#it will make Breakdown's death hurt more though

[transingthoseformers]

In the au sense, while on one hand it's a neat canonical divergence if he's always the wild child in the tfp au. But it's equally tempting and funny if you factor allllll if it in with how we see him act around others in canon. Like he's really good at hiding it, most of the others think he's just some big stoic guy who before the war had his nonexistent nose in books all day every day, But No! He was livin'la vida loco, and knows how to maintain professionalism with the autobots, these two things are not mutually exclusive. They'll never know except Ratchet maybe Ratchet knows but lets be real he purposefully kept the Orion arc explanation vague as hell even in canon. Fowler has... an idea, but it's all on vibes and observations alone. He asked Ratchet but Ratchet scoffed because holy shit Ratty does not need the human government knowing some of this stuff.

On the flipside, all of the Decepticons know how much of a disaster high command plus the medic is, they just don't mention it otherwise they'd risk being scrapped for future parts. Knockout and Breakdown keep tabs on the troops' drama mill, because they're like that step between the commanders and vehicons/eradicons. Another thing I've found funny as hell is keeping Starscream out of the loop. Why? It's hilarious to have him constantly getting bluescreen moments, and he knows better than to ask Soundwave or Megatron. He asks Knockout and Breakdown a couple times about what the fuck is up, but they just pull smug faces and say no because Starscream is an asshole to KO.

[beetleskeleton]

Yeeahh I’m not doing okay

but I don’t really want to take a break because I want to distract myself and Tumblr and mutuals and stuff is how I do that.

but damn this grief is hitting hard.

[total-dxmure]

✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

“The fact that she’s military is the only thing saving her ass right now.”

Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long she’d probably have an episode. Either that or she’d throw up all over the sheriff’s office.

“Boss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that she’s in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?” Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.

“Technically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt he’s gonna go forward with any sort’a legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-” The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesse’s chair creak as he leaned forward. “His damn tooth was knocked out.” The sheriff whispered.

She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldn’t look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.

Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dina’s for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.

A pack of beer. That’s what she’d pummeled the boy over.

He couldn’t have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldn’t have stopped the meltdown even if she’d wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.

Her therapist called them “PTSD episodes”. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. She’d lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellie’s walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next she’d be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.

She didn’t want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.

“Yeah, I’m doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.”

“Come on, rambo. Let’s get you to bed.” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.

Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t thank him or- or anything.

But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.

Ellie didn’t give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didn’t want pity or thanks simply because she didn’t deserve it.

“Thank you for your service, Williams.” The sheriff’s voice reminded her of Joel’s. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.

Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.

“It was my privilege.” It was a well rehearsed response. It didn’t even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.

As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.

She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasn’t just “late” anymore, but “morning” now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.

“Fuck.” She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.

She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. There’s no way any of this was normal.

“Have you eaten?” Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.

Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasn’t a very touchy person these days (and it’s not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.

“Not in a couple of hours.” Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.

He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldn’t be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.

It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. She’d much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didn’t work right anymore.

“How about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dina’s probably worried sick about the both of us. Let’s. . . let’s spend the day together. Yeah?” It sounded like he was pleading with her.

There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldn’t stop pushing everyone away. It’s almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that.

“She’s going to kill me.” Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.

Jesse’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. “Nah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.” His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.

Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why she’d been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and she’d actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe that’s why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.

Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldn’t wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the female’s crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.

“Do you know what time it is?” Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.

Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. She’d lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? ‘A pack of beer’, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckin’ beer.

Ellie’s mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since she’d gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friend’s anger was better than Jesse’s pity. The sleeves of Ellie’s flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dina’s posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.

“I’m getting better, D. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-” Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.

What she was doing couldn’t be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldn’t be sure that she’d be able to stop.

Jesse and Dina’s shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJ’s baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJ’s highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.

Guilt and jealousy.

Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadn’t ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.

“No, you’re not.” Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “Ellie, look at me.” Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.

Ellie’s eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.

“You’re not getting better.” She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.

Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?

“I’m getting better.” “I actually feel a bit better today.” “You don’t have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.” Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellie’s face crumpled.

“Fuck.” Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.

Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellie’s chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldn’t lose it. She couldn’t let her shoulders sag, couldn’t allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.

“I called Joel,” Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. “And he bought you a plane ticket. You’re flying out tomorrow.”

“No,” Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. “How could you do this?” She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.

Please let this be a nightmare.

Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didn’t fall out from under her. She didn’t sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.

“You’re flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually you’d level out,” Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. “But you’re only getting worse.”

“I’m getting better.” The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.

“When was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you aren’t eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.” Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didn’t see them all herself.

A full stomach meant nausea.

“When was the last time you showered?” The dark haired girl questioned.

Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.

“We know how this will end, Ellie. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.” Dina’s voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.

Jesse’s arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.

“I can’t breathe.” Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.

She was a failure. She’d failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldn’t she just be normal again? Why couldn’t she just fucking breathe.

Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldn’t turn it off. Couldn’t turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.

She’d killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.

“D, get the medication that’s in the cabinet and a glass of water.” Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.

“She’s ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.” Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.

JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.

Blood. So much blood. It’s coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasn’t I trained for this? Breathe. She’s not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?

“Swallow, Ellie.” Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.

“It was my fault. I-I fucking,” She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. “I led them out there. Oh, fuck.”

Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellie’s mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellie’s lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.

“No. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? I’ve got her.” Jesse told her, letting go of Ellie’s hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldn’t stand up.

Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.

“Joel isn’t going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?” She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.

Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joel’s too-big ranch home.

“Okay.” Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.

“Okay?” Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasn’t entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.

“Okay.”

Grief was an uphill battle. One minute you’re laughing with your friends and then the next you’re laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.

You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldn’t bring yourself to visit. Life doesn’t stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.

So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.

Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.

One step at a time, one day at a time.

You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.

For now, at least.

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[fizz-pop-thwip]

I struggle thinking about non consensual human experimentation as a whole, but what happened to Bucky really it does just make me sick.

To start, think of how his stomach dropped when he fell from the train, the fucking fear knowing you're dead. You have 2 seconds and then your dead, this is it.

Then you wake up to 1) being alive, horrifically unaware of the 70 years of hell ahead of you and 2) your arm being not only surgically removed but replaced with a metal arm, a foreign body, a parasite. You fight because what else are you ment to do? But you fall unconscious again.

You wake up to days and days of torment and torture and slowly loose hope that it will ever end, that you'll ever be saved. He didn't know that Steve was dead, how long did he yearn for Steve to find him? How mad did he get? Did he punch the wall, did he scream? Did they have to sedate him because of just how psychotic that made him? How fucking manic he would go?

How long till he lost all feeling, all emotion and hope?

When they started putting him in the chair, did he scream and cry? Did he beg for anything else? Any thing, anything, fucking anything. Did he beg for death? Did he feel himself slowly lose all of his memory, did he sob when he first couldn't picture Steve's face, or when he could remember the most important person in the world, but not a name or a background or a face, not a crumb.

The first time he's put in cryo freeze, does he remember his reflection? Seconds before he fell unconscious, never knowing how long it would be before he woke up again. Did he wake up, begging to just be put back in, the closest fate to death he could ever achieve? The closest thing to mercy? Does he catch himself falling asleep at night and wake up in tears, not even sure if it's been 20 minutes of 20 years.

Did his crys for help fall on the shiney leather shoes of scientists who showed no emotion, did he question if he was even human to begin with? Surely a human would be treated with even a fraction of care. No one treated like this was born from a mother, no one treated like this was ever looked at with maternal love.

He stopped feeling like a person, he didn't even remember he was a person. When things seeped though it just hurt, they hurt him, it made it worse. So he stopped it, he wouldn't let himself. It was impossible to live. He had no coping mechanisms, no outlet, he would show any signs of struggle and be hurt for showing humanity. He had to be what they wanted.

Even after he was broken in, no crying anymore. No begging for mercy. Did he spend his nights awake, just TRYING to remember what he forgot, FEELING the missing spots in his mind? Did he hold that metal arm close because he can't even remember how he got it anymore, all he knows is it makes his shoulders ache.

He was completely and utterly trapped, the more he suppressed, even the minor shards he remembered, the more mania he would experience.

Even once he's free, how do you come back from that, even if it was just a mental thing, the physical, real DAMAGE to his brain was enough to make him never heal again. Bucky is a walking fucking miracle and maybe THE survivor.

He is going to have memory problems, severly. He is going to have intense PTSD flashbacks, total hallucination level, breakdowns. Seriously, this level of trauma is NEVER leaving him, not fully. Phantom pains, endless nightmares, coping mechanisms that don't make sense but comfort him none the less.

He's going to have periods of times where he can't even stand being touched, not Steve, not anyone. Weeks where he can't shower or move out of a space his brain has deemed safe for fear of being hurt. Scratches at the seam between his flesh and the metal of arm, wanting it off, wanting it away from him. Again does it necessarily make sense logically? NO!! but does he feel it 100%? Yes!!

He gets better, his bad periods get less intense, more far in between but they never fully go away. As fuckimg depressing as it is, hydra made a permanent mark on his psyche. It's FUCKED.

Gods strongest soldier is Bucky Barnes.

[cat-madhouse]

suicide tw

I am usually against anyone contemplating suicide but also the more I think about me and how I interact with others, the more I can't help but realize that it is impossible for me not to be toxic in one way or another (if not worse), and it would take a lot less time and effort to just kill myself. I also wouldn't be inevitably hurting people during the process of getting better.

[adieutristana]

Hi hi hi! Was wondering if you could do a jinx x reader fic where instead of ekko saving her from blowing herself up it was the reader

Tyy <333

of course! thank you for the request <3

two out of three finals knocked out, then one more tomorrow and im free 💔

summary: fem! reader saves jinx from blowing herself up.

characters included: jinx

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, suicidal ideation, mentions of poor mental health, s2 spoilers, (some) fluff at the end, reader does not have ekko's time traveling skills (sorry)

men dni.

jinx stands on a ledge, dark tears staining her pale cheeks. long, blue braids gone. her shoes taken away, nail beds raw. she stands, with one of her own bombs, pulling at the safety pin. testing her own fate with each pull growing stronger and stronger.

pulling, pulling, pulling.

until she hears your footsteps, slowly looking over her shoulder. jinx looks through you, her eyes so utterly blank and dull. she looks so… defeated. she’s out of energy and out of resolve. she doesn’t say anything to you, though, only turns back to the bomb in her hands. pulling the pin one more time-

until you wordlessly sprint towards her, throwing your arms around her in a way that miraculously didn’t throw her off her balance. clasping both hands over hers, physically restraining her from putting the bomb to use.

“please, jinx, can we talk about this?”

you plead, your eyes desperately searching for any kind of reason. her eyes are downcast, her face relaxed. too relaxed. her voice comes out in a soft yet exhausted whisper.

“leave me alone, (y/n).”

“no.”

jinx tries to wriggle her hands out of your grasp, her shoulders thrashing with the movements and face contorting. she’s impatient. she wants to do this and get it over with.

“you’re too late.”

she says, still trying to escape your hold. still grasping her bomb, desperately trying to find any kind of purchase. anything. she’s given up, she’s done. there isn’t a point.

“too late for what?”

you gasp, now in a full wrestle with your girlfriend. wrapped around jinx from behind, your hands over hers, sharp nails scratching your skin and jinx writhing. grunting. she’s so frustrated yet so empty, and it makes your heart ache inside your chest. with the loss of isha, being thrown in jail, losing almost everyone she had… you understood jinx. finding motivation to keep living was already difficult enough for her, but almost all of those things had been ripped away from her.

it rips you into pieces seeing your girlfriend like this. you’ve seen it all: her breakdowns. screaming and crying because voices and hallucinations won’t leave her alone. her trying to act as if she doesn’t care when she gets blown off by her sister. coming home with bruises and cuts from god knows where after a mission, or even worse, coming home an inch from death. but never have you seen jinx like this.

jinx’s knees buckle under her and she falls to the ground, but your grasp is still strong.

“drop it, jinx.”

“no.”

“drop it.”

and to your surprise, she does drop it. you hoped to whatever was out there that this was the end of it, that she would give up. she would go home with you and finally tell you exactly what brought her to this point. stationery, the bomb falls on the floor, rolling away from the both of you and jinx staying in that kneeling position.

until she doesn’t.

“i’m tired of talking.”

she mutters under her breath, making her way to a ledge without so much as looking back at you. your senses are blown into full panic mode as you spring to your feet to sprint towards her, reaching for her braids to restrain her from stepping over- but they’re gone. your hand shot to the clasp of her top. holding jinx in place as if her life depended on it, probably because it did.

“jinx, baby, please. i know that things have been hard, you’re not happy. but you have to stay alive. for me, if nothing or nobody else. please.”

you plead. you circle jinx to stand in front of her, placing your hands on her shoulders gently. almost afraid that she’ll break if you handle her too harshly, especially after just restraining her to stop her from killing herself. your eyes are filled with tears just waiting to spill, your lips pressed into a thin line. and then you feel jinx begin to tremble.

like a bridge that's lost its foundation, shaking and threatening to combust. her breathing is getting quicker, her eyes are darting from place to place to place, but never once settling on you.

"jinx."

you squeeze her shoulders, looking into her eyes, desperately trying to get through to your girlfriend. there has to be something you can do, surely. how come nothing is working? you've already pulled out all of the stops, what more could you do? what, if anything, would be successful? the tears in your eyes spill over, but you don't make any sound. you can't. you have to hold it together for jinx's sake.

jinx swallows tentatively. quivering.

"i... i can't do this anymore."

"of course you can," you whisper. reaching up to cup one of her cheeks with your hand, but she jerks away.

"everyone i get close to dies. or they leave. mylo, claggor, vander, isha... will you be next?"

she asks, finally locking eyes with you. it's clear that it's a rhetorical question- jinx doesn't want an answer. she wouldn't be able to handle an answer, not right now.

“no. no. i’m not leaving, jinx- and i don’t plan on dying any time soon. please, listen to me.”

you beg her, still looking into her eyes, half-lidded and glowing pink. one hand coming up to try and cup jinx’s cheek again, and this time, she allows it. this is a good sign. you’re getting somewhere.

“i have to break the cycle. i have to do something to fix all of this,” she says. “i’ve done so much i can’t come back from. what else is there to do?”

“walk away.” you whisper.

“what?”

“walk away. you don’t need to die, jinx, walk away. go somewhere. take me with you. you can still break the cycle without doing this.”

your thumb is brushing her cheek, your own cheeks stained with dried tears.

“what is your death going to fix? if anything, it’ll cause more pain. zaun will be fine if you walk away, but could you imagine what would happen if you died?”

jinx looks down, and another tear falls from your eye.

“please, you have to stay. i’ll come with you. i’ll do anything. just please, baby, don’t die. i don’t know what i would do with myself if you did.”

you plead with jinx. desperation is obvious in your tone, her jaw quivering, threatening to cry herself. she’s spent.

you feel jinx’s hand slowly, hesitantly coming to rest atop yours on her cheek, and all she does is nod. slowly.

“let’s go home.”

you whisper, brushing a lock of hair from out of her eyes.

“what do i do from here?”

jinx asks, her voice low and unsure.

“we’ll figure something out. i promise.”

[konigbabe]

PERISH

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn!reader Word count: 1.6k Tags/warnings: no y/n; manga spoilers (post Shibuya timeline); canon-compliant; angst; death; emotional breakdown; hurt/no comfort; loss; grief Summary: For the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks. Happy start of JJKS2 writing week.

