#maybe he meant something like a cage around the window... i will lose this point but there are 2 named alive women in this book so

[stargirl-in-dilfspace]

It Will Come Back - Logan Howlett x f!reader

[a/n: hi!! It’s been a minute but your girl is back with some good ol’ wolvie. another joel fic is in the works, and possible a part two to this one depending on feedback <3 love yall]

Warnings: angst, brief smut (NSFW), cage fighting, alcohol, cigar, mention of cat death :(

Content/themes: angst! cage fighter!logan, bartender!reader, not really an age gap idk I see reader as a full grown established adult, based of the hozier song, reader & lo hookup in this chapter but don’t get together, fear of love, mild smut, big stray cat metaphor, possible mutant!reader, reader has a sexy car so, brief section on their backseat of her car sex, the claws come out (or did they?), idiots who deserve comfort and love and need to recover from years of trauma to love each other because they are meant for each other

Summary: A stray Wolverine finds his way into your bar looking for the cage fights. But you both find something you swore off a long time ago. [1.3k words]

You knew better. You’d known better since you were told at age 7 not to feed the stray because he’d keep coming back. But you never really learned your lesson, since that cat proved to be the sweetest of them all. He’d curl up to you when you left your window open at night, push up against your legs in the backyard when you’d come home from school, hiss at any other person or animal. That’s why they put him down, when the neighborhood decided he was too aggressive.

Love like that wasn’t something you'd ever find again. The unconditional protectiveness you received all from simply feeding a stray with your kindness. And that's how you got him killed.

Never again.

To say your love life was parallel to a nun’s would be an over exaggeration. No man had ever drawn in your love the way a stray could.

The tragedy that is a stray.

Maybe you gravitated to working in this bar because everyone here was a stray. Everyone an orphan, who was someone’s, once. It helped that the cage fights were rather entertaining. Watching grown men lose their shit over losing bets, dealing out drinks left and right, everyone who came through had a level of respect for you, everyone’s favorite bartender.

“What can I get you?” Your voice flowed with the familiar words, watching the new face turn up to make eye contact with you, a cigar hanging from his lips, a good head of hair and a worn face.

“You the lady to talk to about getting in on these fights?” He asked, giving you a questioning eyebrow.

“No, Jimmy takes all the bets around here, pudgy guy, beard, back right.” You pointed past him, to Jimmy. Instead of following your finger, he gently waved his hand, looking back at you.

“No, are you the lady to talk to about fighting?” He rephrased, and you grinned. Fresh meat, right?

“Sure, I need a name.” You replied with the grin still on your lips. He looked fit, you wondered if he’d be getting his shit rocked in the cage within the hour. Or preferably by you, and not in that cage.

“Logan.”

“I need a fighting name. Privacy, and whatever.”

“Wolverine.” He puffed out the cigar’s smoke, a smell that this place already reeked of.

“The Wolverine, that's a new one. Welcome.” You smiled more genuinely, waving over one of the announcers, alerting them to your newest competitor. “Can I get you a drink, while you wait?”

“No, just the fights.” He replied, observing you in a way that made it seem like he was taking all of you in.

“Sure you can take more than one round in the ring?” You tilted your head a bit, observing him in the same way, the tension something burning that you squeezed as you spoke, as if it’d choke him up.

“You’d be surprised.” He cracked a grin, you almost wanted to take that in a different way with the way his eyes lingered on you.

————————————————————

You weren’t exactly surprised that he was a good fighter, but it's been 3 hours of continuous beatings, without a cut or a bruise to show for it, he liked to make eye contact with you, doing some dance on that tightrope you were both walking this evening. You wouldn’t complain about the view, since he started he’d shed the jacket and shirt he’d had on. It helped that he won every fight, with a somewhat practiced ease, which made plenty of viewers upset for the losses of their bets.

As the night winded down, bets closed, drunks left angry or big winners. Some frequent patrons lingered on your stools, or in the seats. You watched Logan return to the same stool as earlier.

“Would our very own Wolverine like a beer?” You offered again, wiping up some spilled beer on your bartop.

“Logan’s fine. And yeah, hun, whatever you’ve got in a bottle.” You were used to terms of endearment used by men for you around here, but nothing like the way it fell off of his lips. It made something burn in your body, a sense of nervousness and excitement, that had you grabbing the first bottle you could for him.

You popped the top, moving it over yout bartop into his hand, and part of you wanted to ask how he was unscathed from all the beatings he’d supposedly taken.

“Anything else, Logan?” You asked, more soft than you intended, taking in his appearance. What was it about this particular stray that you felt needed you? Like the way your neighborhood one had? It felt pathetic, the way you tried to straighten yourself out after the slip of your voice.

“No, darlin’. Unless you’ve got a name for me?” He grinned the same way he had earlier, and you could feel the blush dusting your cheeks.

��———————————————————

That’s how you made it to the backseat of your black 67’ Ford Galaxie, being fucked like you don’t think you ever have been. Something about digging your fingernails into his skin, the way you couldn’t even see any indents with how hard you pressed, maybe it was the dark? Your legs wrapped around his hips, secured by one strong arm, the other holding himself up above you, buried in your hair. He didn’t seem the affectionate type, maybe you were wrong.

You were so lost, you couldn’t distinguish the small praises and growls on his breath, even if they met your ears like a goddamn symphony.

Something made you make eye contact with him that night, making what should've been a regular hookup into something much more intimate than it should be.

————————————————————

Maybe he shouldn't have looked into your eyes that night. Maybe he shouldn't have given himself a taste of something he should never have deserved once in his life.

But he did.

And by the time you were asleep on him, maybe he should have woken you up, told you he should go. Maybe he should have denied himself the tug you had on something deep inside him, what could be a tug on the heart he swore he didn't have.

But he didn't.

And in the morning when you said goodbyes, it wasn't nearly as awkward as it should've been, at least to him, he liked watching over you that night. He craved that tugging he felt inside of himself to curl up with you, so close you couldn't ever leave him, so close that he would let nothing hurt you.

After years of losing every person he’d ever loved, some wall stayed built, a locked door that kept him out of the warmth of your embrace.

————————————————————

You figured you wouldn't see him again for a long time, he’d told you he was a wanderer, traveling from place to place, with no home to call his own.

He reminded you of that stray cat, and maybe you should've ran the moment you felt like you needed to give him comfort and the home he deserved. You swore you’d never let someone who needed you die again.

But this was a man, a man whose mind had to be wired differently than a cat’s. But something told you part of it wasn't wired differently, the something that heard to skint of metal in the dark of your backseat when he’d damn near growled and come with you.

If the man wasn’t like your stray, why did he have the claws to prove that he was? You reminded yourself that was your imagination, because just as you turned your head to the sound, the glimmer of metal was a figment of your fucked-out mind, not really slipping back between his knuckles.

Hung up on a hookup? How pathetic. You’d never see this man again, he'd never stumble into your bar again, looking for a fight, and finding you instead.

Finding something neither of you wanted to give a name, yowling at the door you stayed on either side of, pleading to come in.

————————————————————

[a/n: I LOVED writing this!!! PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed, it’s much appreciated PLUS it will help me know if yall want another part to their story <3]

[sleepnoises]

I find it so unfun now to read fantasy books that don't have any respect for material properties. agriculture, fashion, geology, anything. sure there's magic. the magic is whatever. I want true and thoughtful and curioushearted portrayal of the labor that goes into carving human life out of the uncaring world and THEN you can put some magic in the corners

[apricusdays]

“Woah woah woah woah! Waaah! AAAAH!” Kimberley shouted as she flipped and swung around in the air. The instruments on the visor were something she was used to now but it was far from coherent even after all this time. She didn’t expect to be “practicing” with the controls all screwed up. One dive and a crash later, she picks herself up and stares daggers at the PWSB officer standing there with his arms crossed.

“Just gonna remind you again, Montague, we pailed that thing for a reason. If the calibration is hit too hard everything inverts. Best you learn how to fly like that.” Lieutenant Morado Amun was watching the whole time. The practice had been part of the deal to let the girl keep the failed prototype- under heavy watch. No small amount of strings pulled by the Cheshires and a promise to fund more projects in the future were also a contributing factor but that wasn’t for him to decide. “At least it’s in one piece.”

He lifts his head and nods to a bright light getting closer, the telltale glow of headlights. “Looks like your ride’s here.”

Charlotte Montague marched out of the car in way sterner than most of the officers her sister had been around. The look she gave Morado was, as always, vicious. “Get in. I’ve got an executive meeting in two hours and we have the entire city to cross.” Charlotte refused to take the public transit and wasn’t too keen on Kimberley doing so either. This made their trips from one end of the city to the other much slower due to the traffic, but it also meant they didn’t have to rely on anyone else- least of all the city government.

“I’m guessing that means no tacos on the way home, huh?”

“Keep your jokes to yourself, flyboy,” Charlotte tossed back, “Besides we don’t eat that garbage. Come on.”

Kimberley stood up as the flight suit collapsed around her. She did as she was asked and headed to her sister’s car. When the door closed, the military pilot had simply turned and left with a wave. Once they were on the road, the first question came.

“Why do you keep doing this? There’s no point to it; you’re only building up a debt to the Bureau.” It was asked every single time they left from this training with almost no variation.

“Everyone else is... I keep losing them. Onyx, Ivory, Jaime... they’re all... fighting now. I don’t know why but... What if I don’t and they leave me behind?” It was her usual answer. The details were always a little different- mostly because she was hoping maybe she’d finally come up with a satisfying answer. 

“So what? You don’t need them either. We don’t need anyone, Kimmy. It’s just us. It’s always been just us. Let the rest of it burn down.” 

And then what? It was a question she never had the courage to ask Charlotte. Instead she just nodded and remained silent, letting the lights of the city flash by her while they sped through the freeway and occasionally drifted around slower vehicles. Staring out the window she saw a few streaks soar through the sky.

“Yeah... I guess you’re right.” She said noncommittally.

Kimberley gently stroked the feathers behind her ear. The bird cosmetics were one she enjoyed mostly because she liked the look of them. They made her stand out since almost no one else had something like this- and not just because they were expensive. Lately, though, she had been feeling more and more like her cosmetic namesake with the flying.

And she was starting to finally see the bars of her cage.

[maidskeppy]

So I saw all this Skeppy jail stuff, and I decided to write something about it... enjoy!

Warnings: angst, spoilers, possible lore inaccuracies

"Oh man, he’s gonna be pissed if he sees this…”

Skeppy muttered to himself while digging up sand at a desperate pace. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, he had let a creeper into his and Bad’s home, which had decided to detonate while standing right against the front wall. While most of the wall was fine, the window had completely shattered, and the floor had a huge hole in it. Skeppy could fix it all, but he wasn’t sure how much time he had before Bad got home.

He almost had enough sand when he heard fast-paced steps approaching. Bracing himself for another lecture about being careful, he turned around to face…

Dream?

Skeppy wasn’t even sure when they had last met up. He knew Dream had been busy, with important-sounding things like war and politics, but Skeppy hadn’t paid much attention to anything that didn’t directly concern himself, Bad, or the Skywars map he had spent months constructing. “What’s up?” He asked, not sure what to expect.

Dream sighed, and for the first time, Skeppy noticed the exhaustion in his posture. He was breathing heavily, and a few drops of sweat briefly shone on his forehead before slipping below his mask. “Skeppy,” he began, wheezing the name out with difficulty. “It’s Bad. He needs you.”

“Wait, why? What’s going on?” He was already putting away his tools, ready to run.

Dream shook his head. “No time to explain. He’s hurt, he needs you right now.”

Even if there had been time to explain, that was all Skeppy needed to hear. He ran as fast as his body could physically stand, yelling several times when Dream couldn’t keep up. “Come on! Where is he?”

“In here,” Dream finally panted, placing a hand on the door of the prison. With his other hand, he fished a keycard from his pocket, swiping it to gain access.

Skeppy followed, squinting through the dim halls. “Why would Bad be in here?”

“He agreed to help me guard it,” Dream instantly responded. “We might have to use it soon, and… we need all the help we can get. But there was an accident. This way.” He pointed down a long hall, lined with entrances to what appeared to be tiny cells.

The hall was only just bright enough for Skeppy to see into each cell. From where he stood, they didn’t even look big enough for a person to fit into. What was supposed to go in them? Most of them were marked by signs, but he couldn’t afford to take time to read any of them, not when Bad was hurt and alone and probably crying for Skeppy. Answers could wait.

He had darted out ahead, but the careful attention he gave each cell allowed Dream to quickly catch up. Occupied with his task, Skeppy didn’t actually realize how close Dream was until a hard shove forced him past the entrance of the cell he was examining. Turning around, he was met with the slam of iron bars, sealing his only way out.

“Dream, we don’t have time for trolling!” He banged on the bars with both fists, hoping they would somehow be weak enough to collapse. They weren’t. “We have to find Bad!”

“No, Skeppy.” Dream stood outside, all traces of exhaustion mysteriously absent. “I have to find Bad. And then I have to let him know we’re doing things my way from now on… as long as he wants his precious little Skeppy to stay safe, anyway.” His words were drawn-out and sickly sweet, a vicious mockery of them both.

Skeppy launched another futile attack on the bars. “Oh my God, you’re actually fucking evil. Dude.” Had he been like that the whole time? The idea was starting to hurt his brain, especially since he was no longer even sure if Bad was hurt or not.

Dream shrugged. “Maybe it looks bad from your side, but I’m doing what’s best for everyone. Now don’t go anywhere… not that you exactly have a choice.” With that, he was gone, leaving Skeppy alone in his cell.

Now that he was inside it, Skeppy was questioning the use of the word “cell”. He had so little room to move that a better word would probably be “cage”. He couldn’t even properly sit or lay down… which meant he wouldn’t be there for long, right? Yeah, it had to be temporary. Bad would find him, work things out with Dream, and get him out.

He sighed, not quite out of relief, but out of an unshakable trust that it would come.

—

Losing track of time proved easy, as he realized when he next heard footsteps in the hall, and couldn’t produce an answer to how long he had been left alone for. He didn’t think he had fallen asleep at any point, so it was probably less than a day, but that was as specific as he could get. Leaning forward the tiny amount he could, he tried to get a look at his visitor.

Twin metaphorical weights of stress tumbled off his shoulders when he glimpsed a familiar set of eyes, framed by an equally familiar hood. Once Bad saw where Skeppy was waiting, he rushed over, clinging to the bars that separated them. “Skeppy! Are you okay?”

“I will be once I’m out of here.” Skeppy reached out, his hands closing over Bad’s fingers as much as they could. “What’s going on? Dream’s trolling us, right?”

“You don’t have to worry about Dream anymore. Actually, they’re probably dealing with him right now.” Bad cast a look back towards the prison’s entrance. Though the thick obsidian walls prevented any sound from escaping, he could imagine the scale of the commotion.

“Great. Let’s go home.” He didn’t even care if Bad saw the creeper hole. They could fix it, go to bed, and hopefully forget this ever happened.

“Well…” Still holding the bars, Bad took a step back. “Here’s the thing, Skeppy.”

If that was already enough to chill Skeppy’s blood, what happened next turned it to ice.

As Bad watched Skeppy, the vibrant red in his outfit faded to a dull gray, then to white.

“Bad, what’s happening?” He asked, even as he started shaking in a way that suggested he already knew.

“I have to do something important, Skeppy.” His fingers stroked Skeppy’s palms in an attempt to be comforting. Skeppy hated that he couldn’t even bring himself to pull away. “Something dangerous. People might start thinking they can use you to stop me.” He shook his head. “I won’t let them.”

He didn’t wait for a response. “I know it’s not the nicest place,” he said, voice taking on a placating tone. “But it won’t be for long, and I’ll visit you all the time, okay? I’ll bring all the foods you like, and drinks, and games, and anything else you ask for. You won’t really be missing out on anything!” Was he smiling? Was he really smiling? Skeppy wanted to reach out and slap him, right across the face.

He resorted to the only tactic he had left. “Don’t do this, Bad.” He kept his voice soft and sad, hoping it would be enough to have an effect. “You know I won’t be happy here. Is whatever you’re doing really worth that?”

Bad bit his lip, and for a second, Skeppy saw a battle rage in his eyes. Then it was over, and Bad pulled his hands away from Skeppy’s. “Skeppy, I know you don’t understand yet, but I’m doing this so we can be together forever. No more problems, no more fights, nothing trying to keep us apart.” He looked down, hands twisting together. “Don’t you want that?”

Damn it, he was even better at guilt trips than Skeppy was. “Yeah, of course, but…”

“It won’t be long,” Bad promised again, leaning closer. He carefully positioned his face against the bars, making it clear what he wanted. Skeppy sighed, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“It better not be.”

“See you soon, Skeppy.” Bad gave him a kind smile. Somehow, its sincerity hurt even more than Dream’s cruelty. When Skeppy didn’t answer, Bad looked away and started walking, disappearing from view within seconds.

As soon as he was gone, Skeppy felt a broken noise escape from his throat. It sounded like a strangled hiccup, but the way it forced streams of tears from his eyes made it feel more like a sob.

Whatever it was, it echoed through the hall for a moment, then faded away. Once it was gone, Skeppy heard something faint but unmistakable: a single footstep, which wasn’t followed by another.

He waited for a little longer, delaying his conclusion for as long as he could, but it increasingly set in despite his best efforts. If Skeppy had heard that footstep, then Bad had heard him crying. And he hadn’t come back.

There was no reason to keep holding back. He slumped as far down as the cage would allow, and let the tears come.

He didn’t realize that his sobs weren’t just wordless sounds until the walls echoed them back to him.

Despite everything, he was still crying for Bad to come and save him.

He could explain it away by blaming habit- that was what he always did when things went wrong beyond his own ability to fix them. But even as he told himself that, he couldn’t make it feel like the truth.

He loved Bad. He had loved him through all their fights, all their time apart, and he would keep loving him, no matter how long he was kept here. And he couldn’t decide what was worse: the thought that Bad didn’t love him as much in return, or the thought that he did, and could still bring himself to do this.

In his cramped position, he wasn’t sure if it would even be possible to sleep, but sleep eventually came. When he could no longer physically stay awake, he finally drifted off, hands still gripping the bars in the same position they had been when Bad had been there to hold them.

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (33)

3 am. The darkest part of the night full of quiet longing. The day slips away to a new dawn and time is reborn.

