#i probably should touch up some of this but *shrug* alas

[swingfromthegallery]

:))) take me up cast me away etc etc

[disneyprincemuke]

midnights, 7 * mv1

the news is out: three time world champion, max verstappen, and his girlfriend of 6 years have been broken up since the singapore weekend.

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: -

notes: wow i took thE longest break from this

(series masterlist)

(prev) // (next)

max isn’t typically the type to let panic settle in. at least, that’s what he likes to think. he likes to tell people he’s not bothered but outsiders are always quick to catch up with his suppressed emotions. 

alas, his worst fears have come true. news has broken that you’ve been broken up for almost 2 months. 

he has not been able to talk about it with daniel, so he can only imagine how things will break down in austin. 

he hopes that it’s not actually that big of a deal. plenty of other drivers have gotten themselves in messier breakups — the post doesn’t seem to touch on any speculations about how yours had come about. he can only bank on the hope that journalists are empathetic enough not to bring you up. 

but you’ve been very involved in his career and the cameras on the paddocks. they never missed the chance to have you speak into a mic or have a private conversation with you. 

pictures snapped of you together are never posted, but would be directly sent to either of you to truly encompass the privacy of your relationship. the respect shared between you and everyone on the paddocks was treasured, which is probably why your presence had been notable after you abruptly disappeared. 

he sinks into his couch, phone in hand as he stares at the pictures that sparked up speculations. it’s a low-quality picture of you leaving the red bull home, head down as your hair shied you away from the camera. the second picture is of him coming out of the building, hair dishevelled as he stood with his arms folded over his chest.

“what do i do?” max mumbles, his finger swiping over the screen again and again, staring at the two pictures. as if it would change the course of things if he did it enough. “do i talk to her?”

“i don’t know, man,” daniel sighs, his face in the far corner of max’s screen. “i mean, the best you can do is to wait it out, right?”

“rumours could spread,” charles mutters, looking away briefly with his eyes widened. “if i were you, i’d want to do some damage control. but that’s probably just me.”

max sits back, staring at the empty half of his hotel bed. your absence is always noted when he’s all alone and he's too awake for his own good, once having the luxury of your company and bright smile making him feel giddy.

the difference between this breakup and all of charles' is that there is no controversy in this one. as far as he's concerned, this is all speculation from photos that are now circulating the internet and your obvious absence on race weekends.

nobody can even really confirm if it's true unless you or max say something. for now, they're just rumours. right?

unless you've started speaking to people, and gossip platforms. but you wouldn't do any of that, or at least that's what he's telling himself. but from what he can dig out of the grave in his brain, there was nothing that happened between you that can be twisted.

but what does he know?

he can only keep praying to the fact that you'll keep it as private as you usually do.

his phone is buzzing endlessly, his other friends sending him texts as the news shocks them as much as the world. lando is asking him if he's holding up fine, martin is expressing how he feels for max, and his own mother asking him why he hadn't told her earlier.

only victoria's message will be getting an answer. after all, she's the first person that found out.

"should i talk to her?" max thinks out loud, maximising the facetime call to get a good look at his friends' reactions. "she never does well with things like this, what if people are bothering her?"

charles' picture is overtaken by alexandra's face, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. "you wanna talk to her?"

max shrugs. "i don't know. maybe?"

"would that be the best choice though?" daniel tilts his head. behind him, heidi is approaching cautiously with a small smile. "babe, what do you think?"

heidi shrugs as daniel's camera slowly turns to her. "my opinion is probably not - it's been two months. and judging by the comments that i read, i don't think there's much disrespect that has to be told off publicly."

alexandra nods as charles slowly comes back into the frame next to her. "it's up to you, max. as of right now, it doesn't seem that serious."

max sighs again, this time louder as he feels everything coming down on him. he drops his head back and stares at the ceiling. "i don't know, you guys," he sighs again loudly. "i just want to know if she's alright."

"maybe not now, mate," charles answers sympathetically, frowning at him through the camera.

"just wait it out. it could die down quicker than you think," daniel says hopefully.

max nods, now suddenly feeling disinterest in their conversation. he only craves to be by himself now. "alright, i'll catch you guys in a bit," his eyes turn to the cats sleeping peacefully on the cat tree, "i've got to feed the cats."

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold @princessria127 @ironmaiden1313 @dl-yum @crlsummer @brekkers-whore @minkyungseokie @honethatty12 @barelytolerabled @vellicora @lokigoeschoki @avg-golden-retriever

[uchihaharlot]

I didn't mean to break their hearts, I was just curious, srry!😭😭 (but Itachi's one was kinda funny-)

But anyway, now I'm wondering about how they would react if they found out that you can draw really cool and beautiful.

(I'm an artist, so😎)

Nonny 🥹🥹

That put me in an really good mood; lol. That was way too fun to write; maybe I can one day write a super angsty break up (but I love them too much!!!).

I love all artists 😭😭😭 Painters, writers — digital or paper. Anything that expresses the inner workings of someone’s mind and the fact that they can manifest it to reality is so so so beautiful. I hope I’ve secretly seen your art, I’d probably simp over it. Always simp over art. 😂😂🥹🥹

N/SFW; very cute Uchiha men adoring your artwork! 🥹🥹🥹 (ooc Madara??); Simpy Obito; …Scandalous Shisui; abnormally observant Itachi 😂 suggestive themes rolled out the further I got. For some reason, I just had to. (P.s. I should not be allowed to write when tired??? Half of this was done while my eyes rolled shut in bed).

Madara:

It’s not everyday that Madara is blown like a leaf in the wind. When you mentioned being a patron of the arts, he thought maybe the art of battle?? Didn’t expect your weapon to be a paint brush with some acrylic paint. Thought it was some weird jutsu infused shit.

And then you just had to go above and beyond and do a portrait of him for his birthday!!!!! It’s hung on the living room center wall so that it’s the first thing anyone sees! Honestly, this man is a brute, but your art envokes his softer side! A side that he hasn’t been in touch with for…well, a long time.

Makes sure that everyone and I mean, everyone, is aware of your talent! Still, he tries to find the side hussle in it, soliciting customers for you and all. 😭😭 Will trash talk the chalk art children make on the sidewalk, which ‘…that’s not nice, they’re children..’ you say. He shrugs, nobody is as good as you.

Obito:

Finds out and tries to ‘secretly’ commission you lmao. Makes it totally obvious too, his handwriting is shit and eveeeerrryyyyone knows who Tobi really is…. Plus how can you even begin without discussing what he wants done!! Duh, Obito! Unfortunately for him, you are more interested in drawing matters of the flesh. He’ll only show his chest, nothing more.

‘That’s fine.’ You shrug, and get to work. Obito, however, does not have the resolve to sit still! It’s frustrating to no end, but alas, after what seems an eternity— its done. Sort of. Still much to add, but the basics are there and you’ll work better when he’s not asking how does it look every twenty minutes.

Eventually you do finish this beautiful piece of him, and Obito cries. You made his scars tolerable and beautiful with your mind’s creativity, he feels less self conscious about them, only a little.

Shisui:

Is the least normal about it when he discovered your sketchbook — more like snatched and played keep away. Had to fight him for it, literally. Will ask you to paint/draw him naked…many times lol and you respectfully say no... Not that he likes people to see him naked (ok maybe a little?) but he secretly hopes it might happen one day. It would be a private thing for the two of you, cause he wants that ass.

And when you do cave to his whim, just to satiate him. He’s nervous lmao. Had this oh so macho man idea of rocking a hard on but Shisui simply maintains his usual semi. It’s nice though, you make sure it’s extremely detailed..as he asked for.

But, ‘(y/n)… this is chibbi!!!’ Lol, jokes on Shisui!! He didn’t say how to draw his pp.

Itachi:

Is the most normal about it. Though he still will praise you every time you finish a piece and show him, he is still massively impressed. How does your wrist not get tired? …maybe this is why your hand jobs are so good. 😈 Just watching you try a new technique (pointillism, which is my favorite style) makes his wrist hurt. Enjoys when you ask him for ideas! He has lots of them! Mostly…obscure and derelict landscapes though.

Would not be opposed to having his portrait done, but it’s really not his style. He is disciplined enough to sit still but doesn’t see the value in it. Not until the final product is revealed, does he truly understand how important this piece was. You’ve captured his personality in a new light.

[anglingforlevels]

Yours (Reader x Platonic Yandere!Imposter)

I can't walk on my knee, and apparently, knee-pain is the best motivator to write because I sat down and wrote this. Not sure if it makes sense, but alas.

CW: Yandere, monsterfuckery, reader has a brother, mental anguish, straight up no one has a good time in this story, not proofread, dead dove

Minors DNI

Today was an important day.

You hadn’t slept very well, still exhausted to the bone. Nonetheless, you had dressed up nicely for the occasion. A certain anxiety flittering and forcing you to fiddle around with trinkets and empty frames. You really should find a picture for that frame, then again, pictures was always more your brother’s thing.

The unrest culminated in said empty frame receiving a crash course in gravity, repaying the favor by glass shattering across the floor.

Damnit.

“Breaking the apartment?”

You were immediately faced with that question when you sheepishly emerged from your room to search for a broom. Asked by none other than your brother, James, who was lounging comfortably on the sofa, flipping through a magazine, he made a hand motion urging you to come sit too.

“Not yet. I dropped something, alas, my hands must be as smooth as marble, it just rolled right out of them.” You sighed and shrugged, awaiting the usual punchline expectantly. James made the grand sacrifice of looking away from the pages of his magazine to direct a raised eyebrow at you.

“Smooth as what now?” He asked, and your arms dropped, for a moment your expression did too, caught off guard. You collected yourself quickly though.

“Marble. It’s either this lame joke or self-deprecation.” At this, you dramatically sighed and lifted your hand to your forehead, “Oh, it seems even picture frames flees from my touch.”

James wrinkled his nose at this. “Ugh, no, I’d rather have Mx. Marble Hands back then.”

“I’m afraid they’ve perished. Marbled to death. Investigations still ongoing, my money’s on the picture frame.”

“Well, then they kinda had it coming, don’t you think?”

You gasped at this. “Vengeance is never the answer, haven’t you watched any children’s cartoons?”

“Not a child, so no.” He answered dryly. He had been a child at some point, so you weren’t sure what to make of the answer, feeling a bit at a loss, but you powered through.

“Mx. Marble hands deserved better than this. I’d hate to be them right now.”

“I’d hate to be them anytime. Now, please shut up about it and come sit down.”

“Despite how politely you asked, I can’t. Believe it or not – some of us actually have plans.” You said with a joking “hmpf”.

“Whaat, plans? No way.”

“Wha- what’s with the immediate disbelief? Today is an important day. Today’s… It’s…” You furrowed your brow as you faltered, not noticing the way James’ attention sharply focused on you. “…Today is important, isn’t it?”

But why? What was happening today?

“Oh, probably some kind of fight day or independence day? You were always sappy for those.” James laughed, and your expression relaxed as you rolled your eyes at him.

“It’s important to celebrate that kind of stuff.” You laughed, even though it still felt wrong. Feeling restless once more but without knowing what your plans were, you settled on the sofa next to James who abandoned his magazine in an attempt to convince you to play Street Fighter together, though at your continued rejection, he dejectedly played solo, shifting, and settling up against you as he played quietly.

Relishing the comfortable familiarity and domestic bliss, you closed your eyes with a sigh, enjoying the ache of your tired limbs coming to a rest, and most of all, enjoying the quiet. You liked it much better when he didn’t speak. And then, you felt startled at the thought, how mean it felt. You didn’t like the fact you had thought it at all, so you focused on something else.

You glanced at the sole item on the empty wall: The calendar. It was tacky and ugly, but you had some fondness for it, it was the first item you bought when you moved out to live on your own.

No, you didn’t live alone, you lived with James. Right, the first item for when you and James moved out.

You kept glancing though the date felt significant, it didn’t invoke memories of why, and you felt an odd sense of distanced anxiety at this, worried if you were possibly late for whatever your plans was, yet not feeling anywhere enough panic either, settled into lukewarm worry instead.

“You trying to make time fly faster or something?” James asked, not looking away from the video game he was playing (and losing). You looked away from the calendar at that.

“Maybe it’s just that painful to see you repeatedly lose Street Fighter. You know, you can crouch and kick on repeat, right?”

“I have something called integrity and honor.”

You glanced one last time at the calendar, the date keeping captive the corners of your mind, the ones that felt fuzzy and blurry – just out of reach from what you could comprehend. As you finally gave up on the calendar, you noticed the wall.

Had it always been this empty?

Somehow, the sight made you feel uneasy. “Hey James, why don’t we take some pictures?”

“…I really don’t like that kinda stuff. I’ve never understood the craze about phones and cameras.”

“Oh, I get why you’re bad at games now. You’re actually an old man.”

“Aw, shut up.”

You didn’t take notice of the way James looked at you, your own gaze fixed on nothing at all, an ambiguous expression on your face, as if unable to settle on an emotion among your conflicted, confused state. It was a buzzing, prickling sensation, like when regaining feeling in a numb limb, and it felt like you could unearth what these emotions were, if you just, held on a moment longer, if you let the numbness subsize just a little m-

“How about playing a song on the piano?”

“Oh? Uh, I don’t play the piano.” You said, disorientated, the numbness spreading again. James’ face dropped briefly.

“Then why don’t we watch a movie?”

“Yeah. Of course, sure. Can it be Beauty Squad” You answered almost reflexively. Happy for a distraction, you clung onto the suggestion, as if drowning your own senses in familiarity. James’ resigned compliance to your usual movie-choice felt like a warm blanket, a blissful cover.

The fatigue sitting in your bones made you give in to its warm embrace, how long had you been awake? It was hard to tell when being conscious and unconscious all felt the same.

Familiar tones played out, familiar lines, familiar antics. You thought James wouldn’t like you to rest your head in his lap, but he hadn’t said a thing in protest, silently letting you. Only the sounds of the movie filled the room as James absent-mindedly played with strands of your hair.

If this moment could last forever, then maybe everything would be okay. You could close your eyes to this moment and…

The music became chaotic and fast as the main character crashed down into their own graduation ceremony, saying a corny punchline before the cartoonish chase resumed.

“Pfft,” Your laugh caught James’ attention, and of course, he demanded to know what you were laughing at. “Ah, nothing, nothing. It’s just, this scene is just like when you accidentally interrupted your own graduation ceremony to take pictures.”

“…” James didn’t respond for a moment. And you looked at him… Right, he was in high school right now, wasn’t he?

“It’s… It’s nothing.”

You tried not to look at the empty wall.

You stood up. “Hey, the movie’s still going, sit back down.”

It took you a moment to respond, your mouth felt so dry, and a wave of dizziness hit. “I… I just wanted a snack. I’ll be back in a moment.” James looked blankly at you for a moment, and for a moment it felt as if he was examining you, like standing before a judge, and then he nodded.

You walked, part of you protesting needing permission from him to leave, but your mind wasn’t made up either, stuck in the desire to stay but feeling drowned, as if being swallowed by a vastness. You had to leave. To move. Something. Anything.

Drowning in the dark thoughts of your mind, it felt as if it would burst. Part of you wanted it to, tempted to hit your hands against your temple, as if to make everything spill, splash across the floor and far away from you.

Instead, you walked to the kitchen. One step, then the next. You wondered, in these moments, if he knew how it felt to die while breathing, to drown while on land. One step, then the next. It was all you could do.

In the kitchen, you opened the fridge only to be greeted by empty rows. No one had gone grocery-shopping it seemed. Right, that was your job, wasn’t it? Who else could it be? James was… he was a teen, right. Yeah, that’s right, you were alone.

No. Not alone. James was here, just, you were the only adult here. That’s right.

…

Grocery shopping, right. How long had it been since you went grocery shopping? When had you last gone outside? You looked down at yourself. You were dressed nicely. Right. Today was an important day, wasn’t it?

You felt lost and dizzy, seeking something to support yourself, your hand landed on the wall. The empty wall. Why was this wall also so empty? All of them was empty.

You mistook desperation for determination as you began to look through drawers to find an instant camera. You knew James had one lying around here. Your James had so many cameras.

“But James doesn’t like cameras.” You repeated joylessly. Nonetheless, in your hands, an instant camera. On clumsy feet you began to sneak toward the living room. James, unaware of your presence, sat on the sofa, waiting.

Click.

