#is allowed one Tiny outburst of her own hurt feelings only for it to be swept under the rug because there are always Bigger Problems

[lizzieraindrops]

You know what, I figured out why we're having so many errors in Destiny 2 now. It's because with the addition of Micah-10, we've finally reached a critical mass of women with drop dead gorgeous voices, and the game simply can't handle it anymore. It's like Telesto. Too powerful. If they'd actually put Ikora Rey in a rendered cutscene for more than 5 seconds it would have shut down the servers for good

[reviewdiaries]

Nan-spreading: an exploration of Bro!Nancy

I want to look a little bit closer at Bro!Nancy because it was a really fun and fascinating device from the writers to explore a lot of the emotions that Nancy would normally not allow herself to express. Do not misread this, I’m not saying she behaved appropriately, I think how she treats Ace (and to a lesser extent the others but the brunt of her attitude is levelled at Ace) is awful and quickly unravels from “banter” to verbal and physical abuse. But I do think that allowing Nancy these opportunities to explore her emotions (or lack thereof) was a fun choice by the writers.

Nancy has spent the last weeks by both necessity and choice repressing her feelings and emotions. There have been odd outbursts when she’s felt truly comfortable with the people she’s expressing them to (her dads), but on the whole she’s felt that she cannot safely express herself so it’s safest not to. She is at least acknowledging most of what she’s feeling to herself, which is huge progress from where her character began - baby steps. We’ve seen this from Nancy before though, and her not acknowledging how she’s feeling and pretending she’s fine never ends well. 

She’s been through so much over the course of the show and before - she’s lost parents and lovers and dealt with trauma after trauma. And whilst she has talked about the alternate timeline with her dads, we’re not made aware of how much she actually disclosed to them of what happened (for example does Ryan know that he died too?) and she’s not told any of the others. She’s almost certainly suffering from PTSD and has a PhD in repression at this stage. Grief on top of trauma on top of more grief.

And suddenly she can’t access it. She knows it’s there, but she can’t feel it in the same way, like pushing up against a glass window unable to break through. Having her own emotions removed from her is a violation, and she understandably lashes out over it. But without a big bad directly responsible for her predicament it comes out at Ace for a variety of reasons - he’s the one with her the most throughout the episode, a lot of her emotions have been focussed on him over the preceding weeks, and to a certain degree this is his fault. He is after all the one who knocked the water into her face…

It’s a fascinating window into the idea of what happens when Nancy gets angry. Too often women aren’t allowed to get angry - told they’re overreacting, that they’re being ridiculous - and finally Nancy is given permission to. She gives herself permission to. Anger is one of the only things available to her, but it’s not the only thing. Fury, rage, want and need, all the physical aspects that she has crammed down into a tiny box are let loose at once in a messy and uncontrolled fire that burns everyone it comes into contact with. She allows herself to take up space, to get in people’s faces, to furiously spew whatever she thinks, to aggressively flirt with Ace, to try and needle him to make him feel the same anger she feels. Because she’s so angry about the curse, furious that she had a chance at happiness and Temperance stole it from her, left her alone in this. (She’s not alone, but she’s not allowing herself to see that yet.) Because she’s allowed her hope to be crushed and it makes her furious that Ace hasn’t and he keeps pushing and pushing and pushing her to have hope again. 

She can’t, every time she allows herself to, someone else is taken from her, the other shoe drops and everything just keeps hurting. The water forces her to understand how it feels to have things withheld from you, to keep slamming herself futilely against a wall separating her from what she needs. She finally gets a glimpse of how Ace is feeling being kept from certain key details that she’s chosen he doesn’t need to know. And on the flip side Ace gets a glimpse of (a very heightened and overblown version) how Nancy has felt to continually be pushed and pressured. No Ace has never made her feel like eye candy or a piece of meat, but he has over the last twelve hours (the end of 4x01 and the start of 4x02) pushed over and over and over and not truly  listened to her saying no when pressed for details. They’re neither of them managing to communicate effectively or listen to what the other one is truly saying, and the supernatural hijinks in this episode offer them a small (ridiculously overdramatic) peek at how the other is feeling. 

Nancy hasn’t allowed herself to think about those days with Ace before he died, before she ended up back here torn up by grief and alone. If she thinks about it she unravels - the choke hold she has on herself is the only way she thinks she can get through this. It is a small, guarded piece of her heart that she has protected by any means necessary, and Ace (understandably, how could he know without knowing what he’s asking) has no idea what he’s asking her to divulge. He is consumed by the need to know because it’s a problem he can’t fix without all the facts and he is so done with Nancy lying and withholding information from him. It’s the kind of story that needs quiet and understanding and a slow gentle approach to show Nancy she isn’t alone, that he will protect her and hold these most intimate precious parts of her. Instead he effectively uses a crowbar once he sees there’s something she’s hiding. All Ace can see is Nancy has given up on them, but whenever anyone else comes to her with a problem she reassures them they’ll find a way to fix it because that’s what they do.

By breaking out the supernatural BroJuice (and honestly I am fascinated to see how that unfolds with each individual drinking it because it clearly doesn’t affect everyone the same way) the writers gave Nancy a way to express some of what she was feeling and experiencing and to work through her anger and fear and some of the nastier feelings she was keeping bottled up. Without her suddenly feeling blocked from the emotions she’s been feeling (the ones she’s been allowing herself to feel, the ones that make Nancy Nancy) we wouldn’t have the realisations, the understanding that she cannot hold this information away from Ace, or that last gorgeous scene with her opening up to him finally. Sure I would love it if she could have reached that point in another way, but as supernatural hijinks go this one was a fascinating spin.

[keeperofthebox]

This is kind of just an unhinged meta rant about Rymin so do with it what you will. It's about Ryan's parents and how, despite having very little screentime, they really play into the story and the disagreements that Ryan and Min-gi have.

Ryan's dad only has one line and it's to give exposition to the fact that he's from a large family. That's all any of the Akagis say about Ryan. They aren't paying any attention to him or what he's doing in the BBQ scene in the twin tapes. Ryan is the exact middle child, and I think that was chosen intentionally to drive this point home. Them overlooking him leads to a lot of his outbursts throughout the season (quotes may not be exact because im not going back to look) -- "Our parents are probably wondering where we are. Or, at least... yours are." (the old west car), "Why doesn't anyone care about how I feel?" (the art gallery car), "At least your parents actually care about you!" (the mega maze car), and "No one cares about me unless I'm doing... something." (honestly cannot remember which episode and I'm too lazy to look it up). Ryan's parents' absence from book four is purposeful -- their lack of presence says just as much about Ryan as Min-gi's parents presence says about Min-gi.

Ryan has a big personality. He's a performer. He loves dressing up in crazy outfits and he loves looking cool. I don't think these things necessarily stem from emotional neglect as a child, but they are affected by it. He craves attention and he hasn't been getting it, and that leaves him with severe issues when it comes to dealing with his feelings. All of those quotes I mentioned are him lashing out, seeking attention from Min-gi, hoping that Min-gi will notice how much he's hurting from being ignored -- but every time, Min-gi redirects back to his own family issues.

Min-gi is from the opposite situation. I don't have as much to say here because the show is much more blatant about it, but his parents give him too much attention. They hover, they tell him what to do and how to do it. He is being slowly crushed by their expectations. He wants the same things as Ryan -- to make music, to perform, albeit for... lets say artsier reasons than Ryan does. But he's been taught those things are childish. He needs to be the responsible one, and clearly he's the only one with a good head on his shoulders, considering what Ryan is like. He lashes out at Ryan constantly, especially in the early part of the season, for continually dragging him into impulsive plans.

He wants Ryan to conform to societal norms, like he does, like his own parents taught him, so that Ryan will stop getting them into messes. However, Min-gi doesn't see that Ryan's personality and mental health issues don't give him the option to conform (creds to tumblr user vexahlla for that phrasing ... her tags on this post made my brain explode). He says "I couldn't get into uni if I tried" (the mega maze car). This is a whole other rant but Ryan also displays symptoms of bipolar disorder throughout the season which indicates to me that his brain chemistry would not physically allow him to slow down and follow a "typical" life path without genuine help (not the needling Min-gi was doing in the astro queue car). I think these problems that the show alludes to would have been alleviated a lot more if he'd had more help from his parents, but again, he's dealt with emotional neglect since he was tiny.

So Ryan and Min-gi end up as an unstoppable force and an unmovable object (which... now that i think about it... is a pretty accurate description of them as people, too). They both want to play music, but Ryan needs it immediately, because he needs the attention that he's not getting at home. He wants to get away, and fast. However he doesn’t realize that getting away without Min-gi is pointless, because Min-gi is who he actually wants attention from anyway. On the other hand, Min-gi can't leave immediately, especially when he thinks there's a particular life path he needs to follow. Both desperately want the other in their life, which keeps driving them back together, but they butt heads because their upbringings are so opposite.

This issue doesn't exactly get resolved in book four, but it doesn't need to, either. Book four ends with Ryan and Min-gi apologizing, and agreeing to stop sweeping things under the rug, actually try to look at each other fully, and see where the other person is coming from. So it's definitely a start to mending the gap between them and i think that's enough.

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Request: Trio (Caius Volturi x Reader x Athenodora Volturi)

You should have considered yourself lucky. This should have been heaven to you. Yet as the days went on, you began to notice more and more tiny details that no longer made it perfect. 

Caius and Athenodora married long before you or many of the generations before you existed. That didn't bother you. You knew the pair were thousands of years old. Whilst you weren't married to them or necessarily expecting a marriage you couldn't help but notice just how enthralled the two were with each other and left you on the outside to get what ever is left of their love. It had came up many times. All of such conversations ended with the same assurance that wasn't the case. You tried to make that comforting to you but it wasn't. It simply felt like it was a lie, something to keep you content for the time being. 

After some time the feeling never left and you began to distance yourself from the two. You didn't see either of them as often and were able to make up an excuse several times when the two requested your presence. They hadn't pushed it yet but you knew you'd have to get more creative eventually. 

On this particular day, you couldn't avoid Athenodora. Not amount of trying to get out of it subtly was working. Thankfully, you hadn't seen Caius and it was only Athenodora. She was a lot easier to avoid than Caius. You entered the room and Sulpicia left almost immediately to her own quarters. "Hi," You said softly, barely making eye contact with her. "Where would you want this?" It was more books from the library seeing as the wives weren't allowed to go down their on their own. "Over there is fine." Athenodora said with a smile, pointing to the table at the far wall of the room between the windows. You silently cursed hoping you could have just make another excuse but them somewhere closer and hurry off. Going to the other side of the room meant it wouldn't be so easy leaving. You nodded, briskly walking to the table and placing the books down on the table. 

You paused, just how were you going to get out of this situation? You stared down at the books. You had no idea what you were going to say. "Are you alright?" You heard Athenodora ask from behind you. "Yes." You said quickly. "I was just thinking about what the receptionist had said to me before, I think I better head down and see what she needs." Just as you finished the sentence you stiffened feeling hands on your waist from behind. "What are you doing?" You asked, a little too hurriedly than you had liked. "Hoping to get at least get some of your time." Athenodora answered. "It's been weeks since I've probably had your company." Her grip got a little firmer. "I'm sorry, I've just been busy recently-." "Why are you lying to me?" Your heart nearly came out of your throat, your eyes wide. You knew it was a crappy lie. Athenodora continued. "We caught on after the first few times. You're avoiding us." Just like that it had gotten worse. "Can you let go please?" You asked. "Can I get some answers?" She responded but released her hold on you. You moved to make space between you both. "I can't do this right now." You said, eyes to the floor. "We're worried, (Y/N). Tell me what's wrong and we can fix it." Athenodora said as though lightly pleading. You shook your head. Hurrying towards the door as Athenodora moved towards you. "(Y/N), stop." Athenodora said sharply and you froze in place. That really did work on you every time. "Give me a hug, please." She asked softer. You were silent for a moment. "If I do, will you let me leave?" Her jaw twisted, hurt in her eyes. "Yes." She said stiffly. You quickly moved towards her before hugging her. She hugged you to her tightly, enjoying the moment that had become so rare. You loved Athenodora just as you did Caius hit you felt at this point giving such acts of affection was a betrayal to yourself. "Just tell me something." She whispered quietly. "Even just one sentence. Please, tell me."  "I think I'm his toy and I think I'm your toy too." You said quietly before forcibly breaking yourself out of her hold. You barely caught her look of hurt once again before quickly taking your leave. 

Barely two hours later, Caius stormed into your room. "You upset her." He seethed. It was clear he was absolutely livid with you. "It wasn't my intention." You said lowly, your back to him, looking down at something on your desk. "Look at me!" Caius demanded. You closed your eyes but turned to look at him. "You've hurt her. You've hurt me." He said icily. "I can't help how I feel. I apologise that my feelings hurt you. It's why I kept to myself in the first place. Athenodora asked." "Do not make excuses for yourself!" Caius snapped. "You do not get to say such a thing and then walk away. You do not get to be so cold towards Athenodora!" You had nothing to say to that. You had done your best with the situation, tried to protect them both. "You're coming with me, now! We're going through this again!" Caius demanded. "I don't want to do this right now." You said rigidly. "I didn't want to deal with this again. I didn't want to find my wife upset. We don't want to lose you or upset you but here we are! None of us want to do this but we are so come!" Caius left no room to argue...as usual. 

Athenodora looked up as Caius entered the room, you one step behind him and looking very uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I upset you. It wasn't my intention." You said to her quietly. She stepped forward. "You both know I'm sorry, so can we go past the punishing me part so I can leave?" "No." Caius said sharply. "That. That right there is the problem. You think you're here to be punished for this. You couldn't be more wrong. Something is wrong and we're getting to the bottom of it." He pointed a finger at you. "There is something wrong that is making you cold and distant. We gave you time and space after you avoided us the first three times and clearly it has done nothing but grown. We don't recognise this side of you (Y/N) and quite frankly, we don't like it either." "And I don't get a say in this? This is you two giving me space? Demanding I bear my heart and soul to you so you can scream at me?" You responded coldly, seemingly proving their point. "We don't want to punish you, (Y/N)." Athenodora tried. "We want to help. Something has changed and that's alright, just let us help you through it." "Why?" You asked quizzically. "I hurt your feelings, Caius' too and the first thing that happened was Caius' stormed into my room and demanded I have this conversation." "We think whatever this is, you're holding onto it so that you don't hurt anyone but it's hurting you and by extension that hurts us. We just want to help." Athenodora said softly. "So you've already decided what this is before I even came into it. You two have discussed this without me..." You scoffed. "...and you wonder why I feel the way I do." The room was silent for a moment. "Which is what?" Caius' eyes narrowed on you. Athenodora looked to Caius and you felt a flash of fear. You had said too much. 

You slowly shook your head looking down. "No, say it. We want to hear you say it. Stop clinging onto it and say what is clearly consuming you!" Caius demanded. Your eyes got darker and darker. The two noticed as whatever was going through your head started to overwhelm you. "You can tell us. Sweetheart, we want to help." Athenodora tried. "Stop it!" You said quickly, covering your face. "Say it, (Y/N). You have a nasty habit of bottling things up to the point we need to pry it out of you. Which is exactly what we're doing now. It's time." Caius said, moving closer. "Do you not love us anymore?" Athenodora guessed, trying to help you. "No, that's not it!" You said, behind your hands.  "This is ridiculous! This isn't healthy how-" Your outburst interrupted Caius. "I still feel like a hobby!" You cried out. "I feel that you two are each other's priority and I get what's left. I'm just an extension of your relationship!" Your eyes widened. You had said it. Out loud. The two looked taken aback. "Oh, damn it!" You cried out, sinking to your knees. Athenodora was quick to catch you, lowering to the ground with you. She pulled you against her as you curled up into a ball. Her arms wrapping over your back. "What-" Caius began but Athenodora cut him off. "Give them a minute." She said to him, voice firm but her hold on you comforting. 

This wasn't new to Caius and Athenodora. It had bothered you for a long time but never to this extent. They had hoped that with time, you could move past it. It was known you bottled up your emotions and the pair tried to get you break the habit but sometimes you'd rather destroy yourself than tell them what you were feeling. They loved you too much to let that happen. It pained them to see that you rarely felt better when you told them. You felt guilty, caring about their feelings more than your own. 

Athenodora mumbled to you quietly that everything was okay. That you were alone. They were here. In silence, Caius cast his anger aside. After all he wasn't really angry at you. He was angry at the situation. That he couldn't take that feeling of guilt away. He moved forward when he heard you apologise. Athenodora continued to tell you it was alright. He didn't want your apology, you didn't need to apologise. 

He moved behind you, joining you both on the floor. "You're alright." He said to you quietly, winding his arms around your waist, his chin on top of your shoulder. "Tell us more." Athenodora said quietly into your ear. "You pay more attention to each other. It's you two against the world and then me. I don't feel equal. I-I’m sorry!"  "(Y/N), look at me." Caius began, both himself and Athenodora moving you to face him. Your back against Athenodora's chest. "I love you just as much as I love Athenodora. I would not lie to you. I may have married Athenodora but in our eyes your are our spouse just as much. We love you and you make us feel complete." He cradled your face in his hands. "We couldn't live without you with us. It would destroy us. Even if you don't believe me...just remember it. Until you do, until we prove it to you." Caius' tone was soft and gentle. It was exceptionally rare for him to speak to you like that, or anyone for that matter but after a moment of staring into your eyes he pressed his lips to yours. The action surprised you. Regardless you returned the kiss. "Give it time, alright?" Athenodora responded. "Let us show you." Slowly, you nodded.

[nnightskiess]

𝐳𝐨𝐲𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

₊° - 𝐳𝐨𝐲𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

₊° - 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: y/n isn't too keen on letting zoya go on her journey through the fold and arrives at the encampment late at night to ease her worries.

please do not copy, republish, translate or reproduce this imagine on wattpad or on other platforms. respect the author's work <3

when word got round in the little palace that a spot for a grisha healer in the second army opened up for the supply run through the fold, y/n wasted no time and offered to go. they had applauded her for her willingness and bravery, but all y/n could think about was seeing that one gorgeous sqauller again, who quite literally blew her away the moment they first met.

zoya nazyalensky's striking blue eyes had captivated y/n the moment they locked with hers and hadn't it been for the squaller looking away, y/n was sure she'd still be lost in them. y/n deemed zoya to be one of the prettiest girls in os olta and the little palace combined, but her beauty was not the only thing about her that had made y/n unable to get the girl out of her head.

zoya was a squaller, a grisha able to manipulate the wind and air, but zoya also possessed a big fire in her belly, one that was almost always quite present. it helped her to the top, but was also one of the qualities that had a tendency to make her intimidating or feared. y/n however, looked right through it and never stepped back whenever zoya would raise her voice or squint her eyes just long enough for other grisha to leave her alone. and exactly that had caught zoya's attention.

training was going terrible, the new squallers seemed to lack the confidence and passion that was needed for combat training. botkin had been so frustrated that he let some of the older grisha take the task and train them. y/n had watched from the sides as zoya visibly grew more annoyed at the youngsters and bit her lip when that same frustration finally caught up with her,

"enough! come back when you're worthy of wearing that kefta or don't show your face again!" she sent a large gush of air their way, making everyone's kefta's blow up in the wind before she turned around, letting out a quick breath through her nose.

y/n approached, a tiny smirk on her face. she'd waited to the sides to see how long it would take to crack the girl's patience. zoya wasn't a quitter, but her tough love seemed to worsen the children's performances even more.

zoya felt a presence behind her and turned around with a sneer as she sent another wave of wind behind her.

"i said-"

y/n was sent against the wall before she landed on the earth with a thud.

zoya tried to hide her initial surprise and gave the girl a once over, tilted her chin and crossed her arms, "what do you want?" she wasn't in the mood to apologize and kept her arms crossed, not even bothering to help the girl up.

y/n dusted her kefta off and tried to delay her reply, which she knew was frustrating zoya even more. y/n finally looked up, a cheeky smile on her face as she spoke,

"you could be sent away for that... we aren't allowed to use our powers here, did you forget?"