On the eve of your hearing you sat in such darkness having a drink or seven. Your husband asleep in your childhood bed in the room you shared with Bethany. You stared into oblivion trying to come to terms with the gravity of what was facing you. The UN and SHIELD were going to decide if you were a threat. And, if you were, what would they do to you.

Odin already put up the funds to repair the damage you caused. He tried to be diplomatic with the World Security Council. Promised you wouldn’t step a toe onto Midgard without a proper escort and a heads up that you were on the way. They didn’t bite. They wouldn’t would they?

They only wanted an arrangement that worked for them. A tit for tat but more tit for them than tat for you. Essentially, you work for them when they say and they won’t lock you up for the remainder of your life.

Loki wanted to just leave. They threatened to find you. He laughed in their faces and said he’d like to see them try. He vowed to unleash hell as many of the universe’s armies were loyal to you. They didn’t take kindly to his threats. Had Steve not stepped in, you’d both be in a cage.

This is what you wanted wasn’t it? Your Clyde to his Bonnie. Eternal outlaws. He didn’t want that anymore. He wanted a sweet little house and a quiet life with babies in his arms. You were starting to think that was a good idea. To settle.

You had a few more tricks up your sleeve though. Mobius stepped in briefly promising if things went wrong he would handle it. You didn’t know what that meant. Oddly you trusted him. He had been true to his word thus far and brutally honest. Things may be playing out exactly how they were meant to play out. You did ask if he gave you Loki just because he knew you’d lose him again. He assured you the two of you were inseparable. That at least gave you solace.

The other worry on your mind was your last visit with the team of doctors Steve set up. They examined poked prodded and drew blood for five days. You weren’t riddled with cancer. Your body was in top shape. That was, as long as you held the stones. You wouldn’t die if you let them go. You just wouldn’t heal. Your body had been through hell. You would live a feeble existence. They’re suggestion was to learn to live with them.

The only stone you agreed to expel was the power stone. It was determined by Loki, the Professor and Agatha that the power stone in particular was doing the most damage. It was reluctant to let you go but they finally got it out. It’s currently in the Professor’s vault where only he and you have access. Just in case.

Agatha had also been helping you uncover the truth about the Kale’s and their plot to destroy your coven. She believed Fury sent them so he could take you for himself. When you told her about his plan to kill Franklin, that all but solidified things. They were not top priority at the moment. Even if they were to attack, you had enough fire power now to defend yourselves. They also lost the element of surprise. Once you had proof, you would bring them in front of the witches council and let them deal with them. For now, your family was safe.

You poured another drink and finally you were starting to feel the tendrils of liquor take hold. You stared into the room bathed in obsidian. It stared back. It flirted with you. Begged you to embrace it. To let it take you. These days the darkness was the only lover you knew. You reached out to it but Loki pulled you back.

You had not heard his feet gently padding across the hardwood. Had not noticed his weight lean on the top of the wingback chair. You smiled at the darkness offering a weak sorry when you felt his lips on the top of your head.

“Let’s take a walk” he whispered as he pried the bottle from your hands. As you did most nights, you walked to the spot where your cottage should be. He laid out a blanket and wrapped another around the two of you. His emotions were normally all over the place. Panic and worry mixed with pain and fear. Always though, his love for you was ever prominent. This night he simply felt calm.

“I’m starting to see your vision of a life with less bullshit.” You snuggled against him to keep warm.

A smiled curled the corner of his lips, ��I knew you would come around eventually.”

“If we get through this, I may even rethink the part about children. The doctors told me I was all good in there. Maybe too good.”

He laughed and kissed your hair, “Sounds divine. Perhaps we can just move your mother to Asgard with us. I know it would pain her to have her grandchildren so far away.”

“She’d never leave Helen and the girls. We can’t come back here. That’s clear now.”

“No. Whatever happens tomorrow, darling, I suggest you say your goodbyes. Not a chance we’ll stay behind.”

You nodded. “I know. I guess I just hope against hope that they’ll reconsider Odin’s proposal.” You both knew that wouldn’t happen.

Loki massaged your shoulders applying just the right amount of pressure to turn you into putty. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, Y/N.”

“Me too. I just want everything to be over.” You sunk further into his chest letting your eyes close.

*******************************************

On the morning of the hearing the house was bustling. All of the girls ran around getting ready for the big day. Even though this was your hearing the entire coven would be on trial. Helene and Agatha tried to prepare you for anything. “Keep your composure.” Helene kept warning. That would be the the theme for the day. Composure. Stiff upper lip. Take your lumps with dignity and grace.

The girls all went ahead of you. Loki and your mother stayed behind. She tried to get you to eat something. Your stomach was in knots. You couldn’t possibly keep anything down. She held your hand while you sat on the porch waiting for your transport. When the agents arrived she had to look away when they shackled your hands and feet. They loaded you into the back of the armored van. She held your eyes through the slit in the window. You were being brave. She was not. When they pulled away she broke down.

“I’m never going to see her again am I?” she asked Loki.

“Asgard is beautiful this time of year. You are free to visit anytime.” He gave her a small smile and patted her on the back.

“Take care of her. Please.”

“I intend to.”

They drove to the facility in silence. When they parked Thor was waiting for them. “Heimdall is at the ready.” he informed Loki.

“Good. Give her a moment to say goodbye to her mother then call him.”

The room was large and crowded. The Avengers were all seated behind you. Some of the X-men filtered in as well. The guards stood a little taller when Magneto sat next to the Professor. Your case would set a precedent for how all mutant and enhanced persons were treated from there on out. You were concerned that, if things didn’t go your way, Magneto would start something. That would all but solidify the monstrous view the government had of mutants.

Secretary Ross sat in front of you with various other generals and senators. The World Security Council was watching from a large monitor. They hammered you with question after question about Thanos and Malekith. They asked the same questions over and over. Nothing you could say was good enough. You started to get antsy. They already made their decision. Nothing you could say would free you. You sat alone and squirming for two hours before they called for lunch.

You stayed seated waiting for an agent to escort you back to the holding area. Loki sat behind you willing you to turn around. When you finally did tears were in your eyes.

“Oh, Pet. Please don’t cry.”

“They’ve already decided. We should....” Before you could finish your sentence Mobius M. Mobius came strolling in with his briefcase.

“Escape? Like they don’t have that collar wired with explosives. Mobius M. Mobius.” He introduced himself to Loki.

“This wasn’t plan was it?” Your voice broke as he rifled around is case.

“Nope.” He pulled out a lock picking kit and pushed your head down to get a better look at the collar.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Loki whispered outraged.

“Oh. Don’t worry about them. I’ve frozen this whole room.” When Loki looked around he saw the guards standing completely still. The room was silent. “Ok, kid. Hold still.” Before Loki could spring into action your collar slipped from your neck. “That was close.” Mobius chuckled.

You stood up and shook your shackles off your wrists and ankles. “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome. Now dry your tears and let’s get out of here. You too, your highness.” You walked through the building seeing everyone frozen in the hallways and even on the street. Loki held your hand protectively. “We just have to get to the jump point and you can call for Heimdall. Thor is already there waiting.”

“Why are you helping us?” Loki was flustered. He gripped your hand and pulled you toward him. “Y/N who is this? Why is he helping us?”

“Lok...” You tried to find a way to explain but Mobius cut you off.

“It’s ok, Y/N. I am Mobius M. Mobius. I am in upper management in the TVA. I’m helping you because she’s needed. In fact, both of you are. Time is kind of fucked because of you two. Every time she gets it back on track something comes busting in and ruining it. In case it wasn’t clear, she’s not supposed to be a prisoner on Earth.” He urged you forward and you ran to a clear space to call for Heimdall. “Go! I’ll be in touch.” He threw you a communicator and sent you on your way.

When you reached the Bifrost, Thor was waiting. “You’re lucky you two made it. They were going to call for Y/N’s execution.” Your heart was in your throat.

“Y/N you are not to step foot on Midgard again. Do you understand? Thor will sort this out after the smoke clears.” Odin was not a fan of dealing with the hot headed little Midgardians. He dismissed you but didn’t punish you. You were punishing yourself enough.

*******************************************

After a few weeks Thor returned to Midgard to play the diplomat. He stayed for a few days. You assumed to be with Jane. When he returned, the news was not good. You were all summoned to Odin’s office off of the throne room.

“They want Y/N to return to Midgard immediately. They are taking our refusal to hand her over as an act of hostility.” Thor’s voice was quiet and tinged with anger. “I don’t have to tell you, little sister, how difficult a position I am in.”

“You’d turn her over?!” Loki was on his feet. You took his hand and guided him back to his seat.

“No. He won’t turn me over. They are pressuring him. Probably pressuring my family and friends too.”

“Tensions are high, brother. Every mutant on earth is being punished for her crimes.”

“What do they want from her?” Odin was outraged.

“The same thing you do, Father. They want to use me as a weapon. No one is going to mess with Asgard as long as I’m here right? Earth wants the same protection. They want me to handle their biggest messes. They are backing me into a corner. Thor, I need you to bring Charles Xavier and Max Eisenhardt to Asgard. The sooner the better.”

You excused yourself and Loki followed you. “Darling, let’s just disappear for a while.”

“They won’t let up. I have to make this right. I’m going to get in touch with Mobius. Maybe he can guide me in the right direction.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Honey, you don’t trust anyone but me. I need to know if we’re on the right path.”

“The right path to what?!” He grabbed your hands wanting so badly to shake some sense into you.

“To ending this. To settling down.” You wrapped your arms around his waist and inhaled his scent. “I’m so tired, Lok. You were right before. I loved our life in our cottage. I thought I fixed it all when I ended Thanos. But you were right. There would always be something.”

“There are some things I don’t enjoy being right about.” He nuzzled your hair. “Let’s go have a cup of tea and we’ll call Mobius.”

Loki made your tea with valerian root chamomile sweet rose hips and lavender. You were passed out within thirty minutes. He took your communicator and pressed the one and only button that would contact Mobius. He thought it would work like a phone. Instead he was dropped into an office that looked like the DMV. A young man stared at him expressionless.

“Welcome to the TVA. I’m Craig. How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mobius.”

“Is he expecting you? I’m just kidding. He knew you were coming. This way.”

Craig led Loki down a long hallway to an elevator that seemed to go on forever. When it finally stopped, Craig did not step off but pointed at a table and chairs in the corner, “Wait there.”

There was music playing over the speaker. Someone coughed in the distance though he was alone in the room. This is it. This is where I die. He thought. After an agonizing ten minutes Mobius burst in.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” he sat down arranging an enormous mound of paperwork. “You would think with all the power we possess we could automate this process. Anyway. What can I do for you?”

“What do you want with my wife?”

“Boy you don’t mince words. Easy. Time is broken. It needs to be fixed.” He held up a device for Loki to illustrate what had been happening. “See this long line here? That’s time not a straight line but close right? All these branches are timelines that happened because she and others decided to mess with it.”

“Others? What others?”

“Steve Rogers for one. When she took off with you and the tesseract she gave Steve the bright idea to go back to the 40’s and live on with Peggy Carter. That wasn’t supposed to happen. It needs to be corrected.”

“Let me handle it. She’s tired. She’s done enough. If you take care of what’s happening on Earth, I’ll set it all right.”

Mobius eyed him up for several minutes. He ran through possibilities and outcomes. Weighed each option carefully. Loki would be the best option to fix things but also the most likely to make it worse. In the end, he decided sending only one of you on this mission was probably the best bet. He can handle one of you easily. Both of you together is asking for chaos.

“Fine. Consider Earth handled. Keep her on Asgard. Do not let her interfere. I’ll be in touch with the rest. She’ll have to handle Rogers though.”

“Handle him?” Loki was tired of Mobius using you for his personal assassin. You were far too trusting. “If you mean to kill him...”

“Jeez. No. She just has to stop him before he runs off with Peggy. Loki, she’s not immortal you know? Those stones will burn her out eventually. She’ll lose at some point.”

His brows knitted together with worry, “Then I suppose I have to hurry.”

In a blink, he was back in your bedroom. You were still sleeping soundly. He brushed your hair out of your face. You smiled in your sleep and leaned in to him. It would all be over soon.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Black Pear Tree

Partially inspired by @bellygunnr ’s fic and descriptions of the atrium on the Infinity, have a bunch of words that came from me listening to Black Pear Tree on repeat for a week. It got sad and also somehow turned into 1500 words. This is between Canon halo 4 and 5 before the Argent Moon mission and Something has happened Offscreen, that may be revealed later. Very early in the au timeline.

-

The stars visible through the atrium window of the UNSC Infinity look nothing like the ones that shone above Reach. 

The constellations are wrong and the branching arm of the Milky Way lights up the sky in warm hues. Reach was different. Clear skies and a deep ocean of space as the backdrop for pinpricks of light sparkling through the rich tapestry of blue-black. 

Reach had mountain ranges and wind and so much greenery. Here there was no wind, just cycled air, mimicking the feeling of a breeze on his naked face. The bench beneath him creaked under his weight as he leaned back and took in the view. Stars overhead and greenery around him, yes, but the cold gray walls that enveloped the space reminded him where he was. Another ship, another steel coffin. The Infinity was massive. The lead ship of her class and called the culmination of human achievement. John had hesitantly begun to think of her as home. But that didn’t change the lessons he had learned again and again. Spartans didn’t win in space. Equipment could fail.

The unfamiliar constellations winked at him, distant and cold. He wondered if the stars above Reach would fade from his mind like the stars he saw as a child had. John couldn’t remember much from before the coin toss, and he had told himself that was fine. 

There was the mission, and the next one. He had his orders and would follow them and complete his missions his own way before marching back into cryo and waiting for the next time they needed him. He’d face down the cold, claustrophobic embrace and dreamless darkness. Mendez had pushed him to lead his Spartans to victory. He was fine to keep moving. Insurrectionists, Covenant, Flood, Forerunners, Banished. There was always a new threat, never a moment’s rest and he needed to be ready. John was a Spartan and team leader. He was the first to try the armor, first to jump into battle, and now he’s always last. Out of place and out of time, years and people gone that he could never get back. His own teammates were almost strangers.  

He was an aging spartan, a relic compared to the new blood. They may be undisciplined and cocky, but soon they’d have to do. 

Too many fast thaws and hard landings. Ceramic bones didn’t stop joint pain. A huff escapes him as he comes back to himself, incredibly aware of the bench beneath him digging into tired muscle and aching bones. He’s slowed enough that introspection caught up. John has tried to shove it all back down, but this isn’t an enemy he can beat. It’s him. His body and mind catching up and taking stock. Apparently constant repression of trauma and loss does not lead anywhere good. He’s listless and agitated when they don’t let him go on missions and after the altercation, he’s shipbound. 

Some days he wants to scream and break things, and other times he wants it all to stop. 

Most days, he just wants the familiar back. Even when he knew deep down it was bad, he knew how to get through it. He has to beat this somehow. It’s hurting his team and making him lose control and confidence. So he sits in the memorial park and hopes that he can breathe and ground himself. John lists the names he can remember in his head, feels the earth under his feet, and imagines the cycled air is a breeze and not recycled air from a pump keeping them all alive in this metal coffin. 

He wonders if his therapist would call what he’s doing processing or moping. Their next session is still a few days away, and he isn’t cleared to use the gyms yet. Roland is kind enough to check on him during his nightly patrols when he can’t sleep, but the atrium is his space. Even Blue Team knows to let him be when he comes here. Kelly will still be nearby, planning her runs so she can keep an eye on him without smothering him. 

He’s about to leave when he hears quiet cursing and rustling branches off in the distance. 

As he stands he spots two gardeners struggling with a large sapling, and he heads over without really thinking about it.

“Move it, Harris, but be careful of the root cluster! I swear if--” They stop as they notice him approaching. Harris still has their back to him, but is quick to set the tree down in the freshly dug hole and turn and salute, for some reason. “Harris, what the hell are you doing?” Harris has left them with all of the tree’s weight as it tips back towards them. “What’s it look like, Murphy? I’m saluting! You never know who’s on a ship this big, gotta show respect.” Harris spits over his shoulder, before realizing he’s left Murphy wrestling with the weight of the tree. John watches him turn and jump to help Murphy, and moves closer as they both attempt to move the sapling. 

“Need help?” He asks, voice rough and quiet. The gardeners pause, and share a look before answering at the same time.

“Sure!”

“No, we’ve got it, sir.” 

Harris and Murphy scowl at each other, but before it goes any further, John reaches over and lifts the sapling. He straightens it with ease, before lowering it slowly into place. They scramble out of the way to secure it and fill in the gaps with soil. He breathes in the scent of growth and damp earth and relaxes slightly. It’s a little overwhelming without the filters from the armor. Once again he’s struck by all the green, and the new growth he has clutched in his grip. Its bark is thin and young, but digs into his palm all the same. 

“What kind is it?” John asks them as they finish filling the hole and set up a support stake near the sapling. He’d been on so many planets and seen so many trees, they all blurred together, but this one was sticking out. Old memories blur like static on a corrupted message with flashes of afterimages burned into his brain.  

“It’s one of those cedars from Reach, bit like Earth’s trees, but hardier.” Harris answers as he dusts himself off and Murphy collects their gear. “Got several different species from Reach.”

He points towards a copse of trees near where the path forked. Harris hasn’t noticed that John froze at the mention of Reach, but Murphy had. They had finished gathering the gear, and walked up to grab Harris before he started again. “Thanks for your help, Uh--” Murphy hesitates.

“John.” He chokes out. He’s still staring at the tree. His hands still touching the bark.  “Thank you, John. Harris and me will be on our way. Take all the time you need, sir.” They drag Harris away by the elbow. Harris shoots one more confused look over his shoulder and waves before they both disappear around the bend. 

John inhales and holds it for a moment. He traces the bark, eyes falling on the patterns of the bark and the faded augmentation scars. Reaching up, he touches the fragile young leaves with unsteady hands. New growth from a dead planet. A swell of complicated emotion rises in his gut and he huffs a breath through his nose. 

Growth and change. He was sick of those words being thrown at him. Progress slipped from his grasp and felt no closer to leaving this prison of a ship than when he started. Confined to the Infinity and pacing his newest cage left him both claustrophobic and exposed. No missions meant no armor, and his access to hangars and other access points was restricted so he couldn’t even watch his marines come and go on missions. 

Blue Team had stopped accepting missions in some twisted sense of solidarity. They weren’t under the same orders, the same punishment. Of course not, they didn’t --, he didn’t mean--

They didn’t put themselves in the infirmary. He did.