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November 2018 8 minutes until Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

"Don’t worry, I’ll make it on time. I’m right behind the corner."

"We can wait," Yuji’s voice carries through the car, the static of the Bluetooth speaker occasionally cracking.

It feels like years have passed since you last saw him. Sealed away in the prison realm, Gojo’s state remains a mystery. There’s no telling how being locked in a place where time and space don’t exist can affect even the strongest minds.

That’s what worries you. What if he’ll break? What if he goes crazy on all of you? What if he explodes; wipes you all out with his technique? An endless sea of ‘what if’ swirls inside your mind as you take another turn, the mountains on your left with an ocean view on your right.

"Don’t," you reassure the youngster, "don’t wait any longer."

"You should be here, though," Megumi jumps into the conversation, "You’re closest to that idiot. He’ll want to see you."

His words draw a smile on your lips. It’s finally happening. The sleepless nights are coming to an end with the arrival of your lover.

"Then I’ll just opt for a dramatic entrance while you keep him busy," you respond before tightening your hands on the wheel. A familiar feeling washes over you; sudden knowledge of a new presence. Heart picking up, your eyes search the road for the source while the car’s speed slowly drops.

32 seconds; that’s how long it takes you to locate the source. A curse spirit manifestation stands in the middle of the road, blocking you. Its small hunched build stands a mere meter above the ground; four arms decorated by translucent fins hanging by its body, the prehnite skin glistening in the last rays of today’s sun, giving off a wet, moist appearance.

"Boys," you announce, stopping Yuji’s and Megumi’s bickering while still keeping up the cheerful, light voice in an attempt to not raise suspicions about your current predicament, "don’t wait any longer. Unseal Satoru and stop worrying ‘bout me. It’ll be fine."

Bringing the car to a slow halt, Yuji’s tone shifts into a more attentive one as your name seeps through the speaker before you hang up after one more reassurance.

As you step out of the vehicle, the curse's malevolence engulfs the air, almost tangible in its intensity. It clings to the atmosphere like a poisonous fog, penetrating your senses with a pungent sulfuric odor that threatens to overwhelm you.

Your hand slips inside your jacket to retrieve a carefully preserved seal, reserved for such precarious situations; just like this one.

"I’m sorry," with every footfall, the curse seems to shrink in size, yet its malicious nature grows stronger, the smell of sulfur almost suffocating, "but I’m in a hurry right now and you," pointing the parchment paper towards the spirit, "are in my way."

Swift and precise, your movements carry an aura of practiced precision. With little effort, you firmly press the seal upon the spirit's head, causing it to stumble momentarily before dissipating into thin air, vanquished by the power contained within the sigil.

Yet, the energy lingers.

Stronger than before. Stronger than a second ago. Its absent defense, non-existent attempt to fight or flee…it all makes sense now —

A powerful grip; a strong hand adorned with talons as keen as the finest blades dig into your shoulder as an inhuman force pushes you to the side.

As you're thrust aside, your vision catches a subtle glimmer of chrysolite, a hue that seeps into your perception; its scales are sturdy, each edge honed to a dangerous sharpness. Driven by instinct and the will to protect yourself, you reach out, your hand making contact with the curse spirit’s scaly hide.

The jagged edges of its scales cut into the delicate flesh of your fingers, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.

— it was a decoy.

Your body collides with the unforgiving side of the mountain, back meeting the rough and unyielding surface. A symphony of pain resonates within your bones, their structural integrity compromised as multiple cracks reverberate through your form.

Gasping for breath, your body instinctively seeks solace, but find none amidst the terrain. The curse doesn’t wait either. Swiftly moving forward, it lunges at you. Unforgiving. With a clear intent to strike. To kill.

During Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

There is no pain. The moment the curse’s hand breaches the barrier of your chest, you expect it. Expect some kind of visceral reaction. But there’s none — a gentle pinch, akin to a fleeting touch when the sharp claws first pierce through the protective layers of your breastplate. A slight discomfort upon the feeling of having a foreign object that’s found its place within the confines of your ribs. The barrier of your rib cage offers minimal resistance, yielding to the relentless advance that seeks to reach the very core of your being. The heart.

It all feels confusing.

"Kenjaku sends his regards," it whispers, the words slurred by the razor-sharp fangs that protrude from its mouth.

October 31, 2018 — 8:09 PM

"What’s the worst that can happen?"

Satoru saunters around the corner of the table, his presence punctuated by the audible slurping of juice from a small cartoon container. All while your palms rest on top of the said furniture, fingernails tapping at the surface.

The news has spread fast through the jujutsu community, faster than wildfire. Whispers of an unknown curtain cast around Shibuya an hour ago, trapping all non-sorcerers, innocent civilians, inside its insidious grasp with only one demand: Bring Satoru Gojo.

"Don’t say it like that, Satoru," you turn to face the man whose casual and dismissive demeanor only adds fuel to the worries setting inside your bones.

"They’re a bunch of curses," his hand finds its place on your hip bone while placing the empty container away, "Some special grades, yeah, but they’re weak compared to me. I’ll deal with them, save some people in the meantime, and bam," he snaps his fingers loudly, "We can go home. Get that sunset date you’ve been babbling about. Life is good," he finishes with a kiss on the crown of your head.

Life is good.

You watch the sun dip below the horizon behind the curse spirit’s back, indulging the sinister being in a halo glow.

Yeah. In the end, life was good.

2 hours and 48 minutes after Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

For a moment, he stands still. Unable to look down; frozen in time. The weight of it all seems to bear down upon his shoulders – now that Sukuna’s taken over Megumi’s body, Nanami’s and Yaga’s death, Suguru’s body being used as a vessel, the slow crumbling fall of the Jujutsu world – and now you; being gone.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the current time. Yet even his immense power proves futile as the people he loves keep dying on him…because of him.

A burden that threatens to crush him beneath its insurmountable gravity.

The air around him hangs heavy with sorrow, as if the very essence of grief has manifested itself in the atmosphere. A storm of emotions swirls within him; a combination of disbelief, anguish and a gnawing ache that gnashes at the core of his being.

He clenches his fists, fingers trembling with a mixture of sorrow and determination. In that agonizing moment, he finds the strength to finally lower his gaze, to confront the devastating truth that lies at his feet.

Everyone holds their breaths, the weight of his misery echoing in the silence as his eyes meet the lifeless visage of the one he holds dearest.

Of you.

Hand reaching out, his fingers graze the once-soft flesh of your hand; now cold and stiff. It serves as a confirmation of reality. There’s no getting you back, no way Shoko can nurture you back to health with her technique.

You’re gone.

And in that harrowing instant, the façade crumbles. The walls he built to contain his pain come crashing down, and Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks.

Crumbling down on his knees, the vulnerability that spills forth from his broken form is raw and unrestrained. Only a handful of those closest to him stand behind to witness the symphony of torment that pierces the silence. Tears stream down his face, each drop carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, moments you two could’ve spent together.

One hand covering his mouth to silence the guttural sounds, the other reaches out to you, tenderly cradling your lifeless head upon his lap. He clings to the fragile hope that if he could provide just enough warmth and love, you might return to him.

Yuji looks around the room, at the people who silently observe their friend fall apart. Taking a step towards the hunched man, a soft grasp stops him mid step; Kiyotaka shakes his head, pushing his glasses back in place as Shoko looks down. For the first time, she’s unable to figure out her classmate, her childhood friend, the man whose side she’s always stayed by.

"Gojo," Yuji doesn’t allow Kiyotaka to stop him. Believing in what’s right, he stands behind his teacher’s back.

Hand laying on the tense muscle of his shoulder, he doesn’t attempt to comfort Satoru with any words — no words in this universe would bring you back anyway. Instead, his hand just rests there. Unmoving. Gentle.

"Who did it," his words cause Shoko to look back up as Satoru, stone-faced and stoic, speaks in a firm, devoid voice. Imagines of unspeakable horror flashes in his mind as he stands up, towering over the wide-eyed Yuji.

"Tell me now," his eyes search Kiyotaka’s, voice filled with undeniable authority, "I’ll kill them, kill them all."

[mystic-writings]

forgiven

PAIRING — ex!dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY — two years after you broke up, dean convinces you to let him help you with a hunt.

WARNINGS — angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, torture, reader and dean ‘hate’ each other

WORD COUNT — 6,610

SONG — my tears ricochet - taylor swift

NOTES — writing this fic almost killed me. why does dean winchester turn me into an anguished poet. 

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Regret. 

Dean was a man with a long list of them, but as he stood in a field, watching the pyre burn alongside his brother and Bobby, he found himself placing you at the very top. You were the biggest regret of his life, and he hasn’t even made it to his thirties. He regretted shutting you out. He regretted letting you walk away. He regretted not looking for you when he finally came to his senses. He regretted not being fast enough. 

He regretted letting you die. 

Sam and Bobby had told him one too many times that it wasn’t his fault, but wasn’t it always? Wasn’t it always him making the hard choices, only for them to be wrong, in the end? Wasn’t it always him who had the blood of innocent people staining his hands? Wasn’t it always him that isn’t fast enough, isn’t strong enough, isn’t good enough? 

Wasn’t it him that got you killed?

He’d heard things from other hunters after you broke things off with him. How bloodthirsty you’d become, always working alone, working efficiently, working ruthlessly. He’d hated it, deep down. How you dug yourself deeper into the hunting world when all either of you ever wanted was to get out. It killed him inside, knowing you were still in the business, even if a larger part of him carried hatred for you, albeit misplaced. Dean would never admit it aloud to anyone, though. Sam was often on the receiving end of his outward projections and rants at how much he hated you, and so was Bobby, on the rare occasion he saw the Winchesters. But the inward reflection of his soul was full of hurt; pain and grief and regret buried deep, dug up when Sam was asleep in the Impala and Dean waited for you to start some kind of weird conversation — only to remember you weren’t there anymore. 

It came back to him every once in a while, the memories Dean never wanted to relive. They were too domestic (at least, as domestic as they could get in their line of work), too happy. But they were always hidden, waiting for Dean to be at his weakest. In an old mixtape, in a certain Zeppelin song that would play on the radio, in the crappy diner meals he would eat late into the night, in the glint of light off the silver ring you gifted him on his last birthday with you. 

He wanted to hate you. He wanted nothing more than to hate you. But all you wanted to do was help him. His dad just died, of course all you wanted to do was help him. Dean was just too busy spiralling and drowning in his own grief to see it. That’s what he liked to tell himself. It was the grief that pushed you away. Just another thing his father wouldn’t let him keep to himself, to enjoy and cherish. He put the blame on his father, because why wouldn’t he? John Winchester was responsible for just about every other bad thing in his life thus far, why wouldn’t he be responsible for pushing you away, too? 

So, like you, Dean hardened himself, diving headfirst into the very next case Sam was able to find. He ignored the pain, closed himself off, and got back to doing what he did best — hunting. 

It was easy enough most days. In fact, it made him just that much better at what he did. It should’ve been concerning, at the very least, but Sam knew better than to step in Dean’s path. So, he watched silently as his brother, slowly but surely, crumbled beneath the weight of his own steeled emotions. But it didn’t show; not really, not beyond the occasional breakdown or bender, not until Sam and Dean arrived in Chicago. 

The case itself was mostly cut and dry, they could see that before they even reached the city. Bobby had offered it over to them, a suspected shapeshifter that enjoyed preying upon people by taking on the faces of their ex-boyfriends and torturing them to death. It was gruesome, to say the least, but it wasn’t anything the Winchesters hadn’t seen before. In fact, it practically solved itself, save for the fact that the locations didn’t quite line up with the sewer system, and therefore, they had to take their time in locating the shapeshifter’s lair. 

Their first clue that something was wrong was when they interviewed the first victim’s best friend. 

“And you’re sure Katie was fine when you left?” Sam asked. 

“Yes! Katie doesn’t— didn’t drink. She hated the stuff. We thought Matt was already gone, I mean, he said it himself. He was about to move to Boston.” The girl — Ashley, Dean thought her name might’ve been — reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “Why are you asking all this again?” 

“Again?” Dean stiffened. 

“Yeah, again.” She scoffed. “Another agent was here yesterday. A woman, I can’t remember her name. Mick? Something like that?”

Sam’s face dropped. “Agent Nicks?” 

“Yeah, that’s her. Look, she already asked me all this stuff before, can’t you guys just leave me alone?” 

Dean and Sam shared a quick glance before the latter closed his notebook. “Of course, we’ll get out of your hair.” 

Neither of the brothers spoke until they were in the Impala, Sam reaching for his phone while peeling away from the curb, dialling Bobby’s number and putting him on speaker. 

Bobby didn’t have the chance to breathe on the other line before Sam was speaking. “She’s here.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we were playing a game of Guess Who.” Bobby snipped. “Who the hell are you talking about, boy?”

“Y/n. She’s in Chicago. We just talked to the first vic’s friend, she said another agent already talked to her. Agent Nicks.” 

Bobby cursed under his breath. “She ain’t gonna like you two bein’ there.” 

“Well that’s just too bad,” Dean piped up, practically white-knuckling the steering wheel. “We’re already here. And I’m not leaving a case behind just because little miss wants to pitch a fit about it. We’re finishing this hunt whether she likes it or not.” 

“On your head,” Bobby conceded. “Just be careful, boys. She ain’t the same girl she was two years ago.” 

“We will. Talk to you later, Bobby.” Sam huffed as he ended the call, eyeing his oddly silent older brother as they headed back to their motel room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice was sharp, laced with anger directed at a pair of haunting green eyes. 

“Working the case, sweetheart,” Dean smiled condescendingly, leaning against the bar. “You know, you should try to be a little less conspicuous next time, Agent Nicks.” 

Damnit. 

“And which conspicuous name are you using this time?” You tilted your head, chest already filled to the brim with barely contained rage. “Johnson? Perry? Oh, maybe it’s Plant! You always did have a hard-on for Zeppelin.” 

“Would you—” Dean cut himself off with a heavy sigh. “God, you’re so— You know, I don’t know how the hell I put up with you for so long.” 

“I guess I was just really good in bed,” you shrugged, a coy smirk playing on your lips. If this had been some post-hunt pub night years ago, Dean would’ve kissed that smirk right off your face. But it wasn’t. It was now, in Chicago, in a hotspot for shapeshifter activity and you hadn’t seen Dean’s face in so long that the presence of it now only made your blood boil. 

“Whatever. We’re both in this now, whether you like it or not.” 

“Like hell,” you nearly spat, finishing off your beer. “I work alone, Winchester. Or haven’t you heard?” 

“It’s funny that you think I still think about you.” Dean scoffed a laugh. “We might as well do this together. Shapeshifters, they’re tricky business.” 

“For you, maybe. Besides, taking on a shapeshifter in a group practically spells trouble. Ever since I left you guys, I’ve had no trouble taking them out on my own.” You shrugged, like it was no big deal. 

Dean huffed, suddenly frustrated at your vehement refusal to work together. “Look, if we don’t work together, we’re only gonna get in each other’s way. And you and I both know neither of us are just gonna give up the job. That’s not how we work.” 

“Why are you so insistent that I be anywhere near you, Dean?” You asked, dropping your angry mask and giving into the slight heartache behind it. “Because if I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted me gone.” 

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his mind fumbling for any response that he could save face with. His green eyes flashed with hurt, only to be swept away by his tired, nearly pleading puppy dog eyes — nowhere near as convincing as Sam’s, but you were the only person he was ever able to charm with them, anyway. “Because it’s safer, and you of all people should know that I’d never hang a hunter out to dry like that. Especially—” 

Dean cut himself off, his heart aching as he seemed, just for a moment, to forget what you two really were. Bitter exes with a taste for violence; proximal bombs so close to going off. If only you weren’t just that, then Dean would’ve said what was on his mind. Especially people I care about. Especially you. 