"look around- do you see anyone here?"

zoya was right- most boys and girls had silently left the training facility after zoya's outburst and botkin was probably downing a glass of kvas to drink away his frustrations of the day.

"because you scared them all away."

zoya put her nose up in disdain and turned back around- she didn't have time for this cocky know-it-all girl. she rolled her eyes as y/n followed her around the courtyard, getting slightly annoyed,

"i'm not sure if you have it in you, but maybe next time try and ease up on the tough love? be kind for a chance?"

"it's not what works best. do you think they'll be coddled when they're part of the second army? you healers are too sensitive. you should consider changing that or this world is going to eat you up."

"too sensitive?" y/n tried to hide the hurt in her voice and shook it off, "you don't know the injuries i've had to heal, the pain and gore i've seen. you should consider changing your mind on healers. without us, we'd be off way worse."

zoya had been annoyed at y/n's challenging rebuttal at first, but would later realise it wasn't out of lack of respect that y/n didn't seem to falter under her hard glares, it was because of the intrigue and adoration she held for her. if she backed down like all the others, she would never get a chance to break down zoya's walls.

eyerolls out of annoyance faded into playful eyerolls and zoya quickly realised that y/n would be one of those people her superiors had told her about all those years ago when she was first brought to the little palace. in order to not succumb to the stress of being a grisha, let alone one in the second army, one needs companions. companions you trust to have your back, companions to share your worries with and companions to help you see the light in difficult situations, even in the dark of the fold. and a loyal companion y/n became.

zoya was less hostile to the healer than she was to anyone else and people soon caught on. to not lose her air of intimidation, she tried to keep her soft smiles to a minimum and playfully pestered y/n whenever she could- even though no one but the two knew it was playful- only to get a joking sneer back in return, which never failed to crack the tiniest grin on the squaller's face.

"why do you look ready to leave?" y/n suddenly appeared in the doorway of zoya's suite. "planning to run away?" she joked but her worries grew as zoya didn't reply.

zoya didn't look up and instead continued to prepare her bag. y/n noticed that she was wearing the good luck charm she'd given the girl to wear whenever she had to go on a difficult or risky mission. a silent promise to both, if you will, to make sure whatever would happen would turn out alright. y/n's smile faltered,

"where are they sending you off to?"

"kribirsk, i'm going to help sail the skiff for a supply run to ketterdam."

"you're going through the fold?!" y/n took haste steps into the room and stopped right behind zoya, "why haven't i heard about this?! when are you supposed to cross it?!"

zoya let out a sigh and looked up, her hands placed on her hips, "stop it. i'll be fine," she went back to folding her clothes, "you know it's not my first time."

"no, but every time might as well be your last!"

y/n pulled at zoya's arm to make her stop, the squaller immediately glared at her. she hated when y/n became worried, it always intensified the worries she was already feeling herself, even if she would never tell anyone.

"i'll be fine, i promise."

"what happens there isn't really up to you... besides, i just don't like sitting here and waiting in agony for a word from you telling me you survived."

zoya finally gave in, she couldn't hold up her front any longer as she looked into y/n's worried eyes. she let out a deep sigh and rubbed her forehead before her hands dropped to her neck. she grabbed the talisman and held it up, "this'll protect me."

"zoya, it's not some-"

"no. it will. you said it would. i trust you. now, will you trust me? i'll be back before you know it." zoya softly stroked y/n's cheek with the back of her finger, something she did when the girl needed reassurance and comfort. "i'll come back, y/n."

the two women stared at each other for a long time, exchanging silent promises. but y/n's sudden movement caught zoya off guard, and before she could realise the girl had softly planted her lips against her own, y/n had already retreated.

"write to me."

zoya nodded absentmindedly, her head still stuck in the moment before.

"-and you better come back in one piece, nazyalensky."

zoya nodded again, this time less distracted, and she pulled y/n back when the girl made a move to walk out before planting a soft kiss on the girl's cheek.

"i will. or else you'll just have to patch me up again."

but zoya's nerves proved to be more difficult to contain now that y/n wasn't around, even if the girl had a tendency to sometimes make them worse with her worries. she knew she had promised to write, but what was she going to write down? how scared she really was? what would that do to calm y/n's nerves- both their nerves? not to mention that the confident squaller had felt insecure ever since their tiny kiss. was she supposed to write a different letter? was y/n expecting her to? or were they still just friends? or would it only upset y/n if she wrote to her like friends would?

so, zoya thought it was best to just not write at all, to spare both their feelings. but y/n, who had been waiting for a letter in the little palace, had gone mad after a few days. she hadn't received a letter noting zoya's arrival, neither had zoya written her one to tell her when the journey to west-ravka would take place. she felt awfully left in the dark, even if she knew the second army had arrived at the encampment through a general at the palace, she needed to hear it from zoya. or had she scared the squaller off? was the girl regretting their moment? had she lost zoya completely now, even as a friend? she needed to know.

the only worries she felt when the horses pulled the carriage over the roads to the encampment, were the worries about zoya, not about the voyage she was going to have to take through the darkness. after all, she'd have zoya by her side, who would undoubtedly try to protect her if needed, who could calm her down with just a look her way, just like how y/n would be there to heal and support if the situation asked for it.

y/n was assigned a tent with the other corporalki, but could care less about settling in for a good night's sleep. she needed to find zoya's tent first. she needed to see her at least once before setting foot on the ship the next morning.

the torches lit up the campsite and created eerie shadows on the surrounding tents, sometimes even forming into a shadow that looked way too similar to the volcra whose screams and cries filled the air now and then. y/n shook it off and walked along.

she finally heard zoya's familiar soft voice behind a tent's fabric to her left and a guy clad in the clothes of a tracker walked out a few seconds later. it slightly confused y/n, but she walked to the entrance of the now pitch black tent nonetheless.

"zoya?" she whispered out softly, still a bit unsure if she'd actually been right about hearing the girl's voice. what if this was someone else's tent?

"anyone here?" she called again, her eyes now slightly adjusting to the lack of light. a shadow moved to her left before she fell to her knees as all the air in her lungs disappeared. someone had her in a headlock.

"zoya! it's me! it's me, y/n!" she coughed and heaved, clawing at her throat for air. she heard the squaller gasp as fresh air filled her lungs once again. a candle was lit a second after, which barely illuminated the tent, but enough for zoya to see her friend on the floor.

"what are you doing here?!" she hissed, her panic replaced by anger almost instantly, anger that stemmed out of worry for the girl. y/n being there could only mean one thing...

"i had to see you." y/n accepted the help of zoya and was put to sit on the girl's bed. "you promised you'd write... why didn't you?"

zoya ignored the question and fired a question of her own the healer's way, "why are you here? i doubt they let you go without a reason."

y/n refused to make eye contact, but zoya refused to give in and forcefully grabbed the girl's chin. y/n expected to see the squaller's eyebrows knitted together in anger or worry, or both, and a sneer on her face, but was instead met with a look she couldn't quite place, one she barely ever saw. if y/n wanted an answer, she would have to answer zoya first.

"they needed a healer."

"on the supply run?"

y/n nodded meekly but kept looking at zoya's features, trying to decipher what she was thinking.

"y/n, you shouldn't have... not after-"

"i know. i know i had to watch my friends get torn apart last time, while i sat there and couldn't help all of them at once, i know- but zoya- if something were to happen to you and i wouldn't be able to at least try and help you out, i would never be able to let it go."

zoya's grasp on y/n's chin loosened until she finally let go and dropped her hands on her lap. but they didn't feel right there so she immediately grabbed onto one of y/n's, giving it a light squeeze.

"you didn't write to me. that usually means you're either worried and don't want to worry me or... well... after, you know... i thought you might've..."

zoya squeezed again, telling the girl she didn't need to talk further, she knew exactly what she meant.

"i know something has shifted between us, but i don't regret it. that wasn't why i didn't write...well, it was." she continued when y/n rose an eyebrow in confusion, "i was afraid you might've regretted it."

"no, i-"

"it doesn't matter, you shouldn't have come." zoya's walls were back up again in a snap of her fingers and she let go and sat up, immediately shielding herself from whatever rejection about to come her way.

"zoya-"

"it's probably best if we both get some rest."

y/n looked to see if zoya was slightly joking but pursed her lips together when she saw the girl's blank face.

"fine." the healer jumped up and stormed out of the tent, throwing the entrance drape shut so harshly that the tiny candle went out, which left zoya by herself in the dark of the night. at least it would let her get used to the dark that was waiting for her on the end of the encampment.

y/n buttoned and unbuttoned her crimson kefta multiple times, a nervous habit of hers, but kept them buttoned when the horn indicated it was time to go. had it been worth it? offering to cross the fold just to talk to zoya? only for her to get the cold shoulder? no. but at least now she was able to protect the girl.

she walked onto the sandskiff along with other grisha and, this time, cartographers, and immediately locked eyes with zoya, who was already stationed at the front. zoya looked regal, standing there, with her chin held high and her hands behind her back, almost as if she owned the sandskiff. to others, she might've looked cocky, but not to y/n.

zoya's eyes inspected everyone who walked onto the ship and thus also landed on y/n's. but, while she'd lightly glared at everyone, her glare softened when she looked at her friend. she dipped her head in acknowledgement. what y/n didn't know, was that while zoya had tried her best to pretend that y/n wouldn't be going on the supply run, seeing her step onto the skiff had broken that fairytale thought and had made her slightly break out an uneasy sweat. y/n's talisman was hidden under her kefta, but zoya could still feel it pressing against her chest. it calmed her down a little, but not enough, certainly not when the ship started moving and y/n was not on the docks staying behind.

screeches and yells of those terrible beasts were the first things to welcome them into the fold before the clear morning sky finally turned black and the air turned cold. the volcra sounded distant though, so as long as they kept quiet and in the dark, there wouldn't be a reason to panic.

zoya glanced y/n's way every now and then. even if there still wasn't trouble in the air, she just needed to reassure herself that the girl was okay. same for y/n- she kept glancing to the front of the skiff to see zoya's eyes illuminate in the blue of the tiny lantern. zoya's eyes never failed to calm her down, but looking into them now brought her even greater comfort. or discomfort...if she thought long enough about what happened last time she crossed the fold.

the wind howled, the wooden skiff creaked and thunder filled the sky. the occasional lightning lit up their surroundings and showed the shipwrecks from previous supply runs, a great reminder to everyone on board that they should count themselves lucky if they survived this crossing.

"marker one...."

"how many more are there?" a cartographer girl dared to ask and y/n closed her eyes, knowing the answer wouldn't satisfy her.

"thirty-seven."

y/n's hands clasped around the sleeves of her kefta as she hugged herself. only twelve more markers and she'd reach the place where it all happened last time.

barely one marker later and the growling and screeching sounds of the approaching volcra made everyone tense up. one volcra made a close appearance, which made everyone either duck or ready their guns. it was eerily silent after that. y/n tried not to look at the frightened faces of everyone else and instead tried to count, but that proved to make her even more nervous after another volcra screeched nearby- they weren't going fast enough.

zoya felt suffocated when the blue lantern, which was meant to be their little safe haven during their crossing, dimmed. however, the real panic set in when it became pitch black and she lost all sight of y/n. the deck suddenly lit up by the orange hue of a lantern one cartographer boy had set alight in panic, which illuminated y/n's pretty face with an orange tint, but zoya was anything but relieved. this wasn't a good thing. at all.

"blow it out! what are you doing?!"

all hell broke loose when the lantern attracted volcra, who were now surrounding the sandskiff, flying over it to wait for the perfect opportunity to catch their prey. if that wasn't bad enough, the lantern had fallen over and a small fire was starting to eat away at the wooden deck, making it even harder for everyone on board to hide. people were being picked up by the creatures and all y/n seemed to be able to do was freeze. last time she'd been running from left to right to try and help aid the people on board, but even when she had prepared herself for this outcome this time, no muscle in her body seemed to want to move. she didn't know what hurt her ears more- the gunshots, the screeching of those terrible monsters or the agonizing yells from the people on deck. one thing stood out through those yells- a pained yelp coming from no other than zoya made her head shoot up to where she thought she'd heard it.

zoya had watched y/n tense up from her side of the ship and was well aware that past memories were probably troubling her mind, making her unable to get to work. all worries or insecurities were thrown out the window once she realised she needed to keep y/n safe. a volcra had dived to pick her up right as she made a move to run to the healer, but a shove from one of the other grisha had saved her life. her shoulder broke the fall and one of her hands met the flames, making her cry out in pain.

this did the trick and burst the healer's bubble. y/n crawled across the deck, trying to stay as low as possible, and gritted her teeth whenever she came too close to the fire and the heat became painful. zoya noticed her approach and tried to move closer too, only to grasp her shoulder in pain.

"ssssh, i'm here, i'm here, let me-" y/n stammered in a panic as she looked at the damage. she gently stroke her fingers over zoya's burns first. zoya threw her head back at the initial pain and incredibly annoying itch that followed, but let out a shaky chuckle out of relief when the pain subdued before eventually fading away.

they weren't out of danger yet and the volcra hovering above them proved exactly why. zoya's eyes widened as she watched it approach over y/n's shoulder and she pulled the girl on top of her in a tight embrace. the movement made her grit her teeth in pain, her shoulder still hurt like hell, but at least the volcra had missed this chance. she saw it circle around, waiting to pounce once more. she reached for the gun beside her when it turned around, ready for another try. but zoya didn't give it one and directed a shot at its chest, which caught the beast off guard and gave the perfect opportunity to one of the escorts on the ship to finish him off with another shot.

"are you alri-"

"go! get inside!" zoya gently pushed the girl off of her again.

"you're hurt, let me-"

"i need to help send this skiff back. go!"

"it'll only be-"

"we don't have time! i can handle a broken shoulder but i will never forgive myself if something happened to you!" zoya yelled back over the chaos and was supported by another squaller who pulled her to the other side of the deck. y/n sat there, baffled. a harsh force of wind made y/n's hair blow up and the ship started to move again. a young man, one of their escorts, ran up to her, pulled her on her feet and guided her inside.

there she sat, waiting, while a mix of screams, screeches, thunder and gunshots made for a horrifying mix of sounds, while she couldn't do a thing, while zoya was bait up there...

a light so bright beamed through the cracks and holes of the wood and even from her cover, y/n had to shield her eyes.

silence. complete, utter silence. no more volcra, no more shouting or gunshots needed. the wind that the squallers created to send them back home was a comforting sound to y/n's ears and it was all she wanted to focus on as she knew they were going back.

the darkness soon turned to light again. the sky had changed back and was filled with puffy clouds as the air grew more pleasant to inhale. they were back, they were safe. but still, y/n kept seated, not wanting to go out and see the damage. not again.

yes, the sandskiff had returned home, which meant that squallers had sent it back, but zoya had been out there for a while even before the light. going out there meant there was a possibility she was going to receive the news that zoya hadn't made it.

"i need a healer here! quick!"

y/n wiped her teary eyes that were still burning from the smoke, pushed the stray hairs out of her face and stood up. she was not going to let people suffer just because she was afraid of facing her fears. she let herself fall onto her knees next to a cartographer girl whose leg still sizzled from a terrible burn. she seemed pretty out of it- her head lulled as a cold sweat coated her face.

"hey, you're going to be alright. i'm y/n, i'm a healer." she tried to reassure her, even if she was unsure if the girl could even hear her at this point, "i'm going to have to touch it, but it's going to get better after that. i promise. try to sit as still as you can so it won't scar." she went to work and saw the girl's eyes flutter open. "see?" the girl nodded and sent a tired smile her way. that was enough of a thank you for y/n and she immediately stood up to try and see where she was needed next.

zoya had climbed her way down as soon as she could and panic filled her when she couldn't find y/n anywhere. this was where she'd seen the boy take her to?! but as she walked back, she saw the girl tending to a wounded man and a sigh of relief left her mouth. she watched y/n stand up,

"can you tend to my shoulder next?"

y/n's head whipped around at the familiar voice, and even if it sounded hoarse and tired, she could still hear a playful undertone.

"thank the saints! you're alright!" y/n went in for a hug but reminded herself of zoya's injured shoulder and squeezed the girl's hand instead.

"who else sent us back?" zoya smiled tiredly and let y/n pull her out off the chaos on the ship to be sat down on the docks. the healer helped her out of her kefta and zoya noticed y/n was trying to suppress a meek smile at the sight of the talisman that clung around zoya's neck.

zoya closed her eyes as y/n's soft hands made contact with her bare shoulder and she only dared to open them again once the pain was replaced by the familiar feeling of a healing itch. she grabbed the healer's hand and intertwined their fingers.

"are you still hurting?"

zoya let out a breathy chuckle and shook her head, "no, i believe i'm fine now. just a bit shaken."

y/n nodded and stared off into the distance, she knew exactly what zoya meant. a soft tug on her hand made her look back at the blue eyed girl.

"i'm sorry."

"zoya nazyalensky saying sorry? that's a first."

"hush you, i'm serious. don't make me regret this." zoya rolled her eyes, glad to have this y/n back. for a second, back in the fold, when she saw y/n so tensed up as she was reliving her trauma, zoya was afraid she might never get her back, if they were to even get out of the fold alive. but here she was, holding the girl's hand and staring into her eyes. she was here. with her.

"it was wrong of me to downplay your worries when i knew where they stemmed from. you've had to go through that, see that happen... and it was only fair of you to fear my departure. i should've written to you and-"

"zoya, it's quite-"

"let me finish." a light squeeze in her hand and a somewhat serious glare from zoya made y/n shut up, "i also shouldn't have treated you like i did last night. but can you try to imagine the worry i felt when i realised you were going to do the crossing? if something happened to you, that would've been because of me. you were on that ship because i was there, because i didn't write back."

"i would've taken the offer even if you had written to me, to be quite honest..."

zoya rolled her eyes, "of course you would've."

"zoya, when will you understand that i'll always try to have your back?

"but why must you put yourself in harm's way to do so?"

"because that's just how it goes!" y/n squeezed zoya's hand this time, trying to get her message across. "we're companions remember?"

zoya smiled softly and put a strand of hair behind y/n's ear before she wiped away the dirt on the girl's temple. her fingers then travelled down the girl's cheek and jaw before resting there, "i think we're more than companions, don't you think?" her striking blue eyes then looked directly into y/n's, immediately captivating the girl like she was some siren trying to lure her into the pools of her eyes.

"are we?" y/n's voice was small.

"have you forgotten about kissing me already? should you need a reminder?"

"no- i haven't, i remember!" her cheeks turned scarlet as zoya tilted her head in a playful manner. oh gods, how stupid could she be. "i mean, i don't. a reminder would be nice?" the meekness of y/n's voice warmed zoya up and she stroked the girl's bottom lip with the pad of her thumb,

"you sure?"

y/n nodded, but that wasn't what would satisfy zoya.

"talk. use your voice."

"yes, i'm sure."

zoya lifted her chin and looked at her in a way only she could, but it wasn't disrespectful at all. she looked at y/n as if she was the only girl in the world, but even if she wasn't, she'd still pick her. she'd pick her as a friend, a companion, or whatever they were going to be next.

[xhanisai]

Confront the boundary line of good and evil in my heart

AO3 / FFN

Summary: 

It wasn't her fault! No way whatsoever! But still... Still... 'It really does hurt so bad...so much, I can't take it!'