John pulls his hands away before he damages the sapling. He’s shaking and his heart is pounding in his ears.

It’s a small thing, probably only a few years old, so it never saw Reach itself. Never stood near the tree where Blue Team stood and Sam carved their mark. 

They had been so young. 

And then decades later, they returned with one missing. A new mark carved into the glassed wasteland that was once their home.

Will you trust me now? Will you follow me?

He had asked them that, and then he almost killed them all. Working himself to death and dragging them down with him. 

How could he ask them to follow him now? 

John couldn’t. Maybe Master Chief could, but he hadn’t been seen in weeks. 

John sat next to one of the last living remnants of his home and looked up at unfamiliar stars. 

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

(I just reached a 100k reads on Wattpad! yay!)

CHAPTER 16 - DISTRACTION

———

Just an hour and a half ago, Steve's world tilted violently on it's axis when Natasha told him who Y/N really was—the Winter Soldier's former apprentice. The one and only phantom that had been on every possible enemy radar, and ally too.

Steve had his arms crossed and tucked tight to his chest as he tried to find some peace of mind on the skyway, facing the glass windows that overlooked the field below. The Avengers tower was vast, but the Captain preferred this particular spot whenever he needed some time alone to think.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing as a million thoughts per second ran through his head. She knew him, the Winter Soldier. Heck, she'd been trained by him. If she knew how he thought, how he worked...was it possible that she'd know where he was?

Steve would give anything to find him. Even if it meant giving his life. He'd been begging the universe to help him find his best friend and it looks like his solution had just landed right in front of him. When he told Natasha this, her head almost exploded in the process of telling him how stupid the idea was. But Steve needed to know, he needed to see for himself. If this was indeed his last option, then he'd be damned if he didn't at least try.

He clenched his fists, cracking the knuckle of his thumb in the process then brought his hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching it as he sighed inwardly. It was decided. He was going to ask Y/N to go on a very idiotic, yet very desperately needed mission.

"Oh, this is a very bad idea." The captain whispered to himself.

—––

"You look miserable."

Pietro's voice snapped me out of my thoughts and my head snapped up as he stepped out of the shadow. Immediately, I felt almost grateful for his presence at that moment. Even though I revelled in the glory of being alone, solidarity confinement was giving me hell after Romanoff's confrontation. At this point I'd take anything as a distraction from my own thoughts.

"I'm being held in a cage for God knows how long, what am I supposed to do? Smile?"

"Maybe." He shrugged as he took a stray chair and plopped down on it.

I bared my teeth, stretching my mouth in an extremely forced smile. "You mean like this?" I said without moving my lips.

"Exactly like that." He cringed, chuckling despite the nasty sarcasm I was throwing at him.

The room grew silent after that. I could only hear the sound of his sneakers scraping against the floor as he drew imaginary circles with his feet.

"What are you doing here?" The lack of conversation was tedious to me. I thought he was going to be a distraction at the very least but it turns out he was only making it worse.

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what?', you come to my cell and now you're silent. Out of all places, why'd you come here to mope around and do nothing? Because the last time you were here, you basically talked my ear off while shooting lasers at me through your eyes." I made a pointing gesture with two fingers as I made a poking motion in front of my face.

I couldn't stop staring at him. Somewhere along my angry speech, he had looked up from the floor and turned his eyes to me. It was direct and undisturbed eye contact that should have made me very, very uncomfortable but instead it was...insanely hypnotising. I didn't understand it at all.

"I can't figure you out."

What?

"Well you're definitely not the first one to say that, get in line-"

"No, you don't understand. I can't figure you out, at all. Frankly, it's frustrating and it's stressing me out."

"Wow." I scoffed. "This is coming out of nowhere."

"Nowhere?" He yelled, speeding towards me until he was just a mere centimetres away from the glass that separated us. "Out of nowhere? Do you not get how much you confuse me, huh Y/N?"

My stomach twisted painfully as he said my real name. I glared at him, determined not to lose the argument or whatever it was that was happening. "I confuse a lot of people, pal."

"Stop it." He spat. "See, this is what I meant. I don't understand you. We came from the same place and yet I can't...I just..."

"Same place? What the ever loving fuck are you talking about? Why are you so mad all of a sudden?"

"I'm not mad, I'm frustrated." He sighed, running his hand through his white locks. "You're driving me crazy, Y/N."

It took a full second for me to process what he was saying, but it still made no sense. The words he was saying were painstakingly familiar but the tone he was saying it in sent a dangerous chill down my spine. "What the fuck...okay, cut the crap Pietro. Is this some sort of trick they asked you to do? Who sent you here?"

He threw his hands in the air, jotting a thumb to his chest. "Myself. This isn't a scheme or whatever it is you're thinking."

I frowned, "Then what is it?"

He turned around and went back to his chair, taking a seat and closing his eyes. It was my turn to stand up and pace.

"Look, the last 72 or so hours of my life have been drastically confusing and there's nothing I'd love more than to hear an explanation...for everything. What the fuck is this? I just spent 3 scrutinising hours with Romanoff, going over my past and taking a trip down memory lane, except that my memory lane is just a horrible road full of potholes and hot, steaming coal! Now you're yelling at me about how much I confuse you? What do you think this is? A feelings brothel?"

He didn't look up or speed up close to me this time, he just stayed there on his chair with his head down, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together.

Then he said something. It was barely above a whisper, but luckily the room was silent enough that I was able to hear it.

"I was ready to kill you when I first met you. I wanted to end your life as quickly as possible."

No surprise there.

"So, tell me why that's suddenly changed?"

My feet stayed glued to their spot. I had no answer to his question, not even a sarcastic retort. I had nothing to offer. For the first time in many, many years...I was speechless. These words were foreign and dangerous. A big red flag planted itself on the part of my brain that had 'Pietro' written on it.

"What are you implying?"

"You have some sort of hold over me that I can't get out of. I don't get it." Pietro was making my head spin and my heart tumble over my guts. "Is this a trick of yours? Some mind-controlling ability that you've hidden from us so you could get me to trust you? Were you dishonest about the full extent of your skillset?"

I couldn't speak, I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. Normally, at this point I would think I had been injected with some type of paralysis poison. But my heart was beating wildly enough to prove that theory wrong.

"No. Nothing of that sort, Pietro."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

I stopped myself from holding a hand to my chest in an effort to keep my heart from beating itself out of its socket. The palpitations reverberated throughout my whole body like a bass drum. Somehow through the shock, I managed to squeeze out a single sentence.

"Because if I had the ability to control minds in the way you just described, I wouldn't even be here in the first place."

We stared at each other for a moment and then he shook his head with a heavy sigh and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts yet again.

And I thought he was gonna be a distraction for my thoughts instead of causing another prominent flow of them.

———

As soon as Pietro exited the room in which Y/N was being held, he bumped straight into Steve.

"Maximoff?"

"Captain. What are you doing here?"

"I'm..." he sighed, "...about to do something really stupid."

[tybaku]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30691259

Midoriya Izuku finds the incarnation of beauty and divinity sitting at a window of a hole-in-the-wall café just a few blocks away from home.

Or: An artist in search of inspiration unexpectedly finds a new muse.

When Izuku lays eyes on him, it’s like salvation.

It’s a feeling of warmth, like fire licking at the grooves of his teeth and spreading throughout the apples of his cheeks. It’s a pleasant thing, the following lurch in the very pit of his chest, like all the air in his lungs had turned into honey the color of molten gold. It’s electric in the way he can feel it’s lingering buzz in his fingertips just as he’s left in a reverie.

Izuku hasn’t felt this way in weeks.

A thin, reserved smile finds its way onto his bitten lips as he twirls his mechanical pencil between his fingers. If he were an artist of a different medium—say, a photographer—he would capture this very moment for safe keeping, have it frozen in all its sharp and bright clarity and contrast. (But he is not, so he will have to make due with his pencil and paper.)

It’s a gray kind of day today. Storm clouds were rumbling gently in the sky, crooning and purring in the promise of rainfall. It set a somber mood, and a gloomy undertone to the colors of the café Izuku frequented, despite its yellow lights and setup of deep, rich browns, reds, and oranges.

Though it did pair perfectly with the man who sat by the window.

Izuku’s eyes fell, and his pencil danced on the paper of his sketchbook. Curves and corners formed a light, faint base, precise enough to embody a sitting figure. Izuku looks up again, eyes gently observing the piece in front of him.

And damn if that man at the window didn’t resemble something straight out of a Rembrandt. He was soft, pale colors, from fair skin to blond hair, and awfully kind on the eyes, muted and light. He held a dark sort of overtone over his features and the way he breathed, grays and blues amongst warmth.

He’s wearing a scarf in a bright shade of cream low on his neck, and the material gives off the impression of cotton, which is soft and comforting in the current cold of late autumn. His clothes are dark, old, and large, falling off his slim figure. His eyes are downcast, and though Izuku can’t quite tell from this distance, they are deep and dim in hue, and enraptured by the laptop in front of him, a halo of cool light illuminating his high cheeks and sharp jaw.

Simply put, the man at the window was agonizingly gorgeous, and Izuku was determined to capture his beauty on sketch paper.

He’s quietly scribbling his third concept drawing (he quietly berated himself for not bringing any paints today, but then considered the fact he wasn’t even planning to draw at the café anyway, and he could always just start a piece when he got home as long as he had a decent thumbnail) when the man stops, rolls his shoulders back, and rises from his seat.

Surprised, Izuku nearly drops his pencil, not having expected any movement and having forgotten the man at the window wasn’t actually modeling for him, nor made of marble. (He could be though, Izuku thinks. If he let me, I could immortalize him with just my hands.)

The man steps up to the counter and orders a coffee.

Izuku watches him wait as subtly as he can, glasses slipping to the tip of his nose with how often his head moves up and down, and up and down again in order to somewhat perfect the piece in his book.

Faintly, he realizes that he should maybe be a little more inconspicuous about his sightseeing, but he’s too thrilled about finally finding a view that was actually worth looking at. Plus, the man hasn’t yet noticed Izuku’s stare on his stern profile, even if the artist was just as tactful about it as a toddler.

Izuku rolls his own shoulders, a mimic of what the man had done earlier, and continues. When the man returns to his seat, Izuku is on his third sheet of paper.

They’re faint, quick doodles now, thumbnails overlapping thumbnails, because Izuku is rapidly losing his patience, and doesn’t want to spend more than a minute on a sketch. He’s too excited now, and the ideas keep coming in, insistent on making their presence known even as the page becomes more and more crowded, filled to the brim with messy artwork.

The man finally meets his eye, and scowls.

Embarrassed, Izuku ducks his head quickly, pretending to be occupied with his sketchbook. It’s a half-truth really, because he has been busy with it for the past twenty something minutes. Only now there’s a more than healthy flush to his cheeks that can’t be blamed on the chilly weather. He looks up tentatively.

The man has gone back to glaring at his laptop screen and sipping on what Izuku assumes to be his dark brew (with exactly two and a half packets of sugar substitute—Izuku knows this because he had seen him pour and stir them into his mug at the sidebar before he took his seat again).

Izuku lets out a quiet sigh of relief as the heat in his face fades out like a dying candle, and then resumes his sketching calmly. He never really could draw when he knew someone was watching, it made him feel too nervous, and much too exposed. One is meant to create art privately, and wholeheartedly, not under a persistent microscope.

Then again, Izuku probably shouldn’t be out in public if he wanted privacy and be away from prying eyes. Even if they are a deep, rich shade of brown that sat on his skin like hot, burning coal. (Even if they are red and piercing like they must be in another life, in another painting of beauty.)

And it wasn’t as if Izuku came to the little coffeehouse with the intention to create, he had simply wanted to mill about, and see if maybe he could find some inspiration outside his lonely studio apartment, and even his actual art studio. He never thought he would actually strike gold, and have to sit down to milk it for all it was worth.

Unfortunately, there comes a point where all the gold runs out, and Izuku is left with dirty hands and an ache in his chest.

The man packs up his belongings and leaves. The bell above the door sings cheerily. Izuku watches as the man breathes a puff of air like smoke before he shields his mouth from the cold with his scarf. Izuku's eyes fall when the man rounds a corner and disappears from view.

The coffee in the mug Izuku bought out of courtesy has gone cold, since he had been far too busy trying to map out the shapes and shadows of the man at the window. He looks down into it, detested, not being able to help feeling a little upset about the man’s departure.

If I had asked, Izuku thinks rather absently, would he have stayed?

He shakes his head at himself, hair tickling his cheeks, feeling a little ridiculous. That wasn’t something you could just ask of someone you didn’t even know the name of. It wasn’t appropriate by any means, to ask a stranger something so intimate. To stay. And just so you could admire them and the lines of their human body, and preserve them on sketch paper for you to have and hold selfishly.

So really, there wasn’t anything Izuku could’ve done to prevent the inevitable. The loss of a light and warmth so bright it felt holy—the inside of a dying sun, the core of a supernova.

What he does do, however, is take advantage of all that he had basked in and hurry on home with intent of creating a new art piece of paints, making sure to leave a fat tip on the underside of his untouched coffee before leaving the shop with a little spring to his step and a pink blush on his face.

He makes it home in a flurry, hair wildly windswept and cold air in his panting mouth, having broken into a sprint, and then a run, by the time he was only a block away from his apartment, nerves buzzing under his skin. He had taken two steps at a time up the stairs and into his studio, as if he were being chased by a madman. (He was the only madman around really, one who was much too eager to capture what he felt back at the café on a canvas with his oils at home, rather than make the trip to his professional workspace.)

Izuku makes a quick beeline to his art desk (it’s standing where maybe a television stand would be if he had one, right in front of his comfy loveseat, and it’s covered in all sorts of paints because Izuku tends to use it as a glorified paint palette) and sets his sketchbook down on the cleanest spot he could find, immediately crouching down in order to rummage through his art supply bins for his spare oil paints.

He mutters as he does this, about colors and brushes and the man at the window of the café, but it’s nothing short of white noise to his ears, a harmless habit. It helped him focus in fact, his own whispered musings to an empty room, and it helped him relax enough to calm the heart trying to break his rib cage and beat a gaping wound through his chest.

He finally finds the oils, and then the brushes, that he needs to replicate the image in his head that burns in the backs of his eyes. He sets them all down on his art desk, only where it’s dry, and moves about the apartment in search of the final, most important ingredient: a canvas.

He looks down, around, and behind every piece of furniture, grumbling under his breath. After about five minutes, it finally sinks in, and he makes a terrible discovery: there were no clean canvases he could use.

Usually, he would have one or two lying around, for easy commission pieces, and even when the occasional creative mood would randomly strike, but as of late, he hasn’t actually been painting much of anything, whether it be for personal purposes or professional pursuits. And his past self had figured the canvases in his art studio would suffice because of this, so he hadn’t bought any to keep at home.

His past self was a bumbling idiot.

Determined, and not yet ready to detach himself from this bout of sudden inspiration, Izuku rolls up his sleeves, gathers his supplies, and gets to work, canvas or no canvas. He paints and paints until his knuckles ache and his jaw goes sore from clenching in concentration.

He finishes his piece with tired arms and oils not only on his face, but on his plastic frames. He finishes liberated, with relief strung throughout him.

Admittedly, it’s not his best piece, for his living room wall isn’t suited for his oils, but Izuku can’t help but think it’s his most beautiful. It’s the first thumbnail he made of the man at the window of the café, one where he’s looking out the window, blown out right on the wall, his sharp yet soft profile glowing gently with warm, nude colors.

The man at the window takes Izuku’s breath away all over again.

Warm in the face, Izuku lets his eyes wander away, and fall to the wooden floor. The sun is bright and high in the sky now, a telltale sign of noon, beaming hot yellows into the apartment, and beating down onto the back of his clothes. The lighting is wonderful, and perfect for a picture, but a seed of greed is already sprouting in the mouth of Izuku’s stomach.

This sight, this piece, wasn’t one he was willingly to share with anyone just yet, if ever. It feels too deeply personal somehow, and much too intimate to showcase on any of his social medias, much less his professional art blog. Plus, it’s not even a complete piece, or one he can profit off of, since it lies dormant on his wall. There wasn’t a reason to post this anywhere, and there wasn’t a reason why Izuku should even want to. This piece was for his eyes only.

Embarrassed at the mere thought, Izuku brings his stained hands to his face, no doubt smearing more oil paint onto his blushy cheeks. Now what kind of reasoning was that? He didn’t want to share? The man at the window was only his to admire? How selfish! And how embarrassing! Izuku thinks in a flushing stupor, berating himself in belated humiliation. He hadn’t meant to think any of that, honest!

The artist smacks his face once, and then twice, to pull himself back together. Nevermind all that, there was nothing wrong with wanting to keep some of his work to himself in the first place. Just like his personal, and very much private sketchbook where he allowed himself to experiment and make mistakes, this living room piece served as an act of unexpected creativity and originality, a subjective study of an intriguing character.

At the very least, Izuku had fully convinced himself of this in less than a minute, not allowing himself to think about the matter any further lest he wanted to mutter a whole dissertation about it straight through the wall and into his neighbor’s apartment. (The walls here weren’t as thick as they were supposed to be, unfortunately.) (Vaguely, Izuku recalls his apartment lease and its rules, specifically the too-lengthy paragraph under “alterations” and how he was not allowed to “paint, wallpaper, alter, or redecorate without written consent of the landlord.”)

Izuku brings his thumb to his mouth and bites down on the painted nail to keep himself quiet, letting his eyes settle back up to his artwork. It truly was an astonishing piece, if he did say so himself. It was very new, and very different from any of his other work, and it reflected an entirely distinct side of Izuku’s artistic capabilities. It felt real, and warm, and overwhelmingly human; very dissimilar from his usual painting style.

It was nude, and dark, and utterly stunning in all the unexpectedly right ways. A handsome painting crafted by hands that never knew they could portray such divinity.

A fresh flame ignites in Izuku all over again, and his hands go back to feel the blood rising in his face once more. It was becoming increasingly more and more difficult for him to mellow out of this stage of embarrassing elation, since each time he tries to take a look to admire his piece he gets worked all up, and ends up awkward and out of place in his own home. He just��He just needs something more.

