#long ass emotional screeching

[kenyummy]

HIGHLIGHTS OF THE NEL ꒰⚘݄꒱ BLUE LOCK

SYNOPSIS : the highlights of the NEL seem to go viral on social media, and it seems the ones surrounding you, as blue lock's dear manager, are the most popular. which are the four most popular?

notes: hey guys u should read wahhh this was very very fun to write

#4 — BONDING TIME OVER CHESS! 2.0m VIEWS

Sitting at a small table, is you and the one and only coach of the infamous German team—Noel Noa. There is a small jug of water on the table in front of you both and also a chess table.

You clutch your chin between your fingers thoughtfully, eyes narrowed and squinted down at the board. Each of you has equal pieces taken away, and he's seemed to have cornered your pieces on the table.

He's watching you with an unreadable expression—you hardly notice through your intense thinking.

A game, all about strategy—It's no surprise you and Noa were locked intensely in a game such as this. It is a game that centres around your team's core values, and there's no substitution for cold, unfiltered logic.

Your eyes light up, and you move your piece on the board. Underneath the table, you cross your fingers as he makes his next move.

It is not long at all before your smile widens and you move your pieces along—collecting his King piece and practically sparkling when you announce, "Checkmate."

He shows a semblance of emotion—shock—when his eyes widen at your moves. It's for such a split second that it was nigh impossible to catch it if you blinked—however, his expression soon reverted back to normal as soon as the reality of his loss sunk in.

"Hm." That is all he has to say. He stares down at the chess board for a few silent moments longer, then says, "I did not expect that. That was a smart move."

You aren't too prideful, but you feel like preening like a peacock at the praise. You smile, placing your linked hands on your lap and nodding, "Thank you. It only worked because I believed you would take the most logical option possible for that next move."

You gesture towards the barren pieces left around his king. If Noa were a regular person, you're sure he would've smiled.

But he is not, so he didn't. "...Good job."

You don't expect the way his large hand finds its way atop your head and how he gives you a singular head pat. You blink incredulously, with dotted eyes.

He pulls away after a moment and you cough into a closed fist. "Master... how about another game?"

He has an indifferent tone—"Sure."—But the way he looks at you fondly tells you all you need to know.

You smile—ignoring the crash and bang of the unsupervised training behind you—and keep smiling as Ness chases Raichi through the room with a kitchen knife.

COMMENTS:

— mimiziiii: THE MOST ICONIC FATHER AND DAUGHTER DUO FRRR

— noastan2234: noa is so hot I want him

— user464637: IM LITERALLY SOBBING THEY PLAY CHESS THEYRE SO CUTE SHSBHSGSHSJ      — user464637: father snd daughter are father and daughtering

#3 — BATTLE OVER THE BATHROOM! 2.6m VIEWS

Aryu and you are at a standstill. Staring at each other, you both are silent and glaring.

You move quicker than the eye can see—rushing forward and using your hand to push the taller man behind you. "Ladies first," you try to say, excusing yourself but is quickly tugged backward.

You screech, lips forming into a nasty scowl at the man tugging your lacy singlet like you're a dog, "WHAT THE HELL, JYUBEI?!"

He winces at the mention of his name, but holds his head up high and huffs, "A glam being such as I deserve to use the bathroom first."

"You and your long ass hair takes years to dry! I need it more!"

Sparkles fly around Aryu and he makes a glam pose, "I don't think so, my [name] dear. I cannot waste a moment to not deter my extreme—" He makes the mistake of letting go of you for a moment to gesture to himself, "—Glam."

His head is suddenly jerked back as you roughly tug it and hiss through your teeth, "Just be a good boy and let me use the bathroom—and I won't make your life hell during training, okay?"

He screams, eyes hardening at you, "You cretin! How dare you touch my hair?! The mop on your head doesn't need any care whatsoever!"

You gasp in offended shock and lunge at him, "Oh no you didn't—"

Five minutes of tussling and petty insults later—it is abruptly stopped by the upward grab of somebody tossing the skinny, spider-limbed boy over their shoulder.

"What... the hell... are you idiots doing?" There, in all his pajamaed, loose-hair glory, is Barou Shoei, holding Aryu in a death grip and staring at you two with an aura of death. His tone is nothing short of dangerous. "You... woke up the entire stratum."

You blink, wide-eyed, while Aryu flips his hair around like a buzzing fly.

"What the hell are you all yappin' about?" Aiku walks in with pants hanging low and shamelessly shirtless—yawning and eyes half-lidded while Niko stands beside him in an oversized shirt with the print, Sleep, Anime, Game, Repeat.

Sendou is walking like a sluggish zombie with a bright pink eye mask on that says, Pretty, with him inches away from walking into a wall, if Lorenzo had not steered him away with a loud cackle.

Suddenly, you stand up and dash forward, "Well, thanks for letting me use the bathroom!" You don't waste a second in flashing Barou a pearly smile and waving as you close the bathroom door.

Behind her, Aryu lets out a loud scream of frustration and Barou snaps at him to shut the fuck up.

COMMENTS:

— barouscleaningspray: OH BAROU SHOEI THE MAN THAT YOU ARE MY MAN FOREVER AND EVER

— cutiepiecoded: AND THEN THEYRE DOING EACHOTHERS HAIR THE NEXT DAY SHSGHSHS I LOVE THEM

— user33535: ubers the only family ever

— animefan222: niko so real for that shirt

#2 — GETTING INTERRUPTED! 4.3m VIEWS

You peek your head into an—almost—empty training room, blinking curiously and surveying the inside. Your eyes light up like stars when you catch sight of something inside the room. The camera pans to show that thing happened to be Isagi Yoichi.

"That shot you made during training was so incredible," you say, taking a seat beside him. A towel is wrung around his neck and he's drinking out of a water bottle like it is the first time he has ever touched water.

Sweat drips down the side of his face—he wipes it away with a large pearly grin and tilts his head toward you, "Right? I could barely believe I did it."

"But you did!" You look to be just as excited as he is, twinkling with joy and smiling wide, "Even Mariele was impressed! You did great, Isagi! If you can replicate it during a game, it will be perfect!"

Isagi stands up suddenly—seeming to be bursting with energy and joy—he situates himself in front of you and you stare up at him, "It's perfect!"

You laugh, standing up in front of him and he places his hands on your shoulders, "It is!"

You both start giggling uncontrollably together—even from a viewing perspective, the energy in the room is unmistakable—and he stares deeply into your eyes with a soft smile.

You look up at him with a similar expression—eyes-half-lidded and squinted upwards—you start to lean in, slowly, when—

"[name]!"

You nearly fall backwards, if not for Isagi's arm wrapping snugly around your waist and tugging you forward. Your head snaps towards the source of the noise in the room—and there stands Gagamaru, with an empty, confused look in his black-hole eyes.

You step aside, away from the egoist—you don't catch the disappointed look on his face as you look towards your goalkeeper—"Sorry, Gagamaru, what did you need?"

He blinks, soullessly. "We've run out of tide pods again."

Isagi is shown rolling his eyes in the background and grabbing his towel.

COMMENTS :

— THEdiva: AHHH THEY WERE SO CLOSEEEE <3333

— cloudycloudss: isagi and [name] have so much chemistry!!! i hope they start dating :((

— soccersoccer888: i hate isagi GOD I HATE ISAGI kaiser is so much better for her i cant

— jellylover3: NOOOO GAGAMARUUUU WHYYYYYY

— isa[name]stan_2626: THE WAY HER EYES LIT UPP WHEN SHE SAW HIM. THEYRE THE REASON I BELIEVE IN LOVE.

#1 — THE FIGHT OVER THEIR MANAGER! 5.6m VIEWS

The video abruptly starts at a strange angle, where Ness has a death grip on the front of Isagi's shirt, "Shut. Up! Die, Yoichi! DIE!"

Kurona and Hiori both leap over to try and pry the screeching boy off of Isagi with panicked expressions. Yukimiya, Gagamaru, Raichi and Kaiser all sit in the back without seeming worried whatsoever.

"Get off me—!!" Isagi pushes the magician away with a snarl, eyes narrowing into a hard glare and face contorting uncomfortably. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"How dare you say that to Kaiser?!" Ness regains his composure with a huff and glare, cheeks puffing out like a small child, "Don't you get it?! If Kaiser wants your manager, she's not yours anymore, she's his! This is his team, not yours, idiot Yoichi!"

A stark silence fills the room and everyone's eyes turn to Ness. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care—because his boiling hot glare directed towards Isagi does not falter for a moment.

"Well, that's incredibly presumptious of you to say." Yukimiya steps forward and pushes his glasses furthur up his nose bridge. "You talk about her as if she is nothing more than a exclusivity, no?"

Kaiser grins, pearly teeth peeking out from behind his slim lips, "Oh? Are you Blue Lockers getting all possessive over your little manager, now? Cute."

"Stay away from her," Gagamaru looms over the German with big wide eyes. "She's ours."

"No way!" Ness snarls, forcibly moving the big man away from Kaiser. "Stop talking to Kaiser like this! He's better than you all! You're just stupid stepping stones for—"

Kurona bares his teeth and frowns deeply, "Miss Manager likes us better, anyways. Anyways."

Kaiser squints his eyes and smiles at the shark-boy, head tilted to the side and smile dangerously charming, "Oh? And who said that?"

"Me, obviously." Isagi looks completely and utterly unaffected by Kaiser's words and stands up in front of him without hesitation. He stares, deeply, into his eyes. "You think, that in any world, she'd choose you, over me?"

His eyes rest and he looks strangely calm, "You're a fucking clown, Kaiser."

"Yoichi..." His voice is strained and hard—brows furrow downwards and he does not get a chance to say anything else when Ness pushes him back and gets all up in Isagi's face instead.

"Die, Yoichi! Die, you idiot!"

"Hey now, maybe we shouldn't..." Hiori raises his hand and begins to try and walk closer to the two—when he is swiftly cut off by Raichi yelling something to start a fight—and a fight he earns.

A catfight hidden by the circle of players ensues in the middle of the cafeteria—just as three figures pass by the open doorway.

You peek inside for a moment—then look right back at the people beside you. "Is everything alright in there?"

"If we walk quickly, we will not be able to see them." An ominous reply, from Noa, and that is all the soccer star says before grabbing you by the hand and tugging you along—forever lost and confused about what was going on in the cafeteria that day.

COMMENTS:

— bereal_hoe: HOW DOES SHE DEAL WITH THOSE GUYS I WOULD ACC KMS

— cherrypiepiepie: THE CUTIESSSSS OF THE WORLDDD THEY LOVE HER SM ITS SO ADORABLEEEE

— nonchalantdreadhead34: i cant kaiser is such a DICK

© KENYUMMY 2024

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Fun little thought, what if reader started kicking Hal in the balls without saying a word everytime they see him after that... less than consensual situation.

I mean EVERYTIME

Hal: Hey I know I messed u- *inhuman screech*

Reader: *kick him and walks away calmly*

________

*at a meeting bringing coffee*

Hal: Please talk to m- *bitch scream*

Reader: *pours hot coffee on his D, kicks him and turns to batman with a smile* Here's your iced coffee with whiskey, and maple syrup.

________

Batman: So we have noticed some... new hobby of yours, that might be affecting the work morale....

Hal: *on the floor crying after tasting reader's new shoes*

Superman: *concerned*

Wonder Woman: *tears of joy*

Reader: I have no idea what you are talking about.

The JL will do half assed attempts to stop it but everyone knows he deserveds it.

I can hold grudges for a loooooooooong time.

Rage took over your rationality for a long time, at some point, you and the League start getting suspisious...

The first few times he might have been caught off guard, but at some point, he's either delusional, or, well... He's getting turned on. It wouldn't be outrageous to think that, based on his previous "deviated conducts"

When questioned, Hal gets evasive

I personally don't think by Hal's personality he would enjoy being humiliated in front of other people maybe in the bedroom, only if you asked rly nice and cute, but for the sake of memes, let's leave it ambiguous if he is or not...

3 scenarios might happen:

1-You get tired and stop.

2-You realize he might me aroused and stop.

3-You start wearing especially pointy shoes that really hurt, and Hal stops aproaching you, just talks to you in a safe distance, and everything goes back to normal when you are the one to take initiative to talk to him in person first, and not just through e-mails, texts and phone calls, for whatever reason.

But be aware, each ring color means an emotion, Hal got green bc of his strong will

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part I : Humanist Seeking Person in Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Slow burn but like not really; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 7.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

1. Humanist Seeking Person in Love

The video you’d watched had said that the differences between a jamb nut and a coupling nut should have been obvious. A jamb nut, which was what you were currently looking for, was typically half as tall as a standard nut, or a coupling nut, and would be of a small, stouter shape compared to the other options. As you stare at the wall of overwhelming stock, the incomprehensible mess of steel, PVC, aluminum and plastic hardware you feel, a little bit, like you’d like to start screaming as loud as you possibly can, for as long as you possibly can. Just a rip roaring and rageful, top of your lungs, screech. Maybe it’d scare the leering men around you. Maybe they’d desist from the ogling of your ass in the tight confines of your ratty leggings, or the mildly pitying glances as your frustration and confusion becomes more and more obvious.

You try and take a deep breath, glancing down at your phone again and the screenshots you’d taken of the parts you need to fix your leaky kitchen sink. Zooming in, you hold the picture up next to the pipeware currently gripped in your sweaty hand and wonder again if what you’ve chosen is the right piece. You don’t understand why the hardware store, a local business, isn’t as neatly and efficiently organized as the larger chains, and why they make it so damn hard for someone without experience to come in and shop. You don’t want to buy the wrong thing and waste the money you already don’t have, you don’t want to have to make the trek back to this God awful fucking place. You hate the hardware store, you hate the way it smells, dusty and wooden, the cavernous hollow echo of it, the leering gazes of the men shopping, looking at you as if you’re some helpless child, something soft and easy to snap up and eat. You hate the memory of following your father around on many a Sunday morning after he’d forced you to come with him in some false attempt at bonding, at spending time together when really all it was, was another instance of you cowering behind him, trying to make yourself as silent and small as possible so as to avoid his anger and irritation. 

You look back down at the piece of PVC in your clutch, at the picture of what you’re supposed to be buying again, back at the other option, a copper bolt you think might look right but can’t really tell the difference, and you feel the backs of your eyes pinch and go hot and achy. A sharp, throbbing pain starting up behind your left eye and spiraling out like a stain to cover your forehead. You want to go home. You want your kitchen sink to stop leaking. You want the past year to never have happened. For your marriage to not have so irrevocably unraveled that the husband you’d so desperately fought to keep had left you out in the cold, divorced, very nearly penniless in a new apartment that you couldn’t make feel like home no matter how many fall scented candles and throw pillows you stuffed into every nook and cranny. You want to not have to make decisions like these and take care of things like this. You want very, very badly for someone else to come and take care of you, help you, make the choices that seem very hard in the moment but that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t really so difficult, but that still sometimes call for a second opinion, wiser, more experienced hands. 

And in that next blink, in a soft, deep voice that should not be as easily recognizable in your mind as it is given the handful of times you’ve actually heard it, your name, being murmured from behind you. The lilt of a question, the gruff of shock coating the syllables as it pushes against your bare nape. Soft as a sledgehammer, like ice water down your naked back, your shoulders hitch up to your ears, going tense and frightened, a hot flush of shame spilling through you, the keenest desire to run away from that soft voice as fast as your stupidly October flip flopped feet’ll take you. You hiccup the half sound of his name, not turning around, lashes fluttering quickly to prevent the dry heat of your eyes from spilling over, nerveless fingers going listless around the plastic nut. You don’t want to turn around. This is a cursed place, this hardware store, and you should never have come, and you really do hate it here. Deep breath, deep breath. Be polite, be succinct. You don’t need to talk to him. You don’t need to think about the past. Fuck the sink, fuck the pipes. You’ll just move apartments. You let a long stream of air out of your mouth, and then turn on the ball of your foot to face him. 

“Mr. Miller,” you breathe with a limp smile you know isn’t going to fool anyone. 

He frowns, the line of his mouth wavering as he tries to contain his displeasure. “We really back to that?” You shake your head, looking away from him as the last shopper in the aisle you’re inhabiting walks away, leaving the two of you alone. The store suddenly seems to exist in a vacuum echo, all other patrons seeming to disappear, all sound going out. You even feel the imitation of a hollow pop in your ear drums. When you look back at him, he’s really scowling now. His strong brow pulled down over those too pretty, thickly lashed hazel eyes that you know so well on another man, a younger version of him. 

It was the first thing you’d noticed about him, the first time Sam had introduced you to his father, they have the same eyes. The same but different. There was a coldness to Sam’s gaze that you hadn’t recognized until it was too late for you, but you recognized it now, with a painful sort of awareness, recognized the lack thereof in his father’s eyes, how different they were even in their similarity. 

He raises his brows at you, a pressing gesture, “Joel.” His name feels like salt on an open sore in your mouth. “What are you doing here?” And he looks at you, just a little bit, like you’re an idiot, or maybe that’s only you, for his voice is gentle when he says, “Pickin’ up supplies with some of the boys on my crew. What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart? Sam with you?” Your heart beats like that of a small and hunted creature, pounding painfully against the confines of your ribs while a hot, humiliated flush washes through your entire body, heat suffusing your face so intensely there’s probably steam rising off the surface of your skin. You shake your head quickly, a barely there jerk. You’re suddenly trembling so hard your throat aches as if it’s been pierced by a lancet straight through. Another sharp jerk, and he steps forward a concerned look marring his face. 

“You haven’t spoken to him.” It isn’t a question. 

“He’s been feildin’ my calls for months. Assumed I’d done something– something else, last time to piss him off again. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” He pauses, head tilting, and you can’t look him in the face as you say it, gaze falling to your fingers twisted around the nut. 

“We’re not together anymore. He– he left me. We got divorced six months ago.”

Shocked into silence he takes another step towards you, the toe of his heavy boot coming into your eye line. The ends are thick and rounded, and you wonder if there’s a casing of steel within, how much a kick in the ribs would hurt delivered by a boot like that, and the violent thought startles you, your eyes going wide, shooting up to his face as if worried he could read your thoughts. Ashamed that something like that in reference to him would even cross your mind, for looking at him, the gentleness in his gaze, the utter concern, a man like this would never hurt a creature softer than him, you know that. 

It’s funny, or strange, or a phenomena not easily understandable or explainable unless you’d had a certain type of experience with a certain type of man, but there was a sort of sixth sense instilled in a person who’d dealt with cruel men that made it easy to recognize when one had the capacity to hurt you and when he didn’t. There were, of course, those who were good at masking it, but there was always something, a way they held themselves or moved around others, the cadence of their voices, clues that spoke of the sort of man he was. And from the first moment you’d met him, you’d thought Joel had something that spoke only of gentleness. Despite his size and seemingly rough aspect, there was something about his voice, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved around those who were smaller or weaker or less, less alive, less potent than him, that was always careful and always aware. 

“What?” He moves as if he’s going to reach for you, and you flinch back, the curve of your spine bumping into the framing of the shelves behind you, face turning away quickly. He goes tense, forcing himself into stillness, the white of his teeth flashing in a grimace, but he puts his palms up in a staying gesture, it’s alright, easy, he murmurs, I won’t touch you, hands lowering to fist in the pockets of his jeans into tight balls of false restraint. As if he’s afraid of what they might do of their own volition otherwise. “What do you mean he left you? What happened? He–”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you. Call him again or– or I don’t know. It’s not my business anymore. He was never happy with me,” you stupidly add, finally braving a look back at his eyes again, a bitter laugh scratching up your throat, “You know this. Call your son, Joel.”

You move to leave, to get away from him, but he shifts, blocking your escape, sending your heart up into your throat. “Honey, wait–” but you’re spinning on your heel the other way, stumbling in your flip flops, and you think he says something about the wrong way, but you’re rushing, blindly trying to get away from him down the aisle as fast as you can. You’re going to cry, you can feel it, any second now. You weren’t expecting to see him, the reminder of everything that had happened, your marriage and its failure and the part Joel had played in it. A painful and jarring shock to your nervous system that you’d not been prepared to receive. You blindly scramble through the aisles of the hardware store, losing yourself to the gloom of the dimly lit back rows where plywood and carpeting are stocked, that detested dusty hollow smell intensifying. You take another blind turn, another, until the sounds of the store have gone faint and then a frightening pressurized silence. Bracing your palms against one of the eye level shelves you let your head fall between your shoulders, your bag sliding down your arm to hang and sway at the bend of your elbow. You watch the slow back and forth pendulous movement, eyes wide and blurred. If you don’t blink, you won’t cry, and you’re so fucking tired of crying over this. 