Looking down at the picture. It hadn’t developed yet. You’d find tacks or something so you could hang it. The sofa creaked as James stood up. He had heard the click probably, and noticed you standing awkwardly in the doorway, clutching something to your chest, of course.

You think, in the back of your mind, that James said something, but you head felt light, as you looked at empty walls. Temporarily empty walls. It would be better now, if you could just fill them out, your life could return to normalcy, and you’d return to the ground.

You looked down at the photo in your hand. Shapes were slowly starting to form, making way for imagery. It was only a flash, barked, hollowed skin, wrongly bent joints, and a yellowly glow, then something grabbed tightly onto your wrist, the photo snatched from your hand before it finished developing.

It was James grasping your wrist tightly, pupils dilated and a tight expression on his face. Then he sighed. “Playing spy, are we?” He smiled but the smile felt sharp and tight, and his laugh felt forced and bitter.

“I… I think I need to lie down.”

“Alright.” He nodded, leading you toward the sofa, but you weakly pulled against his grip, shaking your head.

“In my bed.” You needed to get away, his presence felt cloying, and the empty walls felt as if they closed in on you. You needed a moment. He didn’t stop tugging you toward the sofa, your limbs felt too weak to put up any real resistance.

“Don’t be silly. I can watch over you better from the sofa.”

You pulled harshly at his grip. “No!” He stopped and looked at you for a moment. And you felt little under his glance, unable to explain yourself properly. He was trying to help, but it was wrong, something was wrong. The walls was empty, the fridge was empty, the apartment was… “I… Just a moment, I’ll be out in a moment.”

After a moment, he released your wrist. “Okay.”

You stumbled a bit, having unconsciously relied on the support of his grip. It was the same old sensation of falling, yet your feet never left the ground, was it a dive into nothingness, or a flight into something worse? You never learned because each time, like an anchor, you’d be pulled to the harshness of the ground by a hand on your shoulder and another distracting line, it pulled you back but never caught you in your fall.

You wondered where’d you land without an anchor.

You hurried to your room and was greeted with shattered glass. Right. From earlier, you had needed a broom, and you had to hurry because today was an important day. Your foot touched the broken frame.

The empty walls were left behind, but the room felt even smaller, and you felt tired. Too tired to push against the pressure building, letting it swallow and choke you. There had to be… a picture. Something to put in the frame. Why else would you have it?

Looking through bottom drawers and beneath your bed, it was hard to tell if you had dived onto your knee or if they had simply buckled beneath the weight of your own desperation, glass shards dug into skin as you looked through cloudy eyes.

And, in the corner under your bed, hidden away by pieces of cloth and scattered objects, was a little box. You pulled it out, your hands shook as you opened the little lock with practiced ease, as if you knew the box already.

In the box was carefully placed pictures, all wrinkled as if having been held often. On the roof of the box was a date scribbled, today’s date. You were in many of the pictures, sticking your tongue out at whoever was taking it. And some of them, there was another person, usually laughing together with you.

For a moment, you almost wanted to ask; Who’s that?

Something within you felt like it was going to burst. “James?”

This guy whose smile was entirely different, whose eyes were different, whose build was different – who was different. This was James, and for a moment, you had forgotten. Someone you loved and held so dear; you had forgotten until reminded.

Each time you looked away, it grew hazy once more, and it took just a second longer to recognize the picture again. It felt as if you’d break beneath it all.

“Oh, you want me to pause the movie?” James’ voice called out from the other room. No. Not James. Whoever that stranger was, it wasn’t James, they didn’t even bear a semblance. You wanted to scream and cry and ask, no, demand answers from this imposter.

“Hello, you hear me?” His head peeked through the door-opening, and every word died on your tongue as familiarity enveloped you. It wasn’t… It was not James. Your grip tightened on the picture, as if to remind yourself.

 “Hey,” he said, a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t respond, didn’t know how to. But perhaps you didn’t need to as he saw the scattered photos among bloody glass shards. “Come out, I’ll bandage your wounds.” Was all he said.

“You’re not him. You’re not my brother.” It felt like pushing a boulder just to say that. The words felt foreign in your mouth, but you held onto the truth the best you could.

“What’s different about me?” he asked. You hadn’t been prepared for that question. Retaliation, denial, anything but that question.

“It’s… Different. You…”

He laughed. “You really do need to lie down; you must be half-asleep or something.”

No. For the first time today, you felt awake. “No. I know I’m right. You’re not…” You all-but flung the picture of your brother at him. The picture now in view, the person in front of you grew unfamiliar again.

“Does it really matter? If you need a picture to notice we’re different?” Before you had a chance to even respond, he leaned closer, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look away from the scattered photos. “Try it. Describe him.”

…You couldn’t.

“But when you look at me, you remember. Who cares if the memories are right?”

There was a temptation of giving into the sweetness that clung onto his words, the sweet lie feeling more welcome than a truth you feared facing. But you could still feel the photos beneath your fingers, feel the sting of the shards in your skin.

“I care!” Your voice raised and cracked, sharp and jagged like the shards.

Frustration slipped into his sigh. “For now. But as always, you’ll forget again. There’s no point in this tantrum. You don’t want to remember anyway, you’re too fragile for loss, so just-“

His words were interrupted as you nicked his cheek with one of the glass shards. At this he stepped back, releasing your chin. His expression’s thinly veiled exhaustion and annoyance gave way for clear resentment and frustration.

When he spoke, his voice was bitter and low, an almost malicious edge to it.

“Do you even comprehend how much I hold back not to kill you? Every moment, it’s as if your very being beckons me to consume it, that’s why I showed up to begin with. To feed. But I decided to stay, unlike everyone else, I’m staying, I’m here!

Anything you lack, anything you miss – I’ll be that. Your brother, your friends, your old stuffed animals, your childhood, yours. I’m yours. Why don’t you und-“He stopped his increasingly fast rant, sighing in tired frustration. “It doesn’t matter. In the end, it’ll be the same as always. You stay. You always stay with me, just like I always stay with you.”

Your breath was caught in your throat. But… Even though you didn’t remember, you remembered the feeling of flying so high and swimming so far, now you were stuck at the bottom of the ocean, unable to lift from the ground as you drowned, and you longed to remember the feeling of not hurting, in the face of that, fear meant nothing.

“You can’t become my brother; you can’t become anything.”

“I can. I do.” He insisted. He kneeled next to you, reaching out to you as if to comfort you, as you flinched, he let his hand fall again, and part of you wished he hadn’t, longing for the warmth. “Hidden wounds don’t need to heal. And someday, I’ll replace even the blood gushing from those very wounds.”

Nothing about his words was a comfort, somehow it felt as if he was comforting himself with them. You wanted to explode in anger, continue an assault, use glass shards or words, but anger was flames and passion and action and – and you were just too tired.

“Do you hate me this much, to torture me like this?”

“Not hate.” At this, he breached the invisible barrier, letting his hand cup your cheek. “Every time you remember a little less, question a little less, and I hide a little less. Bit by bit. One day you’ll look at my true body, hear my true voice, and think nothing of it. All you’ll see is your brother. And you’ll be right, your brother, me, not him. Not some wasted grief. I’ll make you happy.”

“This doesn’t feel like happy.” All you could manage was a broken whisper. “Why?”

He was silent for a moment before speaking,

“I’ve fed on countless people. I exist only in the scope of broken dreams and wasted chances. Regrets is the proof of life, and so I remove those regrets, and with that, their very lives, and humanity slowly corrodes. And I – I cannot even have that. That one, painful semblance of life, and yet I continue to live.”

His voice was an odd mix of gleeful and resentful. You thought, somewhere in the back of your mind, that maybe he was happy to just bare himself at all, another part of you wished he didn’t, as he grew more distant from what you knew with each word, but you didn’t believe this speech really was for you, it was for himself.

“Reasons, what reasons did I have for living or dying. I was devoid of it all yet forced to play part of it all the same, in make-believe fantasies. And even so, it was never for me to comfort or be comforted, never for me to share a meal, never for me to hold a hand, never for me to hear the sound of someone playing the piano for me, never for me to fight and make up with someone, never for me.

In this world I lacked even ones to hate. And yet, all I could do was hate. Stuck in the dirt, all I could do was look up into heaven, cursing every leaf picked by the wind, every bird that could fly, everything that could move where I could not. Love where I could not. I was in hell but forced to act out heaven.

Every time it’d be a new face, a new regret, a new deception. Never me. Always something there isn’t there. But you… You saw, you knew – for a moment, you knew. And yet, you stayed. You didn’t fight, didn’t run. You closed your eyes to it, and clung to my delusions, clung to me.”

“And yet, here you are, pretending to be my brother.” At this, the corners of his lips quirked down, his figure looming as it seemed to grow, crooked and spiny. You thought maybe this was just a little closer to his true form.

“One day, you’ll forget why you clung to me. And then you’ll cling to me all over again. I know it, you are my one thing, my one person, the one thing for me. You infuriate me, you bring me joy, regrets, hopes, all of it – I can obtain it with you, through you, if I just hold on long enough.

Even if my body decays under the weight of hunger, I’ll stay for you without fail.”

”But I want you to leave.” The words sounded fake and hollow, even in your ears.

At this, he laughed. “Leave? And then what, you’ll be left in this empty apartment? Staring at pictures, rewatching old home movies? You don’t really want that.”

“Shut up, you don’t know what I want. You don’t-“ your words were like sand in your throat, forcing it to close until nothing could come out but broken sobs. He took the silence as cue to move closer, wrapping his arms around you – you hated the comfort of this stranger but felt unable to push away its familiarity, clinging desperately unto it.

“I can leave. Simply say the words and you’ll be rid of me.” He said with such ease because he knew you couldn’t do it. In the end, the only thing crueler than this torture was its absence.

[miraclesnail]

Apollo and Mario Party 8

Part 51 of 1000 Ways to Tell the Stoll Brothers Apart and I Can Name You One (ao3)

Apollo plays some Mario Party 8 with the others before he heads out with Leo. It’s supposed to take his mind off what’s to come, but so far it’s doing nothing but adding more stress.

Apollo — Mario Party 8

Connor (16) 

January 2011

Connor Stoll is unfairly and unreasonably cruel. The worst mortal to have ever existed. An absolute terror to society. A complete asshole. An unbearable dictator. A terrifying tornado of destruction. Practically Godzilla himself with the way he’s rampaging. They had been getting along after Apollo had saved his friends and family, but he fears all the progress he made is getting undone now. 

“GET IT TOGETHER, APOLLO, OR SO HELP ME!” Connor screeches, pressing the buttons desperately on his GameCube controller and leaning so far forward on the chair that a couple more centimeters is enough to topple him. 

Apollo winces under the shrill scream. It’s just a game, a dumb party game… he thinks, but he tries harder. He really, truly is giving it his all. He’s mashing the buttons as fast as he can. He’s praying for Mario to also ‘get it together’ and get back on track. This ‘Rowed to Victory’ minigame is as simple as can be. Row in unison. Then one person rows to avoid obstacles. Then row in unison again until they touch the flagpole island.

But alas it is not meant to be. They flounder in a circle (due to no fault of his own) as Connor squawks instructions at him, “Row! Row! Press the freaking button, Apollo! Why aren’t you rowing?! YOU NEED TO ROW!” before screaming in frustration as their opponents, Ellis and Sherman, reach the island first and win. The two half-brothers high-five in delight. 

Connor sinks to his knees, kicking the chair as he does so, grabs a fistful of the carpeted rug and bangs his head on the floor. Meanwhile Sherman is taunting Connor in a way that is really unwise, jeering all sorts of middle-school insults at the son of Hermes. 

If you ask Apollo though, Connor is being a tad bit dramatic. 

“This,” Connor begins, getting back on his feet and turning to face him with a dreadful gleam in his eye, “Is the sixth minigame that you have made us lose, Apollo. Is this on purpose, huh? Do you like losing this much?”

Apollo looks at his three wonderful children to save him from Connor’s ire, but Austin is hiding a smile behind his hand. Kayla is laughing in amusement, completely unabashed. Will is the only one of the three who has a fraction of concern. But that fraction of concern is for Connor, not for his father who is arguably in hotter water. Will remains silent though and voices nothing for either side. In fact, Will shrugs in apology when their eyes meet and Apollo begs through his body language for Will to save him. 

Which is fair enough. No children should be expected to save their father like this. He’ll save himself. 

Apollo rolls his shoulder to loosen the tenseness and avoids looking at Connor directly. “Of course not! I’m just warming up.”

“We are on our fourth Tag Battle,” Connor says flatly. 

Touché. “I’m still warming up.” 

“Apollo,” Connor begins and he shrivels under the heavy judgment in Connor’s voice. Hermes should be proud. Connor really, truly captures the Messenger God’s competitive spirit when it comes to games and contests. He wonders if it’ll help Connor’s attitude if Apollo told him he once beat Hermes in a footrace. Probably not.

“I was really, really patient in the first game. I know you never played Mario Party before so I was forgiving while you got used to it. The second and third games, I was also really patient and tried to help you the best I could.” Connor really was. Apollo can’t deny that. There were all sorts of tips Hermes’s son gave him in this incredibly patient and considerate tone. “But we are now at our fourth game and you have not approved a single bit! Not a bit!”  

“I was holding back,” Ellis says unhelpfully. “I still am.”

“Want me to blindfold myself? Maybe that would be enough of a handicap to help you guys get some coins at least,” Sherman sneers, fist-bumping his half-brother. 

“Lock in, Apollo. I need you to lock. It. In.” Connor punctuates this with loud claps in his face in between each word before getting back in his chair. Which is frankly unneeded. He’ll lock in! He’s the God of Archery! His aim is always locked on the target.

“Is this helping you destress?” Leo oh so unhelpfully adds, lounging at the foot of the couch and messing with some screws.

“It is. I have never been more stress-free in my life,” Apollo grits out between his teeth as he grabs his controller tighter. 

This turn. For sure, he is turning this whole game around this turn. He is the god Apollo (Well, the former god, Apollo but he’s still mostly himself!) and this is just some kid’s game developed by Hudson Soft for weak-willed, simple-minded mortals to pass the time in their unbelievably short lifespan. 

But the next minigame, some horrible football game called ‘Grabby Girdiron’,  ends once again with their defeat. For some reason, he couldn’t grab the ball. And Sherman was on Connor at all times, stunlocking him while Ellis scored goal after goal. 

The mechanics are the issue. They have to be. Give him a new controller and his incompetence will be solved. Or maybe Hephaestus is interfering here, making sure everything machine-driven doesn’t work for him. Or maybe Nike is under orders from Zeus to make sure he never wins a single thing in his life. There is no way he is this bad. He beat Hermes in a race! He beat Ares in a boxing match! He’s plenty athletic in real-life! 

Connor breathes in and out slowly. And also quite scarily. But he doesn’t say a word as he squeezes his controller just a bit tighter. Maybe he’s holding all his rage in when they get to the end.

Leo nods and says, “Because you suck at this. No offense.”

Everybody's a critic, aren’t they? 

“You are the worst,” Connor agrees with Leo in this calm, terrifying voice as his dice rolls. His character Boo moves forward six spaces onto a blue space. “I have never lost this much before in my life.” 

“Well, if you hate me so much why don’t you go get your usual partner?” Apollo huffs and hits his own dice. His heart shatters when he sees what he rolls. 1. How can it be 1?! All he needed is a 2 to get to the star! Granted, he doesn’t have the coins but still! What kind of luck is that? And he lands on a red space. Of course, it’s a red space. The universe literally hates him right now. First, it was Dad casting him down to Earth as an acne-riddled teenager and now it’s Mario Party giving him nothing but Ls. 

“I want to. I desperately want to trade you for him. But Travis is on the other side of the country,” Connor says as Sherman rolls the dice that gets his Daisy character to the next star and he can definitely afford the 20 measly coins it takes. “We never lost in 2v2 matches.” 

“Maybe if Apollo plays as Dry Bones, it’ll go better,” Percy suggests as he sips on some blue lemonade and rests his forearm against Connor’s shoulder. Guess Percy is taking a break from his studies to watch Apollo absolutely get trashed both in-game and out-game. “Travis always played as Dry Bones, right? Maybe Apollo can channel some of that good energy.”

Connor makes a face like the thought alone of being a matching pair with him is disgusting. And well, same here then! Artemis is the only one he wants to match with. 

“No. Dry Bones and Boo is my thing with Travis. I would rather switch to Luigi. Maybe after this round is over.” 