~(x)~ . . . Tick. Tock. "I'm so sorry Chat Noir! I didn't mean to- I just- I just completely broke down and she was right there and I needed someone-" "It's okay, Bug. I understand, don't apologise," Tick. Tock. "It's not okay at all! You've wanted to know for so long, so patiently and I have always said no- and then look at me now! A hypocrite! This is probably a huge sucker-punch for you and I hate that I've always kept on hurting you back then but now, this takes the cake-" "N-No, I'm fine, honest...really. What matters is your happiness and wellbeing-" "But what about you!?" "..." Tick- "...Kid, talk to me, please. The way you're staring out into space is scaring me." The subdued, raspy voice belonging to the ancient being of destruction went unheard. The boy in question continued to observe the empty space in front, sitting on top of his bed with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms folded in front, hiding the lower half of his face. If one were to enter the room, they would instantly freeze from the glower of the boy's fiery emerald greens that were begging to pool with unshed tears and the aura of his stone-cold demeanour. From the waft of his internal turmoil, even a blind person would be able to pick up that he was currently the host of bad luck. "...Adrien...I want to help, I want to understand, so talk to me!" Once again, Plagg was left ignored, leaving him no choice but to float back down to his pillow and direct his pleading kitten eyes at the blonde, his tiny heart shattered from the state of his chosen. Alas, even he was helpless, his feline ears and whiskers drooping with sorrow. 'But you won't understand. You never did and you never will. No one will ever understand.' Adrien didn't even flinch, didn't even bat an eye. He was a statue of apathy and aloofness; though deep down inside, he was a maelstrom of agonising pain. Oh, so much pain. It was excruciating. He wanted to suit up and claw through the rooves of Paris whilst screaming in anguish. He wanted to find every billboard that had his face on it and tear through it all like paper. He wanted to shred and pulverise his useless, traitorous heart along with its despicable feelings and emotions. But most importantly, he wanted to rip the magical ring off his finger and throw it into La Seine with all his might and then cry for the rest of eternity. And he hates that he feels that way. Absolutely, ridiculously, hates that he feels betrayed. Self-loathing and disgust have taken over his body like a puppet and rendered him completely useless, like a toy forgotten at the bottom of the box, never to see the light of day ever again. The feeling of uselessness and pure shame replaced the blood running through his veins and numbed him to the point where he was equivalent to a powerless machine. He felt his throbbing heart fall deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. It wasn't her fault! No way whatsoever! But still... Still... 'It really does hurt so bad...so much, I can't take it!' The younger, softer, naive part of himself which was usually tucked away within the dark, hidden crevices of his heart, screamed as if the rest of humanity's lives depended on it. It was taking Adrien everything to keep him out. 'Is it too much to ask for only one constant in my life? Is it too much to ask for one thing to remain the same? Is it too much for anyone to stop keeping me at arm's length!?' . It is. . It is. . Deep down inside, below the platinum chains and iron bars of solid, concrete denial, he always knew that Ladybug never considered him as close as he did with her. And why should she? Just because he performed an act of common, proper human decency and helped an old man get his walking stick back? Just because he was gifted with the power to destroy anything he touches in order to save the day? Just because he knew how to fight possessed villains alongside her? Just because he's in love with her? . "I'm literally the worst." Adrien finally spoke out loud ever since he returned from...that patrol many hours ago. Despite his words, his soul couldn't help but weep and pray that it was all one huge, cruel nightmare. A twisted, sick joke that whatever deities out there have concocted up just for him. Anything! Yet, this was his reality. "I disagree." The boy snapped his gaze towards the kwami, his brows furrowing for elaboration on the little God's part. "I may not be human but I do have feelings and I can empathise. I've existed from the beginning of time and I've witnessed many, many things in my lifetime." Plagg then floated towards him, settling on Adrien's arm so that he was face to face. "You're not in the wrong here, kid. It's okay to feel like this-" "No, it's not!" Adrien's sudden outburst had the kwami shoot away in surprise, the boy instantly turning baffled at his own harsh reaction and then visibly paling even further. He caught sight of his own reflection on a nearby mirror, cringing at the monstrous mess that looked back. With a frustrated sigh, he leapt off the bed, solemnly treading towards his windows, fingers digging into his upper arms as if he was hugging himself. . The luminous moon that shone through the night sky, what was once a beacon of freedom in the past, never looked so unappealing to the distraught hero. His usually glittering eyes were vacant, devoid of any joy and hope whilst his lips were etched in a permanent frown. How many fake smiles and empty words of wisdom did he force out in front of his Lady earlier on? He's lost count. And how many more times will he have to keep doing that, knowing that there will always be another person out that there that Ladybug trusts more than she'll ever trust him? . "I stand by with what I said," Plagg quipped once more, his host quietly surprised with how the little God managed to get so close without him realising. "The two of you have been thrust into a messy situation with very little guidance and a whole bunch of rules which only complicated it further." He then directed his eyes from the moon to the boy. "Yes, I agree that Ladybug's decision in confiding with someone about her identity was a good idea, but as a result of that, it's brought you so much pain. You are not the worst and it's okay to cry it out. It's okay to tell her how you really feel." He placed one of his tiny hands on Adrien's cheek, ears and whiskers still weighed with melancholy as the boy allowed his eyes to prick with tears. One drop. Two drops. Three drops. Four. "It shouldn't hurt- I...I shouldn't be so selfish! Even if she never told me, I was able to tell that she wasn't able to handle her civilian life any longer, especially after becoming the Guardian- I'm supposed to protect her and be by her side! Not throw a tantrum like a three-year-old just because I'm not the one she decided to tell about her secret identity! And then adding my own stupid feelings and insecurities to her plate? I'll be a burden!" The dam was broken and the overwhelming feelings within Adrien cascaded like a tsunami. "You have plenty on your plate as well-" "But I'm used to it, she isn't. I was born and raised to deal with these kinds of things anyway so it's a no brainer for me to shut up and accept it all with a smile-" He paused abruptly, a wet gasp escaping his throat as he leaned against the glass for support when even more realisation sunk in. 'I have been dealing with so many responsibilities ever since I was born...and that puts us on the same boat...so why couldn't she have confided with me then?' Adrien dropped to his knees, fingernails scraping against his scalp as he tried to fight back against those negative thoughts and questions. 'Why am I never good enough? Not for Maman, not for Père and now...not for Ladybug...?' 'Why am I even here then?'

"Adrien...you don't need to put a mask on when you're with me. Cry it all out. I'm not gonna sit by and watch you destroy yourself from inside out because of your inability to address your true feelings. I'm right here, I'll even destroy all the wretched butterflies that dare to come by- so please, let it all out," "I can't! If I do, I'll never be able to go back and nothing will be the same again-" "And if you don't, then things will change for the worse and trust me, kid, that is the last thing you need." Finally, Plagg's words unravelled the obstacles that slowed down the flood and Adrien couldn't help but give in. His body shook and a whole new fresh wave of tears pooled down his eyes, teeth biting down on his lip to prevent the sobs from bursting out. . "...It hurts Plagg...it hurts so much! I love her...and I trust her so much but it hurts! I know she trusts me on a level and I know that multiple times she's mentioned that I'm irreplaceable but dammit! Why does it all feel like a lie!? She did the right thing in telling her civilian best friend, she finally has someone to look after herself- but why does it feel so wrong? Why is my heart in so much pain? Why can't I stop crying? If Ladybug won't lean on me, then what am I here for? And if I can't lean on Ladybug...who...who do I have?" . "...I may not be much and I may talk about nothing but cheese...but you'll always have me, kid," "I want to believe you, I want to so badly, Plagg...but I can't. I feel so alone...I've always been alone... ...And I'll always be alone..." . . . A couple of hours ago, just shy under midnight on a lone, hidden rooftop, if a curious civilian looked up, they would have seen Ladybug and Chat Noir locked in an embrace. However, what they would have noticed first was the absolutely broken, heartwrenching expression Noir wore... ...As if his entire world has fallen apart... . . . ~(x)~ A/N: Just wondering if I should make a sequel and give these two poor cats a happy ending~

[dancingazaleas]

𖨆. 06 / all for us

summary: you wake up in your room, and you can’t help but try again. even if you might meet a strange doctor and their assistant.

note: another dark chapter. please read the warnings.

taglist: @voltairelesecond @baelo80 @the-sun-baby @stupid-stinky @uniquepickle @ascybous @messyhairday-me @saturnalya @megumitodoroki @kouyume

word count: +2.5k

warnings/notes: cursing, mentions of self harm, mentions of suicide attempt, blood, suicidal thoughts, panic attack, suicide attempt, medical inaccuracies, a little graphic detail of glass being pulled from skin

YOU'RE disappointed whenever you awaken from your temporary slumber. you were sure that you were close to death with that blade on your vein, but it turns out you were wrong. well, that's what you think until you look at your arm.

each one of the cuts is stitched up neatly while the bandages trying to wrap around them are loose. you sit up while inspecting some of the bloodied bandages on your hand, must've been from whenever you broke the mirror.

you sigh sleepily, staring at the bedroom door in hopes that someone will come entertain you even just for a moment. luckily, your wish is granted whenever you watch erwin slip into the door silently.

he's trying to be silent, that much is obvious by how he's not wearing any shoes and instead socks along with him shutting the door gently. he turns to you, flinching at how your eyes bore into his head even as you lay down.

"you're awake it seems," he smiles and sits on the edge of the bed, large hand caressing your pale cheeks.

you start to sit up only to be fussed at by erwin, who softly shoves you back against the bed.

"how am i still alive," you stare into the ceiling.

"when you passed out, we managed to get ahold of our friend that's a doctor," of fucking course. of course they'd have a doctor friend, how the fuck else would they get roofies?!

"when can i get out of bed," you lay your hands on the collar around your neck.

"tomorrow, we didn't expect you to wake up today."

"how long have i been dead for?"

"an incorrect term to describe you, however you've been out for a day. our friend told us with your mental struggles it might take longer for you to wake up," he sighs and rolls his head while a gentle smile forms on his face.

"can you turn on a show for me? don't care what," you look to the ceiling fan.

"of course," erwin says in slight concern. he'd expected you to, at the least, shed some tears, whether it be from happiness or sadness. but you weren't reacting at all.

"you know.... when i was younger people didn't like me," you sigh, "but i was okay with it. as long as i didn't get hurt, i didn't care all that much."

"why are you telling me this?"

ignoring him, you let out a small and bitter chuckle, "when i got into high school, i made friends with a boy who had a twin brother. his name was marcel, he was so sweet and kind.

"he's dead now. it tore his brother apart, i'd never seen porco in that much pain before."

mistakenly, erwin ponders, "how did he pass?"

it's the first time you turn your head to stare at him with those dead fish eyes of your's. you looked almost sinister as you burned holes into erwin's head.

"suicide."

erwin left your room with stiff shoulders that night.

————

two days later, you're standing to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. you're surprised they didn't take the glass away from you, but you're sure it's for brushing your teeth or something.

as you stare at yourself, you allow your shoulders to shake as they hold up your arms leaning on the sink.

you wonder what your friends would say at seeing you like this. so desperate to get out that you're willing throw away everything you have just to get it.

there's an itch at the back of your mind, festering up against the walls over your brain.

'they'd think you look pathetic,' the itch, now a voice, whispers.

"porco wouldn't," you whimper. porco's been through this process before, he gets it, he understands. right?

'marcel died by his own hands in order to cleanse himself from his sadness. he'd look down upon you for comparing this to his case,' you squeeze your eyes shut and put your hands over your ears.

"pieck wouldn't. she's by my side forever," you sob.

'pieck fought with you before your disappearance. she called you a fuck-up. look at yourself, you'll find that she's right,' and with bated breath you look up.

you sob, shooting your arm back that's clenched into a fist. you punch the glass, which flies all onto your arm and hand. you storm out of your bathroom in fear, stumbling as you look at the stool used for your vanity.

you take it hastily, setting it up the ceiling fan and standing on it. with rushed movements, you wrap the chain connecting with the metal collar around the base of the fan. you step off of the stool, kicking it away with your foot while you choke.

you're starting to black out when you see levi run in with erwin, and you pray to the heavens that you'll wake up in hell.

————

once again, you're disappointed. you whimper weakly while crying, you just wanted to die. you don't want to be trapped in here anymore, you just want to escape.

your throat burns. and before you can try to test your voice, someone's unlocking the door while letting out an almost wicked laugh.

the door swings open to reveal a person, who's long brown hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and wearing circled glasses on their face along with an eyepatch. behind them follows a much meeker man, one that's reprimanding their actions as they shout loudly in excitement at the realization that you're awake.

"moblit!! she's already awake," the person hoots to the man behind them, who you're going to assume is moblit.

"i can see that hanji! now, quiet down! you're probably scaring her," moblit scolds the person named hanji, who ignores the warnings.

"hello, my darling~! i'm your doctor, hanji zoë but feel free to call me hanji! do you have any recollection of what happened," they sing excitedly, shoving their face close to you.

you nod nervously, who the fuck was this person.

"i apologize for their behavior, they act almost as a dog," moblit emphasizes while pulling hanji away by their shoulder.

"we came to see if you sustained anymore damage onto your body besides your neck," he looks you over.

you hold up your hand, smeared with your dry blood. hanji gently takes it into their hands, frowning deeply at what they see.

"get my tweezers for me, moblit. she's still got some tiny pieces of glass in the wounds. i'm sure that's why you were hurting so bad before we came in, huh," hanji attaches a magnifying glass to their glasses while slipping on medical gloves. you'd just woken up, but you weren't gonna tell them that.

moblit hands them a tray along with tweezers, not to mention hydrogen peroxide.

"tisk tisk! that shorty and eyebrows really don't know how to put hydrogen peroxide in! losers," they cackle at the end, which has moblit slapping a hand down onto their shoulder.

"alright alright!" they smack it away, taking your hand—palm faced down—gently while adjusting their magnifying glass.

you scream as they start to pull out a piece of glass, not exactly expecting them to be either big or long. you sit up on your elbow to look, you don't exactly trust this person.

your scream has levi and erwin bursting in the door just as hanji pulls out a smaller piece of glass, that they had to dig a bit for and it made you cry.

"what'd you do?! what are you doing?!" levi bombards while erwin rushes to your side.

"well, i'm trying to concentrate on getting some of this glass out of her skin. unless you want it to get infected, i'm going to continue. it just hurts," hanji says in frustration, bringing your hand closer to their face.

"oh, thank god," erwin sighs in relief but immediately jumps at the sound of your teary shout.

"it's okay, you'll be okay," he reassures, wiping a tear away with his thumb.

bursting with slight anger and immense pain, you snap at him, "don't you think i know that?! it just hurts!!"

both erwin and levi look shocked at your outburst just as you hiss in pain again.

sighing, hanji looks at you, "okay, i saved this one for last since it'll be the most painful to get out."

"just get it over with," you sob, squeezing your free and bandaged hand into a fist.

you knew it was going to hurt, they'd just told you. however, you didn't realize that somehow a piece of glass managed to get stuck in the wound with one side of it being lunged under unharmed skin. it was like trying to get out one paper out of a stack.

you scream again, letting yourself fall onto your back again and swinging your arm over your eyes. biting your lip, you breathe heavy with shaky sobs.

"this is worse than giving birth," you cry.

"it's definitely comparable," hanji humors you while they poke at the glass.

it makes you chuckle a little, considering they're the one putting you through this.

whenever they pull the piece of glass out, it feels like an immense weight has been taken off you as you relax your body. you hiss at the hydrogen peroxide, but it's much better than the pulling of the glass. you reach up to your collar, only to realize that they've detached the chain connecting to it.

you're frustrated, even more so whenever hanji pulls away from you and acts like this is a totally normal occurrence. you're kidnapped for god's sake, shouldn't they be calling the police?

you let your eyes wander around the room, and when they set on levi, you tense. you scoot away from erwin, since he's on the same side of the bed as him, and place yourself at the edge of the bed.

"alright, we need to talk to you about some things," erwin brushes some of your hair behind your ear, completely ignoring your fear of levi.

"first things first, you can't be trusted alone," levi grunts and leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

"which means, you'll be spending time with levi during the day until i get home or if i request to see you," erwin cautiously and slowly says.

your eyes widen while they shoot between levi and erwin, absolute fear swarming your body.

"i only hit you whenever you disobey," he scoffs, "i believe pain is the best way to teach someone a lesson."

"he won't hurt you unless you give him a reason to," erwin tells you reassuringly. it doesn't work well.

"please, don't hurt me. i'll be good, just don't hurt me," you croak while looking to levi, who softens a bit at the statement.

"don't worry then," he nods, "now go back to sleep. i'm sure you're tired after all that screaming. you'll be with me at eight in the morning."

you nod, shakily grabbing ahold of the remote on your bed and turning your tv on. levi slips out of the room without a word while erwin stays back.

"good night, my love. get some rest," he whispers, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

you hum in response, scrolling through the selection of movies on the netflix account levi and erwin provided for you. you choose a rom-com movie, seeing as you don't actually plan on staying up just to watch it.

you turn onto your side and close your eyes.

and for the first time, you rest easy.

the next morning, levi leads you through the home by hooking his pinky with your's. you were slightly thankful at the gesture. he knew that you were nowhere ready to be fully touched by him and that you weren't allowed to leave his side.

you sit on the love seat in his office, shyly taking the tv remote from his hands when he offers.

"watch anything, just don't turn it up too loud," he sits at his chair with a sigh as you scroll through movies on hulu.

you choose the movie footloose while you get comfortable on the couch. you try to ignore the small shivers running up and down your body as you're not covered up with a blanket.

you glance over to one of the bookshelves levi has up against the wall, trying to find if levi had any good reads. but before you could read the titles printed on the spines, a certain book that poked out from behind the others caught your eye.

'memories' the fraying writing was a messy cursive on the spine, something you assume levi wrote.

you get yourself lost in thought while staring at the bookshelf. if the book was in levi's office and in levi's handwriting, that means it has to be a scrapbook. and that it's levi's.

your eyes shine at the realization, but you try not to let it show. you'll wait for levi to get the two of you lunch before you'll look at it.

and so, you wait with patience. it seems so grueling as the time passes and you switch from movie to movie, but you hope it'll be worth it in the end. you hope that it explains why levi is the way he is.

"i'm going to make our lunch. the door's lock behind me since it's a keypad. stay put," levi says with slight annoyance, walking out of the room grumpily.

at the sound of the door locking, you jump to your feet and race to the bookshelf. you carefully pull the book out of its place, immediately flipping it open to the first page.

and there levi was, in all of his glory. levi was a baby in the photo, closed eyes and a peaceful look on his face as he curled into himself.

turning the page, you almost gasp at the image you see. levi's being fed by a gorgeous woman, who you can only assume is his mother. the next picture on the page shows levi wearing raggedy clothes with greasy hair shining in the sun as he crouched to hold stare disgustedly at a bug on his finger.

it made you giggle, but the next photo made you frown. levi, who looked to be at the age of five, was standing next to an older man with a casket behind them. you look at the note written under it.

'mom's funeral,' it reads, and you feel an immense amount of pity.

the next picture is a picture of levi at the age of seven standing in front of a beat up school with dirty and ripped clothing. his hair is long enough to be a mullet in this and his body looks so frail compared to now. levi's face shows not a hint of emotion, instead his eyes stare right through the camera and back at your's.

you jump whenever a book on the shelf falls onto its side. you hiss while rushing to put it back up, and as soon as you do, one from the top shelf falls onto the ground somehow. you hurriedly grab it and reach up to it on your tip toes, but you're barely able to reach.

you curse while you use the bottom of the bookshelf as a stool, not even realizing just how old this thing seemed and how much you weighed.

you sigh in relief whenever it doesn't fall down, it only wobbles a little as you step back onto the ground. you go to put the scrapbook away, but you notice that the stand hasn't stopped wobbling. it wobbles almost hauntingly back and forth, and that's when you realize it's going to fall on top of you.

you gasp while dashing to the floor while you slide out of the way, not even realizing that the scrapbook was being bricked by your arms holding it to your chest.

you cringe at the loud bang it makes as it falls, but the cringe turns to fear whenever you hear the pounding footsteps of levi.

you can't get up on your feet quick enough as he bursts through the door. his eyes dart to you on the floor and then back to the fallen bookshelf.

"what did you fucking do?! are you that stupid?!!" this has to be the loudest you've ever heard levi speak, and it makes you nervous.

tears well up in your eyes as you stare at him, completely petrified at how you might be beaten once more.

you hope levi spares you, just this once.

[not-withoutyou]

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, choking on air— a hand hit a cushion.

“Sergeant Barnes?” A soft voice, gentle in a way that felt out of place accompanied with the panic lodged behind his sternum.

Observe.

A cot under him. A swimming head and buzzing white light —a laboratory. Hydra? No. Wakanda. Not a laboratory. A recovery room. Safe. He had been sleeping— not sleeping— unconscious, put under by means other than his own. Because there hadn’t been dreams. There hadn’t been anything.

