#probably won’t crash and die but will definitely feel on the verge of a crash every single second

[chemicaljacketslut]

just got literally so panicked THINKING about driving. i don’t even have to drive anywhere this weekend i was literally just thinking about what driving on an unfamiliar road is like and almost started hyperventilating

[andvys]

Longing (part 3)

Warnings: lots of angst, violence, reader having self doubts, a sprinkle of fluff

Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader

You woke up to loud knocking the next day. Pissed off you got out of bed, who was at your door at 7 am in the morning on your day off? You walked over opening the door you were greeted by Jesse standing there, leaning against the door frame. Immediately straightening up at the sight of him, you thought he was gonna flip out on you the way Ellie did last night.

“Finally, I thought I was about to freeze to death out here.” You stepped to the side letting him in.

“Umm you know it’s my day off right?” Annoyed you fell back on your bed again.

“Yeah not anymore, sorry about that. I need a patrolling partner and I chose you, sorry.” He said, looking at you with a guilty expression.

“Ugh are you serious? What’s wrong with your partner?” You sat up on the bed, looking at him.

“Ellie’s not feeling good today.”

“Tell me about it.” You mumbled. So she wasn’t feeling good, funny she gave you a whole hatred speech, made you feel like shit and now you had to fill in for her but she was the one who felt like shit. Of course.

“Alright, you owe me something.”

“Wrong, Ellie owes you something.”

“Umm yeah no, you were the one who chose me to be your patrol partner not Ellie so... not like you have much to offer but yeah.”

“I could offer you an unforgettable night with me.” He joked.

“Ugh shut up man.” Throwing a pillow at him you went into the bathroom to get changed.

Stepping out in the cold you immediately gave Jesse a death glare for making you go out into the cold today even though you were supposed to have a free day. He smiled at you, patting your shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Yeah whatever”

“We won’t be going on our usual patrol routes today, we’re gonna head to one of the small towns, check for some supplies.” Jesse said.

“Oh alright, haven’t done that in a while.” You said.

“Then it’s about damn time.”

Once you got to one of the small towns, closest to Jackson, you went into an old police station, knowing it was probably picked clean already but it didn’t hurt to check.

Checking the drawers, Jesse came into the room and sat on of the old office chairs. Looking at you, you avoided his eyes. You knew he was about to ask you something.

“So (y/n)..” there it was he was gonna ask about Dina.

“There’s nothing going in between me and Dina if that’s what you wanna ask.” You said while rummaging through the drawers.

“I- how did you know I was gonna ask anything about Dina?” Looking up at Jesse “I just do”

He noticed you avoided looking into his eyes.

“It’s none of my business if the two of you are together, we’re broken up.” He stated, looking sad about saying this.

“I- why does everyone think I’m with Dina?!” You asked, getting angry now, you still felt like shit about yesterday and now you were gonna get accused of something you didn’t do again.

“Aren’t you? I mean with her?” Jesse looked at you, confused about your reaction.

“No! What even makes you think that?”

“Well you were with her all this time, sleeping over at her house and I kinda saw you two kissing.” He said. Looking at him you got up and sat on the table.

“Okay hold up, I slept over because she was feeling like shit, she’s feeling sick lately and she was throwing up all night so I took care of her, I didn’t want to leave her alone while she looked like she’d die any second.” You said.

“Oh I didn’t know about that, she okay now?”

“Yeah she’s good now and the kiss? She thanked me for taking care of her and she gave me a kiss on the cheek that’s all.” You got up, walking out of the room you weren’t in the mood to talk any longer.

Jesse sat there thinking about it, it looked like you two kissed. To be fair he drank too much that night and he saw you two in front of Dinas house and from the angle you two were standing it did look like an actual kiss. “Shit I’m so stupid.”

Getting up he walked out of the room to follow you out, hearing a crash and your yell it sounded like you were fighting something or someone. He ran towards the noise, worried about you.

“(Y/n) you okay?” Walking around the corner he was met by the side of you standing there with a gun to your head. A man standing behind you with his arm around your neck and a gun to your temple. You lip was bleeding and it looked like you had a cut on your forehead.

“Don’t fucking move or your girl here dies.” Jesse put his hands up in surrender.

“What do you want?” Jesse asked the man.

“What I want? You break into my town and ask me what I want?!” He started waving the gun around. This man was definitely crazy and he was probably gonna shoot the both of you.