“We can still catch up,” Apollo says with indignation. They have completely given up on him. How dare they. He’ll show them up. He’ll prove them all wrong. “Trust me. I’m getting the hang of it. Have some faith. We can still win.”

Spoiler alert. They do not.

And even more spoilers, they never do. Not once in the next five games. 

Apollo hopes none of them blab to their parents about this horrible day. 

Becoming a mortal is humiliating enough. He can’t bear it if they all make fun of him some more over Mario Party 8.

[keicordelle]

The Daily Inconveniences of an Au Ra: Limbal Rings

The dusky interior of the cave was a relief after so long spent in the bright sun. Keshet much preferred to operate at night, when the inimical sunlight didn't set his eyes to burning, but alas, primal summonings weren't known to accommodate his schedule. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking until the light-induced afterimages faded and he could see clearly once more. Even the paint beneath his eyes had not been enough to counteract the brilliant desert sun, and the muscles of his face were most pleased to finally be freed from their squinting.

He strode deeper into the cavern, until the glowing mouth vanished around a corner and he escaped even its hateful glare. Surprised there's not more guards, he noted, scanning the empty, rough-hewn tunnel that stretched before him.

"Uh, Keshet?"

The bewildered tone of Alphinaud's voice made him turn to look back at his companions, who stood only a few steps past the bend, peering uneasily into the cavern. Their gazes scanned blankly over the walls, and he frowned at them. "Is something wrong?"

Their eyes sought him when he spoke but did not find their target. "Do you not think it would be wise to light a torch?" the boy continued.

"Not especially."

"Are you... Can you see, right now?" He sounded dumbfounded, and Keshet's frown deepened.

"Of course."

"Of course, he says, as though that should be obvious," Alisaie griped, throwing her hands up. "As if we're the odd ones."

"Should I not be able to see?" he asked, only to earn an exasperated sigh.

Alphinaud cleared his throat and picked up the explanation. "'Tis nearly pitch black any deeper than we are," he said. "Your night vision must be very good."

Oh. He stepped towards them until their eyes focused on him and he knew he was within their range of vision. "I've never had any trouble with darkness," he offered, shrugging. "Those of us with limbal rings can see better in darkness than daylight."

"Are your eyes actually glowing in the dark?" Alisaie asked, her tone caught somewhere between awe and mirth.

"Er, well, yes."

"I always thought I was imagining it," she murmured, biting her lip against a laugh.

Keshet huffed. "I can see just fine in the dead of a moonless night or in the bowels of a cave" - the 'unlike some people' was left unsaid - "but too much bright light will hurt my eyes. Which, before I came here, was not a problem I encountered overmuch."

"Fascinating," Alphinaud breathed, looking a touch too intrigued for Keshet's comfort.

He shifted uncomfortably, tail lashing behind him. "Yes, well, it's rather more useful when not travelling with a group who are not so endowed. I suppose we'll have to light a torch after all. Too bad it'll cost us the element of surprise."

"With your eyes glowing like that, they'd probably see us coming anyway," Alisaie snickered and he rolled his eyes.

One torch later, they were on their way, their entire party able to see comfortably at last. They made it around another handful of twists in the tunnel (still no enemies; Keshet was starting to think they were in the wrong place) before Alphinaud spoke again, his tone almost hesitant but desperately curious even so. "Can you see color?"

Keshet sighed, adopting his best put-upon tone. "Yes, I can see color. Better than you, I'd wager."

The fascinated hum that came from Alphinaud in response spoke of at least two dozen more questions that he planned to ask ere the day was through, and it was only the sudden appearance of their quarry before them that offered Keshet a reprieve. Somehow, though, he would be willing to bet good gil that the topic would not be forgotten once their task was completed. Another night to be spent playing 50 questions. Ah well. There were worse ways to pass the time.

Read the rest of the series on Ao3!

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[honorhearted]

"What you think you know," she coolly corrected. "You know nothing about me, sir."

"And I continue to be blessed," Benjamin quipped, smiling at her stiff response. "Thus far, you've made it abundantly clear the type of woman you are: you're unaccustomed to being taken seriously, so you feel the need to nip, bite, and snipe much as a man would, in order to be both seen and heard. You feel that if you're to be soft, that you won't get anywhere in business -- not beyond the role of wife -- and alas, you're probably right on that account. Most men do not want a brash, headstrong woman for a wife, and most men prefer not to have a woman with a fondness for commerce." He shrugged, smiling. "Fortunately for you, I take no issue with any of the above. So long as I find a woman intellectually sound and engaging, I can enlist her help in all I see fit."

Some more so than others. Although Emma wasn't exactly forthright, she seemed quick to try and prove she had extensive knowledge of the more masculine affairs. That pride of hers was bound to give him the intelligence he needed, and he would keep poking and prodding until she did so.

Pink-cheeked and livid, Emma declared, "I would rather throw myself into the Charles than become one of your paramours. You wouldn't know how to please me even if I showed you."

Benjamin blinked at that. "And would you show me?" he asked, a hint of amusement flashing across his eyes. "Need I bring up my schooling again? I was at the top of my class, and thus, I am an excellent study. But if not..." Here, he shrugged. "I am rather fond of swimming. Perhaps we should head into the Charles together."

Emma was quick to deflect, "I wouldn't have the patience anyway. You may be able to pay harlots to pretend but I would never stoop so low."

Benjamin hummed. "Didn't you just take issue with me not knowing you? Because no matter how many times you speak it into existence, Miss Dunster, I have never lain with a harlot, nor do I intend to do so. I haven't needed to."

Finally, Emma's mercurial disposition softened somewhat, though an ever-present challenge sparked across her sharp gaze. "Since you enjoy games so much, allow me to propose a challenge. If you can somehow convince me to marry you by the end of the season, I will walk down the aisle willingly."

That, admittedly, wasn't an offer Benjamin expected. "Done," he agreed.

She extended her hand -- another surprising gesture, if he was being honest with himself -- and with an impish smile, he accepted and gave her a firm shake. Though as their fingers remained clasped, his touch softened and he bent at the waist, drawing her hand up to his lips. He scattered kisses across her knuckles, her fingertips, her palm, her wrist, his ardor causing him to linger against her skin before he declared, "May the best man -- or woman -- win."

A sour laugh rumbled from her lips and she rested her hands on her hips. "And as my conditions clearly stated, I will do no such thing. Not for you, not for anyone. Another reason why I am not the serva-- I mean, wife for you."

Your approval isn't the one I ultimately need. She wanted to spit in his face and tell him the truth, to gloat and revel in the knowledge that she would never marry him, even if it killed her. A part of her wanted to warn him that she was not against running away, against leaving him at the altar, or worse. Emma would never harm him fatally--she was far too soft for such a thing--but she wasn't opposed to harming herself in order to manipulate an arrangement.

She had little to no memory of her mother before she died, but the one thing Emma was told was that her fiery spirit was very much like her mother's. It was that fiery spirit that had made her mother leave home, to board a ship with an American man, and start a new life somewhere else. It was that same fiery spirit that had not allowed her to settle and marry an English man that she did not love just for the sake of convenience. Emma didn't remember much about her mother, but she knew enough to know that this isn't what she would want.

"What you think you know." She corrected. "You know nothing about me, sir." She didn't know what her father had told him, but Emma knew there were certain things that even her own father didn't know about his daughter. John Dunster rarely spoke of her mother. He had hardly even broached the subject of marriage until she began pressing the notion of succession. The only reason he wanted Emma to marry was so that she did not feel ostracized, so that she could experience the life of a woman. But that wasn't what Emma wanted.

His talk of lovers made her cheeks burn hotter with a mixture of rage and shame, but she finally let out a scoff when he dared to lump her in with his hypothetical harem. The thought was ridiculous. The mental image of her lying in his bed, of him on top of her, of rolling around in the sheets with him until they were tired and breathless... No. She shook the thought away. It could not and would not happen, and she would make sure of it.

"I would rather throw myself into the Charles than become one of your paramours. You wouldn't know how to please me even if I showed you." The boldness of her words caught her by surprise and she spoke quickly to move on. "I wouldn't have the patience anyway. You may be able to pay harlots to pretend but I would never stoop so low."

Emma watched him, light eyes taking in every detail of his face, searching for a crack or some sort of fissure to pry open. He had to have a weakness of some kind, and she would dedicate her life to finding it if he didn't give up on his foolish plans. Letting out a soft breath, she spoke to him in a patronizing tone, but it was easily the calmest she'd sounded around him.

"Did you stop to consider that I would've been much easier to persuade if you hadn't been so brutish in your approaches? If you hadn't burst out the gate insulting my intellect and assuming you knew everything about me because my father told you so." She stepped closer to him again, staring up at him with a fierce gaze. "Even if I had liked you from the get go, your words would've soured any affections that might've been present."

Frustrated, she grumbled and turned away from him when he began to ramble about love and hate. She knew what both of those feelings were. She knew what both of them felt like. She loved her father. She loved Arabella and Ned. She loved her mother, even if she had never met her. And just as confident as she was about what love felt like, she knew in her heart that she hated John Bolton.

Her moment of brooding, however, sparked an idea in her mind. It was a risky idea, but she was beginning to feel like she had no choice.

"Since you enjoy games so much, allow me to propose a challenge." She looked at him pointedly, brows raised before she dared to continue. "If you can somehow convince me to marry you by the end of the season, I will walk down the aisle willingly. Most of my conditions will remain the same, but I am open to negotiations should you succeed in this impossible affair. But," Emma countered, raising a finger and pointing it in his direction. "If I manage to convince you that I am not the woman for you, that marrying me will be a far greater inconvenience than its worth, you must abandon this foolish ploy for my hand." Emma took a deep breath and sighed. "I would offer a tiebreaker, but we both seem rather convinced in our own abilities to win challenges."

It was her turn to hold out her hand, shedding her pride for a moment for this risky offer. Emma was confident that she would not fall for any of his tricks and that she would end the season just as opposed to marriage as she was in this very moment. She was less confident in her ability to convince him against it, but it was worth the chance. She refused to go down without a fight and, if she were to lose this bet, at least she would go down with a scrap of dignity.

"So, what do you say?"

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

i show up to the party just to leave

tw: angst, unrequited feelings, asshole behavior, degradation, barely proofread

a/n: why do I love posting at worst times lol. if this gets no traction, it's my fault, but i really hope it gets some traction

this is part two of seems like the life i need is a little distant

pairing: eren x fem!reader, side porco x fem!reader & colt x fem!reader

wc: 4.0k

The sheets still smell like him. Sharp notes of mint and sage and the ever-present smell of nicotine that seemed to cling to his body.

You had cried yourself to sleep last night. After Eren had essentially just fucked you and left. All you want to do is stay in bed and curl up in a shell.

But alas, there’s class to attend. And Plan B to buy since the dark-haired boy had insisted on cumming inside of you.

It’s not like he usually slept over so you have no reason to be so dramatic. It’s not like last night was the first booty call, and he’s always been one for degradation in bed. And you especially don’t mind being called a slut if he’s calling you his slut.

But you feel used. Disposable. Like the cigarettes, he crushes under his heel after ashing them out.

You roll over and check your phone, and the screen is filled with messages along the lines of:

Good morning.

I’m at the cafe, just picking up some breakfast. What drink do you want?

Got you a chai latte because that’s what you usually get. And a blueberry scone.

Don’t be late to anthro!

The messages make you smile. Colt Grice is sweet. Tooth rottenly sweet. You look over at the clock by your bedside. If you left within 15 minutes, you’ll have enough to grab what you needed from the pharmacy while making it to class on time.

“You made it! I was sure you wouldn’t.” There’s an easy smile on the blond’s face, beaming and bright. You dramatically sigh, “Praying on my downfall, huh?”

He hands you the brown bakery bag, “Never that.”

You sink into the chair, letting out a sigh. You hadn’t done the reading, and there was a long homework assignment due tonight.

“I emailed the reflection to you.”

You whip your head in surprise, “You did what?”

He shrugs, “I figured it’d help.”

“No, I mean, I know it will. Thank you.” And softer, “But you didn’t have to.”

His hazel eyes meet yours, “You seem tired lately. I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

You wonder if tired is a code word for awful. You look awful right now, dressed in a college sweater with faded letters and a dark stain you’ve never quite managed to get rid of, and sweat pants you haphazardly threw on.

You flick his forehead, “Mean anything by that? Don’t you know you’re not supposed to say a woman looks tired?” Your expression is deadpan but there’s a teasing lilt in your voice that’s specially reserved for him.

The tips of his ears burn red, “What? No, I didn’t say that. You look great. You...a-always look great.” His response makes you grin, and you break half of the scone to offer to him. He waves his hand away, “No, that’s for you.”

He watches as you lick the crumbs off your lips, “Suit yourself.”

You’re walking back from class, side by side with Colt, hands doing an awkward dance as pinkies nearly touch. As the distance seems to close, someone nearly ambushes you as they place their large arms over your and Colt’s shoulders. The blond himself nearly jumps in shock.

“Reiner.” Colt groans, “You have to stop jumping on us like this.”

“Why?” The spiky-haired jock chuckles, “Can’t handle a little-”

“You could have hurt her.”

You roll your eyes, waving his worries away, “I’m fine. What’s up, Reiner?”

“Just was just gonna ask you if you’re coming to Zeke’s party Saturday, Colt.”

Colt wrinkles his nose as if he heard something distasteful, “The one he’s hosting at Liberio? No thanks.”

The taller blond growls at his friend, “Out of everyone, you should really come. Think of everything he’s done for you.”

You place a hand on Reiner’s shoulder, “You know...I could probably get him to come.” You wink before placing a thoughtful finger on your lips, “But I’d have to be invited right? I don’t really know Zeke…”

But you’ve always wanted to go to Liberio, the hottest nightclub in the city, wildly exclusive and glitzy.

Reiner smiles at you, flirtatious eyes zeroing in on your suggestive demeanor, “Yeah, of course, you can come. You can be Colt’s plus one,” You sigh in relief, but don’t anticipate the sneer on his face, “...Or you can be Eren’s. You’re pretty close right?”

Your blood runs ice cold, and there’s surprise written all over your face. There’s no comeback at the tip of your tongue but thankfully your best friend has always been quite perspective.

“Okay, Reiner. Thanks for the reminder. We’ve really gotta go now.” He cuts the conversation short and drags you away to a bench under the shadow of a large tree. You sit, but he stands over you like a disappointed parent.

But here’s the primetime for an awkward conversation.

“You’re close to Eren? I didn’t even know that you knew him.”

You bit your already chapped lips, a habit that the hazel-eyed boy wishes you’d quit. He fishes his pocket for the vanilla chapstick and wordlessly hands it to you.

“We’re just friends.” You grumble under your breath.

He sighs, and you hate that he’s making you feel so guilty. What do you even have to feel so guilty for?

Taking a deep breath, he starts what sounds strikingly similar to a lecture, “Eren Yeager is not a good guy, I’ve told you this before, right-”

“You literally have no right to scold me like this when you’re practically besties with fucking Reiner. And fuck, Zeke? Zeke?-”

The tall blond takes a seat next to you, watching as you rub the salve over your bitten lips, “It’s complicated,” He sighs again, a sound you’re getting tired of, “I’ve just known them for a very long time. And our families-”

A heartbeat. Both of you watch the leaves fall.

“--Shit.” It’s rare for him to curse.

“Colt.” You say.

“I’m kind of dreading it, but...maybe it’ll be more bearable with you there.”

You playfully punch his arm, happy to see him admit he did want you to come, “I think it’ll be fun. I’ve never partied with you, y’know,” You pause, looking at him wide eyes, placing a piece of hair behind your ear, looking so delectably innocent in the way you know he likes, “Wanna see what you look like drinking shots.”

“I’m not really much of the party person type.” He admits.

The club is everything you imagined. It feels like it’s straight out a scene of the Hollywood movies with the smoke, strobe lights, and beautiful bodies strewn across the dancefloor.

You’re grateful you’re wearing your friend’s dress tonight, a silky dark green number that fits your body like water. Nothing in your closet would have matched the caliber of tonight.

Colt gets a lump in his throat when he first sees you. Tries to keep his eyes on your pretty face so they don’t trail after your neckline or the skin left uncovered by the shortness of your dress. But he finds demise there too, he doesn’t want to stare too long at those kissable lips.

Still, he’s composed if not anything else. He’s too gentlemanly to touch you improperly. The hand on your back is feather-light. Doesn’t waver or tease lower.