No exit. No windows, blocked door. Shuri stood in the entry way, careful, nervous hands clasped in front of her. Not a threat. Friendly. Guards behind her —not friendly. (Understandable.)

Assess.

Why was he out? A mission failure. He’d failed, he’d failed. Another attempt at removing the triggers had caused an outburst. Bucky closed his eyes. He’d thought Steve was here. (Steve his friend. Steve his favorite person to see.) But he’d imagined it. Or Steve had left, hadn’t wanted to see him. Bucky understood. Or worse —maybe Steve was hurt, maybe Bucky had hurt him.

Bucky tried to sit up, to throw the blanket off his body — until he noticed that it wasn’t a blanket draped over him at all. It was a jacket. A light leather one that smelled like cologne he recognized from a dream.

“Captain Rogers was called away,” Shuri explained, pulling Bucky’s focus to the present again. “He wanted to wait for you to wake, but the business was urgent.”

Bucky nodded blearily. Captain Rogers —Steve— had been there, after all. The details were fuzzy, but yes, this was Steve’s jacket — it smelt like him. He must’ve forgotten it. Bucky clutched a handful of it like he was afraid it would evaporate.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri tried again, noticing his attention starting to drift, but she didn’t sound angry. (Bucky would have deserved the anger.) The guards took a step closer to her simultaneously.

Bucky let the jacket fall back into his lap. “Did I hurt anyone?” His voice was hoarse. He’d been screaming, before. He remembered. The softness in Shuri’s expression made it almost seem like she cared. For being so young, she carried herself with so much compassion… like a little sister. Did Bucky have a sister? A name with an R. The thought only half-registered before it was gone.

“A few scratches. Just yourself.”

And Bucky felt a bandage near his collarbone, reached up and touched the gauze with his hand to solidify its existence. The damage would undoubtedly have been worse if he’d had a left arm.

“When you are ready, I have another theory I would like to test before the day is out.”

More procedures to try to get his sanity to stick, to un-scramble his thoughts. God, Bucky was tired. He was so tired, his head ached and he didn’t know how much more of this he could handle. “Okay. Can I just have 5 minutes?” His voice cracked.

“Take your time.” Shuri gave him a soft smile before she turned to leave.

Once again alone, Bucky brought the jacket to his nose and closed his eyes. Old leather and fresh, clean rain. Something woodsy and strong like cedar, like a past life. He pulled it close to his chest and thought to himself, over and over, that Steve would be back. He had to come back to get his jacket. And, perhaps, because he had promised. Bucky couldn’t remember why, but he knew that meant something.

After raining steadily for a few days, the thunder storm had started to break up. Cracks in the heavy, dark clouds almost looked like a creation myth over the vast fields and the purple-gray mountains in the distance. The Genesis of all things. Bucky was allowed outside with supervision. He needed a reprieve from the past two dour weeks. When Steve’s plane landed, he found Bucky sitting by the water, pulling blades of grass up by the roots. Bucky hadn’t meant to start plucking them —his hands did on their own volition. (Destruction was a pattern he needed to break.)

When Steve approached him, it was carefully, keeping his hands where Bucky could see them. (Not a threat. Safe. Safe.) He remembered Steve. He remembered that he missed him. That it was good to see him. Sometimes Steve showed up wearing tactical gear, dirty and beat up. Today, though, he was in khaki trousers and a white button down. His hair was neat and styled. (Some rogue part of Bucky’s brain thought he looked pretty.)

Bucky stood up, slow, awkward and off-balance.

“Hi, Buck. You remember me?” Steve asked. The usual greeting. (Sometimes Bucky didn’t remember, didn’t say anything at all.)

“You’re Steve.” Bucky wanted Steve to smile at him instead of looking so sad. (Steve always looked so sad. Worry lines were starting to crease his forehead.)

“Do you know where you are?”

“I’m in Wakanda trying to get better. I useta hurt people. I don’t do that anymore.”

Steve exhaled a breath he’d been holding. “I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly,” he said. “But — they needed me in DC.”

When Steve didn’t get any other response, he continued. “You’ve — you’ve been pardoned, Buck. You’re forgiven.” His hand reached out halfway between them, but he dropped it, shoving it back in his pocket.

Bucky opened his mouth, but didn’t utter a sound. He couldn’t meet Steve’s eyes.

“Do you remember what I always tell you?” Steve asked.

Bucky’s voice was thick with emotion when he found it again. “You say it wasn’t my fault.” He couldn’t meet Steve’s eyes.

Steve smiled. “That’s right. And the powers that be seem to agree with me.”

The best outcome he could have hoped for, so why did it feel so hollow? Bucky shook his head. Steve must have gone to argue on his behalf— but he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve it. A tiny nagging hope persisted out of spite — maybe Steve was right; maybe Bucky still had some gold in his tired heart. He couldn’t think, now, about what he’d done —his fucking bones would cave in. Shoving it all back, he’d deal with later.

Clearing his throat, Bucky reached down beside him to retrieve the bundle of material that had been carefully folded at his feet. “You forgot your jacket.” He held it out in front of him like a peace offering.

Steve blinked a few times in soft bemusement, but took the abrupt shift of topic in stride. Keeping his hands in his pockets, Steve made no move to take the jacket. “Oh! No, I— I left it for you.” There was something in the way he said it that made Bucky feel like there was more; like he’d left something out. (Bucky shrugged off the feeling — it wasn’t new. He always felt like he was missing something.)

“It’s yours.” Bucky didn’t know why, but he was adamant that Steve would get cold without it.

Something cracked in Steve’s expression. A lightning-quick flash of something in his eyes, shattered and crystalline.

“Keep it. We’ll share. It can be both of ours.”

Bucky didn’t know why shared custody of a piece of clothing made him feel like crying.

. . .

Visit me on Ao3

[munsonboy]

Do you have any headcanons abt a tiny begging Loki to go outside and explore and Loki keeps saying “no you’re too small something could happen.” So they never go outside anymore and stay with Loki until one day the tiny is really down and depressed and Loki finally allows them to go outside with him and the whole time he’s so worried something will happen to them (like he can’t even see them in the grass when he lets them walk on their own so he’s esp nervous then) but the tiny is just so happy to be outside and feel the sun on their face!

I know it’s kinda specific but I really enjoy reading this type of stuff

The amount of fluff that this concept has-...🥺🥺

Also, instead of head canons, I wrote a long story!😆Enjoy!😁❤️

______________________________________________

~Outside These Walls~

“Loki please! I don’t understand what the big deal is!”, you exclaimed as you sat cupped in the hands of the God of Mischief himself, Loki.

“My little dove, you know why I can’t let you leave the safety of my room”, said Loki. He saw that you were about to argue back with him, so he gently placed his fingertip over your mouth and quickly said, “The outside world is cruel. I am merely protecting you from it.” You pushed his finger off of your face, earning a chuckle out of Loki. He set you down on his shoulder, opening a book and reading aloud to you. He hoped it would distract your mind away from wanting to leave the safety that the indoors had to offer.

You sighed. ‘I’m never going to get through to him’, you thought as you tucked your knees close to your chest.

Ever since you were caught by Loki about 1 month ago, he has slowly been shying away from the idea of you going outside. He even didn’t like you climbing down the bookshelves that covered the walls in his room or his nightstand anymore!

Unbeknownst to Loki, however, you used to live outside a while before you made your way into the Avengers Tower! Climbing trees, sheltering underneath the petals of flowers so that you wouldn’t get hit by a raindrop as water poured from the sky, using sticks as a defense mechanism to protect yourself—-if only he knew the predicaments you’ve gotten yourself into in Central Park. You felt as if your independence was being eaten up slowly and you had no idea what to do about it. You felt powerless.

———— 4 days later ————

Loki had made his point clear by ending any conversation that you tried starting with him where you mentioned going outside. He was not about to make the biggest mistake of his life. How could he let someone as small as you wander out into the wilderness? That’s a death wish at best, not an enjoyable, well spent afternoon.

At the moment, Loki was sitting at his desk going through a few mission files the Avengers had planned for him. He would rather be doing anything else than sitting at this run down desk looking at what was going to ruin his schedule in the next couple of weeks.

Loki had tried to get you to help him, but, you kindly declined and took a seat up against the floor-to-ceiling window in the room. This hurt Loki’s feelings immensely. You had never been one to not want to hang out with Loki. In fact, he would consider you the most clingiest person he had ever met, especially after the first time he had caught you roaming around his room. You always wanted him around.

As Loki tried to focus on the files in front of him, he couldn’t help but get distracted and glance over at your spot on the floor. Ever since you had asked Loki to take you outside a few days ago and he had refused to take you outdoors, you seemed...off.

He had offered his hand for you to climb on last night so that he could read to you, but instead of the happy, little mortal he’s grown attached to, he saw this new personality that overtook your joy——a more depressed attitude that Loki had never seen come out of you before.

You normally would bounce up and down with joy whenever he wanted to pick you up, but lately you’ve been acting like a completely new person. Your usual mood that would always brighten up Loki’s miserable one was fading slightly, and Loki did not like it at all. He knew why you were acting this way, but he denied the thought and just came to terms with himself that you weren’t feeling well.

You were looking out the window, staring intently at what stood on the other side of the glass—Central Park. Oh how you wish you could just be outside again.

“Small one? Can you please step away from the window? I can’t bear to see you so close to the outdoors. You’re only separated from it by a 2 inch thick piece of glass”, stated Loki.

You couldn’t believe what you just heard.

“I can’t even look out of a window now?”, you asked. You expected him to answer your question right away, but he stayed silent. You couldn’t take this no longer. You stood up and marched your way over to his bed. After having some trouble getting to the top, you finally made it. You walked over towards the other side of the mattress, eyes locked on the desk beside it where Loki sat hunched over.

“Loki, are you seriously not gonna let me even look outside? You know I can’t stay inside for the rest of my life, right?”, you questioned.

“Well of course you can. You can stay inside where you’re safe with me”, he said like it was a fact. Were you really going to be stuck inside forever?

“W-Why won’t you let me go outside?”, you asked.

You were on the verge of breaking down into tears. You absolutely love Loki to death, You admire his mischievous ways, as well as the softer side you somehow manage to bring out of him, but with his recent possessiveness that he’s been showing towards you, you realized how worrisome it’s been getting.

Loki stayed silent, focusing on the files in front of him and biting his lip in order to prevent himself from responding. Y/n couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I need to go outside at some point in my life! Where do you think I used to live before I met you?”, she exclaimed.

“Child, you are to stay here, in my room, with me where you are safe. You will not utter a single word about the outdoors, understand?!”, yelled Loki.

Loki visibly saw you flinch and instantly felt guilty. Instead of fearing him, though, you decided to fight back.

“You were never this overprotective before. D-Do you not see my as your friend? I am just another mortal that you want to have full control over? Why do you keep me here locked up in your room like I’m some sort of pet?!”, she yelled.

“Because I can’t lose you!”, exclaimed Loki. He put his hands on top of his head and got up from his seat. He began to pace around the room. Irritation and frustration filling his mind with each step he took. He couldn’t believe that you thought of yourself as some caged up animal. You were his equal, his friend, family even! He never meant for you to feel that way.

“Forgive me, I-...I-I don’t know why-..I just-...”, Loki had trouble thinking about what he should say to you after his outburst. He had never yelled at you like that before, and right now, he felt awful.

You sensed the guilt that he was feeling because he couldn’t even bring himself to look at you.

“Loki—-please, calm down. Let’s just talk things through like we always do. Okay?”, asked Y/n calmly.

You had never witnessed Loki in a panicking state. You wished that you were his size so you could wrap your arms around him in a hug.

Loki’s pacing had slowed down. He came to a halt in the middle of the room.

“Loki?”

He turned his head towards you, causing you to gasp. His face was wet with tears. You gasped.

“P-Please don’t cry! Come here, Loki, please..”, you said. Seeing Loki cry started to get you emotional.

Loki walked over towards you and bent down in front of where you stood on his bed. He held his head up with his left hand, while the other rested on the mattress.

He looked down at you as you moved your way closer to him. The tears had come to stop, but you could see them forming in his eyes, ready to overflow and fall down his pale cheeks again.

Without thinking, you went over to his hand and hugged his finger tightly. Loki softly chuckled. He adores how you both have such a tight-knit friendship. He didn’t want anything to come in between that. Humans that are his size stay far away from him, yet, here you were, a small mortal that barely just reached the height of his thumb, comforting him.

He decided to share something with you—-something that he had never opened up about in front of another being before.

“The last time I was extremely close with someone, something horrible happened to them. That person was my mother-..”, Loki stopped dead in his sentence.

You looked up at Loki with astonishment written all over your face. Loki had talked about his mother a few times, but he never showed much emotion whenever he spoke about her.

“I um—-she and I were inseparable. Nothing ever stood between us and the love we had for each other. But-..”, Loki took a moment and exhaled deeply before continuing. “But I was the reason for her death. I had caused it. And ever since you and I had our first encounter, I—-I guess my protective side came out more stronger than I had anticipated it to.”

You had no idea what to say. Loki had never opened up so much to you and this honestly caught you off guard. Normally, you would be the one to cry on Loki’s shoulder, but now the tables have turned. You could see the tears rolling down his face, some even hitting the desk in front of you.

Loki needed someone to comfort him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. Whenever you were in this sort of state, Loki would just hold you close, whispering sweet nothings to you, and it always helped. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. You knew exactly what to do now.

You walked around Loki’s hand and headed straight for his arm. You managed to get a grip on his leather armor that he wore and clambered your way to top of his arm. You glanced up at Loki.

He was staring at you now with tears glistening his eyes. They were red and looked swollen now, breaking your heart in two.

“L-Loki it’s okay! I-..”

Out of nowhere, you were gently scooped up by Loki’s hand and raised up. You closed your eyes, nervous if you had done something wrong. Suddenly, you were pressed against something firm and warm, but at the same time...soft. You cracked open your eyes and saw that Loki was pressing you against his cheek, his teary eyes closed.

This was new for you. You had never been this up close to Loki’s face. It was massive! You didn’t waste another second and quickly extended your arms out, trying your best to hug Loki back. Since you were pressed close to his cheek, you felt the muscles in Loki’s face move upwards. He was smiling from ear to ear.

As Loki began to break the makeshift hug, he began to speak.

“I cannot be the cause of you getting hurt—or worse. It will never happen under my watch. I shall make sure of it.”

He held you up to his eye level and gently ruffled your hair. He thought about if the next sentence he was about to say was a good idea or not. He sighed.

“I will take you outside, my dear”, said Loki, nervousness evident in his voice.

Your eyes widened. “R-Really?!”, you exclaimed. Loki simply nodded his head, a laugh escaping from him.

“Yes, but I will be keeping a close eye on you little one, alright?”, asked Loki.

You excitedly nodded your head yes and grabbed a hold of his finger to give him another hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!!”, you exclaimed.

To you, Loki looked happy, but deep down, he was panicking—-a lot.

————— A few minutes later —————

Loki was a nervous wreck as he walked through Central Park. He had safely tucked you away in his pocket as he strode along the pathway, trying to find a spot that was vacant and far away from the humans that were already there.

“Loki, when can I come out?”, you said as you poked your head out of his pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of the outdoors——happiness and excitement filled you up.

“Very soon, my little dove. But for now-...”, Loki used his finger to gently push you back down into the safety of his pocket, and couldn’t help but smirk at how adorable your face looked when he did so. “...you must stay hidden. I do not want a single soul, besides myself, to see you.”

After what seemed like forever, Loki finally stumbled upon the perfect spot—-a tree with a bed of flowers planted in the grass beside it.

Loki walked up to the tree and sat down, resting his back up against the rough bark of the trunk. He sighed, knowing that you would be exposed to things ten times your size. Suddenly, the sound of your voice floated up towards Loki’s ears.

“Loki? I-Is the coast clear?”, you nervously asked. Loki was the only giant you had ever interacted with before. You hated that Loki knew how nervous you would get when other giants were around. To this day, Loki still feels bad about the time he attempted to introduce you to Thor. Tears fell down your cheeks, you clung to his shirt, and, as embarrassing as it sounds, you sobbed when Loki suggested that Thor should hold you.

After that incident with Thor, Loki made it his goal to keep you out of sight from the others that lived in the Avengers Tower. If the Avengers had ever found you and caused you to cry, he knows for a fact that he would go ballistic. No one makes his little friend cry.

“Don’t worry, Y/n. There is not one soul around us. I have made sure of it”, said Loki as he tenderly pinched your waist and hoisted you up and out of his pocket. He held you in his palm and allowed you to take in your surroundings for a moment.

“Loki..just look at it out here! It’s amazing!”, you said excitedly. The memories of the days you spent fending for yourself out here in the park all came flooding back to you.

“Can you put me down now Loki?, you said as you turned around to look at him. You jumped up and down in his hand as he held you. You could barely contain the excitement that you were feeling.

Loki gave you an uneasy look. Was this really a good idea? Had he thought this through?

When he saw the smile plastered on your face, however, he couldn’t burst your bubble and say no. You had been cooped up in the Tower now for how long. It was about time you got to experience nature again.

“Just be careful”, said Loki.

You nodded your head. “I will!”

A choppy sigh escaped his lips. “Promise?”, he asked as he brushed his finger tip over your tiny arm. He was scared to let you go.

You looked at him and smiled. “I promise, Loki. I’ll be okay.”

He paused for a moment. “Alright...I’ll take your word for it.” Loki lowered you down to the ground below.

You practically jumped off of his palm when it got close enough to the ground. You started to run around in the grass, laughing away. It was just about your height!

As Loki sat there against the tree, he took notice of how tense he became once you weren’t in his grip anymore. He thought he might’ve become paralyzed at just seeing how the grass reached your waist.

‘Calm down, she’s fine. She’s having fun and that is all that matters’, Loki thought to himself.

He watched you as you exhausted yourself. There were leaves and sticks all around, but what really caught your eye were the flowers that were next to the tree. Some of the flowers had fallen off of their stems. You, of course, made an appoint to go up to all of the flowers on the ground just to admire each one.

This is when you got an idea. You ran up to one of the fallen flowers—-a puffy-like golden one. A tiny part of the stem was sticking out from underneath it. ‘Perfect! I’ll be able to drag it over to Loki!’, you thought.

Even though you were having the time of your life, you did still feel bad about how this made Loki feel. He looked like he was about to start crying again when he put you down in the grass! You had decided to bring a flower over to him.

You grabbed a hold of the flower’s small stem and started pulling it over to where Loki was sitting. ‘This’ll cheer him up’, you thought.

Loki’s eyes never left you. He was highly confused as to why you were dragging a flower around, however, he didn’t question it and let you have your fun. But he noticed that you were bringing it over to him. ‘What is this tiny mortal up to?’ he questioned to himself.

“Hey Loki! Can you lay your hand down next to me so I could climb on it? I have a surprise for you!”, you said happily.

This caused Loki to smirk. “A surprise you say? I wonder what it could be”, he said as he chuckled. Loki did as you asked and offered you his palm.

You clambered onto his hand and pulled the flower up into the center of his palm.

Loki raised you up in front of his face and stared at you with curiosity.

“Surprise!”, you exclaimed with joy, throwing your arms in the air. Loki laughed as he looked at how out of breath you looked.

“You got this for me, Y/n?”, Loki asked. You nodded excitedly. “Thank you my little dove. I will cherish this with all my heart.”

You giggled at how formal Loki was being.

“I-I know we just got here not too long ago, but..can we head back to the tower now? I really want to listen to you read that book we started”, you said shyly. You hoped that he wouldn’t be upset with you since it was you who wanted to come to the park in the first place.

“Of course we can, small one”, Loki said. He gently brought you closer towards his chest and gently tilted his hand, causing you to slide into the empty pocket.

“Lets go home, Loki”, you said, snuggling deeper into the fabric all around you. As much as you loved being outside, you missed the quietness of Loki’s room.

Loki stood up to his towering height and began the journey back to the Tower. He could simply just teleport back to his room, but he wanted to admire the flower you had given him a little while longer. How would he have anytime to do that if he teleported? Walking would give him more time to appreciate the flower you gave him without the Avengers questioning where he had gotten it from.