“We didn’t know anyone lived here.” You said through gritted teeth, annoyed at this whole situation. You were still pissed since yesterday and now you had to deal with this bullshit.

“Shut up you stupid bitch.” As if you didn’t wanna kill him already, he looked like a disgusting rapist and that’s what he probably was.

“Hey whoa no need for insults man” Jesse said, getting angry at the stranger for calling you a bitch. The man turned his gun on Jesse now.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, I’ll let you live boy, get your stuff and leave and imma keep this one to myself.” He grinned at Jesse, showing off his disgusting yellow teeth

“Yeah I don’t think so man.” Jesse said. The man grunted at that going to pull the trigger, you didn’t give him a chance. Headbutting him, you heard the loud cracking of his nose. He let the gun fall down, letting you go he clutched his bleeding nose.

He looked up at you. “You fucking bit-“ not letting him finish, Jesse shot him in the head. Coming up beside you he grabbed your face checking your injuries. “Man I’m so sorry (y/n).” He said.

“It’s fine, he’s dead. Let’s get the hell out of here before more come.” You said grabbing the gun from the dead guy, leaving the building.

Jesse watched you go out, worried about you he ran after you.

“Hold up (y/n), let me clean your wounds, you probably need some stitches.” He said grabbing your arms turning you around making you look at him, he noticed tears in your eyes. “Hey what’s going on?” You tried blinking the tears away but it was to late, the first one falling down already.

“I’m sorry Jesse.” He looked worriedly at you. “I’m sorry for making you think that I got in between you and Dina, I would never do something like that.” He knew this wasn’t the only reason you were crying and he felt bad for even assuming that you were with Dina.

“You got nothing to be sorry for (y/n), I should be the one who’s sorry for even thinking that.” He pulled you into a hug. You were one of his best friends and he made you feel like shit.

“Ellie called me a home wrecker.” Pulling away you looked up at him.

“What?”

“Yeah and she said some pretty hurtful stuff too.” You said, feeling more tears building up in your eyes, you looked down not wanting him to see you cry anymore.

“Oh man come here.” He pulled you in for another hug. “That’s my fault (y/n), I felt like shit and I talked to her about Dina and you.” He felt bad, he didn’t know what Ellie told you but it must’ve been really bad if it made you cry like that. He’s never seen you cry before.

“It’s okay, at least I know how she truly feels about me now.” You said pulling away from the hug, you wiped your tears away walking back to your horse.

“She probably didn’t mean it.” He knew Ellie had feelings for you, she must’ve been jealous about thinking about you and Dina. He regretted ever telling her anything about this whole situation, feeling like it was his fault.

“Yeah I beg to differ, whatever I don’t wanna talk about her, can we just go?” You got on your horse waiting for him to get on his.

“We need to stitch up your wound.” He pointed to the gash on your forehead.

“We’ll do that back in Jackson, it’s not that deep, let’s go.” Shaking his head at you he knew it was a lost cause to try and convince you to clean up your wounds.

The rest of the patrol was even more exhausting, running into a small herd of clickers and runners you had to fight your way through them to get to some houses for supplies but you made it and even managed to find some goods.

Finally back in Jackson, Jesse immediately sent you off to the infirmary to get your wounds checked.

Walking over there, you realized how tired you actually were once you got to the house, the door opened. Leaving the infirmary was none other than Ellie. Stepping out of her way, you rolled your eyes at the girl waiting for her to leave you so you could go inside.

She saw you, eyes widening at your state. You had blood running down your face, from the wound on your forehead. A bleeding lip and bruise on the right side of your face.

“I- (y/n)?” Worried about you and the state you were in. You looked tired, you had bags under your eyes and you looked like you hadn’t slept all night. You looked like you were on the verge of passing out.

“Are you okay? What happened?” She asked. You almost thought that she cared but then you remembered her words from yesterday, scoffing at her you went to walk past her but she grabbed your arm, flinching at her touch you stepped back not letting her touch you. She looked hurt at your reaction.

“(Y/n) I’m sorry about yesterday.” She looked embarrassed and she had regret in her eyes but you wouldn’t forgive her this easily, she hurt you bad.

“Yeah sure, can you get out of my way now?!” You really weren’t in the mood to talk to her now, your day was shitty enough already.

“I- can we talk later?” She looked at you with hopeful eyes.

“No.”