“If you were tryn’a get away from me, exit was in the opposite direction,” comes his voice again. Your eyes flutter shut, a single tear drips from the line of your lashes onto the dusty concrete floor. 

“Please, go away,” you croak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“What do you think happened? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“He– he’s a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart–”

Your stomach lurches, “Don’t call me that.”

But he doesn’t listen, continues on unheeded. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll– I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see that–” You let your head fall back the opposite way now, looking up at the high, cavernous ceiling of the store, another bitter laugh. It’s the only kind left to you now. 

“I don’t want him back, Joel. Be serious.”

“He needs you–” And oh, that makes you angry. 

“Fuck you.” You spin around to spit the words at him, rushing forward to shove at his rock solid chest. He doesn’t budge even half an inch. You shove again, again, a humiliating sob making its way up your chest. You blink then, you can’t help it, the tears fall unrestrained. It’s a specific type of humiliating, facing the estranged father of the man who you’d been married to, who’d been unable to love you, who’d abandoned you. 

Sam and Joel had been unaware of each other’s existence for almost twenty eight years, but two years ago, Sam’s mother had finally told him about his father, his name, where he lived, how they’d gotten together when they were too young, and how she’d split, scared and vulnerable, without telling him a thing. The two of you’d gone looking for the man, and you’d both been varying degrees of shocked at what you’d found. Sam, faced with a man so unlike himself he’d immediately resented him more than he already had for the fact of his absence his entire life. You, as well, faced with a man so unlike your husband that it had made you resent your marriage even more. Immediately welcoming, loving, patient, gracious and generous and forgiving of the fact that a son had been kept from him for almost three decades. Despite the severity of his character, his serious reservedness, he’d done everything in his power to open himself to this long lost son. Not once had the news been met with cruel anger or outrage. Joel had accepted his son immediately and without question, listening to his mother’s reasoning, accepting the fact that a mistake had been made, forgiving, willing to move on and embrace Sam in all the ways he’d been denied for so long. Sam hadn’t been able to fathom it. He’d been mistrustful, hostile, angry, all the things he always was but compounded and heightened to a terrible degree he eventually started taking out on you. 

And it was funny because the fraught, or lack thereof, relationships with your fathers had been the thing that had initially bonded the two of you. Too young and alone and without direction, you’d met him in your last year of college. The relationship had immediately developed without boundaries or reason, you’d been obsessed, a little desperate, unquestioning, and then married a few short months later. Two too young, too lost people, burdened with daddy issues. A terribly sad cliche. You’d never had a chance. You never should have been. And there’s a part of you now, looking up at this man, your ex-husband’s father, that wants to feel angry at him, that wants to spit in his face and say this is all your fault, everything that happened to me, everything that was done to me was in your name, and I blame you for all of it, but you know it’s without reason or countenance. And worst of all, anger, blame, resentment, it’s not anything near to the things you feel when you look at him. The memory of a small, dark restroom flashes in your mind’s eye, his eyes gleaming above your face, the thick slope of his shoulder, the patterned wallpaper behind him, sickening comfort. 

You go still and frozen, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt, jerking with a painful shiver from the top of your head, down the length of your vertebrae, to the tips of your toes that cramp and spasm. Looking up at his face, you can feel a pulse throbbing in the muscle beneath your right eye, and the way he looks down at you, as if he’s never felt as sorry for any other creature in his entire life as he does for you in this moment, so embarrassing. You let your head fall forward again, landing with a soft thump against his chest, an uncontrollable tremble moving like fire through your frame. “Fuck you,” you say again, whispered, soft and weak and without any sort of force behind it. “How dare you say that to me,” another tear. “He’s always needed you. It was never me he wanted, never me he needed. It was always you.” You watch as one hand withdraws from its pocket cage, lifting to push a soft tendril of hair back behind your ear. And there’s fire left in the wake of the brush of his skin at the hollow there. Another shiver of a worse kind, one of desire, one of lust, moves through you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it – I’m sorry, honey.” Stupid southern charm and their stupid pet names. You clutch at his shirtfront more tightly, press your forehead harder into his sternum, and he brings his hand to your shoulder, tucking you into himself more securely. He’s huge and warm and smells faintly of salt and sweat and laundry detergent. Something clean and fresh and masculine. He smells alive. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, moving through your hair. Fucking, Sam, he murmurs above you, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head in that disappointed fatherly way. “Tell me what you were looking for. What had you lookin’ so confused and irritated in the plumbing aisle?” You’d laugh if you could, a non bitter sort, but you don’t have the ability anymore, and that makes you so angry. Angry and irrational.

“My sink’s leaking, and I can’t afford a plumber because your son divorced me and left me with no money and no house and nothing for myself, and I hate this stupid place. I hate the way it smells, and I hate that nothing’s labeled clearly, and I hate the way you men,” you shove at his chest a little bit again, “look at me like I’m some dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right.” Even if that’s what you kind of feel like, a dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right anymore. Slightly out of breath, you go limp and exhausted against him. His palm flattens at the center of your spine, supporting you, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. You should move away. You don’t know him well enough for this, he’s your ex-father-in-law, you shouldn't let him touch you, but should and should not and right and wrong and inappropriate or not has never really mattered to you where Joel Miller is concerned. “This is the worst place in the whole world,” you mumble, voice muffled from where your face is squished against the annoyingly hard and delicious muscles of his chest. You feel, keenly, like you’re being a little bit ridiculous, a little bit embarrassing, but his big hand is slowly moving up and down the length of your spine, soothing and comforting, and you can’t bring yourself to care. He’d been kind from the first second you’d met him, and then, at the worst moment, he’d been understanding, and you’d never really stood a chance against him either. 

You’d never had a chance with the son, you’d never stood a chance against the father, there had never really been much choice or possibility for you as a whole where either of them were concerned.

I was such a little person. Tiny in my insignificance, naivety, hope. Desperate to be as good as I could be, and pathetic in my failure to make myself into what I thought the world wanted of me. 

“You can’t afford–” He breathes out roughly through his nose, stopping himself from continuing. “Do y’know what it is you’re looking for? What part?” And you nod your head, still buried against him, unable or unwilling to pull away. “Let me help you,” and he says it so, so gently that it makes you want to stomp your foot and cry and throw a fit at the unfairness of it all. 

“Don’t want your help,” you can’t help the muffled whine it comes out as. All you want is for someone to help you. 

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart,” he soothes. “But let me anyway. S’the least I can do for talkin’ out of my ass.” You finally pull back, looking up at him, and he brings his thumb up to catch the wetness at the fine skin beneath your eye. “Please, don’t cry,” he whispers like it hurts him. 

And even though he’s currently catching the salt of your eyes with his fingers, you lie obstinately, “I’m not,” whispered back just as quiet. 

After he helps you find the correct piece for your sink, finally, which ends up being neither of the options you’d been previously weighing, a fact that almost sends you over the deep end again, and paying for it at his aggravating and overbearing insistence, he walks you to your car. 

“Is he still in Austin?” He asks as he holds your door open for you, your shopping bag still clutched in his hand. One of the guys on his crew had come to find him while you were checking out, but he’d sent him away with a shake of his head, said he had something to take care of. 

“I don’t know, but he sold our house.”

“Fuck– Where’re you living?” The sound of his spit curse has a wet flutter moving through you, shame following bitterly in its wake. 

“I got an apartment in the East Side.”

“And he just left you to fend for yourself? Took your fucking house?” He’s getting angry, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get angry. Something foreign like excitement jumps within you. 

“Well, that’s the point of divorce, Joel. You separate and are left to your own devices.” You reach for the little plastic bag, but he jerks it out of your reach. 

“He has a responsibility to you. He–”

“Again… the point of divorce.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that boy,” he mutters, shaking his head. And that’s the thing of it, you think, that’s always been the crux of the issue. Sam was always a boy, has always been just a boy… there had never been any chance. “Let me come help you with the sink. Let me fix it for you.” Something to take care of, that’s what he’d said, that’s what he’d called you, what he sees you as. 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish getting the words out, full of regret, and a wish that it could have all been different from the very start. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” and he goes silent because he does, he does know, he’d known since the first time probably. It had been obvious in the way that a secret thing can only be between the two people involved in the unsaid. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“You still got the same number?” He asks.

“Please, don’t call me. Call Sam. He’s the one that needs you. He’s the one that–”

“And who’s taking care of you? Who’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart? You need someone too, we all do.”

A flash of that earlier anger again, and you reach forward to rip the bag out of his clutch now, angry because he’s right. Because he’d always seemed to have a grossly misplaced ability to read you exactly as you are. He’d read you for what you were from the first second he’d laid eyes on you, naive and hopeful and falsely in love with a son who’d never loved either of you in return. “Maybe,” you tell him, “But that can’t be you.” He looks away from you, gruff sound of irritation passing through his clenched teeth, and he drags a heavy palm down his bearded mouth. Fuck, again that provoking spit curse. The wallpaper in that dark restroom had been covered in little blue motifs, butter yellow details sparsed throughout. It had surprised you, the pretty and delicate design in the home of a, for all intents and purposes, bachelor. It spoke of intention and attention to detail, to his space, to care of his home. That dim moment was, strangely, sickly, the brightest memory of the entire two years of your marriage. 

“You still got my number?” He presses anyways. Unheeded or uncaring of you trying to push him away, and there’s something about that, that’s pleasurable, his inability to let a thing go where you’re concerned, his unwillingness to allow you to hold him at arms length. Like he doesnt care to be kept away from you, and so he won’t. You nod your head once, face burning, molars grinding to keep yourself still and in place. You’d felt, for two years, trapped, running in place, and now left limp and exhausted and colorless, and you hope that he can’t read that exhaustion in you. For some reason, that would be more embarrassing than everything else, for him to see just how defeated you’d been left. He gives you one of those looks, those direct, piercing, aggravating looks that you’ve seen from him before, aggravating in a way that is inciting, like a relentless tongue against a slick swollen cunt, God. Your hands are shaking, and he bends his head down to your level to look at your directly, “You promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, doesn’t matter what it is – that you’ll call me. No matter the hour, no matter what it is. Promise me.” Another sharp jerk of your chin, if you talk you’ll scream or make a sound not wholly belonging to the body of a girl, woman, whatever you are. Another nod, the mute shape of an okay passing through your lips. And his face is so concerned, his hand almost lifted in the imitation of what you have to tell yourself, as a form of self preservation, is an ill intentioned caress or hug, but that you know he’d mean as nothing more than genuine comfort. You deflate in relief when he doesn’t touch you, right here, out in the open for the whole world to bear witness to. Things like that, after all, are only meant for dark, wallpapered bathrooms. He’d already taught you this. 

-

The relationship had not been what either of them had expected, Sam and Joel, from the get go. There was a smallness to his son, a pettiness and a cruelty and a spoiled rotten vein through the core of him that was incongruous with who Joel was as a man, something that was glaringly obvious to all involved. And try as he might, in those early days, they could not overcome the disparity in their personalities. The attempts from Joel at closeness had been fraught with tension and unsaid resentments, and eventually Sam had given up, stopped answering his father’s calls, evading his attempts to connect. Your marriage had spiraled into dissolution shortly after that. As if the failure to find whatever it was he’d for so long hoped for in a relationship with his father had highlighted all of the things you yourself lacked, all the ways in which you were so specifically dissatisfying to him and always would be. 

The marriage had not ended up being what either of you had hoped for, the honeymoon phase quashed and dead early on, no brightly lit halcyon. Reality had set in quickly when confronted with the disjointedness of your pairing, a bone out of place, your specific inability to please him in the ways he’d thought you would when he’d first met you. There was something about you that had always been a little bit lacking, something ascetic and cold natured about your personality at times. Since you were a child, trying to appease an unappeasable father, to emulate a singular mother. Always impossible, always falling just short of utter failure. Not so terrible that you were outwardly obvious in your mediocrity, but never everything you could be. Painfully, succinctly average. Sam had come to realize this quickly. Perhaps, unaware prior to tying himself to you because the only thing you’d ever been not average at, was being a little bit of a liar, of being placatingly complacent when the moment necessitated, manipulative in a way that you found protecting. But you see, that’s what happened when you had a cruel father who always needed appeasing, something Sam, in his abject fatherlessness, couldn't understand. Funny, you’d said that to him once, near the end, called him abjectly fatherless, his weakness a consequence of his lack of a paternal role model, and oh, how he’d hated that. Endings could bring out such cruelty in people, you’d found. 

But the manipulation of a moment had become, in some ways, your only talent. The art of superficial gratification at a moment's notice as a way to keep the people around you falsely happy and calm. Like all small and frightened creatures, you’d learned your strengths well, but as all truths do, yours had eventually surfaced. The fact that you weren’t really so appeasing in the ways he desired, not so nice, not so perfect, not so subservient. That the persona was all just a way to keep him happy as a means of getting someone to love you, to stay because you didn’t know how else to be. 

Your mother always said you could’ve been nicer to him. She was a kind, soft, patient thing. Quiet and easy and always, always, above everything else, understanding. It was the worst thing about her. A detriment, a weakness, and she resented you for your resentment, for seeing her as such, but you could never help it. Always asking you why you couldn’t just be a nice girl, a good girl. 

You didn’t think you had not been nice, not been good. You had only been yourself.

Your father had always hated that about you, you being yourself. The man you’d chosen to marry didn’t seem to like it very much either. And she’d tried to instill her better qualities in you, your mother, so you weren’t all bad all the time. There could be a brightness and a lightness and a sweetness to you sometimes, it’s true. You weren’t always all bad. But there was – is still – also a bitterness and a resentment and an anger, a screaming that you could not quell no matter how hard you tried. And so you’d attepted to give him everything you could, your husband, everything you had at your disposal in all ways, to do and be all he could have ever asked of you during those two small years of marriage. Because truly, they had felt so very small, made you even smaller. 

Everything except for sex. You’d never been able to give him that the way he’d wanted. 

At first, it had been normal, sweet, soft missionary in the darkness, tepid insinuations of orgasms, always hushed, always exactly how he wanted it. But eventually, when the other parts of you began to fail, he got mean and callous and casually cruel. And as you pulled away physically, he called you frigid, a prude, boring, cold, bad in bed, didn't know how to make a man hard. And it had made you so agonizingly insecure, already a sensitive and anxious thing when it came to your physical form, he’d beaten you down, embarrassed you, belittled you.

With time, you’d realized the truth of it which had been nothing more than that you’d never really wanted him. He had never made you desperate, he had never made you wet. It was his character, his attitude, yes, but it was also him. He just wasn’t it for you, and it wasnt that you were a prude or frigid at all, only that you needed patience and understanding and care, gentleness. Things he possessed none of. 

You just needed a little time to warm up and someone who wanted to give you that time. 

The reality that your life had not been full of varied and foolish adventures, and that time had seemed to simply slip away like an echo in the brain from one moment to the next was duly painful. A handful of months of wan and false lust, two years of cold, bitter marriage, and now, six months of barren aloneness. Too many mistakes had been made, too many regrets, three big ones that could be held like stones scorched to burn by the sun in the palm of your hand so that even if you let them go eventually, their imprint would still be scarred into your flesh afterwards forever.

So, perhaps the divorce had been painful in the moment. Or not perhaps, there was nothing uncertain about it, you’d fought tooth and nail to make it work, to keep him with you. Prostrated and humiliated and debased yourself. But with time, it became obvious that it was a fantasy you decided you should finally cast aside, as all children do childish things at a certain age. And then, it had been the easiest thing in the world. After all, and let’s be honest now for a moment, the reckoning had come in the shape of his father. That is, at the end of it, the reason you’re really here. 

Sat now, before the open cabinet below your kitchen sink, leaky pipe drip, drip, dripping monotonously in front of your glazed over eyes, you think of him. He’s a large man, intimidating and dark and stoic. Taller and broader than his son. Lush, mahogany curls streaked with silver that speak of age and experience like the smile lines around his eyes. Deeply grooved when he laughs that beautiful laugh of his. He looks exactly like the opposite of whatever his son is, like he’d have the ability to make the opposite of you, to pull out of you whatever the antithesis is of what his son was able to. It had been immediate, the nature of your thoughts towards him. The desire, the desire, the desire, you had wanted like you’d never wanted before — like an illness, like dying. 

Your marriage had been circling the drain, and then you’d met him, and it should have been innocuous. He’d been kind and polite and welcoming, but also, aloof. Holding himself at a distance, something afraid that he carried within himself, like he didn't want to hope, like he was just a little bit scared of what it meant now to have a son, something to lose. You knew a little bit about that, the worst part of it all is never the cruelty, it’s the hopelessness. Everything had become so much worse after meeting him. An unbearable sort of awareness of something that your listless, frigid self recognized as man, man, man, something like hunger. Something slanted about the desire, wrong, sure, for he was your husband's father, and yet, you wanted him. You wanted to know what he smelled and tasted like, and what the weight of his cock on your tongue would feel like. If it was bigger than his sons, you were almost positive of that, if it would stretch the corners of your mouth to near splitting, the hinges of your jaw to aching. 

You’d met your husband's father, and had realized, painfully, with uncompromising clarity, all that your husband could be, all that he was not, all that he would never be. There was no comparison between the boy and the man, and it made you hurt. 

Your eyes flit back to the screen of your open laptop and the instructional video there, popping another fuzzy peach gummy onto the flat of your tongue, mouth full of sucking sugar. You’re going to fix this sink if it’s the last thing you do, and you’re not going to think about him again. But tomorrow, you’ll start not thinking about him tomorrow. The talent of a liar never really wanes.

The apartment is quiet, nothing but the cheerful crackling of your sweet pumpkin candle and the mocking splish splash of the drain pipe. You had, in recent weeks, come to think of your abandonment as something of an accomplishment. Perhaps, your loneliness is a good thing, you’ll tell yourself as a comfort, a sort of friend; you can’t be used against yourself again in this solitude, and oh, how you’d been used. That anemia in your character, the ascetic thread of your personality had been weaponized and wielded against you until you couldn’t tell up from down and left from right. You were certain there’d been cheating, even if you’d never had any proof to confirm it, merely grateful you’d never gotten sick as way of evidence. But you knew. And it could've been so much worse for you, of course, of course it could have. But he’d left your mind so off kilter, broken and confused and not yourself. Utterly damaged in a way that was humiliating and devastating when you thought of the way you’d been, such a little person. So often, not a woman, just a little girl. 

And then his father. Joel. Seeing him today – you had never felt the way you should have felt towards him. Like your eyes were open, awake for the first time in your entire life. A man like that – he was changing. And you wanted, needed very much to be changed. Seeing him today, being presented with that reminder of what he was, how he made you feel, how he’d always made you feel. There’s something ghoulish about you concerning him – about this desire. That ascetic or anemic or under-grown, illformed thing about you, exterminated in the thrum of how alive he is. How unlike his son. You’d never known what it specifically was, never been able to categorize it, and then there had been that moment, brought so low, six feet beneath the ground sort of debased, and he’d been there and you had been – unburdened from the weight of his own son, by him, and you’re not even sure he knew the extent of it. The power he’d wielded over you in that moment in the dark. And you can’t say it out loud, what it is you’d want from him, you can’t even say out loud what it is about him that changes you as it does – not a woman, just a little girl – but you think that if you could just see him, then you’d know, or maybe you could be brave. You don’t know what it is, but you’d know it then, with him in front of you, you’d have the answer to this question that’s plagued you for so long – how to be yourself in a way that is good.

You’re pushing yourself to your feet, fueled by the thought, fingers gripped over the ledge of the counter to pull yourself up, sink forgotten, stumbling to your front door, shoving your feet into your shoes and fumbling for your keys. How to be yourself in a way that is good. 

When you were seventeen, your father had been at his angriest. Angry in that way that all angry father’s are. Loud and brutish – an anger that is cowing, a sign of true weakness. Brute force in the shape of the man who gave you life. When you think of it now, even as a grown woman, you still feel that phantom limb of fear, and you know that it isn’t normal for a grown woman to be afraid of her father, and yet you are. And then to think that you’d gone from your parents home directly to the bed of the same sort of man, one even crueler, if possible. You’re forced to laugh your singular terrible, self deprecating laugh at the irony of it – even worse, if possible. For what’s worse than a person who constantly needs to be soothed into kindness and patience and calm? 