“Remember, we can leave whenever, okay? If anything’s wrong-”

“Colt” You giggle, “Everything will be fine. Now, go socialize. Don’t you have important people to talk to?” You shoo him away, and he turns around with a look of defeat.

“If anything is wrong, come find me ok?” He affirms, and to reassure (and perhaps fluster) him, you thread your fingers between his, clasp your hands together and press a kiss on your joined knuckles, “Yes, yes. I know.”

The strobe lights shower his face in violet, and he’s grateful you can’t see how red he is.

You weave through the crowd with no particular purpose, dancing on beat to songs you can only remember half the lyrics to. There’s an attractive man who lingers behind you like he’s some ghost haunting you. You humor him because he’s way too cute to not entertain. Tall with slicked-back blond hair, broad shoulders, and an air of cockiness that should register as a red flag.

This song’s pretty. Synth heavy and melodic. The man behind you doesn’t shout his name over the music, he invades your personal space with large hands over your hips and whispers his name into your ear. Porco Galliard. The name sparks an unfortunate chord within you. Colt most certainly knew him, which means he was off-limits.

It’s okay. You didn’t come here to hook up with a new boy toy today. You came here to have fun. You could dance with him a little.

He’s not afraid to touch you, hands all over your hips, pushing you closer. He’s so close, you could smell his aftershave. Minty. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend that his hair was dark.

Porco bends his head to whisper in your ear, “You’re so intoxicating, I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

Your eyes flutter in confusion. It’s cute, the blond thinks. Not minx-like like how you portray yourself, a deer caught under strobe lights. You frown, tilting your head, “Do you know who I am?”

He chuckles, and you could almost feel the vibrations of his deep voice. “Colt never really shuts up about you.” His fingers thrum on your hip, “His best friend.” The way he says those words are mocking, and you can feel your heart sink into your stomach.

You lightly push his chest, “I-I should probably circulate.”

His eyes narrow but he doesn’t press, boldly kissing you on the apple of your cheeks and firmly squeezing your hip with the same hand that felt it was its right to situate itself there, “Come find me later.”

Definitely not, you think. That’s not going to happen.

You leave the dance floor disjointed. Maybe you needed more liquid courage. Your eyes settle on an alcove on the second floor. Tentatively, you climb up the stairs, letting your intuition guide you. You wonder if it’s some kind of VIP room, as you look at the velvety walls and the private bar to the side.

You’re about to turn around, knowing you probably won’t be let in since you’re essentially a no-body but you hear your name echoed behind you.

It’s Reiner, and he gestures you to come into the room. You mutter thanks although you’re not quite sure what you’re thanking him for.

“Some party huh?” He asks.

Not in the mood for conversation, you simply nod.

“Do you want to see Eren? I can take him to you.”

Even at the mention of his name, you could feel your heartbeat quicken, “Oh no, it’s totally fine. I’m sure I’ll catch him later.”

“But he’s right there”. And that dreaded pointer finger points to the large couch behind a table left messy with playing cards, crystal ashtray bowls, and shot glasses. It’s like you’re witnessing a stage with the bright lime-light only shining on Eren.

And the woman sprawled all over him.

Reiner nudges you towards them, even though your feet don’t want to comply. You hate him for forcing you into this situation, no exit in sight.

Eren’s eyes are closed, not like he’s napping, but merely resting. You can see the dark circles but fuck he looks good. He’s wearing a nice black button-up where most of the top buttons are left unfastened, showing off his nicely defined chest and you hate how you can’t tell who the small red marks on his skin are from. A string of pearls is around his neck, fastened like a choker. His legs are spread, his body half-sunken on the couch.

There’s a pale hand stroking his chest. It belongs to one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. She’s sitting with her knees tucked under her, all wrapped up in a short glitzy dress, the shape and fit not unlike your own but you don’t think you can pull off your dress like the way she does. Her hair is dark and curly, framing her shoulders, and she has one of those unique faces you can spot in high fashion magazines.

The way they look next to each other, like Adonis and Helen, like two halves of a whole-it makes you want to eat your insides.

“Whose your friend Reiner?” She asks, the coyness evident in her tone.

Reiner beams next to you, “She’s Colt’s plus one”. You’ve never wanted to punch anyone more, although you’re more than sure you have nothing against the student football athlete built like a brick house.

The dark-haired woman coos, “Isn’t that cute? I didn’t know Colty had a girlfriend.” She pouts, “And I thought he tells me everything.” There’s a funny feeling building in your gut, twisting and reacting over the nickname.

Eren opens his eyes, disturbed by the noise. You’re not prepared to meet his viridian eyes. The “we’re just friends” you were about to utter dies in the roof of your mouth.

“She’s not Colt’s girlfriend.” His voice is cold and flat, slightly hoarse. He looks straight at you, “Right?” But it doesn’t really feel like he’s asking you anything.

You jumble over your words, “Yes um, Colt and I are not dating. We’re-we’re just friends,” You finish awkwardly.

The woman’s eyes narrow into slits as she observes the interaction between you and Eren, your frazzled demeanor giving everything away, “Do you guys know each other?” A question not even remotely addressed to you.

Taking a long hit from his disposable vape, he blows out rings. “Yeah. Same college”

Jesus. You think. All those thoughts and feelings and restless nights spent with him, and he summarizes your familiarity with each other as attending the same school which is funny because you honestly don’t know the last time Eren has attended any of his classes.

She removes his hand from his chest and brings it to you, offering a handshake. “Hello, I’m Pieck.”

You force yourself not to think about how this hand had just rubbed up and down Eren’s chest, likely feeling over the love bites she left on his torso. You shake her hand, introducing yourself with a shaky breath.

There’s no music, no distractions, a hazy dark room filled with smoke and people you were totally out of your element with.

Reiner and Pieck are talking about something, the words not sticking to your ears. Eren is staring right at you, through you. Viridian eyes staring soullessly, no words to fill the void, just him and his pretty mouth blowing out curls of vapor, nauseatingly sweet vapor that almost made you miss the cigarette stench.

You feel awkward, you feel scrutinized, and when his eyes stare at all of you, from the plunge of your neckline, the exposed calves and kitten heels you wore because you were too clumsy for grown-up heels (she wore stilettos), you want the ground to swallow you whole.

Clearing your throat, you cringe as you hear yourself talk, “I-uh, should get back. It was good to meet you Pieck.” The words come out as a rush.

The dark-haired woman pouts, “Oh but we just met. Thought we could talk a little more, you know girl to girl.” She giggles.

Reiner smirks “Let her go, Pieck. Colt’s probably worried sick looking for her.” Eren clenches his mouth at the blond’s words but says nothing.

You can hear your heartbeat thud. No words come out so you merely smile weakly and half-heartedly wave to the trio.

As you leave, you catch a tail-end of a conversation you wish you hadn’t, “Are we going back to your place after Eren?”

You reach the bar at the dance floor with lightning speed, wanting nothing but to dissolve like sugar. You ask the bartender for shots, shots, and shots, doesn’t matter what. You’ll drink the man-shaped loneliness in your heart until it bleeds out. Your throat burns but you’ve long learned to welcome the fire.

You’re about to down your third shot of clear liquid until you feel a warm hand wrap around your shoulder. You turn around, about to give a stern piece of your mind until your eyes find concerned hazel ones.

Colt. Good old best friend Colt.

Good old Colt who loved you so much everyone teased you for it. Good old Colt who wore his heart on his sleeve and would never dream of touching a cigarette.

You’re buzzed, not even properly drunk, but there’s a bubby overexcited feeling bursting out from the seams.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed into worry.

You roll your eyes, so typical of him to always be so serious. “Come on”, you grab his hand, “Let’s have fun!” He lets you drag him away to the dancefloor, fully knowing that if he wanted to, he could just push himself out of your grip.

The song that’s playing is one that you and Colt have blasted multiple times in his car and that song has played so many times in that car, he swore he’d never play it again.

“This is our song” you giggle, and poor, awkward Colt who unaccustomed to dancing merely stands, peering over you with a mix of worry and puzzlement,

“I think you’ve had too much.” He tries to grasp your shoulders but you slink away in time. You’re perfectly fine, he’s just too much of a square to realize what having a good time is.

Batting your eyelashes, you look up at him, “Just follow my lead ok?” You guide his shyly eager hands to your hips. He looks at you like…he looks at you like…

Shit. Is this what Eren sees? When he looks at you? Genuine unadulterated admiration. No admiration isn’t it, this unnamed feeling has more weight.

You intertwined your fingers with Colt’s warm hands. He’s red but he welcomes the touch, moving his body to the beat, and you giggle at his attempted dancing. He laughs too and all is warm and good. So warm and good, but not enough.

You crush your lips against the blond’s and you can feel him go still. But that moment of hesitation passes because he’s crushing his lips against yours too, hand digging deep into your back. You part your mouth, kissing his teeth and his tongue moves against yours. Slowly, sensually, sweetly.

Without warning, he pulls back abruptly.

He’s all flushed, “Wait, why…why did you kiss me?” What an entirely unromantic question.

You give him a smile so wide your cheeks hurt, “You didn’t like it?”

He stumbles over his words, “No-No I did, I liked it a lot” You wish you could kill the pause, “...But…do you like me?”

You tilt your head, “Of course I like you Colt.”

He doesn’t believe you, you realize. And you’re not sure you believe it either.

“N-no you don’t.” A deep breath, “I like you a lot. I think you know that.” Your nails dig into your palms so deeply. What’s he doing? Is he getting himself ready to ride the high horse?

“It’s not that deep…” You cut in.

“No, it is that deep. I like you so so much, fuck I-” A deeper breath, “I like you too much to be used.”

I like you too much to be used.

That doesn’t make sense, does it? Don’t you make yourself dispensable for the people you love?

He takes a step back, voice so soft you want to screech, “I’m going to go home. If you need a ride back for when you decide to leave, Sasha can take you home.”

“Colt” your voice is on the verge of breaking, “You don’t have to leave.” His lips are swollen, freshly kissed.

He smiles at you, asymmetric and sad: “I should have left long ago.”

When you find Porco, there is no preamble. You whine not here and he pins you against the walls in the alleyway near the back exit of the club. It’s cold and when you exhale, you can see air. Porco is comfortably warm in his bomber jacket that he’ll never offer you. You didn’t want anyone to see you and the dark blond in the club, but it’s so cold out here.

He moves too fast, hiking your leg up, slotting himself between your thighs. He pulls your dress down without much of a prelude, feeling up your soft breasts with calloused hands. He pulls on the nipple between his teeth, “You like this huh?” Your nipples are stiff because it’s cold, not because of his frenzied ministrations.

He’s three fingers inside you when you push against his shoulder, “S-stop.”

Agitation colors his face, “What do you mean?” As if to emphasize, his bulge presses against your core.

Maybe you should let him have his way. It wouldn’t be too bad. Probably wouldn’t last very long either, but your teeth are chattering and you hate how blond Porco’s hair is.

But this is a situation. You hold on to his shoulders tightly, trying to force over the awkward words, “I w-want you to stop.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his fingers out of you, annoyance etched onto his handsome features, “You’re a fucking tease.”

And he leaves like that. You let yourself slide against the wall, knees tucked to your chin. In a second, you’ll fish your phone out and call an Uber, but for now you just want-

You’re not very sure what you want. A moment to yourself? When has a moment to yourself never been miserable?

You hide your head in your arms, ignoring the goosebumps prickling on your arms.

Your nose reacts first. Those damn cigarettes.

Raising your head up, you see the dark-haired archangel who haunts your dreams and nightmares. The street lamp’s light behind him makes him look ethereal, an angel with a street lamp halo.

Eren simply stands, watching you. You’re not in the mood to break the silence. Awkwardly, you hoist yourself up. Your heart is beating, but you don’t know if you have it in you to make yet another man disappointed. Of course, you could never disappoint Eren because he never expected much, did he? What was there to disappoint?

You forget though. Eren’s capable of apathy.

And cruelty.

“Colt ran off on you so you fucked his friend?”

You grit your teeth, “That’s none of your fucking business. And no I didn’t.”

The corner of his mouth perked up, “That’s good. You should be wary of the diseases he’s carrying.”

“As opposed to what?” You snark back, “How many sluts are you fucking?”

You didn’t mean for it to sound so bitter, but it makes him throw his head back in laughter, “Besides you, I can’t really think of anyone else.”

That’s it. You’re about to leave but a large hand overwhelms your wrist, “I’m kidding. You know that.”

You try to pull away but he doesn’t let you, instead of pulling you into him and against the wall, in the very position Colt had you earlier. But now the chances of escape seem slim to zero.

His slender fingers ghost over your jaw.

“Shouldn’t you be with Pieck right now?” You hate the way you sound, reminded of all the movies written by men with overly jealous and bitchy female characters.

His thumb swipes over your parted lips, “No, I’d rather be much with my favorite girl.”

You hate this, Hate how your heart swims up. Hate the amusement laced in his low voice. Hate how desperately you want to believe him.

“That shut you up huh?” He chuckles.

There’s a rude remark on the tip of your tongue that he swallows with a kiss. You kiss back. Teeth against teeth, mouth against mouth, his tongue dominating yours.

When it’s time to breathe, he swiftly unzips his jacket and places it around your shoulders. You’re too shocked by the gesture to respond properly. You mutter out a thanks, flustered and flushed.

His hands grope your inner thighs, thumb digging into the supple flesh. Lowly he whispers into your ear, “Let’s go back to mine.

[takingthehobbitswhere]

Last Dance

Summary: Steve is getting married, but alas, not to you. Word count: ~650 A/N: Sparks came up on my Spotify shuffle and this idea instantaneously popped into my brain. & it's been awhile, hello! Warnings: angstttt, reader is drowning in self-pity (sorry)

steve rogers x f!reader

Inhale. Shaky pause. Exhale. Repeat.

You never thought a wedding would be one of the hardest things you'd ever have to sit through, but here you were. Steve and Natasha. Con-grat-ulations or something like that.

You were happy for the couple, really you were, deep down, but it currently stung too much and the bitterness was boiling over, filling your mouth with the sour taste it often carried.

During the reception, as the newly christened Rogers got toasted, you found yourself in a corner, sipping your wine as you watched the dancers spin around the floor. It was beautiful, heart-wrenchingly so. And you know you should get over yourself. You know what happened between you and Steve was a thing of the past, and it's not like it was a messy ending. So why did this feel like reopening an old wound?

After the third dance, you lost track of how many songs had gone by. Guests were tearing up the floor and the married couple were more than five feet apart for the first time that night, greeting old friends, telling inside jokes, getting caught in old converstations. Steve was there, right there, a couple tables away from you, and suddenly, you couldn't remember how to operate - your feet glued to the floor, no sound coming from your open mouth. Well, then. Oh shi-

Bright blue eyes scanned the room, meeting yours. His face lit up as he made his way over. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself." You could barely bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"How are you?" He asked softly. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot that you're here." This was probably one of the few conversations you've had with each other since the breakup. You've talked to Nat a number times, but that was it.

"I'm okay," liar.

He nodded, shifting back and forth. "Nat says you're getting your doctorate?"

"Yeah, actually. Same old stuff; going back to school and acquiring thousands of dollars in debt just felt right. Familiarity, I guess."

Steve lets out a light chuckle that warms your chest. The music quiets as the song switches and he bumps your shoulder. "One last dance?"

You found yourself agreeing, and you can't remember what the song was - just that it was slow, and sad, especially for a wedding. There was a guitar, a soft voice, it all blended together after Steve took your hand in his and wrapped his other arm around you until his hand rested between your shoulder blades.

As you two swayed back and forth, you found your head leaning on his chest, and with that, you closed your eyes, committing everything you could to memory. His touch, his smell. You both knew this was it. This was the end of the line. Was that a tear running down your cheek?

All too soon, the song ended, and reality established its presence once again. As you and Steve shared a bittersweet smile, you wiping your face just in case you did cry, a bubbly Natasha came waltzing over, threading her arm around her husband's back. "Hey! Thanks for coming - I knew you had some last minute complications."

You shrug modestly, a false grin appearing. "Thankfully I got it worked out. Couldn't really miss the wedding of the century could I?"

"It would've been a shame."

After a few minutes of pleasant chatter, you made some excuse with how you had to get home, and Nat saying she understood and to keep in touch. You nod, almost out the door of the venue, raising your hand in a goodbye. Rounding the corner, you could feel Steve's eyes tracking you till you disappeared.