“Please (y/n).” She begged desperately, she quite literally looked like a kicked puppy right now, not able to resist her.

“Fine.” You said annoyed at yourself for giving in. You could see she was happy about your answer.

“Alright umm you can come over later tonight, I’ll be waiting.” She said. Nodding at her words, she let you pass.

“See you later.”

“Bye Ellie.” She watched you go inside.

Ellie felt like shit for yesterday. She didn’t even get why she said all these things to you, this was nothing like her at all. On the way back home she saw Jesse walking home as well, catching up to him.

“Hey what happened out there?”

“Hello to you too Ellie.” Jesse said, looking at her he noticed the worried look on her face. “We ran into a some crazy guy and then had to deal with some infected on the way back home, did you see (y/n) go into the infirmary?”

“I- yeah she um yeah wait crazy guy? Did he attack (y/n)?” Ellie asked. Just thinking about some guy laying his hands on you put her into deep rage.

“Yeah I was in another room when I heard something from the other room and when I got there he was holding a gun to her head but don’t worry about it he’s dead.”

Ellie felt even more guilty now, considering she was supposed to be on patrol today and not you. She should have been the one with a gun to her head and wounds on her face and not you. Ellie thought to herself. Jesse saw that look on her face. He put his hand on her shoulder making her look at him.

“Hey look, (y/n) is strong, we’ve been in worse situations before, she’ll be fine.” He assured her.

“Yeah, well. I made her feel like shit yesterday and now she almost died out there because me. It was supposed to me out there not her.”

“Don’t beat yourself up Ellie, we all make mistakes.” He felt bad for her, he could see how much she struggled right now.

“Not like this, I really hurt her Jesse.” She said looking down.

“I know, she told me about yesterday.”

Looking back up at him, surprised that you talked about her with Jesse.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing is going with Dina if that’s what you wanna know.” Jesse said.

“I know, I talked to Dina today, she kinda flipped out on me after I told her about what happened with (y/n).” She said, looking away embarrassed. Jesse chuckled at that, Dina always defended you. She was small but she could be really scary if she wanted to.

“You gotta fix this Ellie, (y/n) cried today, this is the first time she cried in front of me, whatever you said to her, you gotta make things right.” Seeing the guilty look on her face at the mention of you crying because of her “it’s my fault too you know? You thought they were together because of me.” He added.

“Still that gave me no right to say all this shit to her.” Ellie said.

“We all make mistakes.” Jesse repeated.

“She’s coming over tonight.” Ellie said, looking down.

“She is? She said she was really tired and that she just wanted a shower and her bed and not see anyone else for the rest of the day yet she comes over? See you still have a chance to make things right with her.” Jesse said, making Ellie blush.

“Yeah it’s gonna be awkward, she barely looked at me and she looked pretty mad.”

“She had a bad day, just don’t make it worse.” Jesse said.

Looking at him with an annoyed expression “thanks for the motivation.”

“You’re welcome, alright I gotta go, good luck with your girl, Williams.” He said before going the other way.

“Yeah.”

Ellie waited for you, it seemed like time wouldn’t go by, she just wanted to see you and apologize for all the shit she said. Grabbing her journal she opened a random page, coming across one of her drawings of you. It was the day your friends decided to have a bonfire night, you looked so pretty sitting by the fire, Ellie kept this picture of you in her head only to draw it in her journal once she got back home.

A knock on her door pulled her out of her thoughts, she laid the journal down, walking over to the door she took a deep breath and opened it. The first thing she noticed about you was the stitches you’ve gotten. All the blood on your face earlier hid the actual wound, the cut was longer than it looked before. It would definitely leave a permanent scar. Your lip was busted and there was a bruise on your right eye. It made her angry to see you like this, she wished she would’ve been there to kill this guy herself for laying his hands on you.

“Come in.” She stepped aside. You walked in waiting for her to say something.

You really didn’t want to be here but you decided to give her a chance, everyone deserves a second chance and you couldn’t hate Ellie not even after all the hurtful things she said.

“Umm sit down.” Sitting down you looked at her.

Your silence made her nervous, you’ve never been this quiet with her.

“Jesse told me about what happened out there, you okay?” She asked worriedly.

“Yeah nothing I couldn’t handle.” Your tone was stern and cold.

“I’m sorry (y/n).” She looked guilty. “I’m sorry for everything that I said, I don’t know what has gotten into me.”

