luke in for a hug. you were greeted by a familiar scent, that pear shampoo luke loved because it made his hair so soft, mixed with the smell of fresh pine trees. 

“it’s really you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

despite sleeping for gods know how long, you were exhausted. you rested your weight into luke, but he didn’t seem to care.

“it’s really you. i thought i’d never see you again.”

“where are we?” you asked, breaking away to face luke. you ignored the wooziness you felt throughout your body; luke seemed to sense it, his grip around you tightening. “are annabeth and thalia here, too? how’d you get here?” your thumb traced the unfamiliar scar on his face. “what happened? are you okay —”

“i-i’ll answer all your questions, but you lost a lot of blood.” luke guided you to lay back down in bed. “we’ll explain everything. just get some rest.”

a third scenario entered your mind: this was all a dream. you’d close your eyes and when you opened them again, luke would be gone. you’d be alone again.

you couldn’t let go of luke’s hand, even as he tucked you back into bed. you tugged his wrist, silently urging him to join you.

“will you stay with me?” you finally croaked when he continued standing. 

luke looked at you, and you nodded once as final confirmation. then, he removed his shoes and slipped into the bed next to you. it was luke, all sweet pear and soft curls and strong heartbeat, and you held on to him in fear that he might slip away.

“always,” he whispered.

during the orientation video you were later shown, you learned that camp half-blood’s motto is keeping young heroes safe (mostly) for over three millennia!  

luke had used that word, too. safe.

chiron told you this was to be your new home as he walked you to the poseidon cabin. he told you that you were safe now, though you noticed how the word almost got caught in his throat. he gave you a sad smile you didn’t quite understand.

you did wonder, at first, if those words were true: this place, a home for you and other children of gods. somewhere safe.

and, well.

you came to understand chiron’s general melancholy a few weeks later, and every week after that. he was used to training and sending heroes off to their potential death, and you would be no different. stolen lightning bolts, deadly quests, cryptic prophecies. a pending war between divine forces you had been entangled with long before you knew. heartache and betrayal and loss beyond measure. 

but, there were other things, too. 

annabeth, fitting in perfectly at the athena cabin, continued being her genius self, leading her team to victory every capture the flag game. she was extra patient in helping you with ancient greek, especially after chiron had given up.

chris rodriguez, luke’s half-brother, would tell you jokes from across the dining pavilion, knowing that you hated sitting alone at the poseidon table. michael yew, son of apollo, taught you how to play guitar at the bonfire one week; you’d ask for more and more lessons until you could start playing on your own. charles beckendorf made you a celestial bronze sword that shone like that burst of light when the sun hits the ocean at sunset. it transformed into a ring that you would never take off, unless in battle. you might not have gotten along with mr. d, but you spent free time picking fresh strawberries with his son, castor. you made matching friendship bracelets with silena beauregard, who was really the only person you confided in, about how you maybe possibly felt something other than friendship when it came to luke. she told you about her crush on clarisse larue, the daughter of ares whom you would always partner with during sparring practice. you taught ethan nakamura, who didn’t have his own cabin as the child of nemesis, how to properly hold a sword. thalia’s tree stood tall at the top of the hill where you almost bled to death, protecting you and everyone inside the magical borders. you, annabeth, and luke would share a picnic there every thursday.

you had been on the run for so long, always looking over your shoulder for monsters, sleeping with one eye open to be one step ahead of death, jumping from one place to the next so quickly to avoid danger.

so, yes. 

it was nice to stay in one place, where you knew you were as safe as demigods could be. it was nice to spend your time learning and training and laughing instead of just surviving. 

it was nice to have a place to call home. and people to call it home with.

now 

the first week passes in the blink of an eye, and it’s like you never left.

tie-dye, volleyball, strawberry picking, kitchen duty, and cabin inspection. 

luke has everyone on a tight schedule — one, you notice, conveniently places the two of you at opposite ends of camp at all times.

still, you catch up with clarisse and the stoll brothers, spend time with annabeth and percy, say hi to pollux and katie gardner and others you vaguely recognize as five years older than what you remember. there are also a lot of faces you don’t recognize at all.

of course, you try not to think about the faces you wished you could see: friends you grew up with and would never have a laugh with again, younger campers you had trained who would never grow up. all lost because of the gods and the titans and a prophecy you never asked to be a part of. 

it’s a side effect of being back here; their ghosts are harder to ignore.

again — trying not to think about it.

anyways.

climbing wall, armory, sword-fighting practice, archery field, and free time on the beach.

to conclude: capture-the-flag, a friday night camp-half blood tradition.

you’re praising annabeth for her latest strategy that led to blue team victory when you notice luke. he was also on the blue team, but instead of celebrating with the rest of you, he’s speaking to someone who’s wearing a red helmet. they seem to be in a heated discussion, one that luke is not wanting to continue. his tells are the same, after all these years: the impatient tapping of his foot, his eyes searching for an out.

you give it to him.

“sorry, i need to borrow this guy.” you say, grabbing luke’s wrist. “camp emergency.” 

if the person said anything, you didn’t hear it, because you were already dragging luke away from the crowd, towards the armory shed. 

“what’s the emergency?” luke wonders, brows furrowed in concern. he has deep shadows under his eyes, too. keeping the ship that is camp half-blood afloat has clearly taken a toll on him. 

“you wanting to get out of that conversation. you’re welcome.” you wink at him; luke flushes, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s annoyed, or if he's just flustered. “so, are you gonna keep ignoring me the whole summer?”

you put your helmet on one of the shelves and turn back to luke. you expected him to start removing his armor as well, but he doesn’t. he just glares at you, arms crossed over his chest.

so, he’s annoyed, then. 

“what do you expect?” luke hisses. “you can’t come back here and pretend that everything can be like it was when we were kids. things are different now, especially between us.”

you decide to take him up on his challenge. 

“oh? tell me, luke, what exactly is different between us?”

luke shakes his head in disbelief. you remove your chest plate, and that’s when the tattoo on your waist becomes visible. it’s a magnolia, like one of the flowers that bloomed on the tree outside may castellan’s house. 

something in luke softens, then. he sighs. 

“you could have at least given me a warning.”

he storms off, and you’re left half-armored, wondering what he meant by that.

you figure it out once a few of you settle down for a late-night, underground poker game, and you’re trying not to stare at luke’s hands.

it starts with you telling yourself that you’re just trying to predict what cards he’s holding, figure out if he’s bluffing, and if he’s about to lose everything he’d so confidently bet on. 

but then you notice the silver thumb ring that thalia got him for his 17th birthday. you notice an array of hair ties and elastic bands he keeps just in case a camper needs them, and woven bracelets given to him by his admirers. you notice how the tattoo on his wrist is covered. (it’s hidden well, but you know it’s there — you’d gotten one of a wing, the kind that might be found on a pair of magical red converse, at the same time)

you also notice the forest green painted on luke’s nails, the same shade worn by the person beside him.

van, the new head counsellor of the hephaestus cabin. you’d seen them at staff meetings, but you somehow did not notice that they were dating luke. 

he moved on — is that why luke needed a warning? is that what's changed between you?

it’s fine. whatever. so what if luke has a new partner? it’s not like the two of you were anything, officially. 

luke has a new partner. they’re wearing matching nail polish. they’re one of those couples.

well, van is also wearing a nickleback shirt and luke hates nickleback, unless that fundamental part of his personality changed, too. 

“yo, sailor neptune. you in or not?” travis brings you out of your daze, by using a nickname luke once called you.

back before becoming heroes, when you and luke were just kids, you’d watch cartoons in his living room on saturday mornings — x-men, she-ra: princess of power, teenage mutant ninja turtles, sailor moon. a lifetime ago.

you look around the table and see that everyone has been waiting for you to take your turn. even luke raises an eyebrow at you.

“yeah.” you clear your throat and throw some chips into the centre. “i’m in.”

you have decent enough cards to keep you in the game, and you’re comfortable that you can play the odds in your favor. the stoll brothers are good liars, you know that, and so is luke. malcolm pace is good at strategy, but thankfully not as good as his half-sister annabeth. pollux, who had invited you to the game, already folded along with butch, the son of iris who has a rainbow tattoo on his bicep to prove it. beside you, lou ellen, daughter of the hecate, contemplates her next move. clovis has fallen asleep, true to their title as head counsellor of the hypnos cabin. you can’t get a read on van, but they keep raising the stakes so confidently, and you’ve always liked a good challenge.

soon enough, it’s only you and van in the bet. when it comes time to reveal your cards, you curse yourself for overplaying your hand.

“good game,” van says to you as they collect their winnings. “you really had me going there.” 

“yeah.” your smile is strained, but it’s there nonetheless. “tried my best.”

“guess the curse of achilles doesn’t help as much in poker as it does in capture the flag.” 

“excuse me?” you raise an eyebrow.

luke, who had one arm casually draped around van’s chair the entire game, pulls away. “van, maybe don’t —”

“it’s not like it’s a secret, luke. they’re the prophecy kid, everyone knows they bathed in the river styx to be able to fight kronos. it’s camp legend.”

other than you, luke, and van, everyone else is occupied with something else. connor busies himself shuffling the cards, while lou ellen, malcolm, and pollux get up for more drinks. it seems like butch and travis have their own bet going to see who can balance the most chips on clovis’ forehead without waking him up. 

van waits for an answer. you’re a little queasy, and it’s not from the wine pollux managed to snag from his dad’s office. you’re suddenly faced with the reality that your life is reduced to a legend. you try your best to swallow that feeling, of being made into a greek tragic hero while your heart is still beating, and your life is still a mess.

“that’s relevant, why?”

“just that some people might consider the invulnerability thing an unfair advantage in physical competitions like capture the flag,” van explains. “increased strength and all that.” 

“that would mean nothing without a good strategy,” you counter.

“that’s what i said,” luke grumbles. 

you recognize van now as the person luke was arguing with earlier. it must have been about this. 

about you. 

“okay, y’all were best friends, so luke is obviously going to take your side.”

you’re not sure what stings more: friends or were. 

“although, he never really talks about you, which is weird because you’re, like, famous in and outside camp.”

ouch. that definitely stings the most. luke winces slightly, almost like he feels it, too.

“alright, alright,” connor interjects, shuffling the cards in his hands. “another round?” 

you’re the only one who decides to call it a night. everyone says goodbye; even van, who’s blissfully unaware of the effect their words had on you. luke avoids your gaze. the game continues without you.

percy’s snoring provides enough cover as you sneak into your shared cabin. you try to sleep, but it doesn’t come easy. 

you feel the spot underneath your rib, the one spot you’re truly vulnerable, ache.

summer — age 17

for the first time in your life, you couldn’t breathe underwater. you were swimming in acid, and your skin was melting away.

at least, that’s what it felt like to bathe in the river styx. achilles could have mentioned that, but all he gave was a cryptic warning about anchoring yourself to what makes you mortal.

you really tried at first. you thought about your friends at camp. you thought about percy, about your aunt back when she was still around. you even thought about may castellan, burnt cookies and saturday mornings.

the pain was too much, though. 

you were forgetting where you were, who you were. with every passing second, you were dissolving into nothing.

“if you wanted to go for a swim, you should have told me. i would have worn my swimsuit.”

luke’s voice echoed across the waves. you tilted your head up to see him sitting on the dock above you, his feet dangling into the water. he had rolled up his jeans to just above his ankles so they didn’t get wet, but his shoes were still on, which was a bit strange. the sun made his eyes look like burnt amber, his teeth sparkling as he smiled at you. 

okay. cool.

you were at camp. it was mid-afternoon, free period. the two of you had been at the edge of the lake, until you became impatient and jumped in, fully clothed. behind him, you could see that annabeth, thalia, and percy were waiting for you on the shore. they were each wearing orange camp shirts, which was also strange; you couldn’t remember a time when you were all there together, as campers.

“we better go, sailor,” luke said, amusement laced throughout his words. “come on. those cabins aren’t gonna inspect themselves.”

luke extended his hand to you. when you hesitated, he added:

“i can’t do this without you. will you stay with me?”

you reached up and grabbed luke’s hand.

always.

you emerged from the water, catching your breath as you collapsed on the sand. 

“oh gods. are you okay?”

your cousin, nico diangelo, son of hades, knelt down next to you. he tried to check your pulse, but you waved him away. your eyes searched for luke, but he wasn’t there, despite feeling the ghost of his hand in your own. 

oh.

you weren’t at camp; you were in the underworld. it was nico’s idea for you to take on the curse of achilles so that you’d be strong enough to face kronos. 

“did it work?”

you got up, a bit uneasy on your feet at first. nico helped steady you, his hands cold on your skin.

you felt….stronger wasn’t the right word. you felt adrenaline coursing through your veins, like you could swim across the biggest ocean without pausing once. like you could defeat an entire army and not break a sweat. maybe even take down a titan or two while you're at it.

you needed to see luke again, to meet him and the others in manhattan before it was too late.

“let’s hope so.”

now

you always loved mornings at camp half-blood. the beach was particularly beautiful at sunrise, the water peaceful.

the morning after that impromptu poker game, you need that peacefulness to wash over you. you’re awake after a rather sleepless night, deciding to go for a quick run before breakfast. you get dressed and grab your mp3 player, as quietly as you can to avoid waking up percy (who, truthfully, could probably sleep through a hurricane anyways). 

you jog from one end of the beach to the other. you set a steady rhythm, somewhere between the beat of your music and the sound of waves gently washing over the shore. when you make your way back down to where you started, you notice someone sitting nearby.

luke doesn’t say anything when you first sit next to him. he’s wearing a dark blue hoodie over his usual orange shirt, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. you imagine that he confiscated it from a camper on the way here. 

“morning,” he finally whispers, eyes fixed towards the ocean. 

you shiver, and not just from the cool morning air. you’re reminded of the last time luke spoke to you so softly, the last time you’d caught an early morning sunrise together. such a contrast to where you are now.

“morning,” you finally reply. 

as the sound of waves fills the silence between you, luke surprises you by taking a lighter out of his pocket. he lights the cigarette and takes a puff. then, he hands it to you. 

it’s such an odd, though not unwelcomed, gesture. a peace offering, you figure, but it’s just so not luke that you can’t help yourself.

“is golden boy luke castellan, offering me contraband? what planet am i on?”

the hint of a smile creeps onto his face. “like i said: things are different now,” he echoes his words from the night before, but this time you don’t sense any hostility.

you take a drag of the cigarette. your fingers brush against his when you return it to him.

you decide to offer a peace offering as well, and present to him one of your earbuds — he accepts. you have to slide across the sand to move closer to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

i’m feelin’ rough, i’m feeling raw / i’m in the prime of my life….

as the song plays, you glance to see luke nodding along, tapping a finger on his knee to the beat. he lets the cigarette smoulder in his other hand.

we’re fated to pretend / to pretend / yeah, yeah, yeah….

when the song is over, luke turns to you. 

“new group?” he brings the cigarette to his lips, then gives it back to you.

“kinda.” you inhale, letting the smoke warm your lungs before explaining. “this is considered they’re breakthrough album. they’re from connecticut, actually.”

“oh, yeah? guess that’s where all the talent is from.”

luke bumps his shoulder against yours knowingly. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, his witty sincerity.

this is familiar — you and luke, at the beach, sharing music. it’s familiar, and for a few moments, you can act like there isn’t a wall between you, of unresolved feelings and harsh words. you can pretend that nothing has changed.

“you know, nickleback are from connecticut, too. which means you just called them talented.”

luke coughs on some smoke as he exhales with a laugh. “what? no i didn’t!”

“in a roundabout way. i always knew you were an undercover fan,” you tease.

“i have better taste than that.”

“do you?”

“you’re fucking with me,” luke deadpans.

you crack a smile. “yeah, i’m fucking with you.”

“gods, you scared me for a second,” he laughs, and you can’t help but follow. luke glances at you and the sunshine highlights his smile, his dark brown curls, the ever-changing color of his eyes. golden, radiant. 

you shiver again, looking away. before you know it, you feel something draped across your shoulders.

“i’m not sure van would like it if i was wearing your hoodie.” you joke, but your words are laced with a bitterness you hope luke doesn’t catch. unlucky for you, luke still knows you too well, whether he likes it or not.

“you don’t get to do that.”

“do what?”

luke scoffs. “be jealous.” 

“well, you don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“so, you are jealous?”

you exhale sharply; you can practically feel the wall between you two reappear.

“it’s too early, lu. and i’m too hungover to deal with this.”

there’s nothing more left to say. you get up, throw his hoodie on the sand, and walk back towards your cabin, the beach and luke further away with every step you take.

it makes sense that way: you were always the one to leave first.

[eroscomet]

Picking Up Pieces That Aren't Yours

Chapter one- Pieces of the Past

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Paring: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Context: You've known Tara for most of her life in Woodsboro, though you two were never close. After moving to NYC to escape everything she and her sister endured, she finds herself trying to regain control of her life despite being a wreck. After killing Amber, who had been her girlfriend for years, she has a hard time trusting new people as well as trusting relationships. During her time at Blackmore University, she finds herself getting closer to you. She unintentionally plays the push-and-pull game with you, pulling you in as if she wants to be more than friends with you and then pulling away when you actually seem to want to commit.

Warnings: Talks about death, murder, grievance, Trauma, PTSD, Mentions of forms of abuse, Mentions alcoholism, Mentions of weapons, bad writing. (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Hellooooo, lovelies! I am currently working on the second part of 'Make it Right', it will be out soon, I promise. For now, I've decided to also begin writing other one-shots or starting other stories! I believe I am going to write more fics for Jenna's different characters. It might've been just a bit inspired by 'Casual' by Chappell Roan but that'll come in later chapters.

Not proof read

╰┈➤Series Masterlist

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No one said it was going to be easy, especially for the Carpenter sisters. With everything that they have endured, they now carry emotional baggage that they feel will follow them everywhere. Or so Sam feels that way. Tara refuses forthat to be her path, she refuses to be someone who lets one event define her entire life. She saw it with Sidney, Gale, and all those who have been through the same thing as her. People who can never seem to escape or move on from their past.

Tara refuses to see the therapist that Sam has been in contact with for her therapy sessions. She truly believes that she can handle it all on her own. Which, in retrospect, sounds absurd. Planning to go through four years of university without any help with her mental and emotional baggage? She doesn't want to talk to her friends about what happened or even think about what happened.

A part of her is still somewhat grieving Amber, it's expected, though. They had dated for quite some while, but Tara is now left with the thoughts of, 'Was any of it real?' Was Tara a pawn in Amber's sick and twisted game? That's how she felt like, at least. Like she let this all happen. Like all of it was somehow her fault. These destructive thoughts allowed Tara to cave in on herself. Her mind was as much a battlefield as her life itself.

Did she survive? Yes. Did she escape? No. She thought that moving away from Woodsboro would save her, she thought it was an escape. Her mind restricted her of that relief, of that escape. She survived, but at what cost? She feels she has absolutely no sense of direction. She wanted to blame Amber just as everyone had and then moved on, but she couldn'twhen she blamed herself for somehow allowing this to happen. Even now that Amber is gone, she still plagues her mind. 

There is no excuse that she can give for Amber's actions, and she isn't sure that she wants to make an excuse for her.Every night for her is the same. The memory, the nightmare turned reality, haunts her. It's always the same but in a third-person point of view. She sees herself holding the gun, everything slowing down for her at that exact moment. The gun recoiled as the shot was taken, the noise ringing out from it. The look on Amber's face, the realization on her face.

Like every time, the bullet comes in contact with Amber's head, and just like that, she's dead again. The sound of the knife that she once held in her hand clattering on the floor. The sound had been almost deafening in her nightmares. It'salmost taunting the way that she watched as the blood splattered on her face. The blood that had belonged to her once beloved girlfriend.

Beloved. That's how Tara had seen Amber.

It's almost comical to you how Tara had ever seen Amber in any context but fake and off-putting. Amber wasn't the kindest, the easiest to get along with, or even the most caring. You'd almost feel guilty for not speaking out about it earlier if it weren't for others who had also felt that way and kept quiet as well. You weren't exactly friends with their friend group, you had always felt yourself to be a side character.

Chad had always been all over Liv. They were cute, sure, but there was no need for that PDA. Mindy was constantly going on about different horror movies, as well as still somehow complaining about not having a girlfriend and not wanting to commit to one. Wes was caring and all, but he could also get annoying at times. He had been the only one in the friend group who had felt the off feeling about Amber. It seemed like he and Amber were always bumping heads about Tara.

When Wes died, and the news got out about Amber being the one behind the killings along with Sam's boyfriend, Richie, you knew why he had been killed. Amber felt like he was an obstacle—blocking her path to Tara, stopping her from moving forward with everything. But what frustrated her the most was how much he'd begun questioning her, noticing how strangely she’d been acting. You felt almost thankful for keeping your mouth shut about how you felt. It could have been you.

In all honesty, you and Tara had been close at one point. Back in elementary, you had always invited Tara over to your house after noticing how Tara would spend hours waiting for someone to pick her up after school. She'd sometimes mention how she'd be locked out of her house because her mother wasn't home. You had let her come over, you never minded it since the two of you were friends after all.

Looking back at it, knowing what you know now, it's a bit bittersweet. Knowing the only reason it would take a while for someone to pick up Tara was that she had to wait until Sam got out of school, then walk from her middle school to Tara's elementary school, and finally bring Tara home. The times that she would say she was locked out of the house were either her mother was off getting drunk anywhere she could or her mother would lock her out as a form of punishment.

The thought of you not being there for her earlier had always stung. What about the times that it was raining? Was Tara out in the rain alone? You could never bring yourself to ask her, careful not to bring something up that could take her back to that time. You two had stuck together since those days in elementary when she'd come over constantly. Middle school is when it had gotten a bit rocky, Amber had finally come into the picture.

Amber was new, and Tara had always been too kind and understanding for her good. One day of simply showing Amber around the school had turned into having lunches together or hanging out after school. Days when you'd hang out with them or even with Tara alone, you had always felt Amber's burning glare and jealousy, even from behind. You always ignored it though, being able to hang out with Tara was worth it.

It was around this time that you had begun to like Tara and not in a normal friendship platonic way. It was easy to fall for Tara, or so you thought so. She was pretty, inside and out. Her face had always perfectly reflected her beauty on the inside. You were sure that Amber somehow knew that you liked her because of the constant glares. Still, you ignored her because you knew Tara way before Amber had ever known her.

Ignoring, however, had made it worse even though you were trying to steer away from conflict. Amber didn't take you ignoring her lightly. She began finding excuses to take you and Tara's time away from you. Saying anything that would make sweet and naive Tara feel guilty for leaving Amber behind. Hangouts between you and her had become hangouts between the three of you. Then, slowly, Tara slipped away from your fingers and right into Amber's arms.

You tried not to dwell on it too much, as was expected, but it had hurt how it had seemed so easy for Tara to forget and replace you. You weren't angry with Tara, but you were bitter with Amber, yet you held your tongue for Tara's sake.When high school rolled around, rumors had gone around during freshman year that Amber and Tara had begun dating.

This had set you off; your friends hadn't heard the end of it for almost that entire school year. Everything that you see them do, you feel more bitter. That never stopped your feelings for Tara, though, they had only grown since Tara stayed her usual sweet self that had always swept you off your feet. Sophomore year, you spent your entire time busying yourself with your studies and soccer practice. You shut yourself away from hearing things about Tara and Amber's 'amazing' relationship.

That's when junior year rolled by, it seemed like you had some luck this year. You and Tara shared a math class, Algebra II, without a certain possessive girlfriend around to keep you away from Tara. You're sure that Amber noticed you two shared a class because Tara wasn't as talkative with you. Maybe you had grown apart? Or maybe Amber had told her to stay away from you? 

Senior year is when it all happened. It was hard to keep up with all the information that felt like it was being thrown at you. First, Tara's attack, then the following murders, Sam being back in town with her weird boyfriend, and Amber suddenly getting more controlling and possessive.

Tara, on the other hand, felt like she had been thrown into the eye of the tornado. She was both happy and bitter that her sister had returned after having no contact with her for so long. Just because she had gotten hurt, she returned? It sounded like bullshit to her, but a big part of her had missed Sam. 

Sam had been around to meet Amber, having left when Tara had been in 8th grade. She never liked Amber; she had always felt something was off about her, and no matter the countless times she told Tara that, Tara had always defended Amber. Upon seeing that Amber was still a part of Tara's life and now has a more important role than a friend, it irked her a bit. Amber had been bitter with Sam from the moment that she returned; maybe it was because of everything Tara had opened up to her about Sam, or maybe it was all a part of the act.

When it had been just Sam and Tara in the room, she had asked Tara where you had gone. "Whatever happened to her, I liked her." She had said. Tara had dismissed it with a small excuse, but hearing your name had tugged at her heart a bit, though she quickly ignored it. When Tara thought back to then, it made her feel stupid how she hadn't reached out to you sooner, but she knew that she was stuck in a position she couldn't leave. She was blinded by what she had thought was love with Amber. 

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Tara woke up on the couch in the apartment that she, Sam, and their roommate Quinn shared. Quinn was out, probably on some Tinder date that would end in her staying the night with her date. Sam had been working late shifts, still trying to afford both the apartment and now Tara's education as well. She awoke to the sound of a phone ringing, a small groan escaping her lips. 

She sat up on the couch, sighing before grabbing her phone off of the coffee table. She didn't care to check the contact name, she simply picked up the phone. All she had heard was a static noise, which caused her to furrow her eyebrows. A breathing noise was heard through the other end of the phone. Suddenly, the noise of the front door's knob jingling had caused her to be on high alert.

She felt herself retreat to the state she was never able to leave behind. Her hands shook as her heart began to pound, dropping her phone on the floor. A soft thump was heard as her phone fell onto the living room carpet. She completely froze, not knowing what to do and even if she had known, she was too paralyzed by fear to do it. 

Eventually, the door opened and she clasped her hand over her mouth, her other hand grabbing the remote from next to her on the couch. Felt tears beginning to prick from the corners of her eyes.

"Tara! Sam asked me to check up on you-" You had begun saying before you felt the remote hit you in the head to which your hand reflexively held where the remote hit you on the head. "Gah! What the-"

You felt your words die on your lips as you saw Tara in the state she was in. Her sigh of relief did not go unnoticed by you as you began putting two and two together that you had triggered her. Before you could say anything, you saw tears slip from her eyes and roll down her cheeks. You put down the bag of take-out that you had brought for her to eat onto the coffee table before rushing to her. Kneeling in front of her a waterfall of apologies escaped from your lips.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Tara, it's just me. I came to check up on you, Sam just wanted to make sure you were okay." You said as you leaned up, wrapping your arms around her. She quickly responded by wrapping her trembling arms around you.

Ever since attending Blackmore with Tara and her friend group, completely unplanned, you had gotten back into touch with her. You were one of the only 'outsiders' that she trusted with Tara to check up on her on nights like this. It would be considered a bit pathetic how you seemed at Tara's disposal. Everything she needed, you wanted to give her. 

So, for every message, call, and hang out, you'd immediately accept. Tara knew you liked her but she could never bring herself to be honest with herself about her feelings for you. She just knew it felt good to be cared for by you and to have your attention. All your actions were right, she just couldn't bring herself to trust to love someone and trust someone again.

The thought of a relationship was completely out of her mind until it came to you. This was quickly shaken away by her clouding thoughts of fear. She can't deny the pull to you, but she also cannot deny the thoughts that practically consumed her. Still, she continued to see you. She continued to call on you and be around you. She thought that the two of you had come to the understanding that things between the two of you were casual and light. 