Closure settled into your heart as you stared into the car mirror. The hole was no longer gaping. Why it took that long, you weren't sure, but you knew you could finally say it was okay.

Inhale. Pause. Exhale. Repeat.

[writingbywatson]

Albedo, Diluc, Childe and Zhongli when you lost your vision

I really like the concept of visions and what happens to visions (the elemental thing not the eye thing okay) when one loses it so I made this. I exaggerated some of it 'cause I live for that. Also about Zhongli, his attitude might raise questions but I recommend reading the Archaic Petra lore.

Albedo

Albedo would often complain about how you were too old when he was doing alchemy, you would always brush him off and peer closer to what he was doing, and at times like those, he would wonder what kind of thing he should create to stop you. But lately, you were quiet, you didn’t seem to be interested in anything, “y/n would you like to see what I’m doing?” he would ask, snapping you out of your thoughts. He would watch as you looked at him, give him a faint smile, and you were gone again.

Lately, when he was doing alchemy, it had become so silent, the type of silence that no one cared bare and he knew you were like this, you lost your vision, the vision that you were so proud of, the thing that you loved most in the world. Along with your loss, he loses you as well.

There was this suffocating feeling in his chest that would show itself when he remembers that this person in front of him, wasn’t you anymore. After yet again, a failed experiment, he wondered, if he could make a vision for you? After all, didn't Lisa say she got hers while simply thinking about it? How about making one?

Childe

Childe could always count on you when he was getting out of hand, he would even spar with you when you scold him just for the shits and giggles but that was back then. Now you were always disinterested in what he was doing, if his subordinates asked you for help to calm down the harbinger, you would just shrug and continue with what you were doing. A part of Childe thought that maybe you were angry because he was acting childish but spending a few hours with the ‘new’ you, he knew right away that something was wrong and for Childe, it was unsettling to see you like this, it felt like someone robbed you of who you are.

He realized that this happened when your vision was forcibly taken away from you, Childe would have no shame in asking Tsaritsa if she can give you a vision when the cryo archon refuses he does everything in his power to get your vision back even if it means is to fight a god.

Diluc

Ever since you lost your vision, you were never the same, you weren’t as cheerful and now it seemed like you got angry by the smallest action. Diluc has been nothing but understanding since he knew that your vision meant a lot to you and he tried his best to be as accommodating as he could. He would try and ask around to see what he can do, he would even approach Venti since he's an archon right? He probably knows what to do or what should be done with your situation, right? But alas the only answer that the anemo archon could give him was a smile.

Diluc was a smart person and from that smile alone he could decipher what it means, the days went on with Diluc just supporting you as best as he could while he watched you lose yourself. But deep down Diluc knows that maybe there was a way.

Zhongli

Zhongli noticed that the glaze lilies have withered. Every time he would try and approach you to open up about what happened but you always brush him off and laugh while saying nothing was wrong but if anyone sees you right now, they would immediately know something was wrong. Zhongli knows what could happen when a person’s vision is taken away from them by force, it was horrendous. Watching you felt like his being was being shredded but at the same time, Zhongli can’t help but chuckle at how ridiculous the situation was, he couldn’t believe that Riden would dare touch the most important person in his life.

Zhongli wondered if a rise of a new archon war would yield the same results as last time.

[wh6res]

dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

[janetbrown711]

“Why are you so nice to me” wakko or yakko max

To Wakko's delight, his brother kept good on his promise. Weeks passed and his brother devoted several days to restoring their bond just as it once was (the other days Yakko spent with Dot or with the both of them).

Heck, Wakko was so secure in his brother not abandoning him when Yakko asked if he could start up writing to Max again (at a much slower pace than before, he promised), Wakko said yes (barely) without hesitation. He knew that Max made him happy... and that he kinda owed it to Yakko to let him hang out with him again, as their little "not exactly falling out" was his fault (to him, anyway).

Everything was starting to seem... good- perfect, even.

However, Dot's birthday was rapidly approaching and Yakko was starting to get ideas.

"You know what we should do?" He said, lounging on the couch in the sunroom. "We should throw a ball for your birthday, Dot."

Dot perked up from her book. "What? Why? We never held balls for our birthdays before."

Yakko rolled his eyes. "That's because Grandma ruins everything. In this book I'm reading it says it was tradition for the royal family to hold big celebrations on their birthdays. I think it'd be fun- plus a great opportunity for you two to start making some friends."

Oh.

This again.

Wakko tried to laugh it off. "You'd have to get mum and dad to agree, and they've been pretty busy with the flooding in the west."

"Bah, that's mostly dealt with at this point. I'm sure they could use the break too," Yakko countered.

"B-but mom's coronation wasn't even that long ago," Wakko argued.

"It was over three months ago," Dot rolled her eyes. "I think a party would be fun," she looked to Yakko.

"Didn't you have fun at mom's coronation?" Yakko asked his middle sibling.

"Well I- I suppose I did..." Wakko thought back to the massive chalk drawing he had covered the floor with. It was pretty fun, and it made a lot of people happy.

"See? I'm sure a party in Dot's honor would be fun all the same- plus, making friends is great, I'm sure you'll love it," Yakko said with a reassuring smile on his face, though Wakko still wasn't quite convinced. However, he could see how much both of his siblings wanted this (even though the idea was only seconds old) and who was he to say no?

"Alright, I guess we can do that," He said, which made Dot clap in excitement as she began to detail everything she'd want for a party in her honor.

Wakko had a feeling this was going to be interesting.

.o0o.

As expected, their parents were ecstatic at the idea, and they spared no expense in attempts to create what they believed a much-needed celebration for the people of Warnerstock and their allies.

And to say it truly was Dot's creative vision would not be false. There were a lot of pinks- a lot, a lot of pinks. Though mostly tasteful, if you saw it it was hard to look away from.

But still, Wakko was happy for her, she was having the time of her life planning it all out with their dad, who was equally happy to spoil his little girl.

However, he knew deep down that despite what Yakko had sworn, her party was probably going to be very different from the coronation. He hoped it would be fun, but the more he watched decorations being put into place and talks about the guests and feasts the more he was beginning to worry.

He didn't say anything though, as the rest of his family seemed far too happy for him to want to bother them with his plight. They deserved this break, he was probably just being dramatic anyways. He'd be fine- and maybe make a friend just like Yakko said he would.

Wakko did his best to remain optimistic, despite the knots forming deep within.

It wasn't too long before the grand day arrived. Wakko had thought they had pulled out all the stops just for decorating but the day itself was insane too. Dot was showered in presents and even was taken out to town with William to go shopping for anything her heart desired, meanwhile Yakko, Wakko, and Lena stayed behind and supervised the final touches on the decorations.

Okay- really only Lena supervised, but Yakko and Wakko were technically there too. They didn't stay with her long, as she gave them a list of things to check up on so she could talk to some people which they were fine with.

Together, the brothers walked through the massive dining hall, checking curtains, flowers, vases, tapestries, etc. to make sure they were in the exact right places (not that the list really said where they were supposed to be) and checked them all off.

"So... are you looking forward to tonight?" Yakko asked, checking off 'left-most curtains'.

"Oh- uh- Yeah! I am... are you?" Wakko quickly said.

"Oh yeah, totally, it'll be great to see Max. It's been a while... you're still cool with that, right?" Yakko glanced down at him before checking another thing off.

Wakko nodded. "I won't try to prank or drive him away this time, I swear."

Yakko snorted. "I know you know better, I'm just asking if you're okay with me hanging out with him for tonight instead of you."

"Yeah, I am. You did say I should make friends after all," Wakko said, fiddling with gloves. Yakko looked away from the checklist and gave his little brother a side hug.

"I'm proud of you, you know that?" Yakko asked.

"Yeah, yeah," It was Wakko's turn to laugh.

"I'm serious-" Yakko let go and punched Wakko's arm lightly. "You're doing great. You should be proud of yourself too, you've come a long way."

Wakko smiled a little. "Maybe."

Yakko chuckled. "Well, it looks like we're just about done with this list. Wanna go turn it in to mom and go get changed into uncomfortable suits and greet guests for hours on end, or do you wanna just double and triple check the list until the last second?"

"Definitely check the list," Wakko laughed too.

And so the brothers did, until Lena caught wind of their shenanigans and forced them to start getting ready for the party (though they did cut a lot of time so technically they still regarded it as a win). At least those outfits weren't the worst they've ever worn (they were pretty confident nothing would ever top how itchy and miserable their funeral outfits were). Still, standing around and greeting people was a dreadfully boring job, not to mention awkward until their father and Dot eventually came to join them and actually do their job properly.

They knew their mom was busy, but leaving the two of them in charge was a little questionable.

Plus, after all that interaction, Wakko was starting to feel weird. Tired, but also not-? It was complicated. All he knew was that he wanted to be alone and maybe pace for a while, that'd be nice.

However, the party was to start in not too long, so he really didn't have time for that. He followed Yakko around for a while to the main party room where the people they had greeted before were all chatting amongst themselves. It wasn't too loud yet, but Wakko's tail twitched nervously as he weaved between people and conversations.

He hadn't been this nervous at the coronation- Wakko really wished he could figure out why he was feeling this way. Alas, he was unable.

He did feel a little better as Yakko and he found a spot of their own to chill in for a while, away from all the people.

"A lot of people came to this shindig, huh?" Yakko joked, "though probably no more than those who attended mom's coronation."

"Yeah..." Wakko said, trying to compare them mentally.

"More kids though, which is really good for you and Dot to make friends," Yakko said.

"Yep, yep," Wakko feigned enthusiasm.

"Are you okay..?" Yakko asked, causing Wakko to straighten out his act instantly and nod.

"Of course," he said. Yakko frowned.

"You don't have to lie you know," He remarked. Wakko bit his lip.

"M'just a little tired," he shrugged, figuring it was close enough to the truth.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Yakko asked worriedly.

Wakko nodded again. "I'll be fine, I'm probably just hungry."

Yakko laughed a little. "Alright, but you'll tell me if anything is wrong, right?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

The brothers stood in a bored silence for a while, before the rest of their family walked in and the festivities officially began.

It started with the feast, which was pretty harmless, as Wakko enjoyed talking with his family and the food was "quite excellent". The hall was filled with good cheer and hearty laughter, which he could appreciate.

However, after that, things began to blur.

It seemed only moments ago he was eating when suddenly everything was taken away and it turned into social hour. and Dot and their parents disappeared once more. He recalled Yakko asking if it was okay for him to go to Max, to which Wakko nodded and even pushed him away some. Oh god- he hoped that wasn't too aggressive.

Now he was alone. People were talking, walking, dancing, all sorts of activities. Wakko tried to take it all in, but all of the colors and sounds were starting to burn his eyes.

Friends. He was told he had to make friends.

He tried looking around for kids his age, but just turning his head made him dizzy.

Hmph.

Still, he was determined to function as a normal child would so he began weaving through the rapidly shifting crowd as he had earlier, just with a much louder and more busy crowd.

Suddenly his suit was starting to feel a lot more uncomfortable than before. God- if he could just find someone-

He bumped right into a lady in a bright purple dress. He quickly stuttered an apology before scurrying away as fast as he could, not even waiting for a response.

Seriously- was his suit trying to choke him? He pulled on it desperately, but if anything it just made the pull tighter. Wakko growled to himself as he walked further and further away from whoever that lady was, until he hit the wall.

At least the marble was cool, it was starting to feel like it was a million degrees in here.

Still, it wasn't enough. he still felt hot, and stuffy- was he even breathing anymore?

...Yes, yes he was. Rather fast though- oh dear, was that his heart? oh god- what was happening? Why was the music so loud? Why was his collar so tight? When was the last time he blinked? Where were these "kids" Wakko was supposed to make friends with?

Wait- no, he could see those. A group of them- shit, they were looking at him. Wakko noticed his nail was twitching nervously- he grabbed it and forced it to stop, but the kids laughed.

Wakko ran away again, covering his ears, his face turning red and the knot in his stomach transporting itself to his throat.

"No, no, no, no. Please, not now..." He pleaded with himself, but he didn't listen, and tears started to form. Wakko looked desperately for a quick way out, but still couldn't find any- curse the size of this place.

However, as his eyes darted around anxiously, he spotted something- a table covered in a white cloth that went to the ground. Without hesitation, Wakko went to it, making sure no one saw him before crawling underneath.

Wakko stayed there, covering his ears and rocking back and forth awhile, cursing his stupid brain for making these stupid tears that wouldn't end. He also cursed the stupid music for being too loud and the guests for being so many.

He wanted Mom.

He wanted mom to come and find him and scoop him up and take him to the playroom and sit in the rocking chair and rock him to sleep.

However, she didn't come.

No one did.

He was alone, and these tears weren't making him any calmer. Everything still felt so loud- it wasn't this loud before- he loved mom's coronation. Why was his brain so stupid?!

The young prince continued like that for a while, before someone came and lifted the tablecloth. He tried to make a run for it, but the someone grabbed his arm before he could- Wakko turned to look at their face and-

It was Max.

"S-sorry, I probably shouldn't... grab you," He let go, and Wakko scooted back, though he didn't leave. Max saw this as an invitation and joined him under the table.

"A-are- uh... Are you okay?" Max asked. Wakko looked away and shrugged.

"Right... not much of a talker..." Max recalled. Wakko nodded once, though he instantly regretted it, as it made his head feel weird.

Max tapped his fingers on his knee as he tried to figure something out. Wakko avoided any looks the Disney Prince gave him.

"Do you want some water? I can go get you some water," Max offered. Wakko sniffled and thought about it, before nodding once more (and regretting it once more).

with that, he disappeared, though not for too long.

Wakko noticed he stopped crying.

"Here, take this," Max handed him the glass. Wakko accepted the offering, taking a long drink.

Well, that felt at least a little bit better.

He glanced at Max.

"A-aren't you supposed to be with Yakko?" he asked.

"Dot was practically begging Yakko for a dance and I let him, it's her day after all," Max chuckled.

That made sense.

Wakko looked down at the glass, tapping his finger against it and looking at the water ripple.

"Do you need to step out of the party for a sec?" Max asked.

Wakko shrugged, taking a sip.

"Here- I'll help you find an exit," Max said, getting up and holding the cloth open for Wakko.

He hesitated.

He didn't deserve this- such kindness from the guy he locked in the tower mere weeks ago- it didn't make sense.

Then again, he'd give anything to get out of here.

Wakko listening to his senses and got out.

Carefully he followed Max through the gigantic room until they eventually reached a door, through which both of them slipped out of and into a calm and dark hallway.

Instantly, Wakko felt calmed, taking a deep breath.

"Wanna sit down?" Max asked, gesturing to the couches nearby. Wakko nodded. However, instead of sitting on the couch, he chose to lay on the cool floor, even taking off his gloves so he could feel the marble with his fingers.

Max didn't say anything for a while, not seeming to mind the silence. Which was good- because Wakko didn't feel like breaking it.

After a while though, a thought nagged at his brain.

Why.

Why on earth would Max help him? After everything he did? After everything he jeopardized? It didn't make sense.

Wakko sat up. Max looked at him but didn't say anything.

Wakko sighed.

"Why-?" He paused.

"Why... are you being so nice to me?"

"You were in trouble, I couldn't ignore that," Max shrugged. Wakko frowned, putting his gloves back on.

"I-i... Aren't you mad? At least a little?" He asked.

"It wasn't my first time being locked in a room for hours on end," Max snorted.

"Y-yeah, but I tried to hurt you. And Yakko..." Wakko looked at the ground. "I know how much you mean to him."

Max blinked.

"I- uh... well-" Max struggled with his words a moment.

"I don't... blame you, I guess. It's as new to you as it is to me and with a past and family tree like yours, I guess I don't blame you for lashing out? I dunno," Max shrugged, looking away.

Huh...

"Still... you didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to. Trust me, I would've helped any kid I found under there, but I'm glad it was you," Max said.

Wakko looked at him, deciding whether or not he believed that. Ultimately, he did.

"You know... Yakko talks a lot about you," Max said, piquing Wakko's interest.

"He worries a lot, but he says you're a really sweet kid, and I believe that," Max smiled a little. "You should be easier on yourself, you're still growing up you know?"

Wakko thought about that.

"I guess," He said. Max snorted.

"You know... you do seem like a pretty cool kid. I'm sorry if you ever felt I was ignoring you, I promise I'll try to make up for it too," He said.

Wakko thought about that too.

"Thanks," He said.

"I really do hope we can grow to like each other. Yakko means a lot to me and you mean a lot to him... you know?" Max blushed a little, scratching the back of his neck.