Looking at her, you studied her face. Was she genuine?

“It’s fine you said what you were thinking. Nothing wrong with saying the truth.” You said.

“But- but that wasn’t the truth (y/n), I was mad and I talked shit.” She exclaimed. She knew it would be hard to convince you that she wasn’t talking the truth, none of what she said was right.

“It’s okay Ellie, you don’t have to try to make me feel better, you apologized. Let’s leave it at that and let’s just stay away from each other.” You said getting up, you wanted go because you knew staying meant that you would cry especially after that last sentence, you didn’t want to stay away from her but you knew how she felt about you and you didn’t want to be around someone who told you that no one wants or needs you.

“No! Please (y/n).” That made you stop. “Stay.” Turning around you looked at her.

She walked towards you, stopping in front of you.

“I don’t want to stay away from you and I don’t want you to stay away from me.” She whispered, looking into your eyes.

“You told me that no one wants me Ellie.”

“It was a lie, I want you (y/n)” she whispered.

Looking at her, you wanted to believe her you really did but you couldn’t, not when her hurtful words repeated themselves in your head.

You got closer to her, your lips almost touching hers, her breath hitched, she looked at you wide eyed, thinking you were going to kiss her.

“You were right Ellie.” Looking into her eyes, she looked at you curiously.

“No one wants me because that’s what you are, you are no one to me Ellie.” You said coldly, looking at her, she was taken aback by your words, shocked, she tried blinking her tears away. You yourself were on the verge of crying but you had to stay strong, you didn’t want her to see you cry.

You turned around, quickly leaving her place. You leaned against the wall outside, putting your hands on your knees you let the tears fall, you hated yourself for saying this to her but you couldn’t just forgive her after yesterday. Ellie wasn’t no one to you, she was somebody to you. You looked at her door, contemplating going back in and apologize, taking back what you just said to her but you couldn’t, so you left.

Ellie stood there in the middle of her room, processing what you just said to her. “You are no one to me Ellie.” Letting the tears fall, she sat down on her bed, she started sobbing.

Ellie brought this upon herself. She hurt you so you hurt her back. Karma is a bitch.

You weren’t in a better state, you walked home wiping your tears away angrily. You felt like you couldn’t breath anymore so you stopped walking, looking up at the night sky. You thought about everything that happened the past two days. It was just two days but you could already feel yourself slipping back into the darkness, the one that you grew up in. The one that filled you with self doubt and sadness. You weren’t strong enough for this. Taking a deep breath you started walking again.

You didn’t know where to go, you didn’t want to go home, you hated walking into an empty house. You didn’t want to see your friends right now either and you weren’t sure if you should go see Joel, especially after hurting Ellie, surely he would hate you if he found out about that. Realizing that not only Ellie would hate you now, Joel would hate you as well. This made you tear up again, the man who became something like a father figure to you would hate you now.

Your house was the only place for you right now so that’s were you went, walking around the corner of your house you looked down, wiping the tears away you ran into someone, looking up you realized it was Joel.

“Hey kid, I want-“ not finishing his sentence he realized you were crying, he looked at you with worried eyes, without asking any questions he pulled you into his chest hugging you “Come here, sweetheart.” You didn’t deserve this but you hugged him back, sobbing you held onto his jacket. Maybe that was the last time he’d hug you.

His warm hug made you feel safe at least this gave you comfort today because that’s what you needed the most right now. Comfort and love.

[neoheros]

sneaking out headcanons feat. gym 3 squad ♡ — also this is all gonna be set in an au before or without the quarantine, so don’t leave your house please!! social distancing is important and people are dying!!

kuroo tetsuro

listen LISTEN

sneaking out is terrible and you should never do it because it’s dangerous and risky

and you as the woke and understanding gen z that you are definitely respected that

but , BUT , BUUUUT !

the minute your boyfriend snapped you a photo of him in his car with him rubbing his tired eyes captioned “couldn’t sleep, dreamt of u”

your morals were OUT THE WINDOW and now it was your turn >:// !!!