Once, in that terrible seventeenth year, funny and strange and unknowingly perfect, you’d been gifted the Farmer’s Almanac by your elderly neighbor. She’d said that she’d read it since she was a girl, liked the peace in knowing that the year had been predicted by experts and put down on paper. It made life seem more secure, more in control in a small way. You’d needed that during that turbulent time, locked in your teenage bedroom, lulled to sleep by the sound of your father’s anger and the year’s long-range weather predictions before your blurry eyes. It was so comforting to be able to read the future in text, catastrophe or sunshine, at least it was there. You still read it to this day. And there’s no congruity to the thought now, as you crawl into your car, a ghoul in the night, banging your knee on the hastily opened car door, sprouting gooseflesh in the cold; this desire, desire, desire that is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your whole life, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop because there is something about control in this moment also. Control like knowing what the future will be like on paper, control like a man who is entirely grown into himself, who knows who he is and who he is not and is not uncertain, who will not yell, who will not hurt you. He has this – your husband’s father – you know he does. There is something about control, there is something about knowing how a thing will be, there is something about being yourself in a way that is good. 

-

You’d picked up the wrong wine on your way here. Rushing, trying to fix your makeup in the car, you’d gotten confused, chosen the one he didn’t want instead of the one he did. And it was nothing, or an accident, surely nothing to incite his ire, but he’s so fucking angry hovering in front of you. He looks at you, now sometimes, like he hates you, like you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He said you’d humiliated him in front of his father. That he was going to think he didn’t have good taste, couldn’t afford a decent bottle of wine. And you don’t know Joel very well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to care about such things. Calling you an idiot in that poisoned shrill tone he takes on when he’s delivering a set down, and you’re trying to tell him to please, please keep your voice down, Sam, your father is going to hear you. You’d heard someone say once that a truly powerful man never feels the need to raise his voice, it simply isn’t necessary for him, and you’re reminded, terribly, of your father, with the sight of your shrill and seething husband in front of you.  And then a low toned that’s enough, son from the mouth of the kitchen, and it’s so much worse, entirely catastrophic in a way, and you’re rushing away so humiliated, face on fire, tear caught over the trough of your lower lid, trying the doors in the hallway for the nearest restroom. You hear the murmur of voices, one struggling to maintain composure, the other, cool and steady, then the slam of the front door, and finally, the silent din of his house settling around the two of you as you find a restroom to hide in. Your heart beats so fast it makes you nauseous, knees strangely aching, listening to the heavy steps of Joel’s boots, as if he’s trying to warn you with those measured, weighted thuds that he’s coming, coming, coming for you. Turning to face the far corner of the restroom, you press your palm over your mouth, face slippery and burning and so stupid, the soft swoosh of the opening door, a paused breath as he takes in your form huddled into the wallpaper, and then the muted snick of the door closing behind him, shutting the two of you away together.

Part II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[itsabouttimex2]

I have been going insane about the not beloved au.

The idea and sheer emotions of it just cling to me and haven’t left me for days and I blame you. Just the idea of [User] not only not being the beloved- but in a way being solely viewed that way- and in a sense being completely treated as such where it is very obvious- just- I love it.

The pure angst potential with the au is there and I -‘ screeching about it.

Y/N’s Not The Beloved?

(Monkiefam)

Exactly- Y/N is so heavily defined by being “not the beloved” that it kinda becomes their entire character.

Just like some people get jammed into slots they’re undeserving of by born traits or mere appearances, Y/N is out here getting pigeonholed into the “not our favorite” just because MK is the little monkey demon that their parents dreamed of having for so long.

And it doubly sucks ass, because Sun Wukong and Macaque are such good parents to MK that any criticism on your part will be questioned and “debunked” by well-meaning peers who probably just see you as “spoiled” or “jealous”.

Like, imagine this: your classmate, Y/N, is the adopted child of the fucking legendary hero, Monkey King. He’s married to; of all people, to the infamous Six-Eared Macaque. They have an adorable adopted son who is also a demon monkey.

And if what Y/N has to say about this whole family dynamic is “they spoil my brother too much/love him more than me/expect me to constantly look after him” and like…

From their perspective?

Bitch! You are privileged beyond compare and comprehension! You have two unimaginably powerful parents! They could crumble a civilization and raise a new from the smoldering ashes! They could impose themselves as gods and demand proper tribute! And instead they adopt a silly little mortal out of the goodness of their hearts, and you have the gall to “whine” about it not being enough?

Some of your classmates get beaten for bringing home bad grades? Some of them have dead parents? And a few were disowned for being queer! Others live in filth! Some have literally nothing! Why are you so damn “ungrateful”, Y/N?!

And then desperately trying to explain that yes, you are grateful for them and everything they’ve done, it’s not right for you to miss out on fundamental life experiences just because MK didn’t want you to go, or to nearly flunk a test because you couldn’t sleep on account of MK demanding your attention, or to lose friends that you were never allowed to hang out with because MK didn’t like them.

It’s especially bad in the situation that Y/N is particularly young, around say… under thirteen, or maybe semi-verbal, if they’re shy or anxious, and they haven’t learned how to properly communicate and express themselves in a conducive and effective manner, which leads to exchanges where what Y/N says is utterly ineffective at conveying what they mean, like:

“My parents love MK more than me.” (My parents unhealthily prioritize him even at a cost to myself.)

“Aww, sweetie! He’s just new to your house! You’ll get used to him!”

“I have to babysit MK so much that I don’t get to hang out with my friends.” (My budding social life is beginning to crumble under the weight of being a caretaker to my little brother.)

“You’re such a good older sibling! I bet your parents are really grateful to have a babysitter on hand!”

“MK wanted to go somewhere new yesterday, and he made our dads take me. I didn’t get to sleep.” (MK’s immediate happiness is becoming more important to both of our fathers than my physical health.)

“I bet you all had a lot of fun if you’re this tuckered out, huh? You’re lucky they took you!”

It gets to the point that Y/N, as they grow up, turns to the internet for validation and support in their life, probably to results that are equally split towards positive/negative.

“NTA- Clearly your fathers do not respect your health or feelings! Pack up and move out!”

“I can’t move out though? We live on a sacred mountain and I’ve never had a job because they make me babysit MK instead.”

“ESH cause y’all sound exhausting. I’d beat the fuck out of this “MK” TBH. What a brat.

“He’s nine though??? WTF dude?”

“Honestly all these NTAs and ESHs are so confusing clearly OP is a fucking ungrateful brat who’s gonna regret pushing their family away when they’re alone and have nobody. MASSIVE YTA kiddo.”

“I just want to stay home and sleep because I’m tired as hell from all the other family trips that I went on with my family? This is the first time I’m saying no?”

And slowly growing more and more ostracized and confused by everything in their nonconventional little family and how MK’s obsession with them is both fueled and enabled by Wukong and Macaque’s obsession with him, all slowly heading to a peak-

And when you snap, you are inevitably going to snap hard.

[solitary-traveler]

Seeking Sweet Serenity

You're tired after a long day and Wanderer is there to help you.

Wanderer x Gn!Reader

Notes: This is very self indulgent. School sucks ass and I fr need to be comforted by Wanderer.

Art: @yXaBLUGg7Yqtw1y (X)

Warning: None, this is just pure fluff.

Life is shit.

So shit.

Your natural efficiency attracted incompetency, individuals at every turn would raise their voice to seize your attention. Yet every word they spill, every letter that rolls out their tongue, were nothing but vexing phrases. 

“Traveler, please help me!” 

“Traveler, can you do me a favor?”

You were sick of it.

Your throat releases a sigh from its confines as you shoulder brusquely the wooden door in front of you. A feeling of tranquility often swaddles you upon entering your shared apartment with Wanderer, but right now, the solace you had found was rived from your grasp, leaving you vulnerable to animosity. Your thoughts torment your brain, tears pricking the rim of your eyes. Oh how you’d do anything to stop yourself from feeling this way. 

Upon overhearing the door screech, Wanderer glances at the entrance. He caught sight of your silhouette, stumbling on your feet. The corners of his lips shifted upwards, it was amusing how much you were akin to that of a drunk person. He rests his arms around his chest, shoulders slumped against the wall. “Who killed you? You look like a corpse”, he teased.

You didn’t answer, opting to stay quiet. The stillness grew, leaving a lingering sense of unbearable silence hanging in the air.

Wanderer couldn’t help but raise a brow. You were acting most peculiar today. Usually, you would’ve returned his jab, possibly even teasing him back just to watch him squirm and insult you back. Yet you remain rooted in your place, not uttering a single term.

Sensitive to this agonizing dread of not hearing your voice, he decided to approach you. His footsteps were light, his sandals clicking across the floor boards. “You alright?” he asked, looming over you. Despite his imposing figure, he was gentle, almost afraid that he might break you with every word that slips out his mouth. Without warning, your figure clasps its hands around him, leaving the Wanderer stunned. “I’m fine”, was the reply you managed to choke out.

But he knew better. He knew you weren’t fine.

Though how was he supposed to react to this? The Wanderer was never one to deal with emotions. All throughout his life, he channeled all his emotions into a glass bottle before throwing them far away into the depths of his non-existent heart. It wasn’t healthy, he knows that now. It only escalates everything further. He has long abandoned his fervent feelings, and he was just slowly unboxing them again. He doesn’t have any clue as to how one should properly deal with them. But watching you suffer in his arms made him wish he knew. It made him wish he was well versed in the area, that he knew how to help you with your current situation.

With only one card available to play, he decided to gamble his chance. He tried a method that worked for him, a process Nahida does whenever he was emotionally unstable. With a soft sigh, he cards his gloved fingers through your locks. ”You wanna cuddle on the couch… and talk about it?” he asked, a certain softness coating his words. You merely looked up and nodded your head meekly.

Wanderer smiles. 

You just want to be comforted. 

And he knew that.

He'll make sure you're okay.

[makethatelevenrings]

Contaminated // D. Grayson x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY. Minors get BACK. Go yearn for the mines awaY FROM HERE. Emotions! Sex pollen but it’s enthusiastic consent. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Three months ago, Dick Grayson told you he didn’t love you anymore and walked out the door. Tonight, you found yourself the unwitting victim of a Poison Ivy attack that forces Dick Grayson to end up on your doorstep once again. Will he help or will he leave once again?

Your hands shook as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Your skin prickled as the fabric of your hoodie scraped against the sensitive skin of your arms. A desperate whimper escaped your lips at the way your very cells seemed to burn with the strength of a thousand suns.

Somehow you got your mind straight long enough to lock the door behind you before you stumbled towards your bedroom. You kicked off your shoes as you went and your hoodie soon followed. Fuck, it wasn’t enough. Everything was hot but at the same time, you felt sweaty and chilled like you had a fever.

Something was wrong.

Grabbing your phone, you fought against the blurring of your vision in order to locate the contact you needed. You knew she would pick up the phone in seconds because she was glued to her tech everyday.

“What’s up, babes?” Barbara answered after the first ring. “If you’re calling to reschedule brunch, I have terrible news for you. I won’t allow you to skip out aga-”

“Babs,” you rasped. “Something’s wrong.”

The cheery tone fell from the redhead’s voice in seconds and you heard her start typing on her keyboard. “Where are you?”

“Home. I was walking home from work when Ivy attacked the park and I think I inhaled some of the spores. I don’t…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Barbara swore under her breath. “The closest person to you is Nightwing.”

Your heart dropped. No. Not him. “Who else?”

“Everyone else is busy. I’m sorry, but I’m sending him.”

Your stomach cramped painfully, nearly knocking you to your knees, and you let out a groan. “Okay, okay. Fuck it. Fine.”

“We’re going to help you. I promise. I have to go handle something right now, but I’ll make sure I check on you.”

“Thanks, Babs.” Your breath escaped you in short pants, like a dog in heat. Fuck, it was hot in here. You wanted nothing more than to strip off your pants and shirt and lay on the cool tile of your bathroom, but you couldn’t. Not when he was coming over.

Richard Grayson, your ex boyfriend. Richard Grayson, the man who came over one night three months ago and broke up with you on your doorstep. Richard Grayson, the man you had loved for years until your heart shattered with a few words.

“I don’t love you anymore,” he had said. And then he dropped a box of your things on the doorstep and walked out of your life.

Fuck Dick Grayson. Fuck Nightwing. Fuck him and his pretty boy smile. He could go to hell.

“Shit.” As if the mere thought of your ex triggered it, you were suddenly acutely aware of the seam of your pants pressing against the sensitive flesh of your cunt. Shit shit shit, you cannot be horny in front of Dick Grayson. You just needed to keep a level and calm head until he gave you the antidote and then you could send him out on his ass.

Another wave of shaking wracked through your body and you let out a hiss of pain, doubling over until your face met the soft fabric of your comforter. Your body joined you on the mattress and you pulled yourself up until your cheek rested on the cool rayon fabric of the pillow. Curling your knees up towards your chest, you let the shakes consume you and prayed that Dick wasn’t so over you that he refused to come.

As though he heard your thoughts, you heard the window to your living room slide open. The slight screech of the old rubber sides sounded faster than normal and you figured he just wanted to get this over with.

The window shut and footsteps pounded towards the door to your bedroom. Your teeth chattered violently as you shook with this hellish hot/cold state your body had been thrust into. The shaking made it hard for you to lift your head, but you were able to make eye contact with the last man you wanted to see.

“Fuck,” Dick said in greeting. “Babs said Ivy got you, but she didn’t say it was this bad.”

You willed your jaw to stop rattling and shrugged. “Ran home so I didn’t pass out on the sidewalk or something.”

He stripped off his glove and pressed the back of his hand against your cheek. Shit. Oh fuck. Just the feel of his skin against yours was euphoric. A small mewl escaped you and your back arched in some desperate attempt to get closer to him. Dick ripped his hand away, a panicked look flitting across his masked face.

“Damnit Ivy,” he snarled.

“Am I dying?” It certainly felt like it. Your skin prickled painfully at the loss of contact and you tried to hold back the burn of tears that grew in your eyes.

“No, you’re not dying.” His hand drifted up to his ear where you knew a comms device rested. “Ivy hit her with sex pollen.”

A startled, albeit bitter, laugh escaped you and you shook your head. Of fucking course. Sex pollen meant you would have to wait for the antidote and get progressively hornier and in more pain. Or you could get off…

On autopilot, your hand drifted down to the waistband of your pants but the small part of your brain still in control screamed at you to stop. Tearing your hand away, you inhaled deeply and pressed your face further into the pillow. Not when he’s here.

“Just go get the antidote and I’ll suffer for a bit,” you snapped.

Dick barked out a sardonic laugh. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you like this?” Oh, the irony. If you weren’t burning up, you would laugh in his face and tell him to get the fuck out. All you could manage was glaring at him from your fetal position.

“I thought leaving was your specialty,” you hissed, venom lacing your tone. Your barb made a direct hit because his trained impassive face crumpled for a brief second. The cool drag of a tear along your cheek made you aware of the rising heat in your face and you brushed the tear away.

“Fuck you Richard Grayson. I know you don’t want to be here so you can go. I’ll just wait until someone can bring me the antidote.”

“You’re in pain,” he said barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, well, as if you care. I’ll just call Wally or Kaldur. Hell, I’ll call up Jason. I’m sure he won’t mind helping.”

“Stop,” he growled. “You won’t call anyone. I’m here. I’ll help you.”

Despite the aching weakness in your bones, you pushed up off the mattress so you could face him fully. Your arms trembled with exertion, but somehow you held yourself up.

“You left me. I don’t know what I did to make you hate me or whatever, but you left me and so you don’t have a right to be concerned. So do what you do best, Dick, and leave.” You were impressed by the way your voice stayed firm despite the tears streaming down your face. You were bracing yourself to see him walk out once more, leaving you in pain, both emotional and physical this time.

He turned away, showing you the kevlar spandex weave of his suit on full display. Just a few more steps and he would be out the window and out of your life again. Your breath caught in your throat, the pain surging through your veins. You whimpered and started to slowly lower yourself back down, but two strong hands settled on your shoulder and waist. Dick curled himself around you as if he could protect you from the fire licking at your insides. You shuddered at the firm pressure of his hands on you and in the moment of clarity, raised your chin to meet his gaze.

He had taken the mask off.

“It hurts,” you whispered.

His head lowered and he inhaled deeply before speaking once more. “I can’t, baby. You’re not thinking straight.”

Clasping your hands against his cheeks, you drew his head up and leveled him with a look. “Please, Dick. Make the pain go away.”

You had missed the taste of him. Dick’s hands drifted down to your hips as he slotted his lips against yours and pushed you back to lay against the bed. A gasp escaped you and he swallowed it with his tongue that pushed into your mouth. Everything was happening so quickly that it made your head spin in the best way possible. You shuddered as he unbuttoned your pants and slipped his long fingers under the band of your underwear.

“Oh,” you moaned as he brushed the rough pad of his finger along your slit. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the hollow of your throat before nipping at the soft skin of your jaw. Your legs closed instinctively as the toxin mixed with instinctive lust surged through your veins. Dick tutted and tugged at the hem of your shirt. You let him remove it and then he made quick work of your pants and underwear.

And then he stood up, unzipped his suit, and revealed the body you had dreamed about for nights.

Dick wasted no time in scooping you up and settling you between his legs, your back against his chest. One of his hands tugged your knee, pulling your legs apart, as the other drifted down to your soaked pussy.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he purred as you sagged against his chest. Dick nuzzled his nose against your temple as his fingers rubbed in lazy circles over your swollen cunt. Anytime your hips shifted, he made sure to keep you steadily locked in his hold.

“That feel good, baby?” he breathed. You nodded, too blissed out to speak, and he grinned that cocky smile you missed so much. Dick tipped your chin back and pulled you in for a filthy kiss, his tongue searching your mouth and leaving the lingering taste of his peppermint gum on your lips.

Your orgasm rocked through you faster than you expected thanks to the pollen flooding your veins. Legs trembling, you shook and thrashed against Dick as your cunt clenched around empty air. Dick held you tightly against him and continued his ministrations until you were whining about how it was-

“Too much. Ah! Dick, too much.”

“You’re still burning up, baby,” he murmured.

“I need your cock. I need you to fuck me again. I missed the feel of you in me, Dick.”

His tongue trailed along the sweaty line of your neck and your back arched off of his chest as he left along a cool trail. His slick soaked fingers drifted up to rub and pinch your nipples, alternating between both with equal devotion.

“Did you fuck anyone else?” he panted. “Tell me, baby. Did another man make you feel as good as I do?”

“No!” You needed him to fill you. You would combust if his long cock didn’t enter you in the next five seconds. You struggled against his grip in an attempt to flip yourself over and ride him, but Dick was too strong.

“No,” you gasped. “I touched myself and thought of you. No other man could satisfy me.”

As though you were a delicate package, he cradled your head as he slid you down onto the mattress and slotted himself between your spread thighs.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, princess.”

Any retort left you as your mouth dropped open. Three months without him had made you forget how fully he consumed you. Your folds parted as he split you open with his shaft, whimpers and pants escaping him as he slowly and surely slid into your waiting body. He hefted your legs up and you wrapped them around his waist as he finally bottomed out.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

You, your traitorous mind echoed. Not this. You.

No. This was just his way of helping you.

A throaty groan tore past your lips as he pulled out, the veins of his cock dragging against your walls, and then pushed back in. Your eyes rolled back as he brushed against your g-spot. He was more than just his name, not by much. Dick Grayson laid pipe like he was a union plumber going on forty-five years.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Grayson.”

He yanked his hips back and drilled into your cunt. You clawed at his back as he started to jackhammer into you. The fever was slowly abating as your second orgasm built. You lifted your hands to play with your own tits but he batted them away. Dick ducked his head down and enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking at the soft skin there. The constant stimulation adding to the electricity surging through your veins and you threw your head back. Dick let go of your breast with a soft pop and he stroked your cheek, dragging your attention back to him.

“Look at that, princess. Look at how well you take me,” he said. You nodded dumbly at his words and he forced your head up. Your gaze fixed on the way his cock slid in and out of you and, coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, had your second orgasm crashing over you like a wave.

“That’s it. There’s my good girl. You were made to take me. I missed fucking this pretty pussy. I. missed. you.” He punctuated the last three words with deep thrusts before he pulled out and let his cum streak along your tits. Dick’s chest heaved with exertion but he reached up and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and then to your cheeks.

“How…how is it?” you asked.

He scooted back a bit and leaned forward so he was bracketing your hips. “You like doggy style, right?”

A pounding headache and a dry mouth was your morning gift. The warmth of the sun touched your cheeks gently and you relaxed when you realized you were no longer sweating buckets and burning up.

But a heavy, warm presence was still in your bed.

You slowly turned over to face Dick who was already awake. He reached up and checked your temperature again before offering you a wry smile. “Fever broke. You passed out around orgasm number six. I got you some water and snacks and you’ll need to take a shower. I can start the laundry once you’re in the shower. I’ll wait to leave until you’re feeling alright. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart ached at the tenderness of his words. This was the man who practically launched himself off the couch to get you a bandaid after you gave yourself a papercut while reading a book. This was the man who kept your favorite coffee and tea stocked at his place. This was the man who walked out on you and told you that he didn’t love you anymore.