Huffing, Izuku removes his glasses and wipes them down with the hem of his shirt. His hands go a little blurry under his gaze, which was a little watery and soft at the edges, far-sightedness at its best. As he removes any paint off his lenses, he allows his mind to wander just a bit, back to his painting, and back to the prospect of sharing.

He nearly drops his glasses moments after, right on the line of a most groundbreaking revelation—a victory caused by something straight out of a storybook or myth, one where stars, planets, suns, minds, and hearts aligned.

Izuku fits his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and quickly fishes his phone out of his pocket, inputting his passcode with no hesitation.

He had some calls to make.

[brackenfrond]

Let’s Talk About Anders

Before you read this, I should mention I’m very much pro-Anders, anti-chantry and pro-mage. There isn’t any anti-Templar hate, per se, except from an Anders perspective, but this is in no way villainising Anders. I’m trying to keep it mostly from Anders’ POV so it shouldn’t be too apologetic or biased, but I’m still mentioning it to avoid anyone who is violently anti-Anders.

I’m also going with a non gender specific Hawke. I honestly cannot remember what default!Hawke thought about the Chantry explosion or what happened with Anders, because I play with my custom world state, so I’m trying to keep the whole aftermath pretty much unspecific. Also I cut down the DA2 plot MASSIVELY because this was bordering on Too Much. As in, nearly 2 A4 pages worth in size 12 font.

TW: The usual DA stuff regarding treatment of mages in Circles. Also references to suicide, especially heavy when discussing The Chantry Incident. Also references the Exalted Marches, if that’s something that triggers you.

Anders is twelve when the Templars take him away, and his mother screams and cries and he doesn't know why at first. The Templars were meant to protect mages, so why would his mother be crying?

Then he is in Fereldan, and he understands why.

At first, he doesn't try to run. He tries to make friends, focuses on his studies, but he doesn't get any letters from his mother, and he finds a letter he wrote to her almost burned away in a fireplace.

He's twelve and in a different country, with words that are broken and no letters, just like he now has no name, and he just wants his mother.

He runs, and they catch him and drag him back, even as he cries and begs to see his mum.

He keeps trying to run - once more to see his mother, and after because he hates being trapped. He has heard whispers of mages flinging themselves from the tallest windows, of trying to kill themselves, and he doesn't want to become like that. He refuses to become like that.

Anders is not going to lose all hope, only to be found dead one morning and be another faceless victim amongst the many. He is going to survive.

The sixth almost-successful escape from the Circle lands him in solitary for a year, and Anders is sure it’s going to drive him mad, this time. He had been beaten and bruised, threatened the other times, and he’d laughed in their faces, in the face of a fate worse than death, because he would be successful one day.

Now, he wonders, if that is even possible, when he fears that he forgets the sound of Karl’s voice, his face, the feel of sunlight on his skin.

The seventh attempt? He stays out of the Circle, recruited by a commander who yells at the Templars, who conscripts him. It’s like another cage, the Wardens, but at least he’s free to walk, to go outside in the rain and laugh with the joy of being able to do so legally.

He makes friends amongst the Wardens, even if it’s more tentative than it ever has been. He doesn’t sleep with any, but he flirts and hides his hurts with jokes and humour. Sometimes it works and Nathaniel rolls his eyes, but sometimes he must sound too bitter, and the commander looks at him. Anders isn’t sure if the look is concern or something more malicious.

He decides it’s better not to ask, and continue as though he isn’t breaking apart inside.

Then the Templar comes, nearly kills him, would have if not for Justice, and he tears them all apart, blood and body pieces scattered when he comes to, and Anders vomits, before he does what he does best.

He runs. All the way to Kirkwall.

It’s a shithole, and the Templars are more vigilant, but Anders blends in with the refugees easily enough, heads to Darktown and decides he will do some good. He opens up a clinic, treats people without thought of money, and sometimes gives what food he has to people who look far too thin, whose bones are too visible beneath their skin. He stays there, keeps his head down as much as possible. He gets letters smuggled out of the Gallows to him, from Karl, and almost cries at the familiar writing, the way his letters form a reminder of times before he had a spirit rattling around in his head. He had never been happy, they had not been happier times, but it was easy to say they had been easier.

Then Hawke comes, and that’s when everything seems to go wrong.

He can’t blame Hawke for it, and Anders knows it’s cruel to say that when Hawke showed up things got worse, but the correlation is there, coincidental as it seems. Karl is made Tranquil, and Anders kills him and he sees the blood on the knife, on his hands, and he can’t speak, chokes on his words and his breath. For a second he wants to join Karl in nothing, in death. Then he squares his shoulders, takes a breath and raises his head.

Never again, he vows. Never again shall they touch another mage. No more Karls will happen, not if he has any say in the matter.

The mage underground starts, and he and others smuggle mages out of the gallows. He’s surprised to get help from Templars - he recognises Thrask, the man who asked them to save those from the Starkhaven Circle, and Keran, the one kidnapped by a blood mage - but it makes sense that even Templars can see that things have reached a breaking point.

The Tranquil Solution reaches his ears, and there is a plan to draw him out, to see if there is proof. Hawke comes with him, and Justice takes over and he nearly killed that girl, nearly tore her apart…

He wants to be sick. He isn't, but it is a close thing.

The Qunari try to occupy Kirkwall, the Qunari fall at Hawke’s hand. The viscount is dead, there is no man upon the seat, and Meredith grows worse and worse. The mage underground is destroyed, and Orsino rallies support in the streets, only to be quelled by the woman he is trying to oppose and the one woman who could put an end to the terror of the Circle has the gall to play neutral. To act as though Meredith is a little girl, and not the monster Anders sees in his sleep, joined by Templars from his past and a sunburst burned onto the head of his past lover.

This cannot stand. If Elthina won’t take action, Anders will, and it breaks his heart to do so.

But first, he has to make sure they don’t know, and that? That is harder to do than planting a bomb in the Chantry.

Because Hawke and their friends seem to care, like maybe a few Wardens did, and Anders wants to hold onto that. Wants to keep them close to him, because his friends have never stayed as long as these ones have and he cares for them, too.

But he can’t keep them. It will only end in heartbreak.

He pushes them away. He acts surly and moody and refuses to answer questions. If they hate him, it will make it easier. Easier to look at him and see a monster. Easier to do what needs to be done. They can't know, can't even suspect, because either they will stop it, or they will be accused.

He still dreams of a starburst brand, and sees it on their forehead and it just solidifies his judgement.

The final nail in the coffin is Danarius, and he lets out words that suggest he wants Fenris to go back to him.

He goes home, not walked back, and throws up his meager lunch and hopefully the poisonous words that had dripped from his tongue with it.

Then there is the final straw, the last argument between Meredith and Orsino, and the Chantry explodes, bright as the sun, and Anders can only watch. He feels numb, instead of triumphant.

He never wanted it to come to this, but it was the only way. They speak of compromise when there is none. There can be no peace.

Hawke has the task of dealing with him after, and Anders doesn’t plead for his life, pretends he can’t feel the hatred and betrayal from them and their friends. Theirs, not his. They were never his friends, even if he wanted to believe it. Karl had cared, and maybe the commander, but thinking that hurts too much, so he doesn’t.

His eyes hurt from staring at the flames, the bright flash. He wonders what angers them more - that he blew up a building, or that he left no chance of a (false) compromise.

'Why?' Asks Hawke, voice shaky. 'The Chantry is a place of peace.'

Anders wants to scream. What about the Exalted Marches, Halamshiral? What about the elven boy tortured for information? The hundreds of thousands of mages dying at the hands of those ordered around by the Chantry? Rivain? Was any of that peaceful? He killed a few to save the many. He wonders if the Divine can say the same about the millions slaughtered at her command, can look at the trees in The Emerald Graves, and say it was just.

He blew up a building after giving chance after chance for Elthina to save his people, the Chantry has blown up men and women and children and danced on the ashes.

Instead, he says nothing, other than if he is destined for the head man's axe, then swing it and be done with it.

Sometimes Hawke does, and Anders dies on the steps of the Chantry, blood staining the stone and becoming a victim he swore he’d never be.

Sometimes? Sometimes he lives, and though he thanks Hawke, he hates them for it. He was ready to die - wanted to - and the Chantry was his note and Hawke didn't have the decency to let it be. He doesn't yell at them, doesn't try to get close again. He joins his people in the fight, and some look at him like he has signed their death certificate.

If only they knew that they were dead the moment magic flickered to life in their hands.

And then he runs. He runs and sometimes stops and then runs when they suspect. He runs and runs and runs.

After all, Anders thinks, he has always been good at running.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

To My Soul

Summary: You’ve taken to walking when insomnia strikes. The bunker definitely offers enough space to do so. Some nights you don’t even walk the same hallways twice. Dean and Sam have their own means of dealing with their occasional insomnia. Every now and then, your paths cross.

Inspired by Van Morrison’s “And It Stoned Me”

Warnings: Some loneliness. This story is *soft*, there’s not much to warn about.

Author’s Note: Super thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock​ for the AMAZING image and mega suggestions. You really shaped this story. @glassjacket​, thank you for the relocations and the flails. I was nervous about my first Sam story. 

Word Count:1525

ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

To My Soul

Walking is lonely and cold tonight. 

Before you’d moved into the bunker, you used to open a window and listen to the crickets to calm your mind on the nights when you couldn’t sleep. It’s been several months now; the Winchesters have made every effort to help you settle in, but nights underground are long and far too quiet. 

You’ve taken to walking when insomnia strikes. The bunker definitely offers enough space to do so. Some nights you don’t even walk the same hallways twice. 

Dean and Sam have their own means of dealing with their occasional insomnia. Dean watches movies, listens to music, drinks, sometimes even punches things. You’ve joined him for a few of the less violent pastimes, at his invitation. You would never have intruded on your own, but he saw you pacing in the hallway and called out. Dean is easy to spend time with, and in the months you’ve known the Winchesters, you’ve grown more comfortable with him than any other person, save one.

Judging by the lack of sound effects from Dean’s room, the elder Winchester seems to be enjoying a rare night of easy slumber.

Sam has his own sleepless nights, and he resorts to fairly Sam-typical activities to occupy his mind. He does occasionally watch movies, mostly documentaries, but mostly he reads. 

Sam reads so much, so often, that the library seems odd without him seated at the table, several volumes spread out around him, his notebook and laptop fighting for space on the crowded surface. He always has suggestions for books from the library, subjects you would never have considered but somehow never fail to interest you. Sometimes you curl up in a chair with a warm drink, letting the sounds of his scratching pencil or tapping keyboard mesmerize you.

Either Winchester would be more than welcome tonight, but at some point during your time in their bunker, you’ve come to anticipate your quiet nights with Sam. Soothing and quietly welcoming, Sam’s presence helps you sleep better than a full day of hard labor.

You love watching Sam work with his hands, any task really, but especially writing in his notebooks. His hand dwarfs any writing utensil he uses, and yet his fingers curve and glide so elegantly across the pages. He doesn’t mind you watching, just keeps at his research, though you’ve noticed lately that he’s smiling more than he used to.

Seems like it to you, anyway. 

The library is depressingly empty tonight, feeling far too open and drafty without its most frequent inhabitant. You chafe at your arms, trying to buff some heat into your goose-bumped skin, and frown at the polished table top. 

Absent of its typical stacks of dusty tomes and scribbled notes, the table seems almost superfluous. But it isn’t the table or even the library itself that drew you here on your nighttime stroll. You realize with a start that you’ve begun to take Sam’s occupancy of the library for granted, counting on the comfort of his welcoming smile and quiet inclusion.

Something to consider, you think, momentarily at a loss. Another draft whispers past, and you shiver.

Maybe he managed to find some peace tonight. Never one to begrudge someone a good night’s sleep, you decide to try an old trick and head towards the kitchen, running through the options of hot drinks in your restless mind.

Soft music drifts from the open kitchen doorway, floating out of the dimly lit room. The golden light of a small lamp makes the industrial room seem softer, more intimate than its usual stark appearance. Sam sits at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug, nodding vaguely in time to Van Morrison emanating from his phone’s speaker.

At the sight of him, relaxed and easy, warmth suffuses your body from your fingers to your cold-stiffened toes. You can’t help but smile; you don’t often get to see Sam this peaceful. 

You clear your throat quietly, not wanting to startle him. He turns, his eyes meeting yours, and he sits up straighter. Your heart flips at his infectious smile.

You’re ninety-seven percent sure that his face lights up a little extra.

“I hoped you’d wander this way,” he says. Even his voice is calmer tonight, and you take a moment to simply drink in the serenity of the room. The empty spot across from Sam seems terribly inviting as he waits for your reaction.

Being the direct subject of Sam’s attention is suddenly a little more intense than you can handle. Rather than confront that thought, you glance around, looking for some new subject of conversation. You raise your eyebrows and nod questioningly at the little lamp on the table. Sam follows your gaze, and his smile turns a little bashful.

“Didn’t feel like researching tonight. The library was too cold, so I snagged the lamp and brought it with me. This is easier on my eyes than the overheads, especially since the whole point is to relax. Y’know?”

Yeah...yeah, you do know.

The song on Sam’s phone ends quietly, switching to the next.

Half a mile from the county fair, And the rain came pouring down...

“I, uh…” He clears his throat, some of the bashfulness apparently spreading to his vocal cords. His fingers shuffle awkwardly around the mug as he glances away and then back. It’s difficult to tell, but in the dim light, Sam’s face seems oddly flushed. 

“I made some extra mulled cider, in case you, uh… I thought you might...if you want some. It’s in the pot on the stove.”

Your own cheeks heating, you smile your thanks and move across the room to the shelf where the coffee mugs sit. 

You’re not short, not exactly, but something about living with a pair of giants who each have at least six inches on you can be slightly irritating at times. For example, when the first row of mugs have been used and the second row are just at the edge of your reach.

We just stood there, gettin’ wet, With our backs against the fence...

You sigh and stretch, inadvertently bumping the mug back an inch or so.

For the love of…

“Here, sorry, let me-”

And then Sam is behind you, reaching up to help. His chest presses against your back, so warm, and his arm brushes against yours as his hand accidentally grabs your fingers instead of the mug in question.

Your breath catches in an embarrassingly half-squeak, half-gasp as a tremor runs down your spine, and you both freeze. 

Your body sings at every contact point. Your entire universe narrows down to this room, this one moment. It’s all you can do not to lean into Sam, turn in his arms, and just -

“Are you...are you okay? I’m sorry!” Sam’s voice comes out in a hushed stutter. 

Afraid to move, not wanting to break the spell, your gaze travels slowly up his arm to where his fingers are caged tentatively around your own. Your hand doesn’t seem to be sweating yet, thank god, but…

Oh, the water. Oh, the water. Hope it don’t rain all day.

God, he’s so warm.

Sam’s fingers curl around yours, careful and decisive, and he draws them down to your side. He turns his hand so that you’re palm to palm and slowly twines his fingers with yours. 

His other hand moves up to rest on your waist, exactly where it's meant to be. He leans down, his arms pulling you close, his jaw resting light and scratchy against your temple.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow hard against the sudden paralysis in your throat. All those nights in the library, watching those same fingers flipping pages, scratching notes, combing back through his hair, and somehow you never realized. 

And it stoned me to my soul. Stoned me just like going home, And it stoned me. 

An invisible knot in your chest loosens, and suddenly your breath comes easier. There is absolutely nothing stopping you from leaning back, taking this metaphorical step. In the dim, golden light of Sam’s little lamp, the two of you alone with the quiet, crooning song, Sam’s strong arms around you, everything suddenly feels easy and simple.

It feels like home.

Your turn your face to his. You’ve never been this close, close enough to see the fine lines around his eyes, the creases pressed into his skin from more than a lifetime of suffering and laughter and fighting. His eyes, dark in the muted light, are wide and still as he waits for you to decide.

Just as he’s done every night. No need to make him wait anymore.

You press your lips to his before you lose your nerve, and his intake of breath sweeps cool over your mouth before he returns the kiss. Careful and deliberate but with a hint of the strength that lives within him. And so very warm.

You pull back just enough to bump the tip of your nose against his. Eyes still closed, he exhales, a short little chuckle that curls his lips and relaxes his shoulders.

“Yeah, Sam. This is definitely okay.”

[ask-hunterxhunter]

Have you ever wonder what each of the main four would be like as yandere? Sorry, I’m just soo curious.😋

Gon

No onethat has met Gon would ever think he can become a yandere… Him? A yandere?Impossible. He’s such a dear person and has a certain innocence that appears tohave remained even when he got older. Besides, he has morals. Certainly this alsoprevents him from developing this sort of sick obsession as well, right? And ifhe ever did, he would realize this issue and seek a way of healthy dealing withit, right?

 Wrong in all accounts.                    

 Regardlessof how you two met (if he approached you after a brief meeting and wanted tobecome your friend, you just crossed paths, so on) or for how long you’ve beenfriends, you feel you can trust him with all your heart. It’s not so different fromhow it tends to be with other people Gon has befriended. After all, he is akind man, he is gentle and sweet. Heck, even if you didn’t want to befriend himwhen you two met, he has that special way of getting in someone’s heart. In theend, you’re glad you’re friends!

 And becauseof this, chances are you won’t realize what is going on until it is too late.

 Gon’sfeelings for you will start innocently enough and even he might notnotice them at first. He just knows that he enjoys being with you! You’re niceand fun! Yes, of course, he likes you, I mean, you’re friends… So, it’s alsonatural that he starts to feel bad when you’re not there… It’s natural that heworries… He… He needs you. Of course he doesn’t like the way that personlooked at you, it was outright staring! There are many dangerous peoplein the world, he knows, he met quite a few. He is just being a good friend and lookingout for you! There is nothing wrong with that…

 He justdoesn’t want to fail with you like once failed with Kite.

 Gon’sbehaviour starts to change in response to his feelings increasing… It is slow,it is insidious, but a few signals start to pile up. The way he places his arm aroundyour shoulders. The way he stares at people who are a little too friendly withyou. It doesn’t get to the point of being suffocating, but there is somethingthat just feels wrong about his presence… And you don’t want to considerthis, even feeling ashamed of such impressions. For crying out loud, this is Gon!Your friend! You shouldn’t feel like this about him, ever!

 Actually,yes. Yes, you should.

 His feelingsbecome so intense that he can’t be unaware of them forever (not that itwould’ve been of much help anyway). He may just see you laughing with someoneelse… And then he thinks how you could get involved with someone someday. How youcan leave him someday. And the mere thought is more than he can bear.