He slowly stretched out the opening of his pocket and peaked down at you. He heard how your breathing had become steady and his ears picked up on the light snores coming from your sleeping form. You had fallen asleep in a matter of seconds.

He smiled as he closed the opening of the pocket to let you rest. Loki held the flower close to his chest as he walked home with you safely tucked away.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all”, Loki said quietly.

————————————————————————-

@rose7420 I am so sorry it took me so long to write this!🥺💗

I hope you liked it! ❤️❤️

[rockscanfly]

the stars are not wanted now

The headline was several days old by the date in the corner. The cheap paper was peeling at the corners from the wall it’d been pasted to when Charles ripped it down. His mind was carefully blank as he hitched Lenny’s canvas-wrapped corpse higher on one shoulder. He stuffed the ripped page into his pants pocket. 

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

Death’s messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

or,

Charles Smith, Sadie Adler, and the two deaths of Arthur Morgan.

Read below or at  AO3. 

                                                  ----------------------

In the life of Charles Smith, death’s messengers had come in many forms. 

The first was in the navy blue uniforms of American soldiers, their ghost pale hands wrapped tight over his mother’s arms as they dragged her from their tent, screaming and kicking. 

Ten years later it was in a letter, sent by an old neighbor. It contained his father’s wedding ring, a family photo, and no explanation. 

The way the whiskey had wafted off his father’s breath the night Charles left? There was no need for one. 

Then it had been the sharp crack of a gunshot—one, two, three. Sean, Hosea, Lenny. There was the frightened whinny of a horse mixed in, and the sick, rotten-fruit plop of Kierran’s head as it fell from his cupped, bloody hands.

This messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

The headline was several days old by the date in the corner. The cheap paper was peeling at the corners from the wall it’d been pasted to when Charles ripped it down. His mind was carefully blank as he hitched Lenny’s canvas-wrapped corpse higher on one shoulder. He stuffed the ripped page into his pants pocket. 

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

For twenty-seven years, careful restraint of his emotions had allowed Charles to survive. He’d never had the luxury of anger, of rage. An outburst from most members of the gang meant getting kicked out of the saloon, a fine, or a night in jail at worst. 

For Charles, a length of rope looped over a tree branch was never far. America hated nothing more than a mutt, and to her people Charles was a rabid dog best put down at the first snarl.

So Charles learned control and calm. He learned to bury, to smother, to take everything burning in him and shove it somewhere safe. To put his feelings aside until he was alone and could take them out and look them over with no nervous trigger fingers or hateful eyes waiting for the first excuse—the first bitter word, sharp gesture, first hateful look. 

Charles didn’t know what did it, what final burning hurt snuck into the tinderbox of his chest and sparked the blaze. If it was the seventh rock his shovel struck in the soft, sucking dirt, forcing him to fumble in the dark until he could haul it free and cast it out. If it was the heat, the chafe of sticky cotton on his damp skin. Could be it was the flies buzzing in his ears, or the way the sweat from his brow stung his eyes. 

Maybe it was the sickly smell of rotting meat already coming from the sacks wrapped around Lenny and Hosea’s corpses, or the way there was no money for coffins to bury them in. 

One moment Charles was digging side by side with Sadie, knee deep in the grave that would hold just one body of the second family that fate had torn from him.

And then he was kneeling in the sucking mud, hands fisted uselessly in the torn roots and crawling worms. Anguish tore howling from his throat, muffled against gritted teeth. Charles could taste copper coating the backs of his gums as he hunched in the dirt. His eyes clenched tight as his heart did its level best to tear itself from his chest, to strike out for a life less riddled with bullets, one that didn’t bleed loss like a butchered carcass or burn everything good up to ashes.

Charles was dimly aware, under the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, of Sadie’s soft cursing as she threw down her own shovel and climbed into Lenny’s half-dug grave beside him. The darkness behind his eyes became complete as she shuttered the lamp, plunging them into night. He flinched away as Sadie’s firm hand gripped his shoulder. “Don’t,” he growled. He didn’t want comfort. He wanted exorcism. 

Sadie just gripped him tighter, blunt nails digging hard into the hunched muscle of his shoulder. “I know,” she rasped, kneeling before him, sharp knees pressed to his own. A choked cry strangled in Charles’s chest as her skinny, whipcord arms wrapped around him, pressing him to her chest. 

“They’re gone,” he managed, gasping through the tightness in his lungs. He couldn’t get any air. “Lenny, Javier, Hosea—Arthur.” Charles made a fist, pounding senselessly at the dirt. “He, we—” Charles cut himself off, dug his nails deep into the flesh of his knee, and tried to claw the pain into his own skin. 

A beat passed. One of Sadie’s palms gripped Charles at the back of his neck, cupped the back of his head gently. “Charles,” she said, voice rough and small, gentle. “Charles, I know.”

And it’s possible she did. She was one of the more observant folks in the camp. He and Arthur hadn’t really been very careful. Nothing too blatant, no. But anyone could have read into the casual ease with which Arthur touched his shoulder, the way their knees almost touched as they sat by the fire. The way Charles would return from guard duty with his hair mussed, leaves of grass clinging to the back of his shirt, the trailing ends of his hair. How Arthur would sit on a stump, failing utterly to conceal that he was sketching Charles as he chopped wood or hauled water. 

Arthur was not a cautious man by nature. He often made Charles foolish. 

More important than any of their thousand tiny, dangerous indiscretions was the fact that Arthur had trusted Sadie. It was possible the big, soft-hearted idiot told her about them. Maybe one day Charles would have it in him to be angry about that, at Arthur for putting them both at risk without asking him first. Reckless, impulsive, trusting. 

Gone.

Charles leaned heavily into Sadie’s grip, buried his face in the sweat and dirt streaked cotton of her shoulder. “How did you live through this?” He hissed, breath hitching. It felt like nettles had grown in his chest, wrapping around his lungs, choking like weeds to a garden. 

Sadie’s arm tightened over Charles’s shoulder. “Sun hasn’t dawned on a single day I’ve wanted to live through since they killed my Jake.” A filthy hand pet his hair back from his face, streaking dirt through the sweat on his brow. “Two reasons I go on. I gotta put every O'Driscoll on this green earth into a hole in the ground. And ‘cause I got folks as need me, now.”

Charles buried himself tighter against her, hiding from the pain that wracked him. It was ridiculous. Sadie was half his size, if he was being generous. But pressed against her, her clumsy hand in his hair, her skinny arm not even half over his back—he felt safer. Smaller. “They don’t even want me.” 

Sadie laughed, a hoarse, half-hearted thing that shook her chest more than it did the air. “You think those boys are lining up to put me in charge? Or, hell, Grimshaw? It don’t matter what anyone wants, Charles. They need us.” 

“I needed him,” Charles keened. He sounded like a child. He felt like a child. And he’d never felt so helpless, so lost, since he’d been torn from his mother’s arms. “All of them.” Charles bit back a breath, forced it down. He grasped a handful of Sadie’s shirt, pulling her closer. “I feel like the only part of me that’s good died with them. I don’t. I don’t think I can keep doing this.” 

“John ain’t dead yet,” Sadie whispered fiercely. “And neither is Tilly, or Mary-Beth, or me. Even the rest of ‘em. They’re all the family we got, Charles. So cry it out. But then you gotta pull yourself together. I need ya.” 

No one had ever needed Charles Smith. 

No one who lived. 

Charle’s head was going fuzzy, light, in a buzzing, burning way. Maybe he wasn’t getting enough air. Maybe he was choking on his own pathetic sorrow. 

Maybe the pain of losing so much was finally going to kill him. 

“I should just leave,” he mumbled into Sadie’s filthy, mud spattered shoulder. “Suffering follows me, I think. Maybe if I just go you won’t die, too.” 

Sadie’s blunt nails dug hard into Charle’s shoulder. “You leave and you’re yellow or you’re a fool,” she said, shaking him. “The world doesn’t give a shit about any of us, Charles. You know this life we’re livin’ ain’t meant to be a long one.”

Something in that tickled him, in a sideways sort of way. He laughed, a weak, hacking thing that was half-cough. “How the hell is Uncle still kicking?” 

Sadie’s shoulder moved under his forehead as she gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Can’t die if you never do shit.”

“You’re right,” Charles admitted. The stupid joke had shaken something loose in his throat. His chest still hurt, but he wasn’t choking on air. “I’m sorry. I just—” Charles sucked down another breath. “I wasn’t ready to live without him.” 

Sadie just pulled him tighter, tucked his head up under her chin. Charles wondered, vaguely, what she saw when she looked out into the dark of the Lemoyne night. “I know, honey,” she sighed. “But you will. You have to.” 

                                     _________________________

Traditional Kotsoteka mourning is an involved process. Done right, Charles should have burned Arthur’s wagon and killed Peachblossom, Arthur’s white Roan mare, so he would be well equipped in the afterlife. 

But there was no body to bury. No grave in which to throw Arthur’s guns, or the bow he’d left strapped to Peachblossom’s saddle on that final, bloody day at the bank. It would have been a shame to snap into pieces, anyway. Charles had made the bow for Arthur, so the other man had always taken excellent care of it. 

Fact was, Arthur’s body lay somewhere at the bottom of the sea, and they were too strapped for resources to go burning wagons and wasting supplies for traditions Charles had never been all that good at following. So instead Sadie helped him shave the sides of his head—the left side, to mourn a fellow warrior. The right, because a fellow warrior wasn’t all Charles was mourning. 

Together, Charles and Sadie burned one of Arthur’s shirts. There was no wailing, no cutting of arms and chests. As the last few patches of blue cotton caught fire, Charles resolved that, a year from then, he would never again speak the name Arthur Morgan.

                             ______________________________

Six years and too many graves later, Charles was resting on a freshly hammered fence post when a giant, mean-looking mustang rode up the road to Beecher’s Hope. Charles was half-way to drawing his sawed-off when its rider called out to him. “Charles! Charles Smith!”

Charles would know that hoarse drawl anywhere. 

Charles jumped the fence, jogging towards the black-clad woman on her suitably terrifying horse. “Sadie? Sadie Adler?”

Sadie swung down from her saddle, running forward. Charles caught her around the middle, swinging her excitedly. 

“How are you?” Charles asked as he set her down, hands moving to her shoulders to get a look at her. She’d picked up a few fresh scars, some weather to her skin from sun and wind. But her eyes were just the same as they’d always been, lit with an inner fire.

Sadie smiled, that same bitter half lift of the mouth as six years ago. “Alive,” she shrugged, patting Charles roughly on the shoulder. “You?”

Charles shrugged back. “Better, now. A few months back? Not so well.” 

Sadie nodded, walking back to her evil looking mustang and leading it gentle as a kitten to the hitching post. Charles leaned back against the fence, digging around in his jacket pockets for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He lit one, settling it in the side of his mouth. Demon-horse secured, Sadie settled beside him, leaning forward over the fence to survey the homestead. Charles passed her a cigarette, holding the lighter out and flickering as she lit a burning ember in the early morning light. 

Sadie inhaled, brown eyes sharp and considering as she surveyed the half-built ranch. “So. You’re, uh. Livin’ with the Marston’s?”

Charles nodded, tucking the lighter back in his pocket. “Just John for now.” He caught himself, laughed. “Well, and Uncle.”

“That old fool’s still alive?” Sadie whistled. “Bless his heart.” Silence stretched out between them. Maybe it should have been uncomfortable, the way it would have been between any two other friends who had parted in bloodshed and hadn’t seen one another in six years. 

Instead, it was like a well-worn blanket, warm and comforting in the early morning chill. Charles hadn’t shared a peaceful silence in a long while. John and Uncle always seemed to need to fill the air with talk. The folks in Saint Denis too, and theirs had been a lot less friendly. 

Their cigarettes burned down to embers before Sadie broke the peace. “Any clue where John’s at?” she asked. “I got a job for him.”

Charles grunted. “Bounty hunting?”

“Only kinda jobs I run. For now, anyway.”

“He’s in town grabbing supplies. Won’t be back until late.”

“Well, shit.” Sadie cursed, scuffing her boot in the dirt. She frowned, kicking up little clouds of dust while she chewed on her lip. Charles turned, tucking his arms up atop the fence, settling against the sun-warmed wood. Sadie leaned in beside him, shoulder to shoulder, so the fringe of her leather duster brushed against his knuckles. They watched the horizon together for a few long moments, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky. 

Sadie let out a long breath, shifting restlessly next to him. In the corner of his vision Charles caught brown eyes flicking consideringly over at him, measuring. “You busy?”

Charles let out an inaudible sigh of his own. “I don’t do that anymore, Sadie.”

Sadie laughed, a little bitter, a little sharp, like a sip of bark tea. “You too good for bounty hunting? Well, excuse me.”

Charles groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Isn’t like that. I just. I’m trying something new.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Ain't no reason you can't help around Marston’s ranch and earn yourself a little money.” She gestured to the half-built house, the piles of timbers and sacks of plaster. “Hell, how you think John’s paying this place off? I know y’all ain’t making any sort of profit yet.” 

Charles massaged his temples, willing away the oncoming tension headache. Sadie wasn’t wrong. Charles loved John, knew he needed to look after him for Arthur—at least until John was settled in with his family. But there would be an after, one day. Charles had learned one thing in his thirty-three years: no one stayed. 

He’d be watching his own back again, probably not too long from now. And it's a lot easier to do that when you had money. 

Charles sighed, pulling his hands from his face. He hooked his thumbs through his belt. “What’s the job?”

Sadie grinned, bitter and mean. “Man murdered his family, looks like,” she said, pulling away from the fence. “He’s wanted in Strawberry. Not even that far of a ride from here.”

Charles walked over to the little campsite, pulling his rucksack from his tent. It was already packed. He hesitated. “Kids?”

“A little girl, around ten. And a boy, round three.”

Charles pulled his tomahawk from under his bedroll, tucking it into his belt. He grabbed some of the nastier arrows—the poison wouldn’t kill a full grown man, but it’d make him suffer. 

Some men deserve to suffer. 

Charles stalked over to Falmouth, mounting him in one swift motion. “Lead the way.”

Sadie swung up onto her monster. “Good man,” she said, kicking her boot against Charles’s own as she trotted by. “Let’s see how rusty you’ve got, Mr. Smith.”

As they rode, Sadie interrogated him. 

“Talked to John a little, ‘bout you,” she yelled over the thundering of hooves. The earth was hard-packed and dusty in the Texarcana heat. “Heard things weren't going too well down in Saint Denis.”

“They weren’t,” Charles called back. “I’d only been there about a year, anyway. Job was going sour.” 

“How so?”

Charles laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “Folks were only going to put up with me beating up white men for a living for so much longer.”

Sadie tossed a grin over her shoulder, knowing and vicious. She and Charles had different struggles in their lives. But there was a baseline understanding between them. Most of the gang had been dangerous for what they did. Of the ones who lived, Charles and Sadie were dangerous because of what they were. “Novelty was about to wear off, huh?”

Charles shook his head, whipping wayward hair from his face. “Yeah.”

Sadie turned back to the road, steering Hera around a sharp bend. “Before that?”

The road widened out. Charles urged Falmouth forward, riding till the two horses were running abreast. “Was up in Canada. Helped relocate the Wapiti after...” Charles paused. He had left with the Wapiti immediately after the attack on the oil refinery. Hadn’t even gone back to camp for the rest of his belongings, just taken what was on Taima’s back and. Left.

Charles had no idea if Sadie even knew why Charles had gone, what Arthur had told her.

“That kid,” Sadie asked, breaking Charles’s train of thought. “He died, didn’t he?” 

Charles swallowed, the dust from the road cloyingly sweet in his mouth. “Yes.”

Sadie steered Hera over a wooden bridge, hand on her rifle as she scanned each side for signs of an ambush. “I don’t think I understand what all happened with them,” she said. “There was so much going on, towards the end. Folks leaving, Arthur sick, that damn fool plan with the train—How did Dutch even get those folks wrapped up in our mess?”. 

“Same thing that happened to all of us,” Charles offered. “Dutch talked a good game, riled them up over things they were already angry about, got everyone in over their head, and was the only one who didn’t pay for it.” 

The rest of their ride continued in contemplative silence, broken only by the necessary shouts and calls needed to wrangle their bounty. The murderer was holed up in an abandoned cabin just a little north of town. Hardly worth hiring bounty hunters for, really. Except that the Strawberry sheriffs had always been corrupt, not to mention lazy. Some things don’t change. 

Still, working with Sadie again was worth it. It’d just been them those long months Arthur and the rest were lost in Guarma, presumed dead. Sure, the rest of the girls were still around and they pulled their weight. But none of them were as talented in violence—save Karen, maybe. 

 But she was too far gone over Sean to hold herself together, let alone anyone else.

It’s when they’d divvied up the bounty and stepped into the Strawberry saloon that Charles remembered why those months had been so damn stressful. Besides the Pinkertons, the hopeless fate of half their family, the deaths, John trapped in prison—

Sadie Adler’s temper had always been on a short fuze. 

And Charles, fool that he was, had always had a weakness for brave, impulsive idiots.  

A big, mean white man took exception to Charles drinking at the same bar as him. Sadie snapped off a sharp warning, stepping around Charles and squaring up to the man twice her size. Then the mean bastard took exception to Charles traveling with, being familiar with, a white woman. 

Sadie took exception to his exception, and her exception took the form of a knife straight through the man’s hand and into the scarred oak of the counter. 

They were riding hard out of town, ducking the odd shot from the posse riding too slow behind them, Sadie whooping wildly and shooting flawlessly over her back when Charles realized: he hadn’t had fun like that in six years.

They lost the posse in the hills by turning off on a razor thin trail, stashing the horses under an overhang and laying down in the tall grass. 

They lay there, panting, laughing, exhilarated. The stars were bright in the sky, glaring down through the clear West Elizabeth sky.

Eventually Sadie sobered, hoarse laughter falling silent. Charles could see her from the corner of his eye. She was still staring up at the stars, hair limned silver in the moonlight. She chewed on her words before breaking the peace. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Charles took a breath, held it. “We had to leave before the Army arrived,” he said. He picked absently at the grass, crushing it dry and summer-sweet between his fingers. “The Wapiti. They were mostly women and children, the elderly. The sick.”

Sadie huffed, turning on her side, propping up on her elbow to glare down at him, hair frizzled into a messy halo behind her head, all lit up by moonglow. “Ya could of wrote,” she insisted. 

Charles kept his eyes fixed on the night sky, on the stars in their cold, beautiful distance. “To who?” he scoffed. “We all knew the gang was on its last legs. By the time we crossed the border into Canada I’d already seen the papers. Interesting, how they left you out of it.”

Sadie went quiet. She collapsed back beside him, thumping softly in the bent grass. “Is that how you found out?” 

A copy of The New Hanover had been pinned to the wooden wall of the trading shack where Charles was selling pelts for food and medicine. He’d left for Beaver Hollow the next day. “Yes.”

Sadie sucked air through her teeth. “I went back, few years later,” she muttered. Her boot knocked against his, a rough comfort. “You uh. You did a good job, Charles,” she said. Her fingers sought his in the tall grass, brushing against his lightly. Like she was scared to spook him, maybe. “We watched the sun come up together. He woulda liked it.” 

Charles drew his hand back, pressing it over his heart. The hollow, dull ache that lived in his heart sharpened, brightened. A fresh cut on an old scar. “He’d have liked it better if he’d lived.” 

Sadie made a noise, propping back up on her elbow to lean over him. “You know that ain’t his fault,” she frowned at him. “The man was sick, Charles.” 

Charles’s head hurt. His whole body did, in a cold, numb way. This wasn’t the burning, searing grief at the bottom of Lenny’s shallow grave. It was older, rooted deeper down. “Don’t,” he rasped. Grit from the road coated the back of his throat. “Just, don’t.” 

Sadie charged on, implacable. “You know he wasn’t gonna leave without John.”

The stars were so bright. Charles could feel the headache building, like a creature clawing out through his temples. “They could have left together,” he snapped at her. “We all could have left together, before the bank. All of that mess in Lemoyne—none of it had to happen. Arthur didn’t stay for John—he stayed for Dutch.” 