Any time that you had begun to bring up wanting more than stolen kisses and secret cuddling, she'd quickly change the topic. You almost felt embarrassed for wanting to ask what you two were. Then again, you felt like it was better to have her this way than not at all.

"Are you okay?" You asked as you pulled away from the hug, your hands cupping her face to carefully examine her. Her tears had calmed, her breathing a little shaky and uneven, but she still had nodded.

"Yeah, I'm okay." She said with a small sniffle, "Just everything felt like... Never mind." 

"I'm sorry. I just came to check up and bring you something to eat." You said as you began peppering her face with soft and short kisses, trying to make her feel better and partially so she could forgive you. 

"You need to eat." You had added as you pulled away, tucking her bangs behind her ears as she nodded. Sending her a small, soft smile, you began to unpack the takeout for the both of you.

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A/N: I'm going, to be honest, I did not expect to write so much. I had to cut it short because I was going to go on and on. I'm beginning to contemplate turning into a fic as well. The words sort of flowed out of me, and there definitely is a plot that I can build on. I hope you guys enjoyed this! Again, I am currently making the next part to 'Make it Right,' this was meant to be like a little filler to keep you guys entertained, and I started a whole new fic. I'm going to hope to finish the next part of 'Make it Right' and post it sometime tomorrow. Thank you all for reading, as well as for the support on my last post! Bye, lovelies!

[alastorsfuckassbob]

We'll Meet Again

Alastorxfem!reader

Part two to "you're never fully dressed without a smile"

Plot: You're down infamously bad for Alastor. You work for a shift for Valentino and somehow you end up at everyone's favorite hell based hotel! I swear to god you will make physical contact with deal Al by chapter 3.

A/N: OH GOD THIS IS A LONG ONE, and honestly for an Alastor fic really Valentino and Angel Dust focused- but like any good story there are more than two characters so we should develop them✨

As always, minors DNI-

Somehow we got spicer and a bit more angsty so read the warnings and think critically if its something you really want to read

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️

-Domestic Violence, Abusive Relationships

-Swearing

-Valentino (has to be its own warning)

-Smoking and Alcohol use

-Sexual Innuendo

"Y/n"

"Y/n, please let me hear you. Your voice lights a fire within me that I cannot ignore"

The static popped, heartfelt and genuine, the phrase echoing throughout the dimly lit room and deep into the pits of your soul. It reminded you of those late nights spent at the studio with him. Of the memories you had created with him, you spent the least time mulling over your time at the station. It was just too much to handle, you would sit for hours talking about whatever fancies fit the time, swaying to the complex chords and swing of the music. No matter what mood you walked in with, it vanished the moment your frame entered his arms. Your hand grazed the edge of your cheek in the mirror imagining how his hand traced the outline of your face as it so often used to do. The show had hundreds of listeners, you were speaking to the world so it would appear, but anything and everything you said or played was made strictly for each-other.

Here you were, lost in time once again. You had missed those little moments, far more than you anticipated. You had always been one to get lost following the tracks of memory. but this..this was different, your body felt as if it was buzzing. His honey lined transatlantic accent reverberated throughout your skull. Sickeningly sweet, holding desperation but still not depravity. It lacked the typical Sadism and savagery, a commonality in your hellish experience. The wicked pair usually found itself wrapped around your arm and caught against your throat. You had become accustomed to those feelings of desperation, but somehow his was different. He hadn't said much of anything and it felt like he had bottled every sweet nothing and loving whisper he had uttered in your direction throughout your life, and poured them into his tonality all at once. The static grew heavier.

"Y/-n y-y-N"

his voice became distorted and crackled. He kept speaking but the words were mangled and malformed. You couldn't quite make out what he was attempting to get across. You couldn't lose him not another time, even if you hadn't really "had him" again.

It was enough to send you into a fit of desperation.The incoherencies faded out, only deafening static remained .

"Alastor"

your wavering voice filled with alarm. You rushed to the radio nearly falling of the counter as you did so. You feverishly tuned the knob hoping for just another moment with him, even if it was just audibly. The electricity crackles, and dark grey smoke erupts from the small box and into your face. You cough rapidly upon contact. The fire sparks, promptly melting the exterior of the radio.

"shit fuck shit fuck shit"

You rasp between coughs. Something ablaze was not entirely out of the ordinary, yet you remained panicked. you thoughtlessly unplug the radio, scalding your hands in the process. Not knowing what else to do, you throw the newly aflame radio into the tub. It wheezes out another plume of smoke before sinking down into the water.

"well that isn't..ideal"

You decide its a tomorrow issue and head off to sleep. Still slightly shaken up, you throw on a silky nightgown and plop into your bed. You wouldn't find peace in your sleep, you never did. You closed your eyes unready to face your demons but too exhausted to care.

The next day comes to pass sooner than you'd care to admit. You don't feel well rested, but you can't find it in yourself to go back to sleep. Your thoughts are still so dreadfully plagued with Alastor. The way his lips felt on your own, the soft gentle curl of his hair. Everything aspect of him was so fundamentally perfect. Even his so called flaws. He may be an attention seeking idiot, but he was your attention seeking idiot. That was all that mattered. You'd be happy to do most anything to supply him his attention fix. You looked at the clock across from your bed, it was already noon. You had told Angel you'd be at the club around one. Unhappily, you rolled out of bed grabbing another outfit from your closet to change into. You applied some simple mascara, and tied up your hair. You could finish getting read with Angel Dust like you usually did.

You arrive at the club meet Angel, you liked to arrive a few hours before your call time just to talk with each other. You had vastly different schedules but you made it work. You walk through the lobby watching other scandalously dressed demons go about their daily life. You could have sworn you saw a flick of shadow watching you from behind the other inhabitants. You shook it off, you didn't sleep well, its possible you're just seeing things.

You arrive at your dressing room, and knock at the door. Its a calm and quiet environment. The eye before the storm working tonight will plunge you both into.

"the fuck do you want, can't a guy do his eyeliner in peace"

you roll your eyes before opening the door, he glances back at you.

"oh hey toots, didn't expect you so soon- you're not late"

"Fuck off angel"

you sit down in your chair and begin brushing out your hair. Val was very particular about the image you portrayed, even if your hair was already curly he'd want it to curl differently, If it was straight, he'd want it consistent coiffed to his liking.

If you didn't have hair he'd probably get you a wig of some kind. You glance down at the black porcelain mask on the counter. It was delicately painted with small golden roses. It was the only thing between you and an army of horny fans. Angel finishes his eyeliner with a small flick of a wing.

He stands up and takes the brush from you. He combs through the ends making sure there aren't any tangles left before grabbing the curling iron. To be quite honest, you both absolutely sucked at doing your own hair, so you did each others. It was nice, and he always made you look good. You had known angel for quite some time, you felt like you knew who he was but nothing about him.

He was always rather private about the details of his life before hell. You had gathered he was Italian by his sound, and that he had been involved with the mob from small anecdotes he sometimes shared.

It didn't really matter who he used to be, he was your friend and you loved him.

"I mean this in the nicest way possible y/n, but you look like shit" He grabbed a strand of your hair wrapping it around the wand.

"oh gee thanks" you deadpan

"long night?" he asks releasing your hair from the curling wand scrunching it slightly.

"something like that, how about you, you look shockingly well rested, and i doubt its just the concealer"

"I'm staying at a new place" he continues working his way around your head.

"Val let you leave?" a hint of shock permeated your voice

"he can't dictate where i stay when i'm off the clock babe" He grabs a smaller curling want and begins with some small face framing pieces.

"does he know?" you ask hesitantly. You didn't want to upset him.

"I don't think he's caught on yet, probably figures I'm just out getting drunk and high off my ass"

"to be fair you often are"

"you're no angel either y/n" He rolls his eyes, he picks up the larger wand again and re-curls a few more of the back pieces.

"where did you move off to?"

You were lucky to have your own apartment. Most souls under contract with Valentino stayed in the complex....Your situation wasn't much better but it was enough. To be completely honest, you only lived about a ten minute walk from here. It wasn't much of a distance, but it was far enough Valentino would rather call upon some other, closer, unlucky soul outside of work hours to do his bidding. It was good enough. It was shocking to hear Angel had managed to find someplace with his cocaine habit and how little Val payed us.

"Its that rickety hotel on the edge of the Pride ring, I know it doesn't sound like much but its free" You almost visibly buffered from shock. How did he manage that? Then it hits you, he's probably sleeping there for free because he's sleeping with someone.

"who'd you have to fuck to get a room there"

"y/n" he groaned, slightly annoyed by your antics.

"No angel I'm serious, its hell people don't just give things out for free" you mused at his reaction.

"I didn't have to fuck anyone, its run by the princess, shes trying to rehabilitate souls"

"is that even possible" your mind began to swim with possibility.

"i dunno, i don't really care. It gives me a space to just exist..as myself..away from all of this"

your hand finds his way into one of his.

"i understand what you mean" your voice comes out no more than a whisper.

He continues curling your hair silently for a bit. Angel had his issues but he was a good person. He just found himself in a bad situation. Unexpectedly, he broke the silence. You two had a lot in common, including your tendencies of avoidance.

"you should live there too y/n, its free, and theres a bar, the bartender isn't too bad looking either."

You smile at the thought, it would be nice to get away from it all. Thats all it could be though, a thought. You were already on such thin ice with Val.

"Angie dear it sounds nice, but we both know I'm already Val's least favorite sinner. I shouldn't aggravate him more" you say with a defeated huff. Angel wraps another tendril of your h/c hair around the wand

"You can't let his life be your only life. I'm not stupid doll, I know you've been spending a lot more time around here." He's visibly and audibly frustrated.

He stays quiet for a minute picking up another strand of your hair.

"you're more than what you can do for Valentino okay? you were a person before you're still a person after, don't let him take everything from you." his voice becomes quiet, almost unrecognizable. Its velvety in a way, he speaks almost as if he's telling you just as much as he's telling himself Its the realest you've ever seen him be.

He quickly shakes it off

"his ugly mug cant be the only thing you see, I swear to god every time I look at him I throw up a little" He releases your hair from the curling iron stepping back to admire his work.

"now don't you look riveting" A jokingly seductive tone takes hold of his voice.

Your mind sparks with an idea, why complain about Val when you can just straight up mock him?

You stand up, rushing to the clothing rack, sift through the items before finding a long cherry red robe. Naturally its angel's. Its far too long for you, the second set of arms gets a little confusing, but eventually you slide it on. You sit back seductively on the counter mocking good ol Valentino.

"angel dust! you slut! you're fucking 20 guys before lunch! " You cross your arms dramatically before standing up on the counter. You strut across, being careful not to step on any of his things, but still maintaining the destructive energy Val usually carries.

A wild smile courses through your features, you grab the magazine Angel had been reading before you came in and throw it back into his face.

"Heres the 40 page shockingly kinky script about some kidnapping scene in France you have an hour to memorize, ignore the syntax errors and improvise!" He looks up at you baffled. I mean, you were right-He starts laughing uncontrollably,

"y/n what the fuck" he sputters out

You laugh along with him. He reaches up placing his arms around your waist, putting you onto the ground with very minimal effort. For a second you feel a bit like a house cat hopeless dragged off the counter. Angel was shockingly strong, for such a lanky guy he certainly wasn't flimsy or weak

A smug look overtakes his features

"let me show you how its really done"

He takes the robe off of your body and dawns it himself. He whips out a pair of bedazzled pink sunnies. Tilting them down, he gives you a cheeky wink. Once the knot of the belt is tied he is fully into character

"My siren! Y/n."

"oh god" you roll your eyes as angel begins his display. He walks across the room dragging you with him before twirling you into his arms. You cant help but be a little dizzy at the sudden motion.

"y/n, baby! You have made much so much money with that truly bodacious rack" He swings his arm around your waist. You both stifle a laugh as he drags his second set of hands across the shape of your body in the air in front of you.

"Angel I don't think Valentino would ever utter the phrase "bodacious rack", at least not in this existence" You form your fingers into little air quotes playfully rolling your eyes at him

"shh toots i am working on a real character here"

"Angel" you sigh

"shh" he hushes you again placing his finger against your lips.

Your collective antics go on for a little over two hours, stopping only briefly for you to style his fleecy hair. He looks at the clock before letting out an aggravated sigh. He pulls his body up from his chair.

"I gotta go doll, Val has me shootin yet another new movie before we shoot the scheduled "film", perks of being Hell's best actor" He grumbles grabbing his robe off of the floor leaving you alone in your shared dressing room.

You continued getting ready, expertly styling your newly curled hair and applying a thick coat of deep red lipstick. It wasn't too long after the door swung open. The suffocating smell of lust filling your lungs.

"My dear sweet y/n! how about we lose the mask for tonight?" Valentino burst into the room as if he owned the place. To be fair, he did. You still found it a bit off putting he didn't knock. Despite your profession, you valued privacy.

"Val-" You began, he cut you off.

"I don't believe I was asking." a smirk decorated his sly features.

"Respectfully, sir. It's not within my contract to appear as I truly am."

This shit again. Val was always on your ass about this. He always wanted more. Usually after a few minutes of arguing, he'd give up. There was nothing else he could do, so you don't think much of it. You pull out a cigarette, flicking the lighter, the small white stick begins to blaze.

You blow a cloud of hot red smoke in his direction. He rolls his eyes gritting his teeth in frustration. He takes a deep breath, sordid displays of force didn't work the best on you. You'd be frightened, but your stance would rarely change. Not unless he got physically violent, and quite honestly he was not in the mood today. You were not the most important thing to deal with. Its not that he didn't want to hurt you, he didn't want to waste his time. He tries a lighter, more manipulative approach.

"Think of how much success your beautiful little face would bring us. Sinners and Hell born alike already get off to your body, its just revealing a little bit more"

"No, I won't do it" your voice is small but resolute. He didn't have the patience for this. As soon as the word "no" left your lips Val had begun to lose it. "Wasting time" became a lot less important. Members of the Ars Goetia family would be present in tonight's audience. You had to look your best, so he could look his best.

"You are going to out there without that fucking mask and give all of hell a good show. You won't like what happens if you don't listen." He growled through gritted teeth

"Its breaking the contract. Val" You take another lazy puff from your cigarette. He ripped the cigarette from your hand, throwing it on the ground. He was done with your shit.

"I own you. Did you forget that, I own your body and your voice. you speak only when i want you to. You fuck who I choose. The only thing you technically have a right to is your name, isn't that right my little siren?"

His voice is sleazy to say the least, the tone makes you shudder. You couldn't help but think,

...was he right? you had asked to be anonymous, you never thought to specify how. He continued before you had a real chance to observe your thoughts. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, snakelike and seductive. He was getting tired of this, tired of you.

"the mask is getting old, hell will get tired of you if you don't give them more. you won't like what happens if they deem you all washed up.."

You attempt to move away, His grasp on your arm grows tighter. You flinch slightly from the pain, but not enough for him to notice. He wants to elicit a reaction in you, perhaps if you stay calm he'll give up.

"I have some very specific clientele coming to tonights show I need you to wow them"

You could hardly believe the audacity. Sure, Valentino was always kind of a prick but this complete and total discount of your previously agreed terms was relatively new. He had suggested removing the mask before and brought it up countless times, but this level of disregard was new. Screw being calm you weren't about to be this fundamentally disrespected.

"No I won't do tha- " his hand waves cutting you off. your voice caught in your throat the sigil on your hand marking his ownership glowing a dull faded pink.

"I can do whatever I please. I've let you forget that, I've been going too easy on you. Rereading our little contract brought me the enlightenment I needed. Those who bite don't get to speak" he pauses moving away from you taking in your figure.

"it looks like you'll just be dancing tonight, and what a wonderful performance that is going to be."

The click of his shoes taps against the stark white tile as he walks towards the clothing rack in the edge of the room. He hums, picking out a dark red burlesque outfit. He exchanges it for the mask from the table and breaks it in his hand.

"I think a more revealing number will compensate more than enough for your silence..don't you?"

Your last defense had been shattered. The last ounce of your personage robbed for the sake of pleasing some sleazy unsavory high end customer. You tried to speak but the words stayed nestled inside of you. You wanted to scream or talk honestly you'd take a whisper at this point, still, nothing. The anger in your heart welled its way up into your throat and without an outlet, your frustration took root in your tears."Great" you thought, "just what i needed to look respectable, yet another crying fit."

He grabs you by your shoulders, it had never registered how small you were in comparison. You knew he was tall, but in ten years, you'd never noticed how much taller he was. Usually the moth hunched over in some way to communicate better as his eyesight is less than superior...Yet here he stood a good three or four feet taller than you, anger almost visibly steaming off of his purple fur. two of his hands grasped firmly on your newly bruised shoulder, the other on your neck, and the last raised and ready to strike you. Closing your eyes you accept your fate. the contact comes and as soon as it does you are sprawled on the floor. Unable to move, unable to run. You had never been strong enough to fight. After all you were still the same person you were in 1936 and long after that. Your nose gushes blood, splattering droplets onto the tile as he abruptly jerks you up from the floor.

"maldita cabrona! quién se cree que es?"

he tuts clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It sounds oddly like the loading of a gun. Every aspect of his body was drenched this newly violent attitude. His moth like horns lined with anticipation, twitching with every rigid breath.

Valentino had gotten rough with you before but not like this. This time, it felt more real. He leans in closer, his face directly in front of your own. From another angle perhaps the pose looked sweet,loving even. The thought made you sick.His arm rested against your shoulder, just forceful enough to cause you pain but not so harsh to send you tumbling to the ground again. The sharp talons tipping his long fingers traced the edge of your face, deep red blood madly racing after it. He would have killed you then in there if you weren't such a "valuable asset".

"Next time you'll learn to listen, I've killed fuckers for less than this shit you're giving me. If I don't have the patience with angeldust I certainly won't have it with you, even if you're named hell's favourite pequeña pecadora." He pauses glaring deep into your eyes

"I made you y/n, i can take that away and kill you myself whenever i please. try not to forget that again"

His inflection is wickedly sweet, but not sugary enough to hide his true malice.

He grunts in frustration, throwing you against the dressing room table, the back of your head shatters the mirror. An all too familiar feeling. He laughs viewing the position he's put you in, it is a dry, heartless, and dirty sound. The silence after is chilling. You close your eyes bracing for another impact that just doesn't come. He must have gotten bored with you, he usually did after a while. The door finally slams, the lights of the dressing room flicker and then click off. You slide down onto the floor, all you are left with is the small pool of blood and regret.

The performance that night felt like an eternity. Your skin practically peeling off as lustful eyes burned holes through your skin. You had drank a few more than too many cocktails. It wasn't nice to refuse a gift, and it kept you a little less than fully conscious. stumbling through the hallway you arrived once again at your dressing room. you sat down hopelessly viewing the dark purple bruises formed from your previous alteration through the shattered remnants of your mirror. So much for not "damaging the merchandise" as Val would so often say.A soft knock rattles you from your thoughts. the door creaks open and Angel Dust slides in. You silently look at each other's exhausted frame and scratched faces. Angel was the closest thing you had ever had to a friend, and just about the only person who could ever understand what you're going through. After all, your experience was modeled after his.

"Whats wrong y/n? cat got your tongue?"

Despite his exhaustion he kept up his usual performance. You didn't respond, you couldn't. The tears so expertly rimmed in your eyes threaten to fall. His expression falters and he walks up to you hugging you tightly. You didn't need to say or do anything to explain. He knew exactly what you were going through. For just a moment you relax into his arms.

A minute or so passes and you break the contact. You figure a little context wouldn't hurt. You motion to the glowing sigil on your wrist and then to your throat, hoping he understood the signal.

"You can't speak can ya doll?" He asked softly his hand ruffling your hair. You shook your head no.

"God i hate that fucking prick, he can't just play fair. Maybe if he did that sorry fuck wouldn't be making shitty porn and running washed out clubs for a living". He angrily paces around the room. As he speaks you grab an eyeliner pen and the back of some flier someone left taped to your door. It seemed like the easiest way to communicate. You messily scrawl the words

"Can I stay with you I promise its just for one night"

He takes the page from you a smile taking root.

"damn toots what happened to not mixing personal and professional life?" he joked. You sat there motionless, tears threatening to spill. He takes the hint and grabs a coat off of the rack wrapping it around your shoulders.

"I thought you'd never ask-I've been dying to hang out outside this shit hole. Let's head out, Its gonna rain soon and these boots are too hot to be messing with that acid bullshit"

He posed albeit dramatically earning a smile from you. He tilts his head towards the door and the two of you leave the messy dressing room behind. It was one of the few things you didn't have to worry about. After all, Valentino values appearances, any mess you had made would be gone in the morning. In one way or another, you could fuck up any way and make any mess, and Val would have it cleaned up. The only messes he wouldn't fix were the ones he made himself. The cuts on your body always lasted longer than your reflection in a broken mirror. Unlike you the mirror could be fixed.

Not long after you arrive at this so called "Hazbin Hotel"..you didn't have much to say other than it...seemed fitting. You walk up a few flights of carpeted stairs. His hand calmly connected to yours. He continues down the long winding hallway before reaching a large wooden door at the end. He unlocks the room, and it is exactly what you'd imagine it to be. An embodiment of everything "angel dust".

A few hours and a pack of cigarettes later, the rain starts. The acid falls from the sky burning sinners and generally..most everything in its path. The sizzle on the sidewalk almost sounds like the crackle of a record player. Leaning further back into his bed, you pull out yet another cigarette. Your hand waves, gesturing towards the box and Angel takes the last of the pack. He lights the end of yours first and then clicks the lighter again in an attempt to get his own fix. However the lighter had other plans, it pops and ticks before sputtering out completely. He strikes it a few more times to no avail

"Shit what does a guy gotta do to get a decent lighter in this shit hole"

His arms raised above his head in some odd exaggerated performance of anger. Despite the lack of necessity, you found the fake drama to be amusing. It reminded you of Alastor in some strange way. It was different than the usual drama you found yourself viewing. Hell is full of overdramatic assholes, at least Angel isn't.. cruel. You take the first hit of your newly lit cigarette. The pink smoke fizzling into your lungs, giving you a sense of calm you cant really find anywhere else.

"What you aren't gonna share?" he deadpans before he presses the edge of his previously unlit cigarette to yours.

You look at him as if to say "Angel you dumb bitch that never actually works you're just going to put mine out and then we'll both be miserable"

He rolls his eyes with his signature smug look. He presses his cigarette a bit closer to your own. Shockingly it lit up in a hot pink flame.

"Working with Val sucks but at least you learn a few useful things",

He deeply inhaled from his own newly lit cigarette, puffing the strawberry coloured smoke into your very clearly unamused face. Still. you couldn't help but laugh.. or you tried to anyway, not that it would have worked. You took another long delightful drag and sent the smoke his way. A fit of giggles ensued, at least on his part. You were just happy it worked and he didn't end up pissed off.

The action made you wonder, what if you weren't just meant to hurt others. perhaps you could light them up instead of burning them down. You sat there for about another hour, listening to Angel's sleep deprived rambles. It wasn't too much long after that your own exhaustion finally carried you safely into a well deserved slumber. It was peaceful, the most restful night you'd had since your fall into this desolate shit pit known as hell..For once you didn't "dream." You weren't haunted with his face. His shadow didn't suffocate you. The ghost of your past stayed simply that, a ghost.

The night passes swiftly. Almost as quickly as the stars had appeared they retreated deep into the hazy maroon sky and bright carmine clouds. The rain had stopped, somehow the damages caused weren't entirely discernible from the average look of things. It was then you heard radio static again.

Familiar and soothing, his gravelled voice broadcast to the denizens of hell.

"Good morning to all of you lovely listeners ! Today's broadcast is brought to you by hell's favourite sinner, what isn't to love about that little starlet. Tune on in dearest, I've been hearing so much about you."

the music started softly carried by the wind and into your ears. You felt intoxicated.

We'll meet again

Dont know where, dont know when

but I know we'll meet again some sunny day

Keep smiling through, just like you always do

til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

It was irrevocably, unmistakably unquestionably him.

Alastor, your Alastor.. was in hell. Not to mention an overlord (shocker there). Despite that fact, you were evidently on his mind. He was speaking to you and only you. There was nothing you could do to respond.

So you listened, to his voice, the instrumentation, the melody, everything. Maybe it would somehow bring you closer to him...

Unbeknownst to the both of you, you were no more than a few rooms apart, enjoying your stay at the Hazbin Hotel.

a/n: I SWEAR I PROMISE YOU, ANGEL, AND ALASTOR ARE GONNA WRECK THAT LITTLE FUCKERS SHIT, dw

[shadowed-dancer]

Villains and Their Fates - A Tragedy Would Have Been Fine By Me

I've seen a lot of people who try to write off frustration with the league's fates by saying "you just wanted them to survive" or "you're just upset your favourite character died". And while that may be true for a few people, I know that it's at least not true for myself (which must mean there are others who feel the same way). So today I'm here to share my thoughts. Despite liking the villains and wanting them to be redeemed, I was also willing to accept a well written ending if they died. I just wanted to ramble a bit about the three main villains (mostly Toga) and how I felt a tragic ending could have been improved.

The only villain I felt should have lived is Dabi, but that's more because of the awkwardness his unconfirmed death caused for Shoto (read this beautifully written analysis for more). If Dabi had to die, he should have died on the battle field OR in the hospital surrounded by family where he gets a few last words in. Leaving his fate unconfirmed leads to the ruined Shoto arc, but is also just weird for a character who has existed for so long. You're telling me that even Overhaul gets a confirmed ending but DABI doesn't?

I've also talked a bit about how Endeavor's survival ruins the subplot, and in 426 he continues by making Touya's final appearance about him (rather than the two brothers) but that's something I've talked about too much. If Endeavor has to be alive and hogging screen time, the least Hori could do is imply Touya will survive rather than die, so at least Enji isn't literally stealing time from his other family members to have some interaction with Touya.

If Touya has to end up in that machine, an ideal ending would have been the doctor saying "it will be a gruelling and near-impossible uphill climb to recovery" and then Shoto can smile and say "he's done it before". Boom. Simple as that. Leave it open, but at least on a positive note so we can assume that the family will have plenty of time to reconcile, as opposed to an unknown (but limited) amount of time that Enji vows to use to talk to him (yeah I know it's supposed to be a sweet gesture but even Touya calls bullshit on it). Let Shoto and Touya eat their soba, damn it!

For Shigaraki, my grievances extend to the writing of the entire final battle between him and Deku. As such, I don't have much to say aside from that because it really is just a product of poor writing. Neither were really allowed to talk before the big moment (hell, the vestiges were narrating Deku's emotions half the time like "he must be upset, this quirk meant so much to him". Why not let him tell us???) and the back-and-forth of Shigaraki being destroyed and then not only to be destroyed again was too much. It felt sloppy and hard to follow, and once you figured it out it just felt dumb. It's as if each chapter needed some massive reveal, but the story had done it so much at this point that it just felt tired and like it was happening "because Hori said so", and that should never be what drives a story.

Speaking of "because Hori said so"...