“Dick…” Your soft voice stopped him from climbing out of the bed. He settled in next to you, the thin sheet pooling at his waist and revealing his well-muscled torso.

“I left because they put a hit on your head,” he said. Warm breath washed over your face and you shivered at the contact. His azure eyes searched your face before he continued.

“I couldn’t risk losing you. Permanently. I’ve buried too many people, baby, and I refuse to lose you until you’re old and gray.”

“No one knows I’m connected to Nightwing,” you whispered.

“No, but they know you were connected to Dick Grayson. There are a lot of people that aren’t happy about what I’ve been doing to help Bludhaven. I’ve made enemies and they knew exactly where to target.”

“But Nightwing stopped them, right?”

His full lips lifted at the corners, amused at your unfailing trust in him, and he nodded. “Destroyed their entire operation.”

“So there was no threat.”

His eyes softened and he reached up to touch your cheek. “Being with me puts you at risk. Always.”

“I never felt as safe as I did with you. Last night, you helped me because you would never let anything hurt me. Right? You’ll never let anyone hurt me.”

He moved in close and pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips drifted down to lay a kiss to each eyelid, cheek, your nose, chin, and finally landing on your lips. This wasn’t the rushed, burning kisses from the night before.

This was soft and gentle and, underneath the veneer of sweetness, it was an apology.

“I’ll go get the shower started so it’s warm,” he murmured once he pulled away. “And I’ll cook breakfast while you’re getting clean.”

“And we’ll talk?”

He smiled. Not the fake media smile he perfected years ago. Not the confident, cocky grin he gave his teammates. It was the smile only you saw. The soft, tender curve of his lips as his vulnerability shone through.

“Yeah.” His fingers interlaced with yours. “We’ll talk.”

Tag List: @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @bunny-kawa​ @khaylin27​

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐈’𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

↳📄 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈: 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟎𝟎𝟒 𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

{{Part 1}}

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.8k

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Angst, Pre-break up argument flashbacks, both you and Miguel being pretty hostile to each other lol, pregnancy scare, established relationship with your new man that Miguel hates :(

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It’s been over a year since you split up, but unfortunately for Miguel, things are still taking a toll. Even after going your separate ways, you still have to see each other everyday and it was affecting his performance. Meanwhile, your dual life as a loyal lover and as Spider-Woman is putting a lingering strain on your new relationship. The ripple effect of your breakup is coming back to bite you in the ass in the most unexpected way possible.

1 year ago…

It felt like you had been going back and forth for hours but it had only been less than 30 minutes. It might be because you have been holding this grudge for so long and you were finally voicing it out to him.

Though, your argument has been going around in circles with no conclusion or resolution to be found. The room echoed with your voices along with the subtle hum of the monitors around you.

“None of this matters. It never did, it doesn’t matter what we feel and what he want,” Miguel said, back was facing you as he spoke, not fully engaged in the conversation or paying full attention to you right now. This argument seemed to serve no importance to him.

“Are you saying that our relationship means nothing to you,” you quipped.

He sighed, seemingly exhausted from hearing the same thing over and over again. “What I’m saying is…it’s a distraction that I can’t afford to have,” he glanced over at you before his gaze fell back on the monitors— reluctant to maintain eye contact with you. “You are a liability,”

“Liability?!” Your voice almost came out as a screech.

“Yes, a liability. I can’t get comfortable when the responsibility of the multiverse is on my shoulders, I can’t let my guard down…and our relationship is only getting in the way,”

“We’re supposed to make each other be the best version of ourselves, with or without the multiverse. Not be cooped up in one room all day,”

“Right, I keep forgetting that you’re incapable of understanding the magnitude of the situation. This requires undivided attention and I need to keep my head in the game. Not…this. Us,” He snapped back. The last word came out as a snarl, like it was venomous.

Us.

At one point in your relationship, hearing that word made you feel like you had a special connection you both shared.

Us.

Now the word lost its meaning and it felt heavy, like being with you felt like a chore.

“Why did you agree to this relationship if this is all you’re gonna do,”

“That was a mistake, a lapse of judgment in my part for believing this would be a good idea,”

It was hard to believe that this was the same man that opened up to you about his insecurities and leaned on you for emotional support.

He always made you feel reliable, but now given the situation you were in, it was all fickle. All those special moments were thrown back in your face.

Was it all just a rose-tinted illusion just to make you believe that he did value you and your relationship?

“You can’t just leave HQ just for one night?” You left the question hanging even if you already knew the answer. His lack of response was enough to speak volume anyways.

Your line of sight landed on one of the footage of him and Gabriella after her soccer practice. You watched as it displayed Miguel picking up Gabriella, a huge grin flashed on his face, before giving her a hug.

It was hard to believe Miguel even harbored that paternal instinct in him when all you’ve witnessed was his stoic attitude. Even if he did display his vulnerability, it was rare and those moments felt like catching smoke with your bare hands.

After a long moment of silence, you finally remarked, “I don’t think watching Gabriella’s file is healthy,”

There was a micro shift in his demeanor that was so subtle, but you still managed to pick it up. His muscles tenses like he had just been pricked by a thorn.

“Don’t even think about bringing her up,” his voice came out cold and sinister, a warning to prevent you from going deeper. “You don’t know the whole story”

“I know enough,” That was enough for him to finally turn around to look at you, unleashing his inferno of fury in full glory.

“No, you don’t! You don’t know anything about her. You’ve read her reports. You’ve seen the surveillance videos. But that isn’t the whole story,”

“Maybe not but I know it’s the main reason why you’re so driven by guilt, you can barely see what’s in front of you,”

“Oh I see everything that’s in front of me. Everything that matters," he scoffed before continuing on,"I’m doing what I have to do, and here you have the gall to get upset over me not paying attention to you?”

At that moment, your mind reeled back to the night you were experiencing a panic attack because you had a pregnancy scare. You still vividly remembered the taste of bile climbing into your throat from the fear.

It didn’t help that you were alone in that situation. You were in the HQ bathroom because you thought it would be easier for Miguel to be there for you if you were in his dimension, but you were only met with disappointment when he was on another mission.

You remembered gripping onto the pregnancy test tightly, you felt the sweat from your palms while struggling to breathe. For a long while, you were reluctant to take the test, too anxious to see the results.

Thankfully, the test came out negative. The relief that followed was like cool water over your heated body. You didn’t want to imagine how things would’ve unfolded if it was positive— more importantly, you didn’t want to see Miguel’s reaction if you were pregnant with his child.

“I’m not talking about me anymore, I’m talking about a bigger picture,”

By bigger picture, you were talking about the far future and what potential it could hold. Despite being aware of the importance of keeping the Multiverse in balance, you still wanted Miguel to have a fulfilling life— one that wasn’t so heavily influenced by the Spider Society.

But that was practically impossible if he kept himself in his office. It was counterproductive when it came to healing from his grief and guilt by replaying Gabriella’s footage over and over again.

Surely this was going to take a toll soon and you didn’t want to witness him tearing himself apart and let his guilt dictate his life.

“There is no bigger picture than this. This is the picture,” He gestured at the monitors behind him. “This is where my attention should be, everything else is secondary.”

“I’m starting to feel like you’re having tunnel vision,”

“Tunnel vision?!” His voice escalated in pitch and came out harsh, like blade cutting through the mounted tension in the room. “I’m the one who sees more than you ever will!”

His words, even if they were hurtful to hear, were starting to have some weight on them and it made your arguments pale in comparison.

Everything you said seemed to be thrown right back at you in the most ruthless way and you were starting to feel like this was getting pointless.

There’s nothing you could say that could change his mind and you were beginning to accept that.

“You know what, you’re right. It’s not like you’ll ever share with me what you see,” It was time to throw in the towel, this was not going anywhere now.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s not important. But like you said, I’m a liability and in your way so I’ll see myself out,” Your turned your heels and hopped off the platform before you made your way to the exit. “This relationship was a waste of time and effort,”

It was past noon when you heard a soft knock on your door. With a frown, you swung open your door to see that it was Albie in his usual work attire.

“Hey…uhm shouldn’t you be at work?” You asked, surprise evident in your tone.

“I’m on my lunch break,” he replied, holding up a plastic bag and mirroring your smile.

“But you always have lunch in your office,” Even if you were happy to see him during work hours, this change in his routine wasn’t like him. But what added to your confusion was the newfound sparkle in his eyes as he spoke.

“I know but I wanted to see you. Plus, I went to the bodega and picked up your favourites,” It was an odd change seeing him come over to your place to eat. You knew he preferred having his lunch at work so he could maintain the professional atmosphere without any distractions.

Nevertheless, you stepped aside to let him in. You both padded to the living room and he placed the bag on the coffee table. Albie always took pride in his looks, keeping his hair well-groomed that went hand in hand with his sharp attire. The early afternoon sunlight casted over the room through the balcony doors, giving a warm glow.

You couldn’t help but pick up the slight energy in his step as he walked and the grin that was plastered on his face, despite the long hours he spent at work. You watched him take out your sandwich and handed it to you.

The familiar aroma of fresh bread and deli meat immediately overwhelmed you and reminded you how hungry you were. You took the first bite and was immediately filled with the cocktail of flavours and spices from the meat.

“You seem excited,” you pointed out before you took another bite from the sandwich. You haven’t seen him look this ecstatic since the night you confessed that you loved him back.

He rubbed his neck, trying to conceal his enthusiasm. “Heh, am I that obvious?”

You nodded. “Like reading a book. Is there something you want to share?”

He put his hands up in mocking surrender before he said “Okay, okay you got me. Yes, I do have some pretty exciting news. That’s why I came to see you,”

You arched your brow mid-chewing and listening attentively to what he had to say. His lips twitched up, enjoying the suspense of the moment.

“Do you remember how I’ve been working on that project with the major corporation for the past few months?” He asked.

You nodded, still remembering the long hours and the late night calls he got. Albie worked as a cyber security consultant for a reputable firm. He specialised in helping organisations protect their systems and data from cyber threats.

Albie was good at what he did and you can tell he took pride in his work. He would always share news about his career and keep you in the loop as much as possible.

His wide grin from earlier returned as he continued. “Well it’s still in the working progress and so far things are looking pretty promising. But once this project is completed, there’s been talk about a potential promotion. A senior consultant role,”

Your brows raise in pleasant surprise as you were taking in everything he was saying.

“That’s amazing!” You exclaimed, you found yourself leaning forward, eager to hear more.

“Thank you, babe. I’m not there yet but I’m hopeful. There are a lot of perks to this promotion like the salary increase which will give us a stability for a better future, but there’s something else too,”

“What’s that?”

“Well one of the benefit packages comes with a Health and Wellness program which include gym memberships. If I get this promotion, I thought we could maybe start hitting the gyms together after work and make it our thing,”

The moisture in your mouth instantly dried as you tried to swallow another mouthful of your sandwich. Ever since you’ve joined the Spider Society, you’ve only been using the gym back in HQ rather than in your dimension.

You still remember the day Miguel gave you a tour of the gym and how he managed to convince you to use it regularly instead of the gyms back at home because they were not catered for spider people like you.

You knew he just said that just so you would work out with him. But now, you would go there alone and you would much prefer it that way. It felt more comfortable being surrounded by people like you.

But you couldn’t tell Albie that. He wasn’t aware about your secret identity as Spidera-Woman and it should be kept that way. You managed to mask your internal conflict with an encouraging smile.

“Yeah definitely, I just need to check my schedule to see if I can make time fit.” You said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as you could and match his high spirit. You didn’t want to ruin his happiness by being doubtful, this was a huge opportunity for him.

“Great. We can even try out some of the gym fitness classes they offer too. At least then we can spend more time together.” He went on, rambling. It made your stomach flutter knowing that he really wanted to share the benefits with you. “This will be amazing,”

“Yeah…let’s not get too ahead of ourselves though. You still haven’t got the promotion yet,” you tried to reason with him before he made any unattainable plans.

Albie had the tendency to be overly hopeful about things and as much as you appreciated his enthusiasm and his support, he can go overboard without realising it.

“You’re right, speaking of which I’m gonna have to leave for 1. How’s the sandwich?”

You swallowed the mouthful before you answered, “Perfect,”

Later in the evening, you were alone again in your living room. The only source of light came from the screen in front of you, casting a soft glow that illuminated the room.

The only noise that could be heard was the TV in the background. Otherwise, the apartment was quiet enough to hear the low bliss of the traffic outside. Even if you didn’t have company for the night, it was still peaceful.

Amidst the serenity, you couldn’t help but subconsciously reminisce about the stark difference between your evenings with Albie compared to those spent with Miguel.

When he was not working a late shift, nights with Albie would be filled with tranquility and quality moments together. You would often find yourself curled up on the couch while nestled onto his chest.

A stark contrast to the time spent with Miguel, where moments together were rare occurrences. His duties as Spider-man and leader of the Spider Society left little room for personal connections. The fact that he was not from your home dimension added another layer of complexity to your relationship. You’d be lucky if he even left his own dimension just to be with you.

But, you didn’t want to mull over it and open the door to any unnecessary longing of ‘what could’ve been’ and ‘what if’s’ tonight. You had Albie now and every moment left like a treasure trove of warmth and comfort.

Your dinner that you made fresh was sitting on the coffee table in front of you, waiting to be eaten. Just as you were about to pick up your plate to start on your food, you heard a sharp whisper in your ear that sent a chill down your spine.

“Hey,”

You flinched.

That was not something you wanted to hear when you were home alone. You quickly cupped your ear instinctively before you saw a marigold hologram glitch in front of you that was followed by Lyla’s figure.

“Hey girl,” she greeted, fluttering her fingers in a wave.

“Lyla—! Jeez don’t scare me like that,” You exclaimed before signing in both relief and annoyance.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt your night with a grand entrance,” You didn’t want to admit that she already did just that. She glitched around you, disappearing and reappearing in different directions around you as she spoke. “By the way, Miguel needs you back in HQ,”

“Right now? Can’t he get someone else? I’m supposed to be on my day off,” you protested.

“Actually your days off are on Mondays and Thursdays,” she reminded you. You quickly glanced at your calendar and saw that she was right. You sighed again. So much for enjoying the evening to yourself.

“Alright…tell him I’ll be there in 10,”

“Copy that,” she saluted before she glitched away, leaving alone with the food in front of you.

You watch the steam waltz into the air from your hot meal, almost teasing you. It wouldn’t taste the same when you reheat it in the microwave. Yet, a part of you was glad that you didn’t start eating yet. Dimension traveling on a full stomach always ended in motion sickness.

You took the plate and made your way to the kitchen and covered it with a foil sheet. You then headed to your room to change into your suit and tapped on your watch, activating a colourful whirlwind portal for you to step into.

Hold onto Albie for me 🥹🤞🏼 he’s a stable man (for now)

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @femaholicc @keepitreal001 @risararelywrites @jadeloverxd @cl3stevu

@scaleniusrm @smartyren @homewreckingwreck @indecisive-capricorn @toyfortoji

Lmk if you wanna be tagged for this series (i didn’t know who to tag here so I tagged whoever commented on part 1)

Part 3…data loading ⏳

[nico-esoterica]

Be as emotional, spiral-y, fearful, and doubtful as you want. They don't manifest or sabotage your manifestations if you don't believe them and stick to your story! They're just emotions! Feelings! They're just chemical reactions! Throw the manifestation community rules OUT!

You don't need perfect mental health to manifest. You don't need to be confident or believe anything will happen. You just need to pick a story that you say is happening/will happen/has happened and stick to it. Tenses don't matter. Nothing does.

Thinking in your favor about yourself and your manifestations as a topic (money, relationships, success, health, beauty, etc) helps you feel better about being in control and only benefits you. But being a shining beacon of perfect mental health and fearlessness aren't necessary. Tbh, I interpret fearlessness as not giving a flying fuck if you're afraid and sticking to your guns anyway.

That's why so many people have still manifested in the midst of depressions, giving up hope, and flat out leaving the law of assumption all together conceptually. As long as you haven't changed your mind and said it's not coming, can't happen, etc, and maintained that and weren't just having a moment that you corrected, you still getting your shit, baby.

Baaabyyyyyyyyy, you have your fine ass sp, your dream body, and your billions. You're in Forbes, Vogue, and Jeff Bezos is sick of you bc you've outshined him.

YOU'VE GOT IT! *pygmy hippo screech*

[heylittleriotact]

🕯️ THE RITUAL HAS BEEN COMPLETED AND I AM SUMMONED BY @emmg 🕯️

WIP ✨WHATEVER✨

I have a lot of Emmrook things in mind that I want to write (I made a list!), but I only have one brain and one dominant hand for writing, so I’m just dawdling away at my leisure.

Currently I’m working on my take on a scene that would take place directly following the end of the game because BioWare hates us and decided we don’t need any closure for our Rooks or their love interest aside from some vague ‘live, laugh, love’ bullshit epilogue slide.

Rook works their fucking ass off the entire game and is basically the emotional sponge for everyone else’s issues, pushing themselves beyond what’s healthy to see their goals through. Emmrich remarks on it on at least two separate occasions, so I think my Rook would probably find herself in a position within hours of everything concluding where her body and her mind just stand on the brakes and say, “Nope! We’re done! We cannot and will not do any more things until you take some time to recuperate!”

And who’s going to make sure that happens in the most romantic, wholesome, and slightly stern but sexy way?

Emmrich, of course 🤍

Also, I’m reverse uno-ing @emmg because I want to know what you’re cooking. LET ME INNNNNN.

I’m also tagging @allofthebarks because she said she has things she wants to write but the writing just isn’t coming, so comfort yourself in my clumsy, unedited WIP and just write A Thing. Dooooo it!!!

Veilguard End Game Spoilers Under The Cut

Cheering and accolades followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, and Amina took the time to ensure that no waiting hand was left unshaken, no hug went unreturned, and no condolence went unoffered. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but as far as she was concerned, it was time well spent.

As the ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony of their victory was muffled, Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach.

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and stroking comforting circles on her back with another.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Her voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give way, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, not caring that it landed right in her sick: everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto to tether her here.

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother—“ Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time. None of them had had time to tell her mother about Harding’s death before Elgar’nan forced their hand.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her… breaking her from the inside.

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: lithe as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him.

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion of life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them.

No. First I need to breathe.

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…”

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her nervous system and providing some relief.

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to—“

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But—“

“All that needs to be attended will be seen to: Lace’s mother will be informed of her sacrifice in an appropriate manner, and the… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return… please let me be the one to help you in your moment of need?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe.

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and disheveled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” He whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers. “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

[worth-the-chaos]

Adventures in Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: With the events of last fall in the past, you attempt to move on, still working on your academics and babysitting Dustin. You and Steve have drifted since your encounter with the otherworldly, but he begins to make more active efforts to talk to you, making sure you have an invite to Tina’s big Halloween party.

Content Warning: swearing, stancy, reference to upside down stuff, billy being an ass, college application stress, drinking, anxiety and trauma

Word Count: 6.3k

Author’s Note: Again, I’m trying to follow a lot of the plot lines of the series for this x reader, so a lot of it is probably a bit familiar! This part follows the reader’s involvement through Halloween, when things begin to turn sour again.

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Next Part

***

You took a deep breath as you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Half-dressed for the day, your eyes couldn’t help but focus on the scars that littered your upper arm, remembering when they used to be deep gashes.

It had been about a year since you stood in the Byers’ house fighting for your life against the horrifying entity from what the kids elected to call the Upside Down. Though your physical wounds had healed, the emotional ones still lingered. Every once in a while, fear invaded your consciousness as you thought back to the flashing lights and the low growl resonating through the small family room. Sometimes when you closed your eyes, you could still see the rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, inching closer and closer to your face.

It was paralyzing, but you shoved those thoughts and feelings aside as you threw a long sleeve shirt on, covering the physical evidence of your fight against the supernatural. Stop thinking about that, you reminded yourself, it’s all over now.

The walk to Hawkins High wasn’t terribly long, though you did still wish you were fortunate enough to afford a vehicle of your own. Once you finally reached the parking lot, a car honk drew you from your thoughts and you were met with the familiar face of the one and only Steve Harrington as he smiled and waved from the driver’s seat. Sat next to him was Nancy Wheeler. Steve’s talk with her in the hospital evidently had been successful because they’d been back together since then, coming up on their first anniversary. You found it difficult to be happy for the couple, but you pushed the jealousy down in your chest and did a small wave back, a half smile on your face. Nancy didn’t respond with the same enthusiasm as Steve, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

The window suddenly rolled down and Steve called out, “Hey y/n! I’ll see you in study hall! I have a question for you!”