kuroo: i know it’s 4 am but what’re the chances you’d hop out for a quick trip to chick-fil-a 👉👈

you, purposely taking two minutes to reply: why are you still awake

kuroo, who knows you like the back of his hand: babe don’t lie to me, it’s embarrassing for the both of us x

so you agree !! because it was kuroo, the love of your life, the man you’d simp for, and he’s paying for food so hell fricken yeah

you throw on a hoodie, lock your doors, fluff up the bed to make it look like someone was sleeping in it just in case and you gently make your way towards your window

due to personal reasons, you want to pass away

you suddenly remember why you hated sneaking out and boy — the food kuroo was buying you better be worth it

the only way you were actually gonna get down from your two story house that idiotically doesn’t have a roof ledge was if you grab onto the tv satellite that latched by the sill

from your window you see kuroo’s car parked by the trash cans near your house and he’s got his windshield down signaling at you

mfer pulled out his phone from his pocket and waved as he zooms closer to your figure and he SMILED ?

you were in a dilemma?? and he had the audacity???? the fricken audacity???

kuroo, snapping you the vid he took: babe please you’re so cute you look like a tiny gremlin

you: had me in the first half, not gonna lie

it was a MOMENT for you !! but you just say what the hell and go for it anyways because you only live once apparently and sneaking out with your boyfriend at 4 am was better than sleeping

you grab onto the satellite ridge and you pray for mercy that it doesn’t make a sound or loosen up because if anyone found out you were doing this it was definitely kuroo’s ass on the line

while you’re struggling to get down, kuroo’s just in the car ??? laughing his ass off at your current state and you swear that he’s still taking photos

you get down on the cement safely and instead of him pulling up closer to your drive way naaaah he makes you walk to where he was at 😤

you, getting in the car: if i dump you by the end of tonight, just know that the only reason why i didn’t do it sooner is because i wanted food

kuroo, putting on your seatbelt: we’ll get back together in the morning, i’m not worried

so the two of you make your way to chick-fil-a, get food via drivethru and eat in the parking lot with the doors open and the windows down

he still looks very tired and before you even realize it it’s already 6 in the morning

you catch him yawn every few minutes and he always reassures you that he didn’t mind staying up this late :(

he’s baby

kuroo: lets get you home, are you gonna dump me yet?

you, kissing his cheek: no, i kinda love you

kuroo, less sleepy with a lazy smile on his face: aha simp

tsukishima kei

bro if you think he’s a goody two shoes boy who won’t ask you to sneak out at like 2 in the morning , you are so wrong

canonically, he is the most devious and logical character in the entire anime and if he wants to go out with you before the crack of dawn — he fricken will !!

he’s gonna be so sly about it too, nah, he gon make you think it’s your idea to sneak out

tsukki, texting you a tiktok of homemade shrimp rotini at 2:35 am: look what yamaguchi sent me

yamaguchi, who fell asleep three hours ago and absolutely is not in any state to send tiktoks:

so you’re there like ??????

bruv you were just tryna scroll through your twitter feed in peace, why the hell would he send you that like that’s so uncool

because now you were sleep deprived and hungry

you, close to tears: does your house in hell have a pool or

tsukishima, unnerved: i don’t like the concept of swimming

he’s gonna go on about how he didn’t realize what he did and how he’s kinda sorry for waking your hunger but you weren’t born yesterday !! you smelled BS !!

so you facetime him, ready to go off on how unsorry he is and you can already imagine the shit eating grin he must’ve had on

he answers after three rings and he’s in a MFING yellow hoodie with the dinosaur print in the middle, his hair neatly tucked and you just know that he’s got his keys on his fingertips

you, defeated: i’ve been played

tsukishima, heading out the front door: i deny all accusations

you’re not even upset though because this was a perfect opportunity to try the stability of your roof ledge and tbh? who wasn’t unreasonably hungry at 3 am

turns out climbing out your window was harder than you thought and you may or may not have gotten two new bruises on your wrist just by trying

safe to assume that you fell on your ass and since the universe has a particular hatred towards you, your boyfriend arrived at the perfect time to witness all of it

tsukishima: how are you gonna kiss me when you’re too busy kissing the ground

you, tears on your cheeks: if i wanted a bully instead of a boyfriend i would’ve SAID SO

when you get in his car, the first thing he does is ask if you’re okay though and he’s checking your wrists and hands for any scratches or bleeding because 🥺

tsukki: you’re such a clumsy idiot what the hell

tsukki, kicking down the pavement when you’re not paying attention: 💢🪓

you guys end up going to numerous places because most of the drivethrus in town were already closed

you see him get tired behind the steering wheel and you almost have the urge to offer to drive but you didn’t really feel like crashing his car any day soon so

you: lets just head to starbucks hm? get some coffee?