Oh Toga. Out of all the villains, I actually liked her confrontation the most. (Lies. If Dabi vs Shoto was the end of Dabi's fight, THAT would have been the best. But the Endeavor fight ruins it). Despite having limited screen time, Toga and Uraraka had a surprisingly well-built dynamic. Their few interactions were actually meaningful and created a strong foundation for a fight, and at the very least they had more of a personal connection than Deku and Shigaraki ever did. I think that Toga giving her blood to someone she loves (as opposed to drinking/taking their blood like she had said the whole series) is a beautifully tragic end to her character, but still something that could have fit.

To me, the problem comes with how she died. Let me replay the scene for you: Toga stabs Uraraka in the stomach and Uraraka bleeds too much because she keeps moving around. Toga then realizes she doesn't want Uraraka to die. To save her life, Toga has to do a blood transfusion with herself as a donor and she dies because she has to give ALL her blood.

Now... sure. Ok. Fine. Yeah. Maybe by real-world logic this makes sense. I guess. Whatever. But within the world of MHA, this setup is laughable.

Here's a list of things characters survived (or at least, they survived LONG ENOUGH to get to a hospital rather than dying on the battlefield): Deku shattering his bones with 1 million percent, whatever happened to Best Jeanist when AFO attacked him, Nighteye getting a massive spike through the torso, All Might with "his entrails strewn across the ground", Bakugo becoming Swiss cheese, Grand Torino being punched so hard a crater forms beneath him, Touya being a literal flaming skeleton, Bakugo's heart exploding, Edgeshot becoming a worm. Mirko getting a limb ripped off and then running full speed at Shigaraki. That's just off the top of my head, I know there's probably more.

But you want to tell me that Uraraka getting stabbed and then moving was a fatal wound that required ALL TOGA'S BLOOD? ALL OF IT? The reason Toga's death bothers me is that the setup cheapens the actual moment of sacrifice. It feels preventable, so when she tells us that Uraraka is going to die without her blood, all I could do is roll my eyes because I'm not allowed to use critical thinking skills, I have to just accept what Hori says and take it at face value.

If the author wants you to live as Edgeworm despite saying you were gonna die, you can. But if the author needs a stab wound to be fatal and require ALL of someone's blood? Well tough luck bud, that's just how it goes. Mirko can run and move all she wants after having a limb ripped off, but moving a bit after one stab wound is fatal. Why? Because I say so.

If Uraraka's wound was actually serious then this ending would have been a beautiful tragedy. But as it stands now, the ridiculousness of her wound makes it all feel preventable.

Oh, there's also the fact that Toga switching blood types when she transforms was never established, but I've rambled enough.

That's it. Thanks for reading!

[avocad1s]

Bring Back What Once Was Mine

Chapter Summary: You learn of recent events that occurred in Teyvat and Lumine and Nahida search for your whereabouts.

Characters Mentioned: Nahida, Lumine, and some other surprises

Note: Part one did way better than I was expecting, thanks so much for all of the love on it :>

Content Warning: Cult and Religious themes ahead! You’ve been warned. Reader is the true creator of Teyvat. GN! Reader

Part One Part Two (You are here!) Part Three

This is partly beta read but it’s also the middle of the night and I’m half sleep so… yeah :)

At the same time, in another nation.

Despite not being the God of Wisdom, Morax, going by the name Zhongli now, would consider himself intelligent.

Yet this was the first time in centuries that he had felt this conflicted.

When his God first returned he was overjoyed, finally he would be able to talk with them again. Yet that feeling of ecstasy didn’t last long, soon he noticed something odd about their behavior.

At first he brushed it off, The Divine One was gone for a while and maybe during their journey the activities they used to enjoy didn’t make them happy anymore. Yet it was as if their entire personality had changed and he couldn’t help the feeling that kept growing in the back of his mind.

Doubt.

If anyone else knew about this, he knows for a fact he would be replaced and possibly killed by The Divine One themselves. So he pushed this feeling down, pretending that nothing was amiss for as long as he could.

Well until he decided to vacate his duties as the Geo Archon.

With the help of the Traveler he had planned his own funeral, and right after, he gave his Gnosis to the Fatui.

Even though the Traveler has questioned why he had given away his Gnosis to the nefarious group, she quickly let it go once Zhongli had explained the contract they had made. Despite not knowing the true details of the contract.

-

“So in exchange, you want my Gnosis?”

“Indeed. I think that’s a fair exchange, don’t you?”

“I agree… I accept the terms of this contract…”

“If things go as planned I will send one of my Harbingers to collect your Gnosis, Morax.”

-

Zhongli shakes his head clearing his mind of the conversation he had with the Tsaritsa in the past. He sips his tea mindlessly listening to his boss go on about another two for one deal she had thought of.

In Sumeru

“Where could they have run off to?” Paimon groans, “Paimon is getting super tired.”

“You don’t even walk, you float.” Lumine retorts a deadpan look on her face.

The fairy scoffs, “floating gets tiresome too you know!”

Lumine decides not to respond to Paimons defense on being tired, instead she looks down at Nahida who was walking closely next to her.

“Hey Nahida…” Lumine begins. “When you said you had your own suspicions, what did you mean?”

The Dendro Archon’s steps falter, “Traveler I have a lot of trust in you. You saved me from the Sages and done so much more for Sumeru and because of this I’ll tell you.”

Lumine stops walking putting her full attention on her. Paimon, who was just as curious, stops as well.

“Not long after you saved me and I noticed I had missed the descent of The Creator, I went into Irminsul to see what memories there was of them so I knew more about them.”

“Wait, Irminsul has memories of The Creator?” Paimon gasps.

Nahida nods, “Yes, The Creator is the one who made Teyvat after all. Anyways-“ The Archon brings her hand up to her chin, “All of the memories Irminsul had were complete contradictions to how they are now. The only thing that is the same is how they look.”

Lumine’s eyes widen, “so do you think… that the one we’re looking for is the true Creator?”

The girl let’s out a sigh, “Truthfully, I want to talk to them and get a read on them myself. There is a possibility they are the true God .”

“Does anyone else know about this? The Akademiya?”

Nahida shakes her head quickly, “This is very sensitive information and it could put others lives at risk, but I know that if I’m correct, you’d be the best one to help me.”

Lumine nods trying to ignore the feeling of dread crawling up her back.

“We should probably keep moving.”

Sumeru was much different than the last time you’ve seen it.

Besides it being more advanced, it gave off the feeling that it was more peaceful. Maybe the citizens finally started dreaming.

You let out a huff as you stare down at a river you had to cross. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem since you would just use your abilities to do what you needed, but you were trying not to use your powers at all.

When you had gave out the Gnosis to the Seven Archons, you gave them a bit of your grace which is how they became Gods in the first place. Not only did the Gnosis give them the power to wield elemental energy without a vision but it also gave them a closer connection to you.

So anytime you use your abilities, the Archons would know.

You reach down pulling off your shoes, it was already annoying that you had to walk, the last thing you want to do is deal with wet shoes.

“Hey!” A high pitched voice called out, “I think I found them.”

You let out another sigh recognizing the voice instantly. It was that weird… floating… creature that tagged along with that outlander. The sound of hurried footsteps caused you to turn around.

You were right. It was the blonde girl and her companion but this time they were with someone else?

Your eyes widen a bit, but not enough to give away your shock.

This girl with them was definitely one of the Archons, the Dendro one to be exact. Yet this wasn’t the Dendro Archon the last time you had came to Teyvat so that must mean…

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Lumine says in between breaths.

You smile, “I appreciate your care, but you didn’t have to go all out of your way just because you found me in the desert. I feel fine no-“

“I met The Creator.” Lumine interrupts, “you two share the same face.”

Well damn, you didn’t keep this a secret for very long.

“So you know…” you say calmly to them. They all share glances with each other then look back at you.

“How is that possible?” Paimon asks, “how can two Creators exist at the same time?”

You drop your shoe’s sliding them back on before crossing your arms, “well I’m guessing since you’re not attacking me or trying to arrest me you have your doubts about the ‘Creator’… I’m guessing that it’s Kusanali’s doing.”

The Archon gives you a perplexed look, “you know my name?”

You nod. “Of course I do, with my connection to Teyvat it would only make sense, right?”

Well there was no point in acting ignorant now, they had already confronted you with the information.

“So…” you drag out, “why did you come all the way out here to find me?”

Lumine leans back and forth on her feet awkwardly, “well actually The Creator…er-“ she was hesitant, as if she didn’t know what to call them, “they asked me to bring you to them.”

You nod understandingly, “and are you going to do as they asked?”

Lumine looks down at Nahida then back at you, “well after talking with Nahida, I have my doubts if they are truly who they say they are.”

You want to smile, but fight it. It seems that the God of Wisdom is still living up to the reputation. Even if it is someone else.

“Well I guess there’s no reason to lie anymore. I am who you believe but I have no way to prove it to you yet. It would make my presence more…noticeable to others.”

Nahida gives you a smile, “I believe you. Proof isn’t necessary.”

Lumine and Paimon whip their head to stare at the white haired girl, “what do you mean proof isn’t necessary? You just said-“

“I’m know.” She interjects, “but now that I am standing here face-to-face with them. I can feel the special connection that Irminsul and the scriptures deep within the Akademiya we’re talking about.”

Nahida looks back at you and continues, “Lumine, I’m not sure if you feel it but standing here with them now I feel a warmth that I don’t get from the one on the Throne. Not to mention that not a single monster had attacked us since we had gotten into a certain radius of them.”

Lumine’s jaw drops a bit as she watches Nahida give you a small bow a look of guilt in her eyes. “I apologize for my foolishness, I should’ve known that they weren’t who they say they were.”

This time you don’t fight the smile from forming on your lips, “you don’t have to apologize, whoever they are, them pretending to be me was supposed to be uncanny. If the Archons could tell from one look that they wasn’t The Creator then I doubt they would’ve tried.”

Lumine was still a bit unconvinced. She couldn’t trust Gods that easily since one had taken her brother away from her. However she does trust Nahida and if Nahida believes you are who you say, she will go along with it too. She hopes that she’ll have the time to ask you about the unknown God or even Khaenri'ah.

“So there’s actually something I wanted to ask you…” you sit down in the soft grass crossing your legs. “Being an Archon, I’m guessing you spent lots of time with the one on the throne right?”

Nahida nods.

“Could you tell me… have they changed anything?”

It was silent for a moment as the God of Wisdom hesitates to answer your question.

“Actually there is one thing.”

You perk up giving her your full attention.

“They want to invade Snezhnaya… They are trying to get the other Archons to declare war on the nation.”

“What!” You exclaim, “why? Why would they do that.”

“Well the Cryo Archon, the Tsaritsa, had closed off her nation a few years ago and won’t let anyone in, even them. No one is for sure why, but when one of her Harbingers were in Sumeru I tried to ask him and he said ‘we will all know eventually’”

“Oh Paimon remembers him,” you notice her shudder at the thought, “he was super creepy and dangerous!”

You let out a breath bring your hand up to you mouth, “I have to act quickly then. I can’t let that happen… Teyvat has already lost enough.” Your voice softens at the end, since you were mostly talking to yourself but judging from the looks on the girls faces, you assume they heard you.

“Is there anyway we can help?” Lumine asks suddenly. She didn’t even realize the words had left her mouth until it was too late, almost as if she had no control over herself anymore. Like she had the dying urge to help you.

You stare at her, “I’ve never met anyone who wanted to help a world they’re not even from. You’re different than others I’ve met.”

Your voice was so genuine and sweet that Lumine couldn’t help the smile that went across her face or the warm feeling the enveloped her at the sound of your praise.

“Well there is something you could do… all of you.” You stand from your spot on the ground, dusting any dirt off your clothing.

“Go along with the False Creator, make them believe you are loyal to them.”

“How can we do that?” The Traveler questions, “they said to bring you back.”

“Oh that’s right…” you mutter, “tell them I’m dead.”

“You want us to what?” Paimon shrieks.

“If the False Creator believes I’m dead they’ll stop looking for me and then no one else will be aware of my existence.”

“Wait, what are you going to do?” Nahida says.

“I’m heading to Liyue.” You simply explain.

“Alone?” Lumine says, “I can go with you. A lot of people trust me in Liyue.”

You give her a smile, despite how reserved she seemed to be when you had first told them about your true nature. Now she was basically jumping at the idea of helping you, maybe you had a stronger affect on her than she wants to admit.

“Thanks but I’ll be fine. I’m used to traveling alone anyways.”

The Traveler deflates a bit when you decline but nods.

“I’m counting on you… Lumine, Nahida, and Paimon.” You confess as you walk back toward the body of water you had plans to cross until they had interrupted.

The group of girls watch you walk off, once you were out of sight, they turn around heading back towards Sumeru City.

“What are we going to do now.” Paimon says once they start walking back.

“You two should tell the False Creator that they are dead, I’m going to enter Irminsul and see if I can find anything that will help.”

Lumine nods.

Once again the Traveler was thrown off their journey of meeting the Seven, but for once, she actually didn’t mind it one bit.

Note: I got a bit carried away with this part… and this isn’t how I wanted to end it originally. But I’ll just add that to part three instead.

© avocad1s please do not plagiarize or post to any other website

Taglist: @esthelily

if you’d like to be added, you can send an ask or just comment below. :>

[jamethinks]

Preliminary thoughts on 106

I've only read it once so i may have missed a few details so bare with me sexy

Donovan is such a well designed character. A menacing presence every time he's on a panel. I had to hold my phone at a healthy distance to get through this chapter. Beyond his signature bulging eyes, he has such a zombie like appearance to him that just leaves a horrible taste in your mouth

Damian's dynamic with his family is interesting. He's oddly optimistic, determined to have a bond with them despite their distance and coldness. He doesn't seem that interested in Melinda and I will give Endo the benefit of the doubt and say it's because they're already close (ignoring that she wanted him to die)

Demetrius is wonderful as always. Nonchalant king. He had not a concern about anything but his food and his work. Autism wants his number

Melinda was the stand out character. She was oddly quiet and timid in this chapter. Damian had no direct interaction her and she had few lines. Still there was something so unusual about her demeanor. She is normally very cheerful and bright, the only time we saw her this dull(?) was when Damian brought up his dad at the end the bus hijacking arc. At first I thought she was mad but looking at screencaps she seemed sad and uneasy but still a bit irritated.

Love how this chapter expanded on fucking nothing btw. A filler indeed. But a good kind, shows that when he's ready but the man cook.

Anya's absence in the chapter resulted in little to no thought bubbles. This further added to the tense environment. A lot of the tension in the story is subdued by Anya's (and to an extent Twilight's) perception. You're never fully lost or confused. This chapter however, you feel their absence as you're forced to watch these characters silently interact and only rely on what the author is willing to share.

Anya and Donovan have never interacted and his brief interaction with Twilight showed he has an intense amount of self control, hiding his intentions and responses cleverly. I will omit my tangent on the parallels between the two patriarchs for now but it's obvious they're good liars and manipulators. The same way Anya is Twilight's kryptonite (a person who cannot be lied to or manipulated) it's obvious she has the same dynamic with Donovan hence why the two of them have been kept apart for so long

Donovan's final comment about the dinner being worthwhile (man can someone compare the orig japanese version please) is the most captivating line. Two possible interpretations are: a, he genuinely didn't pick up on the terrible vibes in the room (touch of the tism, consequences of the lobotomy, who knows) or b. He did that shit on purpose

I like the second one more. The idea of him coming home and having dinner with his family fully aware of how awful they will feel the entire time is just peak villain shit. Choosing a random week in December to just make everyone miserable is the kind of evil I need.

I think of it as his way of reaffirming his dominance in the family. A cruel reminder of everyone's position in the family. As he sits at the head of the table gazing off coldly at his family while they all desperately avoid his gaze. The scene where he scans the room but his eyes barely move, oh what a wicked man.

Damian seems to still be learning his place in the family. He is again still trying to have a normal family life but he will soon fall in line I suppose much like his brother and learn how to stay quiet and work.

Donovan is clearly aware of his son's adoration of him and is using that to help "train" him. The moment where Damian was talking and he just sighs (vol 6) or his parting comment to slow down (indicating that he had been fully aware of his son the entire time, including his attempts to start a conversation).

tldr i love Donovan Desmond. They'll make me hate you, you ugly decrypted zombie man. 100000+ aura indeed. terrible terrible man

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 8: Stitches

AO3 Link  |  Masterlist

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: sexual themes/content; angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; hurt/comfort; tending to injuries; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); blood and injury; religious/cult-like ideas; character deaths (canon AND non-canon)

Note: I’m excited for this chapter!!

If you’ve read my first fic “You’re My People,” you might recognize parts of the second half of this chapter. I was going to rewrite the scene entirely, but then I reread YMP for the first time since I wrote it and thought “wait, i actually like this.” So I edited it to be a more accurate depiction of the current vibe/dynamic between our Prophet and our beloved Wolf, switched up the povs, and fixed any plot changes. And it has an entirely different ending!

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When Abby had asked you to stay behind, to wait for her back at the aquarium, you just shook your head, picked up your bow, and motioned for her to lead the way. 

Something was off with you. You had been silent for the entire trek from the aquarium to the theater, not asking a single question. 

You didn’t ask who had done that to Owen, Mel, and Yara. You didn’t ask what Abby was planning on doing once you got there. You didn’t ask why this was happening, why someone was tracking her down, how your own friend could’ve gotten caught in the crosshairs and ended up dead.

Which was good, because Abby wasn’t prepared to answer any of those questions right now. 

But you hadn’t even reacted to seeing Yara dead. Abby doesn’t think you even looked at her body, and you treated the huge pools of blood on the floor like they were puddles of rainwater on the street after a storm. Inconvenient but inconsequential.

She knew what this was. She’d seen it before in her friends and fellow soldiers. Hell, she’d done it herself plenty of times. When the hurt gets too big, you shut it down entirely just to make it through. It’s fine in the middle of combat – helpful, even. It becomes a problem when you can’t pull yourself out of it, when you close yourself off indefinitely.

If you didn’t snap out of it on your own once all of this was over, Abby would do it for you.

The two of you had been able to navigate the Seattle streets pretty quickly and without interference. The Wolves and the Seraphites must’ve still been busy killing each other on the island.

“Pinnacle Theater Presents: Cassandra, September 26” was plastered across the front of the building.

And now, staring at the entrance to the theater, Abby realized that she actually had no idea what she was up against. The lights were on inside, so someone was here.

She had seen Tommy Miller earlier at the marina, so she knew he would be inside, but Manny hadn’t said there was a trespasser; he’d said trespassers, plural. She could be in way over her head here, totally outnumbered. Jackson had been huge. They obviously had numbers and resources. But would they really risk those numbers and waste those resources just to avenge one guy? She didn’t know.

Did they leave the map behind on purpose?

Abby could be walking right into a trap. 

She could be leading you into one.

She was about to turn back, about to tell you it wasn’t worth the risk, when her eyes caught on the blood. It was on her hands, under her nails, staining her skin and her clothes. Mixed with the caked-on mud on her shoes. 

Lev’s blood. Yara’s and Mel’s. And Owen’s.

Owen, who had been Abby’s best friend. Who had loved her dad so much. Who cared for her, even when she’d done nothing but push him away. Who never abandoned her, even when he should have. Who continued to be there, to look out for her and support her, even after she broke his heart. 

Owen, who might’ve been the only person left in the world who loved her.

The person who killed him was inside this building.

“Let’s find a way in,” she said.

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On the side of the building, there was a metal ladder that was too high up for either of you to reach it on your own, but it led to a fire escape.

“Okay,” Abby said, “Grab that ladder.” She stood beneath it and intertwined her fingers over a bent knee, ready to boost you up.

Realistically, you didn’t think you would be able to reach it even if you grew a full foot taller and stood on top of her head, but you weren’t in the mood to argue. With your right foot, you stepped into her upturned palms and pushed up. Planting your left foot on her shoulder, you stood at your full height, one hand against the wall, and – as you suspected – still couldn’t reach. 

She said your name, clipped and strained, and then, through clenched teeth, “Jump.”

You did, but you wouldn’t have made it if she hadn’t pushed you up, practically throwing you at the ladder.

Holy shit, she was strong.

You grabbed hold of the lowest rung and had to use upper-body strength you honestly didn’t know you had to pull yourself up with your arms until your feet could reach that bottom step.

“Good. You’ve got it,” you heard Abby say from below as you made your way up, the hard part done now. Once you were standing on the fire escape, you quickly found the latch that released the ladder to its full length. Even then, it still didn’t come close to reaching the ground, but it was manageable.

You watched as Abby jumped to grab on and had to go through the same process of pulling herself up with her arms for the first few rungs. Once you were sure she would make it up okay, you turned away and started looking around. There was a window next to you that led into the building, cracked open and letting in the rain. You could hear voices coming from inside, crackling and speaking in code. 

A radio.

“Units Alpha, Bravo, Echo, come in.”

The metal shook as Abby finally landed on the fire escape, and she quickly moved away from the edge.

“Units Alpha, Bravo, Echo, please respond, over.”

Abby pushed the window further open and jumped into a small room with brick walls and faded wooden floors. You followed behind.

She shot you a quick look, putting a finger to her lips as if to warn you to stay quiet as she moved forward through the building, closer to the radio.

“What the hell is going on over there?”

Sounds like things aren’t going so great for the Wolves, you thought as you stepped quietly behind Abby.

She walked up to the work table where the radio sat and stopped in her tracks. You came around to her side to see what she was looking at. On the wall behind the radio, there was a larger map of the area, marked with WLF zone numbers, unit movements, names, and even Seraphite territories. Whoever was staying here had been tracking everyone, and they’d probably been using this radio to do it. 

But why? Who were they and why did they want Abby?

You glanced over to her, but she wasn’t looking at the map. She was staring down at the table at a collection of little photographs.

“These are Leah’s,” she said quietly. You didn’t know who Leah was, but you studied the pictures anyway. Each of them had names written at the bottom.

Abby and Owen. Mel and Owen. Nick and Nora. Manny. Leah and Jordan. (And one of just Leah with her shirt lifted enough to show off one of her breasts… You wondered who that was for.)

You recognized most of the names from the maps. Were all of them dead now?

Abby turned away from the pictures, leaving them there on the table as she moved over to study the map. 

Over the radio, a new voice said, “Site Two! This is Briggs from Unit Echo. Fuck!”

“This is Site Two. Echo, what’s the situation?”

Abby pushed off from the table and headed back out into the hallway, gun at the ready. You took another look at the pictures before grabbing them and shoving them into your pants pocket beside the things you’d taken from the island earlier. Whoever these people were, they didn’t deserve to keep these pictures of Abby and her friends. And maybe later, Abby would want them. 

“Isaac’s dead. It’s a fucking massacre!”

You smiled, despite everything. Your people were fighting back against those fuckers. 

Since when did you use – or even think – words like fucker?

And could you really call the Seraphites your people anymore?

You turned and sped down the hall behind Abby.

“Careful. Stay close,” she whispered once she heard you behind her.

The hallway opened up into a much bigger, wider space. You’d never seen an Old World building like this one before. Carpets covered the floor, some red and some with fancy patterns on them. The walls had colors and designs, the ceilings were so tall, and there was furniture everywhere. You wondered what this place had been used for. Maybe you could ask later.

Abby led the way down a winding flight of stairs, stopping just before going around the corner, holding a hand back behind her to signal you to stop. You lifted your bow and let out a quiet breath. 

A man’s voice came from around the corner, speaking with an accent that was unfamiliar to you.

“Fuckin’ Jesse,” he said. “He thinks I don’t know what real gold looks like.” Abby stepped around the corner, gun pointed at the man who had his back to you. You followed hesitantly, staying close. “Well wait’ll you see this, you son of a bitch. She’s gonna love it,” he went on, clearly talking to himself, completely unaware of the threat directly behind him.

“Hands up,” Abby said, voice cold and hard. He froze. “Back away from your shit.” When he didn’t move, she spoke more forcefully. “I said back up!” 

Slowly, he did, hands empty and out where you both could see them. “You’re making a big mistake–”

“Don’t fucking turn around,” she spit out, stepping forward. 

Her eyes darted to you for a split second, voice lowering as she told you to keep your bow on him. You did, moving around to his side, weapon raised and aimed and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. 

“Get on the ground,” she said, speaking to him again.

“You gonna kill me like a coward?” he asked, unmoving.

Abby didn’t answer. Instead, she kicked in the back of his knee and knocked him on the floor with one swing of her pistol. With the muzzle pressed into the back of his neck, her voice cracked as she mumbled, “You fucking people…”

The giant red doors across from you swung open, and before you had even registered that a young man was rushing through them, Abby had already shot him in the head. Someone else had come in right behind him, but they managed to duck behind the counter before either of Abby’s two shots in their direction could take them out. 

“Jesse!” the other voice gasped from their hiding spot, just as Abby said, “Stand up! Hands in the air or I shoot this one, too!” She trained her gun back on the first man. You kept your bow aimed at the person behind the counter. 

“Don’t you do it, Ellie! Get out of here!” the man said, rolling onto his stomach, holding himself up on his elbows.

“Stand up! Now!” Abby commanded. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Abby seethed, kicking him in the stomach. He let out a cry as she brought the gun closer to his head.

“Stop!” came the voice behind the counter. The girl stood up, hands raised, fingers extended away from the trigger of the pistol in her right hand. “Stop.”

You and Abby both took her in. 

She was probably around your age, with shoulder-length brown hair pulled half up. A bruise went across her freckled cheek, and a tattoo covered her entire right forearm. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly with her gasping breaths. Her eyes were panicked. And sad. And scared.

She looked… nice? Harmless?

This was the girl who helped kill all of Abby’s friends? Who killed Yara?

Instantly, there came a stinging pain in your chest so strong that it took your breath away. You’d been trying not to think about that.

You refocused and re-aimed.

“Toss your weapon,” Abby said. The girl hesitated. “Toss your weapon!” Abby shouted.

“Fuck!” Ellie breathed out as she flung her gun on the other side of the counter.

“No… no,” the older man muttered.

“I know why you killed Joel,” Ellie said, voice desperate. “He did what he did to save me. There’s no cure because of me. I’m the one you want.”

If you weren’t confused before, you definitely were now. Who was Joel? What did he do?

And what cure? A cure for the Infection?

You were really starting to wish you’d asked Abby more questions before you came here. 

“Just let him go,” Ellie went on, quickly gesturing to the man on the other end of Abby’s gun.

Abby seemed surprised by the girl’s words, taking a second to process and consider before her eyes hardened again. 

“You killed my friends,” she said, speaking quieter now. “We let you both live…” her voice quavered as she lifted her gun to aim at Ellie, “and you wasted it.”

Before she could pull the trigger, the man jumped up and pushed her arm to the side. The gun went off twice as they struggled for control of the weapon.

“Wait!” Ellie cried out.

“Get off of her!” you shouted, firing an arrow through the man’s leg. He fell back to the ground as Abby pointed her gun at his head and shot.

“Tommy!” Ellie had grabbed her gun again during the struggle, and you screamed as she fired a shot at Abby. 

It missed and Abby shot back, also missing.

The girl took off through the doors in the same direction she’d come from.

“Come on!” Abby said to you, running after Ellie.

On the other side of the doors was an even bigger room, filled with rows and rows and plush red seats, leading up to a giant stage. Ellie, already nearly to the stage, continued to fire in your direction, barely missing every time. 

You and Abby ducked down behind the back row of chairs, and her eyes met yours, both of you breathing heavily.

“Stay here,” she said, peeking over the chairs to locate the other girl. “Watch the exits. Don’t let her leave.”