You eyed the elder Winchester wearily, his words scratching at the crumbling walls around your heart. You hated to admit it, but maybe, just this once, Dean Winchester was right. These past few years had been wearing you down, stripping your resolve down to nothing more than a single, solitary wall protecting the worst thing you could think of from reaching your heart. You were tired. More so than you were when Dean first suggested getting the hell out of hunting. Back when he suggested it for the both of you, and ideas of an apartment and a dog and a normal fucking job were included in hushed conversations before bed in a crappy motel. 

And then John Winchester sacrificed himself to save his son, and everything slipped out from underneath you. Because you knew the truth, long before Dean ever figured it out. John had told you himself — his final act, the only selfless thing he’d done for his boys. He begged you to get them out, told you that killing yellow eyes didn’t matter anymore. He just wanted his sons safe. And you couldn’t even do that. 

With a final sigh, a too-long look into Dean’s eyes, and the echo of John Winchester’s final words to you ringing in your ears, you conceded. “Fine. But if anything happens, Winchester, so help me—” 

“I know, you’ll kick my ass.” 

“Actually, I’ll key your car, but that works too.” 

Once you finally put all three of your heads together, it wasn’t difficult to find the shapeshifter’s central hiding spot. All of the locations it’d attacked at were no more than a 15-minute walk from an abandoned factory, which seemed to be the perfect spot. It irked you that you still didn’t know exactly how the shifter was picking and choosing its victims, but as long as it was dead before dawn broke, you would be content. 

So, loaded up with silver — a knife tucked up your sleeve and some handy silver bullets loaded into your pistol, you joined the Winchesters in hunting a monster for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. 

Your reunion with Sam was much more pleasant than your encounter with Dean, as the younger of the brothers had always had a soft spot for you. He considered you family well before Dean had even had the guts to ask you out, and he was just glad that you’d been staying safe during the years you spent apart. 

“So, what exactly are we doing?” You’d asked, leaning over the Impala’s front seat, eyeing both Winchesters like it was any other hunt. The ride up until then had been eerily quiet, no one speaking a word and no music playing, which was unusual for Dean. But that was only because the last cassette mix you’d made him was still in the player, and he refused to show any kind of weakness. To show you that he still kept some parts of you around.

“Factory’s pretty big, so we might have to split up for a bit, see what we can see.” Dean reminded you, sending you a cursory glance in the rearview mirror. 

You grimaced. “I don’t like the sound of that. A shifter could do anything with that kind of vulnerability between us.” 

“And it’ll take hours for us to find the damn thing and gank it if we all stick together,” Dean argued, gripping the wheel a little tighter. A sliver of moonlight glinted off a ring on his right ring finger, and you noticed absently that it was the one you’d gifted him for his birthday just before you’d broken up.

“And we won’t be able to gank it at all if it looks like one of us and then we all die, Dean!” You shot back, voice rising in volume. “I’ve done this enough to know that if we stick together, our chances are better.” 

“We’re splitting up and that’s final. I don’t like it either, but it’s our best shot at finding this thing. From what I know, it’s quicker than most shifters, and that means it’s more dangerous.” Dean reasoned, and you knew better than to keep fighting him on it. 

“Look,” Sam stepped in, turning to catch your gaze as you slumped back against the backseat. “It’ll be a lot quicker, but just in case something goes wrong, you shout. If you come across one of us and think it’s the shifter, pull your knife. It’s not the best, but Dean’s right, and it’s all we’ve got.” 

You merely huffed, silently conceding to the brothers’ plan and ignoring the twist in your gut. Your mind was practically screaming at you, begging you to get away from the Winchester brothers and complete this hunt on your own. You would’ve made an exception for them in any other case, if it has just been any other monster. But shapeshifters relied on groups. They relied on the connection between mimic and victim. And your connection to Dean alone was too big of a risk to take just to kill one stupid monster. 

But that monster had killed three people in the span of two weeks alone, and you would be damned if you let it kill anyone else. 

So, you tamped down the anxiety brewing in your gut and let the lull of the Impala bring you a comfort you’d been sorely missing over the past few years. Despite what you led others to believe, hunting by yourself was lonely. There was never any backup, and you could die at any given moment, but it was all you had left. You, your weapons, and the faith that you’d get lucky enough to live another day. 

You were living on luck, really. Luck and grit and hustling drunk guys at pool or poker. Always on the road, never sticking around, and never letting anyone get close. You’d tried it once with Dean, and all it got you was heartache. Hunting was the only thing left, and after all, violence was your preferred method of distraction. You remembered one of your first hunts after you and Dean had broken up — a particularly rowdy vamp nest in southern Oregon, hell bent on wreaking havoc on an entire town just to quell their bloodlust. You’d been too blinded by the idea of releasing your anger on them that you failed to see how big their nest truly was. All of them younger, more energised vampires than you were used to. They were quick, but you were far more skilled, and you’d almost had them all when one of them sideswiped you with a knife of its own, jamming between your ribs and leaving you nearly too weak to finish the rest off. But you’d done it anyway, before collapsing in the dirt outside. You thought you were going to die that night, bleeding out under a beautiful canopy of bright, white stars and a silver moon. And you would’ve gone willingly, with Dean as your last thought. Your last, heart wrenching, regretful thought. And then, with all the anger and willpower you could muster, you got back up. Because if there was one thing you would not do, it was die so young. So young and so unaccomplished and so unloved. And you would not let your last thoughts be of the man who so willingly pushed you out of his life to succumb to his grief, when all you had wanted to do was help him through it. 

The cut of the engine turning off pulled you from the depths of your mind, darkness enveloping you as the headlights ceased. Turning to the window, you glanced at the distant, towering factory. It was decrepit; all shattered windows and crumbling brick. Graffiti covered almost every surface, and you could see how it was the perfect space for a shapeshifter to lay low. 

Stepping outside, you re-checked all your weapons. The silver knife, still tucked in your sleeve. The gun, its magazine still loaded with silver bullets. Another knife, made of regular steel, tucked into your boot. It was an old switchblade, and had seen its fair share of kills over the years. One of the few things from Dean that you refused to part with, mostly due to how well it had served you in tight spots. 

The walk into the factory, armed to the teeth with knives and flashlights, was silent. You all knew the plan, what was to be done. Nothing else needed to be said. With a few nods and nudges, Dean directed you all to different areas of the sprawling, decrepit building. The top floors were mostly gone, and you could see right through the holes in the concrete above. It was mostly a maze of heavy machinery and different rooms, and before you knew it, you were walking carefully, all on your own, toward the backend of the building. You could no longer hear either of the Winchester brothers’ footfalls, and the lack of noise within the building put you on edge. You kept your eyes and ears sharp, ignoring the chill in the room and the way your heart hammered behind your ribcage. The last thing you needed was to slip up. To let the shifter get the jump on you in some way.

Your movements were precise as you swept through each room, gun in hand and flashlight sweeping across the dark factory, searching for any clue that could lead you closer to the shifter. It felt like hours had passed until you stumbled upon a mound of flesh and liquid, gagging as your light glinted off it. It seemed fresh, too, and you briefly wondered if the shifter was off torturing someone else in the city and this plan was now a bust. 

Then something scraped behind you, and you turned quickly, only to meet Dean’s squinting eyes. He was in different clothes, lacking a flashlight. 

“What happened to your clothes?” You asked, tone tight. 

“Covered in shifter juices. I had to change.” He huffed, already fed up. 

“Your flashlight?” You asked again. “Where is it?” 

“Battery died. I went looking for you when I got back inside. You were right, we should stick together.” Dean relented, and wearily, you nodded and lowered your gun, your grip on it still tight. You didn’t want to trust him, but it was Dean.

“Let’s go find Sammy and sweep back around. I think this thing’s bedroom might be nearby. If these things even have bedrooms.” 

Beside you, Dean scoffed a laugh. “Doubt it.”

You eyed him again, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. “Since when are you so chipper, Winchester? I thought you hated the sight of me.” 

“I don’t,” Dean shrugged simply, eyeing you quizzically when he caught your gaze. “What? I may not like you, but you’re right. Shifters ain’t fun going after alone, especially in a group.” 

“I know.” You said, your voice tight. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But you kept yourself level. “That’s why I didn’t want either of you coming with me. But you just had to be persistent, didn’t you?” 

“Well, you know me,” Dean shrugged casually, turning down a hallway. 

“Yeah, I do know you.” You said, walking a bit faster to stop Dean in his tracks. Your eyeline lined up perfectly with his chest, and you did your best to remain calm as you gripped your gun tighter. “And I know damn well you wouldn’t go anywhere without your necklace. Not even if you changed your clothes during a hunt.” 

Dean looked down at you as though you were crazy, a hand coming up to grasp gently at your bicep. “What are you talking about? I left it in the car, I swear.” 

“Yeah, right.” You snipped, glancing down and finding the ring you gave him to be missing as well. “And your ring? The one you promised me you’d never take off? Where’s that?”

Not-Dean’s grip tightened on your arm, almost unbearably strong. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Now why would I keep wearing my ex-girlfriend’s ring after not seeing her for two years, hmm? Did you really think you meant that much to me, sweetheart?” 

This wasn’t Dean. You knew it wasn’t. But the look in his eye was eerily similar to the one he gave you the day he forced you out of his life, and the words he spewed twisted the knife you didn’t know was still lodged in your beating, bleeding heart. 

In an instant, you raised the gun and attempted to step back, trying to aim and shoot as quickly as you could. But it got the jump on you, first, gripping the pistol’s barrel and striking your forearm, wrenching the gun from your grip and tossing it down the hall behind it. Immediately, you slid the knife out of your sleeve and into your palm, raising it to strike. The shifter blocked that movement, too, grabbing at your wrist as it began to arc downard, squeezing so hard that the knife clattered to the ground. You tried to fight back, but with its grasp on your raised arm and now the hand twisting painfully into your hair — a familiar feeling, now tainted with fear and pain and panic — made you practically useless. 

“Oh, sweet thing, I am just gonna love tearing you to pieces.” Not-Dean snarled, its sadistic smile churning your gut. You inhaled sharply, about to cry out, when it tugged on the roots of your hair, forcing a whimper from you, instead. “Not so fast, darling. We’re gonna have a little fun, just ourselves, before either of your boys can join in.” 

His voice was what you couldn’t comprehend. Sure, that last fight before you broke up was brutal; shouting and cursing each other out and saying things you weren’t sure either of you had meant to say, but this? Hearing him so easily speak about hurting you, like it was nothing, that was what you couldn’t bear. Even if it was the shifter. 

You looked around, finding quickly that you were in a rather secluded part of the building. The far right corner, judging by the window placements. There were beams and trolleys and pieces of equipment laying everywhere, coated in rust and god knows what else. Not-Dean guided you easily to an oddly clean chair in the room, and you sat down willingly, hoping and praying that one of the brothers would stumble upon you sooner rather than later. 

“Tsk, you’re such an obedient girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Not-Dean smirked. 

“Don’t call me that,” you growled, watching him lean down beside you and grab a long rope. 

“Right, because Dean was the only one you let use that nickname,” he nodded sarcastically. “Does it bother you? That I’m in his head, that I know what he thinks. That I have his face.” 

You shook your head as he wrapped the rope tightly around your wrists, pinning them behind the chair. “No. You’re just as big of an ass as he was. But you probably know that already, don’t you?” 

“I do,” not-Dean chuckled, tugging on the rope with the final knot to secure it before heading to your ankles. “In fact, I know everything he’s ever thought about you, sweetheart. And boy, you should hear some of the things he used to think about you.” 

“I’m good, actually. Thanks.” You grimaced, meeting not-Dean’s eyes as he smirked. He placed both hands on your knees, the warmth spreading through your jeans as he pushed himself up and dragged a trolley over to you. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, skimming over the items on the table. “He’s had some very naughty thoughts about you, Y/n. And recently, too. The things he wants to do to you…” Not-Dean tsked and shook his head, finally picking up a knife.

“Gonna cut me up with that little thing?” You smirked, watching the shifter consider it for a moment before putting the knife back down. 

He smirked and walked the short distance to come and stand before you, crouching to meet your eye level as he said, “I had something a bit more… tantalizing in mind.” Reaching into your boot, the shifter pulled your switchblade from where it hid. “Now this seems like a much better weapon, don’t you think?”

You stared at the folded switchblade, your heart thumping rapidly in your chest. Even after you and Dean broke up, that knife made you feel safe, tucked away in your boot. It had seen a lot of action since then as well, effectively protecting you from both monsters and drunkards on more than one occasion. 

The shifter opened the blade slowly, sliding it into its final position with an echoing click. He ran his finger across it first, examining its sharpness before turning his — Dean’s — emerald eyes to meet yours. Something sinister brewed among those sharp irises, teeming with hatred and some sick, twisted kind of pleasure. 

“Dear old Dean gave you this, didn’t he?” The thing smirked. “I’m sure you know why, right?” 

“To protect me.” You growled, shifting helplessly beneath the ropes. “From things like you.”

“This?” He scoffed a laugh. “No, this won’t hurt me. But I can’t wait to see what it does to you.” 

Not-Dean dug the tip of the knife into the space above your collarbone, hard enough to draw blood and drag it down your chest. You struggled to bite back a scream as he worked the metal down your skin, leaving behind a stinging gash when he finally pulled it back, his eyes shining with some sick sense of pride as he stared at it, at the blood dripping down into the valley of your chest. 

“I know you wanna scream, sweetheart,” Not-Dean taunted, his voice syrupy sweet and dripping with sadistic joy. He dipped his head closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. “From what I’ve seen up here in this pretty little head, you’re quite the screamer, aren’t you?”

“Go fuck yourself,” you spat, face hardening as the shifter pulled back and stood to his full height. 

He wore the same, simmering rage that Dean often had before he ended things with you. The face he wore when you confronted him about his behavior, the one he wore before he punched Sam for bringing John up in the first place. It sent a strike of fear through your chest, barely concealed behind your hardened features. 

You watched it turn into a smirk as he twirled the blade expertly between his fingers, lips pursing and eyes squinting as they raked over your form, as though deciding what to do with you next. Like he had all the time in the world to figure out how to hurt you the most. 

“You wanna know something?” Not-Dean asked suddenly, throwing you off. “Something… secret?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me no matter what I say?” You glared. 

Not-Dean laughed. “Smart girl! Right on the money.” He smiled, resting his palms on his knees as he bent slightly to reach your eye level. “See, I know something you don’t,” 

You remained quiet, hard eyes watching his every move. 

“Remember all those naughty little thoughts I said Dean has about you?” He didn’t wait for a response as he sighed and straightened up. “Well… he has them all the time. In fact, he pretty much thinks about you 24/7. It’s… well, it’s pathetic.” 

Not-Dean spat, his face turning hard and angry again as he sighed. “It’s like you’re on a loop in his head. Everywhere poor Dean looks, there’s something to make him think of you. Such a shame he was the one to push you away, isn’t it? I mean, you are quite the looker.”

You growled as he whistled lowly, his grip tightening on the knife as he stalked closer to you. He brought it to your cheekbone this time, smirking to himself as it dug into the flesh and sliced quickly. You hissed at the sting, feeling the blood trickle down to the corner of your mouth, the cool air of the factory soothing the cut slightly. 