Sadie scrubbed her free over her face. “The man raised him,” she tried. The excuse was hollow, empty. Even she didn’t buy it.

Charles turned on his side, faced Sadie properly through the tall grass and moonlight. “Don’t give me that, Sadie. Not you.” 

“Fine, Charles! He was a fool!” She threw her hand up in the air, exasperated. “He was scared, he was foolish, and he loved Dutch because he was an idiot.” Sadie fixed him with a glare. “There, did that make you happy, big man? Speaking ill of the dead?” 

It didn’t. “I shouldn’t be speaking of him at all,” Charles said instead. “That’s not how—we’re supposed to let go. It’s been years.”

“You loved him,” she insisted.

“Look at how much that mattered,” Charles said, anger furrowing his brow, burning low in his stomach. Had he ever let himself be angry, with Arthur, with the choices they made? “What did loving him buy me, besides a heart that broke twice?”

Sadie’s eyes softened, understanding dawning warm and terrible. “I know that’s not how you really feel,” she said. Sadie reached out, again, with careful fingers. When Charles didn’t stop her she tucked the hair plastered to Charles sweaty forehead back, away from his eyes.

It was the first gentleness anyone had touched him with since he left the Wapiti for Saint Denis. Charles’s breath caught in his throat, trapped, terrified. Vulnerable. 

It would have hurt less if she’d socked him in the stomach.

“You don’t ride back from Canada, on your own, to bury a man who you hated,” Sadie continued. Her calloused hand settled on his jaw, thumb behind his ear. She held him steady, made him look her in the eye. “You don’t spend a year of your life helping his kid brother get his family back.”

“Arthur didn’t need me, at the end,” Charles managed. “Rain Falls needed me—and then they didn’t. No one did.”

“Why Saint Denis, Charles? You hated it there,” Sadie asked, resigned. She already knew the answer. She was being cruel, making him face it out loud.

Charles swallowed. No one had ever accused Sadie Adler of being kind. 

“I was waiting to die.” 

Sadie nodded. Yes, of course. “And all this with John? What next, once he doesn’t need you?”

Charles glared at her, mouth tight and stubborn. 

Sadie laughed in his face. “You and Arthur,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You were made for one another, weren’t ya? No understanding how to live in this world for yourselves.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Charles shot back. 

“I’m happy with my life,” Sadie said firmly. “I had love, but I never wanted a family. I just wanted Jake. He’s gone. So I’m doing what makes me happy.” She paused, staring down at him, considering. “What makes you happy, Charles? You’re the most competent, most stubborn man I know. What do you really want? You know no one could stop you from getting it.”

Charles shook his head. “I have no idea,” he admitted. He climbed to his feet, offering Sadie a hand. She accepted, pulling herself to her feet. She kept hold of his hand, squeezing tight.  

“Don’t stop looking,” she commanded. “What you were doin’ in Saint Denis, waiting to die? You’re better than that, Charles Smith.”

Charles shook his head, pulling Sadie into a one armed hug. Grief, Arthur, his life—they hadn’t solved any of it, laying out in a field and snapping at one another under the stars. 

But the wound hurt a little less, like a lanced infection. 

“I hope so, Mrs. Adler,” Charles said into the mess of Sadie’s hair. She chuckled into his chest, punched him half-heartedly in the arm. They separated, fetching and mounting their horses. 

They separated at the fork in the trail. Sadie headed east, back to her base camp just outside Valentine. She had work to do, bounties to catch. The world may have been more ‘civilized’ in 1907 than it was in 1899, but work was still plentiful for a rider and marksman of Sadie Adler’s skill. 

Charles rode west towards Beecher’s Hope, sun rising over his shoulder.

                                             --------------------------------

A/N: Charles and Sadie are my favorites, and they should have spent more time with one another. They're not exactly similar people, but they've been through many of the same trials. 

I also think they were both done a disservice by the epilogue. Charles's feelings regarding the gang's collapse are largely unexplored, despite him canonically being the one to have buried Lenny, Hosea, Mrs. Grimshaw, and Arthur. 

We also don't get a good explanation for why Charles ended up in Saint Denis as part of a fighting ring. Certain lines from Charles--"It seems like I was put on this Earth to hurt and to suffer myself"--have always led me to believe that he suffers from suicidal ideations. Him ending up in Saint Denis, surrounded by people who wish him harm, reads to me like a sort of 'death by cop' form of suicide.

On the subject of Charles's heritage: Rockstar is a trash fire, so beyond being half-Black and half-Native we have very few clues about Charles's culture and his history. I settled on a particular band (the Kotsoteka, or 'buffalo eaters') of the Comanche who would have had a decent amount of contact with Black Freemen post-Civil war. They live in Oklahoma and Texas, buffalo are a central part of their traditional lifestyle, and one of their mourning traditions involves shaving their heads in a manner similar to Charles's hairstyle change post-Guarma arc.

 I'm white and if anyone has constructive comments about my inclusion of Kotsoteka funerary traditions I'm happy to hear and act on them.

The Oquenda was the name of a Cuban trading ship from the 1870's. It was primarily used to transport indentured Chinese workers to the Cuban sugar plantations.

[little-mad]

“Tiny ears! Remember?!” With Tara and Thomas!

Ok, I really liked writing this one

From this list of prompts here

And for anyone who doesn’t know, more details about these two can be found on my oc masterlist

______________________________________________________

After knowing one another for two months, Tara finally agreed to cross into giant territory for her meetings with Thomas. Admittedly, it was kind of awkward standing on opposite sides of the creek. More importantly, being out in the open like that, they ran the risk of getting seen by somebody. Tara definitely did not want to have to explain why she was hanging out with a giant to her family and friends back home.

The spot she and Thomas had decided on wasn’t far into giant territory, in fact Tara could still catch a glimpse of the border through the trees. Meanwhile, Thomas was about as concealed as his giant form would allow in an area with trees shorter than him.

Of course, Tara never would have agreed to the arrangement had she not been confident Thomas harbored no ill will towards her. The guy had saved her life twice, and after getting to know him better and better over time, she could almost call him a friend.

That being said, Tara had been sure to set up clear ground rules. Most important of the rules was that Thomas had to keep his hands to himself unless given express permission otherwise. The giant had pouted extensively about it. He obviously got a kick out of holding and touching her, which was exactly why Tara had forbidden it. Plus, being around hands that could easily snuff out her life made her more than a little anxious, believe it or not.

In order to avoid physical contact while still managing to remain close to Thomas’s eye level, Tara had positioned herself in a high branch of a tree directly in front of where the giant was sitting. Thomas had been fretting like a mother hen as she climbed up, insisting it was too dangerous for someone “so itty bitty.” The comment only served to make Tara climb quicker. She’d been scaling trees since she was little, she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Wait, but I thought you said you wanted to study at that university?” Tara inquired as she absentmindedly swayed her dangling legs back and forth.

During their last meeting, Thomas had explained to her his desire to attend some fancy school in a giant city a ways away. They had something sort of similar on the human side of the border, but it was incredibly far away and was very selective with who they allowed as students. No one in Tara’s town ever even considered it as a feasible option.

Thomas gave a humorless laugh. “Well of course I want to, both Lane and I have dreamed of going there for years,” he explained. “But it costs an arm and a leg to even be allowed to study there, not to mention room and board, food, supply costs...we’d never be able to afford it.” He let out a resigned sigh.

A frown formed on Tara’s face. She couldn’t necessarily empathize with Thomas’s situation exactly, but the feeling of being trapped by forces out of her own control was familiar enough after encountering giants. “So what are you going to do then?” she asked. The First Hunt had marked Thomas’s transition from child to adult, meaning he could no longer rely on his parents and needed to seek out a way to make a living.

“I’ll probably start helping out at my uncle’s shop, at least for now,” Thomas said with a shrug. He didn’t look especially pleased with the plan, but before Tara could call him out on it, he spoke up again. “What about you? Are you going to keep gathering supplies for your doctor?” he questioned.

Since even before she had finished school, Tara had been assisting the town’s physician by foraging for medicinal supplies that could be found in nature. At first it had mostly been freelance, but within the past month she had begun receiving a regular wage from the doctor. Tara enjoyed the unrestrictive nature of the work, plus the pay wasn’t half bad either. That being said, she couldn’t see herself doing it for the rest of her life.

“Well actually…” Tara started, “I’ve been thinking I might want to join one of the scouting parties.” The job was mentally and physically demanding, but scouts were well paid and well respected. Plus, after almost being eaten on two separate occasions, Tara felt as though non-giant related dangers were pretty manageable.

“Are you crazy?!” Tara winced at the unexpected volume of Thomas’s voice, her hands instinctively going to cover her ears against the thundering noise.

When her ears stopped ringing, she lowered her hands and shot a scowl up at the giant’s face. “Hey!” she shouted, “Tiny ears! Remember?!” Despite his natural enthusiasm, Thomas was usually pretty good at keeping his voice at a volume that was comfortable to Tara. Over time, his accidental loud outbursts had decreased in frequency. Whatever streak he’d had was now soundly broken of course.

Thomas’s eyes went wide as he realized what he’d done. “Sorry, sorry!” he exclaimed in an overly hushed tone. His cheeks became tinged with a slight red color and he wore a regretful expression on his face as he looked down at Tara. “I just--I can’t believe you would actually consider doing something so needlessly risky.” When he finished the sentence he began to take on the appearance of a stern father or something.

Tara pressed her lips together. She wasn’t really sure why Thomas seemed so worked up over the idea of her joining a scouting party. In the past, she had described what the scouts did and why they were so important to the wellbeing of her town. She’d mentioned the fact that, aside from ensuring no giants ever crossed into human territory, scouts were also responsible for fending off vicious wild animals, as well as occasionally dealing with bandits that sometimes hung around the woods surrounding the town. Sure, it was probably one of the more dangerous jobs Tara could do, but it wasn’t as if it were a death sentence. It was rare that a scout was ever killed in the line of duty.

“It’s not ‘needlessly risky’, Thomas,” she insisted. “Scouts are vital to the safety of my town. Plus, it’s not as dangerous as you seem to be imagining it to be.”

“The world is a dangerous place, and you’re so small--” Thomas started, but Tara was quick to interrupt him with a raised hand.

“Okay--just because I’m small to you, doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself just fine.”

“But why risk it when you don’t have to?”

Tara rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to live my life in a bubble.” It was becoming increasingly clear to her that while Thomas may view her as a person in some respects, he still thought of her as some kind of weak creature in need of protection. Considering he’d had to save her life on multiple occasions, Tara supposed she couldn’t entirely blame him. But that had been when she’d been in giant territory. Things were different on her side of the border.

At first, Thomas opened his mouth as if he were about to shoot back a retort. However, after a moment’s pause, his expression softened slightly. “I’m--I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

Tara sighed. It was hard to stay too mad at the guy when he sounded so genuine. He seemed to really care about her wellbeing, even if he was being a bit overbearing about it. She allowed her tensed shoulders to relax. “I appreciate your concern,” she began, making sure to choose her words carefully. “But I promise, I’ll be fine.” Tara offered Thomas her most sincere smile. “Besides, I don’t even know for sure if I am actually going to join a scouting party. It’s just a possibility.”

With slow, controlled movements, Thomas leant forward so that his face was hanging about a foot above where Tara sat. She stiffened when one of his hands gently settled down beside her on the branch, close but not quite making contact with her body. “You don’t know how much I wish I could touch you right now,” he stated, a petulant look on his face.

With her cheeks flushing pink, Tara attempted to disguise it by fixing an unperturbed expression on her face. “You--you can keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Grabby,” she declared stubbornly.

Even if she trusted Thomas not to hurt her, willingly allowing a giant to touch her felt like crossing some line. Of course, she’d already crossed all kinds of lines just by agreeing to meet with him in the first place. Maybe Tara wasn’t completely opposed to letting him touch her--but only for practical purposes! Allowing him to fiddle with her now was certainly not practical.

Thomas gave Tara a pouty face, but when she remained resolute, he released a dramatic sigh before pulling away. “You’re killing me here.”

Tara snorted as she shook her head. “You are such a drama queen.”

[derryqueenx]

another hurt bingo for you if you want it - betrayal, in revenge for (something, maybe the midnight barbering, but whatever you choose) howard tries to shave vince's head (maybe he succeeds? maybe he gets a couple shaves in? does vince have to style it out into an undercut? you choose!) >:)

Betrayal.

Word Count: 2445

TW: Swearing.

(I’ve added the blue to indicate what’s already been submitted since I’ve been getting a few questions on it! Whatever isn’t marked off or underlined is still available for your submission! And I’ll update the photo every time a new one comes in x)

Send through your prompts and any NoelJulian related characters (if you have one in mind! If not I’ll just write whatever I feel works best for said prompt)! The Free Prompt square is if you want me to write a fic based on something that’s not already written! You can send them in and just say it’s for the ‘free prompt’ bingo. Let’s cause our favourite characters some hurt (with small comfort. I’m not a monster.)

Something had truly possessed him. That was the only explanation.

Howard doesn’t even remember doing it completely. I mean, he does, he knows he did it and he recalls the events leading up to it, but it was like something else had just jumped into his body and taken over. He remembers every feeling and emotion he had like they belonged to him, but surely he didn’t do it, right? Howard Moon would never do something like that…

And yet, here he stood, facing the bathroom mirror with a completely shocked and pale face, staring back at his reflection as if it was someone else. He dared to glance down, a small part of him just hoping that the mirror was playing tricks on him and this was all just some crazy dream. But as his gaze lowered slowly, the evidence become more abundantly clear.

Small flyaways of hair and trimmings laced his forearm, down to his wrists and coating his hand in its thick dark layer, and within said hand, gripping so tightly his knuckles were turning white, was the weapon. The weapon he’d used only a few minutes ago on his best friend, the proof clear for all to see.

The hair clipper.

The one Howard used to trim his beard. So obviously Howard’s that it had his own initials engraved onto it to stop Vince from using it (not that it ever worked). The confirmation was piled up against him.

It was his weapon, held in his hand, with the splatter of the victims hair lacing his skin and on his blades. There was no way the talk his way out of this. He was a dead man…

Maybe he could hide the evidence? Wash it down the drain and bleach the clippers. That’s what they did in those True Crime documentaries, right? It apparently got rid of blood, surely it could get rid of hair?

God, what had he been thinking?!

It was all over something so miniscule and tiny, hardly even important or worth remembering, and yet it just tipped him over the edge.

They’d been at work, casually minding their business when a group of girls walked in. Naturally, they both sprung to life and both attempted to chat up the women in their own way, and of course naturally they were more interested in Vince; everyone was. Howard watched as all three women walked right past him, leaving him standing stupidly in the middle of the room like he may as well have been an item for sale, and circled Vince, all giggly and bubbly as they talked with him.

Howard watched as they fed him compliments and pick up lines, giving him their number and inviting him out with them in a few nights for some drinks and ‘whatever else happens’.

He watched as they twirled his beaded necklace in their fingers, and when one of the girls reached up to play with his hair, Howard waited for the outburst. Waited for Vince to tell her not to dare touch it because Howard certainly wasn’t allowed to, no one was. And yet, he didn’t. He just smiled smugly at her as her fingers laced through his dark hair, pushing it back at the ears to show off his forehead and petting it as if it were a cute dog. All while Vince had the biggest and most proud look on his face, allowing it all to happen.

Howard watched in silent rage as Vince once again stole all the attention away from him.

What did he have that Howard didn’t?

They both worked in a secondhand shop and lived in the same apartment just above it. They both had the same life experiences. They both knew the same people. The only differing factor it seemed at the time was...

Vince’s hair.

All the girls loved it. All the guys loved it. Hell, even Vince probably cared more about his hair then he did for Howard.

In that moment, as Howard watched the girls surrounding Vince and playing with his precious hair, Howard wanted to even the playing field. Vince wouldn’t be so special if he didn’t have that going for him. He would be on the same level as Howard, and have to experience things the hard way and learn that you can’t just get by on your looks alone. He’d need to fall back on his personality, and if it was a personality test, Howard felt pretty confident he would get all the girls then.

That rage followed him the remainder of their shift and into the night. So far into the night in fact, that Howard waited until Vince fell asleep before he made his move. Let’s see how Vince would react when he realized he looked just like everybody else!

In the moment, it felt riveting. Like Howard was born again! He felt like he’d taken control of his own destiny and life going forward.

As the clippers made their first snip Howard could see the lines of women waiting outside the shop just to talk to him.

As they went down a second time, he saw Vince as the one stuck sweeping the floors and begging for attention.

Each clip added more to his illusion until he had the complete picture. And once that picture was finished, it shifted on him.

He was now staring into the eyes of his best friend, heartbroken and betrayal lacing his face as he looked back at Howard in shock at what he’d done. Wondering how someone he trusted so much could do something like that to him, to take away such a huge part of who he was, and that’s when the fantasy turned into reality and Howard was left staring down at his still sleeping friend, the outcome of his handywork looking back at him as thick locks of hair surrounded the satin pillow and sprayed out onto the bedspread, like walking into a horrible crime scene.

A crime scene that Howard had created.

In the moment, realization dawned on him that he had royally fucked up.

So now here he was, staring back at his reflection in a moment of pure terror as he played out every possible scenario in his head at how to get out of this, and washing the evidence away was the only one that seemed doable. Vince would never know it was him. Maybe it was one of Naboo’s spells gone wrong? Maybe Bollo did it for… some reason. Either way, he couldn’t pinpoint this all on Howard without anything to back it up.

Howard turned the sink on, ready to make this all go away, when there was a scream from the bedroom. Vince’s bedroom. Vince’s scream.

Oh god Oh god Oh god. He jumped, startling himself back into frozen dread where he dumbly remained until Vince stormed in, eyes wide with rage and face fuming, his hair shaven on one side of his head. He stared down Howard, looking at the clippers that the other man still had in his hand as well as all the evidence he hadn’t managed to wash away, and Howard saw something visibly snap in his friend.

“YOU!” He screeched, lunging forward with his arms outstretched ready to grab Howard by his throat or the shirt or whatever he could get his hands on, but luckily by now Howard’s brain had told him to actually move and he was able to step out of the way just in time.

He held his hands up in the air in surrender. “Wait! I can explain! There’s been a misunderstanding!” He began, but Vince’s eyes shot to Howards hand and he realized he was still waving about the hair clippers wildly. Quick as he could, he hid his hand behind his back as if that would also eliminate the fact that Vince had just seen him with the crime weapon. “I can explain that…” He said, unable to explain it in the slightest, but Vince wasn’t even going to give him the time of day it seemed.

He growled, lunging back at Howard again who turned on his heels and bolted out of the bathroom, gripping onto the door handle in the process and slamming the door closed behind him, locking Vince in the bathroom like some sort of crazed animal as he held tightly onto it, knowing full well the lock was on the inside, so he’d just have to hope Vince would either listen to him or tire himself out.

“Let me out!” Vince screamed, pounding his fists onto the door loudly as Howard did his best to keep it shut.

“I didn’t mean to!” Howard confessed.

“I’m gonna killyou, Howard!” He responded, the pounding never ceasing.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me!” He shouted back at his friend in hopes he could reason with him to let him keep his life. He liked being alive. “I didn’t mean it!” He repeated.

“You shaved my head! Of course you bloody meant it you psycho!”

They kept this up for another few minutes. Howard repeatedly trying to get Vince to listen to him as he kept apologizing profusely, all while Vince kept shouting he was going to kill him and banging on the door to try and break it down.

After a few more loud thuds, Vince suddenly cried out in pain.

“Fuck!” He said after one relatively loud bang, and Howard paused. Was Vince messing with him to lower his guard and get him to open the door?

“Vince?” He said cautiously.

“Fucking- Fuck!” Vince repeated, sounding like he had walked away from the door and was huddling over near the sink.

Howard stayed silent and still, listening in for any proof that maybe Vince was just hiding behind the door waiting to pounce, but when he heard the tap start to run as Vince’s muttered swears continued, he figured he should probably take the chance.

If Vince had actually hurt himself he would need Howard’s assistance since the man was useless with first aid, and also considering Howard had basically caused it, he felt obliged to investigate.