You nodded, hanging back as gunshots continued to go off from the far end of the room.

Abby paused for just a beat longer before starting down the aisle, staying low but moving quickly. 

“Don’t you fucking run!” she shouted to Ellie, who you could now see on the stage. She had the advantage of higher ground and a familiarity with the building.

Please don’t die Please don’t die Please don’t fucking die, you pleaded over and over and over, as Abby made her way to the stage and out of sight behind the big red curtains that Ellie had disappeared into.

They were far away now, but you could still hear the struggle, followed by more gunshots and then more struggling. 

You held your breath.

But for once you did what Abby asked you to do. You stayed put.

Until several minutes later, when another woman – one you hadn’t seen before – ran out onto the stage, looking around frantically before dashing back behind the curtains, not seeing you from where you still crouched behind the last row of seats.

And now Abby was outnumbered back there.

A split second decision and you were up, running down the aisle after them. 

Behind the stage was a darker space, cluttered with junk from floor to ceiling. You moved carefully and quietly, heading towards the commotion.

When you came to a hole in the ground, you realized that the fight was now down below.

God, did they fall through the floor?

You quickly climbed down and dropped into the basement.

Just as your feet touched the floor, you heard someone scream. You ran, finding Abby down with the unknown girl above her swinging a knife.

You fired an arrow through her shoulder, and she fell to the side. And then Abby was on her, bashing the girl’s head into the floor.

You looked away, your eyes landing on Ellie, flat on her back on the ground nearby, conscious but unmoving, her face covered in blood. 

“Stop,” Ellie forced through dripping red lips as the other girl’s head hit the floor a second and third time. “Stop!” Ellie couldn’t even turn her head to properly look at what was happening to her friend. “She had nothing to do with this.”

Abby grabbed the girl’s knife from where she’d dropped it on the floor, grabbed her by the hair, and flipped her onto her back, holding the knife against her throat.

“She’s pregnant,” Ellie choked out.

Abby let out a few heaving breaths before pressing the knife closer. “Good,” she seethed.

“Abby!” you called out. 

She stopped, eyes softening as they met yours across the room. She watched you, read the plea in your eyes, and the fight seemed to seep out of her in an instant. 

She dropped the knife, pushed the girl to the side, and slowly got to her feet.

Ellie coughed, choking on her own blood as Abby stood over her, their gazes locked.

“Don’t ever let me see you again,” Abby said. A firm command. A sincere warning.

And then she walked away, passing you without making eye contact.

“Come on,” she muttered. 

You followed her out of the theater.

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Abby didn’t know where the hell she was going.

She had been walking through empty streets, blinking past the pouring rain, for who knows how long before it even occurred to her that she didn’t have a destination.

The thought of going back to the aquarium right now, of facing what was waiting for her there, made her sick.

Her body felt heavy. Everything hurt. It had been a long time since she’d gotten anywhere close to as fucked up as she was now.

That girl – Ellie – bit her. Hard. Like a fuckin’ rabid dog. And then Abby had hit her lower back on the corner of something hard when she fell through the floor and into the basement. She took some punches, got a knife buried in her left thigh, and that other girl got a few cuts in with her own blade before you shot her with an arrow.

And that didn’t even take into consideration everything else she’d been through today. The marina and the island and the aquarium.

It was… a lot.

She couldn’t really take stock of the total physical damage while she was busy trudging along down dark streets, but she knew that everything hurt. And she was definitely bleeding. And her body felt too hot but also too cold. And she was so tired. 

Shit, this wasn’t good.

Abby was aware of your presence behind her. She could hear you. But you hadn’t spoken at all, and she hadn’t looked at you once since you left the theater.

She needed to put some more distance between you and that place (and what happened there) before she could bear to do that, hoping that the further it was behind you, the further it would be from your mind.

But that’s not realistic. There was no way you would forget what you just saw.

She needed to know if you were scared of her now, if you didn’t trust her anymore. She saw the look in your eyes when you stopped her from killing that girl. You were horrified. 

You must think she’s a monster. 

She stumbled, her bleeding left leg becoming harder and harder to maneuver.

Here you were – this perfect, beautiful thing that came out of nowhere – and she had to ruin it with another revenge plot that ultimately accomplished nothing except to make the people close to her look at her differently, regard her more cautiously, whisper about her when she’s not around.

Did you see the look in her eyes when she beat Joel to death with that golf club? Brutal. What’s wrong with her? What kind of person could even do that? 

God, her life was turning into one sick, cyclical joke.

But you were literally the only person she had left, so she refused to turn around. Because if you still had that same look in your eyes the next time she saw you, it might break her. And she wasn’t ready to face that.

Abby stumbled again, this time more noticeably. She was able to right herself, but it took her longer to recover this time.

She was losing steam.

“Abby?” Your voice was as soft as the steadying fingers she felt on her shoulder as you walked around to face her. She kept her head down, still not wanting to meet your eyes. “Abby,” you said again when she didn’t acknowledge you, and then you were holding her face with both hands, cold fingers against her warm cheeks. You gently lifted her face until she had no choice but to look at you. 

She thought she might be crying, but she wasn’t sure for how long. 

Your eyes were wide, but not with fear or apprehension like she’d feared, not like you looked in the basement of the theater. You were worried about her. 

“We can’t keep going on like this,” you said. One of your thumbs was lightly, soothingly, grazing her cheek as you carefully studied her face. “You’re hurt.”

Her whole body shook with a sob, but you didn’t shy away. If anything, you pressed closer. 

Despite everything, she felt stupid for crying. She wanted to argue with you, wanted to be strong. She could keep going.

But you were looking at her like you cared, like maybe she hadn’t ruined everything like she thought. And she wanted you to stay close. To keep touching her.

“Come on,” you said, tilting your head towards the nearest building. A house. “Let’s at least get out of the rain.”

Abby nodded as your hands fell away from her face to pull your bow from where it rested over your shoulder and notch an arrow, and she was glad at least one of you had the wherewithal to be cautious of an abandoned building. If she had an ounce more energy, she’d be horrified to realize that neither of you had a weapon out until now. 

The front door was mostly intact and slightly ajar. You approached carefully, painstakingly forcing it further open with your shoulder, fighting against rusted hinges and warped wood. The floorboards creaked beneath your boots as you stepped inside, quickly scanning the entryway for anything or anyone that posed a threat. Abby followed behind you, trying not to visibly limp on her injured leg.

“You need to sit down,” you said over your shoulder, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. Under any other circumstances, she’d insist on making sure the building was clear first herself, but she wasn’t confident in her current ability to even make it all the way inside, much less up and down the stairs. 

With your bow still drawn, you led the way through the first floor of the building, passing a bathroom and a kitchen before arriving in what was once the living room. The room was filled with furniture in various levels of destruction and decay, somehow the most well-preserved among them being an old couch pressed against the back wall.

You pointed to it. “Sit,” you instructed. She moved toward the couch without protest and sat in the left-most corner, albeit very slowly. You set your bow down, leaning it up against the wall by the couch, and shrugged off a backpack you brought from the aquarium, digging around in the main compartment until you found what you were looking for.

You pulled out a small battery-powered lantern and your dagger. “I’m going to check the rest of the house, okay? I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

Abby let out a scoff, immediately followed by a pained hiss. “I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to,” she said. It would’ve sounded more cool and casual if she hadn’t had to say it through gritted teeth. And if she hadn’t been crying in the rain in the middle of the street two minutes ago. 

Just the thought of it made her cringe. It felt weird being the one who needed help, the one being taken care of. She really didn’t like feeling weak. But she was glad to be sitting down, glad to be near you, and glad you still seemed to want to be near her. 

Your face held that same hesitant, worried look long enough that she forced a small smile and attempted to reassure you with, “I’m fine. Go.”

She was lying and she could tell that you knew that, but you didn’t have much of a choice. You turned to go quickly search the house.

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The second floor was clear of any discernible threats but also of anything that would be useful in helping Abby. On your way back to the living room, you rummaged through the downstairs bathroom and a couple of mostly empty closets in the hopes of finding something. Medical supplies. Even clean cloths.

You found nothing there and moved on to your last hope, the kitchen. This room was even more ransacked than the rest of the house, so it wasn’t a surprise when you didn’t find what you were looking for.

You groaned loudly and dramatically, clasping your hands together on the back of your neck and casting your gaze upward in frustration.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Abby quickly asked from the other room, sounding ready to jump up off the couch and rush to your rescue even in her current condition. It made you smile, just a little, until you remembered that this was no time to be smiling.

“It’s nothing. The house is clear. I was just looking for some medical supplies.”

“Who needs medical supplies?” she asked, surprising you with an attempt at a joke. Either that or she was so out of it that she was starting to lose touch with reality.

“You do, Abby,” you said. “You need medical supplies. Urgently.” 

You were still staring up like the answer would be written up there somewhere if you just looked hard enough, when something in the space between the one of the top cabinets and the ceiling caught your eye. If you weren’t mistaken, it looked like the corner of a first aid kit, similar to the one Abby brought back from the hospital for Yara.

It was too high for you to reach standing, and there was nothing for you to stand on top of. The countertops were broken, the pieces scattered across the room, and the wood of the lower cabinets was rickety and unstable at best.

You were grumbling under your breath about high ceilings and unnaturally tall cabinets as you reentered the living room to find Abby almost exactly where you left her, left leg now up on the couch and elevated, right foot still planted on the floor. Both of her hands were hovering over the gash in her thigh like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to touch it or not, her face tense. She was in a lot of pain.

You pulled your eyes away and looked for something sturdy enough for you to stand on, eventually deciding on a mostly intact, only slightly wobbly small metal table. You dropped the lantern on top and started pulling it toward the kitchen.

“Do you really think now is the best time to rearrange the furniture, princess?” Abby asked, glancing at you in her periphery. She was joking again, and you knew that, but you couldn’t help the warmth that pooled in your cheeks at her use of that pet-name. But maybe humor and casual flirtation were just how she coped with pain. 

“I–” You cleared your throat, “I need something to stand on. I think I found something in the kitchen.”

“Aww, can’t reach the top shelf by yourself?” Abby asked, amused. She turned her attention from her leg to watch as you struggled to drag the table out of the room. It squeaked along the floor the entire way, making her laugh softly.

The fact that she was being playful with you started to ease your lingering panic about the state of her health. If she was cracking jokes, she couldn’t be that close to dying, right? A little rest and she’d probably be just fine.

“Crazy how you’ve lost like half your blood supply and yet you still have enough energy to tease me,” you said, your own teeth gritted now. The table was much heavier than you anticipated. “And for your information, the thing that I’m trying to get is not on the top shelf. It is above the top shelf. On top of the cabinet.”

“Uh huh. Sure… Take your time. I’m just over here casually bleeding out.”

You liked this. 

Was it weird to like this? 

It was nice when you just got to talk, when the world wasn’t actively burning to the ground around you, when things felt easy and wonderful and comfortable between you two. You’d seen glimpses of it over the last few days, had fallen into pockets of space where time seemed to stop and you got to feel happy. And hopeful. But those moments were few and far between and always over too soon. Selfishly, you wanted more of it. You wanted more time. More of Abby.

You were scared to hope for it, scared to want something so strongly. Your wishes had never come true before.

“Well,” you responded, finding your words, “I’m no doctor. But I’m pretty sure that if the knife had hit any major arteries, you would’ve bled out a long time ago. So you’ll be fine for another minute. Probably.” With one final shove, you managed to get the table where you needed it.

You carefully stepped up on it, hoping that some sadistic asshole hadn’t thrown an empty first aid kit all the way up here just to waste the time and energy of some poor desperate fool in need of medical supplies. (You, of course, being that poor desperate fool.)

After brushing off a thick layer of dust, you grabbed the handle. The kit was full.

“Yes!” you shouted, nearly tumbling off the table in your excitement. With the medical supplies and the lantern in hand, you rushed back to the living room.

Abby could tease you all she wanted and try to make light of the situation, but she couldn’t hide the look of relief that washed over her features when she saw what you were carrying.

And if you were paying closer attention to her face, she also wouldn’t have been able to hide the way her eyes went wide and her cheeks got visibly pink when you got on your knees on the floor in front of her.

“Uhhh hey, you can—you can sit on the couch.”

You raised your eyebrows, confused by her sudden nervousness. “No, the angle will be better this way,” you insisted. “Just bring your leg over here. That’s the worst of your injuries, right?” 

“I don’t know. Probably,” she conceded, avoiding eye contact as you helped her maneuver her injured leg so that her foot was back on the floor, practically between your knees.

There was already a tear in her pant leg where the gash was. So to avoid having Abby stand up and take her pants off or cutting all the way around at mid-thigh, leaving her with half a pair of pants for the foreseeable future, you opted to just rip the fabric a little more on either side of the tear, making it just wide enough to clean and stitch if necessary.

But it didn’t occur to you to fill Abby in on this plan before you did it. You took the already-ripped fabric of her pants in your hands and tore. And when she gasped in response, there was twisting heat in your gut that seems to be a recurring side effect of being close to Abby. You chose to ignore it in favor of focusing on the more urgent (and honestly less daunting and less complicated) task at hand.

“Sorry!” Your eyes darted up to her face. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, just… wasn’t expecting that.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you dug around in the first aid kit and started cleaning the wound. Abby was quiet as you worked, wincing slightly but remaining still.

The cut was deep, but as you expected it missed the femoral artery. You would have to stitch it up, though, and you told Abby as such. She nodded and watched you carefully as you quickly prepared, hoping to get this part over with as quickly as possible.

You moved even closer to her. Abby’s shin gently pressed against your front as you leaned over her knee, bringing your face closer, your movements precise and intentional.

She brought her hands down on either side of her legs, bracing herself. Her shoulders tensed, arms engaged. You allowed yourself one glance before tearing your eyes away, feeling guilty for ogling. 

Focus. 

You looked back down at her thigh and began.

As you worked, a strand of your hair fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear and into your face. You let out a light, annoyed huff. Before you could attempt to blow the strand out of your eyeline, Abby’s fingers gently brushed it back behind your ear. You felt yourself blush deeply, saying a quiet thank you before going back to sewing her up.

When the last stitch was done and you’d carefully wrapped the wound, you felt Abby’s fingers run through your hair again, this time for no other reason but to draw your eyes up to meet hers.

“Come up here,” she said, her voice low. You stood, bringing the first aid kit with you, and felt the springs in the cushions creak beneath you as you sat on the couch, facing her and closer than was probably necessary. 

You felt jittery, and it suddenly occurred to you that you’d never been this alone with Abby before. There had always been someone else close by, somewhere in the same building or around the next corner. But now it really was just the two of you. It was scary in an incredible, thrilling way that you weren’t accustomed to.

But Abby was injured and you were both tired and today had easily been the longest – and the worst – day of your life, even if you still weren’t letting yourself think about what happened.

No. You’d rather focus on Abby. On what she needed. 

You started searching her body, analyzing the rest of her wounds. Abby sat still under your careful ministrations, watching your face with a soft look in her eyes as you took stock of the damage. You found several cuts of varying depths across her arms along with the one under her eye. And there was something else on her right arm, below the elbow. You took her wrist in your hand, turning that arm towards the soft glow of the lantern.

“Did she bite you?” you asked, nose scrunching up in distaste.

“Oh,” Abby winced. “Yeah.”

“Ouch,” you said simply, and she laughed a little as you grabbed some more supplies from the kit. You began gently wiping away the blood surrounding her remaining injuries, cleaning all of the wounds and stitching up the deeper of the cuts. You saved the cut on her cheek for last.

It was clear to you now that things weren’t quite as detrimental as you had feared. With everything else taken care of, her face was the last thing that required your attention. The rain had done a poor job of washing away all the blood, but it seemed that much less of that blood had come from Abby than you had anticipated anyway.

“I can do that,” she said in a whisper when you went to clean her face.

“I know,” you replied, just as quiet. “I want to.”

A few moments went by in silence as you worked gently but diligently, eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” she said suddenly, quickly clarifying, “Not sorry that I did it, but sorry that you had to… see me that way.” Her eyes were downcast, and you wanted to hold her face and make her look at you again the same way you did in the street, but you refrained. You put your hands in your lap and drew back a bit, giving her space.

If you were being honest, the Abby you saw in the theater scared you. That Abby beat a person so thoroughly that they couldn’t move, couldn’t even turn their head to stop from choking on their own blood. That Abby would knowingly slit the throat of an unconscious pregnant woman without batting an eye.

Of course, you had known that she was physically strong. You saw her kill swiftly and without hesitation to protect herself and those close to her. But this was different, right? It was excessive violence. 

There was a lot you didn’t know about those people in the theater; that much was clear. They had been hunting Abby for days, killing her friends and seemingly anything else in their path.

They killed Owen and Mel and… and everyone else in those little pictures still tucked in your pocket.

You weren’t sure of the exact history between Owen and Abby, but you did know how important he was to her. And you had seen her reaction when she found him dead.

Who’s to say Ellie would’ve ever stopped coming after Abby and the people close to her? Who’s to say she would even stop now?

So could you really judge Abby for her actions, given how much you didn’t know?

This world is great at breeding darkness, planting it in you from the moment you’re born, growing and spreading both inside your being and out. Everyone has darkness. Tonight you caught your first glimpse of Abby’s. 

She had gotten scary, but that didn’t make her a monster.

And she pulled back. She stopped. That meant a lot. 

You trusted her. And you trusted yourself. You were sheltered, but you weren’t stupid.

Abby was a good person, and she was in your life for a reason, so you weren’t going anywhere.

You knew it was weighing on her, though. Not just everything that happened today, but the fear that what happened could have a lasting effect on this thing between the two of you.

So you shook your head. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I was there. You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.” She nodded, but seemed unconvinced that you didn’t have anything else to say on the matter.

Part of you wanted to ask for the history now. How she knew Ellie. Why she wanted her dead. But you didn’t need that from her right now. 

Instead, you took another swipe at her face, wiping away the last of the blood. When you were finished, you pulled your hand away. The cut there might form a scar, but you weren’t brave enough to attempt stitches. Not on her lovely face, so close to her eye.

Now that Abby was about as fixed up as she was going to get, you turned your attention to the blood on your own hands. 

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Abby watched as you meticulously scrubbed at your fingers.

When you finished with that, you put everything back into the first aid kit and put the kit in your backpack. Then you made a pile of all the trash that had accumulated. Then you sat back down and immediately stood back up. You shrugged off your jacket – Well, her jacket. (You hadn’t taken it off since Abby gave it to you on the boat, and she didn’t want you to. It looked better on you anyway.) You draped it over the other end of the couch, and then you sat down again. 

You were so restless it almost made her wish she had sustained more injuries, just to give you something productive to do with your hands.

When you started to stand again moments later, saying something about needing to move that little table back where you found it, Abby stopped you with a hand encircling your wrist.

“Hey. Stop. Just sit. You need to rest,” she said, pulling you back down on the couch.

“I’m fine,” you insisted but stayed put. “You’re the one who needs rest after everything you’ve been through today. You should try to get some sleep.”

“Everything I’ve been through?” she asked. “What about you?” When you didn’t react, she said your name. You cut her off before she could say anything else.

“You got hurt,” you said, almost exasperated, motioning to her entire body as evidence.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Abby said.

“I’m fine,” you said again, colder this time.

“No, you’re not.”

“Abby–”

“You’re not fine! You’re just pretending like it didn’t happen.” 

“Don’t,” you said, looking away now.

She knew she was pushing, maybe even too far, but she promised herself she’d snap you out of this if you didn’t do it yourself.

“You didn’t even look at her body. You haven’t reacted at all–”

“Abby, stop,” you begged in a breathy exhale. 

And she did, but only because at that moment you closed the short distance between you and pressed your lips to hers. 

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You were hesitant at first.

You’d never kissed anyone before.

You hadn’t even meant to kiss Abby. 

You wanted to – had been wanting to for some time – but it wasn’t a conscious decision you made in that moment.

You just needed her to stop talking. 

So you kissed her, surprising both of you.

Just a soft brush of your lips against hers, a hand on one side of her face, holding her still, keeping her where you wanted her. By the time she responded to your touch, you were already pulling away. 

A thrill shot down your spine and spread throughout your body. You wanted more, but you didn’t know if it was yours to take. 

You weren’t sure Abby wanted you the way you wanted her.

You studied her face, watched as her eyes went from being wide-blown and shocked to something that looked like hunger. A neediness that matched your own.

She was looking at your lips, so you grabbed her face with both hands this time and pulled her in, kissing her again.

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Abby’s heart beat against her chest as her hand found your waist. She gripped you there, pulling you even closer.

If the first kiss had been testing the waters, this was diving in head first.

It had never felt like this for her before. Touches that she had only ever pulled away from in the past, she heavily leaned into now, seeking more, needing it in a way she wasn’t used to. 

She knew you were just distracting her, that you only wanted to get her to stop talking about Lev and Yara, the island and the aquarium. She knew that you probably wouldn’t even be doing this if she hadn’t pushed you to talk.

But then you deepened the kiss and suddenly she didn’t know much of anything. Except that she didn’t ever want you to stop.

God, you still. weren’t. close enough.

She pulled you towards her, and you went willingly where her hands guided you until she had you on her lap, your knees straddling her legs on either side.

You stopped, pulling away from the kiss and whispering through heaving breaths, “Abby, your leg-”

“ ‘M fine,” she mumbled, already pulling your face back down to meet hers. The soft moan you let out as your lips met made her crazy. Her hands moved from your face, tracing their way down before landing on your hips.

She wanted to slow down, take her time with you. She wanted to strip off all of your clothes, push you on your back, pin you beneath her, and explore. She wanted to hear every sound you could make and learn exactly where to touch – how to touch – to make you come undone. 

Abby pushed her hands up under your shirt, fingers sliding along your lower back and up your sides. You gasped, leaning into the touch.

But then you pulled away entirely.

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You promised. The thought cut through the fevered haze in your mind, sending a shock through your system. 

You promised Yara that you would bring Lev back safe. You said you wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

You told Lev that everything would be okay. You told him you’d get off that island together.

The full weight of it hit you like a tidal wave, so hard you thought it might’ve actually bruised your body and broken your bones. It knocked the air from your lungs.

Your friends were gone. It was your job to take care of them, and now they were dead. You did everything wrong today, made every mistake, and it cost them their lives. 

Somehow, you had gone from Abby’s lap to the other end of the couch, pressing yourself as deep into the corner as you could as you pulled your knees up. Your trembling hands pressed against your chest as you shook with the first of the sobs.

Abby moved and then she was on her knees on the floor right in front of you.

You thought she might be talking to you, but you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the ringing in your ears.

It felt like something was pressing down on your chest. You couldn’t breathe. You kept trying but your lungs wouldn’t fill. 

Lev. Yara.

Images of one on the dirty ground and one on the hard floor. Both of them laying in a puddle of their own blood. And both of them left there by you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to make them go away. But they were still there behind your eyelids. 

Still dead. 

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You were having a panic attack, the worst one she’d ever seen, and nothing Abby did was helping.

She kept trying to get you to look at her, to breathe, but it was like you couldn’t hear her. Your chest continued to rise and fall jaggedly. 

She wasn’t sure if she should touch you – Were you supposed to touch people who were in the middle of a panic attack? – But she did anyway. With a gentle hand, she pushed your hair out of your eyes and held your chin, turning your face to look at her.

Your eyes widened like you hadn’t realized she was there, like you were seeing her for the first time.

Good. Now that you could see her, maybe you could hear her too.

She held your gazes as she spoke softly. “Baby, you need to breathe. Copy me.” She modeled a deep, slow inhale, followed by a slow exhale. It was shaky and not nearly as strong, but you tried. “Good girl. Again.”

You continued like that for several minutes until you were able to follow Abby’s breathing patterns exactly. The tears didn’t stop, but the heaving sobs had calmed to occasion hiccupping whimpers. 

Abby’s fingers ran through your hair, pushing it behind your ear. You still hadn’t said anything, and she didn’t think you would tonight. 

“Can you lay down for me?” she asked, voice low. You nodded  and began to shift out of your curled position, slowly stretching out your legs. Abby stood to grab the jacket from behind you on the couch and waited for you to lay down before she spread it out over you, covering you up as much as possible. Then she sat on the floor in front of you, turned so that her side was pressed up against the couch.

You were blinking more slowly now, exhausted from… everything. 

When you started crying again, she put her hand back on your head, letting her fingers run through your hair and scratch at your scalp in a way that she hoped was soothing. (At least she knew it would’ve been for her.)

“I know,” she said, leaning her head against the arm of the couch. “I’m so sorry.”

She stayed like that for a while, even after your breathing slowed and evened out and she was sure you had fallen asleep. She felt a tightness in her chest every time you sniffled. 

Abby had already decided to stay awake and keep watch. 

Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on your backpack. She got up, grabbed the pistol from inside the bag, and returned to her spot in front of the couch.

She watched the doors and windows, listened closely for any sounds of danger, but her eyes kept drifting back to you.

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Taglist: @h0meb0dyi @strawbeffys @sapphicontherun @lmaoo-spiderman @stickynachomaker @4-atsu @00ops1e @absoluteshitshow

[delayedstrawberry]

Mihawks' Echos Of Regret

Summary: 25 year old Dracule Mihawk and you broke up two months ago, and since then you’ve kept out of each other's way. That’s until Mihawk goes to a party, and sees you cozying up with a man he doesn’t know. So to deal with the situation he drinks a little too much and lets his emotional possessive feelings take over, even though the breakup was his fault. Fandom: One Piece Relationships: Mihawk x Reader, Mihawk x Female OC Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Female Reader, Shanks, Trafalgar Law, Boa Hancock and Nico Robin. Chapters: 3/3 Warnings: Physical/verbal Abuse, anxiety and heavy alcohol usage Notes: Hello♡ Just to clarify things before you read, this AU is set 20 years in the past where everyone who’s old/older in the current One Piece is now younger. So Mihawk is 24, Crocodile is 26 and Doflamingo is 21 etc etc. Although there are a few characters I have changed entirely to fit the story, like Robin is 23 and Law is 25. I posted this Fanfic on my AO3 as well (DelayedStrawberry). I made Mihawk super possessive and angsty in this, so I hope you enjoy! Word count: 10,364

Chapter 1: Mihawks Possesive Grip

Dracule Mihawk had been dreadful for the last 6 months of your relationship, it felt like those 4 years together just went down the drain without any explanation. He had suddenly stopped giving you attention, there was no more communication, no kisses or hugs, he barely talked to you anymore, he frequently became angry for no real reason and cuddles were non-existent. The main problem was that he’d be out working longer and more often, so you’d end up spending hours upon hours at home alone, while he was out hunting marines. It was like a switch had flipped inside of him and you had no idea why. He used to be this sweet, caring and loving boyfriend, then he became this heartless jerk. For months you had begged Mihawk to tell you what’s wrong, cried for hours at his feet to at least hold your hand, but he’d always brush you off. So…one night when he had come home from work, you told him you’re leaving. All hell broke loose once you uttered those words. And for the next few hours there was yelling, screaming, tears and hateful insults thrown around like spit fire. You could see how angry he was through your own heavy tears and blurry vision, especially when he ended up demanding that you don’t leave. But it was too late, the damage was done, you had endured too much pain. As you left the house you once shared, he yelled at you at the top of his lungs, but you could barely hear him over your own grieving sobs. It was the ugliest and messiest breakup of your life, that’s for sure.