tsukishima, feeling bad because he knows you wanted to get food: we don’t have to

you, in love with him: if you say no i will willingly walk all the way to starbucks by myself , what , you think i won’t do it

so you guys go there and order a couple double shot espressos with a side of scones and muffins and the entire time you’re just trying not to shiver because name one starbucks you’ve been to that hasn’t been unreasonably cold huh i dare you

he notices this and he gives you his hoodie and ITS JUST THE SOFTEST THING OKAY BECAUSE HE’S COLD TOO BUT HE JUST WANTS YOU WARM

you: i knew it, you love me too huh 😌

tsukishima: unfortunately so

akaashi keiji

AKAASHI IS LEGALLY THE BEST BOYFRIEND IN THE WORLD !!

like he cannot be a bad boyfriend ?? it’s impossible for him to be so ?????? he’s just built that way ????

he’s the ultimate mixture of respect and self love , god was just like “let’s make this one perfect !!”

he’s DRIPPING in love each other juice and he eats kindness for breakfast so ha !

he physically cannot say no to you because he flat out adores you

( except when he feels like you’re wrong or being irrational to which he’ll politely correct you and educate you because that’s on what? that’s on having a healthy relationship ♡ )

so when you hit him up at 5:23 in the morning after a series of tiktoks that he has yet to see and react to you about, he’s kinda alarmed

but then again he’s also not ?? because let’s face it, at this point, he’s used to you spamming his inbox

the last thing you sent him two minutes ago was a text saying “bro just imagine this: you and me at a maccas drivethru with two oreo flurry’s and a box of 20 piece chicken nuggets — immaculate”

and you didn’t really expect him to reply?

it was five am and you were absolutely shit talking but when you saw his face time status go online you were just like ?????

akaashi, snapping you a pic of him under his covers with very tired eyes: it’s 5:27 am

you, sending him back a photo of you and the 2000 piece puzzle you spent the last two hours doing: that’s not a no 💅

he doesn’t reply and you’re not really upset by it because he probably just fell asleep and that was really cute to you so !!

but then two minutes later he’s facetiming you and you JUMP at the sudden ringing

he’s all tired and his voice is groggy and tight but he’s still smiling as he says “i’ll see you in ten”

YOU ARE !!!! PUMPED !!!!!

you won the boyfriend lottery , holy hell

now the only thing keeping you from seeing your man and the mcdonald’s sign was the eleven foot gap between your window and the solid concrete

you’d usually take the stairs but you just know that your mom would absolutely murder you for trying to sneak out when you should be asleep 💆‍♀��

it was either climbing out by clawing through the pipes or not being able to give akaashi a hug and you were not gonna let that second one happen

akaashi, after reading your two paragraph rant on how unnatural it was for your window to be that high: please be careful

you, haven’t slept in 32 hours: screw careful ! i embody elegance !!

in which elegance was screaming every time your pipes squeaked because dear mercy you did not want to die yet

akaashi, who just pulled up your drive way and is now seeing you almost fall to the ground:

you, on the verge of tears: please catch me

AND he does 🥺

it was a close call and he barely even made it to you when you chose to let go but HE DID ANYWAYS

you kinda fell on him rather than landing smoothly in his arms but that’s okay you were just glad you didn’t die

when you both get in his car, he just takes a hot sec to dust you off and ask if you’re okay and he’s so concerned please tell him you’re fine

he’s such a baby please i can’t believe this shit

the two of you end up in a mcdonald’s parking lot with doja cat blaring on the radio and you guys do your best to hold back your laughter as you eat

it was pretty cold and the sun was rising but honestly you couldn’t find the urge to care since the moment just felt so surreal

you: i’m sorry for waking you btw 🥺

akaashi, showing you his new lock screen which is the picture he took of you when he first saw you climb out the window:

you: i’m less sorry

bokuto koutaro

BOYFRIEND OF THE MFING YEAR

i accept no arguments, go cry about it

i literally don’t care what anyone has to say, bokuto is the only man ever ? he’s so deserving of every right on earth i’ll cry

the way that this is the third night in a row he’s stayed up til 4 am and he’s not even alarmed about it

like at this point he’s just accepted that he is nocturnal and that’s that on that !