Ever so slowly, he creaked the door open, firstly peering his head in to inspect the room for any booby traps or jumping Vince’s, but instead he found his friend hovering over the sink, his hand held under the running water as he bit into his bottom lip like he was trying to hold back his own pained cry.

“Vince?” He tried again, fully stepping into the room as he walked closer to his friend. “What happened?”

“My knuckle cut open when I punched into the door.” He responded, sounding much smaller than he did only moments ago when he was hellbent on murdering Howard. He pulled his hand out, inspecting it for the latest damage and soon as the water had stopped running over it, the blood immediately started pouring once again from the thick cut that laced his knuckle. With a groan of frustration, he shoved it back under the cold water, holding back the wince as he did.

“Here, let me help you.” Howard said simply, opening up the bathroom cupboard and pulling out the first aid kit. All previous anger and resentment was momentarily gone as they both fell into their usual roles of helping one another just as easy as it was the breath. Howard helped dry up Vince’s hand and apply the bandages, all while Vince remained silent sitting on the edge of the tub and letting his friend help.

Once Howard was done, he knew there was now nothing distracting them from going back to the attempted murder before the small detour back into friendship, and he nervously looked back at Vince. “Do you still want to kill me?”

“Yep.” His friend shot back immediately.

“Should I be running?”

“Nope.”

“You’re not gonna kill me in my sleep, are you?”

“Maybe.”

Ooft. The one-worded response treatment. Harsh Vince.

“Look, I’m so so sorry I did that. I genuinely don’t know what came over me. I was just so frustrated at you for always getting the girls that I got jealous, I think.” Vince didn’t respond, so Howard tried another method. “I don’t think it looks that bad, actually.”

“Are you kidding? I look like I got into a fight with a lawnmower and lost!” Vince said enraged, his voice cracking a few times as it went up in pitch.

“Can’t you find a way to hide it or something?” He tried, to which Vince scoffed.

“Of course I can, but I’d watch your back from now on Howard. You’re going to be a bald man by the time this week is up.” And Howard didn’t doubt him for a second.

Vince had managed to style it into an undercut that day, using the clippers to fix up the bits that Howard had missed or done horribly, and using plenty of hairspray and hair clips to make it work. He wasn’t thrilled by it, obviously, but it was all he could do until he figured out a more permanent solution.

And Howard did watch his back, never once taking his eyes off Vince or letting him near sharp objects in fear that he’d come up behind him at any given moment and make his move, but it was yet to happen.

So far, the day had come and gone and Howard still had his hair.

Then, seemingly as luck would have it, a young woman walked into the shop.

Howard cleared his throat and adjusted his tie in preparation to make his moves on her. Maybe this was the universe telling him that in a messed-up way, he did the right thing by shaving Vince’s hair. Maybe the universe had sent him this girl to make those fantasies a reality. And who was he to deny a message from the universe?

“Hello there, I’m Howard Moon, is there anything I can assist you wi-“

“Oh my god, I love your hair!” She gasped, looking past Howard and over to Vince who was standing behind the counter, the latest edition of Cheekbone in his hand.

“What- him?” Howard stuttered out baffled, but she ignored him, walking straight past and over to Vince, leaning up onto the counter as he looked up at him with a flirtatious grin.

“Undercuts are so hot.” She breathed out, and Vince simply glanced up at Howard with the biggest smirk on his face, a silent message of ‘fuck you’ as he licked his lips, lowering his magazine and looking back at her with his own flirty smile.

“Thanks, did it myself.”

-

Okay yeah i had fun writing this! It's not very 'hurt' or 'angsty' but i don't care, i had fun. hehehehe

[songbirdsingingthings]

Chapter Five - The Melancholy Of The Heart

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter ~ Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6K

The clink of a teacup draws your attention from your daydreaming and you immediately slap on the fake smile that you’ve been managing for the past three weeks. Of all the times to be nodding off, you scold yourself as you shift a little in your seat, making sure your posture was still perfect and your hands were placed in the correct way. You were worrying, of course, because seated across from you was Lord Iida’s mother. She was genuinely a kind person, but you were having a hard time conversing with her. Of course you were, because you were forcing yourself to pretend that you’re head-over-heels in love with her son.

“So Miss Yagi, where do your interests tend to lead you? I do tend to find myself rather drawn towards needlepoint,” Lady Iida says, a gentle smile on her face. You place your teacup down on its saucer gently.

“Needlepoint is a very fine activity indeed,” you start with, making sure to stick to exactly what you had been taught when Nemuri Kayama, your governess, had instructed you in the art of conversing. “However I tend to stray more towards the pianoforte - it was a love that both my mother and I shared.” You confess. This earns a pitying look from Lady Iida as she reaches across the small tea table and places a hand on top of yours.

“I was so very sorry when I heard about your mother all those years ago. It must’ve been so hard on the senior Lord Yagi, having the responsibilities of a mother pushed on to him.” At her words, your entire body froze, but quickly heated up again with anger. However, you maintained a placated expression.

“My father did wonderfully with raising both my brother and I. My mother, bless her soul, would be ecstatic with how he accomplished both that and his own business.” You made sure to sweeten up your voice, raising it a few octaves in order to show respect but gently, and subtly, push her into the direction of ‘My father had no issues with acting like both a mother and a father’. It had only been about an hour of this and you were already at your limit. “Oh, would you believe the time? I must be heading home in order to aid my brother with the plans of his upcoming nuptials,” You say, pushing back your chair politely, but quickly, and dipping into a shallow curtsy before excusing yourself. 

“Are you kidding me? ‘Must’ve been so hard for Lord Yagi because he now has to perform more womanly duties’. Bullshit, utter bullshit.” You hiss to yourself quietly, finally making your way back to your home.

“Welcome back, Lady Yagi.” A butler greeted you and opened the door. You shot him a quick greeting and a ‘thank you’, before stomping your way into the parlor. You saw Izuku out of the corner of your eye so you closed yours and collapsed onto a couch.

“Y/N, uh-” Your brother began but was quickly cut off.

“Izuku, you wouldn’t believe what Lady Iida had to say! Going on about how it must’ve been so hard for Father when Mother died because he had to act as the matron of the household. I mean, seriously!” You scoff, leaning your head back.

“Y/N!” Izuku finally shouted, causing you to sit up.

“What?” You ask back, a confused look on your face due to his outburst. That’s when you finally looked to the left to see who you really didn’t want to see. Shouto. Confusion turned to anger as your eyes left Shouto and latched themselves back onto Izuku. You breathe in and out, deeply, before you start talking. No matter how much you hated him right now, Shouto was of higher status than you and you were responsible for acting a certain way. “Izuku, may I speak with you in the hallway? Privately?” You say, faux-sweetness dripping from your voice as you clench your teeth. You turn on your heel and step into the hallway that was just outside the parlor where Izuku follows you in a hurry.

“Before you start, I am so sorry, I thought you weren’t going to be home for another few hours,” Izuku confessed, his voice a whisper. You closed your eyes and heaved a sigh.

“I know the two of you are friendly, so I am not going to chastise you for inviting him to our house for the day,” you begin, trying to maintain a level of calmness, “just let me know when he is coming.” You beg of him, your eyes imploring. Izuku swallows a lump in his throat and nods. The two of you walk back to the parlor, albeit wordlessly, and you settle on the couch you were seated on beforehand. You could feel Shouto’s eyes burning holes into your back, so you bucked up and finally addressed him. “Lord Todoroki, you seem to be almost everywhere I am these days,” you say, your words laced with disdain.

“It seems that way… indeed.” Shouto says quietly, his eyes flickering in between you and his hands. You internally groan as you think back to your etiquette lessons, particularly the exact one keeping you stationed in that parlor instead of holed up in your room. When in the presence of a higher ranking social class, or if they are to be present in your household, you must entertain or partake in conversation. However furious at Shouto you were, you’d be damned if you didn’t uphold your studies. Quickly, you think up a solution.

“Forgive me, gentlemen, but this is the hour I tend to practice on the pianoforte - I should not want to subject both of you to such clamour. Our gardens are quite lovely at this time of day, Izuku, why don’t you take Lord Todoroki on a tour? Or shall I ring the Yaoyorozu household and invite Lady Yaoyorozu so she can partake in the activity?” You state clearly, wanting your words to sting.

“Y/N,” Izuku hisses, a rare glare in his eyes.

“I should like to stay, if you'll allow Y/-Lady Yagi.” The effect your formal name coming out of his mouth has on you is tremendous, and you hate it. You hate how you longed for your first name to be uttered from his lips and how much comfort you found from him when you did. You dipped your head so that he couldn’t see the pain flash across your face and instead make your way over to your favorite instrument, taking a seat on the bench and drawing on the sheet music from memory. It was a melancholy piece - the notes varying from sad to what almost sounded like hope, only to be plunged back into the murky waters of sorrow. You sit there for a moment after you plink out the final notes before you look up to see Shouto’s eyes still on you. Screw the damn etiquette rules, you tell yourself as you get up, feeling your eyes get more watery.

“If you’ll excuse me,” You say softly, hurrying towards the outside gardens. How foolish were you to believe that your feelings for him would just vanish? Shouto Todoroki, the Duke’s son, was a one of a kind gentleman. You compared your feelings to that of Tantalus, the greek myth about being just out of reach of the thing they crave, they need the most.

“Lady Yagi,” His voice fed the longing that lingered in your mind - it was almost intoxicating to an extent. No, your conscience told you, tell him to leave. He hurt you, he lied to you. He. Is. Engaged. “I’m not engaged. Not anymore.” Your eyebrows narrowed, perplexity evident. Did you hear him right? It must’ve been a trick of the wind, whistling in your ear in a way.

“Lord Todoroki, that is a cruel joke,” you managed, turning away from him. “You mustn’t say that to a young lady who is so close to being engaged herself.” You bring a hand up to your forehead, feeling a little faint. Although you couldn’t see him, Shouto’s face has morphed into a crestfallen one.

“To Lord Iida,” He states clearly, however this time you can hear the tiny bit of emotion he usually keeps shielded from his voice.

“You mustn’t say that because if it is true, you will have created a situation in which I cannot be fully happy. On one hand I will be married to Lord Iida but always know that my true love, the one that has my heart in his hands, loves me back and will have gone against his father to do so.” You run a hand through your now messy hair feeling the carefully placed pins start to fall out of it. “And on the other, I am to be married to you and will leave Lord Iida feeling played - exactly the feeling I felt with you. The way I absolutely loathe that feeling…” you confess, finally meeting Shouto’s eyes again. The two of you stand there for a moment, trying to figure out a solution to a most paradoxical situation.

“Y/N,” Shouto begins, stepping forwards. His hands are inches from yours when you see Izuku race out of the house towards the two of you. Your hands jut back towards your sides as you see your brother approaching. His expression is one of great concern, worry swimming in his eyes. You open your mouth to speak but Izuku does first.

“I-It’s Father, he’s fallen ill. They think it’s pneumonia and they said it’s quite serious…” His words fade into nothing as your mind is spinning. Pneumonia, that’s what Mother had. Izuku is saying that Father has the same illness that Mother had. The illness that Mother had when she died. You could see the worrisome eyes of both Izuku and Shouto on you as your vision begins to fade. The last thing you see is Shouto lunging towards you and him yelling your name. Your first name.

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [22.5]

Back to Chapter 22

Words: 2729 || The Ultimate Mini-Chapter of the series

“You’re working in a grocery store now?” Taehyung asks with raised brows, surprise taking hold. He never imagined his friend being a produce boy, yet it seems fitting somehow. “Isn’t working in the bakery section more suitable?”   Jimin shrugs. “I didn’t get to pick, but the job is pretty relaxed, so I’m not that worried. My manager is really nice and I’ll probably quit when I find a real position after graduating.”   “Nice, dude.” They fist pump. “Now you can buy me my deli meats all the time.”   “You’ll have to reimburse me, Tae.” The boy with his full cheeks has his eyes crinkled.   The two boys have known each other since their elementary days — where Taehyung kept stealing Jimin’s books and pencils until one day the timid latter had enough and tackled the former on the playground. They stuck together after that, finding that their personalities balanced. It would only be later until they met Yoongi in math class, Hoseok in Jimin’s extracurricular, and Jungkook during an outside volunteering event in High School.    It was how the four of them came to be, how they naturally formed a friendship over the course of time and still remain close after so many years. So Taehyung has no hesitation when his phone starts blowing up with notifications and immediately verbalizes his woes—   “Oh shit.”   “What?” Jimin abandons the game he’s playing. He’s never been good at them like the rest were.    “Yuna found me on instagram,” Taehyung grimaces. “She just added me and liked all my pics since three years ago.”   Jimin bursts out laughing much to his best friend’s dismay. “She’s the girl Y/N and Jungkook was showing around, right?”   “Yeah, that sixteen year old.”   The shorter man’s brows furrow. “Isn’t she eighteen?”   “Same thing.” Taehyung sighs despite the fact that he’s only twenty himself and Jimin muses that he often acts twelve. But he doesn’t utter his thoughts and Taehyung tosses his device onto the couch. “She kind of scares me.”   “Why?” Jimin gives a toothy grin. “She’s tiny.”   “Haven’t you heard what Yoongi said? The shorter ones are always the ones closer to hell.” It’s a fair point. “The smallest peppers are always the spiciest, am I right?”   “Fuck off, it’s about girth not length.” He ignores how Taehyung’s brows wiggle. “Didn’t she ask you out before she left?”   “Yep.”   “What did you even do? She wasn’t like that to me or Hoseok.”   “Exactly. I have no clue.” Taehyung would make a joke about he’s just naturally irresistible but this is no time to joke around. Yuna is undeniably intimidating and a serious threat to his existence. “I heard from Y/N that she’s thinking of coming here, so thank god we’re all graduating in a few months.”   “Yeah, well you might need another semester with the grades you have.”   “Bro.” Taehyung sits up straight. “You want to fight?”   He shrugs. “I’m just saying you can’t get away with a thirty percent in nutrition.”   “Fuck. Don’t remind me. I need to catch up on my readings.”   “Same here.”   Yet no one moves. They don’t even flinch.    The two should crack open their textbooks and start reading — but Taehyung’s arm only stretches to grab a controller and join the game Jimin’s in.   The night continues on as the two relish in their youth and ability to be irresponsible without repercussions. Or at least too many repercussions.

The air of the small coffee shop is tense. It is as if the four walls are closing in, but still, she’s glad that it’s a public setting. She can’t bear if it was just her and him. At least in public, there are voices to fill in the background silence and the threat of public embarrassment keeps her from crying, from having an outburst.   It’s difficult to face someone she used to care so much about. To this day, she still doesn’t know what she felt can be called love. But the fact that she has to contemplate it, she’s inclined to think that it’s not. But that doesn’t mean their short and sweet relationship was any less meaningful. He was her best friend for so long after all.   Aeri swallows hard, sipping her drink. She tries not to get the paper cup to shake so much in her clammy hands and ends up putting it back on the table when she realizes she can’t taste it well.   After another beat, she lifts her eyes to look at his and realizes that he’s been staring at her.   Aeri breaks the silence. “Why’d you call me here, Hoseok?”   “I thought it would be nice to talk.”   “About what?”   “Us.”   Closure. He came here for closure, but she’s not sure what kind of closure he wants or how he wants to shut this bittersweet chapter of their lives.   “What about u-us?” She hates that her voice breaks, but oddly enough, it isn’t as painful as it was a few weeks ago. A few weeks ago, she would’ve never been able to face him like this, wouldn’t be able to even look at him without crying. It seems like as time goes by, it becomes easier.   “I’m sorry.”   He says in a weakened tone that hurts her as well.   “Don’t apologize, Hoseok.”   “No, but I want to. I’ve been thinking about it a lot — and what we had….it was good.”   “It was.” Aeri smiles. “Wasn’t it?”   He nods, eased at her openness, that she’s not defensive or angry like he thought she would be. Like she has the right to be. “I don’t think I tried hard enough to make it work.”   “I didn’t either, so don’t blame yourself alone,” Aeri says, a tiny smile tugs on her lips. She accepts his apology. “I had my part to play in it too.”   “I didn’t want to hurt you.”   “I didn’t either. But it’s okay, Hoseok. We just weren’t right for each other.”   He nods. It goes silent. He musters a tender smile. “Truce?”   “Truce.” The girl giggles when they shake hands across the small table. “You still owe me ten dollars when I lent you gas money.”   “Oh, you’re really going to bring that up now?”   “Of course,” Aeri laughs. “Fair is fair.”   It’s hard to be acquainted with someone who used to be so much closer. Someone who has so many memories — good ones and hurtful ones. And often times the end can never be the same as the beginning.   For the rest of their lives, Aeri knows that she’ll always keep Hoseok at a distance, at an arm’s reach, for the sake of her own heart and self-preservation. But she considered herself one of the lucky ones — that they have a mutual understanding, that they can still see each other, and can still have some semblance of a platonic friendship.   She’s lucky when she knows that the two of them will never revert to being complete strangers.

Min Yoongi is a man of many things.   He is quiet, but deadly. He is grumpy and lethargic, but will go out of his way to make someone’s life miserable and has the biggest smile when he sees suffering. He had the most joy when Taehyung stubbed his toe against the doorframe, when Jimin was last place during Smash.   Most of all, he’s an enigma. Lazy, yet the hardest working. Mean and snarky, yet always willing to lend an ear and shoulder. Indifferent and aloof, yet the one who never fails to react first in a crisis.   But of all things...you never expected him to be clingy.   “So this is what you do all day?” Yoongi gestures to the clutter on the kitchen counter, the wires and gum paste rolled out, styrofoam and toothpicks, small brushes and petal dust shades. “You practice making flowers and then go home to suck Jungkook’s dick?”   “Excuse me.” You scoff. “I practice making cakes too.”   “You’re fun.”   “If you don’t like it, then leave me alone,” you mutter out of the corner of your mouth, concentrating back on the rose you’re working on. “Why are you hanging out with me anyway?”   “Because it’s you or Taehyung right now and I’d rather spend time with you than Taehyung.”   “What’s wrong with Taehyung?”   “He’s Taehyung.”   A light scoff falls out of your mouth. You know the motherfucker has a soft spot for him, but he can say whatever he wants. He’ll deny it even if you confronted him. “Want to make flowers?” you offer.   “Nope.”   Min Yoongi would rather fiddle with kitchen materials and spin around on the stool than brush up on sugar flowers, piping flowers or fondant flowers. But you don’t have the time or energy to argue.   You do, however, show off once you’re finished. “What do you think?”   He hums as he looks at your finished product. “Not half bad, I guess. I’ve seen worse.”   It’s not the greatest compliment in the world but you’ll take it especially since it’s coming from him. You’ve noticed in the time you’ve known Yoongi that he has a difficult time praising others. He always tries to work around it, skirting through the subject, never verbalizing his feelings despite being such a straightforward person.   It never fails to be entertaining to watch.   You grin. “If my relationship with Jungkook ever goes to shit, we’d still be friends, wouldn’t we, Yoongi?”   “Sure,” he mumbles while resting his elbow on the counter, cheek in his palm lazily. “But your relationship with Kook won’t ever go to shit. Kid’s too whipped for you.”   Your smile only widens. “He is, isn’t he?”   “You are too,” he says when you attempt to exclude yourself. “It’s gross to watch, but whatever.”   “You need someone in your life too, Min. Maybe you’d be less bitter all the time.” It’s not that he’s bitter, but you like to tease that he is since you know it grinds his gears. “I have a cousin of a cousin who’s around our age. Want to meet her?”   His expression wrinkles like he just bit into a lemon. Yoongi sits upright. “First of all, fuck you. I’m not bitter — I’m just me, bitch. Secondly, I don’t want to meet anyone, much less your cousin. And last of all, you’re becoming worse than Taehyung.”   “Maybe this is an invitation for you to leave then.” You grin cheekily at Yoongi and it doesn’t amuse him. It’s unfortunate he doesn’t have a soft spot for you like Jungkook does. “And don’t call me a bitch. Only Jungkook’s allowed to do that in bed.”   “I didn’t need to know that.” Yoongi’s face crumples more and he waves at you. “Just stop talking and continue what you’re doing.”   Min Yoongi is an enigma and someone you relate to the most. Often times you feel him on a spiritual level. And in spite of what he might think internally, he’s a great friend.    He’s logical, reasonable, the clarity that the whole group usually needs before they think doing dumb shit, like jumping off the roof of the dining center into a pile of snow beneath, is a good idea. He’s hilarious in a sarcastic, snarky way and cares the most when no one’s looking.   He reminds you of an older brother who will always watch your back — and he makes you glad that both you and Jungkook have him in your life.