Wakko nodded, grinning a little.

"So... are we... cool?" Max asked.

Wakko thought about that as well.

"Yeah, we're cool," He said with his signature smile.

"Cool," Max grinned back. "Because I'm pretty sure Yakko might lose it if his dance with Dot ended and he can't find me."

Wakko laughed.

"Will you be alright?" Max asked, standing. Wakko nodded, getting up as well.

"I'm feeling a lot better... though I think I'll look for mum and dad," He said.

"Fair enough," Max nodded once. "Well- uh... see you around, I guess."

"See you around," Wakko laughed at his awkwardness before going back through the doors and back to the party.

Max followed soon thereafter, hoping Yakko wouldn't be too mad or worried at him for his sudden disappearance.

.o0o.

Yakko couldn't believe that a year ago today he thought his parents were dead. It baffled him honestly- he could turn his head and his parents were right there. They were never really dead- it shocked him to remember sometimes.

He also couldn't believe that only a year ago the most celebration they could share for Dot's birthday was a mini cake they had to sneak late at night.

And now look where he was- dancing in the middle of the ballroom with his little sister having the time of his life- despite the fact Dot couldn't stop giggling and he almost dropped her that one time.

However, he had to draw the line after three songs, which Dot understood, and he gave her back to their parents, hoping Max wouldn't be too mad about Dot taking up so much of his time.

"Ah, Max, there you are- sorry for dancing so long, I have a hard time saying no to her," Yakko laughed between pants, scratching the back of his neck.

"You just got done?" Max teased.

"Yeah, she really liked dancing," Yakko shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

"You look like you could use a breather," Max raised an eyebrow at him.

"Who, me? Whatever would give that idea?" He played back, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"C'mon- let's go to the balcony," Max said, taking his hand.

When they got to the door Yakko paused as he looked back at his family, unsure. However, his parents looked at him, and after giving a fair look of warning, they both gave him a thumbs up and nod of approval, and Yakko went off with his prince.

However, they didn't pick a random one, they went all the way through the halls to the usual one they'd go to when Max visited Warnerstock (the kid had a thing for balconies).

"Ahh, fresh air," Yakko embraced the cool night.

"Yep," Max embraced it too, immediately going and leaning on the rails.

"Are you liking the party?" Yakko asked.

"It's pretty good- though a little crowded, but I always know how to find some space," Max answered.

"I feel that- when my birthday rolls around, I'll make it a lot less crowded. I don't know what Dot had against having it outside, but what are you gonna do?" Yakko shrugged.

"I think Wakko would appreciate a smaller shindig," Max said, looking at the garden.

"What makes you say that?" Yakko decided to take his place next to Max also leaning against the railing.

"Ran into him- he wasn't having the best time so I helped ground him again," Max said like it was no big deal.

It was.

"Grounded him? You- managed to calm him down? Is he okay? What happened?" Yakko asked quickly.

"Woah, woah, it's okay. He's totally fine, just... overwhelmed." Max said.

"Oh... well... I'm glad he's okay," Yakko took a deep breath. "And I'm even more glad you were able to help him- that's huge... really."

He looked at him when he said that last part. Max blushed.

"I would've helped anyone, seriously," He looked away.

"Mhm, sure," Yakko teased.

"I am serious though- it probably means a lot to Wakko- he doesn't accept help easily and to allow you... it means he's starting to like you," Yakko said in all seriousness.

"That's good," Max nodded. "I really do want your family to like me- I just... don't have the best ways of showing it, I suppose."

"Hey, you're doing great so far," Yakko held his hand.

There was a moment before Yakko realized what he was doing and both boys broke the gesture.

"Haha... yeahhhh," Max looked at the wall away from Yakko.

There was a stretch of silence between the two, neither knowing what to do. Sure they knew what they wanted but... things are never as easy as just doing what you want.

"My dad and uncles like you too- if you care about that," Max decided to say.

"That's good," Yakko smiled a little, rubbing his thumb on the railing.

Another pause.

"You know- It's funny to me how when we met you thought I might too cool for you," Max remarked.

"When did I ever say that?" Yakko said.

"You called me cool at least fifty times upon first meeting me," Max play punched his arm.

"As I recall, you called me cool, so who's the real cool one here?" Yakko punched him back and the princes laughed.

"Alright, alright, you got me," Max chuckled. "I was just trying to say you were totally wrong, I don't have a cool bone in my body."

"God- you're so cool you don't even know how cool you are. Typical," Yakko sighed teasingly.

"Hey, didn't I just say you're pretty cool too?" Max accused playfully.

"Oh please, you're way cooler. No trauma and with fluffy, luxurious hair like that? Please," Yakko rolled his eyes.

"Oh puh-lease yourself. Trauma is just a cool backstory and you're home is a lot more fun and a lot less crowded and your family is a lot more cool too," Max pointed his finger at Yakko.

"You're exaggerating," Yakko pointed back.

"Nope- not at all. You're one of my first true friends and that automatically makes you very cool," Max crossed his arms.

"Oh yeah? W-well-" Yakko paused, looking at Max carefully.

A pause.

Max's dark brown eyes shined back at Yakko, reflecting the stars that surrounded them wonderfully. His fluffy and luxurious hair framed his face with perfect ease. His signature smile slowly turned into that of curiosity.

Yakko felt his heart flutter.

"I'm not as cool as you think," Yakko stepped down, looking at the ground.

Coward.

Another pause.

"..."

"Well maybe you are right- maybe I am cooler than you."

"Wha-?"

Before Yakko could finish the sentence, Max grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into a kiss.

"S-see?" Max was internally "fjdkaf;sfj"-ing in his brain. "You've won- I'm a lot cooler."

"Y-yeah," Yakko could barely speak his face was as red as Wakko's hat. "You're... yeah," his face melted into a goofy grin.

"Oh god- I'm sorry- d-did you not mean that..?" Max panicked, quickly becoming embarrassed.

"N-no!" Yakko snapped to life. "I-i... I- uh..."

"I liked it," He managed to say. Max smiled.

"W-... Wanna do it again?" Yakko proposed, and Max nodded, and they shared another kiss.

Yakko knew it was corny to think, but it truly felt just like fireworks in his chest.

He liked Max- Max liked him. A part of himself was realized- and he felt alive. A good kind of alive- not the kind of alive that came from life or death situations.

"So... I guess that makes us even," Max joked. Yakko laughed.

"I guess so," He couldn't get himself to stop smiling- neither could Max. They looked at each other before bursting into laughter again.

"Man, we really should return to the party," Max said.

"Yeah, you're right," Yakko's face was starting to hurt from the smiling.

"Do- uh... do you think your parents will be cool... orrrr...?" Max asked.

"Psh, I'm sure they'll be fine," He said without hesitation.

"Cool," Max said, opening the door out of the balcony.

Yakko looked at him for a moment, trying to absorb the moment as best he could.

"You okay?" Max asked.

"Yep," Yakko said, taking a deep breath as he implanted it in his memory in his brain forever.

"C'mon, let's go before they think we've done something stupid," Yakko said, quickly joining Max and grabbing his hand before running back to join his family.

however, right before entering the party room once more, Yakko paused.

"Does this mean our friendship is basically ruined?" He asked.

Max thought about it.

"I wouldn't think of it as a ruining per se... maybe think of it as an upgrade of sorts," Max winked.

God, he was so much cooler.

"Cool," Yakko grinned, squeezing Max's hand.

"Well... uh- shall we?" Max let go and offered Yakko his arm.

Yakko thought about it.

Taking it would mean no taking it back- it would mean the whole party would basically know that they kissed (holy shit- they kissed! that was a thing that happened!). His parents, his siblings, practically the whole kingdom, and their allies.

Yakko couldn't imagine any other way to walk back in.

He took his arm.

"We shall."

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 The End

[softforloki]

The Music of My Love

Summery: Loki bonds with a theater teacher, forging new connections with not only them, but their students.

Word Count: 3,582

Warnings: Brief mentions of guns (imrov game, no actual violence), panic attack, mentions of mental health problems

Masterlist

It’s the way I’m taking my own experiences in theater and putting them in this story. 

Also if my theater teacher ever finds this I’m so sorry plz don’t hate me for basing the reader off of you I think you’re really cool and this is a compliment

If you know my irl don’t show this to her or I will end you.

Stark’s charity galas were always dull, but this one took the cake. It couldn’t be called a gala, and it couldn’t even really be called charity; it was just a couple of wealthy business people mingling with the begrudgingly assembled Avengers. Maybe some of their wealth was going to be donated to the charitable causes Stark promoted, but in the end Loki knew they were all here to strike up some sort of business deal with Stark Industries. 

The only thing that kept the event from being completely dour (aside from the open bar) was the pianist in the corner. You’d been employed a fair few times for Stark’s absurd parties, so Loki recognized you by now. You worked magic on your instrument, fingers flying deftly over the keys, pausing only to turn the pages of your thick binder of music.

Watching you play was often the only thing that kept Loki sane at these functions. He’d taken in your under appreciated performances so much, it almost felt as though he knew you, and not just your music. More than once he’d found himself sitting at the bar, nursing a drink that he couldn’t even properly enjoy thanks to his Asgardian tolerance, hoping you’d come and join him at the end of the night.

Alas, it seemed he was to be unlucky yet again. The clock struck nine o’clock, signaling the official end of the party and your work. Loki watched as you finished your last song, and quietly close your binder. Unwilling to let you slip by again, he pushed himself off his barstool and finally strode over.

“Another lovely performance,” He remarked lightly, lazily plunking a key on the piano. “Several times you’ve been here and I don’t believe I’ve yet had the pleasure.”

“I like to make a quick get away.” You quipped, slipping your binder into a tote bag sitting at the leg of the instrument. “I have to go in early for my day job, so don’t stay out too late.”

“Ah, so you don’t just play for business men with deep pockets?”

“If I did I’d probably be a lot better off.” You held a hand out, giving your name. Loki returned the gesture.

“If I’m being entirely honest, I didn’t quite expect you to be this relaxed around me.” Loki admitted, shaking your hand.

“I deal with teenagers on a daily basis who are arguably more scary than the God of Mischief.” You said with a twinkle. “I think I can handle you.”

“Oh? And where exactly are your finding these children?” He asked, matching your teasing tone.

“I’m a high school teacher.” You answered. “I teach theater and chorus, and I’m the director of our drama program. Ever met a theater kid?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“And you never should, ‘cause they’re terrifying. They’re cool kids, and I’m glad to have them, but some of them can be a little intense.”

“That may be, but do you see what I have to live with?” Loki raised an arm in a grand sweeping arch around the room, lingering on each of the Avengers. “I live with some of the most dangerous people on the planet.”

“Touche. In either way, I really should get going.” You shouldered your bag, but Loki noted that you seemed reluctant to do so. “I’ve got to be at school by six forty, and I can’t exactly sleep during class.”

“Will you be playing here again soon?” He hated how desperately he didn’t want you to leave. He hated how he didn’t want to be alone again.

You simply shrugged. “You’d have to ask Tony Stark.” You met his disappointed eyes, a sly smirk pulling at your lips. “Or I could text you and let you know when I find out.”

Smooth. You were very smooth. Loki decided he liked that about you as he put his contact information into your phone (he was now very grateful that Stark had insisted on getting him the infernal device, not that he’d ever tell him that of course). He supposed that you had to think fast, be quick on the draw like that when you worked with adolescents. 

He cordially kissed your hand goodbye, relishing in the shy smile you gave him. As your back retreated from him, he tore his gaze away only for a second to plunk another hopeful note on the piano.

. . .

It was nine o’clock on a Friday morning, obviously you were working. Loki knew you’d be working, but he still couldn’t help from sending you a quick message.

How are the students? Still terrifying?

Figuring it was as safe a staring line as any, he sent it, not expecting you to answer right away. Mere minutes later, his phone buzzed.

You’d sent a photo of your students. Three of them were in the center of the room, while the rest watched from raised seats (Loki figured it was the chorus room). The three students were posed in what seemed to be an epic tale; one was pretending to cry, one was offering them a tentative hug, and the other was holding their hands up in fear.

The phone buzzed once more. Very. We’re doing improv games. Ash and Summer are a parent and child at the arcade, and Heather is a lonely robber holding them at gunpoint. It all escalated very quickly when Heather stormed up yelling “hands in the air”

Loki chuckled to himself. Now that you had pointed it out, he could see the crying girl had tucked in the ring and pinkie finger of her right hand to resemble a gun.

It didn’t start out as a robbery? Send

Buzz. No, it was just Ash and Summer at first, Heather only entered halfway through the scene. Summer was throwing a tantrum that she’d lost the game she was playing, and then Heather came in to give her something to really cry about.

He snorted. Sounds about right for adolescents. Send.

Buzz. Tell me about it. I’ve gotta go now, I need to announce and explain the next game. Can I call you after school?

Loki let himself smile, not even registering how foolish it felt to be smiling giddily at an electronic device.

I certainly hope you do. 

Send.

. . .

“Are you quite sure your students will be okay with me crashing rehearsal?”

“They won’t care, I promise. They’ll be too busy doing their own thing to even notice you’re there.”

Loki shot you an unsure look. “Let me rephrase that. Are you quite sure your students will be okay with me, Loki, God of Mischief, so on and so forth, crashing rehearsal?”

Paused from fiddling with your impressive collection of keys to look at him. “These are some of my best kids, Loki. No one ever tells you this about theater kids because they’re usually too busy making fun of them, but these kids are some of the nicest, most accepting bunch you’ll ever meet.” You squeezed his arm gently, holding his gaze. “Also, they’re teenagers. If anyone understands that people can change, it’s teenagers.”

“You make a compelling argument.” Loki admitted, feeling your hand fall away from his arm.

“You’re already here, I can’t have you backing out now.” You winked, going back to your keys, unlocking the auditorium doors. “Plus I may’ve promised them that you’d be here, and they were pretty into the idea.”

He said nothing to that, but laughed quietly, shaking his head. Ten o’clock on a Saturday and you’d somehow convinced him to come and watch your students rehearse their spring show, The Addams Family. Being only somewhat familiar with the concept, Loki was oddly looking forward to seeing what the children could do. 

Mere moments after he’d made himself as comfortable as was possible in one of the auditorium chairs, the door swung open again. “Good morning!”

Loki twisted in his seat to see Ash, one of the students from the infamous improv game walking with a bag slung over a shoulder, and a large thermos.

You smiled at them as they plopped into a seat near Loki. “Morning.”

Ash looked over at him, offering a shy smile, raising a hand in greeting. Loki did the same. 

“Well Ash, you get the prize for first one here.” You remarked, setting up the speaker perched at the edge of the stage.

“Yesss.” They pumped a lazy fist in the air. “I’m awesome.”

The kids started to trickle in a few at a time. As each student came up to the front of the stage, chatted with you and with each other, Loki could see why you liked them so much. They were enthusiastic about what they were doing, and despite being tired, still managed to greet each other with enthusiasm. 

You settled in next to Loki as you waited for the last to everyone to arrive. You quietly rattled off names and roles. “That’s Elle, she’s Morticia. The boy who just walked in is Simon, who plays Gomez. Anna over there is Wednesday. Holly is playing Pugsley. There’s Summer, she’s the Grandma. Lucy, our newest recruit is Fester. Ash plays Alice, they have a really cool solo they’re super excited for. Jasper- he’s the one talking to Ash- plays Mal, their characters are married. And there’s Ben, who plays their son, Lucas.”

“I don’t remember them from the original line up.” Loki murmured back to you.

“Alice, Mal and Lucas were made up for the musical. Lucas is Wednesday’s boyfriend, and the families meet during an awkward dinner.”

Today’s rehearsal was to learn the singing part to the opening song, and brush up on the dance which had already been learned. Loki was still not entirely sure what was going on, but he found he enjoyed listening to the students sing. The harmonies were very nice. And the dance actually looked quite fun.

It was fascinating to see you, the silent pianist at Tony Stark’s parties, interacting with your students and giving them advice. Serval times as they practiced their choreography, you’d call out things like, “Holly, stop smiling! You’re an Addams.” or “Cool it with the arms, you look like you’re signaling planes.”

It was a wonder to watch you in your element. As the hours quickly passed he found himself more and more entranced with your work. He found himself more entranced with you.

“Is there by chance, anything with the show that you could use help with?” Loki found himself innocently asking you as the students left for home.