 And theidea of losing you in one way leads to another. Regardless of what happened afterwards,Gon never forgot when he failed to help Kite. And it was one of those things aperson may never fully get over. No matter in what way, the idea of losing youincites more than mere fear in him. He… He can’t take it… No. No. NO!You can’t leave him, you just can’t!

 Speakingof Kite, if you get hurt, this will likely be also the moment when he goes overthe edge (if he hasn’t already).

 If you’realready together, that’s when things go overboard. If he hasn’t realized hisfeelings yet, that’s the moment when it hits him: This must be love, right? Thedesire to be with you all times, to protect you from all harm and to be theonly one to see your smile… Isn’t this what people call love? The moment thethought crosses his mind, he realizes that this is what he is feeling. And you…You must love him as well, right? You’ve spent so many good times together, surelyyou love him. And if you don’t, you can. Someday.

 How Gondecides to deal with this depends on how things are between the two of you atthe moment. He may just go ahead and confess, or he may jump straight to the next“solution” (extreme likely to happen if you got injured somehow, which, in theworld of Hunter is easy to happen). Even your reaction to his confession is, inthe end, unimportant. You accepting Gon and starting to date him, no matter evenwhen, won’t soothe his obsession or make things easier. The only thing itwill do will be giving you a window to his actual mental state. The uncertaintyyou felt before was your instinct reacting and if you date Gon, his obsessionwill slowly become more obvious until it finally reaches a crucial point.

 He won’t everbe violent, but there will always be something in the sweetness of his voice.In how “protective” he acts… He doesn’t outright forbid you from seeing yourold friends, but he seems to prefer to be there when you meet them… He neverseems to ask for more than you’re willing to do/give, he is never abusive, but…There is still something that makes you unsure. Things being said underneaththe spoken words and done underneath the acts. It’s almost imperceptible and whileit can last, eventually, you can’t fool yourself by saying this is normal.Or that you’re completely comfortable in this relationship.

 And by thistime, it is too late.

 It has always been too late, ever since Gon fell in love with you.

 His senseof protection regarding those he cares about is very high and, while this tendsto be a great thing in a friend, it is another matter when obsession is addedto the mix. Because he wants to keep you safe… And with him. It’s a dangerousworld, after all.

 So, if hehas to throw you in a cage to keep you safe, well, so be it.

 Well, ofcourse it won’t be a cage. That would be too cruel! He has a nice little house,all prepared, just for you. Why he is doing this? Silly, because he loves you.And you don’t have to cry, he will take good care of you, he promises! He cangive you anything you want, so you won’t ever wish for anything! Food, clothes.He’ll even give you books and games, so you won’t be bored when he is not athome! See, he can make you happy! And keep you safe! All you have to do is staywith him.

 Everygood quality can become a negative if twisted enough and this is the case withGon. Everything about him becomes a nightmare: His innocence blinds himto how what he is doing is messed up. His protectiveness becomes a cage beyondthe house he put you in. His sweetness is poisonous.

 And oneof the worst things of all? Gon won’t ever realize that he’s become a monster.

 Killua

WhileKillua is a tsundere and might prefer to have a certain degree of control overhis emotions, it doesn’t mean they are lacking in intensity. But still, (andhis training to be a “perfect assassin” might come in play here as well), hewill be able to keep his feelings hidden for a while, even though he will becomeaware of them very early on. And while there is nothing wrong with an intenselove, it is a serious problem when it crosses the line.

 He willprobably already know you for a while before a deeper interest is born (maybehe met you while travelling with Gon, maybe you crossed paths somewhere andbecame friends, etc). Whether or not he will confess right away will depend on certaincircumstances: It might happen if you’re travelling together (or at least seeingeach other often), if his emotions take a longer time to become more disturbing,so on. You might even notice it (or at least in some level) soon if you’re perceptiveenough. The way he blushes, the way he compliments you and tries to act as ifit’s nothing…

 His love is likely to start pure and perhaps might even remain genuine as hedescents into yandere-ism (which can be a rare occurrence when dealing with yanderes),but this doesn’t imply control over the darker impulses… Oh, he may tryat first, remind himself of his own family and how those thoughts are not healthy…

 Thingswill seem normal for a while, regardless if you become a couple or not. It’sfun to be with him, he is a nice guy… But meanwhile, Killua’s natural feelings ofcare and protectiveness are slowly gaining more obsessive undertones. Heworries about you being hurt. About Illumi finding out about you (whateverhappens then, he doubts it would be good). About his parents using you… And whilenormally Killua would indeed worry about such things, the problem hereis, again, his state of mind.

 The problemhere is the darkness consuming his heart.

 Thoughtsof (over) protectiveness return, along with others that are quite dark. As hisfeelings cross the lines towards obsession, his mind somehow follows. Many ofthose impulses will soon appear to be fairly logical and, as unpleasant as theycan be, a necessary evil in order to keep you safe. And with him.

 Becausein the end, that’s all that matters to Killua. And while a part of him mightrealize how unhealthy this is, he won’t be able to fight it, even if he tries.

 Once hereaches a certain point, nothing else matters. Whether you’re in a relationshipor not (with him or not), whether you notice the small signals ofobsession in his behaviour (like with Gon, you might feel bad for thinking heis becoming unsettling or even be hesitant to draw a line), there is little tobe done. In the end, if you don’t find some excuse to go away for a long, longtime (and if this might not work since Killua would have no issue with followingyou – once he falls in love, he falls hard), you’re all but already caged.

 He willfind a way to keep you with him. If he has to threaten your family, so be it.If he has to destroy your previous life, so be it. If he has to place a goddamncollar around your neck, so be it. On this point, let it be noted that Killuawon’t need a house to keep you in, preferring to… “Persuade” you to travel withhim and Alluka. It will be easy to “convince” you with some veiled threats towardsyour family or anyone you care about. It’s not something he likes to do, but ifit means keeping you with him… Once you realize you two are meant for eachother, it will be alright.

 If you’re hoping this means you’ll have a chance of escaping someday, you’re mistaken. Thereis a reason why Killua was picked to be the Zolcyk heir instead of Illumi and,in certain areas, he is as good as his brother. He has means of keeping youwith him, without needing to resort to a physical chain (though he won’t beagainst it, should you prove it necessary). Even when you think you have a chance,he will be there. His reactions may vary from treating your attempt like agame, as if you’re just some adorable little kitty, to being upset or evenangered. He loves you. He is just doing what is best for you.

You maycry. You may beg. You may point out how he’s hurting you and how this can’t becalled “love” anymore… But by this time, Killua will believe that you’re justnervous and doesn’t know any better. It isn’t just a matter of keeping yousafe: He knows everything about you, what you like, what you hate. He understandsyou better than anyone else, you are perfect for each other and he won’t letanyone hurt you.

 He justwishes you would understand this…

 But you will.You will have time… And he will do whatever he can in order to keep you safefrom anyone, including yourself. Even if you cry now, there will come a daywhen you’ll understand and realize how much he loves you. And that you actuallylove him as well. He knows you do.

 Those arethings Killua will be telling himself a lot. Even in the chance a part of himstill recognizes he is being cruel to you, he won’t be able to stop himself anymore,his feelings far too strong for him to fight against.

 It seemsthat he is more of a Zoldyck that he ever wished to be…

 Kurapika

Among the“main four”, Kurapika is easily one of the best when it comes down to keep hisfeelings hidden, for the most part. As such, if you don’t spend a long timewith him or aren’t incredibly perceptive, you might not notice when he startsto fall in love with you. Sadly, this also means you might have trouble seeinghim becoming a yandere towards you, while with some other characters, there mightbe at least some subtle signs…

 BecauseKurapika takes time allowing people to get close to him, the development of hisinterest and eventual change into yandere might take a while and you might not evenknow that he is in love with you when he takes some drastic action tokeep you with him. Even being already together will do little to prevent hislove from crossing a line (the most it will do will buy you a little extratime), but once it does, you’re in serious trouble.

 One ofthe “main roots” of this development (if we can use such terms) is in his desire to protect you and his trauma of losing his clan. He knows you can takecare of yourself, but the fear of seeing you hurt is still present (like withmost yanderes, seeing you seriously hurt might be what sets him off) and while,in any other scenario, he would find a way to deal with it healthily, this isn’tthe case here.

 In hismind, he needs to keep you safe, no matter what. He can’t bear to lose someonehe cares about again, let alone someone he loves.

 Asmentioned, you might not even know he was even in love with you until he callsyou over and confesses… Or better saying it, reveals how obsessed he is. And ifyou’re dating him already, what you’ll see when he “decides to take better careof you” is how twisted he can be. In a way or another, there is nothing you cando at this point. You just need to look in his eyes to know it… Even if you trybegging or fighting, Kurapika will merely look upset for a moment before makingsure you understand you won’t be leaving, you can’t change hismind and, most important, you can’t win against him.

 Please, don’tcry. It’s for your own good. He loves you, he won’t do anything to hurtyou! He is just doing this so no one will harm you, try to understand.

 Due tohis work, he might prefer to find a way to keep you with him rather thanleaving you in a house somewhere (and he has quite a few means to make sure youwon’t leave, trust me), to the point others will easily assume you’re eitherpartners or a real couple, working together. Those comments often make thecorners of Kurapika’s lips twitch in an almost smile (this pleases his greatly,because, in a way, he thinks this is not that much of a stretch. Why, in a way,it’s actually true, isn’t it?) while you always feel like you could puke as youwant to scream how he is keeping you against his will.

 Not that thiswould help. You could say that to the Zodiac, to Cheadle, hell, even to Leorio,Gon and Killua and still, somehow, Kurapika would find a way to twistthe situation and nothing would be done. And although he sincerely believes heloves you and is doing what is best, this doesn’t mean he won’t find a way topunish you if you test his patience too much. If you keep this up, he may haveto come up with a more drastic way to ensure you behave.

 Remember,this isn’t the Kurapika you know: This is someone lost to obsession.

 When you’re“working”, Kurapika keeps his “professional” stance, but you always notice hissmall glances, the way he brushes his hand against yours at times… He may evenkiss your cheek at times. To bystanders, those small gestures always seem caringand gentle. To you, they feel like being brushed with needles. They are remindersthat you’re his and for you to not try anything funny (even Kurapika’s intentionsare not like that… Well… Not completely).

Thingsdon’t get better when you’re alone.

 Whilemany yanderes cross the line way into sexual abuse, it’s hard to say if itwould be the case with Kurapika (well, any of the main four) or at what levelof obsession, he would need to be for that to happen (if it did, Kurapika would completelybelieve this is love, that he is merely showing you how much he loves you and helpingyou to settle in your new life together). However, even if he doesn’t everreach that point, it doesn’t mean things are that much better or that he leavesyou alone: He insists you sleep in the same bed as him, he frequently holds youclose… And those displays of affection are absolutely sickening for how wrongthey feel.

 You can begand cry as much as you want, it won’t change anything. It breaks his heart, butKurapika rationalizes how this is for your own good. Oh, dear, he knows this isnot ideal, but once he gets rid of the Spiders (and anyone who might be athreat to your relationship), everything will be better, he promises. Like Killua,Kurapika might retain enough sanity to be aware of how his actions are hurting you,but at the same time, he will be at that point when he can’t fight against it…Or merely doesn’t care anymore, telling himself this is just for now and,eventually, you’ll come to accept him and love him back.

 He willkeep you safe, no matter what.

 Leorio

When youthink of Leorio, the Leorio everyone knows, that kind man who cares so much forhis friends, whom you can trust to always help them and think about the man hebecomes when he turns into a yandere, it’s like comparing two people whosedifferences are frightening and whose similarities make the time you have tospend together all the more painful.

 It doesn’teven matter how you crossed paths, if he fell in love as soon as he met you or aftera while, if you two are in a relationship or not, though with the former, youmay have a few indications… Not that they will make much of a difference. First,because they will be very subtle. Leorio is not the type who’ll go into ajealous fit over nothing or be controlling. Second, because he’ll do his bestto apologize if he realizes he upset you or was irrational. Of course, norelationship is perfect, but in any case, you won’t have any reason to think youmight be dating/friends with a dangerous person.

 If onlyyou knew…

 And whileit’s obvious he’ll act soon if you’re not with him, don’t think that already beingin a relationship with him will prevent this, either.

 As Leorio’sfeelings increase in intensity (and not in a good way), he starts to struggleto control certain impulses, at least at first, before his mind starts torationalize them, to the point they feel completely natural. He can’t help but toworry about you, especially if you’re involved in a dangerous job or when he hasto leave you due to his work. Even if he knows you can take care of yourself (makeno mistake, he is aware of your strength), he can’t help it. No more than hecan help how much he wants to be with you always…

 And if you’renot together, the idea of you being with someone else starts to burn him… Yes,he thought it was alright, that as long as you’re happy, that’s all thatmatters, but… It’s not so. It’s not okay. His entire being seems to be on firewhen he thinks about it and he closes his fists so hard that his nails cut hispalms.

 Well,that’s how love it, right? He loves you and when you love someone, you want tobe with them and make sure they are happy. It’s only natural… And you’re such agreat person, so many cruel things could happen to you… But you don’t have toworry. You don’t have to ever be sad. He can take care of you! He loves you somuch, surely he can make you happy!

 And, asmentioned, even if you’re already in a relationship with him, it won’t matter inthe end. Feelings of this nature are not going to be hidden for long, not withLeorio. But by the time you’re forced to face them, it will be too late.

Don’tbother protesting: Leorio will make sure you understand you’re his. As much ashe wants your acceptance, it’s something that he knows he will have with time.

 Leoriomight be contrary to threatening your loved ones, but it doesn’t mean he won’tdo so, should he consider it necessary (after all, the pain of those we careabout is always efficient to ensure “cooperation”)… Of course, he actually has other resources available you wouldn’t expect before resorting to this. And hewill make sure you have no loopholes, no opportunities, no chances of ever leavinghim, so even when you’re out in public, you’re still under his control.

 Not thathe would ever allow you to go anywhere without him.

 As caringas Leorio can be, crying won’t help you. It will break his heart to see yourtears, no doubt, but he considers them a necessary evil. They’ll only make himhold you close, whispering sickening words of comfort and of how much he lovesyou. Arguing that this isn’t love will only make him twist your words. He doeslove you and someday you’ll understand this. Trying to fight back willupset him and also be of little result. Leorio might not seem the most powerfulman around, but you’ll be surprised if you try to use force (and depending onhow he uses against you as a means to control you, you might decide it’s notworth the risk).

 Escaping?Impossible.

 Perhaps,one of the worst things, is how Leorio somehow keeps being his usual selfenough for you to remember who he is (or you thought he was), what you likedabout him and the good times you had together. The way he acts as if this is anormal relationship doesn’t help it.

 But atthe same time, you can’t fool yourself. You don’t need to push much to see thatglint in his eyes, hinting to what he believes to be love (and might be, butcertainly not the healthy kind) and every time he holds you close, as gentle ashe is, you feel as if you’re being hurt. Even if you cry that he is abusingyou, Leorio will just ask how he’s abusing you. Come now, dear, has he ever hurtyou or forced himself upon you? All he is doing is to make sure you’re safe.

 As soonas you accept your new life, you’ll see how happy you can be! After all, you’lllearn to love him in time.

 It’s notlike you have much of a choice, now, is there?

[stardust-walker]

High Hopes

word count: 4014

Chapters: 1 2 3

Chapter 4

The weirdest thing is that a few months ago, Dove wouldn’t think that listening to kids running and playing would sound as sweet as it did.

A small chuckle escaped her as she sat on the steps leading into Dale’s RV. The horrified look on Glenn’s face as he stopped mid-greeting was just as amusing.

“Well. Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Dove squinted as she stood up and moved to stand next to him.

“When did they start tearing it apart,” Glenn frowned as he folded his arms in front of his chest.

Dove shrugged her shoulders, “’Bout a half an hour ago, I suppose.” She ran a hand through her dark hair as she turned her head slightly. Rick was finally awake again. Dove raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she greeted the newcomer. “Mornin’, Rick!”

“Go on! Tear it apart, you vultures.” Glenn scowled and shook his head. Dove couldn’t keep herself from letting out a snort of laughter.

“Generators need every drop of fuel they can get,” Dale stated matter-of-factly as he walked past them.

“He has a fair point. I’d rather have a shower than a fancy car,” Dove mumbled quietly.

“I thought I’d get to drive it another few days,” Glenn sighed.

Dove turned her head slightly as Rick responded, “Maybe we’ll get to steal another one someday.”

This new way of living sure was a hell of a thing when you had a sheriff encouraging grand theft auto.

Dove placed a comforting hand on Glenn’s shoulder, “Maybe an even nicer one! One that’s not going to send an alarm running for miles next time too.” Glenn just let out an annoyed sigh.

Glenn seemed to be resigned to the fact that his car was being torn apart by Jim. Dove patted his shoulder again as she watched him step forward to converse with the other man. Knowing him, he was still probably trying to talk about what a cool car it was to anyone who would listen.

A revving engine caught the attention of a few members of the camp as Shane pulled up. He announced, “Make sure to boil the water before use.”

Carol made her way over to Dove. “Too bad about Glenn’s car, huh?”

The response caught in Dove’s throat as a shrill scream erupted from the woods close by, followed by another voice screaming “Mom!!”

A panicked look was exchanged between the sisters for a moment and then they were both off. Carol screamed for Sophia and the relief was obvious on Dove’s face as the little girl broke through the trees with Carl hot on her heels.

Tiny arms wrapped themselves around her waist as Dove knelt quickly to survey her niece for any marks. “Are you alright, Soph? Nothing bit you?” Sophia shook her head quickly, only able to muster up a panicked whimper. Carol finally broke through the trees behind her and let out a relieved cry as Sophia released her aunt with a cry of, “Mommy!!”

Dove glanced around quickly before she pointed back towards camp. “Take them back now! I’m just gonna make sure everything’s alright!” Carol nodded her head and scooped Sophia up.

Lori, however, eyed her warily for a moment before the brunette disappeared into the tree line again.

As she broke through the trees she held back a hysterical laugh. They were just stood around the damn thing, beating it with sticks. So much for being evolved past a caveman brain.

Amy let out a disgusted groan as the walkers head was finally chopped off.

Dale muttered, “That’s the first one we’ve had out here.”

Jim replied, “They must be running out of food in the city.”