“It’s quite a shame that I want to ruin that pretty face of yours so much,” the shifter pouted mockingly, rearing back and landing a punch to your already injured cheek, throwing your head completely to the side. It took you entirely by surprise, a small grunt falling from your lips as you clenched your jaw and tried to hide the pain. 

You swallowed hard when you hung your head and saw your blood staining his knuckles — Dean’s knuckles. And then he laughed, the way Dean used to when you’d make some corny joke that caught him off guard, and your throat went dry. 

“Tired already, sweetheart?” Not-Dean chuckled, gripping tightly to the hair at the back of your scalp and pulling hard, forcing a yelp from you as he forced your gaze to meet his. “Better make this quick, then, shouldn’t we? After all, those Winchester boys can’t search this building and not find us. And I want you looking nice and broken when they do.” 

You swallowed down as many of your cries as you could for the following beat down you received. Slashes with your own knife across most accessible expanses of skin, punches and hits everywhere else. Your lip was split open, tinging your spit with the never-ending taste of copper. 

“If you’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, chest heaving as blood trailed down the side of your neck. “Just fucking get it over with.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Not-Dean pouted with a shrug. “Besides, it’s not just you I want to hurt.” 

Hurt pulled at your chest as your eyes met his, the realization swimming behind your wide eyes. He didn’t just want to hurt you, to break you however else you could still be broken after everything else you’ve been through. The shifter wanted to hurt Dean. It wanted to break him. 

“Hurting me won’t do anything to him.” I scowled despite my bruised and bloody face. “He’s the one that pushed me away, remember? You saw that, didn’t you? In his head?”

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?” The shifter scowled back, his voice low and rough, the way Dean usually sounded during hunts. “Dean still loves you. Hell, he never stopped, sweetheart. He’s too headstrong to admit it, but he is. And seeing you like this, all broken and bloody because he didn’t listen to you, because he just couldn’t stay away… that’ll kill him from the inside.” 

“You’re wrong,” you rasped, swallowing your tears with a pained gasp. “Dean Winchester doesn’t love me anymore. And killing me sure as shit won’t do anything to hurt him.” 

The shifter growled, the sound low and deep in his chest as he gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him as he inched closer. For a moment, his attention was caught by something else, and then his lips upturned in that sadistic smirk. “Looks like we’re about to find out, sweetheart.” 

With swift movements, the shifter cut your ties and hauled you from the chair by your forearm, his solid, familiar chest pressed to your back and his own forearm pressing you to him by the neck. Your hands came up to claw at his arm immediately, digging in but getting nowhere as you squirmed against his tight hold.

Almost instantly, Sam and Dean charged into the room from the door you stood parallel to, guns and knives drawn, pointed at you and the shifter. 

Dean’s wide eyes looked from the shifter, the spitting image of himself, then to you. He hoped you could see how sorry he was. The plea to forgive him for not listening to you, for letting you get hurt because of his stubbornness filling his beautiful green eyes to the brim. 

And you did. You forgave him the moment he first pushed you away, even if you didn’t want to admit it for a very long time. You made sure to tell him that with a single nod, just as the shifter adjusted his hold on you and smirked. 

“Well, well, just in time, boys,” he said, pressing his arm a little further into your neck and forcing a choked sound from your throat. “So glad you could make it for the main event of the night.” 

“Let her go.” Dean barked, adjusting the hold he had on his gun and aiming it right at the shifter. 

Not-Dean scoffed. “Please, Dean, put that thing down. I know you’re not gonna shoot me when I have her in my way. She’s very useful, you know. Human shield, a fun little plaything… I can see why you kept her around for so long.” 

When no one spoke, not-Dean hummed approvingly. “Exactly. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with.” 

Your mind didn’t process what happened until it was already over. 

A small flash of steel below you, cutting into your tank top and piercing up through your ribs, digging deep into your flesh. The release of your body from the shifter’s hold, and the way your body immediately crumpled to the floor. One shout and three shots ringing out above you, the shifter falling in a heap no more than five feet from you. 

You coughed, sputtering, as you lay there on the concrete. Something dug into your torso with every breath, filling your chest with pain and warmth and something you couldn’t breathe through. 

Dean was at your side in an instant, one hand cupping the back of your head as he pulled you into his lap, shushing the pained groans and whimpers that fell from your lips with a shaking voice. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes flicking to the knife — the knife he gave you — wedged under your ribcage, blood already pooling out of the wound. “Hey. You’re gonna be alright, okay? We’re gonna get you some help.” 

“Dean,” you choked out, breaths rasping and wheezing and taking more effort than they ever have before. Something copper coated your lips, your teeth — it was everywhere. You knew what it meant, and from the look on Dean’s face, he did, too. “I’m s— I’m sorry,” 

“Hey, hey, don’t,” Dean shook his head, his beautiful emerald eyes filling with tears. “Don’t say that. This isn’t your fault. You’re gonna make it out of this.” His head snapped up for a moment, eyes catching on something you couldn’t see. “Sammy! Help us!” 

“D—” you cut yourself off with another cough, blood pooling in your mouth and splattering all over your lips. Glancing down at the knife, you reached with shaking fingers to grasp at it, to press your hand over whatever part of the wound you could reach, coating your palm with blood. “Dean,” 

His eyes snapped to meet yours in an instant. “Yeah? Sweetheart, what is it?” 

Grunting, you moved your hand to the handle of the switchblade, Dean protesting above you as you shakily removed it with a pained sound, the metal clattering to the floor beside you. Dean’s hand covered the wound as it poured blood, the liquid coating his hand almost immediately. It stained the hem of his jacket sleeve and spilled between his fingers as they clamped over the wound, tinging his silver ring red. 

“‘M gonna be okay,” you wheezed, nodding slowly as you kept your gaze on Dean. 

“I know,” he nodded back, his voice tight with emotion as he locked eyes with you. “I know, sweetheart.” 

“I…” you gasped, finding words harder to speak, your body harder to move. Your mind swam, and you knew your time was limited. “I love you.” 

Dean made a choked sound as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, tears sliding down his cheeks, and all you wanted to do was wipe them away. 

With the little strength left in you, you reached your bloody palm up to his cheek and did exactly that. The featherlight touch forced Dean’s eyes open, his body shuddering as he breathed in and you forced your hand to stay on his warm cheek. 

“This isn’t…” you choked, and Dean shushed you. 

“Save your energy, sweetheart. Help’s coming any minute now,” he nodded softly. 

You pushed, anyway. “This isn’t… not your fault,” you shook your head, the movement jerking and slow as you practically forced breath into your lungs. Each new breath was unsteady and wheezing, harder to take in than the last. 

Dean choked out a sob, leaning over your body and pressing a kiss to your forehead as your hand fell from his face. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You can let go now. You’re safe.” 

“I…” you rasped, the words dying on your tongue as the last of your fight dissipated, leaving Dean on the floor of the factory to cradle your limp body close to his as he finally broke, his sobs and cries echoing around the room. 

Sam arrived moments later, his shoulders deflating and his heart aching at the sight of Dean. He’d never seen his older brother so broken, so willingly displaying his emotions as he held you, your body cold and pale in his arms as he rocked you. 

The shifter had, in the end, succeeded. Part of Dean died with you that night, hatred and regret filling the gaping hole within him. He knew nothing else would ever try to fill it again, and a large part of him never wanted it to be filled. He wanted to sit with the hurt for the rest of his life, because it was what he believed he deserved. 

You had gone willingly in his arms, a final admission of love dying on your tongue, leaving behind an ache Dean knew would never be soothed. Because, despite everything he’d done to you, somehow, you still loved him. 

If there was one thing Dean Winchester was full of, after all, it was regret.

everything taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

dean winchester taglist: @theweasleyslut @johnmurphyisqueer @thanossexual @dryyoursaltyoceantears @prettypychoinpink @whitemanshoe19 @allinfangirl @sunsetcurvej @killerqueenfan @justthatfangirloverthere @cadencebeat2662 @jamespotterslover @yagorlemmalyn @mariecoded @aunicornmademedoit @bloodyxheaven @weasleystwinswife @mrspeacem1nusone @jessimay89 @supernaturallydc @navs-bhat @xoxabs88xox @unic0rntaking0ver17645 @adhdhufflepuff @erospecies @imabee-oralizard @ellablossom @ajordan2020 @lunepoesie @multitasking44 @alexxavicry @avabh12

(taglists open!)

[lxkeee]

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

-PART SIX

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Seraphim Angel! Fem! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Angst (for now)

Warnings: Depression, swearing and mentions of self h*rm.

Notes: shit is about to go down.

PART ONE | PART FIVE | PART SEVEN | NAVIGATION

“I don't understand Michael sometimes, I guess it runs in the blood.” The angel of death muttered underneath his breath, Azrael sighs, running his hand through his dark black locks, feeling the soft strands of his hair in-between his fingers. He is annoyed, annoyed at how Michael didn't leave any room for [Y/n] to say no. Sure, Michael did make a bargain that if she wins rock-paper-scissors against him, he'll change his decision but [Y/n] sucks at rock-paper-scissors so she didn't have any chance of winning in the first place. Well, he guessed that this is Michael's way of winning against [Y/n] as the man is absolute shit when it comes to Monopoly.

Azrael is confused, why does Michael want [Y/n] to see her good for nothing husband? Azrael asked him about it and the man just told him to trust him, as it is what their dear creator has told him. He is confused why Michael is really pushing [Y/n] to see his twin brother. Azrael asked the man about it and he just looked away with a sad smile. Azrael knew how much it affected Michael that his twin brother was casted out of heaven. Despite him being one of the angels who voted for him to be casted out. Azrael knew how much of a tough decision Michael made. But still,

Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.

Azrael trusts God on his decision but he doesn't know if the outcome of this will be good, Azrael has been by [Y/n]'s side ever since Lucifer was being a neglectful asshole and he heard that the fallen angel got married again when in hell. How is he going to accept that his dear friend is going to get hurt again? Azrael knows how much pain Lucifer caused [y/n], how much pain it brought to Xavier. Goodness! He saw the poor boy trying to stab his own face with his own angelic weapon, thankfully he was there to stop him.

Azrael's shoulders slumped, already feeling more stressed than usual. He is worried, so worried about [Y/n]'s mental state as he knows how fragile it is. He knows how much shit she's going through, she's constantly trying to help cleanse earth from the constantly growing evil while maintaining to be kind and to add more to her plate, she has a son to take care of and now... She's about to take care of whatever the fuck is happening on hell?

His feet quickened its pace, speed walking the long hallways of the Seven Heavenly Virtues building, trying to reach [Y/n]'s floor and office, he would've immediately checked up on her after the meeting but he had some important matters to deal with and he prays that the poor girl didn't have a mental breakdown again. Which somehow, he feels like she already did. He hopes that he's wrong though.

His heels clicked against the gold marbled white tiles, rays of sunlight passing through the curtains giving the hallway an orange glow from the setting sun.

He finally reached her office, knocking against the wooden door. No answer. He sighs rather loudly. He knocks again. No answer.

“[Y/n]? It's me, Azrael. Are you alright?” He asked softly, pressing his ear against the door to listen if she answered him. None. He became worried.

Grabbing the spare key that he has—he has a key to everyone's room and office, don't ask how and why he has them. Anyways, inserting the key to the lock, twisting it and he finally heard the satisfying click.

He quickly pushed open the door, his worried and tensed shoulders relaxing once he finally saw her, asleep on her desk. Her head on the table, her body slouched uncomfortably.

He could see the tear stains on her cheeks, golden blood from her fingers. A rather bad habit of hers, she tends to pick the skin off the side of her nails when she's stressed and sometimes causes it to bleed.

Azrael smiled softly, allowing himself inside her office. He closed and locked the door behind him before he tiptoed across the room and finally beside her.

He kneeled down beside her so he's now face-to-face to her. Azrael admired her sleeping face, he loves it when she's at peace like this. He wants her to be happy. His eyes saddened, oh how he wished to give her the happiness she deserves. But it's truly unfortunate that she doesn't love him the same way he loves her.

Always the side character, never the romantic interest.

With a sigh, he gently lifted her up from her seat. Carrying her in his arms like a bride that he'll never have the chance to call as his.

[Y/n] groans when she felt that she was lifted off from her chair, she opened one to look at the person who woke her up. She saw Azrael looking down on her with an amused smirk.

“Come on, let's get you back to your room. You need some rest.” he says softly to her and she just groaned and he chuckled. A black and gold portal opened behind them and Azrael stepped inside with [Y/n] in his arms. The portal closed after they went in.

Azrael opened the portal back to her house and back to her room, he gently laid her on the bed. Making sure she didn't lie on her hair. Tucking her in comfortably.

“I don't know what I'll do without you, Azi... I wished that I could've loved you instead. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.” she whispered, her voice breaking. She really wished that she fell in love with Azrael, he treated her and Xavier far better than Lucifer does but her heart remained still with Lucifer. [Y/n] I'm right here in front of you, always loving you but why do you continue to love a man that is far away from you and probably doesn't give two shits about you and your son? Please give me a chance and I'll worship you to the point it'll put my faith in God to shame.

Azrael's eyes softened, a forced smile on his face. He tucks away a strand of her hair that is falling in front of her face, tucking it behind her ear. I really wished that too, I can treat you far better than him, is what he thought but decided not to say, “Don't apologize sweetheart, you really can't force a heart to reciprocate someone's feelings, no? And I can understand that. How about you take some rest and clear your mind hmm?” he suggested softly with a small smile, wiping away the tear that runs down her cheek. [Y/n] nodded, hiccuping slightly before eventually closing her eyes.

She was fast asleep the moment she did.

Azrael smiled and sighed, turning around on his heel as he walked out of her room, closing the door behind him. Walking away from someone he's not meant to be with. He just hoped that whatever God is doing is right.

Time flew by so quickly that [Y/n] didn't even notice, she was far too busy dealing with both Heavenly and Mortal realm matters. The root of evil is constantly growing and getting even more powerful on earth and the Seven Heavenly Virtues are trying to contain it. All seven of them were exposed to such horrors and so much evil while on earth, slowly threatening to consume them or even corrupt them.

[Y/n] limped back to her office in heaven, golden blood flowing off her side. She just finished her work on earth, she was trying to cleanse a root of evil when it suddenly changed direction and changed its direction towards her in immense speed and causing it to pierce her side. She managed to cut it down but the negativity from the root seeped into her wound, causing her healing powers to slow down.

She winced as she finally slumped down into her seat, hovering her hand over her wound, a golden glow radiating from her palm. The wound slowly closed, but not fully but enough that she can bandage it up. But the healing took too much of her energy and she felt she was about to pass out.

She opened one of the drawers of her desk, pulling out a medical kit and began treating her wounds. She winced as she tried to clean it. After so much struggle, she finally cleaned her wound.

[Y/n] leaned against her chair, almost passing out when her eyes landed on to the calendar that is in her office. Her eyes widened, “Today is the extermination day?!” she shrieked and quickly stood up from her seat, she hissed as pain quickly shot from her waist all throughout her body. She gripped into the table, her nails scratching the wood.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck... I forgot about that.” she muttered, trying to stabilize herself, “I hope I can stop Adam and the exorcists..” she muttered, pain still evident in her voice. Running her hands through her hair. Gripping into her locks in frustration.

Ah crap, I hope I don't pass out. She thought as she weakly opens a portal to hell. Composing herself before finally stepping inside the portal.

The first thing she noticed is Adam spewing out shit from his mouth, the hotel she heard about now destroyed, exorcists killing sinners. Anger fills her veins, her six wings puffing behind her and along with multiple eyes opened on her wings. She's beyond pissed, the audacity these angels have to perform an act without notice from the higher ups. Without thinking she summoned her second angelic weapon, a bow and arrow. Aiming it just beside Adam—a warning shot. Successfully catching his and the other's attention.