“I could always use an extra hand,” You said slowly, a very familiar twinkle in your eye. “Tell you what. I’ll send you a bootleg of The Addams Family. Go home, watch it, and when you come back I’ll have you help pull costumes or something.”

“It would be my honor,” He kissed your hand, letting his lips linger longer than he had the first time he’d bid you farewell this way. 

You squeezed his hand. His heart skipped a beat.

. . .

After that rehearsal Loki become a consistent presence in your classroom. He was often found sitting at your desk, helping with menial tasks like stapling or hole punching papers.

“Am I even allowed to be here?” He asked on one occasion. “By the school?”

“Probably not, but Administration never comes down here anyway. Plus it’s easy to sneak you in through the side door.” It was true. Your classroom had a door that lead outside to the student parking lot.

“Are you sure you can trust me around these children?” He baited.

“I’m more concerned for your wellbeing around them then their’s around you.” You shrugged. “And you’ve got your hands too full with free labor, to even think about funny business, mister.”

Loki scowled down at the sheet music he was stapling, and then up at you. “I’ll eviscerate you.”

“No offense, dude, but I feel like I’m being threatened by a kitten.”

He snapped the stapler threateningly. You threw a pencil at his head. 

“Alright!” You stepped away before he could retaliate, addressing the class. “Presentations start tomorrow, so if you haven’t already, finish up those monologues. If you have a physical copy then turn it in, but if it’s digital you can email them to me. I need them by the end of the period.”

Loki smiled softly, tickled watching you in your element. His gaze swept out across the rest of the room, watching your students scribbling on sheets of paper, or typing furiously on their cellphones. It was remarkable to see how much they respected you and your instructions.

He slid into the office in the back of the room, intending to put the papers he’d just finished stapling with the rest of the sheet music. Instead, he nearly tripped over a child.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ash.” He quickly regained his footing, horror washing over him at the near injury of the student. “Are you quite alright?”

Ash was curled up in a defensive ball, their breath coming far too quickly for Loki’s comfort. “I can’t,” they said in a gasping sob. “I can’t,”

Very familiar with this type of distress, he dropped to his knees to face them. “Ash, I need you to focus on your breathing. If you don’t catch your breath you’re going to hurt yourself. In for four counts, hold for five, out for six. Can you do that?”

Ash made a shaky yet valiant attempt to follow his advise. They whimpered quietly.

“Why don’t I do it with you?” He quietly offered.

He and Ash breathed in synch for a few minutes. He heard the door open, and watched out of the corner of his eye as you entered, hesitating at the threshold. You seemed torn between assisting Ash and giving them space.

“Ash,” you finally murmured “Can I get you your water bottle?”

They pulled their tear-stained face out from between their knees, giving you a nod.

“Feeling any better?” Loki asked after you’d brought the bottle and left again.

“A little.” Ash replied. “It’s been a rough morning, and I was almost late for school, and everything’s been stressing me out lately-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, it’s more than alright.” He nudged the water closer to them , willing them to drink from it. “It’s not at all unusual to feel overwhelmed and need to take time for yourself- goodness knows how easy it is for every negative emotion to come overflowing out of you all at once.”

They made a sniffing sound that sounded a little like laughter. They took a long swig of their water. “I think I’m okay, but I want to be alone for a little while longer.”

“As you wish.” Loki pushed himself to his feet, brushing whatever filth had been on the carpet off his clothes. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,” Ash croaked, another spare tear sliding down their face.

Loki gave them one last reassuring smile before he exited the office, closing the door softly behind him.

“Everything okay in there?” You asked, lines of worry crossing your face.

“Yes, they were just overwhelmed and it all overflowed. They’re going to take another couple of minutes to be alone.”

You sighed in relief, relaxing back into your swivel chair. “Thanks for that, Loki. I had no idea they’d even hidden in there.”

“They’re quite the sneaky little thing, aren’t they?” He mused with a low chuckle, pulling up a spare chair to join you by the desk. “And it was no trouble, I’m glad to help.”

“The kids really like you,” You commented, drawing your words out in a way that made Loki feel as though you had more to say. You pursed your lips, lowering your voice. “I really like you.”

If his heart had beaten clean out of his chest Loki wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised. He held your gaze despite the rising heat in his face.

“I should hope so,” he finally managed, matching your hushed tone. “I’ve been spending all my resources trying to steal your heart. It’d be a shame if all my efforts had been in vain.”

You laughed, the tension falling from your shoulders. “If that’s the case, then you probably wouldn’t be opposed to me taking you to dinner.”

Still as smooth as the day he’d met you. He met your hopeful smile with one of his own.

. . .

“I’m going to the copy machine,” You told Loki, waving the sight-reading worksheet. “Make sure no one sets anything on fire, please.”

“Will do,” He chuckled, watching fondly as you left.

Dinner had been lovely. So had the dinner after that, and the dinner after that. You’d gone out several times together, each date being better than the last. 

You were much more affectionate with each other now. He let his gaze and touch linger longer on you than was necessarily needed. Your flirtations with him had become more obvious with the passing days. 

He still hadn’t yet managed to work up the courage to kiss you yet, though he had thought about it quite a bit.

He thought he’d been doing a good job at masking his feelings for you when he was at school with your students. He was the God of Lies, after all. If he couldn’t conceal his emotions, how could call himself that?

“Are you two a couple?”

Loki glanced over at Ash and Summer, who had pulled chairs up close to the teacher’s desk. “I beg your pardon?”

Summer blinked at him, her gaze unyielding. “Are you dating our teacher?” She repeated.

Loki opened his mouth to scoff and roll his eyes, but stopped short. “Actually, I’m not sure.”

Ash tilted their head. “But you want to, right?”

Loki narrowed his eyes at the pair. “How did you-”

“My parents think I’m so much more mentally stable than I actually am.” Ash chuckled, shaking their head. “Can’t hide anything from me.”

“Yeah, and the only reason I haven’t been sent to therapy yet is because my mom doesn’t realize I need it.” Summer added.

Loki stared at the teenagers, his mind suddenly blank. Was I this lighthearted about my mental health when I was their age? He suddenly wondered.

“Pretty sure you’re not the only one making googly-eyes, though.” Ash drawled, tilting their head back to you, who’d just re-entered the classroom.

He gave both children piercing gazes, willing them to be silent. Luckily, they fell mercifully into their own conversation about their last rehearsal. 

You walked behind the students, gently tapping them both on the head with the stack of papers you held.

“Any blood? Broken bones?” You joked, patting him with the stack as well.

“Thankfully, no.” He replied, hyper-aware of your fingers brushing against his skin.

“Any emotional damage?”

“Ah, no.” He glanced over at Summer and Ash.

You perched at the edge of the desk, and gave his hair a quick ruffle. He fought the urge to lean into your touch.

. . .

“Loki, do you have plans tonight?” 

“I was going to ask you that.”

“Perfect. Tonight at 5? I can pick you up for dinner. I wanna surprise you.”

“That’s more than alright with me,” Loki said, handing you your bag.

“Awesome. Thank you.” You took the bag, fishing your car keys out. The last bell of the day had rung, and the last students had filed out. Ash and Summer’s words had been rattling around Loki’s head since their conversation earlier. 

“Mmm. Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” 

“What’s up?”

“What.... what are we?” He asked quietly.

You stopped rifling through your bag, meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean... we’ve been spending a lot more time together, and I’d like to know where we stand.”

He swallowed his saliva, watching you purse your lips and organize your thoughts. “I think we’re more than friends,” you said carefully “but we don’t have an official relationship, which I would like.”

“I think I’d like that, too.” Loki responded, his voice lowering. 

You smiled. It spread across your face, and seemed to brighten the whole room. “Good.”

You leaned over and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. Impulsively, he kissed you back twice as hard when you made the move to pull back. He cradled your face in his hands gently, as though you would break if he was too forceful.

Suddenly, he heard one of your students call your name from the hallway. “I think I forgot something!”

Loki sighed heavily, pulling away as the student came back in. He glanced back at you, not bothering to hide his look of irritation. You smiled apologetically at him, shrugging. 

The heart that he once thought was cold and unfeeling beat twice as hard.

[warmcookiepuff]

Hawks x GN! Pro Hero! Reader

About: his s/o gets injured in battle

Warning(s): slight angst, mentions of blood, curse words.

Note: this is my first time writing on Tumblr so please excuse my grammar mistakes or the lack of 'angst' you were looking for! Most probably would write a part 2 (don't worry, I'll put the link here)

| THIS FEAR OF MINE | PART 1 |

"Babe? Babe, c'mon," He holds your cheeks, a hand supporting your back carefully. His heart was beating out of his chest as the world felt like it was crumbling before him, a nasty blow had donned the pretty skin he loved to touch so much. "Wake up, baby. Wake up."

Love wasn't a decision, it wasn't a choice. Love comes and goes, sometimes it hits too hard for anyone's liking. If we could choose who we loved, life wouldn't have been so painful.

You were a pro hero of Japan, not as popular as your lover -- but just enough to be noticed. Strongwilled, you were. Stopped at nothing to keep people safe. If the world required them to lay their life down for a weeping child, they would've done so without hesitation.

That's what drove him mad. Hawks hated that side of them -- truthfully, he never intended to fall for someone with the same occupation as he did. He knew what the job entailed, so he'd never want to hear news about his lover's encounters with dangerous villains or possible injuries they would have come back with. He hated fearing for his lover's life, he just wanted to go back home to the arms of someone who he could keep safe.

So why did he have to fall in love with you? A strong, brave hero -- an illiterate idiot in a sense when it came to their own wellbeing. Maybe that's why he loved you so much, you reminded Hawks of himself. Even if it was just a tiny bit, every time he saw that gleaming grin of yours, he finds himself smiling as well.

"Hawks, we have to get them to a hospital," a nearby paramedic called, very anxiously. The pro hero had been rocking back and forth with his lover bleeding in his arms.

Had he loved you at first sight? Certainly not, the rivalry between you two were obvious, the both of you were practically the same person; cocky and outspoken. Even Miruko had given up in trying to break the two of you apart during your daily arguments. The second your eyes meet, a tired Endeavor could be heard sighing just a few feet away.

"Baby, please. Please, baby. Just open your eyes," He cooed on repeat, kissing their temple and nuzzling his face in the crook of their neck. They smelled like oranges and metal. "I'll let you go if you just open your damned eyes."

When did he start to like you? Probably when you realized he was having a fever and dragged him back to his own apartment.

Was it?

Or was it the time when you handed him his favourite canned coffee after a rough day at work? Maybe even when he saw you worry for the victims being caught in a crossfire between you and some rando villain.

He never knew when. He just knew he liked you at a certain point in time, which lead to him putting his ego down to ask you out.

"Hawks! The more you're holding on to them, the more they'll bleed!" Miruko grabbed his shoulder, only for him to pull away with a harsh shrug. "They have to go!"

He was afraid. So afraid. What if you pass away the second you reach the hospital? What if this was the last time he'd ever see the serene look on your face? He wanted to soak it in, he was being selfish but for a good cause; his sanity.

He loved you so much and he never even got to say it. What if--

"Hawks."

Endeavour places a hand on his shoulder firmly. He turns around, his golden eyes were tearful and his lips trembling. The No. 1 Hero took note on the tight grip the young bird had on your injured body, the fearful shaken look in his eyes even with the visor still intact.

The relationship was never made public but everyone knew they flirted often. Who wouldn't? The sexual tension was thicker than air, the press was kind enough not to make their relationship an issue, seeing as they both did their job flawlessly.

But it was Endeavour's first time seeing the cocky bird so vulnerable. It wasn't worry he was feeling, maybe confusion.

"I don't want them to die," He whispered. "Please, I can't see them go. I love them so fucking much. They're my baby, I promised them they'll be alright."

"Then keep that promise. If you loved them so much, take them to the hospital," The fiery man spoke. "Let's go. The longer we wait, the longer they'll suffer. Carry them if you must but pro heroes should continue with dignity. Come on, Hawks."

It was silent between the three of them. Alas, the winged Hero got up from his knees with you in his arms and flew straight to the nearest hospital without so much as a word.

Thank you for reading! Planting the link here for when I write the next bit. Have a nice day babes, bruvs and enbies

♡︎ literate-simp

[princesssarcastia]

2021 Harry Potter Fanfic Primer

im here to point fingers at the incredible authors that have enabled my new interest in HP content.  im still conflicted and upset about it, tbh, but for now we’re leaning into the curve.  we’re getting out our shovel and finding out just how deep we can make the hole we’re in.  hand in unlovable hand my beloved <3.  anyway, these fics are wonderful, their authors are wonderful, and you should go read their stuff. if there’s a star next to it that means im losing my mind over it and always will be.

Creatively Maladjusted, by elumish on AO3, 101k  (they also have a wonderful writing advice blog on tumblr, @elumish, which I recommend following if you are a writer) 

A very excellent re-telling of harry’s first year at hogwarts if he were sorted into Slytherin, plus some more not!fic or piecemeal re-tellings of his second and part of his third year.  Harry, in this, has a slightly different trauma response to growing up with the Dursley’s.  He’s a bit quieter, and the signs are a bit more obvious to the people around him, and I enjoyed that immensely. 

Honestly, if you’re going to get sucked into something you have absolutely no business getting sucked into, elumish is the way to go, their fic is incredible. their teen wolf fic is also immaculate, if you’re so inclined. 

Dissonance, by ImpishTubist on AO3, 2.5k (@impishtubist on tumblr)

Set during fifth year.  Oblivious!Harry has always been a delightful trope when well executed, and this is well executed.  Plus, some angst between Remus and Harry over what Umbridge has been doing to him.

I would certainly recommend a lot of ImpishTubist’s other hp work on AO3, like Lacuna.

blow us all away, by rexcorvidae on AO3, 23k (@rexcorvidae on tumblr)

In progress (like, updated last week in progress).  Currently in the beginning of Harry’s first year.  Fem!Harry, Indian!Harry.  Hagrid puts Harry in touch with Remus when she has questions about her parents, and they become reluctant, traumatized, angst-ridden pen pals who keep missing each other’s true intentions like ships in the night.  hot DAMN do I love this fic.  there’s hints of the way the dursley’s treat Harry peaking through in her letters, and I appreciated the attention to “hmm, her experience as a girl of indian descent in britain under the thumb of a bunch of white people who like being Normal may not have been gucci”

Definitely comb through the rest of their HP fic, too, I may or may not have gone feral over it.

Where the Heart is, by silver_fish on AO3, 15k (@kohakhearts on tumblr)

Woof.  This one said, “hey, harry was probably SUPER depressed in the summer after fifth year.  like, clinically.  maybe someone should do something about that.”  Fuck yeah.  Then this one said, “that someone was Snape.”  You all know my opinions on Snape; generally, Bad.  But damn if this fic didn’t wholly convince me by the end of it.  I thought it was a very realistic way for Snape to start seeing Harry as a person all on his own, and not a proxy for Snape’s angst over James and Lily, respectively.  The angst is wonderful, the ending is even more so.

*bernie sanders voice* I am once again asking you to read through the rest of the author’s HP fic.  a lot of them have similar themes; there’s actually a great one with Molly that i’m not reccing here, Wonder.

☆Bindings, Bindings, by Quietlemonhush on AO3, 60k (@quietlemonhush on tumblr)

WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS TO YOU HOW MUCH I ENJOYED/AM ENJOYING THIS.  If I had to pick a single fic and say “you, it’s your fault I’m stuck here,” it would be this one.  Anyway Lily in the afterlife is So Very Angry about how Petunia is treating Harry, and how Sirius is rotting in Azkaban, and how Remus is alone, that she literally brings herself back to life and drags James and Regulus with her.  All three of them are there to chew bubblegum and fix everything that went wrong after they died—and would you look at that, they’re all out of bubblegum!  There’s only Fury left.  That inciting premise is very crack, but every moment after that is very much not crack.  Lily and James love harry more than anything, the way a child should be loved; James and Sirius have the epic friendship of a lifetime; Sirius and Remus have staggering amounts of resolved sexual tension and take turns keeping each other in check; Regulus, though he realized that Voldemort and his family were shit before he died, is still unlearning all his racist bullshit and, also, years of trauma.  Actually, they’re all traumatized, but hey: now they have one another again and not a damn one of them seems inclined to let go anytime soon.  Quietlemonhush went, “hey, HP has a lot of Awful people in it, and a lot of Righteous people in it, and many of them are Very, Very Powerful; also, love is the most powerful force in the universe” and i said “hell yes tell me more right now.”  And then they did!