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

It’s a dark night in a town located within the Grand Line, the only things heard are the footsteps of Shanks, Mihawk and the party down the road. The moon casts a dim light on them as they walk towards the chaos, illuminating the damp pathway ahead of them. Shanks seems to be in a pretty chipper mood tonight, thinking about all the different women he’ll get to meet and “hangout” with. Mihawk on the other hand, is in quite the emotional state, his mind is occupied with one thing only…you. His footsteps are heavy and slow, a hint of distress hidden within his blank expression. He feels a lot of anger, but at this point he’s not sure who at.

“Lighten up Hawkeyes, it's gonna be fun!” Shanks swings his arm around Mihawk’s shoulder, squeezing his bicep. “You don’t have to be so grumpy.”

Mihawk just grunts quietly, not feeling in the mood for a party or Shanks’s enthusiasm. “I still fail to see why you insisted I join you.” He speaks in his usual dry annoyed tone.

Shanks grins, releasing Mihawk from his grip and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You need to do something other than work, and you never know…maybe you’ll have a great time.”

“You just need a babysitter once you get too drunk, that’ll really be a great time.” Mihawk sighs, giving Shanks a sidelong glare.

“Aww come on, your pal Crocodile will be there.” Shanks muses, the sound of music and people laughing getting louder and louder the closer they get.

“I don’t like his presence.” Mihawk responds flatley, his eyes wandering to the house parties' front lawn, where some people have already passed out.

Shanks gives Mihawk a punch in the arm and laughs. “You’ll be fine, at least promise me to have a few drinks, for relaxation purposes.”

Mihawk grunts again. “Fine.”

Shanks pats him on the back with a lot of force, making Mihawk groan in annoyance. “That’s a good Hawky.”

As they finally reach the house, the boys start walking up the driveway towards the front entrance, passing by some people on the way up. Mihawk starts feeling a little paranoid, thinking everyones eyes are on him. It’s really freaking him out, since he’d rather not be on anyone's radar right now.

They start strolling up the polished steps to the door, Shanks practically skipping up them. On the other hand, Mihawk reluctantly walks up the stairs, taking one step at a time, trying to drag out this moment for as long as possible.

“Stop hitting me, it’s irritating. And don’t call me Hawky.” Mihawk grumbles, his hand massaging where Shanks had struck him.

Shanks just grins and eagerly pushes the door open. The first thing that hits is the sound of laughter, loud thumping music and talking all mixed together like some sort of hell, at least according to Mihawk. There have got to be at least hundreds of alcohol bottles scattered around the place, and the coloured lighting is so damn bright, it bounces off the walls like someone on crack. And as they step inside, the house seems to expand, revealing a labyrinth of different rooms filled with drunk young adults. Every room seems to have a purpose for the night, each with its own unique vibe. One room has people playing pool, another dedicated to dancing, a few spaces for chilling out and the backyard is lined with tables which harbor mountains of food. Shanks spots the host, this girl named Boa Hancock, and he casually brings up his hand to say hi.

After taking this all in, Mihawk takes a step back, this is all so overwhelming…too overwhelming. He knew he shouldn't have come, he hates parties, noise and mayhem being his worst nightmare. But before he knows it, Shanks is guiding him through the pool of people, heading towards the alcohol at the back of the room.

As they reach the alcohol table, Shanks picks up a bottle of Vodka to inspect, while Mihawk tries to keep calm as he looks around.

After a few moments, Shanks hands him half a cup of booze, a smirk on his face. “Here, drink.” Mihawk looks down at the cup and sighs, knowing he can’t turn back now, and downs the whole thing in one gulp.

Shanks chuckles, pouring himself some alcohol, filling it to the brim before chugging it all down and filling it up again.

Mihawk looks at him, his eyes narrowing. “Careful, Redhair.”

He grins, downing the liquid whilst looking at Mihawk with a smug look. After swallowing, he fills his cup once more. “You think too much.”

“You hold your liquor like a leaf holds water.” Mihawk sighs, putting his cup down on the table and crossing his arms.

Shanks laughs, bringing the cup up to his lips again. “I handle my liquor just fine!”

“Do you want me to remind you of last time?” Mihawk glares at him.

“No no, let’s not bring that up. My stomachs stronger now, I promise.” Shanks smiles, looking over his cup, while Mihawk just rolls his eyes.

As they stand there for a moment, taking in the electric atmosphere, a few girls at the other side of the room seem to be looking Shanks over. They’re giggling lightly between themselves and sharing looks. His face switches to more of a thoughtful expression as he notices them, his eyes wandering over their frames, a hum leaving his lips. “Alright, Hawky. I’ll talk to you later.” Then without another word, he pats Mihawk on the shoulder and starts to walk off towards the women.

Mihawk sighs, his attention going to the rest of the room, his mind wandering slightly. Why does Shanks have to think with his dick all the time? Can’t he relax for once, maybe hangout with the person he dragged along…Mihawk shakes his head, pushing the thought away. It’s worthless mulling this over, it’s Redhair, he’s a lost cause at this point.

Some time passes and Mihawk finds himself standing against the wall, his eyes fixed on the floor. He doesn’t particularly have anything else to do, or anyone else to talk to, especially since Shanks walked off a while ago. He doesn’t mind having no company. The vodka doesn’t seem to be affecting him much, his thoughts still clear and legs still steady. With no buzz to take the edge off, his mind fills with thoughts of self hatred and stress. His inside turmoil is a stark difference to the moods of everyone around him. The party goers are all carefree, laughing, dancing, the atmosphere a drunken mess. Even though none of their attention is on him, he still feels as if everyones watching him, judging him. He softly sighs as he takes his hat off and puts it in front of his face, running his slender fingers through his dark hair, trying not to have a panic attack or a mental breakdown…or maybe both at the same time.

“I just need to pull myself together, it’s fine, I’m fine…” He quietly mutters to himself, a lump forming in his throat which he swallows down. He inhales deeply, trying to keep his composure together, sensing he’s on the verge of falling apart. After a few moments of calming himself down, he takes one last deep shaky breath. Putting his hat down from his face, Mihawk looks around at the party. His eyes land on Shanks who’s in a corner of a different room, heavily making out with a blonde girl, his hands running up and down her body as he squeezes different parts of her. Mihawk feels a twinge of jealousy, which is a foreign feeling, especially when it comes to Redhair. Why can’t he have it that easy? Why can’t he just…not be himself sometimes. Life would be way easier if he could be more like Shanks, maybe he could even be happier, more content. Mihawk doesn’t even understand WHY he’s feeling this way. He feels a little desperation running through him the longer he thinks about it, his eyes darting to the vodka on the table. He groans internally, knowing it may not be the best idea, but he decides to go ahead anyway.

He makes his way back over to the drinks, picking up a large cup and filling it. And he thinks it over for a moment, but only for a moment, since the next thing he feels is the burn of alcohol running down his throat and settling in his stomach. He can’t help but close his eyes, the amount of alcohol in his body feeling foreign. After getting used to the feeling, he opens his eyes again, pouring more liquid into his cup.

When he’s finished, he puts the bottle down back on the table, his hand slightly shaking. Maybe he could pick up some girls tonight, forget about you. His eyes then flicker back to Shanks, the thought growing stronger. But no, he would miserably fail, and the thought of being with another woman makes him feel sick. So instead of going ahead with his plans he decides he’ll switch rooms, a room where he can’t see Redhair, feeling his jealousy rising higher the longer he can see them.

Keeping a hold of his cup, he starts walking through the large house, getting bumped into multiple times, a growl forming in his throat.

Mihawk decided to settle into one of the dance rooms, figuring he’ll be out of the way, and blend easily in with the background despite his height. His back rests against the wall, the cup still in hand as he lazily looks over the crowd, maybe this wall will be different from the last.

For the next few minutes Mihawk stands there slowly drinking his vodka, the people in front of him not seeming to notice he’s there, which feels like a relief. Thankfully the loud hum of people and music drowns out most of his anxious thoughts, for now. He honestly just wants to get out of here, but Shanks would be on his ass for the next few weeks if he goes home early, leaving him with no choice but to endure these torturous hours.

Mihawks’ mind grows a little bored as he finishes his drink, setting his cup down on the nearby table, finally feeling a bit tipsy. The people around him are still dancing, making out, drinking…So for now he’ll just stand here counting the amount of dust particles that fly past his face. But after a few moments of counting he fixates his vision on something, someone, in the crowd. You.

His eyes widen, and it feels like the noise around him disappears. Your memories together come rushing back like a heavy wave…when you’d look at him like he was the only man on Earth, your giggles when he poked your stomach, the way your hair felt between his fingers. And you’re just as beautiful as he remembers. He feels like he’s gonna throw up, not just because of the alcohol he drank, but because you’re sitting and smiling on a couch with another man. Another man who isn’t him. He swallows, not knowing what to do as his hands bawl up into fists at his sides. He studies the man you’re talking to…black hair, tall and slim, tattoos, piercings and unfortunately very attractive. He doesn’t recognize him, at least not at first, not at this angle.

He feels anger running through his veins, how dare he talk to you, how dare he even share a smile with you! His heartbeat quickens as he keeps watching. He can see you’re comfortable with this man, your face lighting up when he whispers in your ear, playfully swatting each other's arms. Mihawk can’t look away, his face growing slightly hot from the sheer amount of possessiveness and jealousy. But after a few minutes of staring daggers into you and the man, he finally tears his gaze away. He begins to scan his surroundings, trying to find anything to distract himself with. He spots a half empty bottle of gin on an end table nearby, and without thinking he grabs it, drinking the rest. He takes a deep breath when he finishes swallowing, slamming the now empty bottle back onto the table. Mihawks’ eyes dart around the other surfaces, to see if there’s any more alcohol nearby. There isn’t. So he strides to the next room over, the kitchen, knowing that’s where he can get some more.

Mihawk finds himself frantically drinking 3 more bottles, not even taking note of what they are because he simply doesn’t care right now. The need to get the images out of his head is urgent, wanting to push his thoughts away as fast as he can. But after putting the 3rd bottle down, it just makes him feel worse. His mind begins spinning and he rests on the kitchen counter, mulling over the options he has right now.

After pondering for a while, he knows what he’ll do. There’s still a lot of full bottles around him, so he grabs a whiskey bottle and brings it with him as he walks back through the rooms.

Mihawks’ decided to keep an eye on you, hoping you won’t see him. When he gets back to the place he saw you last, you aren’t there anymore. His eyes frantically scan the other rooms, hoping you didn’t go upstairs with that dickhead. But he thankfully spots you leaning against the wall with the stranger. His blood boiling again, he moves to a spot where he can watch you. Sitting down at a table, he glares at the both of you. Mihawk doesn’t know what he’d do if you saw him right now, but he’s too drunk to really care about that.

Mihawk sits there watching you from a distance, the man's hand caressing your arm, leaning in to talk in your ear. You ignore the people dancing and drinking around as you listen. And for the life of him, he can’t figure out who that boy is! It’s driving him insane not knowing what's going on between you two, and the fact that you’re so close. It takes all of his self restraint to not get up and rip you away from him, or better yet, rip that boy to shreds.

Two blazing yellow hawkeyes are fixed on every move the two of you make, he can’t stand seeing you with someone else, but he can’t do anything about it. You’re broken up, but it’s killing him, his heart feels like it’s being passed through a blender over and over again. He takes a big gulp of whiskey, not even feeling the burn anymore.

Thankfully, right where he’s sitting, he’s got a better angle on what the boy looks like, feeling like he knows him, or knows OF him. Mihawk turns the question around in his head, looking over his features and inspecting his tattoos intently. And that’s when it clicks. He knows who you’re talking to. Trafalgar Law. There have been a few recent newspaper headings about Law, he’s this new hotshot running around the ocean, causing trouble and seemingly very talented. Mihawks’ vision goes red, tensing his jaw, he can’t believe you’re cozying up with some idiot! You’re not Laws, you’re HIS. No one should be touching you but HIM. No one should even LOOK at you! He takes a swig of the whiskey to try and calm down, and then another, and then another, and then another…until it’s all gone within a few short minutes. He growls deep within his throat when he realizes there’s no more alcohol, and the sight of Law and you together makes him angrier by the second. His mind starts going hazy from the amount of poison in his system.

Mihawk's attention is drawn to Shanks walking down the stairs, hand in hand with the blonde from earlier, making him more furious. He grunts under his breath, watching as Redhair and the girl walk into another room together, to presumably get something to drink.

But his attention doesn’t stay on them, instead his head snaps back to you and Law. Trained on every facial expression, movement, and straining his ears to try and hear what you’re saying. It’s no use, you’re too far away and the party’s too loud.

Just when he thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Law takes your waist and presses your bodies up against each other, a grin on his face as you giggle and begin swaying to the music together. This is the final straw for Mihawk, seeing your bodies against each other makes his jealousy turn into pure rage. He squeezes the empty whiskey bottle in his hand, the glass groaning and cracking slightly. The control he had earlier cracks along with the glass, shattering in every direction. The sight is driving him mad, Law shouldn’t have his hands anywhere near you in the first place. You’re his. HIS. Mihawks’ body tenses, he wants to pull you away from each other, but on the other hand he doesn’t want to cause a scene.

Law looks you in the eyes, and as Mihawk observes his rage only heightens. He knows what that sort of look means. And that’s it. He can’t take it anymore. The alcohol in his system is making him unpredictable and reckless.

He hastily rises up from his seat and begins walking through the crowd. As he makes his way to you, he pushes people out of the way to get to you faster, not wanting to waste anymore time.

Finally, he reaches you. “Y/n.” Mihawks’ voice comes out demanding and angry.

You jump slightly, your eyes widening as you see Mihawk standing beside you, Law raising his eyebrows. “Mihawk??” You stammer.

“We need to talk, now.” He glares at you, making you a little nervous. Law tightens his arm around you, feeling like something's off but overall very confused, and stays out of it.

“W-what??” You feel like your heart is going to combust right here, right now. You haven’t seen him since you’ve broken up, the pain of looking at his face and hearing his voice a little too much.

Mihawk gives out a low growl. “We need to talk, right now, ALONE.”

He leaves nothing for discussion, so you look up at Law apologetically before answering in a firm tone. “Fine.”

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

Before you can protest, Mihawk takes your wrist and drags you to the backyard, finding a spot behind some bushes where the two of you can’t be seen. The party is still present in the background but not as loud. You can tell he’s drunk, like you are too, his eyes look hazy and disoriented, but he was never a heavy drinker so you figure it’s not that bad.

He lets go of your wrist and faces you, a dark look in his eyes.

“What the hell is your-”

Mihawk cuts you off. “What were you doing with that guy??” He blurts out, staring daggers into you.

You feel slightly taken aback, not expecting his question. “That’s none of your business, can I go back now?”

“No. Not until we talk.” He crosses his arms, so you cross yours too.

“About what exactly?” You ask sternly, a little nervous.

Mihawk growls, making you tense up slightly. “About you…being so close with that guy! You think I’d just allow that to happen??”

“Wha…what the fuck??” You furrow your brow, feeling a little confused and annoyed.

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck’? You seriously thought I’d be okay with you doing that?” He raises his voice.

“Drac-” You stop yourself, nearly calling him by his first name. “Mihawk…we’re broken up. You don’t have a say in this.”

You can see Mihawk's brain short circuiting when his name nearly spills from your lips. “I don’t care if we’re broken up.”

“You’re deluded.” You bring your hand up to rub your temple, you can tell this is going to be a difficult conversation.

He scoffs. “I’m not deluded, he just shouldn’t touch you, simple.”

“For the last months of our relationship you didn’t put your hands on me once, so why do you suddenly care if Law does?” You say angrily, thinking that this conversation is useless.

Mihawk visibly stiffens when you say that. “God, you’re still hung up about that? Get over yourself! I had my reasons. And it doesn’t change anything, you can’t be cozying up with another man.”

“Yeah ‘I had my reasons’, that’s what you kept fucking telling me. You have no right to tell me what to do.” You spit back, feeling a dagger through your heart at his familiar harsh and dismissive words.

Mihawk steps closer, his eyes flashing angrily as he towers over you, his voice harsh. “The hell I don’t. You’re mine, y/n. Your body is mine, and so is your attention.”

You start feeling a bit panicked, but that quickly makes way for anger when it sinks in what he just said to you. “EXCUSE me? MY body is yours? MY attention is YOURS???”

“Yeah, you heard me. I put too much effort into you for some lanky nobody to take you away from me.” He responds firmly, furrowing his brows.

“But I’m not yours, Mihawk. I broke up with you and you know it. So stop pretending like I’m doing something I shouldn’t.” You start getting impatient.

This just makes him angrier. “You’ve been mine for years, some breakup isn’t gonna change that fact. I’ve claimed you.”

You’re speechless, looking at Mihawk in bewilderment.

“See, you can’t even deny it.” He glares down at you.

“Well-...what do you mean you’ve claimed me? What are you talking about??” You can’t help but want him to elaborate, but you have a feeling you won’t like the answer.

“Because I’ve fucked you.” Mihawk says firmly, his eyes not leaving yours.

Now you’re really speechless, this man has gone insane, and he looks serious about this too. It chills you, your fight or flight kicking in. You step back from him and try to walk away, but you gasp, feeling his hand wrapping around your wrist.

“No.” He says, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Mihawks’ eyes are dark and dangerous, leaving you no choice but to get pulled back to stand in front of him, the hold on your wrist unwavering.

You try to keep your composure, trying to come up with the most logical thing to say back to him, despite your mind being slightly hazy from alcohol. “Listen to me, I’m not yours, and fucking me doesn’t mean you’ve claimed me.”

“You ARE mine. No one, except for me, has the right to be so close to you.” He spits out.

“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you pushed me away!” You respond angrily.

Mihawks’ grip on you tightens. “We’ve been through too much. I won’t allow anyone to take you away from me.”

“Too bad, this is YOUR fault. Now let me go, I want to enjoy the rest of the party in peace.” You keep your eyes firmly on his, not backing down.

“No. I…I can’t let you spend time with another man, especially not Law.” He responds, clearly not wanting to back down either.

“What’s wrong with Law, huh? Is it because he’s a better man than you’ll ever be?” You ask, the words feeling foreign and wrong.

“It’s because…he doesn’t deserve you. He’s a rookie and a fool!”

“You don’t know anything about him!” You yell in disbelief.

“I know enough.” He states firmly.

“Well…I’m not yours anymore, so get over it.” Your own words feel like a punch to the gut.

Mihawk clenches his jaw, not liking your words either. “No, y/n.”

You’re getting a little frustrated at his constant ‘no’ answers at this point. “Why can’t you just let me have a nice night with someone? It’s the least you could do.”

“Because you’re mine, y/n. I…I can’t handle the thought of you being with someone else, I saw enough while we were inside.” He responds a little quieter, but anger seeps through his words like daggers ready to strike you.

“Well that’s your damn issue!” You say angrily, getting sick of him.

Mihawks’ eyes flash with anger again, the grip on your wrist unrelenting. “My issue? Do you seriously think this is just MY issue?? I will never be okay with you running off with someone else when I’M the one who put in the work to keep you. I invested years of my life on you, I poured my heart and soul into your every damn breath!”

“Yeah, you did. But then you PUSHED ME AWAY!” As you say this your voice rises, and you try to pull away from him, but it’s no use.

“As I said, y/n. I have my reasons.”

“Uh huh, ‘I have my reasons, I have my reasons’. Blah blah blah, all I hear from you is bullshit because you’ve never GIVEN me any of these mysterious reasons!” You bark back at him, your blood boiling.

The hold he has on your wrist gets stronger, making you quietly groan in pain. “You…you wouldn’t understand.” Mihawk responds in a rough and angry tone.

“You keep saying that…” You say in a defeated voice as you keep looking into his eyes, the man you once loved completely gone.

“I mean it, it’s just…complicated.” He says, frustration clear on his face.

“Whatever asshole, let go of me.” You can’t help insulting him, even though it feels like a knife through your chest.

“As I already said, I can’t let go. I won’t let you ‘have fun’ with someone who isn’t me. But you don’t listen, do you? Typical.”

“Don’t you dare tell me I never listen! You KNOW I do, I was the one person who always listened to you! Why do you have to be like this?” You say a little pleadingly, getting increasingly uncomfortable with the pain.

“You clearly aren’t listening to me, you are MINE.” He says in a dark tone.

This situation is internally freaking you out, he looks like he’ll snap you in half or throw you into his basement. The parties too loud for anyone to hear your fight, plus no one can see you, meaning you need to get out of this all by yourself.

“I’m not yours. We’re broken up! How many times do I have to repeat that? I feel like I’m going crazy. I can hangout with whoever I want, even Law.” You yell at him, feeling like his hand is gonna leave a mark.

“So, what is he to you then? A boyfriend? A lover?? I swear if he’s seen you without your clothes I’ll-”

“Okay, enough. I don’t have to answer that.”

“Yes you do, tell me. Now.” Mihawk leans his face a bit forward towards yours, so close you can smell the strong alcohol on his breath.

“He’s not my boyfriend, happy?” You say in a growl.

“No.” He glares at you, and you know exactly what question he wants answered.

“Fine…we aren’t lovers. Now let me go.” You say darkly as he leans back out from you.

“I’ll never let you go again, I’m not letting a man take what’s mine, I claimed you a long time ago.” His voice low, but there’s a hint of satisfaction after finding out you haven’t slept together.

Your voice comes out harsh and angry. “Don’t start with me again, you don’t ‘claim’ someone. Do you realize how deranged you sound?”

“I spent years caring for you, fucking you and giving you my heart. Nothing will ever change that, not even breaking up, no matter how much you protest or tell me otherwise. ” Mihawk ignores your question.

“All that doesn’t mean shit when you’re the one who poured it all down the drain like it was nothing.” You spit back, feeling like you’re gonna cry from the mention of it all.

“It doesn’t mean shit huh? Well, it does. You’re MY woman.” He says firmly.

“I am NOT your woman! And you know exactly what led to that fact. Now LET GO, and let me get back to the party.” Your voice raising again, desperate to get out of this, deep fear growing in your stomach.

“The only way you’re going back to the party is if you’re going with ME.”

Before you can respond, the intense feeling of his tightening grip grows, so you let out a whimper of pain. “I’m not going to the party with you. I’m here with my friends, people who actually care for me.”

“From now on, I won’t let you out of my sight for a moment. You’re staying by my side, and then we’re going back to our house where you belong.” Mihawks’ response is rough and final.

Dread washes over you, he looks and sounds really serious about that, which is horrifying.

“You’re delusional! Do you really think I’d spend the rest of my night with you, then go back to a house I don’t even live in anymore?” You shout erratically.

“You don’t have a choice, you’re coming home with me tonight. And I will NEVER let you go again.” He growls at you, getting in your face.

Tears sting your eyes from the pain, frustration and fright. You can’t help but speak to him in a frustrated tone. “To hell I’m going home with you! Last I heard you don’t even live there anymore either, you’re living with Shanks!”

“I still own the house. I just…didn’t want to stay there for a while. So stop fighting me, I’ll drag you there myself if I have to.”

“You’re insane!” You yell angrily, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“Maybe I am insane, but I couldn’t care less. You belong to ME, y/n.” Mihawk jerks your arm forcefully making you fall forward into his chest. His hand unwavering as you try to free your arm to move away.

You feel a searing pain in your wrist from how hard he’s holding you, and you whimper out. “OW OW OW Mihawk you’re hurting me!”

He scoffs. “I don’t care if I’m hurting you.”

Those words feel like a stab to the heart.

“You’re mine and you’re coming home with me, end of discussion. You can struggle with your weak pathetic little arms of yours but there’s no use, you're not getting away from me.” Mihawks’ voice is cold, his insults breaking your heart into more pieces.

You feel an overwhelming sense of panic, pain and hurt, as you struggle to get your wrist out of his grasp. “You don’t care that you’re hurting me? You’re gonna leave a damn bruise!”

“I don’t care if I leave a bruise, that just means my mark will be on your skin, telling everyone who you belong to.” He responds darkly.

Tears begin rolling down your cheeks, the pain of your wrist growing, and the terror you feel overwhelming. “Just leave me the hell alone!” You whimper out desperately.

“Stop resisting me, you’re mine and you’re coming home with me. That’s FINAL” Mihawk barks out, his eyes glancing over your tears.

“No, no! It’s not final, please just let me go. Don’t you understand? I barely felt welcome in ‘our home’ when we WERE together!” More tears running down your cheeks, but your pleading only furthering his hold on you.

“Again, that doesn’t matter. I’ll die before I let you be with another man.” He yells at you harshly, you whimper again as your pleads land on deaf ears.

You begin crying a little harder, groaning louder, the pain so intense and constant.

“Stop resisting me. You can struggle and cry all you like, y/n, but you’re coming home with me and I’ll show you I’m the only man for you.” He says darkly, but his voice is laced with slight guilt as you cry harder. Mihawk never liked it when you cried.

“OW! Y-you’re not the one for me, you treated me like I was worthless!” You sob, your knees starting to feel a little weak.

“Oh, shut up. I didn’t treat you like that. I just had a lot going on, I never stopped loving you.” He yells harshly, his voice slightly desperate.

“Don’t tell me to shut up, you acted like you didn’t love me, you can’t just say you had a lot going on!” You plead.

Mihawk’s grip on your wrist is only growing fiercer, his eyes dark and wild as you plead and cry. “I do love you, I always have and I always will. You belong in our house where I can keep you safe.”

“Please let go…it hurts…it hurts so much…” Your sobs sounding weak.

“I can’t…I know I was a shitty boyfriend, but you still belong with me. Why can’t you see that?” This time his voice is laced with anguish and stress, the darkness in his eyes lessening ever so slightly.

“No, no…no…please let me go…it hurts so badly…” You plead through your sobs.

“I know I’m hurting you, but I can’t handle the thought of you being with another man. It’s MY job to make sure you’re safe and happy.” Mihawk mutters.

“No…you’re the one who made me UNHAPPY for MONTHS! So let me go.” You whimper in pain.

He doesn’t release you, instead his face twists in guilt. “I can’t…I promise I’ll make you happy, you just have to come home with me, that’s all you have to do. Please…calm down y/n.” His voice softens as he begs.

You sob even harder, knowing nothing would get resolved. “You won’t make me happy! I begged with you for months to tell me what’s wrong, and I tried everything to make you feel loved. But I got nothing in return! Even now, you won’t tell me what happened.”

Mihawks’ frustration rises again, speaking harshly, his voice ragged. “I’ll make up for it.”

“You’ll make up for it? Then what the hell is THIS? You truly don’t care about me, do you? If you cared for me you’d let me have a nice night, but instead you’re inflicting pain on me. Let go!” You sob.

“I can’t…don’t you understand? I’ll do anything to keep you…I promise I’ll take care of you. I’m sorry it hurts…” Mihawk responds roughly, searching your eyes.

You feel intense anger rising up again, but you still sob uncontrollably. “Don’t give me those lies! You won’t take care of me! Did you take care of me while I was crying beside you in bed? Did you take care of me when I was crying and pleading for you to tell me what’s wrong? Did you take care of me when I got really sick and you continued to ignore me? Did you take care of me when I had a rough day and I was crying on the couch? NO!!! I PRACTICALLY SPENT 6 MONTHS ALONE, DESPITE MY BOYFRIEND BEING IN THE HOUSE. BUT YOU ACTED LIKE I WASN’T THERE AND TREATED ME LIKE A CONSTANT NUISANCE!”