Dove looked over at Amy and Andrea. Both of the sisters were just looking on like a couple of deer in the headlights and she couldn’t blame them. She felt a little nauseous herself.

Branches snapped in the woods and all conversation stopped. Andrea put a protective arm around Amy and Dove took a slow step forward towards the men. Curiosity was a bitch of a thing, but she wanted to see what exactly was going to happen.

Her heart leapt into her throat and plummeted back to her stomach as Daryl Dixon came into view. Her eyes locked with Jim’s in a moment of panic before she quickly looked down at her feet. Honestly, she would rather have a walker run out of the woods right now than have to face the inevitable.

Daryl looked pissed already. Definitely a good sign for them. “That was my deer. Look at it! All gnawed on by this filthy, disease ridden, motherless, proxy bastard!”

Dale shook his head in disgust, “Now come on, son. That’s not helping anyone.”

Daryl’s temper flared up again as he stepped quickly over the walker, headed right for Dale. Dove took a quick step closer to Rick as she eyed the officer, trying to communicate that this was not a good sign. “What do you know about it, old man? Why don’t you take that stupid hat and go back to ‘on golden pond’?”

A surprised laugh, which was able to be quickly covered up as a cough escaped Dove’s lips. Glenn elbowed her slightly in the side and narrowed his eyes once he had her attention. The woman merely shrugged as she turned her attention back to the dead animal. Her stomach did begin to rumble at the thought of venison, or anything other than squirrels for that matter. A sigh left her lips as Shane stated, “I wouldn’t risk that.”

Daryl’s focus drifted to her, almost asking for another opinion. Dove shrugged her shoulders before she slipped her hands into her back pockets, “As good as it sounds, it’s too risky. We got kids to think about and what if they eat tainted meat? Get sick?”

Daryl sighed and shook his head, “Damn shame. I got a few squirrels though. ‘Bout a dozen or so. That’ll have to do.” The calmness in the air broke as the walker head at her feet started snapping its jaw again. Dove let out a startled shriek and stumbled back into Glenn as Daryl shot an arrow into it’s brain. “Gotta be the brain. Don’t ya’ know nothin?”

The focus of the group shifted again as Daryl stalked off towards camp. Dale looked startled, “I don’t see this going well.”

Shane removed the hat from his head as the group started to walk, Dove started to take longer strides to keep up with the two officers. She heard Shane mention Daryl’s name and spoke up.

“I think you guys really need to think about doing this,” Dove spoke, concern in her voice. “I think you oughta try and break it to him as gently as possible. People like him tend to react violently, plus he seems pretty hyped up from losing that deer.”

The two men kept moving, but Rick glanced over his shoulder at her. “What’d you do before this?”

“I was a therapist. Getting ready to work on my PhD. Why?”

She didn’t miss the look the two men exchanged and fell back a step. Glenn flinched as he heard Daryl yell for Merle. “This is gonna be a shit show,” Glenn sighed.

Dove shook her head as Shane stopped Daryl in his tracks. “Poor guy. I got money on Dixon, though. He’s a scrapper.” She whispered so only Glenn could hear. Glenn let out a nervous chuckle as the two of them came to a stop next to the Jeep.

“There was a problem in Atlanta.” Seriously, Dove thought, he’s going to drag it out like this? What a mess.

“He dead?” Dove gripped Glenn’s wrist a little tighter than she meant to as she took a step closer to him.

“We’re not sure.”

“He either is or he ain’t!” Dove couldn’t really blame him for being so angry. She could only imagine how mad she would be if it were Carol on that roof. She would probably be trying to kick the ass of anyone she could find.

“No easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it,” Rick stated as he finally took a step forward. What a time to play good cop, bad cop.

Rick introduced himself, only to be met with, “Rick Grimes, you got somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

“Your brother was a danger to us all. So I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal,” Rick finished. Damn, she had to admire how he got right to the point about it. “He’s still there.”

Daryl started pacing like a caged animal. “Hold on. Let me process this. You’re saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?” Daryl shouted. Dove could feel her pulse quickening as a million and one ways that she was trained to de-escalate someone this angry ran through her head. None of them seemed to make any sense right now under the heat from the burning Atlanta sun.

The next few seconds were a blur. Daryl yelled, Dove let out a startled yelp as the squirrels flew towards her, she stepped back closer to Glenn, and just like that, Daryl was on the ground. T-Dog stepped forward, shouting something about a knife. Dove took a few slow steps forward, eyes wide as saucers as she watched Shane bring him down in a chokehold after a few swings of a knife.

“Chokeholds illegal,” Daryl managed to choke out.

Shane sounded too comfortable with it for Dove’s liking. “Yeah, well, file a complaint.” Dove argued with herself internally as she watched Daryl keep struggling to be let go.

Rick knelt in front of the other two men, clearly trying to calm the situation down. “I’d like to have a calm discussion on this topic.”

Dove scowled as she squatted down between the two officers. “Not to tell you how to do your job, but it’s awful hard to have a calm discussion with a man whose air supply is being cut off,” she finished through gritted teeth.

 Rick glanced at her and nodded before he turned back to Daryl, “You think we can manage that?”

The two officers nodded at each other and Dove stood up quickly as Daryl finally got released. She watched for a moment, still in shock about what just happened, when she saw Daryl still trying to catch his breath as he pointed at Shane. Dove turned quickly and placed a hand on Shane’s arm. “Just back up, man. Rick’s got it. You don’t need to be bad cop right now,” she pushed him back gently before she walked past the other two men, joining Lori by the steps to the RV.

“You good,” the other woman asked, her eyes not leaving the scene in front of her.

“Yeah just adrenaline rush. I’m fine,” Dove nodded as she brushed her hair out of her eyes. She turned her head slightly and met Carol’s worried gaze through the window of the RV. Dove held her hand up and nodded her head.

“It’s not Rick’s fault,” T-Dog interjected and suddenly the focus was on him. “I had the key. I dropped it.”

Daryl snapped again, “You couldn’t pick it up?”

“Well, I dropped it in a drain.” Dove couldn’t help but roll her eyes at this. This just sounded worse and worse the more they tried to explain it to him. At least no one was dead yet.

Her heart sank as she folded her arms in front of her chest, her focus shifted with everyone else’s as the men moved slowly around camp. She knew that Daryl and his brother were close but, shit. She didn’t expect to see him cry for even a second. One of her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she looked down at her feet.

She wasn’t surprised when Daryl shouted. “Hell with all y’all. Just tell me where he is so’s I can go get em.”

What truly shocked her was Lori. The older woman spoke up from her spot by the door at this. “He’ll show you. Won’t you?” She almost insisted with just her words as she locked eyes with her husband.

Dove was torn between following Lori back into the RV or following after Rick as the conflict came to a close. She, instead, chose to check on Carol and Sophia. Her steps were quiet as she walked up the steps to the RV. Dove slid into the seat at the table opposite of her family and reached a hand out to stroke Sophia’s arm. “Hey, bug. You were real brave out there today,” Dove spoke softly as Sophia lifted her head from her mother’s arms.

Sophia sniffled and rubbed her eyes before she looked between the two sisters. “I was really scared,” the young girl whispered.

Dove smiled a little and nodded her head. “I was too, bug. But you did the right thing by runnin like that. Hell, I don’t think either of us knew you could run that fast!” Carol chuckled softly at this as she stroked the young girl’s hair.

“She’s right, Sophia. You kept yourself safe. That was the right thing to do.” Carol kissed the top of her daughter’s forehead before she whispered for her to do something that sounded a lot like ‘go check on Carl’.

Dove drummed her fingers on the table as her thoughts raced through her head. Carol’s voice finally pulled her out of her own head. “You want to go with them, don’t you.” Carol stated in a hushed voice.

Dove’s eyes shot up. Her hazel eyes widened a little bit as she felt color rush to her cheeks. “I…I was thinking about it.”

Carol clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I don’t want my sister out there dyin’ for someone like Merle Dixon.” Her voice didn’t raise above a whisper, though she didn’t sound pleased at all.

Dove rolled her eyes at this. “That’s not what I was thinking of!”

“Then what were you…”

Dove cut her older sister off as she reached out and took her hand, “What if that was me up there, huh? Or you? Would you want me to just leave you up there like that to die?” Dove hissed. “It’s the right thing to do, Carol. Merle or not, it’s the right thing to do.”

Carol’s eyes widened slightly as she took in her sister’s words and nodded her head slowly. “If that’s what you want to do, I can’t stop you. But I just want you to be careful. I don’t want to be explaining to Sophia why her aunt isn’t around anymore.”

A small smirk graced Dove’s face as she squeezed Carol’s hand gently. “Oh please. I’m always careful.”

It was Carol’s turn to roll her eyes as Dove rose from her seat, kissed her older sister on the top of her head, and descended the stairs out of the RV.

Dove looked around camp before spotting Daryl by the fire. She took a long deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth before trudging forward. “Hey, you alright?” Dumb question.

“What kinda stupid question is that,” Daryl snapped at her.

Dove raised both her hands in front of her, a tired expression on her face. “Right. Guess I deserved that, it was pretty fucking stupid huh.”

Daryl just stared at her for a moment. He had the type of eyes that made her uneasy sometimes; eyes that could stare right into your soul if you’d let them. “What do you want?”

Dove let out a heavy sigh as she watched Carol approach her laundry station out of the corner of her eye. She stood up a little straighter and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I wanna go with you and Rick. Try to bring back Merle. I figure the more people, the better. Plus, y’all might need someone to balance out all the testosterone in that car.”

Daryl stared at her again for a few seconds before scoffing at her. “Don’t need no one else out there, especially not you. Can you even shoot a gun?”

Dove grinded her teeth together as she nodded her head slowly. “Well, excuse me. I may not know how to shoot a gun but I am just as capable as Andrea and Jacqui and they go out into the city all the time! Give me a blunt object and I can take out any walker just as good as a gun, I bet.” Her hands were shaking as she unfolded her arms and shoved her hands in her pockets.

“Alright.” Daryl turned his attention from her.

Dove’s jaw almost dropped in shock as she stood still. “Excuse me?”

Daryl turned back to face her, eyes narrowed slightly. “You heard me, girl. You’re grown, you wanna go? Can’t stop ya. Just don’t expect to get your ass saved.”

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t,” a serene smile was on Dove’s face now.

Shane would definitely have to learn to hold his tongue if they were going to bring Merle back as he called Merle a “douchebag”.

Daryl pointed at the man, “Hey, you better watch what you say!”

Shane nodded his head all sincerely before uttering, “No no. Douchebag’s what I meant.”

Dove rolled her eyes and brought the palms of her hands up to rub her eyes, “Dear god what did I do to deserve this.”

Lori spoke up from her seat by what would be that night’s fire. “So what? You and Daryl, that’s your big plan?”

Carol eyed Dove for a moment before the group’s attention shifted to Glenn. “Oh come on!”

Rick spoke, “You know the way. You’ve been there before. In and out, no problem! You said so yourself.” He was right. Glenn wasn’t shy about telling everyone in the group how well he knew the city and he had dug his own grace.

“That’s just great. Now you’re gonna risk three men?” Shane scoffed.

T-Dog spoke up next, “Four.”

Daryl scoffed, “My day just gets better and better, don’t it?”

Dove rolled her eyes, “Might as well get this out of the way now and make it five.”

Dale glanced between them all and nodded his head. “That’s five.”

Shane shook his head and began to pace a little bit. “You’re putting every single one of us at risk. Just know that, Rick. C’mon. You saw that walker! It was here. It was in camp,” Shane lectured. “They come back, we need every able body we’ve got. We need em to protect camp.”

Rick nodded his head, “Sounds to me like what you need is more guns.”

Dove’s head was spinning. Sophia shuffled her feet as Dove walked over to them. She knelt in front of the girl, taking her hands in her as the others talked about the guns. “Now you listen to me, alright? I’m gonna be just fine! I promise. I always am. But I need you to promise me something too okay?”

Sophia nodded her head and listened intently. “I need you to look out for your mama until I get back, okay? Just make sure everything’s alright. Hold down the fort for me. Promise?” She released Sophia’s hands and held a pinky out to her.

Sophia locked her pinky with her aunt’s before she wrapped her arms around her neck in a hug. “Be safe.”

Dove kissed her niece on the forehead before standing up and brushing off her knees. “Be safe, Carol.” Dove hugged her sister tightly before she turned to see what was going on.

Dove lifted herself into the back of the van, her eyes were beginning to glaze over from boredom as she waited before she almost leapt out of her skin at the sound of a horn honking. From the driver’s seat, Glenn let out a startled shout as Daryl stepped on the horn again. “C’mon let’s go!”

Dove rubbed her temples and muttered to herself before placing a hand on the crowbar that she’d managed to sweet talk out of Jim. She would definitely have to make sure that she made it back now.

The young woman blew a kiss to her family as the door to the back of the van was slammed shut and they pulled away.

~

It was oddly silent on the way to the city. Dove positioned herself so she could see out the front windshield. “This is the first time I’ve left camp in the past two months.” She whispered to Glenn and Rick.

Rick turned his head, a sympathetic look on his face. “You might not want to look until we get there, then. Might be a bit of a shock. Trust me on that one.”

Dove took in the man’s words for a moment before she turned and faced the back of the van again.

Daryl finally spoke up for the first time since they started on the road. “He best be alright.”

T-Dog sighed. “The only thing that’s getting through that door is us. He’s fine.”

The van finally lurched to a stop and Glenn called back, “We walk from here.”

Dove groaned as she pulled herself to her feet and hopped out of the back of the van. “Oh shit, I’m getting old.” She mumbled to T-Dog as he hopped down next to her.

T-Dog shook his head at her. “You’re getting old? Just wait ‘til you hit 30.”

Dove laughed quietly as she took off down the train tracks after the rest of the group.

Rick paused as they stepped through a space in the gate that led from the tracks to the road. “Merle first or guns?”

Daryl snapped. “Merle! We ain’t even havin this conversation.”

Dove shook her head and motioned towards Daryl with her free hand, the other still tightly gripping the crowbar. “I’m with him on this. I mean a human life or ammo?”

Rick stared at both of them, clearly trying to keep his cool “We are having this conversation. You know the geography, it’s your call.” He turned to Glenn as the group began to walk.

“Merle’s closest. The guns would mean doubling back.” Glenn stated and Dove wasn’t sure if he was lying or not, but she was grateful for that nonetheless.

Her hazel eyes seemed to take in everything that had happened to Atlanta as they walked through the city. The city she had worked in and know so well was practically gone in a matter of weeks. It made her chest feel tight to see everything, but she knew she couldn’t stop moving.

She stepped lightly into the department store behind T-Dog and in front of Glenn as she went. She stopped, crowbar raised as a walker made it’s way through the aisles of the store. Daryl didn’t waste any time shooting the thing through the head.

Glenn moved forward and directed them to a staircase. It was a lot farther up than it looked, or maybe she was out of shape, but the steps were seeming to take their toll on her as they worked their way towards the roof.

The men reached the last landing as Dove rounded the corner just a few steps behind them. She took the last few steps slowly as she watched Daryl kick the door open after the chain was finally cut.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. She observed as she ran up the last few steps out onto the roof with the others. Merles Dixon was not a quiet man and he surely would’ve reacted to a door being kicked the fuck open.

Daryl’s screams for his brother turned into screams of panic. Dove’s heart dropped as she stepped out onto the roof behind Glenn and she saw it. A hand flew up to cover her mouth as she fought back the urge to vomit. Merle’s hand laid there on the ground next to a bloody hacksaw but Merle Dixon the man was gone.

-

@crossbowking​

[crapitskizaru]

For Everything. (X Drake x Hawkins)

Summary: Drake cannot bear with the past mistakes catching up to him anymore. He receives a Tarot reading from his one and only friend among the Beast Pirates. 

Warning: Wano setting so possible spoilers. And after catching up with most of the anime...I just had to do this. 

The small room was shrouded in darkness. Only a single source of light remained - the man observed as the trail of smoke curled upwards from the candle.

He was scared. The cold fear crawled underneath his skin and confused his senses. He tried to reach back into his past, to remember what led him to this miserable point. Not many memories were left to conjure up in order to answer the persisting questions.

A quiet voice in his head kept reminding him that the end draws near, that death lurks even in the shadowed corners of his room, waiting to pounce and take his life.

The man didn’t want to die just yet. Not one person would remember him fondly if he did - he needed more time to fix his mistakes. The main issue was, however, that for a single mistake in the past he had to spend years in the present, desperately trying to turn it all around.

His eyes landed on the open journal on his desk. If he died now… There was a chance someone might find his notes and read about the crimes and sins he regretted more than anything in the world. He could try to persuade his own self that he was used, manipulated, forced to kill. But it certainly didn’t persuade his aching heart.

Should he tell him? Tell him everything? But what if he turns on him, and Drake will be left with enemies on both sides of the conflict? That would serve no one.

He swiftly got up and started pacing across the room. The most disturbing thought was the one that kept telling him there was no right thing to do. Both the Marines and the forces of the Emperor were committing to the wrong ideas, their hatred for each other only adding fuel to the fire of the looming war.

How could everyone be so short-sighted? Serving vicious men in power with only their own interests in mind. But then again, Drake shouldn’t be the one to judge. Everyone else must have had their reasons to do it, just like he did.

His cover will be blown, sooner or later. And then he will be left on the utter mercy of the Beast Pirates, no longer of any use to the Marines.

Drake closed the journal. He had to tell him. There was no other choice. Like an enslaved animal in a cage, no matter which side he turned to, there was always the cold steel of bars in front of him. And so his heart led him to the only path left to take - towards one sole friend; a friend he was going to lose at the end of that same night.

Gripping the journal, he left his room. No explanation or reasoning came to his mind, but he kept going. If he stopped now, he knew he wouldn’t find the strength to try it again - and so, he kept going.

Already, the shadows of the night seeped through the windows of the corridor. The Land of Wano had rarely been at peace, but at that moment it seemed like the whole world was calm, preparing for slumber.

Drake stood before the door, wondering where to start the conversation. Should he confess everything right away? Or paint a whole picture first? He figured that a start with a knock on the door should be the best option.

Before he raised his hand, the door opened.

“How long are you going to stand here for?” Hawkins asked. “I almost started placing bets with myself. So far, it’s been at least five minutes.”

“You’ve seen me in your cards?”

“No. Your shadow was visible from under the door.”

“Oh.”