“Adam, respectfully please shut your mouth!” She ordered, her voice booming, glaring down on the people on the ground, specifically at the first man. She's far too angry to keep her attention on the back of her husband or ex-husband. There's a limit to how much an angel of kindness and healing can take, and unfortunately for Adam, this is Angel Raphael's breaking point.

“Because if you don't, I will personally kill you myself.” She sneered, her hand clenching tightly on to her bow, her fingers itching to fire another arrow and just finish the man.

“No... You don't get to end this.” Adam growled in pain, weakly standing up from the rubble of where he crashed, “I'm fucking Adam! I'm the fucking man!” he yelled, turning to look at Lucifer in anger, “And you're just some fucking clown or something!” Adam growled and Lucifer just stared at the man with a deadpan expression, not really paying attention.

“I started everything on earth! All of mankind came from these fucking nuts!” Adam exclaimed. They just stared at the man who's clearly pissed at the fact he lost.

Suddenly, an arrow shot just beside Adam, barely missing the first man. The golden arrow embedded on to the ground. Silence, as people were filled with awestruck. Adam was filled with fear.

“Adam, respectfully please shut your mouth!” A female voice boomed, her powerful and authoritative voice echoing in to the air. Goosebumps danced across Lucifer's skin, he knows that voice. The very voice that he didn't hear for so many years, the voice that kept haunting him. The haunting and guilt worsened after Charlie told him he had a son in heaven.

They turned around and looked up at the sky to see a very furious seraphim glaring down on them—specifically on the first man, Adam.

Lucifer's eyes were glued on her, she's so close yet so far away.

He admired her angelic form, he can practically feel her authority and power from where he stood. Despite all of this, despite how absolutely terrifying she looked. Her beauty never really scared him. She looked as beautiful as the day he lost her when he fucked up.

“Because if you don't, I will personally kill you myself.” [Y/n] added, her eyes glaring down on Adam, her power and strength can be felt through the air and they can tell that she is absolutely furious.

“Oh shit.” Adam muttered underneath his breath. His boss' boss is here.

END NOTES: SURPRISE UPDATE 🤯🤯 ANYWAYS, AZRAEL STANS HOW ARE WE FEELING TONIGHT?

TAGLIST I:

@valerie-36 @blackbleedingrose @adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @ok-boke @random-3455 @izzieg3987 @snoozewritezz @dreamzaremyrealityy @hcneyiced @witchbunny1210 @ghostdoodlen @aikobakugou @just-here-reading @dzhanett-blog @des-deswain5621 @cocomollo @haleypearce @onyxstarhigh06 @nirvana5874 @shaebutter-baby

[fenrysmoonbeamswife]

Masterpost #1

Topic: Cassian is an abusive bastard

- Told Nesta everyone hates her

- Told her he couldn't understand why her sisters loved her

- Harassed her even when she continuously told him to leave her alone

- Followed her home

- Locked her up and acted as her jailer. Forced her to train as a warrior because she was using sex as a coping mechanism and proceeded to abuse that coping mechanism and have sex with her when she was at her most emotionally vulnerable

- Had sex with her at a time he had so much authority over her he dictated what she ate

- Purposely had Azriel pack a heavy bag so she would physically suffer on the hike

- Didn't stand up for her or even blink when Rhysand threatened to kill her

- Realized she was suicidal and continued to force her on a hike with lethal drops and didn't bother to look back at her for hours and days until she fainted

- Didn't tell her that Feyre wasn't angry with her anymore, leaving her in mental agony for days

- Forced her to physically exert herself while simultaneously using mental abuse until she collapsed physically and had a complete mental breakdown

- Had sex with her after her mental breakdown as some sort of reward for finally breaking for him

- Sexualized her and focused on her boobs after pointing out that she was emaciated from not eating because she was so depressed

- Used her fathers death against her because she *checks notes* wouldn't eat her plain oatmeal

- Put hands on her directly after finding out about Tomas and wouldn't let go until she physically hurt him the only way she could

- Planned for 10 minutes how to rile her up and argue with her and then villainized her

- He has built their entire relationship on spite, he treats her like an obligation something broken he needs to fix but never with understanding or empathy. Something that was forced on him pursued her against her will while ignoring her boundaries. Their entire relationship is based on power plays and asserting dominance over her

- Borderline violent and degrading sex with no aftercare while she is at her lowest

- Using her body to calm his own frustrations while blatantly ignoring her emotional state

- Emotional manipulation. He consistently uses her vulnerability against her, pushes her to get better on his terms while simultaneously throwing her failures in her face, making her feel unworthy, abusing her coping mechanisms, laughing at her pain. Perpetuating that she is only worthy if she falls in line with what he and the IC want from her. He consistently attempts to mold her into being someone more palatable (Feyre) rather than accepting who she is and helping her for who she is

- He contributes directly to her ultimate breakdown. He does nothing to help when she's quite literally begging for support and even goes so far as to worsen her situation repeatedly

- Villainizing her even when she's being perfectly placid. Eg. During the solstice scene she is pleasant, she wishes Feyre HB, thanks Elain for her gifts profusely, speaks nicely with Azriel, sits back and allows them to exchange gifts without interfering (though they forced her to be there and got her nothing), kisses Elain fondly before leaving, she mostly just sits their the entire time and Cassians POV afterwards?? "He'd had enough of the coldness, the sharpness. Enough of the sword straight spine and sharp stare." Not that she was blackmailed into coming, ignored all night and had gifts flaunted in front of her and was STILL pleasant

- Agreed with Mor when she equated Nesta with her borderline evil abusers. AND thought about how he was blown away by Mor's beauty while she sat there saying that Nesta should be tortured in a dungeon

- Affirmed her insecurities every chance he could

- Heard about how she was groomed and preyed on at 14 and made it about himself

- Judged her for being a child and not parenting another child the first second he met her even though she allowed him into her home

- Sees how strong her emotions are for others and then later claims that "she barely seems to care about anyone other than Elain"

- Laughs when she falls down the stairs, she has bruises and a black eye from this fall

- Doesn't correct her when she voices her feeling that she isn't good enough for him and doesn't deserve him

- Laughs behind her back that Rhysand is happy she will hate the hike

- She collapses every day on the hike and never speaks and all he says is "at least remove the pack so I can cook myself dinner"

- Works her to the point of literally fainting face first and he yells at her

- When she breaks down finally and tells him how much she hates herself, he tells her how much he loves Rhysand

- Claims there is nothing broken to be fixed yet he forces her to obey him and change everything about herself and behave in the way he approves of

- When she attempts to be open and communicative with him and explains how mate doesn't mean to her what it means to him because she's still human at heart he dismisses her and says it's bullshit

- When she calls in her bargain he doesn't respect it and immediately thinks of a way to get around it. He does not respect her or the boundaries she attempts to set. She says she wants a week alone yet he shows up the very next day and acts like she just wasn't clever enough to evade him

- While she is terrified and hoping he will come rescue her from the blood rite he says he even if he could he wouldn't

- He never says I love you NOT ONCE

- When Rhysand yells at and threatens Nesta for helping Bryce, Cassian does not defend her and even joins in and snarls at her

- Says he can take whatever she throws at him and then literally two seconds later he fucks her out of it for saying something mildly rude about Rhysand

The fact that I could keep going and going but I'm just too angry. Cassian sucks and anyone who likes him is perpetuating the forgiveness of abusive men. I don't care if he is a fictional character, he is a carbon copy of real life abusive men and the support of him and blatant ignoring of his abuse is disgusting and harmful. I'm sorry but anyone who claims to love Nesta but loves Cassian?? Uh YA LYING. If your best friend or your mother was being treated the way Cassian treats Nesta would you be happy with their relationship? I don't think so.

Inspired by @kataraavatara because she slays

[idkfitememate]

I really like your stories, especially about the Creator otter. It would be great if when the truth is known, they take the Creator otter to the "true creator" and when he tries to hurt the otter, the attack returns on its own or something happens. to prevent him from harming the beautiful otter and so it is known that he is the true creator, I imagine he would have many more pamperings than before

The Otter Chronicles Pt.3

⋘ Previous Part » ♡︎

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Otter Reader x Fontaine

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 2.2k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Angst, some fluff, many mental breakdowns

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I. Am. So. Sorry. You have been waiting for months for this but I didn’t know how to continue and then I got writers block and UGH-

But I’m here now :). And your gonna get your wish :3

Future note, this will probably be split up into at least one more chapter because I know for a fact I won’t be able to write all the idea, plus, I have an idea on how to finish it!!~~

As you snoozed peacefully, the quiet seemed to seep into the room, suffocating everyone within it.

“So… the otter sat on your lap… sleeping… that’s the creator?” Finally, Wriothesley broke the silence that had consumed the room, making Furina jump and you chitter under your breath, snuggling into her stomach.

“Do we have any proof?- I mean, besides what happened with the Primordial Sea-“ “Do you need more evidence?” Neuvillette interrupted. His face was stern and cold, hands gripping at his pants.

“Well… it’d be nice to at least know for certain?” Wirothesley sighed out, a hand pressing to his forehead. He leans forward in his seat and took a breath before speaking again. “I mean, genuinely, can’t you see where I’m coming from? Sure, you might trust your gut or whatever magical power you’re keeping from us, but this is a little hard to believe for a guy like me. I mean, who knows! Maybe it was coincidence the Primordial Sea went back into the lock!! Because I’ve personally never seen a creature besides a human jump in there, have you? Maybe it’s all just one big joke I just-“ He stopped, huffing, hands shaking.

“I… we gave our everything… to the Creator. And now I’m finding out it was all a lie? If it’s true, and they really are THE Creator… then I’ve just been lying to myself?? That everything I’ve went through, every trial I’ve faced, every man I’ve stared down as we sent him to his death, every challenged I’ve faced… that i convinced myself that I would get through for them… that it was just a test to prove my worth… my loyalty… would it be for nothing..? I’ve…” The man stood up, chair knocking back behind him as he rose, tears staining his cheeks. Neuvillette also stood, putting a hand in front of Furina. Chlorinde simply sat with hands drawn to her lap.

“I’ve devoted my LIFE to them!! I’ve given my EVERYTHING to THEM!! I thought… I THOUGHT… I THOUGHT THAT THEY WOULD SAVE ME FROM THIS DAMNNATION OF SOULS GRIPPPING TO MY CHEST, CRYING OUT THAT I COULDNT SAVE THEM!! MY SIBLINGS, MEN I KNEW COULDNT HAVE BEEN GUILTY AND AND- YOU WANT TO SAY ITS ALL BEEN FOR NOTHING?!?” “CALM YOURSELF WIROTHESLEY!-“ “NO! BECAUSE THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS!”

A shouting match began between the two men, Chlorinde jumped up and wrapped herself around a now shaking Furina who was about to cry again, holding your form close to her chest. As the men screamed at each other - and teacups started being thrown - you finally stirred, opening bleary eyes at the scene unveiling before you.

Why were people screaming..? What… You looked up to see Furina shaking and silently sobbing over you, Chlorinde hushing her and whispering into her ear, though you couldn’t hear what she was saying. Wriggling around enough to face the shouting, your eyes widened at the sight of Neuvillette and Wirothesley screeching at each other, both Visions glowing wildly at the emotions of their wielders.

It was getting to a point where your ears were starting to hurt, so you leapt of Futuna’s lap, which led to her and Chlorinde whipping their heads to you, and ran over to the shouting men. You didn’t know what had come over you, seeing them both fight - something you never thought you would’ve witnessed honestly - and ran between them paws raised. Both paused for only a second, before Wirothesley started arguing again and Neuvillette followed. You tried to chitter and call over both of them, not getting anywhere with their raised voices.

You took a deep breath, focusing. This had been something you wanted to try since the beginning but just never had the time nor the energy to do so. But if there ever was a time, now was it. Your brows furrowed as you focused on any and all water in the current room, imagining the water following your command, as though alive and you its master. You grunted, catching Furina’s attention as she called for you to come back.

Cups suddenly started shaking in the room, only the Archon and Dualist taking note. It also didn’t help that the entire building was surrounded by water, though luckily you were able to mostly focus your attention on the small bits of water in the room. Neither Wriothesley or Neuvillette stopped to look at you as you raised your little paws to your head, the shouting mixed with your focus bringing on a headache.

Finally, it came to a close when Wriothesley shouted at the top of his lungs; teacups shattered and liquid swirled around the room, tea and water and otherwise swimming around the room like a raging typhoon, slamming into walls and knocking over objects. Finally the Duke and Sovereign stopped looking just as shocked as the Duelist and Archon. You pressed your paws forward, all the liquid slamming onto the arguing duo, pushing them into wall on opposite sides of the room.

Neuvillette looked remorseful while Wriothesley was shocked, eyes as wide as possible and jaw slacked. After a moment of silence you dropped your paws, allowing the two to fall to the floor drenched and standing in puddles.

“Holy… Holy Shit. They are the…” Wriothesley looked towards Neuvillette who nodded. Wriothesley fell to his knees, hands gripping at his hair and tears filling his eyes.

“All my life… was a lie?” You rushed to his side before he could spiral, rapidly chittering and crying, wishing you could speak so you could comfort him. In fear of another argument you began to cry. You sniffled and placed paws on his arm, practically begging him not to fall down that dark hole of spiraling thoughts.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your head. Fingers gently carded through your fur, and you looked up, meeting Wriothesley’s eyes. They were still teary, filled with grief and sorrow, but there was something behind it, something bright.

“Mm… don’t cry little guy. I didn’t mean to uh… scare you?” His smile was shaky at best. You whined and climbed into his lap, paws pressed to his cheeks and small kitten-licks to the tears he evidently didn’t know about, rubbing away any others you couldn’t get. His eyes widened, quickly trying to rub away any stray tears he caught.

The others watched the scene, not daring to speak. Eventually Wriothesley picked you up to stare at you. All his life had been spent worshiping one person, they fell from the sky one day, and he figured that’d be it. He got live in the generation that saw the return of their blessed Creator. Never to have them look him in the eye or anything.

But here you were. An otter. And you had already done so much more for him than the Creator had in such a short amount of time.

It would take a while, he figured, till his mind really did say that you were, in fact, the real and true Creator, till his mind could finally let go of the notion that he’d never get to see them because here you were, in his arms, caring for him.

“… Y’know… you’re a pretty cute little otter.” Everyone’s eyes snapped over to him when he spoke, more tears falling from his eyes. You squirmed around, desperately trying to get close enough to wipe them but were caught off-guard when instead Wriothesley wiped tears out of your eyes.

You cried, squirming in his arms to wrap your own around his neck. Everyone was silent as this happened, watching as his arms gently curled around you, slowly breaking down.

Neuvillette turned away, ashamed that he had lost his cool, and watched as Furina got up from the couch and walked over to you and Wriothesley. She couched down and sat beside you both, laying a head on Wriothesley’s shoulder.

You chirped quietly into the mana chest, letting him silently sob into you.

Only the sound of moving water disrupted the calm.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍯🧁🥥୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

That meeting was weeks ago, and now your little group was coming up with a plan to bring this news to light before all the other nations.

It had been well established to them that creatures of Teyvat, from small bugs to the largest beast, would all listen to you under any and all circumstances.

Like now.

While they all spoke under the moonlight inside Wriothesley’s office - one of the most secretive places in all of Fontaine - you swam just outside the walls in a raft of otters, all in all just having a fun time until the inevitable.