He tenses up. “I’m sorr-”

“DON’T! DON’T YOU DARE SAY SORRY YOU BASTARD!” You yell at him through heavy sobs.

“...but you belong with me.” He responds in a ragged whisper.

“I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE EVER AGAIN.” You scream.

“Don’t say that…you don’t mean that.” He whispers, his face grief stricken.

“YOU’RE A COLD, STOIC AND HEARTLESS MONSTER!” You say at the top of your lungs, still crying.

“Please…I love you…” He breathes out raggedly, sounding sincere as he pleads, the grip on your wrist finally loosening slightly.

“No…you don’t! Let me go…please…it hurts…it hurts Mihawk please…” You sob and plead, at this point you’re beyond terrified.

“I don’t know how…” He whispers sadly.

“Then I have no choice…” You sob, while Mihawk furrows his brow in confusion.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swinging your leg back to get some force going, and kick him in the nuts.

He gasps in pain and immediately lets go of your wrist, his whole body doubling over as he sinks to his knees while clutching his groin.

You open your eyes, your hand on your very bruised wrist. The sight of him lying on the ground groaning in pain making your heart clench. You keep sobbing heavily as you force your legs to start moving, your muscles stinging in protest.

“Please don’t go…please…don’t go…” You can hear Mihawk whisper to himself as you leave, but you don’t turn back, and instead stumble into the crowd.

Your eyes try to scan your surroundings through your heavy tears, tripping over people's feet as you try to navigate the rooms, feeling like you’re going to have a panic attack if you stay here any longer. When you finally see who you’re looking for you whimper from relief, quickly going towards her.

“Robin…” You sob desperately.

Robin looks up from the conversation she’s having, her eyes immediately widening at the sight of you crying. “What happened? What’s wrong??”

You collapse into her arms, both of you sinking to the floor. “It was…Mihawk. Please take me home.”

Her eyes narrow at the mention of Mihawk, and she firmly holds you as she helps you stand back up. She swiftly leads you out of the house and onto the front lawn, the cold wind hitting your face, feeling a bit more at ease now that you’re out of the crowded noisy house.. “What did he do, honey?” She gently places her hands on your shoulders.

You can’t help but continue crying, so instead of saying anything you take your hand off of your wrist and show her the damage.

She gasps, immediately taking your wrist and assesses it. “That…fucker.” Is all she manages to say. “Come on, honey. I’ll take you home, you can take a shower and I’ll make you some tea.”

You nod, still sobbing uncontrollably. Robin puts her arm around your shoulders, and starts to lead you back to your house.

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

Mihawk remains slumped on the ground behind the bush, his hands still on his groin, desperately trying to soothe the pain, letting out soft groans. He’s so hazy from the alcohol he’s consumed tonight that thankfully the pain levels aren’t at the max, but it’s still excruciating. He can’t believe you actually kicked him.

The memories of your conversation consume his mind, but everything seems so unreal right now. He starts to silently cry to himself, his emotions too strong to keep bottled up.

He doesn’t know how long he stays on the ground for, but he definitely feels very sick and extremely exhausted. It probably wasn’t a good idea to mix all that alcohol, and so damn much of it.

Notes: I really enjoyed making him so possessive in this, I was giggling the entire time lol

Chapter 2: The Aftermath

Notes: This chapter is a little shorter♡ I wanted to write about what happened after their huge fight! I’ll be getting into the more dramatic stuff in the next chapter, so stay tuned ;) Content warning though, there is a little area that is about throwing up, so if that’s not for you don’t read or skip Mihawks' part.

You slowly come back to reality from your deep slumber. Your bedsheets feel smooth, your heart rate slow, the air you breathe crisp. The sounds of people merrily talking and walking on the street start to hit your ears, letting you know the world has begun moving again. The birds singing melodic songs as they chat amongst themselves, and the ocean crashing onto the shore creates a sense of peace. You start to smell the candles that were lit last night, and the unmistakable smell of waffles drifting through the air. The sunlight from your windows shine past your closed eyelids, kindly telling you it’s morning, gently coaxing you to get out of bed.

But your mind isn’t fully awake yet, so you lay there for a few moments to get used to being half conscious again. Everything's so calm, as if you’re on a cloud, not even knowing who you are or where you are. Unfortunately, when you wake up, the memories of the night before return to you.

As your haziness starts to fade, your focus is shifted to your aching wrist…and your eyes suddenly snap open, the light making you wince. The recollection of what happened comes slamming into you like a train.

The party, dancing and laughing with Law, Mihawks’ angry and possessive demeanor, the loud and heated argument, the strong hold on your wrist, and the kick to his groin. Your heart starts beating faster, and the once calm morning sounds begin to have a bitter edge to them.

You spend no more time laying in your bed, the adrenaline kicking you into high gear. Your body aches in protest as you sit up, and you run your hands over your face.

“Dammit…” You curse under your breath, your head buried in your hands.

Lifting your head back up, you take a deep breath, this is gonna be one hell of a long day. Despite your reluctance, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, standing up, and walking over to the chair where you left your clothes.

As you lazily get dressed, the pain in your wrist reminds you of everything that happened, and you feel a pang of hurt in your heart. You had been enjoying your night, Law was sweet and charming, you were looking forward to spending more time with him. Mihawk just had to intrude, and you were hoping to push him out of your mind for once…

You let out a weary sigh, nothing makes sense anymore. A growling noise from your stomach brings your hunger to attention and reminding you of the comforting smell of waffles. For the time being, you’ll try to push aside the memories so you can focus on breakfast. You open the door and leave your room, starting to walk down the hallway.

There’s music from the radio emitting through the air as you walk down the stairs, and you can hear Robin humming to herself in your kitchen.

Robin gives you a kind smile when she sees you, waving away some of the waffle smoke from her face. “Good morning y/n, how did you sleep?”

You lethargically walk over to the window and open it up, letting the smoke out. “I slept alright I guess…” You appreciate her warm welcome as you walk into the dining room.

“That’s good, honey. I’m nearly done with the waffles, it’s a miracle you have all the ingredients in your kitchen.” Robin says softly as she puts on another waffle.

“Yeah, I haven’t gone shopping for a while.” You reply tiredly, sitting down at the table and resting your chin on your palm. Your eyes look over your bruised wrist, which is resting on the table.

As the waffles keep cooking and Robin continues to hum to the music, your mind keeps going back to Mihawk. You feel overwhelming emotions starting to bubble over, now that you’re more awake. A lump forms in your throat and you put your hands over your face, taking a deep breath in hopes that it’ll just go away. It doesn’t go away, and tears that had been accumulating in the corner of your eyes spill onto your cheeks.

A few minutes go by and you hear the clink of a plate hitting the table top. You remove your hands slightly and you see Robin laying out the waffles, plates, cups and cutlery. You sniff and wipe away your tears, doing your best to compose yourself as she finishes setting the table.

Robin sits beside you and gently caresses your back. “Eat some food, maybe you’ll-…uhh never mind.” She smiles and retracts her hand, putting some waffles on her plate.

You smile faintly as you also grab a waffle. “Thank you…” Your voice slightly hoarse.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the music from the radio filling the room.

As you pick up the cutlery, you can’t help wondering why Robin cut herself off, but you shrug it off. You take your first bite, the flavors hit your tongue like an explosion on your tastebuds. They're buttery, not too sugary and the texture is so soft. “Damn, these are really good.” You murmur as you take another bite.

Robin smiles to herself, and the two of you continue to eat.

The taste of food helps take your mind off things a little, but you don’t begin to feel any better. Your minds still clouded, the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks again.

The two of you finish eating and Robin begins cleaning up, assuring you that it’s fine she does it herself as she doesn’t want you to exert yourself.

While Robin finishes cleaning, you retreat to the living room and plop down onto the couch. Your tears take no time to escape your eyes, and you sigh softly, leaning forward and burying your face in your hands.

You pay no mind to the sounds going on in the background, your mind faded into a pit of sadness and distress. The overwhelming feeling of everything crushing you into the ground.

“Let me have a look at your wrist, y/n.” Robin says as you feel her sit down next to you and reassuringly puts her hand on your back. You groan and move your hands, putting your hurt wrist onto her lap, revealing the red marks and bruises.

She looks at you worriedly, gently removing your tears with her thumb. You can see Robins’ got some bandages and ointment bottles on her lap. “…how’s the pain today?” She says softly.

“Mmm…pretty bad.” You wipe some of your tears away, your body shudders as you remember the reason behind the bruises.

“Aww, honey. That’s not good. I’ll get it fixed as best as I can, okay?” Robin says soothingly as she gently takes your wrist to inspect it.

You wince as she touches you, clenching your skirt with your other hand. “Okay. T-thank you.” You choke out.

She sighs as she looks you over, opening one of the ointments and lathers some on her hand. Robin begins to gently rub the cold liquid on your dark purple skin, being light with her fingers.

As her soft care washes over you, you feel the overwhelming tenderness of the injury. The physical, and mental. “Why-...why did he have to do that?”

“He just seems like an angry and sad person, but that doesn’t excuse his actions.” Robin responds, her eyes darkening slightly at the mention of Mihawk.

“It was just so intense…I just-...I just wanted to have a night without conflicts or drama.” You mutter sadly, tears streaming down your face.

She continues to apply the ointment, speaking softer now. “I know, I know. It wasn’t fair on you, he should’ve kept to himself.”

Tears fall down your face faster. “It really wasn’t fair, and I can’t believe he hurt me. When we were together…he promised to never lay a hand on me.”

Robin shakes her head in disbelief. “Any man who hurts a woman deserves to go to hell.”

“What do I do? He said he’s still in love with me, and then threatened to take me to ‘our house’ whether I want to or not. He was so scary, Robin…” You look at her with distraught eyes.

She thinks to herself for a moment, finishing off rubbing the ointment in. “y/n…that’s not how someone in love should act, even if they’re drunk. He was acting extremely possessive and controlling, which is a huge red flag. Don’t go anywhere near him, okay?”

You nod your head, taking a shuddering breath.

Robin starts to put a bandage on your wrist, thinking for a moment before responding. “Do you still…love him?”

Silence falls over the two of you and you avert your eyes, hesitating. Despite everything, you still missed Mihawk. “I…I love the guy he used to be…” You murmur sadly.

“That makes sense. It’s okay, I’ll help you through this, I promise. Just remember who he is now, an aggressive and dangerous person.” She says tenderly.

“O-okay…” You say quietly.

She finishes putting the bandage around your wrist and puts everything to the side. “There, that should help the healing process. Let me know if it gets worse.” Robin says as she puts her arms around you, bringing you closer to her.

You put your arms around her waist and rest your head on her shoulder, softly crying onto her shirt as she rubs your back.

Robin runs her fingers through your hair, trying to soothe you to the best of her abilities. It feels comforting to be in her arms, feeling her kind warmth. The room feeling more pleasant in her embrace.

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

Mihawk wakes up from his restless slumber and immediately groans in pain, his head pounding. The injury he acquired last night shooting through his body, his heart rate spiking. The bed sheets feel rough on his skin, serving as an unwelcome reality check. Sounds of two boys arguing on the street and shuffling of feet are heard through the closed window, letting him know the world is the same as ever. And the birds seem to be silent, or just not around. There’s also an unmistakable suffocating smell of musk, puke, sweat and the heat is close to clammy. The room is dark and unwelcoming, the curtains filtering out the light from outside. Not even a flicker of sunlight touching his pale skin.

He reaches his hands down and clutches his groin, groaning into his pillow and curling into a ball. Mihawk memories from last night wash over him like a cold bucket of water. Anger, self hatred, disappointment and shame fill him all at once. His memories reminding him of how stupid he was last night.

He remembers the god awful party, his unease, seeing you with Law, his extreme anger, drinking who knows how much, dragging you off somewhere, yelling at you, the constant harsh and possessive words, the hold on your wrist that left a dark bruise, you kicking his groin and leaving him there on the ground. Mihawk also remembers the aftermath.

He groans again as he remembers throwing up into the bush for a while on his hands and knees, the pain or the alcohol spurring it on, who knows. Shanks found him a while later, drunk as a skunk, and dragged Mihawk back to his house. For the rest of the night until the early hours, Mihawk spent them throwing up in the bathroom until his throat was sore and his body weak. He doesn’t know when he managed to fall asleep, just that he hasn’t been asleep for that long.

Mihawk whimpers to himself as he tries to keep his bearings, his mind still slightly hazy from just gaining consciousness again. He remembers the look on your face when he grabbed your wrist-...There’s a loud slam of a door opening down the hall, and he can hear Shanks running to the bathroom, hurling into the toilet.

He winces and puts the duvet over his head, wanting to drown everything out, one hand still on his groin and the other rubbing his temple to try and lessen the headache. Mihawk can’t help but feel overwhelming guilt, shame and disgust. He can’t believe he let his feelings blow up like that last night, and towards you of all people. Nothing in that moment mattered when he saw you with that prick, so he unleashed everything on you, all his claims and threats. He hurt you. He ruined everything, more than it already was.

However, anger still lingers under the surface of his skin, even though he’s woken up with a lot of regrets. He still doesn’t like that you were with that dumbass, touching you and making you laugh. A part of him can’t help but be glad he got you away from Law, but at what cost?

A wave of dread washes over him when he suddenly remembers how he talked to you, Mihawks’ possessive side flared up in the worst possible way. He remembers when you liked his possessiveness, but you aren’t together anymore. But in his drunken state he didn’t care, he just wanted you back. He softly whimpers again, shutting his eyes tightly, he hates himself. Hates how he treated you, hurt you and scared you. Everything he did was wrong and idiotic, he was a complete prick.

After a few minutes he decides he needs to check his wound, so he opens his eyes and takes the duvet off his head, opening the curtains beside him. The sun barely makes it into the room, a large tree blocking the sunlight. Mihawk takes a deep breath and sits up, his stomach searing with pain, his head hammering and his nausea still present. He takes a deep breath to try and collect himself for what he’s about to see, before he pulls the duvet off of his legs. Mihawk slips his finger under his boxers, he gently lifts them just enough to see the damage. His eyes widen slightly. His nuts are completely inflamed, bruised and red, they’ve never looked…this…bad before. Despite the sight, Mihawk can’t hold back the half smile at the sight, Miss y/n can really pack a kick.

Mihawk decides to just remove his boxers, tossing them aside. The mere feel of them on his inflamed skin is too much to handle. He takes a deep breath after removing them, the tenderness feeling slightly more calm. But a moment later the heat and discomfort set in again.

He takes a few moments to gather any strength before he slowly pushes himself up off of the bed as carefully he can, his stomach and balls flaring up again. Mihawk slowly shuffles over to the wardrobe to fetch some loose fitting pants, the pain searing the whole way. He slowly opens the wardrobe and looks through it. He hopes it won’t irritate his sensitive nuts and stomach too much, already feeling like they’re being ripped apart.

Thankfully he finds some good pants, but even as they settle on him, the fabric still rubs him in all the wrong areas. But he has no choice but to endure it for now.

Mihawk walks across his room, wincing as he goes, opening the door to step into the hallway. He takes a deep breath and starts making his way down it, going to the bathroom where Shanks is still puking his guts out.

“You alright?” Mihawk says roughly, reaching Shanks who’s hunched over the toilet. His stomach churns more than it already is, watching as he throws up again.

“Yeah…I’m fine. Just…really hungover.” Shanks responds breathlessly, sweat dripping down his nose and back.

Mihawk silently assesses his state, before speaking again. “I’m sure you are, I told you to be careful last night, redhair. Do you have some Aspirin or something?”

Shanks grunts weakly, not appreciating his comment. “Yeah…it’s on the counter behind me.”

“Alright then, try not to puke again while I grab it.” Mihawk says, going to the counter and picking up some aspirin, his stomach doing another flip. He doesn’t wait to get any water and just immediately swallows it.

Shanks murmurs weakly. “So…what happened to you last night?”

Mihawk freezes slightly. “Nothing.”

A heavy silence falls over them, Mihawk can tell Shanks feels disappointed he won’t open up…again. Guilt starts to creep in but he pushes it aside.

Mihawk moves to the door frame and gives one last look at Shanks before leaving, he can see the hurt in his expression and Mihawks’ heart clenches. But he doesn’t say anything, instead he goes to the kitchen, intending to get some food.

He practically limps there, the pain excruciating. Mihawk knows the only option for food is bread, as Shanks doesn’t exactly take care of household needs. So he walks to the container and brings out a piece, unfortunately it’s a little stale, but it’ll have to do. Mihawk then starts his search through the cupboards to find any sort of spread, but to no avail. He groans to himself, running his hand down his face, he knew he should have gone shopping yesterday.

Mihawk cuts his losses and leans against the counter, not daring to sit on a hard surface right now. He takes a bite of the stale bread, the flavors dull on his tongue.

As he eats, Mihawk is accompanied by the sounds of Shanks’ retching echoing through the house, so it isn’t completely silent.

The longer he stands there, the more emotional he becomes. It’s just all so shit. He can’t help but let tears roll down his cheeks as he chews and swallows, dissociating as he looks down at the dirty floor. Mihawks’ mind goes to you. Your fearful, hurt and confused expression plagues his thoughts and he knows it’s all his fault. But also a little anger, not being able to erase the image of Law holding your waist.

He can’t manage to consume any more food, so he puts the half eaten slice down onto the counter, despite still being hungry. He just feels like the worst person in the world. Mihawk slowly walks to the freezer and opens it up. He searches through it, knowing what he needs has to be in here somewhere.

After a few moments he lets out a sigh of relief when his eyes spot it, small bags of ice. Mihawk eagerly grabs one of the bags. He can almost feel the pain and discomfort easing as he holds it.

He retreats with a limp back off to the guest room, shutting the door behind him and immediately removing his pants. Getting into bed and with his back leaning against the headboard.

A deep breath escapes him as he looks at his groin, knowing what he’s about to do isn’t going to feel too good. He slowly lowers the ice onto his nuts and groans, the cold feels good but the contact is still difficult to bear. He keeps one hand on his groin to hold the ice in place, and his other hand gently resting on his stomach. Mihawk leans his head against the headboard and looks at the roof, last night swirling around and haunting his mind.

What in the world is he meant to do? He doubts you’d ever want to speak to him again, or see him again…and honestly, he wouldn’t blame you. It was stupid to make all of those decisions, he made all of his issues into your issues…maybe leaving the party would have been the better move. But on the other hand, he still doesn’t want you with someone else…but he knows he went way too far.

He could leave this town and never look back, forget about you, Shanks and everyone else. Mihawk could live a life of extreme solitude, find a home on some abandoned island, living the rest of his days in isolation.

He sighs, knowing it won’t really fix anything, since he’d just be running away from his problems. And he would probably go insane, since he’d only be talking to himself. He knows he can’t forget about you, no matter how hard he tries. But it’s a tempting idea, maybe he’ll feel less alone and hur-

Mihawk suddenly loses his breath. He’s thinking of avoiding his issues again…just like he did with you. But maybe this time…it could help him feel better for a brief moment.

He breathes out. Maybe he could talk to you, if you let him, and then-…

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, he’s stuck and doesn’t have any control. Mihawk can’t even bring himself to tell Shanks either, so how is he supposed to navigate this? It’s all such a mess, a big ugly mess. It’s hopeless.

He feels his head drop and he puts one hand in front of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. Mihawk begins to softly cry into his palm, his tears heavy and thick, his sobs deep and painful. The pain gets worse in his nuts but he can’t control it right now.

It feels suffocating in this empty space, feeling the harsh loneliness. The room feels more unbearable as the only embrace is the darkness that surrounds him.

Notes: This chapter was so fun to make! I LOVED making the parallels between the two, and poor Mihawk is really going through it.

Chapter 3: Turning the Page

Notes: This chapter answers a lot of questions so get ready! I’m sad this fanfics come to an end since I’ve LOVED making Mihawk into the messiest young adult, but I’m really happy with how I made the drama unfold and I hope you are too♡ 

It’s been around 4 days since the party and the altercation, 4 days of aching and misery for Mihawk. He’s barely slept, his swollen throbbing nuts are also a constant reminder of his drunken behavior and your kick. He’s irritable, exhausted and his stern expression is darker than normal. Shanks has tried to talk to him multiple times but he won’t open up, so he’s settled for fussing over Mihawk like a mother. Which Mihawk really does appreciate, even if he doesn’t show it very well. It’s not like Redhair to be so distressed. Mihawk suspects Shanks’ worry was more due to the situation and not his injury, and the guilt he must have felt for leaving Mihawk alone that night. 

Since Mihawk hasn’t been able to do much, he’s been  laying or sitting around, or crying in his room. He’s guessing he could have filled at least a large bucket with his tears by now, maybe even more. His mind involuntarily trails to his relationship with you, the good parts. He reminisces about all the mornings when he was too tired to function, so you shaved his facial hair for him. Helping to get your shoes off while you’re holding a million shopping bags that you insisted you could ‘handle’. But he tries to keep these memories at bay, he doesn’t want to get too consumed by them. Especially since he doubts anything can get fixed now, considering the hell he’s put you through. 

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

Mihawk sits at the edge of Shanks’ porch, his feet in the grass, an ice pack at his groin, under the shade of the house. Occasionally wincing from the pain. The trees sway in the wind as a light breeze runs through, the smell of flowers surrounding the garden and frogs jumping into the pond to escape the other wildlife. But instead of really looking at the serene world around him, his mind focuses on all the mistakes he’s made. It’s his default now…thinking about everything that happened. 

He sighs, he finally made a decision this morning. It took a few days and some mental back and forth to get to it. Whether this decision is good or bad, he doesn’t entirely know. But he’s come to his own conclusion on what he has to do next. 

He’s gonna try and talk to you, to apologize. 

Mihawk figured there would be no point in running away again, nothing would be settled and he’d regret it. Even if you don’t accept his apology, which he’s already prepared himself for, it’ll be a sort of closure…he’s hoping. 

But he doesn’t know what’s going to happen when he shows up at your apartment, he’ll probably get kicked to the curb. But he has to try…right?

“Mmm, you should take that stick out for a date since you like it so much.” Shanks chuckles, startling Mihawk slightly. In his zoned out state he didn’t realize he was staring at a stick that lay in front of him, and he definitely didn’t realize Redhair was behind him. 

“Sh-shut it. I was just concentrating.” Mihawk grumbles, avoiding Shanks’ gaze. 

Shanks chuckles again, sitting down beside Mihawk. 

“What are you thinking about? And for the love of god don’t say ‘nothing’.” 

Mihawk opens his mouth to tell him ‘it’s nothing’ again. But before he can respond, Shanks cuts him off.

“Please, Dracule. I’m anxious about you, okay? Just give me something.” 

Mihawk sighs deeply. The troubled and pleading look in Shanks’ eyes makes him feel guilty. “It’s complicated…” He starts, fiddling with his jacket.

Shanks keeps his eyes trained on Mihawk, holding his breath in hopes he’ll keep going.

“I’m going to apologize to y/n, happy now?” Mihawk says slowly and carefully.

“That’s a start, but you still haven’t told me about what you did.” Redhair responds softly. 

“You’ll judge me…” Mihawk says quietly. 

“I won’t judge you, you should know that by now…when are you going to apologize to her?” 

“Tonight…” Mihawk mutters, still not looking at Redhair. 

Shanks sighs, putting his hand on Mihawks’ shoulder, not saying anything more.

Mihawk appreciates the calm silence. He feels like the last few hours before he goes to your house are going to be the quiet before the storm. 

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

The cold air hits Mihawks’ cheeks, making them slightly red as he walks through the urban area. His palms are clammy and there’s an underlying feeling of dread. His footsteps are the only thing heard in the dark empty avenue, everyone seems to be relaxing after dinnertime. Mihawks’ still walking with a slight limp, the pain and discomfort from his injury still very much present. 

His breathing starts getting a little more uneven the closer he gets to your home, he wants to turn back but he forces his legs to keep moving. Mihawk can’t help but think over all the possible scenarios, each one being worse than the last. 

After a few more minutes of walking, he reaches your street. He takes out the piece of paper with your address on it with a shaky hand. Mihawk looks it over quickly just to make sure, before putting it back. 

“Fuck…” He mutters to himself, feeling his heartbeat quicken when he sees your house. This is really happening. 

Finally reaching your doorstep, Mihawk swallows thickly, his body shaking uncontrollably, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. He tries taking a few deep breaths but it doesn’t work, he’s too on edge. Mihawk groans to himself, running his hands down his face in distress and overwhelm. 

Before he’s tempted to leave, Mihawk quickly reaches his hand up and knocks on the door before he can wimp out. He’s got no choice but to go forward with it now. 

A few moments pass and he hears someone walking on the other side, making him tremble even more, feeling like he’ll throw up. Which really wouldn’t make a good impression.

The door opens, but instead of you standing there, it’s Robin. She immediately furrows her brow and glares at Mihawk, and starts to swing the door shut. 

But before it closes, he jams his foot in the way. “Please…I need to talk to y/n.” Mihawk quietly pleads through the crack of the door. 

“Get out of here, bastard. She doesn’t want to see you, and I don’t want you near her.” Robin speaks in a hushed angry tone. 

“P-please…I’ll keep my distance, just let me talk to her.” Mihawk pleads again, his voice shaking. 

Robin huffs to herself, looking him over suspiciously. “I’ll go ask her, stay here.” 

Before he can thank her, she kicks his foot hard so that she can close the door, slamming it in his face. Mihawk takes a deep shaky breath, hoping you’ll say yes, and biting his lip from the pain.

A couple of minutes later the door opens again and Robin looks at him with her piercing eyes. He feels dizzy from the anxiety of anticipation.

“She’ll talk to you. But before you come inside, are you drunk?” Robin says sternly.

“N-no, I haven’t drunk since…” Mihawk trails off, unable to meet Robins’ eyes. 

She scoffs under her breath, clearly not happy with the current situation. 

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

You walk down the stairs, your hand gripping the railing from unease. Agreeing to talk to Mihawk maybe isn’t for the best, but you’re hoping to get something out of it. 

As you step onto the floor and go towards the front door, you see Mihawk standing there beside Robin. He looks like a fucking wreck. 

He’s got dark circles under his eyes, his body visibly trembling and his clothing is anything but neat. You take a breath and look away from him, not wanting to look at him longer than you have to. 

“What do you want?” You manage to say, your voice a forced murmur. 

He takes a deep breath. “I need to…apologize to you. If you’ll let me.” 

You look up at Robin, who’s got her arms crossed and shaking her head in disbelief.

“Well then…go ahead.” You mutter.

“No I-...I want to do it properly, to sit down with you. Please?” He says pleadingly. 

You sigh. “And you won’t come near me?” 

Mihawk furiously shakes his head. “I won’t come near you, I promise, y/n.”

“Fine…Robin I can deal with this, I’ll let you know if I need you.” You say quietly. 

Robin seems skeptical but accepts that you need time alone to talk. She comes over to you and whispers.

“If he does ANYTHING, I’ll be at my house.” She squeezes your arm and you nod. 

As Robin leaves she can’t help but glare at Mihawk again, a shiver running down his spine from her silent threat. Once she’s gone he shuts the door and turns to you, his eyes lowered.

You groan to yourself and start walking to the living room, Mihawk silently following after you. 

Two couches are up against neighboring walls so you don’t have to sit beside Mihawk. You both sit down, taking a seat furthest from him.