“Okay…? See you then, I guess,” you responded, a bit surprised. Since last year, Steve had rethought his life choices. He wasn’t the same douchebag he’d been when he broke Jonathan’s camera and called Nancy a slut. He dropped Tommy H and Carol, started focusing a bit more on school, and was generally a lot nicer than he used to be. However, despite the way you both risked your lives together, blindsided by the paranormal darkness lurking in Hawkins, you both kind of fell out of touch.

He had Nancy and you had…well, you had your studies. And your babysitting gig. One year strong babysitting the Henderson kid, and only one apocalyptic encounter. Needless to say, you were doing pretty damn good.

Suddenly, the sound of tires screeching on the pavement drew the focus of the three of you away from the semi-awkward encounter, watching as a car with California plates peeled into the parking lot. A boy you didn’t recognize stepped out of the car, flicking his cigarette behind him. A young girl emerged from the passenger seat, turning and making her way down the hill in the direction of Hawkins Middle.

You scoffed, being the impeccable babysitter that you were. Was this guy really too lazy to drop his kid sister off at her school that was less than a block away?

He swung his car door shut and paused, looking you up and down before sending a wink and smirk your direction and turning to make his way into the high school. Your hands gripped your backpack straps a little tighter, feeling like an object to be used or consumed under his gaze. You didn’t have a good feeling about this boy, and something told you that Hawkins High had found its replacement for the King Steve that disappeared when Harrington wisened up last year.

“Who is that guy?” You suddenly heard Steve’s voice ask, annoyance painted on his face. He wasn’t too thrilled with the way he had looked at you. Steve knew the type of guy he was; the type that wouldn’t take no for an answer, and in that moment despite the countless girls drooling over his dumbass mullet, he had zeroed in on you.

“Must be new,” you responded, forcing a smile in an attempt to demonstrate that the mystery boy’s actions hadn’t fazed you. You fought an otherworldly entity; surely you could handle some asshole jock. In a way, you already had, and look how that turned out.

“The two of you should steer clear of him. He’s bad news,” Steve warned. Nancy and you didn’t argue, nodding before you took off to enter the building so you wouldn’t be late for first period.

By the time you were on your way to third period study hall, you had already spent the morning contemplating what Steve could possibly have to ask you. It was your junior year, his senior, and while you were taking it for the extra study time, he was taking it to avoid coursework from one more class, largely using it as a time to take a school sanctioned nap. As such, normally you didn’t interact much during the one hour break from boring lectures and busy work.

“Hey,” Steve whispered as he slid into the chair next to you, a stark juxtaposition to the way he slammed his textbooks on the desk, causing you to jump.

“What? Not taking your spot in the back corner so you can sleep without Mrs. Reed giving you shit?” You asked, staring up at him innocently.

“Actually, I was thinking I could get us out of here for the hour.”

“And how do you suppose that’s going to happen?”

“I’ll put on the old Harrington charm…just watch,” he smirked as he stood up, grabbing you by the elbow to drag you to the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Reed was not the type of person to mess with. She wore her hair up in a slicked back bun that meant business, wearing a scowl like it was an accessory. You seriously doubted the “Harrington charm” was going to do shit to get you out of that classroom.

She glared at the boy through her thin wire glasses, clearly not in the mood for his shenanigans. “Is there a problem?” She droned out, her expression fixing further into annoyance, if that was even possible.

“Actually, Mrs. Reed, I’m afraid there is,” he started, “you see, y/n here was just telling me about how she has this big presentation in her fourth hour class, and she was really hoping for an opportunity to practice. Is there any possible way you’d be so gracious as to let us utilize one of the study rooms in the library? I mean, we can’t go letting Hawkins’ star pupil do anything less than ace this thing, am I right?”

He shook you by your shoulders a bit at the end, and even though the compliment was nothing more than a lie, you still flushed under the praise. It wasn’t everyday that you got complimented in front of your entire study hall class by the most popular student in the school.

“Is that so, y/n?” She turned to you.

“You know me and my nerves, Mrs. Reed; I could really use the help. And besides, Steve is probably about the most rowdy audience I could possibly have, so presenting after this will be a piece of cake,” you pasted a smile on your face. You felt bad lying to her; she’d been a pretty decent English teacher your sophomore year.

“Fine. Don’t worry about coming back before the end of the hour. I know I can trust you to keep Harrington in line,” she answered, glaring at Steve before turning back to the work on her desk, done with the bullshit of high school students; the good ones and the bad ones alike.

You both quickly thanked her before Steve grabbed both of your backpacks and you headed out the door.

“Okay, if I’m going to be completely honest, I was about 85% sure that wasn’t going to work. Mrs. Reed fucking hates me…like a lot,” Steve breathed out as he tossed you your bag, his cocky facade finally dissipating as he continued down the hall.

“This better be a good fucking question, Steve,” you grumbled, not happy about the lie he forced you into, “what am I supposed to do if she asks me about my presentation? What am I supposed to do if she talks to Mr. Hayes?”

“Woah, woah, woah, cool your jets,” he rolled his eyes, “Mrs. Reed is probably a year or two away from retirement and barely even cares about the shit she’s teaching, so I think you’re going to be fine.”

You entered the library, quickly moving to one of the study rooms. You tossed your bag on the floor, already tired from the day and not fully emotionally prepared to spend an hour one on one with Steve.

“Alright, what’s the deal?” You asked as you sat in one of the chairs, crossing your arms as your face fixed into a glare.

“Well, first of all, here,” he shoved an obnoxiously orange flyer at you. You grabbed it a bit aggressively, still not super happy with the boy in front of you. He had a dorky-ass grin on his face though, and it almost broke the cold exterior you were trying to keep up….almost.

“‘Tina’s Halloween Bash, come and get sheet faced,’ are you kidding me? This is what we’re skipping study hall for? Dude, I have an AP chem test this week that I really needed to study for,” you whined, shoving the flyer back at him.

“No, of course this isn’t the reason we’re skipping. I may be dumb, but I’m not an idiot,” he said as he shoved the flyer back at you, “It’s just…I know you never go out, a-and—and it’s Halloween! You can’t stay in on Halloween! Plus, Nancy and I are going to be there, so it’ll be fun, I swear it.”

He leaned across the table, the elbow of his right arm settling right in the middle as he reached his hand towards you. Your focus shifted to his extended pinky. You looked at him incredulously as he waggled it a few times, looking at you with his big brown puppy dog eyes. This boy was going to be the death of you, but you wrapped your small pinky around his anyway.

“I’ll consider it. That’s the best you’re getting.”

“You know what, I’ll take it. Which brings me to my next topic, and pretty much the entire reason for this in the first place, which is that Nancy thinks my application essay sucks and I really need some fucking help,” Steve leaned back while he ran his hands down his face.

You felt a pang in your heart because you knew how stressful this all probably was for the boy. You’d been smart and planned accordingly, so getting into colleges wasn’t the part that was stressing you out; it was the finances that did. Steve on the other hand had screwed around for two and a half years and now somehow needed to manage turning things around enough so that he had even a fighting chance.

“Just give it to me,” you sighed and he quickly handed over the essay he had written.

Steve watched your eyes scan the page as you read the words that he had spent the last week writing. He was a bit embarrassed, to say the least; he had taken one English class with you last semester and knew that he didn’t even write half as well as you did. Hell, Nancy didn’t even come close and her writing was really, really good.

“You…you compared winning a basketball game to your grandfather fighting in the war?” You asked incredulously.

“…yeah?”

“Steve.”

“I know, I know! It’s bad, but that’s why I need your help! I was gonna have Nancy help me but we have this thing tonight and I can’t miss it and—“

You cut him off. “Steve, stop talking. I can help you…but I think you’re going to have to rewrite this whole thing.”

Steve hung his head and buried his face in his hands. Of course I’m gonna have to rewrite the damn thing because it can never just be fucking easy. He felt your hands pull on his wrist and he looked up, finding you staring at him sweetly. A bit pitying, but it was still sweet. With that, some of his anger subsided and he took a deep breath.

“You just need to find something more meaningful to you. I mean, I can tell your heart really isn’t in this. Besides, sometimes the best essays are about the things you’ve lost, not the things you’ve won.”

Steve thought about this. He lived a pretty privileged life. He didn’t want for anything, his future was pretty much set so long as he took the job at his dad’s company, he had the girl, the car, the hair, etc. Sure, his parents kind of really, really sucked but that was small potatoes compared to all of the things he had easy. It was hard to think of something he really, truly lost.

He almost had lost you.

His thoughts flashed to the demogorgon, the way his heart stopped and instinct took over as he had swung the bat with all his might to get the damn thing away from you. He pushed the thought away and suddenly he wasn’t interested in working on this essay anymore.

“You know what? You’re right. I’m gonna need some time to brainstorm some things to write about, but in the meantime, how about we focus on that AP chem test, huh? I mean, there’s no way you don’t have color-coded flash cards and all that jazz”

“Steve, you really don’t have to. I’m sure you have a lot better things to do than to help me cram for some dumb test.”

“Hey, first of all, if it’s important to you, it’s not dumb. Secondly, I might be a shit learner, but I’m a pretty damn good quizzer, so hand ‘em over,” he motioned for you to hand him your index cards as you sheepishly pulled them out of your backpack in their color-coded glory.

“How could I have possibly known?” He feigned surprise.

“Shut up, Harrington.”

***

When all was said and done, you felt moderately better about your AP chem test. Steve wasn’t lying when he said he was a good quizzer; by now, you had every word on every one of those damn cards memorized. During your walk to the Henderson household, you pulled the bright orange flyer out of your pocket. You couldn’t help but smile thinking back to Steve inviting you. He wanted you to be there.

“Y/n!” Dustin drew you out of your thoughts as you quickly shoved the flyer back into your back pocket. The middle school and the high school let out at the same time. He wasn’t far behind you, sat atop his bike as he hopped off and walked with it next to him so he could talk to you.

“You can ride your bike home. I seriously doubt you can get into any serious sort of trouble in the five minutes it takes me to catch up,” you reminded him, though you weren’t entirely sure that was true; in fact, the boy was such a problem sometimes that you considered upping your rate to charge his mom for hazard pay.

“First off, I think you underestimate how much faster I can get home on my bike than you can on foot. Secondly, what was that you just put in your pocket?”

“It-It’s nothing,” you said maybe a little too quickly as your face heated up.

“Bullshit. Spill.”

You sighed. “It’s just some stupid flyer for a big Halloween party. Nothing that concerns you, unless you somehow age several years in the next few days and are suddenly eligible to attend,” you joked, sarcasm lacing your tone as you tried to gather your bearings and act more casual. He didn’t need to know that, to you, it was more than just some Halloween party; it was a Halloween party that Steve Harrington had invited you to.

“You don’t go to parties though,” Dustin was quick to remind you. He was right. Sure, early on in high school you’d been invited to a few, but after you continued to decline, people stopped reaching out.

“Well…there��s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” you muttered.

“Are you gonna dress up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who invited you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Was it a guy?”

“No!”

“So it was a guy!” Dustin exclaimed. You rolled your eyes and jogged ahead, trying to put some distance between you and the incessant questioning of the boy you had the great misfortune of babysitting.

“Your silence is incriminating!” He shouted after you, unable to run very gracefully while attempting to guide a bike around.

You shook your head and sighed. Could babysitting Henderson ever be easy?

***

You walked towards Tina’s house feeling more than just stupid. You didn’t even know Tina super well outside of her always bumming notes off of you when she missed fifth period French. After your conversation with Dustin, you began considering the many elements of a Halloween party that had slipped your mind when you pinky promised Steve you’d go. You hadn’t thought about a costume because, frankly, you hadn’t initially been planning on doing anything for Halloween; it was just going to be another Wednesday for you.

As such, you had decided not to dress up, instead opting to pick apart your closet to find clothes that would maybe scream “party,” settling on your favorite pair of jeans, a low cut black tank top, and a denim jacket. So, yeah, you weren’t in costume, but at least your tits had kind of showed up to the party, so you decided that was good enough.

The mess of bodies dancing at different levels of sobriety made it difficult to navigate the front lawn and you hoped with all your might that Steve and Nancy were already there. You got closer to the front door when you heard the headache inducing sounds of high school testosterone as a bunch of the douchebags from Hawkins High hyped up Mr. California for doing an absurdly long keg stand.

Gee. Great.

As you reached to grasp the doorknob to let yourself into the party, a hand from behind you slammed the door back shut just as soon as you had opened it. You were met eye to eye with the mullet headed, leather jacket wearing douchebag himself. Something was off about this boy (besides the fact that he was unbelievably hammered), and you thought back to Steve’s warning to stay away.

“Hey,” he slurred as he looked you up and down, his eyes pausing longer than they should’ve when they reached your chest. You felt small under his hungry gaze, but you refused to allow yourself to visibly shrink so you straightened your posture and forced your chin up as you looked him in the eye.

“Excuse you,” you muttered as you tried to pull on the door handle again. Obviously it didn’t budge, and he laughed at your attempt. You scowled as you met his eyes again. “What’s your deal, man?”

“The name’s Billy. Billy Hargrove,” he shot you a smirk that screamed trouble as he extended his hand towards you, offering up a handshake.

What a total ass. Fortunately though, he was cocky enough to think that striking up a conversation would cause you to stay, removing his hand from the door, so you took the opportunity to maneuver past him, opening the door and slipping inside.

“Frankly, I don’t give a shit,” you added before slamming the door in his face. You saw the look of shock flash across his features before he disappeared from view and you couldn’t help but feel good about it. The feeling quickly dissipated though as you attempted to weave around the living room, nearly tripping as you made your way into the kitchen where you met Nancy.

“What’s in this?” She was asking a guy in a toga. You recognized him from your second period class, but you didn’t know his name.

“Pure fuel! Pure fuel! Whoo!” He shouted back at her, and you realized you were perfectly fine not getting to know him.

“Well, with that ringing endorsement, we’d be dumb not to have a little, right?” You chuckled and Nancy spun around at the sound of your voice.

“Y/n, you made it,” she said, smile not really touching her eyes, “Steve wasn’t sure you were going to show.” Both of you dipped red solo cups into the questionable mixture, filling them up with the red mix of booze and punch.

“Yep, here I am. In the flesh,” you laughed again, trying to dispel the awkward energy. Something about her seemed off; normally she would be much more friendly. You hoped that you hadn’t done anything to upset her. “Nancy, is everything okay?” You asked quietly as you gently grabbed her wrist.

“I’m fine,” she replied as her jaw set and her tone told you not to push the question. You let go of her wrist and nodded, letting her know that you were going to let it go for now. Her body relaxed and you lifted up your cup toward her.

“Cheers?” You asked with a half smile on your face. This earned you a small smile from the girl as she brought her cup up to tap yours. You smiled and both of you brought your cups to your lips, you taking a small sip while she threw her head back and downed the whole glass.

“Hey! Woah, woah, woah, take it easy! Nance!” Steve was suddenly beside you, reaching across you to try and grab the cup out of her hand.

“We’re just being stupid teenagers for the night. Wasn’t that the deal?” She glared at him before downing more punch, wiping away the bit that spilled onto her face, and shoving her way into the crowd to dance.

Steve’s expression fell a bit as he watched her leave, but his focus shifted to you. “Sorry about that. She’s just…in a bit of a mood today,” he apologized and shook his head, “but I’m so glad you’re here! I mean, I was pretty sure you were gonna bail on me considering I know for a fact that you were invited to some of my house parties last year and you didn’t show.”

“How dare I, right?” You rolled your eyes and chuckled. It’s true. You had been invited to his parties, especially after your encounter with the demogorgon had brought the two of you together in a weird but irreversible way. You would always have that experience, but you weren’t interested in changing for him. Besides, he was never the one to personally extend the invitation, instead you heard about it from someone else every time.

“You aren’t in costume.”

“Way to point out the obvious,” you retorted, finishing your first cup of punch. Steve shot you a look, clearly not trusting that you knew your limits with alcohol. “You’re joking, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it seems a bit hypocritical for the king of parties himself to be judgmental about someone else’s drinking habits.”

“Well, it’s exactly that. I don’t get the impression that you have drinking habits, and if it’s your first time drinking, you should watch yourself, you know? Can’t fault me for looking out for a friend,” he added and you bristled a bit at that last word. Friend.

“Y/n, what?” He asked, noticing your reaction. You sighed before responding, not really sure how this conversation was going to go.

“So…we’re friends now?” You asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

Steve was taken aback, clearly confused by your confusion. “What do you mean? Of course we’re friends! Y/n, we went through so much together last year, I mean, did you really think I was just gonna drop you like all that shit didn’t matter?”

“You kind of did. It’s not like we hang out or really talk or anything remotely close to what friends would do. We’re just two people who know each other a little bit better than we did. I wouldn’t necessarily call that ‘being friends’,” you responded, putting air quotes around the final words. You hoped that your statement didn’t hurt him. It was the truth though. Your shoulders tensed as you awaited his response.

“You know what? You’re right y/n, and I’m sorry. I should’ve done more to keep in touch, and I’m not going to make any excuses. So let’s just start over, okay?” He asked, his big brown eyes staring into yours.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you nodded, not trusting that your voice wouldn’t fail you.

“Alright, perfect,” he smiled, and suddenly he extended his hand towards you, “hey, I’m Steve. I don’t know you but you seem pretty tough, and like you might have some killer fighting instincts, so I thought we could be friends.”

You laughed. Like really laughed, and Steve was beaming. You wiped away a tear that slipped from your eye as you took a breath to regain your composure. It was all so absurd and perfect and so incredibly Steve that you couldn’t help but accept his offer. You willed your palms not to sweat as you grabbed his hand and shook it, “Well, I’m y/n, and yeah, you’re right; I do have some pretty kick-ass instincts, but I can’t promise it will keep you out of trouble.”

“That’s okay because I’ve got some pretty kick-ass moves myself, so I think we’ve got it covered,” he added, smiling at you. He let go of your hand before saying “well, Nancy’s probably halfway to being shit faced, so we should probably go party it up with her while her memory’s still intact.”

You nodded as you turned to exit the kitchen, Steve placing a hand on your back as he guided you through the mess of people dancing to get to Nancy. It was fun to let loose and dance, and you wondered why you hadn’t let yourself party like this before. It felt freeing, and you felt the slight buzz from the drinks that you’d had as you let your body move to the music that was almost too loud to hear yourself think.

Suddenly, you felt hands around your waist, and you instantly sobered up, remembering a big part of why you didn’t like parties: asshole guys who were just looking for a quick hook up.

“Hey!” You shouted as you turned around, eyes met with the same piercing blue ones from earlier.

“Woah, no need to get all angry, baby. I gotta say it’s pretty hot though,” Billy chuckled as he moved his hands to grab at your waist again. You maneuvered away from his grasp, swatting his hands away.

“Can’t you tell I’m not fucking interested,” you replied.

“Baby, come on—“

You cut him off, “I’m not your fucking baby.”

“No need to be a bitch about it, come on. Can’t have a little fun?”

“She said she’s not interested, dude. Leave her alone,” Steve spoke up, having realized the position you were in. He moved to stand between the two of you, pulling you by the wrist behind him. Nancy was pretty wasted but aware enough to act, as she took your hand and pulled you farther away, weaving through the crowd to create some distance.

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware that you had two girlfriends, Harrington. I mean, I’m shocked you even have the one to begin with,” Billy retorted, taking a step towards Steve.

Steve stood his ground, knowing it wasn’t worth it to get heated over Billy’s comments. Billy just wanted to get a rise out of him and Steve wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction.

“I’m just looking out for a girl that needs help. If you’re not going to listen to her maybe you’ll listen to a guy, okay? So walk away.”

“Whatever, Harrington,” Billy replied as he shoved Steve in the shoulder and turned around to walk away. Tommy H was hot on his heels, a mindless dummy and fair weather fan to whoever he deemed to be top dog at any given moment.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Steve caught up with you and Nancy.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Ugh, I just hate assholes, like come on!” You exclaimed, hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to be self-soothing.

Steve opened his mouth to apologize when he realized Nancy was going back to the punch bowl. He quickly pivoted, following her into the kitchen. “Nancy, no, you’ve had enough, okay?” He said as he tried to grab the cup out of her hand again like he had earlier.

“Screw you,” she slurred, pulling her hand out of his reach and dunking her cup in the bowl.

“No, Nancy, I’m serious! Stop…Nance, put it down,” he warned, grabbing at the cup again. Nancy continued to protest, and Steve continued to fight it until he lost his grip on the cup and its bright red contents went spilling onto Nancy’s pristine white shirt. An audible gasp rang out through the party as those in the near vicinity stopped their dancing to gawk at Hawkins’ power couple’s power struggle.