The rebellion.

Naturally everyone in the room was pissed, especially since it had been years at this point that that false ‘Creator’ had sat on a throne that was rightfully yours. They could see the effect your presence had on Fontiane.

The sun shone brighter, the water seemed clearer, less Meka broke down, flower bloomed easier, crime even dropped. It was great.

Everyone and everything seemed and felt happier.

Much happier than with that fucking liar.

A map of the large, floating Sanctuary and Shrine that was supposed to house the Creator was laid out across a table, specific entry point circled in red.

“Next week marks the beginning of the *Creator’s Walk. Defenses will grow as this week passes but the first day of the walk, there will be no Acolytes.” Neuvillette broke the silence by pointing towards the circles on the map.

“But they’ll still be in the perimeter. I should know, I was apart of the last Creator’s Walk.” Chlorinde spoke up, adjusting her hat. “I can’t think of any entrance we may have left ungraded, even if from a distance.”

They were silent as they thought. The Creator’s walk was a Month Long holiday where the Creator would walk nation to nation - by themselves - in order to hand out blessings, push back monsters for a following month of no attacks and to retrace their original path between Nations, a show that they were all still connected.

The quiet was broken by the sounds of you chittering, the door opening and revealing you wrapped in a Melusine themed towel, Sigewinne trailing right behind you.

“Thank you Sigewinne for returning them to us, now if you would mind-“ Neuvillette started but was interrupted by the Melusine, “You’re talking about the plan right?” Everyone stared at her while you took it upon yourself to climb into Furina’s lap.

“How did-“ “Uh, duh. I’ve known all along? I would’ve figured you’d have guessed that by now, especially with all the other Melusine and Meka treating them so great? Come on Monsieur Neuvillette, you’re smarter than that!” The sentence was ended with a giggle as she skipped over to the still shocked older man.

Neuvillette shook himself from the sudden stupor, sighing and nodded, before his eyes lit up.

“That’s right. We have all the Meka of Fontaine on our side. They’d do anything for ma moitié. How in Archons name did we forget we have an entire army on our side?” Everyone stared at Neuvillette sheepishly, shrugs and mutters filling the room. Neuvillette sighs and hangs his head, but quickly rebounds.

“Well in that case, most Nations haven’t fought our Meka-“ “But they have fought Ruin Guards.” Chlorinde spoke again. Neuvillette bit his cheek, she had a point. While Meka were different, it wouldn’t take to much the Acolytes to find weaknesses due to said Ruin Guards.

Silence again.

“The Local Legends and beasts alike could be of use. I mean, I doubt anyone’s fought giant crabs before.” Furina mentioned, though most of her attention was on you, drying you off and petting you.

“That is true, Lady Furina.” Wriothesley agreed. Eyes drew back to the map, taking in every spot on the thing.

“There!” Sigewinne was the one to point to a point on the map, near the back to the left of the large estate.

“What’s the spot?” She asked, Wriothesley took one look and responded.

“That’s a window to their wine cellar. Pretty unused but still guarded, why?” Sigewinne looked up with a grin.

“Because it’s closest to a body of water.” Chlorinde looked closely at the spot, and her eyes widened a bit.

“She has a point, and on top of that, while it is still guarded it’s much more lax, especially considering it’s not to far from where the ‘Creator’ will be leaving but far enough where anyone would doubt an entry. On the other hand, it could only appear that way.”

“That’s where Meka and monsters could come in.” Wriothesley started. “When we’re protecting the place we more expect other people than monsters considering they’re all scared of the place.”

The plan started to come together, more pieces being added and who should go first and so on and so forth. Furina was too busy playing with you to really care, but looked up with a confused expression.

“When are we going to tell the others? Vision users, I mean. And… how?” Everyone looked towards her.

“…Fuck.” And a new can of worms now needed to be opened.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : IM SO FUCKING SORRY I CANT DO IT!! I swear I will be keeping this idea in mind tho because I now have a plan to map out all of the creator stories I swear it I’m just tired omg I’m sorry but I hope this suffices for now-

… This is so disappointing I’m sorry-

[thenewgirl76]

Why Can't We Be Friends?

Before John can spend his rare downtime bonding with his childhood friend Angela Foley's son for the next two weeks, he first has to find someone to babysit the... weird looking creature that's apparently his nephew in all but blood's best friend. Not an easy feat given how clingy to the point of being attached to the hip the ferret shaped thing is.

Tucker has to bribe his pet(?) with hanging with the Green Lanterns along with the rest of the Justice League up in the Watchtower(they'll definitely be discussing that later) just to convince him to not try and tagalong. And that's how Hal finds himself dealing with the major headache that is Phantom.

No, he's not exaggerating. That's exactly what the measly gremlin is with his constant demands for food, affection, or playtime from anyone who's present and insistence on getting into whatever he can, one never-ending headache. What makes it even more taxing is how everyone else, even Batman is so wrapped up in how "cute and lovable" the little bugger is they see nothing wrong with his annoying antics.

And as if it couldn't get any worse, the tiny menace seems to have taken a liking to him the most out of all the League and won't quit following him around. It's like dealing with an abnormally needy and scarily intelligent cat, and Hal absolutely abhors cats.

That said, he does find himself feeling just a smidge of regret when he allows his stress over a grueling patrol to get the best of him and yells at the little creep for drinking his coffee. If it'll get everyone off his back and stop Phantom from making those hurt puppy dog eyes at him he'll make it up to the diminutive devil later somehow. Right after he sneaks a nap in while he's stuck on monitor duty.

But of course Phantom won't even allow him that, as he's now pestering him rather persistently with that aggravating chirping and trilling. Since napping is no longer an option he'll just see what Phantom wants and hopefully get rid of him for at least a few minutes afterwards. So Hal slowly drags himself into consciousness, and is met with a large oddly colored hunk of swiss cheese?

Waking up a bit more he starts hearing the swiss cheese begging him for death. Okay, clearly something's wrong with this picture. Wiping the last of the sleep from his eyes Hal looks again, and is instantly screaming in horror upon realizing what he had mistook for swiss cheese in his sleepy haze is actually Sinestro, looking very much like he'd fought a school of piranhas and the piranhas won. With all the blood and all the chunks of missing flesh and skin Hal can see why his former mentor was pleading with him to end him.

And throughout all this that little monster Phantom is staring up at him, perched on the barely alive korugaran, covered in his blood and looking far too pleased with himself. If it weren't for Hal's training and fortitude he'd either be running scared or having a nervous breakdown. That doesn't stop him from being immensely relieved over no longer having to be on guard around Phantom once John finally comes to get the miniscule hellion off the Watchtower.

Though it would be nice if; Superman stopped trying to guilt trip him. *He swears on everything holy he's gonna find the biggest piece of kryptonite and shove it where the sun don't shine if he has to listen to how Phantom never would have did what he did if Hal hadn't been so harsh one more time.*

Wonder Woman ceased with her badgering about how he should have shown more appreciation towards Phantom and the gift he had bestowed upon him.*He'd love to see just how appreciative she'd be if it was Cheetah getting dumped in front of her all chewed... oh wait.*

Flash quit laughing at him. *Shut the hell up Allen. He did NOT scream like a little girl.*

And most of all, John and all the other GL dropped it about how they were so jealous he was the one Phantom gifted instead of them. *Seriously guys? With all that little miser put him through, that's what you're taking from it?*

Missing Scene

*When Sinestro was confronted by Little Baby Man*

*What Little Baby Man did to him before hauling him off to present to Hal*

[mavrintarou]

[Daddies in December] Haitani Ran

Out of all the Ran stories I've read, he is nothing like what I picture. So fair warning, my vision of Ran might be vulnerable, a little dirty, but hot as hell. This is super long, I spent all day yesterday and most of today on this.

Warning: angst, fluff & smut.

.

Haitani Ran knew he was a man of many things but being a father was not one of them.

His lifestyle did not have room for fatherhood.

No matter how many ways he looked at it, it would never work out.

It was in the best interest of him and Y/n to go their way regardless of Y/n’s protest of having hoped to make it work.

It will just not work.

She was never meant to mean something to him, let alone a child they both created by accident.

He could not deny the tiny joy he felt burning when he discovered her pregnancy but had to put out the flame immediately.

After ignoring calls and visits, Ran was left with the last resort.

It was in the heat of the moment when Y/n appeared at his club unexpectedly. Ran could see the shock in her eyes from across the room and he took the opportunity to whisper something into the woman beside him. She excitedly turned to him and he reached for her face, pressing his mouth to hers in a heated kiss.

It disgusted him to the core and the longest three seconds of his life. He pulled away and turned his heels, pulling the woman by her hand, and disappeared into the VIP hallway.

That was Y/n’s last straw.

Her calls and visits ceased.

No one and nothing would prepare him for a broken heart.

He was Haitani Ran, he had been shot at, stabbed, and beaten to almost death.

But the pain of Y/n erasing herself out of his life hurt more than all those things combined.

All he had left now was the memories they had in the past.

.

He felt no pain as his knuckles were busted and bloody from repeatedly plugging into the lifeless body he held by the collar.

He was just about to throw another blow when the man was saved by the ringing of the phone.

Releasing the man, Ran picked up his phone. “What?” he barked.

“She’s in labor.”

.

His thumb swiped over the image on his screen of the chubby sleeping infant.

A girl.

He was a father to a baby girl.

It took everything in him not to rush to the hospital she was at and burst into the room to pull them both into his arms.

Even though neither of them had spoken in months, Ran ensured she was taken care of from afar. It pissed him off that the money he sent her went untouched and knew Y/n purposedly refuses to use it to irk him.

The one thing she could not prevent him from doing was the man he hired to protect her and reporting back to him with her every move.

She had an ultrasound appointment today at 2:30. Results show that the gender of the baby is a girl.

At approximately 12:45 AM, she left for the nearest open convenience store and purchased a variety of snacks and junk food.

She had a breakdown watching Sailor Moon.

Ran flipped through the many photos he received from K. He didn’t know how the man was able to take some photos up close and as if he was there in person but he didn’t question the man’s skill. Ran paid him well and he expected nothing but the best.

He was still waiting to hear back from K about what Y/n had named his daughter.

His daughter.

Chuckling like a maniac, he reprimanded himself. What right did he have to claim her as his daughter when he abandoned them?

Ran quickly sat up and ignored the annoying voice in his head when he saw the three dots appear by K’s name.

K: she named your daughter Fuyumi. She has her mother’s last name.

Ran gave his message a thumbs up, acknowledging his message.

Why had he expected that Y/n would give their child his last name?

Reaching for his cigarettes, he was about to light one when he froze, remembering he quit because… he had not wanted to give his child and Y/n second-hand smoke.

Even if he was nowhere near them.

Grabbing the pack of cigarettes and lighter, he tossed it into the garbage.

Leaning back against his couch, he is once again, drowning in his own doing.

Mikey and Rindou have scolded him for making such a pathetic decision to end their relationship. He would never admit that hearing Mikey saying that he would never give up his woman regardless of his lifestyle.

But the damage was already done.

His phone dinged with another message.

Reaching over, he frowned when the notification was from K again, this time of an image.

He tapped on the image, waiting for it to load.

Ran sat up quickly, zooming in on the picture. His eyes scanned the document repeatedly.

For the first time, his heart warmed.

On the official documents of his daughter’s birth certificate, her middle name is listed as Haitani.

He didn’t realize he was smiling like a fool as he pressed down on the image with his thumb and hearted the photo.

.

His daughter was a splitting image of her mother and Ran thanked the Gods for it. The two things she inherited from him are his distinctive violet-hue eyes and blond hair. In some photos K sent her eyes sometimes changed, showing that she also inherited her mother’s blue eyes, sometimes a mixture of blue-violet.

Tapping the screen, he saved all these photos, adding them to the designated folder he created for his daughter.

His phone dinged and it was a message from Mikey, an image.

Ran’s eyes widened as he stood up abruptly, it was a photo of Mikey smiling broadly with his sixth-month-old daughter in his arms.

Mikey: She’s freaken cute, can I keep her?

.

Y/n didn’t fear Mikey as much as she should, considering he was a notorious gang leader many feared and the boss of your daughter’s father. She only met Mikey a few times and he treated her kindly.

Ran once said to her it was probably because she was the same age as his baby sister who passed away years ago.

She was surprised to see Mikey approach them at the park. Sensing fear from Mikey and his bodyguards, the other moms quickly gathered their children and took off.

Y/n pulled her daughter out of the baby swing and hugged her close. “Mikey.” She acknowledged, nodding her head at him.

He nodded in return, his eyes shifting to the baby in her arms. “Is she Ran’s?”

Y/n knew he knew the answer already, even if she did lie which she had no reason to, the color of her eyes and hair was a giveaway that she had Ran’s DNA running through her blood.

“Yes,” she answered quietly.

Mikey took a step closer and held out his arms, “is she picky? Can I hold her?”

“If you like, she is… a bit drooly.” Fuyumi stared at Mikey before he reached for her. She continued to stare at him, seeing a new face. “Her name is Fuyumi.” She wasn’t sure he heard her since he was having a staring contest with the baby.

“God!” Mikey snuggled her, “you’re so freaken cute. Thank goodness you look nothing like your dad.” He reached for his phone and looked at Y/n for approval, “can I send Ran a photo? So he knows what he’s missing out on?”

Y/n let out a hesitant laugh, “I’m sure Ran knows... he has someone following and protecting us and he sends Ran updates daily.”

“You know about K?” Mikey gasped, he looked at Fuyumi. “Do you know Uncle K?” He snaps a selfie with her. “Your dad is going to be so jealous that I got a photo with you before him.”

Y/n had a second change of heart but knew that Mikey had already sent the photo. She didn’t know how Ran would react.

Instantly, Mikey chuckled and looked at the baby in his arms, “that sounds awfully like your dad’s motorcycle…”

That’s when Y/n heard it, her head turning towards the sound of the roaring muffler. Sure enough, Ran’s motorcycle pulls up. Of course, he would know where Mikey is at all times in case he needed to get to Mikey at any time.

Y/n’s heart fluttered the moment he took off his helmet and their eyes connected even at a distance.

Ran stopped a few feet away from Mikey, eyes on his daughter. He swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to speak.

“Are you going to say hi to your daughter at all?” Mikey questioned, “I’ll take her if you don’t want her…” he smiled at Fuyumi, “I can be your da –“

“Mikey.” Ran snarl.

Mikey ignored his tone, continuing to talk to the baby. “As I was saying, I can be your daddy. I have blond hair – “

“We should get going,” Y/n intervenes, stepping forward to reach for her child. “It is almost time for her nap.” Y/n hugs her daughter close. She avoided looking at Ran as she muttered a goodbye, turning her heels towards the stroller.

.

She knew Ran was following them.

When she finally reached her apartment she whipped around to face him. Ran had his hands stuffed in his dress pants, looking handsome as ever in his black attire with his sleeves rolled up to his elbow. She cleared her throat and snapped, “you can go now.”

Instead of walking away, he walked towards her until he was in front of them. His eyes drop down to the sleeping baby in the stroller. “Can we talk?”

“No.” Y/n answered immediately. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“That’s fine, I have something to say to you though.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “you had plenty of opportunities in the past to say something. It’s too late, excuse us.”

Ran was faster and blocked her from entering her apartment building. “We can do this the nice way, Y/n, or I can take you kicking and screaming, you pick.”

She flinched at his threat. Though he has never done anything to make her fear him that didn’t mean she didn’t harbor any fear for this man at all. She knew of some of the things he’s done and is responsible for, knew what he could do to anyone with the snap of his fingers.