Heavy silence falls over the house, Mihawk's unsteady breathing and his rapid heartbeat being the only indication that people are here. 

He finally looks up at you, his face contorted with shame. You look at him for a moment before looking away again, you can’t bring yourself to keep eye contact just yet.

Mihawk clears his throat, speaking shakily. “I’m really, really sorry, y/n. I w-was a prick, an asshole, an idiot and I was completely out of line. I-”

He swallows, the silence looming over the two of you again.

“I made horrible decisions that I really regret. I’m…god, I’m so sorry…I never should have hurt you, and I never should have…taken it so far.” He manages to finish, his voice filled with regret.

You listen to him quietly, taking in his words. He sounds sincere, for the first time in a long while.

“Just because you apologize, doesn’t make it all okay.” You say shakily.

“I-I know, I know that. But you…you deserve an apology.” He responds.

“What happened that night.” You say firmly as you get to the point, leaving no room for him to lie or get out of it. You know it’s a sudden shift to the discussion, but you need answers.

“I lost my mind.” He shamefully whispers.

“Take me through it, all the details.” You say slightly shakily, your body tensing in preparation for what you’re about to hear.

Mihawk quivers slightly, looking at his hands. “Well…it started when I saw you dancing with that assh-I mean uhh…Law. I saw how close you two were, like you were flirting or something. I just…couldn’t handle it, I lost it. And it didn’t help that I was already on edge, I was dealing with anxiety just by being at the party, especially when Shanks left me alone. So to try and deal with it all, I drank…a lot. I had…5…maybe 6 bottles…I don’t know. I was just so angry, overwhelmed and jealous, more than I ever have been in my entire life.”

You had suspected he drank a lot, but not that much. And you’ve never seen or heard Mihawk this broken before, he’s usually calm, keeping his emotions and speech in check. Instead he’s fumbling over his words like a moron. 

He continues. “So then after I drank, I sat down to..watch you…” He whispers the last part, his cheeks flushing.

“You watched me and Law?” You ask with a hint of disbelief.

“Y-yeah…I’m sorry for that too. But after a while I had enough, so I went to confront you and then…you know the rest.” Mihawk says, taking another deep and shaky breath. 

While you keep silent his eyes flicker down to your wrist, that’s still bandaged, another wave of guilt etched on his face. “I’m sorry for hurting you, I can’t believe I did that…” 

“I…” You begin. “This is a lot to take in, I wasn’t expecting you to apologize.”

He nods. “Yeah, I honestly thought that I’d…”

Another silence falls over the house. You glance over at Mihawk who’s white as a sheet.

“Seeing you with that guy, it was like the breakup was set in stone.” He says quietly, his voice laced with despair. “Like I could never get you back.”

You look away from him. “You should have gone home.”

He visibly flinches, taking another breath. “Look, I’m not going to sit here and lie to you. I don’t regret taking you away from him. I regret how I did it, I regret drinking so much, I regret how I hurt you and yelled at you. I should have calmly talked to you, but I was too out of my mind for anything like that.”

“I wouldn’t have listened to you either way.” You mutter, pain clutching at your chest.

“But it would have been better than what I ended up doing.” He sighs.

“I looked into your eyes and you weren’t there. You were so…scary. ” You say quietly. 

He leans forward and puts his head in his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I know I was. I wasn’t the man you used to care for, I don’t even recognise myself. Never in my life did I want to be seen as scary to you, seeing the look on your face…I’ll never forget it. I always swore to protect you, not hurt you. I hate myself for it.” 

A few tears roll down your cheeks as well, the pain in your chest only increasing. “Why didn’t you let me go? I was crying…”

Mihawk shudders, the reminder of the incident taking over. “I regret holding onto you so tightly. I just couldn’t let go. I didn’t know how to…I don’t know how to let you go. You’re the love of my life. I can’t even begin to explain the irrational fear and possession I felt that night. 

“You said you didn’t care that you were hurting me.” You mutter chokingly. 

“I wish I could tell you I didn’t mean it, but I did. I didn’t care about anything else, I needed you to be mine again. Even if that meant I was hurting you. Although, after a while I came to my senses a bit more…that’s when you kicked me.” 

You nod, remembering that a few minutes before you kicked him that he had panicked a bit, his guilt seeping through his anger. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“Served me right, I threw up into the bushes a few minutes later. Then when Shanks took me to his, I spent the rest of the night puking my guts out which I deserved as well.” He states, wiping away some tears.

Despite everything that’s happened, you can’t help but feel worried over his health. “Really? All night?” 

“Mhmm, I couldn’t stop, everything I drank just got hurled out of me for hours. I couldn’t get a decent sleep either…” Mihawk cringes to himself as he trails off, the memory clearly being unpleasant. 

“Oh…” You would say more, tell him you’re glad he’s okay, but you shouldn’t. 

“And the next day…god. I was disgusted with myself. Remembering what I’d done to you…the things I said to you.” He mutters. 

“Yeah it was pretty brutal…” You whisper. 

“It was, I was. I-I hate how I treated you, it was physically and emotionally damaging. You really didn’t deserve that.” His voice raw.

“Yeah…” 

He looks at you, jealousy thick in his voice. “I didn’t…ruin your relationship with Law, did I?” 

“I don’t have a relationship with him, we met that night and we were just having fun. I told you that.” You look back at him.

Mihawk takes a sigh of relief. “O-okay, I know you told me that. I would apologize for stopping the ‘fun’ but I don’t think I can bring myself to do that. I’m sorry.” 

“I honestly didn’t expect you to apologize for that thing in particular, it’s fine.” You say quietly. 

He nods slowly.

You add on. “And umm, if I saw you with another girl I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I wouldn’t go to the lengths that you did, though.” 

“Yeah, you’re strong and I’m…a complete mess.” He sighs, running his hand down his face.

You look at him, feeling a bit of empathy, but you push it aside.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I’m sorry…I’m sorry for yelling at you, I’m sorry for making a good night into a bad one, I’m sorry for the words I said  to you, I’m sorry for acting insane and unhinged, I’m sorry for harming you…and I’m also sorry for how I treated you in our relationship, I really am sorry…could you ever…forgive me?” He pleads, searching your eyes for anything he can grasp onto. 

“How do you expect me to forgive you when you haven’t even explained half of it.” You sigh, leaning back into the couch and looking up at the ceiling. 

He goes deathly silent, and you can practically feel the cogs turning in his head. 

Eventually, he sighs. “Shit…” 

“Look…I don’t think I-” He begins, but you interrupt him.

“Don’t.” 

Mihawk shuts his mouth immediately and looks away from you, and you feel a pang of disappointment.

“You don’t understand…I can’t tell you, you wouldn’t understand, no one would.” He says quietly. 

You groan. “Then MAKE ME understand! I need to know why you distanced yourself from me, then the other night you…you said you still loved me. Nothing makes any sense.” 

He hesitates. “I know I don’t make any sense…I’m sorry…”

Frustration starts to bubble up to the surface. “Please, I deserve to know. You owe me an explanation.” 

Mihawk fidgets, opening his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. 

Tears form in your eyes, you feel like you’re getting nowhere. Even if he’s apologized, at this point it just isn’t enough. 

You hunch over and put a hand over your eyes, the tears trickling down. 

He immediately notices your crying, and becomes slightly frantic but not moving from his seat. “N-no! I’m sorry, y/n! Please don’t cry, I’m sorry okay?” 

“Just tell me what happened, did I do something wrong??” You softly sob as you finally look up at him again.

His face turns from frantic to mortified and breathes out. “W-what?? No! Of course not!”

“You barely even looked at me, all you did was focus on being a marine hunter and ignoring me.” You choke out.

Mihawk looks distressed as he watches you, and you can tell he wants to comfort you but he keeps his distance as promised. “I-I know…I shouldn’t have…been like that, I’m sorry.”

“Please…tell me why.” You say pleadingly. 

He’s silent for a moment, before saying quietly. “Everyone will judge me…you’ll judge me…especially you…”

“Please, tell me. I won’t judge you, I promise…” You plead once more.

Mihawk goes silent again, looking at the floor. You feel desperation take over as he shuts down, breaking you down even more.

“Please! Dracule…” You sob heavily. His body reacting slightly at the sound of his given name from your lips. 

“I thought…pushing you away would fix all my issues…” He confesses in a hoarse whisper, closing his eyes. 

“What do you mean?” You sob.

He starts getting overwhelmed, his demeanor shifting. He suddenly stands up from the couch. “It’s too much…I came here to apologize a-and that’s what I did.” 

Your eyes widen as he starts walking out of the living room, so you quickly get up and grab his arm. He stiffens at the contact, but obliges as you turn him around to face you. 

“Please…” You look into his uncertain eyes, heavy tears covering your face. 

“I should go back to Shanks’ house, I’m sorry I turned up.” He says quietly.

“No..please! I won’t judge you, just tell me what happened. Please…don’t go, don’t shut me out again.” You whisper desperately. 

Mihawk stands in silence for a few minutes. Your hand still gripped onto his arm as he looks at the floor. 

He finally looks back at you, shame and guilt written all over his features. “Okay…okay.”

Your heartbeat speeds up, gripping his arm a little tighter.

Mihawk lowers his eyes again, taking a deep breath. “It all started because…I had a rough childhood.”

You feel slightly taken aback. He’s opened up about his childhood briefly before, but never in detail. And what has that got to do with anything?

“My parents abandoned me when I was a kid. They just…left me. Ever since then I’ve been scared that…t-the people I love will eventually leave me as well.” He whispers sadly.

You slightly loosen your  grip on his arm, his confession sinking in. 

“I guess I’ve never really gotten over that. I was worried you were going to leave me like…like my parents did. ” He takes a deep shaky breath before continuing. “I decided to distance myself from you. I was paranoid that you were going to break up with me, I thought it wouldn’t hurt as much when it happened if I’d already pushed you away. It just consumed me fully. But..when it did happen…when you…I couldn’t handle it.” 

The air seems to leave your lungs.

Mihawk gets overwhelmed again, taking another deep breath. “You have to understand y/n, I thought it would be easier. I was so scared you’d leave me! I-I didn’t want to be hurt again. I thought if I put my walls up, and you left, I wouldn’t get hurt. But I was wrong…so insanely wrong. Pushing you away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. 

You stand there in a shocked silence, your mouth slightly agape, your lungs screaming for air. 

Heavy tears start falling down his cheeks, his breathing slightly labored. “I’m sorry…it was the biggest mistake of my life. It pained me to distance myself from you, you have no idea how many times I broke down in the bathroom. I just thought it was for the best...” 

Nothing prepared you for this.

“I became a different person, I wasn’t the man you fell in love with. I was cold, distant, angry…and it was all my own fault.” He whispers hoarsely. 

Before you can control it, you let go of his arm and sink to your knees, your sobbing starting up again. All this time, and this is what he was afraid of? You feel your emotions falling apart, confused and sad. 

He looks down at you with horrified eyes, not knowing what to do as he continues crying. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I-I can go, if you want.”

“You can’t just leave!” You shout through your sobs, startling him heavily. 

“O-okay I won’t go anywhere…I just don’t…” He fumbles. 

Mihawk watches you cry for a moment, before carefully sitting on his legs in front of you. He takes your upper arms gently, trying to give you some sort of support. 

“I’m sorry…” He repeats quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You question him, looking into his eyes again.

He swallows. “B-because…I was afraid you’d want nothing to do with me after you found out how truely damaged I am. I was scared that you’d see me differently and think I’m pathetic. And I didn’t want to burden you, all I wanted to do was protect you.”

“I never would have done or thought that…I would have tried to help you. To reassure you.” You sob.

“I didn’t…know that…” He whispers, a sigh leaving his lungs.

You sob a little harder, making him panic.

“What is it?? What’s wrong??” He says desperately, his heartbeat quickening.

You speak to the best of your abilities. “Knowing that you were going through so much, for months, years. That you were scared…that hurts me, Dracule. All of this is so much worse knowing you were in pain too.” 

He nods his head slowly, understanding where you’re coming from. He gently caresses your arm with his fingers, trying to calm you down somehow. “Dammit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did, I should have communicated with you. Please don’t feel bad for me.”

“Why couldn’t you be a heartless asshole, it would have made it easier.” You heavily sob.

“I’m sorry for not being a heartless asshole…instead I’m just this huge mess. You deserved better.” He says shakily. 

“This is so much to take in at once…” 

“I know…I…I should have told you years ago. I let it snowball into the biggest mistake of my life.” He says shamefully. 

“I just…I can’t believe it…” You choke out.

Mihawks’ eyes widen impossibly large. “Y-you don’t believe me?? I promise I’m telling you the tru-” 

“NO! Not…not in that way. This is all just so…I didn’t expect this to be the reason.” You sob.

“O-oh, thank god. What did you think the reason was?” He whispers nervously.

“Either…you were a heartless monster, or I did something wrong, maybe you stopped loving me…anything but this.” 

“Fuck…I’m sorry for making you that worried. I was so caught up in my paranoia of you leaving, that I didn’t think you…really cared.” He whispers, tears in his eyes.

You sob a little harder. “But I cried beside you in bed, many times. I was upset, Dracule. You saw that.” 

Shame constricts his features again. “I did…yeah. But I was too trapped inside my own mind, I convinced myself you weren’t being serious. That it was just you guilt tripping me.” 

“Guilt tripping you?” You repeat slowly.

“I thought that was a way for you to make it my fault because you were going to leave me. I know it doesn’t even make any sense…I’m so sorry…I can’t even imagine the pain I’ve put you through.” He whispers brokenly. 

You look at him with confusion, your tears falling rapidly.

“I’m gonna start working on myself, I promise. Whether we’re together or…not. The party was really eye opening for me, I can’t keep living in this mental state. I’m destroying myself and everyone else around me.” He says shamefully, looking into your eyes.

“All the things you said to me that night…” You whisper as another strangled sob leaves you.

“I was at the end of my line, the emotions I had been feeling for years boiled over.” His cheeks go slightly pink from shame but he holds your gaze. “I didn’t mean any of it, I was angry and drunk. I definitely didn’t mean that you belong to me because I’ve fucked you, I said that out of pure drunken possessiveness and jealousy. I was grasping at anything and everything to make you listen to me.”

“So you aren’t possessive over me…?” 

He takes a shaky breath. “I am possessive over you, but not to that extent. I promise. It still shouldn’t become your problem though, the way I acted that night isn’t who I want to be. I’m sorry for acting so unhinged.”

“I just wish you would have come to me before it got this bad.” You stammer.

“I wish that too, I wish I didn’t push you away. But you have to understand, at the time I thought that…you’d leave.” He lowers his gaze.

“I never would have left you, I loved you. I would have done anything in my power to be there for you, I’m not your parents.” 

“Dammit…why’d I have to mess it all up…” He mutters to himself.

Another silence falls over the two of you, except for the sound of your crying. Both of your minds working overtime. 

“Is there any way…you can forgive me?” He finally whispers, lifting his head to meet your gaze again.

You take a deep breath, sensing the anxiety radiating off of him. “Y-yes…”

His eyes widen and he’s speechless for a moment. “Thank y-you, I swear I’ll make it up to you. I swear on my life I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

All of these confessions and decisions are too much for you to handle, and you start crying even harder. Mihawk panics slightly.

“H-hey…don’t cry, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry for not telling you about it all, just please…” He says shakily, looking at you with a worried expression. 

You can’t help but keep crying, overwhelmed beyond belief. 

“Y/n, look at me.” He says shakily as he cups your cheek, guiding your face so he can look into your eyes. “I promise I’ll be better, and it’s all going to be okay. I’m so sorry for taking you through hell, I’ll never forgive myself.

Mihawk then hesitantly wraps his arms around your body, bringing you flush against his chest as you cry. He rests his head on your shoulder, his hand soothingly caressing your back. “It’s okay, it’s okay…”

You bury your head into the crook of his neck, your arms going around his waist, needing comfort more than anything right now. 

“Please stop crying, I can’t take it when you cry so hard…it breaks my heart...” He whispers pleadingly, but you can’t stop. 

Mihawk sighs deeply, knowing you won’t slow down. So he holds you tighter and settles for whispering positive affirmations in your ear in hopes that it’ll help.

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

You’re not sure how long you’ve been crying for, all you know is that Mihawks’ embrace feels like the most comforting thing you’ve felt in months. His words have a soothing effect on you, bringing you back down from feeling so overwhelmed. The touch on your back feels nice, like home.

As your sobs become small sniffles, your body resorts to trembling from the intensity.

“That’s it, can you take deep breaths for me?” He whispers. You start to take deep breaths and begin to take note of his familiar scent, calming you further. 

He keeps you like this for a while longer, making sure to tread carefully. Mihawk then leans out and cups your cheek again, looking into your eyes with his warm honey coloured gaze. 

“Sorry for getting this close to you…”

“It’s fine…I needed you.” You whisper.

He gently strokes your cheek with his thumb, keeping his voice soft and quiet. “Okay, I was just making sure.”

“Thank you.” You murmur quietly, making him freeze for a moment. 

“Please don’t thank me, I’ve done too much to-”

You cut him off. “You’ve been going through hell as well, it must be hard to navigate abandonment issues all by yourself…”

He sighs. “It has, but there’s no excuse.” 

Your arms tighten around him. “Yeah…” 

Mihawk nods slowly, processing your words before changing the subject slightly. “Can I…look at your wrist? I need to see what I’ve done.” 

“Sure.” You whisper, and unwrap your arms. 

As you remove the bandage, his eyes are locked onto the area, his heartbeat quickening. 

The bandage falls to the ground and your dark bruised wrist is exposed. Mihawk takes a moment to look over the damage, his hand coming up to gently hold it. 

“I’m sorry…” He whispers in utter guilt for the millionth time.

All you can do is stay silent, there’s nothing much you can say right now.

Mihawks’ eyes fill with tears, letting them fall down his face. He takes a shaky breath, putting your wrist down and wrapping his arm around you again to keep you close.

After a moment, you speak up. “Umm…how do your nuts feel…?”

He chuckles lightly, which catches you off guard. “I’m in constant agony, I can barely walk properly.” 

“I kicked you pretty hard, I won’t be apologizing for it though.” You mutter with a slight smile.

“Good, don’t. I think you kicking me in the balls brought me to my senses more than anything else. I should be thanking you.” He whispers, holding you closer. 

Taking a deep breath, you breathe in his scent again. “I missed being held by you.”

“I missed holding you.” Mihawk responds, his face deep in your hair and his voice filled with remorse. “I hope you know that I still love you. I’ve never stopped loving you and I don’t think I can even if I wanted to.”

“I…” You pause. “As I told Robin, I love the man you used to be. And right now you feel like the man you used to be.” 

You feel his heart skip a beat and he whispers quickly to himself, so quiet you nearly don’t catch it. “I can work with that.”

He tightens his grip on you ever so slightly, and you feel him close his eyes against your neck.

“Y/n…this may be asking too much but…” He whispers hesitantly. “Is there any possible way you’d give me a second chance?

“Y-yes, there is. But only if you promise to communicate properly with me.” You whisper back nervously.

“I’d do anything to get you back and keep you, so yes. A million times yes. I’m done pushing you away and hiding my feelings. I couldn’t bear losing you again.” He says sincerely, his body trembling again.

“I’ll give you that second chance, but you don't get a third. Got it?” You whisper sternly. 

Mihawk leans back out, his hand going to the side of your neck as he looks into your eyes. “I got it, you have my word.” 

“Okay…good.”

“Does this mean that…you’re mine again?” He whispers chokingly, his hand trembling. 

You nod, your heart skipping a beat. “Yes, I just want my boyfriend back. I need you back.” 

“You have me…I promise you do. We’ll get through this, I’ll work on myself and treat you like you deserve to be treated.” He whispers, caressing your cheek again.

“O-okay…” You whisper back.

“Can I kiss you?” He says in an unsure tone.

“Please.” You murmur.

Mihawk sighs in relief, and leans forward. He gently connects your lips in a sweet and tender kiss, pouring all of his feelings that have been in a dark corner for months. 

The two of you pull out after a minute and you look into his eyes, his gaze full of love.

“God…I’ve never seen anything more beautiful…”

“I’ve been crying…” You whisper back.

“I don’t care, you’re still the epitome of beauty in my eyes.” He murmurs. 

You rest your head back onto his shoulder, holding him tightly. Mihawk goes back to caressing your back, holding you close to him.

As the two of you spend a few minutes calming down and process everything, you stay silent. 

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

Your breathing and his has mostly gone back to normal, but there’s still an air of unease.

“Can we…take a bath?” You whisper softly, breaking the silence, your body still slightly trembling from the aftermath.

“Sure, anything for you. Would you like me to-”

“Yes.” You reply quickly.

He can’t help but smile, before helping you up to your feet. “Lead the way, I haven’t been here before.” 

“Oh yeah…that’s right.” You mutter, intertwining your fingers and starting to walk to your bathroom with him.

As you walk, he looks around your home properly for the first time tonight. “How did you get this place so fast?” 

You shrug as the two of you get to the bathroom, flicking the light on and shutting the door. “I was lucky, it was for lease when we uhh…broke up, so I decided to rent it. How did you know I lived here, by the way?”

Mihawk leans down and turns on the bath, his hand under the water to test the heat. “Shanks knew where you lived. He was at the local tavern, and it slipped out while he was having a conversation with the owner about houses.” 

That damn tavern owner never seems to keep his mouth shut about everyone's business. 

He gets the right temperature for the water and fills the bathtub up fully, then stands up, turning to you. “Come here. I can remove your clothes, let me take care of you.” He looks at you with soft eyes.

You nod, feeling a tiredness grow. 

Mihawk smiles and starts taking your clothes off, being sure to be careful with every movement of his hands. 

When he’s finished he looks over your body, admiring it. “You’re just as gorgeous as I remember…”

You lightly blush, and then watch him as he takes off his own clothes. 

He sets everything to the side and extends his hand, you take it without hesitation and you step into the bathtub with his help. He slowly follows behind and sits down, guiding you down with him. Mihawk gently sets you down between his legs, your back up against his chest, his arms encircling your waist and his head resting on your shoulder. 

The warm water surrounds your bodies, making you both sigh in relaxation. 

“Are you comfortable, darling?” He murmurs, the nickname making your heart skip a beat.

“Very comfortable, thank you.” You murmur back. 

“Good, now just relax. I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.” He mutters, taking your bruised wrist in his hand and bringing it up to his lips. Mihawk softly kisses your skin, his arm tightening around your waist. 

You relax against him, being careful to not hurt his nuts further. He continues to kiss your wrist as his hand caresses your stomach.

“I love you…I’m sorry for everything.” He whispers in a low soothing tone through kisses.

You sigh deeply. “I love you too…”

“I’ll never do something like that again, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He says softly.

“Mmm.” Is all you manage to say, making him smile lightly. 

Mihawk puts your wrist down and wraps his other arm around you, breathing in your scent. He begins slowly kissing your neck and shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed. 

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

The two of you stay in the bathtub for around 30 minutes, letting your bodies rest and soak in the heat of the water. 

When the water begins to cool, Mihawk carefully stands and helps you out, then dries you off carefully. He then dries himself off, and when he’s finished you take his hand.

“Can you stay tonight?” You say pleadingly, making his eyes soften.

“Of course, darling. I want to take care of you.” He says softly as he runs his fingers through your hair. 

You start leading him to your room in a comfortable silence, with him tightly holding onto your hand. The two of you haven't even bothered to re-dress.

The two of you make it to your room and you get into bed, pulling the covers over you. Before you know it, he’s wrapping his arms around you again and pulling you close to him. Your arms wrap around him as well. Mihawk looks into your eyes, his hands gliding over the smoothness of your skin.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Can you kiss me, Dracule?” 

He smiles, leaning in and gently kisses your cheeks, eyelids, forehead, nose. He kisses all over your face until every inch has had his lips on your skin. “I love you so damn much���is that enough kisses for you? I’ll give you hundreds, thousands, if that’s what you need.” 

You sigh, making him furrow his brow in worry. “Not good enough. You have to kiss me for every tear that’s fallen because of you.”

His eyes soften even more, slight guilt in his gaze. “I can do that, but how many would that be, my love?” 

You think really hard for a moment, looking back on all the times where you’ve cried because of his shitty behavior. After a few moments you come to a conclusion. “One thousand, six hundred and eighty three.”

Mihawks’ eyes widen the moment you announce One thousand, six hundred and eighty three, and you can tell he’s got an urge to laugh. Despite the serious night, you can’t help but be grateful that he’s amused by this. “One thousand, six hundred and eighty three, huh? Darling, are you absolutely sure you counted that many in…a few seconds?” He pinches your cheek lightly.

“Did I stutter?” You whisper, holding him tighter. 

Mihawk laughs softly, gently pinching your cheek again. “You’re adorable…but no, you didn’t stutter. I guess you’re just a fast counter.” He talks between laughter.

“So…will you do it?” You whisper, a slight smile at the corner of your lips. His laughter lighting up the room.

“I could never say no to such a wonderful request.” He giggles lightly, then leans into your neck to kiss it.

“One.” He whispers softly against your skin.

He presses another kiss into your neck. “Two”

You melt into his kisses, your eyes fluttering closed as you surrender to the feeling of his soft lips. 

“Three.”

You’re finally in his arms again.

“Four.” 

His heartbeat.

“Five.” 

His warmth.

“Six.”

His scent.

“Seven.”

His breathing.

“Eight.”

His skin.

“Nine.” 

Mihawk stops kissing your neck and moves his lips to your own. He kisses them gently, his lips moving in sync with yours for a few seconds. Both of you know you’ll be here for a while with how many kisses you demanded. 

He pulls away briefly to say…

“Ten.” 

You only want him whispering sweet things in your ear all night long, for the rest of your life. 

Notes: I had to make the ending for this really sweet, after all the angst♡ I hope you enjoyed reading! 

[luna-blood]

I was debating on YouTube about Sasuke but YouTube deletes comments, especially those that have a link. It was also difficult for me to search for the publications. So I gave myself the task of collecting posts from all Sasuke fans and neutral critics of the work 'Naruto' that talk about Sasuke and his relationship with the other Naruto characters. I have also included my contributions, such as questions to other users and post responses. I hope this post helps you when you need support when you are debating in favor of Sasuke. Without anything else to say, I leave you the links:

Positive qualities of Sasuke.

Sasuke's chakra is extremely powerful, voluminous, and denser than Senjutsu chakra!

It is false that Bee could have killed Sasuke any time he wanted.

¡Sasuke has been shown to nullify mortal wounds with Raiton!

Sasuke is literally the first person to survive the Raikage's Liger Bomb.

All Sasuke received from Raikage was a small lip bleed, while Raikage lost an arm and another Kage, Gaara, had to intervene to save his leg and his life.

Orochimaru's "physical condition" has nothing to do with his ritual and Sasuke's victory.

Analysis Sasuke vs Deidara.

Sasuke killed Danzo; he did not commit suicide.

Are Itachi and Kakashi really prodigies at the level their fans believe them to be? No.

The only reason Naruto managed to hurt Kaguya was because Sasuke forced her to change dimensions more than once and she herself had changed dimensions about four times in total.

Because Sasuke haters say that Haku is simply more tragic and a better person than Sasuke; and Batman too!