Drake sent him a quick glance. The flowing hair he never got to touch, the piercing eyes, the regal expression on his face - merely looking at him was becoming painful.

He tightened his grip on the journal. With all the sweat he was producing, it was more than possible that all of the ink will get washed away soon.

“Drake? Can I help you?”

“Hm? Oh right. Yes. Yes, you can. Please.”

Hawkins bowed his head. “Very well then. Come in.”

You will hate me before this night ends, Drake thought, entering the cabin.

It was a lot brighter than his own, he had to admit that. At least two dozen candles were lit, placed on every possible surface - the floor, the chest of drawers, the windowsill, and the huge desk in the middle of the room, covered with piles of documents. Drake wondered how it was possible that they still hadn’t caught on fire.

It felt cozy and comfortable, at least in comparison to his own dark, lifeless, austere excuse for a cabin.

“I’m guessing you want to know what the cards say.” Hawkins sat behind the desk and gestured for Drake to take the chair across him. “Took you long enough to finally ask. It’s not like I charge for it, you know that.”  

“Actually, I’m here for something else-”

“Sit down.”

Drake sat down. Annoying his friend needlessly before he even starts to confess would only make this harder. With a sigh, Drake slid his journal across the desk, unable to look Hawkins in the eye.

“What’s this?”

“A matter I came to you with. It’s…I figured it’d be easier for me to write it all, rather than say it out loud.”

“First, the cards.”

“But-”

“Draw three. Left hand.”

Drake sighed again and drew three cards from the deck. The very same deck that he’d seen in use so many times - when Hawkins used his power, the cards glowed in creepy blue and usually meant bad news for either the enemy or Hawkins himself. Drake wasn’t very fond of that deck of cards.

“The Hierophant. Reversed. The Hanged Man. And the Knight of Pentacles.”

“You don’t seem happy with that.”

“I’m rarely happy,” Hawkins murmured, frowning. “You carry a lot of guilt and shame. Your actions don’t correspond with your values, which causes you to be at constant war with yourself.”

An awkward silence took over.

“Is that it?” Drake asked after a while.

“No. The Hanged Man means you’re stuck in a situation you desperately want to get out of. Think of it as being locked in a cell. In order to escape this stagnancy, you either have to make a firm decision or try to make peace with yourself. Let the events unfold, and maybe the cell door will open unassisted.”

“So you’re saying… When I’m locked in prison, I should just wait long enough and the lock will unlatch.”

Hawkins sent him a tired stare. “No, that’s not it. I’m saying if you try to calm your inner conflicts or attempt to solve some of them, your path will appear on its own.”

“What if I’m unable to do that?”

“This card right here-,” Hawkins continued without an answer, patting a card with a depiction of a knight on a black horse. “- could mean your difficulty in expressing emotions. One of the reasons for that might be a problematic relationship with your father figure.” A short silence followed that statement. “The card also paints you as a reliable, patient, and loyal man. I don’t know about the loyal part…”

Drake felt the tips of his ears catch on fire - the heatwaves suddenly erupting throughout his whole body made him consider taking off his leather jacket, but he discarded that idea at once.

“…since you’re a former Rear Admiral turned pirate, but I’d say the rest is accurate.” Hawkins looked him in the eye. “You are reliable. You don’t back away when a fight turns out to be inevitable. I know I can count on you.”

It was at that exact moment when Drake started regretting his choice at confessing. How could he admit treason to his one and only friend? Under his heavy stare, Drake felt worse than he had for a long time.

“I think you overestimate me,” he whispered.

“I think you underestimate yourself, Drake. And downgrade your morals.”

Drake shifted uncontrollably in his seat, making it screech. “You don’t know a thing about my morals.”

Hawkins smirked and quickly shuffled the cards. “Draw one. Right hand.”

“Listen, I didn’t come here for a lecture.” Drake stood up with haste, suddenly filled with determination. “I don’t fully…grasp the idea behind those cards, or the power you actually have over them. But I’m almost sure those pieces of paper can’t help me. At this point, I have no idea what can. I will be going now. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He reached for the journal, but Hawkins grabbed it first. His red eyes were calm but cold; tiny candle flames reflected in them, giving him an unearthly look.

“You seek help. You came to me, and since cards are my biggest asset, I’m doing my best to guide you. But it won’t bear any results without cooperation from your side.”

Drake’s hands gripped the back of the chair, knuckles turning white from strain. The man locked his eyes on one of the candles until his vision blurred, and the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding released slowly.

“I’m not judging you, Drake. I would be a fool and a hypocrite if I did. We all make terrible mistakes. Let me help you fix yours. Now, in the present,” Hawkins paused. “Draw a card.”

He couldn’t back out now. He couldn’t lie to his friend anymore, not after what he’d just heard. This was the only way. Drake drew a card from the very top of the deck. Immediately after his touch, it started glowing in blue.

Claiming back his previous seat, Drake stared at his colleague, trying to imprint his majestic features in his mind. After all, he wasn’t sure whether he’ll see those flowing hair ever again. Or that tattooed cross on his neck. He had always been fond of it.

The blue glimmer accentuated the sharp lines of his face, now furrowed in silent focus.

“I’ll be honest, you’re starting to freak me out a bit,” Drake said.  

“You drew The Lovers. Reversed.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad.”

Hawkins lifted his gaze and started absent-mindedly fiddling with one of the flames. His fingers caressed them as if they radiated no heat, and then, with one swift movement, he extinguished the light.

Drake watched a smudge of smoke travel all the way towards the ceiling.

“You need to accept that your present is the result of the choices that you’ve made a long time ago. Embrace your past. Only then you will be able to move forward.” Hawkins paused as if considering whether he should continue or not. “It’s also a rather strong indicator of you harboring feelings for your colleague. What’s most likely to be stopping you from engaging is fear. But don’t worry-”

Drake raised an eyebrow. Who in their right mind wouldn’t worry after all this information?

“- it’s not an unrequited love.”

Silence veiled the room once more, but Drake had no interest in disturbing it. Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure what to say.

Eventually, after most of the flames had died down and the wax stiffened on the candles, he stirred. He almost forgot about the true reason he came there in the first place - it was high time to get it over with.

“You may count on me during our battles, but I know you don’t fully trust me. It could be your cards hinting or solely your intuition…I want you to know you’re right for being wary of me. I came here to confess. And to apologize, if you’ll allow it. Everything is in the journal.”

Hawkins crossed his hands on his chest, leaning back.

“Everything? You wrote down your mistakes, both past and present?”

“Yes. My current…” Drake wavered, then gathered his composure. “- situation as well. It will most likely come to light anyway, but I’d rather confess it myself.”

“Good,” Hawkins replied nonchalantly, lifting up the journal. “I need you to watch closely now.”

So Drake watched. First, the man weighted the notebook in his hand, as if measuring its worth. And then he directed it over one of the flames, causing it to crackle and catch on fire.

“Wait, what are you doing? I want you to read it all. I need you to know.” Drake sat up straight, grasping the edge of the desk. “I can’t lie to you.”

“Then don’t,” Hawkins muttered, fascinated with the bright flame engulfing the papers in his hold. When it almost reached his fingers, he threw it on the desk. “Start again with me.”

The fire slowly turned the white pages dark and withered. As only ashes remained, Drake lifted his gaze.

“The desk could have caught on fire as well, did you take that into consideration?”

“I’m sure you would have come up with something.”

Drake wasn’t sure what to say. A simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t suffice in this case. So instead, he reached out across the desk and touched Hawkins’ fingers with the tips of his own in silent gratitude. For everything.

[evermorehaikyuu]

~[Congratulations]~

Song: Congratulations from the Hamilton soundtrack

Word Count: 1799

Warnings: Cheating

A/N: I wanted angst. This has been in my drafts for the longest time and then inspiration flashed out of nowhere. For some reason, I was reminded of my own sister, that’s probably why I wrote this. Watch me do Kuguri next or something. 

~

"The charge against me was a connection with one Oikawa Tooru for purposes of improper speculation. My real crime was an amorous connection to his wife for a considerable time with his knowing consent. I had fluent meetings with her, most of them at my own house. Mrs. Tsukishima, with our children, being absent on a visit to her father…"

Tsukishima Kei was staring at the pamphlet he had written. Why had he done this? Why was he so stupid as to believe that with a few words everything would be normal again? Everything he had done, everything he had worked for all came down to a single option: yes or no. And he didn’t say no.

All he could do was stay in his office in shame, knowing that once his wife came back from her respite, he would not bear to live any longer. Just to see the pain in her eyes--

The door to his office slammed open. There she was, the sister of the wife he held near and dear to his heart even though he broke hers, Y/N L/N. 

“Y/N.” Tsukishima stood up to walk over to her and take her hand, but Y/N ripped her hand out of his grip. “Tsukishima. Congratulations.” 

If he was scared of his wife’s reaction, he was even more terrified of Y/N’s ripostes. An intelligent woman with fidelity to her younger sisters and her sisters’ partners and the richest man in the city as her father, she was a force to be reckoned with. The first thought that came to his head was, I messed up. Horribly. 

Y/N had a smile on her face, but it wasn’t the smile that you would give a friend. It was the smile that held so much rage behind it, it would be a miracle if she didn’t explode. “You have created a new kind of stupid, a damage you can never undo kind of stupid, an ‘open all the cages in the zoo’ kind of stupid.” She turned around to look at him, grinning maniacally before letting out a laugh that was terrifying to hear. “‘Truly, you didn’t think this through?’ kind of stupid.” 

All he could do was not stare at her for fear that if he dared look into her eyes, she’d be Medusa and turn him into stone. Tsukishima looked down at the floor, a sheet of sweat starting to form on his forehead. He may have been taller, but at that point, he felt like the underdog, the shorter person.

Y/N strode over to him and stayed a foot away from him, crossing her arms. Usually, someone crossing their arms meant that they were taking a defensive stance. Not Y/N. It seemed as if she was taking an offense. “Let’s review.” She closed her eyes and put her hand on her forehead. “You took a rumor, a few, maybe two people knew and refuted an affair of which no one has accused you.”

The pamphlet was in Y/N’s sight and range, making her fire up and put more venom behind her words as she grabbed the object that destroyed Tsukishima completely. She shoved it into his arms and spit, “I begged you to take a break, you refused to.” 

Her maniacal expression was back as she extended her arms as if asking for a hug. Tsukishima stared at the pamphlet in his hands before looking at her face for any contrition. There was none. She was more loyal to her sister than anyone else. “So scared of what your enemy will do to you.” She jammed her finger in his chest, making him take a step back. “But you’re the only enemy you ever seem to lose to.”

She was right. Tsukishima had always found a new enemy, a new rival to step on to get to the highest point in his life but there was always one enemy that he couldn’t defeat: himself. Y/N was standing by the window, looking outside as if waiting for someone or something. “You know why Kageyama can do what he wants?” She ripped the curtains closed and whipped around to glare at him. “He doesn’t dignify schoolyard taunts with a response!” 

Kageyama was not the smartest man in the universe, according to Tsukishima. But he did know how to handle taunts and that was by ignoring them. Meanwhile, Tsukishima went through a whole process in order to ruin the person who dared sneer at him. It was exhausting and yet he never stopped.

Y/N laughed at his facial expression and walked behind him, staring at the back of his head. “So yeah, congratulations!”

Tsukishima’s head hung again as he tried to think of a reason why he had an affair. “Y/N…”

She cut him off again, determined to ruin him. “You’ve redefined your legacy! Congratulations!”

That’s when he snapped. He worked every single day and night to perfect his legacy to pass on to his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As intimidated as he was by Y/N, there was no way he would let her say something bad about something he had tried to do all of his life and destroyed people just to get it. He whipped around and snarled, “It was an act of political sacrifice!” 

The look in Y/N’s eyes made him falter. He had not expected for this to happen, she had always seemed so tough but right now, her armor was down. “Sacrifice?” No, it wasn’t down. Something had happened to her and Tsukishima was careless enough to start her down that path.

Y/N slowly walked over to his desk and ran her finger along the table. “I languished in a loveless marriage in London, I lived only to read your letters.”

That came as a shock to him. Why would she marry someone she didn’t love? Then it clicked. She loved her sister more than anything and would do anything to keep her happy, something Tsukishima himself couldn’t do at all. “I look at you and think, ‘God, what have we done with our lives and what did it get us?’” 

Oh. Tsukishima hesitated as the realization sank in. Y/N had been in love with him. She had been in love with him and yet, even then, she had decided to do something for her sister that she could never unravel. “That doesn’t wipe the tears or the years away but I’m back in the city and I’m here to stay.” 

She got closer to him, looking up at him with a tender look in her eyes. If he hadn’t known better, Y/N would’ve kissed him. “You know what I’m here to do?”

“Y/N…” He tried to reach for her hand for the second time, but she strode backwards from him, glowering at him.

“I’m not here for you.” That’s what pained Tsukishima more than anything. Y/N had always been there for him. The letters they exchanged always had some sort of an inside joke or the start of a discussion and he thought that she would always be there for him, no matter what. Tsukishima had forgotten that her loyalty lay more with her family than for him.

Y/N turned to look at him, a new spark in her eyes. “I know my sister like I know my own mind, you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. And a million years ago, she said to me--” Y/N hugged herself, as if to give herself the comfort no one had ever given her. “‘This one’s mine.’ So I stood by.” She rose to her full height again, anger laced in her words. “Do you know why?!”

Tsukishima had messed up horribly and he knew it. Now, as he faced a furious older sister, he tried to go back to the time where he could’ve said no. It was his fault. Every single time he hurt Y/N’s little sister, it wasn’t because of her or because of politics, it was because of him.

Y/N grabbed his wrist roughly, making him stop in his tracks. With tears in her eyes, she snapped, “I love my sister more than anything in this life! I will choose her happiness over mine every time! S/N is the best thing in this life!” Her fingernails were digging into his skin, hurting him. The physical pain was so much better than the emotional pain S/N was going through, he decided. He deserved it. “So never lose sight of the fact that you have been blessed with the best wife!”

She let go of him and he stared at her. What would’ve been different if Tsukishima had married Y/N instead of S/N? He reacted too slow and Y/N had grabbed his collar with both hands. Her tears were running freely down her face and they were not of sadness. They were of desperation, of guilt, but most of all, indignation. “Congratulations!” 

Tsukishima had pulled himself away from her in a panic and his back hit the wall. Y/N didn’t go after him. “For the rest of your life, every sacrifice you make is for my sister, give her the best life!” She walked towards the door and looked at his petrified figure. “Congratulations!” She slammed the door shut on her way out.

What have I done? If Y/N was that pissed off with him, he couldn’t imagine the hurt in S/N’s eyes. It all hurt him more than he thought and he was clutching his chest as he slowly fell onto his knees. Panic started attacking him like bullets at the thought of confrontation. His eyes welled up with tears as he started gasping for air. 

The door opened and he glanced at the person opening the door. It was his son. “Dad?”

Shit. If his son was here, that meant--

“Aito? Where are you? There you ar--” S/N, the wife he had promised to take care of for the rest of his life, the wife he had cared deeply for, the wife whose heart he had broken, saw him on the floor. If he was panicking before, hysteria was rising up as he saw her.

S/N only looked at him before saying, “Aito. Go play with your sister.” Aito left and S/N stared at the man she had previously loved. With coldness in her voice, she said, “This was a mistake. We were a mistake.”

She closed the door and somehow, that hurt more than Y/N slamming the door shut. Tsukishima let his tears fall, regretting everything.

He couldn’t fix it. He swore to love her and yet he couldn’t do that.

Everything was cracking.

[stilesssolo]

16 for kisses prompt!

Lol I’ve been considering writing this for wtwta forever 

16.  Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing

There’s really no point, Dany thinks, to having Jon still come in for sponsorship meetings now that he spends about eighty percent of his time at her apartment. She’s not exactly mad about getting to see him more during the day, but there is a definitive downside-- having him around is distracting.

Dany chews on her lip as she scrolls through emails, Jon typing out a post on his phone for Margaery’s new marketing campaign she’d looped him into. Her office is comfortably quiet, the only sound the clicking of her nails against her desktop. She’s trying to stay focused, but it’s very hard with her boyfriend sitting so close to her.

All those fantasies and daydreams from months ago-- well, they’re even more distracting now that she knows what the real thing is like.

She sneaks a glance over at Jon, the way his brows are pinched together as he focuses on whatever he’s writing. She exhales slowly, letting her eyes skate over him, her heart thumping at how bloody handsome he looks, without even trying.

It’s infuriating, really.

Dany turns back to her email, determined to focus while he finishes his posts. She wants to be able to leave on the earlier side today, and that’s only a possibility if she finishes up all her work first. She reads over what Loras had just sent her for the third time, determined to actually comprehend it this time.

Somehow, she’s successful in tuning Jon out this time, whipping through her emails, firing back responses while he’s occupied with his own work. Maybe she really will get to go home early today. 

“Dany,” she hears, but she holds up a manicured finger to silence Jon, trying to finish typing out her email before she’s distracted by him again and loses her train of thought. He waits, patiently, while she types.

Until she hears the distinctive sound of something hitting her carpeted floor. 

Dany’s eyes flick over to Jon, whose phone is off and on her desk, unlike her pen jar-- its contents are scattered all over the floor. 

“Jon,” she says, eyes going back to her computer. “Don’t distract me.” 

“You’re ignorin’ me,” he teases, pushing at her stack of her post-it notes until it too falls to the ground. 

“And you’re acting like one of my cats,” she says, arching her eyebrow, gaze still fixed on her screen. 

“I thought you liked it when I cleared off your desk?” he says, standing and walking until he’s behind her, arms caging her in, his mouth right by her ear. She rolls her eyes, though she can’t help herself from leaning back into his touch. 

“I should have never told you about that,” she responds primly. Truly, confessing the details of her sex dream to Jon may have been a bit of an oversight on her part. Especially the way he’d swept everything off it before laying her down on the cool glass surface.

“C’mon, Dany,” he murmurs, breath warm against her neck. A shiver races down her spine, her belly filling with heat just like it did all those months ago from Jon’s imagined touch. 

Gods, she’s terrible at resisting him. 

She turns in his arms, and the glint in his gorgeous eyes is victorious as he leans down, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss. 

“When I get home late because of this, I want you to know it’s entirely your fault,” she whispers into his mouth, but Jon just laughs, lifting her up, shoving the rest of her things off her desk so he can lower her down onto it, stepping into the space between her spread legs. 