.

Ran has only been in her apartment a handful of times. Most of the time, she was at his place.

Y/n was normally a clean and tidy person but her place was cluttered with toys and baby items.

He watched her carefully lift the baby out of the stroller, cooing gently and rocking her back to sleep but being disturbed, the baby began to fuss.

“It’s okay,” Y/n repeated quietly but the baby’s cry only increased. She looked at Ran before excusing herself, “let me go nurse her, I’ll be back.”

Ran nodded dumbfounded. His cheeks flushed as he imagined Y/n nursing their daughter, suckling from her tits just as he had once done.

Y/n returned with their daughter wide awake. Fuyumi stared intensely at Ran as he stood up from the couch and approached them. Being 6’2, he towered over the both of them put together. “She’s beautiful… like you.”

Ran was mesmerized staring into the same colored eyes as his own, his flesh, his DNA… his daughter.

Y/n cleared her throat, “talk.”

He had rehearsed what he would say to her the day he got the opportunity, and this was his one chance to explain himself with an ounce of hope that he could turn the tables. “I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “I am sorry for my past actions, how it hurt not only you but our daughter as well.” He inhaled softly, “my actions hurt me too. But I can promise you, there has not been anyone. I had only kissed that woman that night to force you to end your connection with me and that was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made.”

“Yeah it was,” Y/n snapped, “I don’t need your apology now, neither does my daughter too.”

Her anger was expected, just as long as she didn’t hate him.

“I know you don’t need it, but I want to give it anyway. If you want to throw it away, that’s your decision.” He had to play his next card right. “Can –  I explain myself?”

She has never seen Ran vulnerable like this and she almost believes it’s genuine. “Fine, have a seat then,” she pointed to the spot he was sitting moments ago.

He listened obediently, watching her take a seat on the floor with their daughter. He wanted to sit near them but did not want to frustrate her. “It has always been you. As you know my job… my lifestyle isn’t exactly best fitted to become a father and I thought for the sake and safety of the both of you, it was the best decision to go our ways.” He placed both his palms on the coffee table. “That was another stupid decision and I regret it every single day. But there has never been anyone else, it’s only been you since the day I forced you to walk away.”

Y/n refused to make eye contact with him, only looking at her daughter and smiling at her.

Ran wasn’t sure she was even listening to him.

“Is that all?”

He shook his head, “no, I’ve been sending you money but you haven’t touched it and that made me frustrated so…” he swallowed the guilt. “I have someone secretly following you, he is tasked to protect you at all times, 24/7, and report to me about your daily activities… I’m sorry for invading your privacy and going behind your ba – “

“I know.”

“What?” his head snapped up, eyes wide as he stared into Y/n’s calm ones.

“I met him… K.”

His jaw dropped. “Mother fu –“ he stopped himself as his daughter turned her head to look at him right when he was about to swear. “I’m sorry, baby.” As if understanding him, she smiled brightly with a gummy smile. His heart nearly combusted.

“Don’t kill him,” Y/n looked at him with pleading eyes, “I caught him one day when I had pretended to have a stomachache. He was by my side instantly, confirming my suspicion. He didn’t reveal any information, but he answered my questions if I asked.” She looked away and reached for the toys her daughter was reaching for. “I had asked him not to tell you that I knew you assigned someone to watch over me. As much as I was hurt by you, it made me feel better knowing deep down, you cared even if it was a little bit.”

“Y/n…”

“So don’t kill him. He has become a friend to me.”

Ran wanted to kill him now knowing how close they’d become.

“Were you not curious how he was able to get such accurate details let alone photos of Fuyumi as if he was here in person?”

It all clicked in Ran’s head.

“I knew this guy was an expert at his job, just thought that this guy was just phenomenal at his job… only to discover he has become BFF with you.” His eyes drop to his daughter, “and my daughter too apparently.” He rests his elbow on his knees, covering his face. “God, I feel…” he sat up straight. “Y/n, I had all my shit planned out on what I want to tell you but I can’t remember sh – it. It. I can’t remember it now.” He stood up, walked around, and knelt before them, he grabbed Y/n by her shoulders. “Hit me all you want, be angry with me, and punish me for however long you want…” his hand shifts to cup her face. “Just don’t hate me and push me away.”

Y/n blinked dumbfoundedly, shocked at the Ran before her.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just… let me be part of your life again. And Yumi’s…” that was the name of his daughter’s photo album. “I may not have physically been there for you in the last months but K’s daily report made me feel as if I was. I will forever regret missing my daughter’s birth.”

Ran looked down when he felt something against his thigh. His daughter had pulled herself onto his lap. She looked up at him with curious eyes, almost admiring him. His gaze softened as he reached for her but froze, he looked up at Y/n, silently asking for permission.

“Yes, please…” Y/n had imagined if the day would come when Ran would hold their daughter.

Ran bit his lip, nervous, realizing he had never held a baby before, let alone been near one.

As if it was natural, he picked her up, holding her against his chest.

Y/n’s heart tightened watching them have a silent conversation. Ran’s smile softened as Fuyumi gently touched the Bonten insignia tattoo on his throat, her small fingers trying to grab at the design. A soft chuckle was elicited from Ran.

“You need to prove your worth to Yumi.”

Ran’s smile faded as he blinked at Y/n. “Yumi?” He repeated, “what… about you?”

Y/n broke eye contact, “you only need to work on your relationship with her.”

.

Ran visits his daughter almost every day and on the days that he could not, he would video-call her. He took pride in becoming one of her favorite humans. Her excitement when he walked through the door was all that Ran needed to make his day better.

“Hi Yumi!”

Hearing her father’s voice, the ten-month-old smiled brightly, flashing her solo tooth. She leaned against the coffee table, trying to reach for the TV controller that she loved more than her toys.

He picked up and spun her in the air, “did you have a good day?”

“Do you not see the bruise on the left side of her forehead?”

At Y/n’s words, Ran’s eyes widen seeing the new battle wound. “What did you fight today?”

“The TV stand and lost.”

“Losing is not in your blood, Yumi,” Ran scolded softly.

.

It was rare that Y/n would call him.

Especially when it was 3 AM.

“Y/n?”

“Ran, Yumi is running a fever and won’t go down. I – I need you to take us to the hospital.”

He was already pulling his pants on, “I’m on my way.”

Everything was a blur. He reached the hospital and barked for the nurses to look at his daughter. She was immediately taken away from Y/n’s arms and taken into a restricted area.

At that moment, Y/n turned to Ran, his arms wrapped tightly around her body. “It’ll be okay, she’ll be okay.”

.

Two days in the hospital passed by before they could finally head home. Yumi’s cheerful personality had fully returned.

During that time in the hospital, Ran stayed right beside them, only leaving to change and shower and would return. The first night, Yumi struggled and only slept well in the arms of her dad.

The image of Ran sleeping in the recliner with Yumi snoozing against his chest would forever be itched in Y/n’s mind.

“Home sweet home,” Ran sang, walking into the apartment. “Do you miss your toys?”

Y/n smiled, setting down their belongings. “Can you keep her busy while I put this stuff away?”

“Go for it,” Ran answered softly with a smile.

She returned fifteen minutes later and found that Ran had put Yumi down for her nap. She cuddles in the crook of Ran’s long arms.

Feeling her presence, he looked up and smiled and whispered, “she was playing when I noticed her head started to bob and she almost rolled over.”

Y/n smiled and whispered, “do you want to put her down?”

Slowly, Ran followed her to the nursery and set her down easily. When he turned around, Y/n was already gone from the room.

He found her in the living room, seated on the couch with her face covered in her hands. “Y/n?” When she looked up, her tear-streaked face had Ran kneeling in front of her in seconds. “What’s wrong? Why – why are crying?”

She surprised him when her arms wrapped around his neck, “I don’t know what to do without you.”

Ran sighed, relaxing in her embrace. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “It’s the same for me too, I don’t know what to do without you or Yumi.”

After a long pause, he couldn’t believe his ears when he heard her ask, “will you come back to us?”

He pulled away from her and gazed into her glossy eyes, he smiled, “I think the real question is, will you come back to me?” He has already stolen the heart of his daughter, he just needs to earn her heart this time around.

She choked back a sob and wiped her tears, smiling. “Yes, I’ll come back to you.” She cups his face before pressing her lips against his. “I hated you but I love you too much.”

“You can hate me just as long as you love me more,” he kissed her passionately, nipping her lip. “God, I love you too. I missed you so much… I never want to be apart from you or Yumi again…”

“I won’t let you go, there’s no turning back.”

“Done, I’m yours. Just as you are mine, forever.”

They stumbled into her bedroom, quickly shredding their clothes.

“Ran,” Y/n gasped, feeling him thrust into her. “God – I missed you…”

“I missed you too,” he murmured, slowly thrusting into her.

In silence, they both exchange soft gasps and moans, reminding one another why it’ll never work out with anyone else.

Their lips crashed against each other, making up for the lost time as their body continued to move in sync.

“Ran,” Y/n’s nails dug into his shoulder, “I’m so close… please… please let me cum…”

His lips pressed against her throat, teeth grazing against the skin. “Same – cum Y/n…”

Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and her arms tightened around his neck, “ah – ha… Ran!”

His hips tremble as he cums, filling her womb.

Ran buried his face in the valley of her breasts, “I – I’m sorry… I forgot a condom…” It was Y/n’s laughter that he lifted his head, blinking at her in confusion.

She runs a hand through his lilac-streaked hair, “if you impregnate me again, please just be with me this time around.”

He tugs her wrist and presses a kiss to her palm. “Promise.”

E/n: Sweet daddy Ran is something else.

.

.

.

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

[steviewashere]

Make a Home Out of Hurt

Rating: General CW: Death of a Grandparent, Mourning Tags: Post-Season 4, Post Canon, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe — Future Fic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Sad Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Steve Harrington Mom is Okay, Steve Harrington's Dad is an Asshole, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Moving in Together

Had an evil little thought. Also, all these Fenton bunnies I mention are real! My nana collects Fenton. (She's alive, don't worry, but I thought about her the other day and it spiraled into this.)

🏡—————🏡 We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie thinks, but won’t say.

Even though they have. They’ve driven by the same three houses. Yellow, pastel pink, and navy blue. White door, white door, brown door. Bushes and bushes and a bushel of red roses. One garage, no garage, no garage but large driveway. He’s seen them. Over and over and over.

And each time they pass the last one, the leather of the steering wheel squeaks. And each time, Steve makes a muffled sort of noise. And each time, Eddie wonders if resting his hand on Steve’s shaking shoulders would anger him or mellow him. And each time, the car gets just a little slower as Steve loses his control more and more.

We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie continues to think, but knows he’ll sit here with those words. He’ll sit in the passenger seat. Window cranked as far down as it’ll go—half-way since Dustin busted the actual mechanism. Beemer’s been through a lot, so it’ll be here for Steve’s end all breakdown, too. With the radio volume low, playing the same double-sided tape on repeat, flipped by Eddie because Steve’s hands have been shaking: The World We Knew by Frank Sinatra. Because it was her favorite. Nana’s favorite. Nana Harrington’s favorite.

On the fifth drive through, Steve finally parks the car. At the end of the long, slow winding driveway. He looks out the windshield, hollowed and not quite here. With limp hands in his lap. Messy, greasy hair he couldn’t bother to style. Eye bags so heavy, Eddie barely believes he can hold them on his face.

Eddie can follow his line of sight. To the edge of the white picket fence, worn down a little with age, scratched up from the curled nails of an old brown dog, carved with her son and daughter-in-law’s initials, and eventually stained with yellow handprints from baby Steve. Yellow because, as Steve has echoed, “Lello, Nana. Lello like your dress. Your favorite!” Well, Steve’s favorite too, he just won’t acknowledge it’s because of his nana. Eddie knows that the paint has faded a bit since then, given that it’s been fifteen years since Steve’s had hands that small, but Eddie can see him. In his little white and red striped t-shirt, hidden by a pair of nicely pressed denim overalls, white sneakers, and his mom’s bobby pins in his hair—something she did because it just wouldn’t stop growing so fast and thick. Or so Eddie’s been told.

He’s been told a lot in the last week. Since the call came through the landline of their apartment. Since Steve had gone silent and collapsed to his knees and wailed, screamed even. Since he dressed himself in a suit that fit well, but looked out of place on his curled in body. Since…since the obituary was finally in his hands at the funeral, and he got so sick in the church’s restroom, Eddie had to drive them home in a daze—a quarter worried, a quarter tired, and half hanging by a thread. He thinks he’s heard everything, but what is love if not more than everything? If not all the words in every language, all known objects and unknown, every species and race and sexuality and identities combined?

He’ll hear everything. Until their old and grey and forgetting everything.

“There used to be a tire swing on that tree,” Steve states flatly, pointing at the weeping oak in his nana’s front yard. It’s crooked like it’s been kissed by the wind. A lot withering because the weather’s been harsh on her. Grey against the navy blue of the house’s siding.

I know, sweetheart, Eddie wants to say, so soft it gets lost between them. Instead, “Yeah? Bet it was a good tire, too,” he coaxes, still soft, all sweet. Even if he’s heard it each time they’ve passed by.

Steve nods once in his peripheral. Sniffs. “Yeah,” he states wetly, “one of the expensive ones. She didn’t want it to pop under me. Didn’t…She didn’t want me to stop using it.” His head dips down, looking at his fingers, where they’ve begun to absently trace the seams of his jeans. “I stopped,” he whispers shamefully. “You think she got mad because I stopped?”

“No, baby,” Eddie answers honestly. “I think that she was happy you used it at all. Think she was always just happy to see you, Steve.”

A sharp intake of breath next to him. “I used to come over here when my parents were gone. Or when they’d scream at each other. Or when…when they’d forget I existed,” he relays, quiet as a mouse. “When they’d forget, Nana would open the door and kiss my cheek and make me something to eat. I was always too skinny. So she made me casseroles,” he explains, a wisp of a smile. Gone in the blink of an eye. “She’ll never make ‘em again, though. She won’t—”

“Steve,” Eddie calls gently, a small warning. A siren before the tsunami. 

“—Love me again,” Steve sobs, “Nana won’t love me again.”

“Oh, baby,” he breathes. Eddie steps out of the car, rounds over to the driver’s side, and yanks the door open. Carefully, he unbuckles Steve, scoots him so that his legs dangle over the side, and pulls him down into a gentle hug. “Baby,” he coos. “Just get it out, honey. I’m right here. We’re right here. I’ve got you.”

And Steve cries. Again; though Eddie’s lost count. He squirms against Eddie’s chest. Head nestled to his neck. Crying big sounds that sound too large, even for his adult body. Sounds that carry boats, that poison with oil spills, that home orcas. He slobbers onto Eddie’s skin, grand globs of hot spit that gargle in his throat before launching from his mouth. His unshaved stubble scratching at the side of Eddie’s face—where his skin is sensitive and smooth and will most definitely be raw with Steve’s aching.

He sobs until there’s no more tears. Until he’s a whimpering, shivering mess on Eddie’s chest. Bunched up and small and fisting Eddie’s t-shirt like a lifeline. Squeezing the fabric in his hands like two lemons.

Eddie runs his hands up and down Steve’s spine. From the small of his back to his hunched shoulders, squishing him. He sways them ever so gently like the rustle of the old oak tree. Hums something incoherent and unrecognizable. If only to get Steve to stop shaking.

“Eds?”

“Hm?”

He takes a long, slow breath. Breathes out, “Why’d she give me the house?”