“What the hell?” Nancy whispered as she stormed out of the room, and Steve pushed past you to follow, yelling after her. And just like that, you were alone. Without Steve and Nancy’s presence to calm you down, you felt your anxiety rise in your throat. You scanned the crowd, trying to find anyone that you knew moderately well enough to crash their group, and when you found no one, you cursed yourself for being such a loner. That was until your eyes met Jonathan Byers’, dressed equally un-festively, and you sighed a huge sigh of relief.

“Jonathan!” You shouted over the music, making your way over to him. Clearly he had seen what just transpired between Nancy and Steve, eyes darting back to focus on the hallway they’d disappeared down.

“Hey, y/n. What just happened?”

“Nancy’s pretty wasted and Steve was trying to cut her off and he spilled her drink on her. They’re probably in the bathroom trying to clean it up, though I doubt it’ll do any good. That punch is definitely going to stain.”

You didn’t know Jonathan super well, but you resonated with him. Both of you were more inclined to keep to yourselves, but via absurd and inter-dimensional means, ended up intertwined in the lives of your high school’s most popular couple. You saw the way he looked at Nancy when they talked, and it wasn’t dissimilar to how you looked at Steve; wanting for something that you couldn’t have but settling for what you did.

The two of you found a quiet corner and continued to make small talk, catching up on each other’s lives since you didn’t talk much. Jonathan told you about how Will was struggling, still visiting Hawkins’ Lab for appointments in an attempt to sort out his PTSD.

“The doctor says it’s some anniversary effect, and how since we’re coming up on a year, he’s just more on edge than usual. He’s been having these episodes though.”

“Episodes?”

“Yeah, they’re kind of like these waking nightmares I guess. He’s still scared out of his mind, y/n,” Jonathan explained, and you saw the pain in his expression. Your heart ached and you felt a lump in your throat as you thought about the way the poor kid was struggling. You wished you could just make it all go away, that you could erase it ever happening in the first place.

“And you trust this guy? The doctor I mean?” You asked hesitantly.

“He seems like a good guy. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like he’s being completely transparent. I guess I’m on edge too. It just seems like everyone’s bracing for something else to happen,” Jonathan added, and you felt the tension in your shoulders as he said it.

Suddenly, Steve stormed through the family room, Nancy noticeably absent. He quickly maneuvered through the crowd, reaching the front door and slamming it shut behind him.

You looked at Jonathan. “Divide and conquer?” You asked, knowing that the two of you were going to have to pick up the pieces of whatever had happened between the two of them. Jonathan quickly nodded, as you dropped your prior conversation. “Okay, I don’t have a car and Nancy’s not in a state to walk home, so you take care of her and I’ll handle Steve,” you added as you started walking backwards to make your way towards the door.

“Are you sure? He seems pretty mad.”

“I’ve handled worse!” You shouted back as you turned and swiftly made it out the door. Your eyes scanned the front lawn, still littered with people, but they quickly found the brown mop of hair that you had become familiar with just as he was reaching his car.

“Steve!” You shouted, but he ignored you, fumbling with his keys as he tried to unlock the door. By the time he finally managed to get it unlocked and opened, you had grabbed the side of the door so he couldn’t close it and drive off.

“Y/n, just leave me alone, okay? I’m seriously not in the mood,” he warned, his head hung as he tried desperately to avoid eye contact with you. His voice wavered a bit and you could tell by his body language that he was pretty upset.

“No, I’m not going to leave you alone; you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Then get in the car because I’m not fucking staying here,” he sighed and you hesitated before moving around to the passenger seat.

“What happened?” You gently asked as he began to pull away from Tina’s house, the night that you had all been anticipating clearly ending in disaster.

“Oh, you know, just Nancy saying that our relationship is pretty much complete and utter bullshit which is what every guy wants to hear from the woman that he loves,” he replied. His announcement of his love for Nancy stung, but you pushed it aside; this wasn’t about your feelings.

“What do you mean? What’s going on? You guys always seem so happy together,” you were honestly pretty shocked. They were the perfect couple; the kind of people who would end up high school sweethearts and the talk of every high school reunion. It couldn’t possibly all be bullshit.

“The Hollands are selling their house to pay some private investigator to find Barb.”

Oh.

Your stomach dropped and suddenly your body seemed to remember the alcohol you had consumed.

“Steve, stop the car.”

“Woah, woah, woah, what’s going on? Are you—“

You cut him off, shouting “just stop the damn car! Now!” The car screeched to a halt as he slammed his foot on the brake pedal. You quickly opened the door, retching onto the desolate backroad that you were currently on. Steve rubbed big circles across your back as your stomach emptied its contents. When you were done, you shut the door, tears running down your face.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. Sometimes I just forget about all of it; push it all away because I’m not ready to handle it and I just think about what it was like to be face to face with th-that—that thing and I can’t imagine what Barb’s final moments were like and I just—“ your sobs cut you off, unable to speak through your horror in contemplating Barb’s death.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay y/n. I’m right here,” Steve reminded you, pulling you into a hug as you buried your face in his neck. He held onto you until you were able to calm down and you pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry. I monopolized your turn being the one in crisis,” you let out a weak laugh, wiping the remaining tears from your eyes as you sniffled.

“No, honestly that was helpful. I think I get where Nancy’s coming from a little better now. Maybe she didn’t really mean all that shit about us, you know?” He rationalized.

“Yeah, maybe,” you replied, your voice small.

“Hey, don’t disappear on me now. We’re handling this crisis together and we’re putting it behind us, okay? So what’s going on?”

“It’s just…I was almost her,” you whispered, looking in horror at Steve.

“What?”

“I was almost Barb. If you hadn’t shown up—“

“Y/n, don’t think like that. You can’t think like that. It’s going to eat away at you. You’re here. I’m here. And we’re okay,” it seemed like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. You nodded, not entirely persuaded but ready to be done with the conversation. “Alright, where to?”

“Just mine, you know,” you said quietly, embarrassed that Steve was going to see your house. It was dinky compared to the Harrington residence. You knew he wouldn’t care, but you couldn’t help but feel inferior.

“Sure thing,” he replied as he put the car in drive, as you both attempted to put the evening’s sourness behind you. You chatted and caught up on all of the normal things you’d missed as you’d drifted apart this past year and by the time he reached your house, you felt a little bit better about things.

If only the two of you knew about the danger that was still lurking right under your feet.

***

a/n: I hoped y’all liked this chapter! I’m so excited to continue this story as we unpack all of the upside down nonsense of season 2! I’m new to this whole writing fanfic thing, so if you really liked it, I would be forever grateful if you would be so kind as to reblog it! It really helps it get to other people!

[klausysworld]

Love is never simple PART 2!!! (Part 1 here)

(I will be changing some things about the original plot, I hope that nobody minds)

After returning home Klaus ordered two of his hybrids to follow and report on Y/n. If she was any good at vampire hunting then he needed to keep a good eye on her. He didn't want her to think she had any kind of upper hand over him.

It was clear to say that he underestimated her.

The second his hybrids set their eyes on her she could sense it. It clicked in her mind immediately that Klaus knew. She had two ways to play: pretend she didn't know or send him a message. She didn't think about it for too long if she were honest, she desperately wanted to behead a hybrid.

It was easy to take them out, they weren't expecting her to be behind them when they followed her round the corner. She called Tyler and yelled t him to get his sorry ass to the street she was on. She them threatened to leave him in a similar state to his fellow mongrels if he didn't do exactly as she said.

That evening, when klaus came home he found both hybrids sat on his bed. Blood covered his bedding, drenching the mattress and staining everything. The hybrids held the others heads in a way that made it seem like it was an offering and it was so psychotically disturbing that Klaus found himself smiling. A laugh left his lips and he pressed his hand to his mouth to quieten himself, unaware that Tyler was messaging Y/n and letting her know of Klaus's reaction.

Klaus changed rooms, not wanting his floors to be stained. The hybrids were burned and he let the others mourn them for a day before getting back to work. He then began to wonder how he should go about Y/n. Clearly she didn't want to be on his side, however he also remembered how she had behaved on the night of homecoming. She had started off being revolted but for a good few minutes she completely forgot what he was. Deep down she was still a just a girl and he could use that to his advantage.

Klaus decided he would try to push her buttons a little. He knew that she had been apart of the reason that Damon and Mikael didn't kill him, this fact made him curious. She didn't want him dead? Or she did but for some reason she needed him alive? He wasn't sure but whatever the reason, she didn't show any warning signs that she was planning his murder. Besides, she wouldn't have sent him his hybrids like that, proof of what she was, if she planned to use it against him. She was smarter than that, he was sure.

He barely slept as he thought of every possibility. He had so many questions that would never be answered and so many theories that would never be proved.

Meanwhile Y/n was sat at her desk, a book in front of her that she had filled out herself. The title?:Niklaus Mikaelson.

She stayed up all night making sure she studied all of his silly little tricks. She found any connections to witches he still had, she needed to make sure he had nobody powerful beside him. She knew that the rest of the originals would be walking around town soon enough and she couldn't have them in contact with witches as well. The whole damn town would be up in flames.

So she set out early, around half 3 in the morning. She sped to get to the desired states, knife in hand and gun hidden just incase she couldn't get close.

Y/n was gone for over week killing off the closest of Klaus's alliances. By the time she returned, Klaus had Tyler bite Caroline and Elena was missing. Damon rang Y/n in a state, telling her that Stefan had her and was threatening to throw her off Wickery bridge.

Y/n had just gotten into town and pulled her car over when she spotted Stefan's car screeching to a stop. Elena's cries could be heard and Stefan's yelling.

Y/n ran over, opening the car door and pulling Elena out into a hug. Elena sobbed into her chest hysterically while Stefan slammed his own door shut.

"Put her back in the car" he demanded, his eyes still void of any emotion. Y/n went to scream at him but Elena was already there "how could you? My parents died on that bridge- I almost died...you know that...you saved me" she whimpered, holding onto Y/n's sleeve like a little child.

Stefan tried to make the argument that this was the only way to get at Klaus. That he had the upper hand and that he wasn't actually going to drive off the bridge but Elena wasn't budging. She begged to know what would have happened if Klaus didn't give in but Stefan didn’t entertain the idea. After letting Elena stand her own for a moment and seeing Stefan so carelessly regard her life, Y/n snapped.

"Elena get in my car" she instructed and Elena fell quiet. She hesitated for a second, but after taking in the expression on her face and knew it was best not to argue. Obediently, she walked to Y/n's car and sat in the passenger seat. She could see Y/n's phone and so rang Damon, warning him that Stefan may turn up bloody and bruised and also crying down the phone over what happened.

She tried her best not to look up when she could hear the muffled yelling and fighting from in from outside.

Y/n had Stefan on his knees, bleeding from the head and stomach, a hand of his 'hero' hair in her grip as she dragged his face up and leant down "Give Klaus those fucking coffins back or I swear to fuck that I will help him destroy you" she threatened but he shook his head with laboured breathing.

"I won't let him win" he panted and she smacked him across the face making his head whip to the side before back to her

"how blind are you Stefan? If this is how you're behaving then he's already won." she whispered, holding his chin tightly. She scoffed lightly when he wouldn't look and her "you're fucking pathetic" she told him. "If you think for one moment that I'm going to let you petrify Elena, torture everyone around you just for some stupid revenge fantasy-"

"He ruined my life, Y/n! He's already destroyed me and I want to watch him hurt" he growled

"why?" she questioned, knowingly

"Because I'm fucking angry Y/n!" he stated and a small smile quirked at her lips. She could work with Stefan if he felt something, his humanity was trying to come back.

"Then you care too" she whispered "you're just not letting yourself feel everything"

"I can't Y/n" he uttered, his eyes watering "If i let myself feel everything- everything I've done...I can't survive that"

"You deserve to feel the pain Stefan. Look around...you need to feel the hurt so that you can move past it." she told him and he looked down. "I give you until tomorrow night to give in before I'm forced to handle this my way" she muttered before placing her hands at his jaw and snapping his neck to the side.

She got into the car and drove Elena and herself to Caroline's. Klaus was just coming out of her house making Elena lower in her seat while Y/n got out the car.

Klaus glanced her up and down, noting the blood she had splattered all over her clothes and the teary doppelgänger in the car. "Caroline's been healed" he told her calmly, keeping his distance.

"I'll be changing the ownership of that house so you can't get in" she warned and he chuckled, watching as she grabbed a white birthday bag from her boot and walking towards Carolines.

He watched her for a moment as she opened the front door, he listened as she gave Caroline a hug and her birthday present before leaving shortly with the promise of seeing her tomorrow. His eyes locked back on hers as soon as she stepped outside

"what?" she barked and he smirked

"nothing, nothing" he claimed and she sighed "I was just wondering whose blood-"

"Stefan's but don't worry, I didn't kill your boyfriend" she mumbled, heading back to her car

"He's not- oh for gods sake" he muttered, following her "Where is he?"

"Hopefully thinking his time over" she opened her door and looked at him once more "You should have you coffins within 48 hours, if you don't...come find me" she told him for sitting down and closing her door. He watched in interest as she pulled out of the drive and Elena began to whisper to her.

Once they got home Y/n told Elena of her and Stefan's conversation and how she hoped that this would bring the Stefan they knew back. Elena looked at Y/n with a soft look

"You think...he could be something less than a monster?" she asked quietly and Y/n swallowed thickly.

"I think...I think he doesn't want to be a monster" she whispered "I- he wasn't always a monster...so maybe he could...I don't know, like, be better?" she mumbled, confused with the situation herself. "But that doesn't mean I like him, or that you should ever feel like you have to forgive him." she told her and Elena nodded.

"I don't think I can... not for a while" she whispered and Y/n nodded

"That's probably a good thing" she smiled weakly and the two sat for a moment before disappearing to their own rooms in an attempt to get over this day.

Thankfully, with an extra shove from Damon, Stefan came to and agreed to make a truce with Klaus. So they decided to give all the coffins back, however before leaving them in Klaus's living room, they undaggered every last Mikaelson. Except of course, the one which was closed but Y/n had witches on the phone to figure out how to open it already.

It took the help of a lot of Bennet witches, dead and alive, they even had to locate Bonnies mother. Surprisingly there was no sight of Klaus or his family for the few days it took them of draining the coffins magic until they were sure that the seal was broken. Y/n had firm words with Abby and made sure to comfort Bonnie as well as she knew how to.

And then they waited.

Unbeknownst to them, the Mikaelson house was practically a war zone. Klaus had been enduring a series of well deserved torture from each of his siblings, screaming empty threats and promises at them until they temporarily killed him in some of the most painful ways they knew how to shut him up.

Until each of them was silence by the mere presence of their supposed-to-be-dead mother. She claimed the house as her own in a matter of seconds and had her children on a tight leash.

They cleaned up and hid in their rooms, confused, afraid and somewhat hopeful.

Another day went by before Esther decided they needed something special to celebrate their reunion, a ball. She also demanded that they try to find dates. Niklaus especially.

Esther was a clever women, a crafty bitch of a witch. Over her last few years of being on the other side she had kept an eye on Y/n. She had spotted her, seen her potential and invested herself into it. Esther had also happened to see the homecoming, she knew that her son's interest had been captured. She knew how easily Klaus would soften just from a girl being kind to him for a few moments. Whether he liked it or not, Y/n had now taken a place in his mind. Esther also believed that despite Y/n somewhat befriending a couple vampires that her hatred would outweigh any bond she seemingly built and that if she could get her to the ball and spoke to her then she would be of even more use.

And, as expected, Klaus went to the Gilberts house. He had an invitation in one hand and a beautiful ballgown wrapped up in the other. For some reason he had a weird feeling in his stomach and his head ached. He gave a few hesitant knocks to the door and stepped back. He took a breath, fully prepared to be hit and told to fuck off and die.

He did not expect a half asleep Y/n to open the door, her eyes squinted to block the sun, her hair big and fluffy and her face bare of any makeup. Her brows scrunched together when she saw Klaus and she cleared her throat

"Yes?" she asked, trying to sound more assertive but the oversized jumper and sleepy eyes made it far too difficult to take her seriously. He could feel his face twitch to a smile but he tilted his head down to hide it. He shook his head subtly to himself before looking ack to her eyes and opening his mouth to get some words out. Instead, he just ended up staring at her, unable to form the sentence he wanted making her wipe her eyes and wake up more to pay attention.

Her eyes dropped to the gifts in his hands and his awkward, nervous behaviour. "Oh dear" she muttered and his face flushed, was she going to say no before he even asked? With a sigh and an eye roll she reached her hands out and took both items from him, placing the box inside by the door and tearing the envelope over. Klaus watched with wide eyes as she read both the formal invitation and Klaus's personal message where he asked her for a dance. She doubled checked that times before glancing up at him.

"See you at seven" she whispered with a nod before closing the door. He stood there for another minute before turning around and heading home, unsure on what he was supposed to do now.

Meanwhile Y/n walked into the kitchen where the Salvatores, Elena, Caroline, Bonnie and Matt all sat looking to her expectantly. She held up her invitation and in return they each held up theirs.

"Alright so, just so we're all on the same level-" Caroline began, leaning forward in her seat "some guy named Kol has invited me, Elijah invited Bonnie, Rebekah wants Matt and now Klaus has asked Y/n!?" her voice progressively grew louder and higher. Damon and Stefan sighed before Elena spoke

"Yeah.. and uh... Esther, their mother, wants to speak to me...privately" she mumbled and everyone went quiet for a second.

"So do we...go?" Bonnie asked and they all murmured quietly.

"I mean...free drinks and possibly food? Do they do food at dances or do I have to eat before I go?" Y/n asked tiredly and Caroline shook her head

"No no, you'll look bloated if you eat beforehand" She muttered and Damon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Right" Y/n whispered.

"Screw it, we should go" Elena decided and reluctantly everyone came to an agreement.

The girls would all go to Caroline's to get ready and meet the guys there.

Once they had done each others hair and makeup, made sure they all felt right and ready. They all stayed in Bonnie's car for a little while outside of the Mikaelson mansion

"Something bad is going down tonight" Y/n murmured and Elena sighed.

"We have to face it" she whispered

"Or we get shit faced and forget whatever goes down?" Y/n offered and Bonnie giggled while Caroline placed her hand over her face before opening the door

"come on, lets get" she called and they groaned as they piled out and maid their way inside.

Y/n let them filter out to the Salvatores and their dates while she swiftly weaved her way toward the sweet scent of alcohol. For once she didn't sense Klaus watching her as she downed four flutes of champagne in the space of 60 seconds, letting it rush straight to her head and smiling to herself.

With a quiet chuckle Klaus made his way over, standing just behind her and to her side as he cleared his throat "Y/n?" he called and she whipped round

"Klaus" she greeted and he smirked

"Enjoying the beverages?" he teased lightly

"Uh honestly no, it's rather disgusting but if you drink it fast enough then you don't really taste it" she grinned and he raised a brow

"Well...that's not what I was expecting...then again you've been very unpredictable today...are you feeling alright, love?" He whispered the last bit as though it were a serious matter and she rolled her eyes once more.

"Well everyone else got an invite, I was glad not to be the only one" she told him and he hummed

"I see" he stated, looking her over for a moment before taking a breath and smiling "you look stunning, sweetheart" he complimented and she glanced away from his gaze.

Y/n wasn't the relationship type. She wasn't ever really given compliments, she was rude to most people especially supernaturals and lets face it they covered half the town. The occasions she did attract attention it was because she 'looked hot' or 'sexy' which only pissed her off more and made her avoid any kind of revealing or tight clothes when since the 9th grade. So she didn't really think Klaus meant anything by those words, and she didn't want him or anyone to say things like that if it didn't mean anything.

So she looked past him and ignored the compliment, instead glancing around to spot everyone. "So do you have to like announce the dances or do you just go whenever?" she asked and he tilted his head

"I thought this town had dances all the time, you've never been to one?" he questioned, and she shook her head

"Elena dressed up and did the dances with mom. I went to Aug- I went hunting with dad" she answered and he nodded

"Hunting..." he trailed despite knowing the answer

"Vampires"

"Vampires" he repeated. "When exactly did you start hunting vampires?" he asked curiously and she shrugged.

"I don't really know...I was maybe six or something like that when I saw one and it soon after my dad was filling my head with knowledge on them" she explained and he frowned a little but before he could comment Esther was tapping her glass and encouraging her children to come together so should properly announce the occasion.

Esther switched her gaze between the Gilbert sisters and the Bennet witch. She couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement, everything was going her way. So she stood proudly for a moment as she watched her children dance what she assumed to be their last nights away.

Klaus gently placed his hand on her waist, watching her shift and take a breath before taking his hand. She didn't like to touch him, he could tell by the look in her eyes but she didn't push him away, she still put her hands on him with no intention of harm and that was enough to make Klaus smile.