Jungkook had a dream.   It was odd — only because it felt so real and how it still sticks into his mind hours later. Usually dreams fade away like memories of childhoods where he can’t distinguish people, actions, his own thoughts but generally what had occurred and the feeling he had obtained.   But Jungkook remembers this dream well.    It was a dream where he wobbled to the kitchen in this small house with wooden floorboards and hideous wallpaper, his home, and found you by the window above the sink. Only, you were old with gray hair and wrinkles around your face, an apron tied around your body that was shorter and more sluggish. And his own hands were wrinkled like crumpled paper, round glasses perched on his nose, his movements slowed down as he staggered.   You had turned around and complained about the damn neighbour kids ruining your garden with their littering and he had to calm you down for fear of you getting a heart attack. It was so entirely mundane, and he had never been more confused when he awoke.   “Jungkook!” His mother shouts over the phone. “Are you still here?” Her voice sounds farther away. “Honey, the phone’s broken again! I can’t hear him!”   The boy snaps back to attention. “No, I’m here! Mom? Hello?”   But neither of his parents hear him. Instead, there’s rustling and the sound of his father’s voice. “Give me that. Hello?”   “Hello?” Jungkook sighs.   “Hello?! Goddammit, I just fixed this old thing yesterday!”   “No, I’m right here!” He has to strain his voice, shouting loud enough that could warrant complaints from the people next door. “I can hear you!”   “Honey, is that you?” His mom calls out again and there’s more rustling. “Where’s the speakerphone? Oh, here. Hello?”   For the tenth time, Jungkook exclaims— “Hello!”   “Finally. I thought the phone was broken again.” Both his parents start discussing the phone issues and Jungkook nurses his headache before the conversation gets back on track again. “Have you been eating well?”   “I’ve been fine, mom.”   “Good! Your grandma’s visiting and she’s been so worried about you. It’s not good to do all that exercise and not eat well! You’ll burn all your fat and just be skin and bones!” There’s the sound of his grandma’s voice at the back that he can’t distinguish well enough to make out what she’s saying. “Anyhow, your aunt and uncle send their regards. We’ll be visiting their home this time for the Holiday season come December. Also Lia and Eunbi wanted to ask if Y/N will be coming home with you.”   “Uh.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not sure yet.”   “Oh, well, do bring her, dear.”   His dad suddenly says, “Heaven knows, your mom and grandma can’t stop talking about how great she is. If she comes by, I’ll fire up the grill and we can have a barbecue too!”   “Yeah, we’ll see,” he exhales sharply.   Jungkook still hasn’t announced to his family that he’s dating you yet. If you agree to come back with him for Christmas, he’ll probably make it known to them but he can’t even fathom the many more times they’ll call if they knew. God, they would probably call you directly and he would rather spare you from their smothering love.   Suddenly a thought creeps into Jungkook’s mind. “Hey, mom. Can I talk to grandma for a second?”   “Sure! Mom! He’s here.” He can hear the phone getting passed, more buttons accidentally being pressed, and his grandma’s voice sounds closer as if she accidentally turned off the speakerphone.    “Hello? Kookie, is that you?”   They exchange the usual back and forth, asking about each other’s well-being and wishing one another good health. His grandma also tells him to bring you around some time when he comes home and how lovely you are — but he doesn’t need to hear it. Jungkook’s already long learnt that.   “Hey, grandma.” He finally approaches the question he’s been meaning to ask. Slow and hesitant, but he manages. “What was it like to grow old with grandpa?”   He can practically hear the soft smile on her face. “Oh, it was wonderful.” There’s a pause as if the aged woman is looking for a word to exactly describe her experience. Though she finally seems to be able to find it. “It was a privilege.”   A privilege.   That’s the perfect word. It encapsulates his dream entirely.    It was sad to be aged, to see you tired, to feel weighed down himself and slower than what he’s used to. But when he looked at you, he didn’t just see an old woman — he saw the snarky girl he knew of in high school, the attractive girl he daydreamed about for so long, the one he’s with now. And the one who will join him for so many more memories.   Even if it was just a dream, Jungkook’s excited to make it a reality.

[ziggyzagreus]

Bitter Revival

[Pairing: Zagreus/Thanatos - Fandom: Hades (Video Game)]

[Rating: Teen+ Audiences]

[Important Tags: Light Angst, Argument, First Run Spoilers]

[Fic Type: SFW Drabble]

[AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493994 ]

[Summary: Zagreus made it to the surface for the first time, only to be dragged back under.]

[Note: This is basically one hour of me being pissed off after my first run, coincidentally the first time I met Thanatos, too! Great timing.]

~~~

Zagreus had been frustrated with dying before – of course it was irritating to be put through excruciating pain again and again, only left to drag himself from the sticky river of blood and do it all over again. Expelling the irritated tension in his body, he would chat briefly with those that supported him, catching them up and once again saying thanks for their tolerance. Then the prince would stop by Cerberus to apologize for this tease of disappearing indefinitely only to come back and give the big mutt false hope.

Afterwards, he would take the berating from his father with an eyeroll and a shrug, and be on his way. A simple routine, mundane and frustrating, but never angering. In fact, more or less it just gave him something greater to undertake than that blasted paperwork.

But this time was different. This time, the prince seethed. The house was quiet at his return, the usual milling number of Shades absent. Even the ever-present scratching of his father’s quill seemed softer, more distant. Hypnos’ snores were not present either.

It was quiet, and Zagreus lie there in the river for a moment before dragging himself up the steps, the wet and sticky sloshing sound grating against his ears, the sound repulsive to his pounding skull. He pushed a hand through his thickly soaked hair, almost cursing when some dripped down his forehead around his eyes.

Zagreus took the few steps out of the Styx, glaring at the ugly trim carpet and how smoke rose from its fabrics when his feet met the floor. The rushing sound in his ears made him feel as though he was still in the river itself; and admittedly, the prince would rather lie down for another moment before pushing forward yet again.

He had made it all the way through – to the surface, past his father, to his mother… and for what? To be gone in moments? It was unfair. Why death always came to him was like a curse, and the thought of putting up with it again made Zagreus’ blood boil for the first time since he set out.

Death approaches. It always did, eventually.

The prince barely managed to stop short before knocking into someone, spotting the hovering, bare grey feet adorned in golden anklets. Of course. Normally, Zagreus would sigh with a fond exasperation, quickly thinking of excuses for his past actions. The leaving, the lies, all that.

But now he resigned to close his eyes briefly, biting back a growl, and raised his head to meet the piercing gaze of Death Incarnate himself.

“Zagreus.” Thanatos said simply, his tone dull and dampened, yet echoing all at once. “You made it to the surface.”

“I did, Than,” Zagreus replied, only his own words came out more scornful, harsher than he had ever intended. Well, suppose it was warranted in his current state. It was the sentiment carried forward from his true feelings.

“I’m sorry to see you back here then, although it possibly could have done some good to mention to me where you were off to. I could have been present along the way.”

“Oh, you were plenty present, Thanatos. I don’t recall being spared any of the pleasantries of a full death ticket,” Zagreus did not have time nor energy for this. He pushed past Thanatos, tried not to notice his gaze boring into his back.

Thanatos followed behind, his own glare then tangible despite persistence unlike his usual disposition. “I risk much for you, wasting my time out there when I have enough to do on my own. The least you could have done was informed me of your departure. Or consult in me about your brief success. Zag.”

“Shove off, Thanatos, I have to go back. I don’t have time for this.”

“You seem to have plenty of time to run out there and destroy things again, things I need to help fix I’m afraid.”

“Thanatos,” Finally halting his pace, Zagreus groaned again and turned around, threading a hand through his now dry hair, pushing it back from his forehead and letting the brief pain of the pull at his roots ground him. “Consider for a moment that I don’t care much for logistical things like that. Consider, maybe, that the only thing that matters to me is reaching my mother, my birth mother, and asking her the questions that have plagued me for… however long it’s been. Please, I’m asking you to see that and maybe leave me be when I go back out there. “

Thanatos had ceased drifting forward to meet him, instead regarding the prince with stoic expression that solidified like the hard edges of a marble bust. A change flickered in the golden light of his eyes, somehow the shade turning slightly darker. “Mother Nyx was just as much a mother to you as she was to us, Zagreus. But is that all we are now, a ‘logistical’ matter? I would have expected more from a lifelong friend.”

“Some life this is then, being lied to.” Zagreus scowled, for Thanatos was turning his words against him. Surely, as his lifelong friend, Zagreus knew that Death Incarnate was aware exactly of his thought process; that he never took his friends and family for granted, that those who cared for him such as Thanatos and Nyx were the few things that made this claustrophobic Underworld experience bearable. But no, Thanatos’ own grudge towards the prince himself for attempting to leave on impulse must take the foreground, always a quarrel with them. “I’ll be frank now, then. Kindly leave me alone, Thanatos, keep your death far away from me. Because I’m going back to her, to Persephone.”

Thanatos did not flinch, but his upper lip twitched in the tease of a scowl, and that was as good as a recoil. Zagreus took little pleasure from inflicting cruel words, but something about this defiance felt good. He raised his chin, glaring Thanatos down, and could have sworn those hovering feet drifted ever so slightly further towards the ground.

Golden eyes darted over towards the great desk of Lord Hades, but the busy deity seemed lastingly unperturbed. Still, Thanatos spoke softly. “You know I cannot help you, Zagreus. I… I have a duty to stick to, and I cannot stray from that. Even for you.”

An unspoken hesitation in his words spoke volumes, and once again a shift in hue of those beautiful eyes made Zagreus’ heart stutter, something beat and clench in his chest. Still, if Thanatos would stew over a grudge for this long, then two could play at that game. Zagreus’ own started today, or night, whenever it was that his presence was ripped from his mother after all he worked for. Dragged under by the cold and cruel hands of death itself, colder than the wind and snow that whipped about Greece on the surface, again and again. But that time it had hurt even more, an injustice for once clearing the prince of blame for his own passing.

Zagreus knew exactly where the sudden surge of anger came from, but not why or how he allowed it to burst out, right to Thanatos’ unsuspecting face. “Fuck off, Than, truly. You do your work, that’s fine – You do what you are meant to do. But I? I don’t know, I hardly do, and here I must find my mother. Maybe, if I had more than a few painful, bleeding moments with her, then I’d feel some sense of belonging and drive akin to how you treat your work, yes? And if considering you as a logistical obstacle hurts, well, I’ll have you know I’m quite insulted to be seen as your work as well then. My constant death is monotonous to you, and for that, I say please fuck off.”

The House was so quiet. Zagreus’ strange eyes burned, and he would be remiss if not to mention that a cruel little vengeful glee spiked his adrenaline when he saw the way Thanatos looked, features stolid but the well-memorized tells of his timidity betraying him. For the first time since they began speaking, Thanatos looked away, another sneaking glance to the grand desk at the forefront of the room.

Hades had ceased writing for a pause, watching his son before a rumbling scoff left with an exhale of breath. Then, the scratching of the quill resumed.

Thanatos swallowed, looking back to Zagreus.

“Fine,” He whispered, that voice steady at this low volume. Zagreus wondered how it would sound should he speak louder. “I shall leave you entirely to your devices. Expect not to hear from me until I come to collect you back to the river. And that means you will receive little of my help, too.”

“As if you were helping from the start.”

“Zag, please don’t take that tone with me again.”

Zagreus wavered then, his brow relaxing as a soft sigh left his lips. But he could not apologize, he could not relent merely minutes after such an outburst. Squaring his shoulders, he  nodded so briefly it was hardly caught. But Thanatos saw. And Zagreus turned on his heel.

Death Incarnate disappeared with a burst of green and grey. The prince only fleetingly wondered on what business he originally came to the House, to leave without finishing the original task.

Unless coming to gloat was the initial intent. No, gloating was not in Than’s nature… Zagreus scrubbed a hand over his face with a guilty groan, and marched right through his room into the tiny courtyard to the rear of the house.

And Centaur Hearts were scarce going forward in his escapes; with the added pact from his father, Zagreus cursed the odds he had accidentally and foolishly stacked against himself.

[seanfalco]

Práta | Sean Falco x Reader

Word count: 1.5k Prompt: Based off this ask about Sean & reader adopting a kitten Inspired by: @magic-multicolored-miracle​​

The sharp rap at Sean’s door woke him and he groaned as he sat up, checking the time.  Who would be knocking on his door this early? He wondered groggily, rubbing at his eyes as he reluctantly got out of bed and padded across the room.

Opening the door he frowned in confusion, finding his girlfriend outside, her breath fogging in the chill morning air.

“[y/n]?” he asked, looking her over, “not that I’m not glad t’see you, but, aren’t yeh supposed t’be at work?” he asked.

“I know, I’m so sorry for waking you,” she exclaimed, and that was when he noticed it, the little black ball of fur in her arms that she held protectively.  “I found this little guy in the bushes outside my apartment complex and it’s so cold out, I didn’t just wanna leave him,” she explained, holding the kitten up so he could get a better look. 

It raised it’s little head, it’s green eyes blinking in Sean’s direction before its tiny pink tongue flicked out to lick its nose.  “It reminded me of you,” she murmured affectionately.

Sean found himself grinning as he stepped aside to let [y/n] in.  “It is pretty cute,” he admitted, reaching out to scratch the kitten’s chin, which it seemed to like.  “Why’d y’bring it here though?”

[y/n] hesitated a moment, grimacing slightly, “Well, my apartment complex doesn’t exactly… allow pets... so, I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t mind looking after it... here?” she asked hesitantly.

Sean raised an eyebrow at her request.  “You want it t’stay here?” he asked slowly, glancing around his tiny cluttered flat doubtfully.  However as he turned back to her to find her fluttering her eyelashes at him imploringly he knew he couldn’t say no, plus the kitten was rather damn adorable.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, running a hand through his curls, “Give it here and I’ll watch it while you’re at work, but you hafta come over t’visit once you’re done,” he bargained.

“Deal,” [y/n] exclaimed, her whole face perking up as she handed the kitten over, pausing to place a kiss atop it’s tiny head before it settled in Sean’s arms, “as if you had to bribe me to get me here,” she teased, bringing a lopsided grin to his lips.

“Well, I figured the extra incentive wouldn’t hurt,” he murmured with a wink, leaning in for a kiss as well before she turned back toward the door.  “Oh, and one more thing!” he exclaimed, the idea coming to him suddenly, “I get t’name it.”

“I can live with that, as long as you don’t name it something stupid,” [y/n] replied with a grin.

“As if I’d do such a thing!” he gasped, covering his heart with one hand, though [y/n] looked at him skeptically.  “I’ll give you final veto power, how about that?” he offered, “but I doubt you’ll hafta use it.”

“Sounds good to me.  Now I’m excited to see what you’ll come up with,” [y/n] said, her smile stunning as she stepped back out the door.  “I’ll see you tonight, babe,” she said, blowing him a kiss.

“See yeh, darlin’,” Sean murmured, watching her leave before sighing and looking down at the kitten in his arms.  “Now, what am I s’posed t’do with you, huh little fella?  You’re gunna need some food… and a place t’shit,” he mused.  “Well, I guess I’m not goin’ back t’sleep then.”

The kitten stood up and stretched, sinking its claws into Sean’s arm as it raised its face to peer up at him, green eyes meeting green eyes.

“Ah, you’re lucky you’re so damn cute, y’little bastard,” he muttered, wincing as it began to crawl up his arm.  “An’ that I love [y/n] so much, or-- ow!” he yelped as the kitten slipped, its sharp little claws slipping down his arm, catching on his cardigan before he attempted to disentangle it.  

“Jaysus, come on you, let’s go to th’store and pick out a name for you before [y/n] comes back, huh?  And hope y’don’t mess my flat up any more than it already is.”

——

When you finally returned to Sean’s place after work you didn’t know what to expect, hoping the kitten hadn’t given him too much trouble while you were gone.  When you knocked at the door and he didn’t answer, you frowned, fumbling on your keychain for the spare key he’d given you not long ago, letting yourself in.

As soon as you stepped into the room you could see why he hadn’t answered the door, your boyfriend sprawled out on his back atop his bed, snoring softly, the kitten comfortably curled up in the crook of his neck, purring loudly.

“Oh my God,” you murmured, touched by the adorable sight, reaching for Sean’s camera on his desk to snap a photo; one of the perks of dating a photographer— always having a camera on hand to capture soft moments like these, sometimes much to his chagrin, preferring you to be the subject.

At the shutter’s click Sean stirred, blinking up at you, but not moving, apparently not wanting to upset the furry little body on top of him.

“Hey you,” he mumbled, still waking up fully.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  “What’ve you been up to all day?”

“I got some stuff for the cat,” he explained, gesturing toward the wall near the bathroom where you could see a litter box set up and a pair of food and water dishes nearby.  “I also got it this little toy mouse on a string, it really liked that, tuckered the little fella out.”

“I can see that,” you said, raising an eyebrow down at the very comfortable kitten, still sleeping atop your boyfriend, a pang of jealousy flashing through you for a moment.

“You jealous?” Sean asked, peering up at you knowingly, his lips quirking into a small grin.

“Honestly?  A little, yeah,” you admitted, unable to keep the answering smile from your lips though and Sean reached for you.

“Aw, c’mere,”he murmured, pulling you down next to him, the kitten jumping up with a small huff as you fit yourself to Sean’s other side, resting your head against his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.

For a moment you thought the tiny black cat was about to leap off the bed to prowl the room, while instead it came over to stand atop you, beginning to knead you in an awkward frenzy, as if it still didn’t really know what it was doing before settling down in the seam of your and Sean’s bodies.

“I called a local vet,” you murmured, reaching down to scratch the kitten’s head, stroking it’s little body, “I made an appointment for it tomorrow to get checked out, make sure it’s not sick of anything,” you explained and Sean nodded, his other hand stroking the kitten’s back before trailing down your arm.

“Sounds good.”

“Oh babe,” you murmured, noticing the little red scratches covering his hand, bringing it closer.  “What happened?”

“Little blighter’s got sharp claws... and teeth,” he answered wryly, letting you examine his hand, “and it plays rough.”

“You poor thing,” you cooed, clicking your tongue sympathetically before placing a kiss to each of his fingers, feeling his eyes on you as you let him stroke your cheek.  “So did you come up with a name yet?” you asked curiously, tilting your face up to look at him.

“I did,” Sean replied proudly, “it’s a gaelic word, but I think it fits,” he explained, a coy note to his lilting voice.

“Okay, what is it?” you asked, narrowing your eyes up at him.

“Práta,” he answered.

“That’s cute.  What’s it mean?” you asked and Sean frowned, shrugging nonchalantly.  

“Does it matter what it means?”

“Sean, what does it mean?” you asked, your suspicions confirmed.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, an amused grin playing at his lips, he seemed to brace himself.  “It means… potato,” he answered, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Potato!” you cried, scandalized, the kitten leaping up with a little yowl at your outburst before stalking off.  “You can’t name our baby potato!”

Shaking with laughter, Sean only pulled you closer as you swatted at him, though your grin had grown.

“Our baby?” he finally asked as his laughter began to subside, grinning up at you.  

“Mhmm,” you hummed, leaning down to press your lips to his, sighing as his arms snaked around your waist.

“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before trailing to your jaw.

“Me too, but you still can’t name it potato!” you cried playfully, squirming in his arms.

“Why not?  She’s already started to react to it!  I can’t change it now, I’ll confuse the poor thing,” Sean countered teasingly.

“Sean!”

“Oh, c’mon darlin’, you love me and you know it.”

“That’s beside the point!” you huffed, but your cries devolved into laughter as Sean rolled you to your back, plying you with more kisses, the kitten left to it’s own devices.