Eddie pulls them apart. One hand on the middle of Steve’s back, the other cupping his left cheek. Swiping at the tacky tracks from his tears. “I’m not sure, baby. Maybe she loved you so much that she wanted you to have it? To always be safe there?”

“Shouldn’t she have given it to my dad? I don’t…” Steve’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, his mouth frowning. “I don’t deserve her house?”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie sighs. “She chose you for a reason. You, Stevie. Not anybody else. Just you. If she wanted to give it to her son, she would’ve. But she didn’t. She thought of you, put you in the will, and now it’s yours.” When Steve doesn’t respond, Eddie gives him his moment of silence. Running his palm up to Steve’s shoulders. Pressing his thumb into his supple skin. “You may never know her intent, but she probably had a reason. It was a home you came running to, where you felt safest, where you felt…loved. Grandmothers always have this air to them, like they just know things about you before you say ‘em. Maybe she just knew you needed her and her space before you even realized.”

Steve sniffles. His eyes are still wet. Bloodshot and tired. Rumpled all the way around, exhausted and quiet. “She used to play with me in the yard.”

I know, Eddie thinks once more. He goes with the topic change though, if that’s what Steve needs.

“And when we played hide and seek, she always made sure to look until I was found. Because she didn’t want me to feel forgotten, her words.” Steve’s fingers are fidgeting with one another again. Picking at his fingernails, peeling at hangnails. Eddie moves down and takes them, rubbing soothing circles into their backs, just so Steve doesn’t harm himself on top of everything. Steve continues, hushed, “When I’d stay the night, she would sleep with me. Hold me close to her. Scratch my back and scalp and tell me stories…all the way until I fell asleep.”

“Kinda like I do, huh?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Think that’s why I feel so loved and safe with you.”

And Eddie hasn’t cried, not really, not yet. But this may be it. Because he knows, beyond everything, that Nana was special to Steve—so special that just one negative comment, one complaint, one little fuss about her was enough to get you shunned by him. He’s seen it play out with Dustin, he’d been banned from coming over for two weeks. And with El, who didn’t understand quite yet, but had lost conversational abilities with Steve for two whole days—ergo, the Silent Treatment.

This means something. It means everything. Eddie kind of wants to cry about it.

But he reigns himself in for now. Because Steve needs him like water. For somebody to just be there and be present and be patient. Through it all.

“You wanna head inside,” Eddie offers, “I’ve got the key in my pocket.” He gestures loosely to the inside of his vest, the safest pocket near his heart. When Steve nods, Eddie leads them inside silently. Opens the door first, per request made by Steve days prior. Sets his shoes by the front door—not told to, but just out of respect. Hangs up his jacket, his vest. Takes Steve’s jacket, too. Unties his Nike sneakers. Smacks a quick kiss to his cheek. And then he waits by the front door for Steve to say or do something.

The first thing he does is gasp. Eyes roaming the hallway, the living room, and the fireplace that connects the kitchen and living space together. He takes a few tentative steps before stopping in front of a tall, full China cabinet.

“Her Fenton bunnies,” Steve breathes.

Eddie slowly approaches behind him. Wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him into his side a little. “Are these the ones your mom was talking about on the phone?”

“Yeah. I just…Didn’t think my mom was telling the truth,” Steve murmurs. “She told me Dad didn’t want these. Takes up room or whatever. But they’re so pretty here, how could you not want these?” His left hand reaches for the knob of the cabinet. Twisting it gently as to not rattle the glass shelves. With the doors swung open, the bunnies under the cabinet’s lighting are free to touch. And so Steve picks one up, carefully in his hands like it’s alive. Maybe it is, Eddie thinks for a moment, alive with her spirit.

He breathes silently by Steve as he investigates the glass item in his hand. Running his thumbs over the ears. Down the smooth back.

“Satin glass,” Steve states, “It’s like touching the fabric, which is so weird. Nana used to talk about it all the time, but I never believed her. She never let me touch. You wanna?” He holds the bunny up to Eddie’s face. In offering, for him to pet. So he runs a slow thumb down its back. And sure enough, soft as silk, cold to the touch. “All of them are here.” He replaces the silk, purple bunny on the shelf. Picking up a chromatic shifting one next. “Carnival glass,” Steve explains, “it’s heavier than the other one, feels like. But so shiny. Think Nana used to say it was amethyst or something, but that might be what the color shift is called?”

“You sure listened to her well,” Eddie murmurs, “know a lot about this.”

Steve chuckles, a little choked to Eddie’s ears but he makes no comment. “Yeah, I guess I did. Mom used to say that I had selective hearing. That I listened when it was something I cared about.”

“And you cared a lot about Nana,” Eddie concludes.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “cared a lot about Nana.” He sets the carnival glass bunny back on the shelf. Standing idle in front of it all, taking it all in. “She has one upstairs, in a different glass cabinet. It glows green under the special blacklight upstairs. Said it was radioactive.” He chuckles again. “I gave her that one. As a gift for Mother’s Day in…I think ’77? Mom helped me pick it out—she was nice about the bunnies, about finding this stuff. She loved Nana, too. And she…” He laughs low in his chest and Eddie blossoms a little at the sound, unheard in so long. “Mom would pull out the long box of tissue paper and gift bags from the crawlspace. She’d unfold the prettiest gift bag—this one was a little brown one, covered in peach colored peonies. Stuffed some off-white tissue paper in that one. Wrapped the little yellow—well, it was supposed to be yellow—Fenton bunny in bubble wrap, covered it up with a bunch of caramels. Gave it to Nana, and she squealed! Apparently, she already knew it was radioactive? Thought it was the best gift ever. Which, ouch Nana, I gave you other bunnies for Mother’s Day, c’mon.”

Eddie snorts. “Maybe that’s what earned you the house? That radioactive bunny was probably the key to her heart,” he jokes. Though his stomach turns at the possibility it wasn’t appropriate to make.

Steve laughs loudly, though. Shaking his entire body with it. He slips his hand into Eddie’s back right pocket, sighs, and leans against him relaxed. “Dad should’a tried harder if he wanted Nana’s heart,” he comments, “all it took was a damn bunny.”

“Among other things, I’m sure.”

“Probably,” Steve sighs. “I think she was just excited to have a grandkid. She had a weird relationship with my dad. They didn’t get along very well. So maybe she was sorta…trying again?”

“Stevie, I think she just loved you. There doesn’t have to be some grand, deep meaning behind it. I think she just loved your company. How your laugh fills a room and your smile is seen from across the yard. And how you’re always polite, despite having reasons to not be. Maybe because of your terrible puns and how awful you are at quoting Shakespeare? You charm everybody, Steve,” Eddie monologues. “There’s not a reason to not love you.”

For a moment, the room falls completely silent. Distantly, there’s the slow tick of a wall clock. A few birds singing out in the backyard, where the bird bath probably is—only known through Steve’s memories. A slight hum from the radiator. The cars passing by on the main road just around the corner. Hawkins is quiet when there’s mourning; maybe it’s felt through the whole town, through the soles of Steve’s socked feet, from the beating of his ever love absorbent heart.

She died November 7th, 1993. Just a few days ago. Maybe it’s the anniversary of Will Byers going missing that Hawkins is feeling. Maybe it’s just tragedy. It’s love persevering—even in the most dire of situations. Where Joyce Byers was screaming about where her son may be, all those mismatched theories, and the ways in which the town thought she was crazy—even when they believed her and cried over her son’s body being pulled from the water. Where Will is actually thriving now. Where Sandra Harrington no longer is, though she was a fixture in several communities and families, Steve’s own being included.

“How’s your boy doing?” Wayne asked the day after her funeral. Eddie had shrugged, admitting he wasn’t sure because Steve had gone terribly quiet and sick. “Tell him I’m sorry. That he has a home with us. That he can come over and cry and I’ll make him hot cocoa. Alright, Ed?”

God, even Wayne knew. And there was silence after his condolences.

There is so much silence.

Until, finally, Steve asks, “Will you live with me here?”

“Wh—What?” Because surely he didn’t hear that right.

“Live with me here,” Steve repeats, a little more urgent. “I don’t think I can handle this place alone. And…I know how to use her gas stove. I can make you the spaghetti dish she used to make. And the casseroles she used to bake. We can open up her recipe box and I’ll teach you how to make her apple pie—the one she gave me for your birthday two years ago?

“And we can read your Lord of The Rings books on the porch on the bench she has out there? Grill in the backyard when we have everybody over. Robin can have the room that used to be my nursery. We can…We can live our lives here.”

Stunned, Eddie gapes momentarily. Before gripping harder at Steve’s waist, drawing him closer even when there’s no more room. Two solid bodies connected from shoulder to foot. “Are you sure, Steve? You don’t wanna—“

“You’re my family, Eds. I have loved you since that bullshit in ’86. We have seen each other through our absolute worst. Of course I’m sure. Of course I want you here,” Steve swears. “I know what I’m getting into. Even if it hurts to look around here right now. But you’ve been here by me through one of the worst heartbreaks I’ve ever experienced. I want you here—preferably always.”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. He reaches out with his free hand and cups the right side of Steve’s face. Swipes over his glistening cheekbone. Under his shadow beaten eye. The tickling brush of Steve’s bottom eyelashes on the tip of his thumb. And he kisses him tenderly, with every word he could ever imagine to say, all emotion he could ever feel, with an intensity seen in atomic bombs. He pulls back to see Steve’s eyes closed. Flushed and bright in the cabinet’s full white lighting, doors still open, and fragile glass bunnies as witnesses. Promises, “I want to, Steve. I want to be here with you. Through it. All of it. As long as I get to love you.”

And on his thumb there are fresh tears, gone cold but skin scalding. Steve’s lips trembling with silent cries. His eyelashes fluttering. Him and him and him. Beautiful and raw and open. Gentle like flowers and strong like wind. Aching and romantic and with a heart the size of the universe itself. Because Steve Harrington is everything—

Or so his nana has said. But Steve doesn’t know. And that’s Eddie’s own secret.

“Okay,” Steve mutters, “make a home with me, Ed.”

🏡—————🏡

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I have a concept in my head of season 3 of OFMD being like...Ed needs to learn to be bad at things, and Stede needs to get used to being good at things.

It's going to be a huge adjustment for Ed, I think. He is so accustomed to this sort of massive success where he must be hyper-competent at absolutely everything that the learning curve is going to hit him hard. He's going to have crying breakdowns because he didn't manage to properly seal the roof on his first try. He's going to realize that it was maybe a bit ambitious to decide he wanted his first ever woodworking project to be intricately carving designs into the baseboard. He's going to have to learn that it's okay not to have an angle, and he's safe to just go out and fish not because he Needs that to be something he's Amazing at, literally life-or-death stakes, but just because it's something he enjoys.

And Stede. Oh boy. Stede is so used to being seen as a failure that it's integral to his self-perception, and at this point he's just accepted that Stede Bonnet Is A Failure. In some ways, this is actually going to help - Stede's used to trying, fucking up, and then trying again better. He's used to having to improvise and think on the go. In that way, he's a perfect fit for Ed's struggles, because he'll tackle all those little homemaking tasks with unfettered enthusiasm and a willingness to try and fail until he gets it right.

But because Stede is so convinced that he's a fuckup, he tends to just passively accept blame for everything. He won't even defend himself. Ed in s2 is already getting so much better about being able to put his fears and worries on the table, and if Stede is just blaming himself for everything, it's going to quickly become very one-sided. Ed's had a lot more growth here than Stede has, and getting feelings out of Stede will be like pulling teeth. I can easily see Ed starting to worry that Stede just isn't listening to him, and getting annoyed when Stede clearly doesn't like the furniture they picked for the living room even though he said it was fine. Stede's going to just roll over on most domestic squabbles and spats because he just assumes that Ed's right and he's wrong, and eventually Ed's going to catch on and worry that Stede just doesn't want to talk with him and compromise. When Stede just accepts full blame for things and assumes he's entirely at fault, it also means he's denying Ed needed explanations for why he did or said certain things.

I can so easily see the main challenge of the season being that Ed is ready to get married, he's excited to make this commitment, he knows they're it for each other and he wants this. Their wedding was super clearly foreshadowed, it's something Ed clearly wants very deeply. But Stede's first marriage was such a disaster, and he felt like a failure of a husband, and he's going to be terrified of that happening again. And that's just going to build and build until something gives and Stede realizes that he's hurting Ed by just assuming ahead of time that Stede is going to be a failure of a husband to him.

Just...Ed getting to learn that he's okay to not be perfect at everything he does, and the world won't fall apart around him. Stede slowly starting to see that he's genuinely not fundamentally a fuck-up, and he needs to have a little faith in himself for his relationship with Ed to be healthy. And both of them getting to be secure in knowing that they've got the other right there with them for support the whole way.

[bibibbon]

MHA chapter 426

4 more chapters until MHA ends and wow!!!

Honestly this chapter was mainly the conclusion of the todoroki family arc which I still hate how it played out and ended. The whole todoroki family NOT INCLUDING ENJI deserves so much better than what horikoshi gave them.

Hawks is the new HPSC leader?!?! I feel like the system should of just been destroyed considering how much it hurt everyone and hawks by no means has any proper character development to take this role. Hawks hasn't really broken down his flawed beliefs or truly developed from his mentality that ended up getting one of the most redeemable league of villains members aka twice killed. Also he barely reflects on his actions and all of this feels so underwhelming and unprepared for.

Todoroki family deserves better. The ABSLOUTELY vile ending the todoroki family received is horrible like I really feel like they should just runaway and live in a house without endeavour and actually take up on endeavours attornment bs. Like the only one who gets it is natsou who has every right to live with his girlfriend and keep her far away from that environment and oh my Rei deserves so much better both narratively and by the fandom.

Enji still sucks. Yeah I can't lie nothing this man can do can make me like him and it doesn't help that hori has written all of those retcons to humanise him and make him pitiful. I feel like when it came to the todoroki family arc enji took on a whole lot of screentime WHICH HE SHOULDNT OF!!! That should of gone to shoto and the rest of the family and an easy way to fix it is to simply have killed enji in the first war arc (as was initially planned but hori changed it later on) ALSO I SAY LET TOUYA REST AT THIS POINT!!! having him just mechanically alive and stuck is horrible honestly I think that death is much more of a merciful fate for him at this point.

So lady nagant chose to go to jail?!?! Her reasoning for it is actually so sad though and it really shows how much hero society traumatised her. Like the woman didn't want to be free so she can't be used by anyone and would rather spend time in prison over it. I wish that she was hawk's mentor from the begining because the vibe those two give is absolutely amazing and it would enhance the parallels and relationship they have if they were. Honestly I hope hawks actually does a good job but Iam still all for the destruction of hero society and I doubt hawks is actually going to reform it properly also the hero society is so deeply flawed that I don't think there is a proper way to reform more like just scratch everything out and start fresh.

Spinner is back. I hope I don't see him have a breakdown when he realises what happend to the league because I can't handle that. Also that begs the question I thought that spinner had become somewhat brain dead after all he's been through so how did he turn back from being a giant nomu?

I can't handle the sibling angst too bad that touya and shoto didn't have a better arc. The whole shoto trying to know touya better and him revealing that soba is also his favourite food softens my heart. In another universe where enji doesn't get a redemption touya gets one while justice is served to the todoroki family.

Gentle criminal and la brava getting justice. (The only good part of the chapter fr)

in conclusion this chapter was horrible if we look at it from a story perspective due to how badly MHAs already established plot points and themes are handled!!!

Also what happend to the random character in the last chapter!!! I hope we get closure on that soon