Y/n tried to forget that he was a psychotic thousand year old vampire/werewolf hybrid just for a moment but it was more difficult this time. The music was slow, unlike the homecoming, and there was a specific routine which she was already struggling to follow which meant he couldn't decide to start spinning her around unless she wanted even more eyes on her and he knew for a fact that she didn't. Klaus could feel how tense she was, her eyes never landed on him and when he tried to compliment her she only looked more uncomfortable.

He sighed to himself and watched her for a short moment. She truly did look elegant that night, like a princess. The dress fit her like a glove and for once he was able to see the soft curves of her body though he knew not to comment on that. He wasn't really sure if he was allowed to comment on anything. She was gorgeous, the makeup on her face only emphasised the features he had already liked on her, like her eyes and her lips. But at the same time he wanted to see her like he did early that day again, when she was drowsy and messy. He liked that she didn't cover up every tiny little mark on her skin or feel that she had to sit and style her hair each morning, though he was still fond of how it had been done for this evening. He had so much he was thinking but he couldn't find a way to say any of it to her. Not when she looked like she'd rather be anywhere but here.

Reluctantly he tried to catch her eye "Love?" he whispered and she glanced to him "can I show you something?" he asked and she nodded, anything would be better than pretending to enjoy any part of that.

So he guided her upstairs, to his art room. She was skeptical but he expected her to be as such. Still, he took her inside and let her look around. His eyes followed her, waiting to see if her expression or body language would give away any of her thoughts or opinions.

Curiously she dug through his sketches, seemingly looking for something specific. He came beside her and placed his hand on top of hers "What are you searching for?" he asked quietly and she looked up at him for a moment. He tilted his head and gave a gentle smile to try and show he bared no harm and she hesitantly told him

"The sun and moon curse...you made drawings right? On scrolls and stuff?" she questioned and he smiled

"I did yes" he confirmed and took her had without thinking, bringing her to his room where he then let her go and began digging under his bed making her laugh. He remerged a moment later with a box, he tossed the lid onto his bed and pulled out a bunch of old, tattered pieces of paper. He flipped through them before bringing a few over to her, letting her hold them and study them with genuine interest. He explained what different parts meant and found himself with a hand on her shoulder as he pointed to different sections.

"Just to be a hybrid?" she questioned and he shook his head

"I don't care that I'm half and half, if anything it's only made things more difficult. I just wanted to feel whole." he told her, glancing to find her fully turned to him and listening making him sit down on the edge of his bed and her to follow suit, much to his surprise, before he continued. "When my mother suppressed my werewolf side, it quite literally felt like part of me was locked deep inside me and begging to be set free. I walked this earth for a thousand years, never feeling quite like myself...though I suppose I don't really know who I am anymore. In some ways your mindset is correct, vampirism changes a person. But it was not vampirism that made me a monster... it was my mother and my...and Mikael. I'm sure you know of plenty humans that you and the rest of the world would consider a beast. If they lived as long as I have, even without the urge to drink blood, they would become a horrible creature no matter their species."

She contemplated his words for some time in silence and he let her. She knew he was right. Anyone would go mad if they had been though the masses that he had and had to keep going that that amount of time. Y/n didn't like that there were so many different ways to think about things. She wished that it was as simple as 'all vampires are evil' but it would never be that way.

She looked at him for a minute or so, it was so odd how someone so vicious could look like an angel. She always told herself it was a disguise but really it was proof of who they used to be. Their eyes especially, they held so much. Especially his, she could see the pain and the sadness, the anger and the betrayal, fear and paranoia, but she could also see that little flicker of warmth. Part of her wished that she could go back and never of left her fathers office, she shouldn't have gone near those vampires. She wished she could help Klaus relight that little spark inside him but she just didn't think she could. Her hatred was deep rooted, she had been and secretly still did torture and experiment on vampires. She had been stealing blood samples from her supernatural friends and giving it to Augustine. For years Y/n assumed that she was doing the right thing, protecting her own, but now she worried that she had been behaving almost as badly as the vampires themselves.

She hesitated slightly but Klaus still saw it, he could see a lot going on in her head and let it settle before speaking again.

"You can keep the aztec sketches" he told her and she blinked at him

"Oh- no that's okay" she smiled and handed them back to him but he pulled his hands away

"I don't know why you wanted to see them but I'm glad that you did and that you spoke to me...listened and what have you. I didn't really think you would come tonight and so I want you to have them as a thank you of sorts?" he told her and she smiled softly

"Can I ask...why would you want me to be here tonight? I mean you have a lot of options, less complicated ones. I don't know what you thought tonight would become but surely you didn't think that anything more could become of this right?" she asked and he shrugged softly

"Maybe one day" he offered but she shook her head

"I will never be a vampire" she reminds "and I don't think I could ever truly have feelings for a vampire and even if I did, what would be the point if I just grew old and you didn't?"

"I'm sure we'll find out soon sweetheart" he whispered.

They both sat quietly for a moment before a thud and a crack could be heard. They both let out a huff before Y/n groaned "Fucking Salvatores"

Klaus let out a laugh and stood up, offering a hand to Y/n and pulling her up "I'm certain a Mikaelson will have involvement too" he smiled and she tutted

"Oh what ever will we do" she whispered as they made their way back downstairs, finding Kol on the floor and Damon standing over him. She gave Klaus a look to which he smiled knowingly as she followed Damon to his car, before turning to deal with his own family.

They were both to busy to realise the glare that Esther had on her face. She had only heard the last few exchanges of their conversation and then that look at each other. She expected Klaus to fall fast but Y/n was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to help kill Klaus. Still, Esther held onto a small amount of hope that Y/n wasn't completely taken yet and would at least stay out of the way when she eliminated the vampire race.

That night everyone seemed to go to sleep with a bucket load full of thoughts swimming around their minds. Some more dreamy and others leaning more towards nightmares. It was unknown which ones would come true.

(There shall be a part 3, I just didn’t want it to be a drag to read all in one go)

[bonebabbles]

Slash's Famous Scene

Here we are, lads. Everyone's favorite scene in the totally best arc of WC. The one where Slash pins a pregnant woman to the ground and licks her face, while threatening her fetuses and cutting her cheek open so Clear Sky can have more man pain.

So far I've been using "fridging" as synonymous with the brutal killing of a female character to advance a male character's arc; but I do want to remind everyone that the term "fridging" describes disproportionate violence done to women in the service of their husband/brother/father/son's arcs. It doesn't HAVE to be death; it can also be battery, maiming, depowering, or sexual assault.

So far, 8 women have died to serve male arcs, most of them for Clear Sky specifically. Fluttering Bird, Bright Stream, Storm, Misty, Bumble, Turtle Tail, Rainswept Flower, and Petal. Now Star Flower gets sexually harassed and kidnapped, bringing the arc's fridge total to 9.

Anyway content warning, obviously. It's still Warrior Cats and doesn't get too graphic, but this bag contains a dead dove.

First, Clear Sky gets another toesucking from the ghost of his wife who died after leaving his controlling ass. Specifically, after he threw his disabled brother out of his Clan, and after his lust for seeing random people (including his brother) get mauled at the border resulted in the death of Fox.

She tells him that his behavior never drove anyone away, it was all totally not his fault. I'm waiting for a laugh track and it never comes. The apologetics in this arc are unrivaled.

Then, Clear Sky wakes up and his pregnant wife is not next to him. So he goes looking for her and sees her being flanked by Slash and his memorable minions, Grunt 1 and Grunt 2. Star Flower is so possessed by fear that she doesn't move.

They REALLY need to sell that Slash is TRUE evil, PURE evil, because of the wet fart that is Clear Sky's redemption arc. They're saying that Clear Sky ISN'T bad, because he is not this. A dirty, sadistic monster who coos evilly about how he's going to hurt the kittens in his wife's belly and cruelly twitches his whiskers.

(as a petty side detail, please also note that this passage cannot even keep Slash's fur color straight. Behold, a cat so evil that he cannot even remain a brown tabby! He turns gray when he commits nefarious deeds! Ashfurification included!)

Star Flower is the one being pinned to the ground and having her face cut open as Slash screams about how she promised her father she'd be his mate, but this scene is about Clear Sky's distress. Star Flower is an object to this narrative, which these two men are in conflict over.

The pinning, the violence, the sexual implications, are being done to make Slash as monstrous as possible to contrast to Clear Sky. Slash doesn't kill anyone, so the narrative needs to make you SO UPSET your emotions are thrown into overdrive, so you'll accept how truly terrible he is.

The simple truth that this rancid book is trying to make you ignore, is that Clear Sky is exponentially more deadly. He has caused harm so unspeakable that they have to describe his bloody murders in passive voice. They "died" now, instead of "were killed," and the violent system he created is presented as "making up" for the trauma he's caused to the survivors.

"Pushing his muzzle close to her injured cheek, he licked the blood from her fur with a long, lingering lap."

Think critically about the characters they are presenting and the actions they make them do. None of these are real people. They are writing choices. They have portrayed Slash as a perverted, domineering, child-abusing savage, so Clear Sky the Settler can look good in comparison.

then Star Flower gets dragged off, kicking and struggling, feeble and completely unable to defend herself as clear sky thinks about how she might die along with his fetuses.

Obviously Clear Sky is so very stressed out by all this and needs to blow off some steam, so he smacks the nearest woman and starts screeching about how Star Flower is more loyal than the son he abuses

The first thing he does after the Slash event was physically assault the nearest woman. I can't... I don't have the words. Are you seeing this. Do you see what I am fucking dealing with. literally the first woman he sees.

"DOES THAT FEEL LIKE AN ACT??" He bellowed like a fucking wifebeater at the girl whose face is bleeding because he cut her in a fit of rage. That's fine as long as you don't lustfully lick it afterwards I guess!!!

[yuujispinkhair]

Slacker

Pairing: Kaeya x Reader (female) Genre: fluff Word Count: 700 Warnings: None. This is just fluff with some kisses and suggestive comments. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact.

My dear friend @moraxsthrone was in need of some Kaeya fluff, and I thought this was the perfect opportunity to try writing for Kaeya for the first time! I hope this little drabble can make you smile, Kel!! I am sending you lots of love and lots of kisses from Kaeya!! I love youuu 💙

"Didn't know you were such a slacker! Hurry up, princess, or I will leave you behind!"

You roll your eyes at the comment, about to flip Kaeya off good-naturedly when your feet decide at that moment to finally give up on you, and you tumble gracelessly to the ground, landing in the mud with a surprised screech.

You blink in confusion, looking up at the stunned expression on your travel companion's, friend's, lover's... or whatever he is, face. It's almost comical to see Kaeya's expression go from playfully annoyed to surprised to worried.

He is in front of you in a split second, the hectic look in his uncovered blue eye telling you how freaked out he is. "Shit! Are you ok, princess??"

A chuckle finds its way out of your mouth. You must look so ridiculous, sitting with your ass in the mud, grinning like a lunatic, but you can't help it. The whole situation is so hilarious to you. You are at your physical and emotional limit. Have been for days.

The travel has been much more challenging than you expected, and by now, every muscle in your body aches from walking so long and getting into so many fights. It was only a matter of time before you snapped. But you didn't really expect it like that. Usually, you end up ugly-crying and not laughing your ass off.

It must be Kaeya's influence. His presence is what has kept you going for weeks. The playful banter, the teasing, the flirting. Time passes so much faster when he is with you. And the inconveniences of traveling become less draining when Kaeya is there to kiss it better every night.

And now you are sitting in a puddle of mud, laughing as you cock your head and ask Kaeya in the same teasing tone he always uses,

"What happened to leaving me behind? I thought you had somewhere urgent to be?"

You know you are being a little shit right now, but it's only fair, isn't it? And you just feel too pleased with seeing that worried expression on Kaeya's usually so aloof face. It makes you feel so warm somehow. Seeing how much he cares. Seeing how important you are to him.

Kaeya shakes his head,

"Are you kidding me? Do you really think I will just let my girl lie in the dirt?"

He huffs dramatically, rolling his pretty blue eye as he reaches down to grab your hand firmly and pull you to your feet.

"Come on, get up!"

The worry is gone from his face and voice, hidden behind another lazy grin and an amused twinkle in that pretty blue eye. But the way Kaeya pulls you against his tall, firm body and wraps his arms around you, tells you all you need to know.

You chuckle again, feeling a bit delirious as you press your face against Kaeya's chest when you feel his strong arms tightening around you, hugging you to him, helping you stand, making sure you are ok.

The warm feeling in your chest grows even more intense, filling you with a comfort you haven't felt around anyone else in a long time. The comforting feeling of knowing that Kaeya would never leave you behind.

Your cheeks hurt from grinning so broadly as you lift your head to say,

"So, I'm your girl, huh?"

"Oh, shut up!"

"Why don't you make me?"

You can see the moment when Kaeya loses his little personal battle of trying to hold back his laughter, lips trembling before he bursts out laughing loudly.

"Can't believe you're using my lines against me now."

It's said in an amused whisper but laced with a certain seductive edge you know all too well.

And before you can retort anything, one of Kaeya's hands cups your chin, his thumb stroking lightly over your bottom lip as he tilts your face further up. The warmth in your chest is a hot throbbing by now. Your eyelids flutter closed just as Kaeya's soft lips land on yours in the first of many kisses he will give you tonight.

Thank you so much for reading! This was my first time writing for Kaeya, and I had so much FUN!! I hope the characterization was ok! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

@moraxsthrone my sweet Kel, I hope this is what you had in mind!! I am hugging you!!

[zablife]

Hi Lee! Hope you’re well! ☺️

Sooo….seeing your moodboard got me thinking about the lovely new John x Solomons!sister pairing and I was thinking………

I love their friendship and the bond that they’ve built off of banter but I wonder if there was ever a moment where things slipped into something more?? Like they were on a tough mission, or things got a little too close for comfort where one was almost hurt and they acted on the more promiscuous feelings that they’ve been otherwise teasingly (maybe they’re not teasing in nature, who knows) throwing around — like there’s so much emotion circulating between them because they’re so close with each other that they just slip … ??

And it could be a one off thing that they then dance around because they were caught in the heat of them moment, or it could be what tilts them into that realm — I’d be intrigued to read either way because I just love them.

Anyways…sorry for rambling…I hope what I’ve said makes sense! 😊

Shots Fired (Partners in Crime AU)

John Shelby x Y/n Solomons

Author's Note: Read previous parts Afternoon Tea and Co-Workers.

“Barney, wait!” you shouted, stumbling from the pub where you’d been celebrating Tommy’s win at the races. John had disappeared some time ago and you’d been looking for him ever since, hoping to win more of his money at darts.

“Y/n, is that you screeching like a bloody alley cat?” John asked, turning toward the sound of your voice.

Only the glowing end of his cigar was visible through the evening fog as you pawed for him to hold yourself upright. 

Grasping his coat sleeve you nearly toppled over as you giggled, “Would you look at that, I went lookin’ for trouble and I found him!” 

“You’re drunk,” John observed, pulling you to your feet.

“Your ma’s drunk!” you retorted with a snort. 

“Alright, I’m taking you home,” John said, steering you toward his car by your elbow. God only knew what you’d get up to if he left you by yourself in Sabini’s territory and he’d be the one Alfie blamed if something happened.

“Not if I escape,” you whispered loudly, and quite obnoxiously, into his ear. Then you broke free of his grasp and ran in the opposite direction as quickly as your wobbly legs would allow.

“Y/n! M not chasing you,” John warned, clenching his cigar in his teeth and shoving his hands in his pockets. As he lost sight of you he growled in frustration, kicking the pavement. “Fuckin hell,” he cursed under his breath as he tossed his cigar aside, knowing he would have to break his promise. 

He set out in long strides, looking out from under his cap with a scowl at the thought of playing hide and seek. Occasionally he heard the click of your heels or a peel of laughter echoing down an alley and he knew he was getting close. As he was about to call to you for the second time, gunshots rang out and his heart clenched in his chest.

Pulling his revolver from under his jacket, he pressed himself against the side of the building where he stood and cautiously made his way toward the noise. Tires squealed as a coupe raced away into the night and John broke into a run, a sick feeling of dread washing over him.

His suspicions were confirmed as he approached you, lying in a pool of blood under a street lamp. “Shit! Y/n!” He called out, sliding next to you to see where you’d been hurt. When you didn’t respond, he began removing your coat, hands roaming over your body for the source of your injury. 

When his eyes came to rest at the crimson stain blooming over your chest he began to panic, clawing at your beaded dress to assess the damage. He pressed his ear to your mouth to listen for your breath, but only heard his own frantic heartbeat jumping into his throat at the thought of losing you. 

At that moment your eyes fluttered opened and you gasped for air, sputtering, “You grabbin’ my tit?”

John fell backward from shock, landing on his ass. “What the fuck, Y/n? I thought you were dead!” he gulped, running a shaky hand through his hair.

You let out a strangled laugh, followed by a groan of pain as you attempted to roll over. “Jesus Christ!” you yelled.

John winced as he exclaimed, “Do you know you’ve got the loudest voice of any human being I’ve ever met?” 

“Happy to know my lungs work though, ain’t ya?” you asked with a weak smile. 

“What are callin’ him for anyway?” he mumbled, placing pressure on your shoulder as soon as he realized that’s where the bullet had entered. 

You wanted to say something clever in return, but the loss of blood was making you woozy, giving the world around you a dreamlike quality. The lamplight made a halo above John’s head and you blinked to right your blurry vision. “You’re an angel,” you remarked at your delusion, focusing on the fading glow surrounding him.

“Now I know we’re fucked,” he joked. “That’s the only nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Watching the edges of John’s face darken forebodingly, fear gnawed at you and you briefly wondered if you might die. Your fingers reached for him, needing comfort, but your arm stubbornly refused to move. “Might be the last,” you warned him before you passed out in his arms.

——————————————————-

When you came to you were in a hospital bed, John’s profile staring ahead as his hands twisted his cap nervously. Your arm throbbed with pain as you rolled toward him and he startled, offering hushed apologies. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I shouldn’t have let you go off alone like that. If anyone should’ve taken a bullet, it’s me,” he said, looking at you with red, watery eyes. The guilt had been eating at him as he sat waiting for you to wake, hoping you’d forgive him for not protecting you.

“No, I’m glad it was me,” you choked out.

“Hey, hey, don’t say that,” John hushed you, pushing the hair from your face. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

You tried to sit up, looking at him incredulously. “I didn’t mean I deserved it!” you exclaimed, scrunching your nose in disapproval. “I meant cos you’re a fucking candy ass,” you chuckled at him. 

Irritated by the suggestion, John’s voice rose defensively, “You think you took a bullet better than me?”

“I know I did and I won’t be whinging about how it looks either.” Lowering your voice to imitate his low timber you continued, “Oh, me face! If it hadn’t been for that shrapnel in France…” 

Your chat was interrupted when the door to your room opened with a quick push and a nurse peeked in to check on you, her bright smile widening at the sight of John.

“You should fuck her,” you said a bit too loudly, the after effects of the morphine still clouding your judgment. “I ain’t his trouble, love! You fancy him?” you called to her, oblivious to the fact that the poor woman was now turning a deep shade of red.

“Alright, that’s enough,” John said, pushing you back against the pillows.

“He doesn’t have the clap….anymore,” you shouted as the nurse scurried away. John dragged a hand down his face. 

“That’s how you thank me for saving your life?” he asked wearily, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Pffft, can’t kill me,” you said dismissively. “You’re such a dramatic little cunt, Shelby” you added with a roll of your eyes.

John huffed out a laugh. “Good to see you're feeling like yourself again. Last night I was your angel, remember?”

“Well I was dying, weren’t I?” you said innocently, pulling your blankets to your chin.

“For fuck sake,” John muttered.

Read Part 4-The Runaway

[takingchences]

𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐩𝐭. 𝟗

A descendant of a legendary quirk longs to separate herself from her family name, but first she'll have to confront villains, ghosts from the past, and her growing attraction for Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x OP!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language

series masterlist + my masterlist

After the attack, U.A gave the students the following two days off to rest and recover from their traumatic ordeal. Their first day back, Sana was horrified by the state of their homeroom teacher. Mr. Aizawa was wrapped head to toe in gauze, his eyes mere slits, with both of his arms in casts.

He looks like a freshly dead mummy.

She applauded his badassery and dedication, but after hearing from the others how serious his injuries were, she'd assumed (like a normal person) that the Pro Hero would at least be on bed leave for a few days. Considering how sleep deprived he seemed all the time, she thought he'd be thrilled. Apparently not.

He reminded them that the world famous U.A Sports Festival was drawing closer, and after recent events, all eyes would be on them. But no pressure, right? She balanced her chin on her fist.