Quietlemonhush writes Sirius/Remus in a way that makes it sooo much fun to devour, so the rest of their HP fic is most certainly worth a look, if that’s your thing.

Rebuilding, by Colubrina on AO3, 113k (@colubrina on tumblr)

Hermione/Draco (*shrug emojis into the abyss* yeah, yeah, like none of us have ever been there before).  Takes place during Hogwarts 8th year, and while the beginning is, IMO, a little unfair to Ron, it gets much better.  Tells the story of Hermione and Draco clearing the air, learning to like each other, having some hormones over each other, and then falling in love.  Also tells the story of Hermione and Theo Nott becoming friends; the story of how every single 7th and 8th year student is fucked to hell by the war and the Carrows; the story of how they start an emotional support group about it and all become friends; and the story of, what the hell do you do with yourself after that kind of trauma?

I’ve been dipping in and out of Colubrina’s HP since before I was even on tumblr; I actually found them in those dark yesteryears when the only fandom interactions I had were on fanfiction.net.  Of such fame as Green Girl, which is an HP fic staple, and has also written a lot of wackier, crackier, and darker things than that.  If you don’t take yourself too seriously, I highly recommend many of their big HP works, though I imagine it’ll press some people’s buttons.  Colubrina’s work really does take up a corner of my mind whenever I’m in an HP mood, and will take up yours if you let it.

☆ all waiting is long, by shuofthewind on AO3, 149k ( @shu-of-the-wind on tumblr)

This is so well written that I can’t stop thinking about it.  It is occupying my mind when I lie awake at night, you know?  It’s one of those.  Hermione messes with something she probably shouldn’t have in Grimmauld Place, so when Sirius is sent through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, she gets thrust into an alternate universe...in 1975.  Instead of handwaving it away, shuofthewind actually gets into the mechanics of it in a way that makes sense, to emphasize that hermione is never going home.  ever. The world she finds herself is shifted slightly to the left, quite a bit darker, but in a “the author is treating the idea of a society-wide conflict over blood purity much more seriously than JKR ever did” way, not a sensationalist way.  Now, Hermione has to grapple with all her grief at losing everyone she’s ever loved or known, the moral/ethical/magical implications of sharing what she knows about her future in an alternate world, and, you know, a goddamn war with people who want to murder her for being who she is.  This Hermione is smart, and she’s kind, and she’s powerful, and she’s making real friends.  If you hate JKR’s guts I’d go read this right now, because it delivers in all the ways she failed us.  It’s plotty, its got great world-building, and it pulls back the white curtain on the wizarding world to show you that, like real life, it’s multicultural and full of queer people...and the discrimination that comes with both.

shuofthewind write epics, mainly for the MCU, and I’ve read some of them a looooong time ago, so this fic kinda seemed out of left field for me but im SOOOO GLAD it exists.  If you want MCU fic you can sink your teeth into, go for it, but alas, they do not have any more HP fic (.......yet?)

Speak Now [+] Listen Now, by mrsfrizzle on AO3, 33k altogether

Harry reaches out to Remus for support because Umbridge is getting to him with her literal torture.  Remus, being a former professor, former mandatory reporter, person who loves Harry and has since he was born, and all around good man, tells Harry he has to tell someone, or Remus will.  It’s everything any adult looking back on that time in HP canon ever wanted, which is for an actual adult to say “what the fuck, those are literal chidlren” and then do something about it.  Then, a far more dangerous task: Harry trusts Remus enough to go to him about the Dursleys.  Harry and Remus’ relationship develops SO WELL, and there’s a bit of exploration about how Sirius may not exactly be guardian material, because he did in fact spend 12 years of his life getting tortured instead of growing up.  I think I’m actually going to go reread this right now, because it speaks to my id.

they do have some other HP fic which did not appeal to my hyperspecific wants, but may appeal to some of yours.  I think they’re also a published author, there should be a link on their profile page.

chase the stars, by Duskglass on AO3, 101k (@felix-duskglass on tumblr)

When Harry is five years old, a picture of him ends up in the Daily Prophet, and Sirius Black, Terror of Ministry Officials Touring Azkaban everywhere, gets a hold of that issue.  He then, in order: breaks out of Azkaban; crosses the countryside to Surrey; Finds Harry: Kidnaps Harry; Breaks Into Remus’ Apartment; starts processing (or maybe just acknowledging) his trauma from Azkaban, the war, and his childhood; and pines after Remus.  It’s a little plotty, and deals a lot (sometimes through flashbacks) with the specific awful things that happened to Sirius—largely because, after years in the constant presence of Dementors, those are nearly literally the only memories he has left.  It’s a wonder he’s got the strength to love Harry and Remus at all.  But then, maybe it isn’t.

This is a Very Serious Fic, but the rest of Duskglass’s HP work is actually just cracky enough to tickle your funny-bone, while still making you think “okay but why couldn’t we have done that in the first place.”

So!  That’s it for recs, for now.  These are all things I’ve found and read in the last month; if any of y’all are interested in my old HP recs, let me know and I can make a post for that, too.  While I’m still very conflicted about my choice of current fandom, I am not in ANY way conflicted about my taste in fic and authors.  Send these guys some love, read their fic if you’re so inclined, and leave some nice comments at the end of it.

[vintage-marina]

A woman out of time chapter 4

TW: probably derealisation (reader is confused where she is), talking about the loss of someone, talking about Hydra, nazi's and the Second World War

wordcount: 2694

The Dauntless

''Take that thing off on your shoulders, everything that you carry should lay on the ground,'' said a man with a white wig to you. Not that he was special or anything, no everyone was wearing white wigs. This was the moment that you knew that the men fashion of this time period was really ugly. You knew your fair share of historical women clothing but you had no idea what the men wore so you didn't exactly knew in what time you were in. ''Now!'' said the man again, you mumbeled quietly to yourself, clicked off the safety belt that was strapped across the top of your chest and shrugged of the straps across your shoulders that secured the med pack. Some of the men that could ssee you had widened their eyes and were questioning what you were wearing, they never saw it and it was certainley not lady like. You held your medpack in one of your hands and laid it carefully on the ground, you straightend your back and stared ahead of you but when someone picked that up you said concerned: ''Hey, don't touch that!''

The Commodore was walking towards you, (that was James, but after someone called him commodore you knew that he was pretty important) had handcuffs in his hand and clicked it onto your gloved hands. Both of you didn't say anything and you only stared him down. The light bags under his eyes told you that he was tired and in his eyes swom sadness, the same sadness that swom into yours. You noticed that he was or sad about the loss of his men or that he was sad that he had to arrest a woman and possibly execute her (so that was you) or a mix of them.

You were pushed on your back, were let to the lower deck of the ship and were thrown into an old cell with rusted bars. The cell smelled and you saw dirt laying on the floor, you lifted your nose up in disgust and the smell made you almost gag. James Norrington led the way to your prison and you turned your head to face him. ''Well atleast your or your men could have cleaned up this mess, but alas I shouldn't have expected that.'' The second thing you noticed about him was that he couldn't have eye contact with someone for a long time, instead of looking into your eyes he was staring at the wall behind you. He cleared his throat and looked into your eyes again for a moment. ''This is not a place for a woman,'' ''then get me out of here.'' ''No, you're a pirate. You don't deserve a good place to stay.'' His eyes went cold after he accused you of it.

''Like I said before, I am not a pirate! Besides even if I was a pirate, they don't deserve this treatment of you and the Navy. They are human just like you, yes maybe some of them are bad and they should be punished ofcourse, but not all of them are bad. And most men in the Navy are just as bad maybe even worse and they don't get punished. That isn't fair, is it Commodore?'' He ignored you and didn't meet your eyes again, in fact he didn't even say anything to you but turned his back to walk away from you. In two steps you were by the metal bars and you gripped it with determination. ''I'm a nurse Commodore, if you want your men to be alive and well, you should let me out of this cell and let me go, so I can help them!'' He still ignored you and walked to the stairs. You sighed in irritation and sat on the place of the ground that was the most clean, but in desperation you said one last thing to him ''If you leave me as a prisoner, I will be dead and my blood will be on your hands! Don't think your innocent either Commodore! You've probably killed more men than any pirate on earth!'' you took a deep breath to calm yourself and then you said in a monotone voice: ''And who will take care of your wounded men, your so called medic? He would probably give them an infection that would result in death.'' He was on top of the stairs by now and you could see that he struggled by what you said but he only give you a stare that said you disgust me and walked into the light of the moon.

You laid your head against the wall and closed your eyes. The smell was disgusting and you thought it was for the best to breath to your mouth, your fingers were tapping on the ground and you were thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. The cell resembled the prison where you stayed for short periods of time in Hydra and your eyes went wide open. Your fingers stopped with tapping and wrapped around your upperarm. Your breath was caught in your throat and with each breath, breathing was becoming more and more difficult. Hydra? No, this can't be. You're not on a Navy ship, were you all this time by Hydra? Did you ever live in 2023? Did Thanos even attack? Are you still in 1944? All this was a hallucination, a test. A test yes, but for what? Why would Hydra test you, what have you done to deserve this?

You tried to hum It had to be you from Betty Hutton, you heard this version for the first time after you and your team had a small break. It was heavenly to have a distraction and everyone had a small smile on their faces and you could say that this song was a favourite of yours. If you really were in 1944 then was this song only a few months old and in your mind it was logical that a lot of people knew this song. If these men didn't know this one then you were really stuck in the past and not taken by Hydra and if they knew or regconise it then you were in 1944. Yes, this is a great plan! Only thing you had to do is ask some of them if they knew this song, easy. You unclapsed your hand and let it rest on your thigh. Your eyes fell on the ring on your other hand and a sob fell between the sweet melody that you tried to hum and then another sob. A few tears were pooling in your Y/E/C eyes and fell on your cheeks. You put your face into your hands as best as you could ofcourse, to lessen your cries. A woman appeared in your memory, she was just as beautiful as when you last saw her, but this made you wail even more.

Dripping, you felt something dripping on your face and it wasn't tears. You were sent back to reality. You tried to touch the place where you've noticied the dripping, but the cuffs were ratteling and it was pretty hard. You inspected your hand and noticed that your gloved finger had speckles of scarlett on it, so you were bleeding. A head wound maybe. Not maybe, certainly. You expected more of your body but you only could find a few scratches, but what was even worse to you was that your green suit was dirty! Gunpowder and dirt were on it and you sighed in irritation. A few stray tears found their way onto your cheeks and you saw that woman again in your head and later that night in your dreams or nightmares you could say.

A few days later

During your time in this cell you still thought that you were kidnapped by Hydra and it was pretty scary. Yes you could escape on your own, but if it really was Hydra you don't want to get tortured again and again and even if it was not you still were stuck on the ship itself. The cell still stunk but you did your best to clean up the floor with your combat boots. Although you didn't get many visitors down here, you were very wary about the men who still came to visit you. Actually they didn't really visited you, they brought you something to eat (not that it was much). You stared them down and didn't bother to say thank you to them. Why would you say thank you to the people who kidnapped you a few months ago hm? James Norrington didn't visit you and you were glad about that, he could be a nazi for all you know. But if you really were in 1944, why did you have such vivid memories of people that were not even born yet during the Second World War and why did you have nightmares about things that wern't lining up with the war? Your face felt dirty and the wound on your head was now healing on it's own. The wound bothered you, you couldn't even check it and when you asked those men they said no! The audacity.

You heard something on the stairs, you perked your ears and listened for a second, you were anxious. Footsteps, you heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, but it wasn't one person but more of them maybe three? You thought that they looked stern but a bit anxious too. Where they scared of you? You were landing on the wall and eyed them suspicious. ''Pirate, the Commodore wants to talk to you'' Oh, but in Hydra nobody is called a commodore, so why is James then that being called? ''He said that it was important.'' You weren't really happy that you should see him and frankly the pit in your stomach was growing and growing. But now you had the chance to know if you were in Hydra or not. ''Alright, but first I have a question,'' you could see that they thought it wasn't a good plan, but before they could interrupt you said: ''Do you know the song It had to be you from Betty Hutton? I heard it was pretty popular.'' ''No, now come along. Women do not even make music.'' The other two shaked their head and you knew now that it wasn't Hydra but you gave a stank eye to the man who said that women couldn't make music. You let out a puff of relieve now you knew that you weren't in Hydra. Everything is better than in there. ''Okay, now I'm coming'' you pushed yourself of the wall and one of the men unlocked your prison cell and you followed them to the daylight that you so dearly missed. When you stood on the deck you shielded your eyes from the sun and quickly followed the men, you saw that the others were looking at you but you looked to the ground. So if they weren't Hydra or nazi's, maybe some of them aren't completely evil. Maybe.

You were walking on the deck of the Dauntless and were lead to the cabin of the Commodore, now you knew where you where and what your purpose again was you formed a plan.

Step 1: Try to find out if the Infinity Stones exist here

Step 1,5: If they are here, then eavesdrop on people to get information

Step 2: Try not to die, find the Black Pearl and getting your time travelsuit back

Step 3: Get the location of the Tesseract

Step 4: Go to that location with your timetravelsuit on

Step 5: Get the hell out of here

Simple.

One of the Navy men knocked on the Commodore his cabin and said: ''Commodore, the pirate is here,'' you didn't even try to correct the people anymore. You heard something along the lines of come in and the door was pushed open. ''We're staying here so if you try to do something, you don't get far pirate.'' And they stood in position to guard the door.

You stepped inside and you saw James hunched over a staple of papers, you cleared your throat to alert him and he looked up. He was pretty handsome you noticed and he gestured that you could sit down and gave you something to drink. You tried to clean your face a bit, took the chair that the offered and drank in one gulp your drink up. You laid your hands in your lap and crossed your legs and stared to his desk. It was beautiful with simplistic engravings. ''So you're going to give me the date when I'm supposed to die,'' you mumbled sour. ''I don't want to die,'' you said hopeless. ''Maybe a week ago I wanted to die yes, but now James. Now I have so much to live for, please don't let me get killed.''

He was confused why would you want to be dead?

He didn't say anything but shoved a paper towards your nose. You picked up the paper and began reading, your eyes scrolled over the written words and by each word you smiled harder. ''So I don't get killed?'' ''No you won't,'' ''thank you James.'' He didn't look you into the eye but said: ''How do you know my name when I do not even know yours?'' ''Elizabeth,'' was the only thing you answered. ''That explains why,'' a small smile was on his face when you said her name. ''My name's Y/N Y/L/N by the way. But if I read it correctly I'm going to care for your men with the medic?'' He said yes and you went further. ''I'm not going to listen to the medic, I know that he isn't doing a really good job because if he did I wasn't here in your cabin and I would probably be dead in a few days. Instead of me listening to him, he should be listening to me.'' he looked a bit uncomfortable and his face was written with guilt and you knew that you were right. ''I will tell him that, we also didn't want to execute you because we wanted you to be with your husband,'' and he gestured towards your gloved hand that had a ring on it. Oh, your gleefull expression dropped towards a saddened one and a few tears were forming into your eyes. ''I do not have a husband, Commodore. My partner died a few years ago'' He looked more uncomfortable now and mumbled his apologies. ''My partner was one of the bravest people I knew, sh-he died trying to liberate people.'' and you gave him a weak smile.

''Another thing that I wanted to discuss with you is your sleeping arrangement, we have a room that we do not use and you can sleep in them,'' you mumbled a soft thank you, still thinking about your late soon-to-be-wife. ''And another thing is, that we inspected your belongings and your weapons do not match with the weapons that we know'' and laid your weapons and your medpack on his desk. ''This thing'' and he pointed to the taser, ''No one here did not regconise it like every other weapon here, care to explain?'' You were thinking to gave them an excuse but your mind went blank, not having enough food and water did really mess with someone's brain also it didn't help that you were crying. ''I got it from a gun dealer in France, he said it was the perfect weapon for a woman.'' He pinched his nose bridge and mumbled aggrivitated: ''And how did you even got the other weapons?'' ''I got it from the same gun dealer ofcourse!'' ''You want to give this dealer a name Nurse?'' ''...Jean, yeah Jean,'' ''sure.'' He didn't sound convinced but let it be.

This story is for another time, he thought to himself.

''After this talk you will have a good amount of rest and then you will be helping us. I hope you do not betray us Y/N or otherwise you would still be dead, now go, your room is ready by now.'' You bid him farewell and went outside again.