What is it about Sasuke that provokes people so much, compared to all the other fictional characters (in and out of Naruto) who have done bad things? Gaara was killing people for fun in part 1, but no one ever complains about him not being punished. Zuko from ATLA burned down a village of civilians, sent a hitman after Team Avatar, and was just lucky that no civilian was injured/killed, but everyone adores him. But Sasuke is unredeemable for threatening to destroy the village?

A back and forth on why Sasuke is a much better realized character, with thematic and narrative depth, compared to Kurapika and Zuko.

Sasuke is the imperfect victim unlike the perfect victims of ATLA and Full Metal Alchemist.

Sasuke's character is too good for the Naruto universe.

Are people upset that Sasuke was going to let the Shinobi Alliance perish?

Sasuke as a feminist icon.

Sakura is a female incel.

Sakura is a narcissistic.

Sakura inserted herself because she wanted validations from people who were out of her league, that's why. She is perfect for self-insert.

The mere idea of turning over an entire manga in your head in which Sasuke hides a raging boner (at age 12) for Sakura is... repulsive. Don't you have anything better to do?

Sasuke never kissed Sakura.

The blow on the forehead is not the maximum expression of love.

Naruto Gaiden is a fucking masterpiece! It proves that Sasuke doesn't love Sakura.

Sasuke retsuden is not canon.

Sasuke retsuden is not canon, Jun Esaka herself said it and if you are a fan of Sasuke it is normal that you hate Sakura because Sasuke is unhappy with her.

Sasuke still considers Sakura inferior.

Sasuke didn't push Sakura away because of the curse of hate.

Sasuke rejected Sakura, Ino and Karin, he didn't push them away because he was afraid.

Sasuke is not in love with Karin and did not have sex in part 2 with Karin.

Why Karin's fans say she had sex with Sasuke in part 2.

What does Kakashi know about the genocide and the physical and mental torture that would lead the child victim to a fatal coma, at the hands of a family member?

Naruto is a narcissistic.

Why Naruto is the worst character.

How can anyone read the two chapter panels showing two very different worlds the characters occupy and be surprised by the way it ended? They were not going to reconcile since the world where Sasuke exists is the antithesis of the world where his former team resides.

Lee was never "good” at Taijutsu, let alone being a genius at it. The series' main theme, revolves around bonds. When the manga began, Naruto let loose Kurama (unintentionally) against Haku, breaking all Ice Mirrors that ... no Jutsu could break; and that, happened way back in the Waves Arc. How does that associate "hard-work" with Naruto's character, upon whom many poor souls project their misfortunes to feel vindicated, when two geniuses (Sasuke and Kakashi) in the near-vicinity failed? Naruto powered through this via nothing but brute force; and that isn't a precursor to hard-work. That's the exact opposite. With the beginning of the next Arc, the "if we work hard, we could beat all odds, too" trope lovers got their kicks from Sasuke's humiliation at Lee's hands (or gates?); but then they conveniently forget that Lee himself stated that what Sasuke accomplished was literally impossible for someone like him (he even emphasized on this argument). Gai even went so far as to state that even with the Sharingan's power, Sasuke should never have been able to do what he did (he literally invented his own Taijutsu maneuver from Lee's in a single day; if that's not prodigious, I don't know what is); and Gai, last I checked, is an authority on the subject of Taijutsu, not you—yes, you! Sasuke mastered Kimimaro's CS in under two hours whilst Lee survived simply because Kimimaro was dying and he literally died whilst delivering a death-blow to Gaara and Lee; so thematically, narratively, and metaphorically, Sasuke matched an adversary against whom both Gaara and Lee lost? That and Lee was outshined by Sasuke twice in a row, going so far as to undermine Lee in his own life endeavors that involved years of sweat and tears?

Shikamaru's revenge is meaningless unlike Sasuke's.

People who support Nagato but vilify Sasuke sound a lot more idiotic than they think.

In defense of Fugaku.

How does Sasuke's revolution develop?

Why didn't the narrative validate Sasuke's radical change from Konoha's Will of Fire to the Revolution?

Itachi massacred the clan out of conscience.

The difference between Kushina and Itachi is not that big.

The policies of Tobirama Senju and the Uchiha genocide.

At what point will people stop demanding Sasuke?

Tsunade was at the forefront of the Second Shinobi World War that massacred the people of Nagato, plundered their land's resources, and continued to use the land as a battlefield resulting in mass deaths, poverty, and suffering. A war that Konoha started.

Why do so many people still blame Sasuke for Sasuke's past?

Uchihas do not have mental illnesses.

Sasuke vs Readers without empathy.

Kishimoto canon vs Studio Pierrot fanservice.

The brilliant change of perspective and theme between Hebi and Taka Sasuke; and that there is no writing defect in the moment in which Sasuke stabs Karin to reach Danzō.

Tobirama never accepted the Uchiha as true allies like Hashirama did, never trusting them, something he admitted so openly that his brother had to warn him "not to continue pursuing the Uchiha." And the Uchiha weren't planning to kill innocent people, they were planning to take over the government itself.

Kishimoto is anti sasusaku and anti naruhina.

Kishimoto never wanted to write Boruto.

The real Sasuke fans.

Sasuke winking at Sakura was never happened in the manga, it was a translation error.

[dreadpirateella]

uhhhh so I couldn't wait and finished The Neon Void... AND I HAVE THOUGHTS

putting a cut here bc this is gonna be loooong

and spoilers for all of Neon Void ofc

Dude ok just the writing in this?? This fic is SO well written like omg. All of the action scenes come across SO well, and as someone who can't write a fight scene to save my life, I just really appreciate that. Everything is so easy to follow.

AND THE DIALOGUE???? SO perfect omg. Everything felt so in character like this could be a whole season of the show. The way Leo's hysteria is written is just so crazy and so incredible. Like it's so clear that he's losing his mind but also so clear that he's still Leo. I'm just in love with it

and the looming threat of the Krang parasite?? Such a good like consistent villain. You can never go too long without remembering its presence and realizing what a massive threat it is!

The miscommunication between Leo and everyone else about what he plans to do with the key is also just incredible. The way they thought he was so far gone as to use it to release the Krang? That's just so heartbreaking.

AND THE REVEAL???? I just need to talk about it like genuinely it's SO well done. It feels a little out of nowhere (/pos!!!) and I really think it works bc it just totally catches everyone by surprise. Leo not even realizing that he's exposed until a few seconds pass it just perfect. Wondering why his entire family is staring at him like that and then realizing that they know is just *chefs kiss*

I LOVE everyone's anger when Void messed with Leo's stuff. Him stealing Donnie's bracelet and messing up his room, like you can feel the anger from the rest of the family and it's SO good.

also side note??? Mikey cutting Leo's arm off??? freaking awesome I LOVE when Mikey gets to go crazy

The emotions in this fic are just SO palpable. Like I felt the grief and heartache and confusion and anger radiating off of these characters through my screen. Every chapter is just so soaked with emotion it's freaking incredible. The writing in this fic is just phenomenal.

The brother's ninpo calming down and comforting Leo is also just such a good little repeated detail. Leo finally being able to contact his ancestors because he's back with his family once again is just SO good and so sweet. Karai is the most comforting presence known to man 😭

AND FUTURE LEO AT THE END???? was NOT expecting that I love it so dang much. Everyone in Leo's little mindscape journey at the end just yelling at him to go back to his family is just so so so sweet to read. And Leo's decision when he destroyed the key to stay with his family was just so beautiful. It just felt so right.

And everyone's reactions to every situation just feel so natural!!! I was reading it and something would happen and I'd be like of course that's how they'd respond to that! All of the Hamatos having that realization hit them that yes this is Leo and yes he's actually here is just so bittersweet to read. Knowing they grieved for FIVE years and now here he is right in front of them. It's just so emotional

I'm definitely gonna have more thoughts about this as more time passes so maybe expect more rambles?? and maybe some fanart too!!! Void's design is just too cool not to draw.

This fic sent me on a roller-coaster of emotions and I couldn't be more thankful for it. Thank you SO MUCH @sugarpasteltmnt for writing and sharing this incredible piece of art with all of us. You're incredible.

TLDR: I'm in love with this fic please go read it I'm gonna think about it for the rest of my life

[hello-vampire-kitty]

Servamp chapter 136 spoilers

I only read the chapter once so I haven't understood some parts because I haven't looked up the meaning of some words, that's what I'll do when I get to properly translate the chapter, but in the meantime, I'm just going over a few pages so you can get an idea of what's going on.

Oh my God, this chapter reveled so much!

I haven't talked about this, because I still have a few chapters to work on, but the previous one ended with Lily saying that everything was done in order to make the revived Count become the 9th Servamp with Mikuni as his Eve.

If that's the plan, could it mean that Mikuni will break his contract with Jeje or will it be possible to also keep him too?

Lily reveals to Misono that initially he wanted to put Kuro in Mikuni's path, but that would have been a great risk if Tsubaki went after Kuro, so instead he chose Mahiru.

"As someone from a family of magicians that could be easily monitored and who didn't posses the combat skills of a magician...And most of all, he was the son of a certain man"

Lily tells Misono about Touma being Mahiru's father, who was a hindrance because Touma was close to the realization of the Count's reincarnation. Lily thought that if Tsubaki would target Mahiru, Touma would be dealt with if he tried protecting Mahiru.

Lily didn't think that Touma would try shooting his son, but he was wrong.

"Love is the most difficult to read."

Lily tells Misono about his mother and what we knew about her was a lie. To start off her name was Tatsunami Hokaze which is so weird and perhaps it was a mistake because it happened before that some character's name were misspelled, like it happened with Pisca (it was even brought up by Tanaka on Twitter) and I recall one time where Tsurugi's name was written Rurugi xD

So, I looked up Hokaze (歩風) and it seems to be a boy's name and I have found the readings Ayuka or Honoka for girl names, so maybe one of those is actually her name?

Well, if it won't be mentioned by Tanaka if it was a misspelling, for now she will be called Hokaze.

Moving on, I noticed that in the first panel on the left, if you look closely at the book she's holding, it most likely "Jane Eyre" written on the cover, so we have a literary work that's associated with her.

Alright, so she was one of the orphans Lily brought to the Alicein house, like Dodo and Mitsuki.

Lily described her as ambitious woman and he encouraged her to get into Mikado's good graces. If she became his mistress, she could control him from the shadows.

The letters from his mother that Misono read were censored by Mikuni and crafted a beautiful story. In Japanese it specifically says検閲 which means censorship, so that seems to imply that he didn't fabricate the letters entirely, some things that were written in them might have been left unchanged.

Poor Misono :((

Man, the drama of this family...

So, we get to see Lily's past and I'm assuming (because it doesn't say) that he was selling his body? That's the impression I get from that image with the old guy who's giving him money...

Alright, moving on to Kuro's fight against Tsubaki!

It's awesome how Kuro made the candlestick into a sword! It looks cool!

Tsubaki says that demon Kuro was apparently sensei's "something", that he called things such as friend or brother and the demon was sort of like a familiar.

Kuro wants to hear from Tsubaki why is he obsessed with the Count, but Tsubaki isn't reluctant to tell him.

Kuro uses "Elpsis" to try looking into his memories and it's so cool that he can use Mahiru's ability, like he even changed the sword into a staff like Mahiru's!

Tsubaki had a little sister :(

So, apparently the reason he wanted to revive sensei isn't because he cared about him. He wants the ritual to be fulfilled because he awaits what comes after. Tsubaki made a promise with sensei, the latter telling him that he would make his little sister happy.

What could that mean? If she's dead, could it mean that he will bring her to life? It doesn't mention what happened to her...

Oh boy, so, I feel sorry for Misono because of how much he was deceived and we also find out that Tsubaki wasn't actually looking forward to be reunited with sensei because they had a deep bond or something, he even admits in this chapter that he's probably just a means to sensei's objective to be united with Kuro, because sensei was only interested in him.

So yeah, that's about it. I want to end the post by saying that I thank you for the patience with the scanlations, I still have three more chapters to finish until I start working on this one.

[jessequinones]

Writing Advice: Filler Chapters

I uh...didn't intend to write three different things about chapters but uh...at the bottom of this post there'll be links to my lore chapter and just overall chapter articles.

So, this doesn’t apply to a lot of stories, but mainly to the ones who use a lot of actions. It’s ok to take a break. I’m reading a book at the moment and while there are slow moments in these chapters, once the plot gets moving, there’s almost some kind of action scene or suspense going on that keeps the characters moving. The characters hardly take a breather once the plot gets moving and I would like to tell everyone, it’s ok to relax.

Moving from one action set piece to another can be quite tiring, as the characters and the readers don’t get a chance to take a break. Sure the characters can pause every couple of minutes, but the reader knows it’s not gonna last and is sometimes just waiting for the next action sequence to happen.

Filler chapters are great because they break up the story to allow readers to relax while also exploring your world and characters before the next action set piece occurs. I understand filler chapters get a lot of flak because they don’t contribute to the plot, but that’s fine. They aren’t meant to contribute to the plot, if they are, then they aren’t filler. Filler chapters are used to help fill out the world and the characters while giving the readers time to pause and reflect on what's been going on.

When is it a good time to add filler? That choice is up to you, but let’s take a look at some examples. If your characters are on the run, and others are chasing them. You can add a filler chapter while they’re resting. It doesn’t have to be much, but enjoying downtime at their campfire before moving can be a great way to show off your character's personality. Maybe even hint at some romance if you want.

If your characters enter a new place, at least give that location one chapter before destroying it. In this book I’m reading, the main character goes back home to realise there’s a festival. They meet up with their childhood friend and for a brief moment, they’re happy. That doesn’t last an entire entire chapter. In one chapter they go back home, in the next it’s destroyed, and there is no rest period. There was a moment where the main character and the love interest had a brief moment being cute together, but it wasn’t for an entire chapter. It goes from them being cute, to death.

This location, of the main character's home, could've had great filler. The main friend group could see where this guy grew up. We could see the festival, and how the culture in this town plays out. We can catch up with old characters and have playful banter. There are so many extra scenarios the story could’ve gone into if the story just took a moment to rest. (This isn’t a small book by the way, over 400 pages). Not to mention, this is just after one of their friends had died. Use this new location to show us how they’re reacting to said death. Talk about it. Give them space to breathe, it’s fine.

If you go from one action set piece to another, it might start to feel like these fights ARE the filler as if you have too much, they start to lose their meaning. I skipped over two characters' deaths because I didn’t care for another fight sequence. In both of these character deaths, the main character never has time to reflect on them so I just don’t care, no matter how major these deaths are. There’s never any time to reflect on them. I’m not saying you need to reflect on every death, but some deaths in which the reader might go, “Hold up...that should impact you...why aren’t you affected?” does take you out of the story as you might start questioning the entire relationship between the alive and dead characters.

Filler chapters are most commonly used for romance. Once the characters can breathe, and relax, they start to grow and get close to one another. Filler romance chapters are a great way for readers who don’t care about romance to skip them if they just want to get back into the action. Using filler chapters for romance does make the romance feel more natural since you get the vibe they’re connecting and you as the reader can feel like you’re connecting as well.

Let’s go back to my earlier example, the main character and the love interest in the town in which the main character grew up in. It’s a festival and everyone is having fun. Remember that cute moment which gets interrupted? Don’t interrupt that part. Use the entire chapter as a way for their bond to feel closer, for them to get to know each other, talk about what's on their mind, reflect on what happened so far, and maybe...even...kiss each other. *gasp* It’ll make their moment feel more impactful, as the reader knows it's not gonna last, but for one chapter, it feels like there's happiness.

Filler chapters are also used for world-building. While I understand, that not a lot of people like filler chapters being used for lore, because if the lore was important, why isn’t it implemented in the actual story? But sometimes, if you can only squeeze in the lore in filler chapters, that's all you can do. Now, while I do recommend if there’s anything noteworthy that you don’t want your readers to skip over, maybe don’t put those in the filler chapters. What I personally like to add is just fun little world-building stuff. Things that the reader doesn’t need to know to understand the plot but if they read it they can see that the world is bigger than what the plot gives off.

Honestly, I could probably write another article on how to do this, but I’ll summarise how to use filler chapters for world-building. If your characters are in a city, use one or two chapters to show off that city's culture. You can do this by having them go to shops, or engaging with the locals. If your city is set more modern, have them watch ads that give off snippets of how the world is operating or what’s going on. The city is such a great place to drop your characters in because anything you can think of what to do in a real city, you can do it in a story.

If your characters are at a campfire, and one of them is smart, have the smart one talk about the world, if they’re in a cave and just exploring, have them discover something interesting in the caves. If your characters are in a small town, spend a chapter at a tavern, and have them overhear a song that explains the plot, or adds some lore. Have them go to a church and witness the religion of that area. I think you get the picture. Having your characters interact with the world around them, instead of always making a dash for the main plot will make your story feel a bit more full.

Use filler chapters as a time to reflect and pause on the story. This is mostly used after a character dies and for good reason. If someone dies, you need time to process it. Having your characters always on the move, especially after someone dies feels kind of weird. If five chapters go by and your characters never get time to reflect on someone's death, especially if the dead character was important to another, that might make the reader feel like you didn’t care about said character. If a reader feels like you don’t care about certain characters, but the readers did, the reader might feel betrayed since they wanted time to reflect but never got a chance to.

In the book I’m reading, a character, who’s in a relationship with another, died around page 192, I’m currently on page 278 and not once, did they ever reflect on said death. The character's lover is sad, and the one who caused it, feels guilty, but we don’t get to hear them talk about what happened.

We have, filler chapters being used for romance, lore building, and character deaths, what about just fun? You know how in anime there’s almost always a beach episode? Do a beach episode. Do a fun little chapter that just shows your characters having fun. Yes, I know the world is gonna end if they don’t hurry, but no one is gonna complain if your characters take some time off from saving the world. Again, the best thing about filler chapters is if someone doesn’t like them, they can skip over them. For me, seeing characters take the time to be themselves makes them feel more real. Show off a little goofy trait they have, show off an uncommon fear, just something to show these characters are real. They’re not just one note, they have depth and a personality. If you want, pair up two characters that don’t spend a lot of time with each other and see what happens.

When are filler chapters bad? They only end up bad when there’s a bit too much of them and it feels like a chore to get through just for the main plot. Filler chapters work best if they stand alone and aren’t long. Maybe two chapters back to back, but never three. At that point, readers might start to think these filler sections are actually part of the story. You also shouldn’t be adding in filler chapters whenever you want, sometimes the characters do need to just focus on the main plot of the story. If they’re approaching the villain's lair, you might not want to put down a beach episode, however, just before they approach the evil lair, give them a small chapter to reflect on what's going on and what might happen is fine. Time and place.

Filler chapters at the beginning of the story are also something you might want to avoid, at least until it’s clear when the plot starts. It’s a bit hard to determine what’s filler and what’s setting up the story, but one easy way is to ask yourself, if a reader skips this, will they be missing out on anything? I think it’s a good rule of thumb to establish the main plot of your story around chapter 5. That way you have at least four chapters of buildup, setting up your characters, and the world, as you prepare your readers for what's in store. Once the plot gets moving, it’ll be up to you to figure out when to add in filler chapters, but keep in mind, that some readers would like to read a few chapters of plot-related stuff before their first filler chapter. So if chapter five is when the plot begins, chapter six probably shouldn’t be a filler chapter.

I think that about covers it for now when it comes to filler chapters. Try to imagine a sandwich when you’re making a story. The first bread is the start of your story, the foundation. It’s where the first five chapters go to get the readers invested in what’s about to happen. Then you fill the sandwich with plot-related chapters, and you add filler like the sauce or seasoning. You don’t want to overdo it, but adding them can help make your sandwich taste a lot better. Then you end your story with another piece of bread to seal the deal. Remember, if your plot is about saving the world, and you only focus on that, your sandwich won't be that big, even if there are a lot of chapters.

Don’t get me wrong, some people like a simple sandwich, but if you want to expand it, your story needs to have more than just saving the world plot. Side plots, filler, and character plots can contribute to the overarching plot of your story. After your readers have finished digesting your story, they can look back and be like. That was a good, big sandwich.

Lore chapters post: https://www.tumblr.com/jessequinones/745713565342760960/writing-advice-lore-chapters?source=share

Chapters post: https://www.tumblr.com/jessequinones/745095489988509696/writing-advice-chapters?source=share

[dekusleftsock]

Y’all reading the newest chapter scans is like whiplash

I forgot how unhinged he can be, and tbh how much more unhinged he’s currently being.

Anyway Izuku is my favorite character so, sorry y’all, I know everyone is excited about Katsuki

However. Everyone else can talk about Katsuki. I live on my scraps.

Love how Shigaraki tries to get a dig at Izuku about Katsuki like how Monoma did when he unlocked blackwhip, so his immediate reaction is diverge diverge diverge.

Talk about repressed but this is a whole new level.

And his eye bags, they just make him look so exhausted.

I said this before but the chapter after Katsuki woke up Izuku looked relieved to me yes, but also… very scared. Very afraid of Katsuki’s well being.

Especially since, if we compare what Katsuki is doing now (using the pain as an extension of his quirk), you could EASILY COMPARE to when Izuku unlocked danger sense with shigaraki. How concerned and afraid Katsuki was in those chapters.

The thing is though, Katsuki was honest. He was honest that Izuku shouldn’t be doing this on his own, he’s being honest now—“I’m Kacchan of the Bakugou’s!”

He knows how he’s feeling and he’s letting himself feel it.

Somehow, Izuku still isn’t.

Hell, when afo ignores Katsuki, what he does is laugh about how much pain he’s in, but that it’s the key.

Let’s compare how Katsuki is using pain to how Izuku is using pain with danger sense. Let us not forget, danger sense is a physically taxing quirk, much like the rest of ofa. It causes a migraine when in any immediate danger.

Idk about y’all, but I get migraines so bad sometimes I vomit from the buildup of pressure. I can’t focus on anything. I just cant really imagine Izuku using danger sense that well in a fight… yet he does.

And, what exactly is danger sense for? To get out of danger? Maybe to avoid the danger? Ofa is an extension of Izuku’s inner turmoil, every single quirk exhibits this, and it would make so. Much. Sense. For danger sense to mimic his avoidance of emotions and vulnerability.

Katsuki’s quirk as it is now uses pain in a very odd way to me—he doesn’t try to use it to exit himself from the danger or pain, but actively searches for it. The pain is the key.

Danger sense is also a relatively self serving quirk, only really useable for himself. And for him to reference danger sense of all his quirks rn, it would make sense since…

Izuku has been self serving and avoidant since before even this fight. Hell, before even the war arc. Maybe this has gone on his entire life.

I want to hit him so bad for this y’all don’t GET IT.

And, just so we all know, he did this in 348 too. When confronted with emotional conversations, his first thought will always be “but how’s the fastest way I can win this fight?”

MY PROOF YALL IM SO DONE WITH THIS DUDE

“You see I have never once thought about hurting the people I care about like that!” Okay maybe be less boring

HM I WONDER WHY

THATS SO CRAZY DEKU

YOU TELL ME

WHY IS THE GIRL WHO YOU REJECTED AND THEN SAID THAT HER WAY OF LOVING IS SOMETHING YOU COULD NEVER DO TO OTHER PEOPLE (ALSO IMPLYING JUDGEMENT IN THIS STATEMENT), SAD RIGHT NOW?

LETS USE SOME COMMON SENSE PLEASE

I’m hyped for when Izuku is forced to be honest y’all don’t understand. It’s gonna be an angst fest and it’s gonna be romantic and I literally can’t see it not heading down the “explicitly canonical” path.

[agoddamn]

Tales of Duviri is a storybook written by Euleria Entrati for the purpose of teaching children how to handle the manic flood of emotion that comes with Void exposure.

I pose a question: why does Euleria feel so strongly about this?

Her interactions with her own children are... let's call them wanting, and dialog implies that the negative aspects of their relationship--her denigrating, controlling nature, the distrust, etc--did not begin only after the Infestation brainrot set in.

We also know that she holds her father in extremely high esteem, but Albrecht did not think much of Tales of Duviri (see: him talking about his previous disdain for it in his own Duviri notes). Euleria put resources into writing Tales of Duviri instead of more traditional science, and Albrecht did not think much of it.

So why did Euleria write Tales of Duviri?

Let's rewind a step. Void exposure-induced mania, the whole thing Tales of Duviri is written to help manage.

How was that discovered and studied? It clearly was studied, enough to be a recognized condition and for the Orokin to build the iso vaults and for Euleria to write Tales of Duviri. But who would they have observed this mania in if Void research was an abandoned dead-end line of study?

Perhaps...the man obsessed with the Void who'd survived an unshielded Void dive?

Euleria had patient zero of Void mania sitting at her dinner table. Albrecht is the character who's undoubtedly had the most Void exposure.

Albrecht himself must have exhibited the Void mania and mood swings that Tales of Duviri exists to teach caution of.

And that's why Euleria wrote it; she had this gyroscope of a mood swing at home. She admired Albrecht too much to consciously deride his lack of control as irresponsible and so she channeled her energy into writing Tales of Duviri instead.

The emotion spirals of Duviri are loosely based off of what Euleria witnessed in the Entrati household and particularly Albrecht himself.

I don't believe that any courtier is a 1:1 translation of a member of the Entrati household, but more that their toxic interactions and dramatic heights reflected things that Euleria herself saw--or lived.

This reading of the Duviri characters and story--that they mean things to Euleria specifically--gives us a fun new lens to look at all of the chapters with.

For example, Mathila.

"Two children, and no memory of her husband. Poor Mathila."

Two children like Euleria herself, eh?

Mathila loved her husband. He also textually does not exist. He's not on the screen or in the text. He is a memory, and one that Mathila herself cannot even remember. There is no portrayal of their love.

Pivot to a writer's perspective. You need to write a loving relationship. You look to real life for inspiration, right? If you're a married woman needing to write a married woman in love, you naturally look to your own relationship.

And if you can't find anything to base that love off of? Well...move that character offscreen. Just tell about the loving relationship, don't show. Actually, do you even have anything to tell about? Well. Move the entire loving relationship offscreen, then. She's got amnesia. Nobody needs to talk about the love to sell it or make it feel real now. The narrator can simply mention it as a fact and it need not be challenged. Euleria doesn't have to imagine a loving family life between a husband and wife and their two children and question why that's hard for her. There. Problem fucking solved.

Another parallel that fairly started screaming at me once I started considering that the Duviri courtiers had meaning to Euleria specifically: Luscinia.

"I was created to be Sorrow, written into being, to serve as a lesson... can that change?"

Luscinia knows that she is a tool. As much as she dreams of being more, she knows very well that she is a tool--both a literal narrative element to teach a lesson and within the story itself Thrax's servant (his personal songbird).

Is there anyone in Euleria's life who might have some angst over their position as a tool? A servant who wants to escape the limited definitions of their role?

And so... here I am, back to my old role. The diligent servant. Albrecht would have smiled at that, I think.

Loid. It's Loid.

Luscinia: "This structure and I share much. Both of us once useful, both of us discarded, both of us now derelict. Both forgotten." Loid: "How might this relic make himself useful today?"

Both Luscinia and Loid are also capable of surprising amounts of ruthless violence. Luscinia has no hesitation telling you to kill the Dax or otherwise wreak vengeance on her jailers. Loid's Necramech lines feature him ranging from being excited for ensuing violence to coldly promising the Murmur regret.

The Duviri Tales were a subconscious form of therapy for Euleria herself as well, allowing her to write a story where emotional explosions were a problem that must be addressed rather than a social struggle to be suffered through at the whims of the more powerful.