“Gods, I’m so grateful you finally got blinds for your windows,” he says, kissing her again hungrily. 

“Just for you,” she tells him, and Jon groans as he coaxes her lips open, tongue sliding against hers in a way that makes her toes curl, fingers fisting in his shirt. 

Yes, she supposes, working late will be worth it for this. 

prompt list

[artificialqueens]

White Noise (What an Awful Sound) Ch.2 (Crystal/Gigi) - Meta

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter! I’ve been having a lot of fun writing it. Please leave any feedback/opinions/suggests you have, I love reading what people think about my work! :)

“Gigi, breakfast is ready!” The sound of her mother’s voice woke Gigi up. She rolled over to check the time on her phone, 9 am. Ugh, who the hell wakes up this early on a Sunday? Her parents must really be laying into the new “suburban” lifestyle. Breakfast together early every morning, family dinners. Oh maybe they’ll even have movie night! Gigi ignored all the texts she’d received from her friends back home while she was asleep, rolling herself out of bed and walking to the bathroom. She rummaged around in the box labeled “Gigi’s Toiletries” in her mom’s beautiful cursive. Pulling out her face wash and moisturizer before turning to the sink where her toothbrush rested from the night before.

Once back in her room Gigi picked out an outfit for the day. Scanning through the clothes she’d already put away in her closet, she decided on a long, pale green skirt that had a small slit revealing some of her left leg and just a cropped white shirt. Gigi gave herself a quick once over before rushing downstairs.

“My god, would you look at that. Sleeping Beauty has finally joined the rest of the living.” Gigi’s dad said. He was sitting at their dining table sipping coffee out of a mug and scrolling on his phone. Gigi was willing to bet all of her savings he was looking at Facebook. These damn 40’s somethings, always on their goddamn phones. Just shameful.

“There’s so evidence to prove I’m not sleep walking right now.’’ She said, taking a seat next to her father.

“You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and got dressed.” Gigi’s mother replied, poking her head out of the kitchen.

“Right…so what’s for breakfast?” She eyed her father’s plate but he had already eaten what was on it.

“Cereal for you since you decided to take so long.”

“Paul stop it,” Her mom hit his arm playfully before putting a plate of waffles in front of Gigi, “apparently, your father’s version of unpacking the kitchen is only taking out the waffle iron.”

“Hate to say it but I’m not surprised.” Gigi said.

“I am shocked and appalled by how little you two think of me, really. Just wow.” He replied, feigning hurt. Gigi’s dad stood from the table, taking his plate into the kitchen and placing it in the sink. He whispered a small ‘thank you’ before pulling Gigi’s mom in for a kiss. The teen just ignored her parents, public displays of affection were normal in their house. Gigi had a theory that her father was so affectionate to make up for how much time he spent at work back in LA, always hugging, kissing, or holding her mother’s hand just to let her know he’s still there.

“Anyway, Gigi honey, your father and I need to go to the store and get some things for the house. Do you want to come with us?” Gigi just shook her head, she could use this time to unpack her room some more. “Okay, well we should be home before 4. Please don’t forget, we’re going over to have dinner with the Methyd’s at 5.”

“I will be ready, promise.”

Her parents made their way out the front door, her mom yelling something about wearing a jacket if she left the house. Please, like Gigi was gonna leave the house. Where would she go? To hang out with all her friends here in Missouri? No Gigi was going to go back upstairs and unpack her room. She hated living out of boxes, even if it had only been a day. Back home she waited until the very last second to pack up all her things. Nicky, her best friend, had told her to ‘stop stalling and pack your shit already’ to which Gigi argued that she hadn’t been. Now she was willing to admit Nicky had been right. Just because she refused to throw some random crap she’d had all her life into a box didn’t change the fact that the ‘For Sale’ sign outside her house was real. But now Gigi was ready to settle into her new room.

About an hour later Gigi had made good progress on her room. She’d just finished organizing her books when she heard a crash followed by a lot of expletives that she was glad her parents weren’t around to hear. Gigi walked over to her window, trying to see what was going on. She chuckled to herself as she watched Crystal struggle with an easel on her porch. “Oh my god she’s losing a fight to a fucking easel.” Gigi said, slipping on a pair of white sandals before running downstairs and out the front door. She made her away across the street, still smiling at the sight.

“Want some help?” She asked, finally reaching the other girl.

“Jesus, fuck. You were not supposed to see this.” Crystal laughed. She ran a hand through her curls before looking up at Gigi, a fake pout painted across her face. She is way too adorable for her own good, holy shit.

“Well, too bad.” Gigi said. She bent over and started picking all the art supplies that, she guessed, had been knocked over during the struggle.

“I can’t get it to stand up. I don’t know what’s wrong, it was fine up in my room.” Crystal sighed, giving up and letting it drop to the floor. Gigi nodded.

“Okay, well how many times did you let it do that?” She joked.

“I-I may have dropped it three times while dragging it down the stairs, yeah.”

“I think I may know what your problem is.” She said.

“Wow, you know I am so glad Missouri has someone of your intelligence level living in it now. If it wasn’t for you I would still be fighting for my life against that thing.” Crystal pointed in disgust towards where the easel lay on the porch. Gigi just laughed in response. A silence fell over the girls. To Gigi’s surprise, for one of the only few times in her life, it wasn’t an awkward silence. Crystal wasn’t expecting a response from her, instead she turned her attention to focus on organizing her paints.

“Uh, okay, I, um, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out today?” Gigi shifted in her spot, running a hand awkwardly through her hair. Crystal raised her eyebrows and smiled.

“Actually, I’m just not entirely sure I can handle a full day with you,” Crystal said. Gigi’s eyebrows furrowed, “I mean you just have such an overpowering personality.”

“Right, yeah, I’ve heard that about myself many times.” Gigi nodded in relief.  Just as she finished talking Crystal phone vibrated, she pulled it out of her back pocket to check the notification.

“Well Ms. Gigi Goode, you’re in luck. My friend Lux just asked me to go thrifting with her. Wanna come?” Crystal stood up and walked closer to Gigi. She bit her lip while waiting for the brunette’s response.

“Oh um, yeah sure. I’d love to.” Gigi said. In that moment she was positive she would’ve said yes no matter what Crystal invited her to.

Crystal ran inside to grab the keys to her car and say bye to her mom before dashing back to Gigi and grabbing her hand, “Okay let’s go.” She pulled Gigi toward her car, her skin burning where they’d made contact. Crystal’s car was very old and a horrendous mustard color but she loved it because it got her away from her parents. She was the only one in her friend group with a car, which meant all her friends loved it too. Gigi had to admit, Crystal was not a very good driver. She was always just a little bit too far over the speed limit for comfort and drove with her left leg up on the seat. They drove in silence, well Gigi was silent. Crystal couldn’t help but sing along to every song that came on as they made their way in town to the thrift store. Crystal’s taste in music was definitely different from Gigi’s, playing songs from King Princess, Cage the Elephant, and Hozier, whereas Gigi was more of a pop girl. She basically played Dua Lipa on repeat 24/7. Sitting so close to Crystal while Cherry Wine played throughout the car made Gigi feel overwhelmed, she tried to slow her breath as she stared down at where their hands both rested on the console. She resisted the urge to intertwine their fingers together, missing the feeling from earlier. She studied the other girl’s fingers, the way they dance ever so slightly to the music, the chipped purple nail polish she wore. She had rings on almost all of her fingers.

“You okay?” Crystal asked, glancing at Gigi out of the corner of her eye. She looked like she was going to be sick. But as soon as Crystal spoke Gigi snapped out of it, smiling and peeling her eyes away from their hands to look up at Crystal.

“Yeah, just uh- never mind.” Gigi stopped herself from saying something stupid. She felt foolish, she hadn’t even known this girl for 24 hours and she already had the urge to profess her love to her. She didn’t even know if Crystal was gay. Well, actually that’s not true, she listened to King Princess and Lana Del Rey. The girl was definitely some flavor of gay. Plus nobody that dressed like that was straight.

“What? No, tell me!” Crystal pouted.

“It’s nothing. Just your music makes me feel like I’m in a coming-of-age movie or something.” Gigi said. She tried to fight off the blush creeping across her cheeks. Crystal just laughed, making Gigi regret she said it.

“I like to listen to this kind of music when alone or like painting. It makes me feel calm and inspired. Or like I’m gonna be the next great sapphic artist,” Well, shit, there it was. The confirmation Gigi needed to insure her gaydar wasn’t completely broken. She swallowed hard, not wanting to show any reaction. “I just need to find my muse.” Now it was Crystal who was stealing glances at their hands, moving her hand just close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from Gigi’s. Missing that same heat when she reluctantly pulled her hand away so she could pull into a parking spot.

The girls made their way into the small shop that was filled with very loud clothes. The way Crystal dressed suddenly all made sense. There were only three other people in the shop, they were all standing together loudly talking about how horrendous the huge bubble gum pink dress in front of them was.

“Oh thank fuck, finally. Crystal you have to try this on!” One of them said, grabbing the dress off the rack and running up to Crystal. She stopped and gave Gigi a confused, but welcoming look. The girl looked so much like a fairy, Gigi had to suppress the urge to ask her how Tinker Bell was.

“Hi, I’m Daya.” Another girl, the tallest in the group, came up to them and put her hand out for Gigi to shake.

“Gigi,” She said, taking her hand. Gigi couldn’t help but notice how pretty they all were. What the hell is in the Missouri water?

“That’s Lux,” Crystal said pointing to the small blonde who was being swallowed by all the fabric of the dress she was holding, “and that’s Daegan.” Crystal pointed to the girl who was standing next to Daya.

“I really like your hair.” Gigi said, looking at Daegan’s bright pink hair. She wished she could pull off a color like that but alas she was destined to have boring brown hair for the rest of her life.

“Oh, my god thank you.” Daegan said, “I like her, Crystal can we keep her?” She made puppy dog eyes toward the girl who just laughed.

“Excuse me, hello?!” Lux huffed from under the dress, “Can we get back to Crys trying this on please.” She whined.

“Holy shit, yeah babe you have to try it on.” Daya said pushing past Gigi and taking the dress from Lux. Gigi felt her heart drop into her stomach. Babe? Crystal had a girlfriend? Not just that but a fucking hot girlfriend? Ugh the homophobia of it all. Gigi just walked over to the nearest rack and started looking through all the clothes, trying to ignore the giggles coming from Crystal as Daya pushed her into a dressing room.

A few minutes later Crystal emerged from the dressing room, pulling the thick velvet curtain back dramatically. She walked confidently out into the middle of the store and spun around for all her friends to see.

“You’ve never looked better.” Daegan said as she pulled her phone out to take a video of Crystal dancing around like an idiot. Crystal curtsied and let out a ‘thank you’ in a horrible British accent.

“I think we found your prom dress!” Lux added jumping up and down like a little kid. Crystal made a disgusted face.

“I’m not going to prom, and even if I was, I would never wear a dress.” She put a finger in her mouth and pretended to throw up.

“Ugh not this again. Crystal Elizabeth Methyd you’re going to prom, you have to,” Daya crossed her arms and stared sternly at Crystal for a few seconds before giving up and turning to Gigi, “Tell her she has to go to prom.”

Gigi looked between the girls confused. What kind of power did they think she had over Crystal? They’d just met, you couldn’t even classify them as friends yet. Shouldn’t Daya be the one to convince Crystal, she’s the one that’s her girlfriend here not Gigi. “I-I’ve never been to prom before but I’m sure it’s really fun. My mom says everyone should go to at least one of their proms.”

Crystal rolled her eyes, “Your mom sounds like mine.” Why couldn’t her friends just leave it alone? She already told them a million times she wasn’t going, although the thought of seeing Gigi in a prom dress did intrigue her. Crystal turned around and walked back into the dressing room.

The girls stayed in the shop for a couple of hours, trying on ugly hats and way too big sunglasses, before Lux declared that they had to leave because she was hungry. Crystal bought three button up shirts, that Daegan said looked something her dad would wear, and a bright turquoise and pink windbreaker that Gigi’s mom definitely would have owned in the 90’s.

They all climbed into Crystal’s car, Daegan complaining that making her sit in the back was transphobia. Crystal just ignored her and opened the passenger door for Gigi. She felt awkward in the front, shouldn’t Daya be sitting here so they could hold hands or something? Gigi ignored her thoughts, enjoying the way Crystal’s perfume smelled.

Being in the car with Crystal’s friends was very different than being with just Crystal. Daegan immediately stole the AUX to play Megan Thee Stallion, Doja Cat, and Nicki Minaj while Lux complained that she wanted to listen to Grimes. Crystal just ignored them trying to focus on driving with all the yelling going on around her.

They had finally calmed down, Lux accepting that there was no chance in hell Daegan was changing the music for her, until the question of where to eat came up. Daya voted for Taco Bell while Daegan complained that they had Taco Bell last time. Lux suggested Chick Fil A before being shut down by Crystal, reminding her that they no longer supported the restaurant because of their anti-lgbtq beliefs. Lux rolled her eyes while Daegan joked that the only reason she ate there was because their hatred for her existence made it fun.

“What about pizza?” Gigi offered. Before anyone could protest Crystal said yes, giving everyone in the back seat a stern look. They all murmured reluctant okay’s before changing the subject to gossip about someone from school.

They finally pulled into a small pizza place with picnic tables scattered out front and a burnt out sign that read ‘The Big Slice’. Daya and Lux grabbed a picnic table while Crystal and Daegan went in to order, Gigi opted to stay outside and wait for them to come back.

It was kind of awkward without Crystal there and Gigi found herself racking her brain for something to say. The other girls hadn’t said anything since they sat down either, instead staring at their phones.

“Uh, so uh Daya how long have y-you and Crystal been dating?” Gigi asked, nervously looking between her and Lux.

Daya choked back a laugh, “What? Crys and I aren’t dating. Ew that would be like dating my sister.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I-I just heard you call her babe and assumed.” She couldn’t help but feel relieved, hoping her face didn’t show it. Lux busted out laughing at the idea of Crystal and Daya together and couldn’t stop.

“I call everyone babe, don’t worry.” Daya assured her. Gigi swallowed, oh god could she tell that Gigi liked Crystal. She thought she had been discreet when she looked at her but apparently not.

“Oh I’m no-” She started to protest.

“What’s so funny?” Daegen asked as she and Crystal made their way to the table. She sat in between Daya and Lux while Crystal planted herself right next to Gigi.

“S-she,” Lux tried to get out, pointing at Gigi, “she thought you two were dating.” Daegen joined in and after a couple of seconds Daya found herself laughing too. Gigi tried to laugh but it just came out as an awkward chuckle. The only one who wasn’t laughing was Crystal. She wore a horrified expression, her eyes bouncing between Gigi and Daya. “Why, why, uh um why would you think that?” Crystal’s eyebrows furrowed as she turned attention completely to Gigi. But she just shrugged and said it didn’t matter.

The conversation was forgotten as soon as the waitress brought out the pizza and everyone was too busy stuffing their faces to talk about how bad of a couple Crystal and Daya would make.

As time passed it became easier for Gigi to be around Crystal’s friends, she actually enjoyed how loud they all were. With everyone else fighting to talk over each other no one really noticed Gigi’s lack of input. Thank god, she used to hate how her friends back home would always try to pull her into the conversation. Why couldn’t they understand if she had something to say she would goddamn say it.

“Oh shit. It’s almost 4. My parents are gonna be home soon and I promised I would be there to get ready for tonight.” Gigi said looking down at her phone. She started to stand up from the table.

“Oh okay, I’ll uh drive you home.” Crystal said, standing up too.

“You don’t have to, I can just walk or uh call a lyft or something.” Gigi said, secretly hoping Crystal would insist.

“Excuse me, what about us?” Lux whined.

“Also what’s tonight?” Daya asked.

“Huh? Oh Gigi and her parents are coming over for dinner.” Crystal mumbled, knowing there was bound to be teasing from her friends. They all raised their eyebrows but before any of them could say anything inappropriate Crystal pushed Gigi toward her car. Crystal yelled at them to find their own way home.

“I hate you, bitch!” Daegen shouted at Crystal. She just put up her middle finger and held it up as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Don’t let her make you listen to One Direction Gigi!” Daya added before Gigi closed her door, unable to hear them anymore. She couldn’t help but laugh.

The drive was quiet, but this time it wasn’t a comfortable silence. Both of them wanting to say something but too afraid to say it. Crystal put on the same music from before, calm love songs that made Gigi feel like she never wanted them to stop driving.

“Why did you think I was dating Daya?” Crystal asked abruptly, pulling Gigi out of her daydream.

Gigi’s eyebrows furrowed, “What?” God why was she bringing this up again? Gigi never wanted to think about that again.

“C’mon I wanna know,” Crystal pouted, “please!” She begged, turning to look at Gigi.

“It’s nothing, I uh, heard her call you babe and I just assumed,” She shrugged trying to look anywhere but at Crystal.

Crystal didn’t respond, instead they just fell back into uncomfortable silence. Gigi tried to come up with something to say. God the one person she actually wanted to talk to and she couldn’t come up a single fucking thing to say.

“This doesn’t sound like One Direction.” Gigi said.

“Yeah I uh, I only bring that out with people I like,” Crystal shot her a devilish smile, “sorry.”

“You’re such an ass, oh my god.” Gigi laughed, hitting Crystal lightly on her shoulder. She watched as Crystal picked up her phone and unlocked it, quickly changing the song to ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ making Gigi laugh even more. “That’s more like it.”

Crystal finally pulled into her driveway, reluctantly putting the car in park. Gigi lingered in the passenger’s seat, not wanting to miss the heat from Crystal’s body. She slowly unbuckled her seat belt, grabbing the handle to the car door.

“So uh, I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” Crystal asked, unbuckling her own seat belt.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m looking forward to it.” Gigi pulled herself out of the car.

She was halfway down Crystal’s driveway when she heard her name. Gigi spun around to face her, “Yeah?”

“I had fun, uh with you,” She stopped as if she was searching for a difficult word, “today. I had fun with you today.” She ran a hand awkwardly through her hair.

Gigi chuckled, “I had fun with you too, Crystal.”

“Okay, good.” Crystal spun around and stumbled cheerfully up the stairs of her porch, turning around to wave at Gigi one last time before disappearing into her house.

Gigi continued walking back to her own house, smiling the entire way.