Classes resumed like normal, as though USJ never happened. It wasn't until the final bell rang that things got, well, strange. Students from all grades and classes swarmed their classroom door, blocking them in. Shinso made a dramatic appearance, where he proceeded to declare war on their class and challenge the entire Hero Course for a spot. He'd made his intentions of joining the hero course clear very early into their friendship.

From how her classmates had described the entrance exam, people with quirks like Shinso's were doomed from the start. He never stood a chance making it into the Hero Course... until now.

He was determined to get noticed this time around, and Sana was willing to help him reach his goal however she could. She gave him tips to improve his training regimen and offered to spar with him whenever he wanted. The two had lunch together at his usual spot two or three times a week, and spent the majority of it exchanging memes and gushing over cute cat videos. Shinso was funny in a dry, sarcastic way that she appreciated. He was easy to talk to and his laid back attitude put her at ease.

He wasn't ready to join her at her table just yet, but she always kept a seat open just in case.

After finishing her homework, showering, and eating dinner, Sana set her grand plan in motion. Stretching out across her bed on her stomach, with her phone in one hand and a piece of paper in the other, she started typing.

Sent 8:03pm

Hey hotshot

Sent 8:06pm

The fuck

Sent 8:08pm

How the fuck did you get this number

Sent 8:09pm

I'm surprised you're still awake. You walk around like a grumpy old man with arthritic knees so I figured you'd be in bed by six

Sent 8:09pm

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS

Sent 8:10pm

If I told you I'd have to kill you

Sent 8:11

I'd kill you first

Sent 8:12pm

Good luck with that considering you have no idea who I am

Sent 8:13pm

Fuck you

Sent 8:13pm

How the hell did you get my number

Sent 8:15pm

I gave Midoriya an offer he couldn't refuse

Sent 8:16pm

FUCKING DEKU! ILL EXPLODE HIS ASS

Sent 8:16pm

That's kinky

Sana smirked down at the screen as the message bubbles danced, anticipating his reply. She giggled quietly to herself, picturing him stomping around his room throwing a fit. She could practically hear his demonic screeching through the device.

Irritating Bakugou brought her a special type of joy. The only other experiences that could compare were rebelling against her father, or cracking Shoto's mask of indifference. The ability to provoke such intense emotions in someone was addictive.

It took a few minutes for the boy to respond.

Sent 8:21pm

I'm losing fucking brain cells talking to you

Sent 8:21pm

Well I know you only have so many to spare so I'll make this quick

Sent 8:21pm

Train with me

Sent 8:23pm

The fuck

Sent 8:25pm

You know that's not technically a question right?

Sent 8:26pm

Meet me at Yoshida Park at 10:00am

Sent 8:26pm

Fuck off

Sent 8:27pm

You're right. What could you possibly teach me? I'd be better off asking Midoriya

Sent 8:27pm

YOUR ASS BETTER NOT BE LATE OR ILL FUCKING STRANGLE YOU

Sent 8:28pm

Another kink? I'm learning a lot about you Bakugou

Sent 8:29pm

FUCK OFF

Sent 8:31pm

Lmao

Sent 8:31pm

Good night hotshot

The blonde tossed his phone across the room, screaming curses at the unknown number.

"Shut up, ya damn brat!" His mother's loud voice scolded him from downstairs. "Isn't it past your bedtime?!"

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

Bakugou walked with purpose towards Yoshida Park. He was familiar with it, having spent most of his childhood exploring the grounds with his followers. It was a short walk, but he'd had all night to plan. The unknown number had disrupted his sleep schedule after all.

First, he'd go to the park and murder whatever extra had been unlucky enough to mess with him. Then, on his way back, he'd pay Midoriya a special visit.

He had a list of suspects he'd been going back and forth on. First on the list was Shitty Hair, but Bakugou quickly realized it couldn't have been the spiky-haired boy. The redhead was putting in a lot of effort to befriend him—even more so after their team up during USJ—but the boy was far too shy. Second and third on his list were Dunce Face and Scotch Tape. They shared one brain cell between them, and both were confident enough to say such provocative things, but not so dumb that they'd ask to meet him face to face afterwards.

They had to know it would only end in bloodshed... theirs to be exact.

That left Raccoon Eyes or Flashlight. He hadn't interacted much with the pink-skinned girl, only in group settings, and even then, she'd barely stop to acknowledge him before getting into shit with Dunce Face or her "wifey."

One by one he marked names off until only one dumbass remained.

He stopped at the entrance of the park, spotting said girl leaning against a tree. Thick lashes fanned out across her cheekbones, her arms loosely crossed. A red and white gym bag was slung over her shoulder. She wore black leggings paired with a cherry red sports jacket, her hair held back by her signature ribbon. Bakugou himself sported his usual baggy black sweatpants and low cut black tank.

Her eyes fluttered open, the jewel-like irises sparkling in the morning sun. "Right on time." She pushed off of the tree. "Have you stretched?"

"I'm not here to train." He glowered down at her, their faces inches apart. Sana's expression remained neutral, but her amusement was obvious in the curve of her lips. "I'm here to kick your ass-"

"Again with the ass thing," Sana tutted, shaking her head in disapproval. "Is that all you can think about?"

"Shut the fu-"

"Language, asshole." she hissed, smacking his arm as a family of four walked by them. Sana gave him a coy smile. "There are children present."

Bakugou was seconds away from blowing a fuse, crackling sounds filling the air as his palms smoked. "Come on," she slid her hand down his arm with a soft, feather-like touch to grab his wrist. "Let's get started."

Bakugou muttered threats and curses under his breath, but continued to follow her to a secluded area with a dense tree line. A few feet ahead, the trees parted to reveal a decent sized clearing. "How did you get that damn nerd to give you my number?" The blonde grumbled, ripping his arm from her grip.

"Oh, that?" She shrugged. "I bribed him with a limited edition All Might collectible." She remembered how flushed the greenette became after she cornered him after class the other day. He'd been a sweaty, stuttering mess until she'd unzipped her backpack and shown him what she'd hidden inside. Seeing Bakugou's pissed off face now, it was definitely worth all the yen.

"... which one."

Sana blinked. His gruff voice was so quiet that she nearly didn't catch the words. The boisterous blonde she'd come to know was now scowling passionately at a tree, but his mouth was... is he pouting?!

Her lips split into a chesshire grin. "My, my. Is the mighty Bakugou secretly a fanboy?"

His brows furrowed even further at the teasing. "Do you ever shut the hell up?" His hair seemed to puff up even more in anger. Cute. "I'm nothing like that nerd!"

"Aren't you the nerdy one, though?" Sana tapped her chin with her pointer finger, eyes rolled upwards as she pretended to think. "I'm pretty sure you scored higher than him on last week's test."

She smirked in delight as Bakugou's body began to vibrate in anger, his nostrils flaring.

She stretched her body, warming up her muscles in preparation for what was probably going to be one of the hardest training sessions of her life. Bakugou wasn't the type to do anything without giving it his all. It was as admirable as it was daunting. She rolled her shoulders back, her neck popping with a satisfying crack. "Ready?"

The blonde smirked, his hands sparking to life. "I'm gonna enjoy this."

Fighting Bakugou proved to be even more of a challenge than she'd anticipated. He was strong and fast, every movement well thought out and well executed. He was also relentless, refusing to give her any time to recover or even think. It was purely instinctive, forcing her to rely on her reflexes. She was suddenly grateful for the decade of combat training Endeavor had instilled in every fiber of her being.

It was different, to say the least.

She was so used to going up against Shoto. Back when they were still talking, she'd been able to anticipate his movements with one look. Maybe that was part of the problem. Were they so intune with each other that there was no longer room for improvement? Had they reached a point in their training where they were unable to learn from each other going forward?

Sana groaned, returning to the problem at hand. She threw the blonde a dirty look for the particularly hard kick he'd just delivered to her side. He huffed a laugh, his lips parted in a crooked smile. "Not so cocky now, huh?"

"That's funny coming from you." She lunged, finally landing a hit to his jaw. They'd been at it for hours now, and Bakugou showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. There was no way he wasn't as exhausted as she was, but she knew he'd rather die than admit to such a thing. As if being human was equivalent to him being weak.

After another half hour of this, she finally gave up.

"Okay, okay." Sana backed away, holding her palms up in surrender. He stopped mid punch, his eyes narrowed. "Let's take a break."

He clicked his tongue, watching as she approached the gym bag she'd abandoned in the shade, walking back to him and dropping it at his feet. The pastel teen crouched to unzip the bag, removing two towels, some protein bars, and two water bottles. He caught the towel she tossed him with ease, swiping the fabric across his face and jaw. She plopped down on the ground, motioning for him to do the same. With an annoyed grunt, he complied, snatching the water and snack out of her hands.

She shook her head in amusement, knowing he wasn't nearly as frustrated as he pretended to be. "So dramatic," she muttered under her breath.

Surprisingly, the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was actually pretty nice. She could hear the small sounds of nature around them: the low buzz of insects and the soft rustling of tree branches above their heads. It was something she'd never associated with Bakugou before...

Peaceful.

After practically inhaling their protein bars, the two teens laid down on their backs in the grass. The sky had darkened to a dark blue, a few stars already visible.

Sana turned her head to peek at the boy next to her. Both of their chests were heaving lightly, their skin dewy with sweat. He had his arms folded behind his head with his eyes closed. As if feeling her gaze, he cracked one eye open and grimaced.

"What're you staring at?" Even in the limited light, she could've sworn his cheeks were now dusted in a rosy hue.

"Nothing," she averted her gaze, her own face burning under his scrutiny. "It's just... I'm glad you stayed." Sana admitted softly. Never in her life had she felt so bashful. It took everything in her not to squirm uncomfortably as she waited for him to say something. Anything. Bakugou scoffed, his eyes hooded as he watched the sky slowly darken. Sana joined him in stargazing. After a few minutes, the blonde cleared his throat.

"I guess it wasn't a complete waste of time."

Sana snickered. "That was really hard for you to admit, wasn't it?" A tch was his only response, but in the limited light, it almost looked like he was smiling. They stayed like that until the sky glittered with stars, like diamonds against midnight velvet. The two teens climbed to their feet, dusting dirt and grass off of their clothes. Sana called out just as Bakugou made to leave.

"Wait." The blonde turned to glance over his shoulder. The solar-powered girl riffled through her gym bag before pulling out a medium-sized package. "Here," she held it out for him to take. Bakugou removed his hand from his pocket and took the box. Flipping it around, his eyes widened. His jaw loosened in shock.

"The hell...?"

Sana rubbed her neck, avoiding looking directly at the blonde. "I figured I owed you for coming down here." She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. "You don't have that one, right?"

Bakugou clutched the box containing the limited edition Silver Age All Might figurine tightly. He remembered demanding his parents for one as a child. How they'd waited in line outside the store for hours, only for the shelves to be completely empty once they made it inside. How every store they went to was the same: the toy having sold out nationwide just hours after being released.

But here one was, after a decade of searching, in perfect condition... right in the palm of his hand.

"Bakugou?"

He slowly lifted his head, vermillion eyes clashing with dark pink. A million questions raced through his mind. How had she known?

Sana bit her lip to contain her giddiness. She inched closer to him until there was hardly any space left between them. She inhaled the sweet scent of caramel and cologne that always clung to him. "Your number isn't the only thing Midoriya told me," she lifted herself on the balls of her feet, her breath hitting his cheek. "Katsuki."

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

They met up the next day, and the day after, until it became almost routine for them. They'd meet at Yoshida Park, or make the trip together straight after school if neither had plans. It came as a surprise to them both how well they got along when no one else was around. Sure, they still had the occasional spat, but it was mostly playful bickering and teasing to rile the other up. They both had a dark sense of humor, an almost unhealthy competitive streak, and a punch first, ask questions later approach to situations.

One afternoon, Bakugou had to leave earlier than usual. He'd grumbled something about 'dinner with the old hag' before storming off. Sana figured his grandparents were in town or something and decided to take off early too.

She texted Mina, asking her if she was free to hang out. The pinkette responded to her message at lightning speed, sending her the address of a cute new bakery she'd been dying to try. The walk took fifteen minutes or so. She spotted Mina waiting outside, the pink-skinned girl squealing as soon she noticed her. They shared a hug before entering the shop, quickly ordering drinks and a few desserts to share. Mina led her over to a table by the window, her hands clasped under her chin.

"So," she narrowed her black and yellow eyes suspiciously. "Where's your shadow?"

"My what?" Sana leaned forward. Mina followed suit, lowering her voice as if her next words were top secret.

"Bakugou, duh."

"What?" Sana fell back in her chair with a laugh.

Mina waved her hand around dismissively. "You know what I mean. Wherever you are, he's bound to show up sooner or later." The waiter appeared with their order, interrupting the energetic girl before she could go on.

Sana reflected on her friend's words as she sipped on her bubble tea. It was true that Bakugou always seemed to be around whenever she needed him. He'd helped her during the stampede in the halls, as well as telling off that reporter for her. He'd been by her side before the class was separated by the warp villain. While she'd been recovering after the USJ attack, Shoto had briefly mentioned something about her helping Bakugou, though she didn't remember much. The blonde hadn't said a word to her about it, and she'd been too preoccupied with not thinking about USJ.

"I guess I..." she answered softly. "I hadn't noticed."

Mina paused mid-sentence, having already moved onto another topic. Some third year gossip she'd heard from Hagakure, who'd overheard some upperclassman whispering about it during break.

She'd noticed how her friend had been pushing herself harder since the villain attack. How busy she was with training. Mina hadn't been there with her when she was attacked, but she'd seen the damage inflicted on the villains. Afterwards, Kirishima mentioned how strange Sana had acted right before the teachers' arrival. "You'd tell me, right?" Mina pressed, her pretty face troubled. "If something was wrong?"

It was odd hearing the bright, cheerful girl suddenly sound so serious. It didn't fit her character at all. Sana forced a radiant smile, wanting any doubts about her or their friendship to disappear. She trusted Mina, she really did, but she didn't want to burden her with her problems, especially when she was still trying to figure them out herself.

"Of course," Sana assured her. "We're best friends after all."

A scarred, yet handsome face came to mind. She wondered if it was normal for best friends to hide things from each other. In Recovery Girl's office, Shoto had implied that she'd betrayed him in some way. If only she knew what the hell he was talking about.

[crow-aeris]

It’s been a hot second, but i’ve published the first part (linked below) of my Reverse Robins Wingfic on ao3 (To Brace Upon Benign Feathers), and it’s mostly Damian-Centric.

Of Acuate Talons and Venom-Coated Tongues | Ch 1: Fledgling Eagles

I have a habit of giving my fics long-ass titles 💀 it’s honestly kinda worrisome

Or you can continue reading. But be warned, ao3 has better quality, the emotions have more oomph to them, and it has the formatting in tact.

Without further ado, i present: Of Acuate Talons and Venom-coated Tongues:

Damian picked himself up from the dusty ground, his tail lashing through the blood-stained sand as he wiped away the crimson clinging to the corner of his mouth. The fledgling could feel bruises blossoming along his torso, legs, and face, but he at least made it out with his life.  

Damian's opponent didn't have the same luxury.

"Better," a voice commented in the League dialect. 

The harpy eagle straightened, folding his wings tighter against his back as he peered at his mother. The imperial eagle looked him over critically before nodding in approval, "After careful discussion with your Grandfather, we have designed you prepared for training beneath your father. We have forged you into a blade, Damian, and your father will sharpen you."

His mother turns away, beckoning Damian with a sweep of her elegant tail. The fledgling trailed after, carefully keeping his distance from his mother's blade-laced tail. Damian struggled slightly to keep up with the imperial eagle's strides, but he managed. Eventually, they reached Talia's private office- one of the few areas within the facility that was hidden from Grandfather's near-omnipresent eyes. 

Talia waited until Damian fully entered the room before shutting the door with a flick of her heavy wing. She beckoned him closer, and Damian obeyed- eagerly tilting his face into her clawed hands. His mother's palms always smelled like blood, which should've been disconcerting to some, but Damian knew she would  never  use her claws on him. 

The fledgling felt his mother gently brush her tail against his, and Damian returned the action. 

"Will you tell me Father's identity?" Damian asked, suppressing his purrs as careful claws combed through Damian's feathers. 

His mother hums in consideration, "No, I will not. Think of this as... a trial. All I will say is he lives in Gotham..."

———

Bruce swept between the buildings, his dark wings skimming past the apartments' walls. With a flick of his tail, Bruce made a narrow turn and latched onto the side of the building. With narrowed eyes, Batman waited a few seconds before diving.

The harpy eagle slammed into his target, avoiding his spine as he pinned the man's wings against the ground. 

"Where is he hiding?" Batman snarled, grunting as the man tried to stab a hidden knife into Bruce's side. Thankfully, the kevlar was enough to impede the knife, but it was enough to distract him. 

The man screeched, scrabbling in panic and somehow hitting a solid hit against Bruce's chest. His suit's flexible yet sturdy material absorbed and distributed the impact, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Bruce rattled out a low hiss, looming over the man with flared wings that seemed to suck the light from around them. The man froze in fear, and Bruce took the chance to knock him out, tying up the man for Gordan's men to collect and subsequently interrogate.

With a weary sigh, Bruce spread his wings and took into the sky. The harpy eagle glided over Park Row when a sudden weight  slammed  into his side. 

The eagle hissed, flicking his tail to reorient himself as the weight continued clinging to Bruce's side. A sharp pain stabbed into his side, slicing through the kevlar as Bruce twisted and slammed himself against the side of a building. Still, the assailant continued to cling to Bruce's side. 

He hissed, feeling claws sink into the flesh of his wings, dislodging the two from the side of the apartment. Bruce twisted, flaring his wings to slow their descent before allowing his assailant to crash into the ground. Bruce lurched away, carefully watching the other's movements before realizing that his assailant was a fledgling-

Narrowed emerald eyes glared at him through wild hair, lips pulled back to reveal sharpened fangs. Taking advantage of Bruce's shock, the fledgling lunged.

The black-clad vigilante flared his wings, barely dodging the child's blow before allowing a low, threatening rattle to escape his throat, his voice modulator struggling to keep up with the eagle's snarls, "Who are you?"

The fledgling narrowed his eyes, and faster than Bruce could react, there was a blur, and Bruce's back slammed against the concrete. He could only struggle upright when the fledgling unsheathed a katana and pointed it at Bruce's throat. 

The wicked blade gleamed in the pale light, a mere centimeter away from the eagle's jugular. 

"Hello, Father," the fledgling sneered, emerald eyes gleaming as the clouds momentarily parted to illuminate the young child with a threatening halo, "My name is Damian al Ghul, heir to the Demon Head, and I expected more from you.

———

Bruce paced back and forth in the Batcave, his tail lashing as Alfred stood a few feet away, his impassive expression betraying nothing as Damian watched silently with sharpened eyes. 

Once again, the Batcomputer beeped an affirmation, and Bruce couldn't help his frustrated hiss.

"Sir," Alfred said, interrupting Bruce as the eagle made to run the sixth test, "perhaps it would be better to show young Master Damian his new room rather than obsessing over the computer."

"She said she lost him!" Bruce snapped, frustration and betrayal swirling in his chest, "She LIED TO ME!"

"As if you don't lie as well," the owl sniffed, tilting his head to side-eye Bruce disapprovingly.

Bruce snarled, his atavistic claw unsheathing with his anger. 

"Master Bruce," the butler's voice took on an edge,  "don't  you take that tone with me, lad."

"It's different," Bruce plowed on, "Talia said she'd miscarried! I- I can't-"

"You need to get some sleep, Master Bruce."

"I do not! What I need are answers!" Bruce screamed in frustration, his feathers bristling as he snarled, whirling around in time to see a flicker of fear enter Damian's eyes, and he saw Alfred subtly position himself protectively in front of the fledgling. 

"Mister Wayne," Alfred snapped, and Bruce felt himself freeze, "I think it best you take a shower and calm down. Meanwhile, I shall show your son to his new room. Good night, Mister Wayne."

Bruce watched as his father butler escorted Damian upstairs.

His wings and tail drooped, brushing against the cave floor as exhaustion and defeat filled Bruce's chest. What was he going to do? Bruce was 26- he wasn't... he didn't want to involve a seven-year-old in his crusade against crime, but it seemed like Talia didn't care. 

Bruce grumbled, his heart clenching painfully with an emotion the eagle tried desperately to shove away. Bruce had grieved for the child he'd thought he'd lost, grieved for the relationship broken over the loss, but here that child stood.

How was Bruce supposed to cope with that? It's not every day a child you presumed dead comes back to life... 

Bruce sucks in a tight breath, yanking off the cowl before tossing it haphazardly off into the darkness of the cave. He'll find it later- but for now, Bruce had an appointment with his shower and then his bed. 

He can continue dealing with this mess later...

...How has his life ended up like this?