before he actually had the idea to ask you to sneak out for him, he debated whether or not it was worth it

you needed sleep and you barely got any so when he knew you were resting he absolutely refused to message you :(

but then he also thought about how you would love to have a large dunkin iced coffee right now

and he was already getting ready for his morning fix so why not just ask harmlessly?

if you weren’t going to respond then he’d be okay with that because he knew that you were resting well

but if you were going to answer his consecutive texts with a positive reply then HE IS 🥺 over the moon

you, barely awake: can we get a venti triple shot latté instead , my caffeine tolerance is SHOT

bokuto, snapping you back within a minute: babe you are delusional if you think i’m gonna let you drink that

so it’s 5 am and your parents are in the other room asleep but you know that their jobs start pretty early so you had to get a move on

your room wasn’t that high from the ground to be honest, so you weren’t really worried about falling off

what you were worried about was how dizzy and out of depth the melatonin gummies made you because in order to fall asleep you took 3 and now that you basically forced yourself out of a self induced coma, your body was on the verge of passing away

bokuto tells you that he doesn’t mind if you’re not up for the trip and he’d just bring you back your coffee BUT NAH

you’re not a quitter 🤬 you miss your boyfriend and you are gonna do whatever it takes to spend some quality morning time with him !!!!!

so you throw on a proper outfit, make your way through your window and gently do your best to refrain from yelping every time your hand would slip from the railing that’s keeping your balance

bokuto, pulling up seeing you on your roof: you’re so strong 🥺👉👈

you, barely alive: all for you baby ❤️

he helps you get down from where you stood and he had the prettiest smile on earth i SWEAR when you immediately sank in his cold chest

he apologizes for making you sneak out like that BUT NUH UH YOU DO NOT LET HIM

he is a gift !!! and you knew how tired he must’ve been too since he kept yawning but he still took the time and energy to pick you up 🥺

he fastens your seatbelt in the car and puts the windows up because he knew that the air would get in your face and you didn’t like that

he even brought you a spare hoodie of his because he remembered how much you swooned over this particular fabric

bokuto: we’ll get you some coffee but you can sleep while i drive, ok babe?

you, trying not to cry: are you single because i really want to kiss you

bokuto, kissing your cheek: i’m dating someone i’m sorry

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Ooh! I just discovered you from the Bad Things Happen Bingo and I love your writing already! Could I potentially request the Bleeding Out prompt as a prequel for the Soup for the Sick story you wrote?

Thank you for the ask! I had to look up prequel to make sure that you meant before the events of Personalized Caretaker Part 1, and not after ����. Here you go! In reference to this post.

So, with that note, this piece happened before Part 1 of Personalized Caretaker.

Personalized Caretaker Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: blood, vomit, losing consciousness, faking an injury, drugged whumpee, fear, implied touch starvation

*not edited*

~

Civilian hopped onto her couch, legs resting on the armrest and flicked on the television, going straight for Netflix.

It was a normal day, serene and tranquil with the perfect amount of work that made Civilian feel good inside.

She lazily gnawed on a piece of beef jerky and selected The Kissing Booth for personal enjoyment. Something cheesy and romantic to vibe to as she decompressed- even the best days required a period of relaxation.

But, her period of relaxation was very rudely interrupted by a thud. Right outside her door.

Civilian froze, heart racing, as her mind involuntarily replayed every known horror movie. She was the victim, the bad guy was going to break in and slash her throat as she unceremoniously says, "Who's there?"

Civilian shuddered, turning off the television, and slowly standing up. She grabbed her remote control as a weapon and very, very slowly, like a ninja, stalked stealthily up to the door.

"Who's there?" Civilian asked. Crap, her fatal flaw. Now the bad guy was going to rush out and murder her, then the police would come and there would be ten more killings and then there would be a ghost that was a moaning lady with pale skin and black hair that was hung in the woods seventy-some years ago and then it is reincarnated to be a doll that haunts children and-

Civilian drew in a deep breath. Don't freak out, don't freak out. It was probably a bird that weighed the size of a man- a bad man- that crashed into the window and died. And died. And died. And died. It was gone. Instead of using a remote, she should be using a plastic bag.

"Stop it Civilian, you paranoid freak," she yelled at herself, very loudly, her voive taut with utter fear as she peered through the shades.

The first thing she saw was blood.

Smeared blood in the direction of downwards, leading directly to...

A body.

Civilian felt nausea rise in her throat as literally the blood drained from her face. She wasn't the first victim, the poor human in opening credits, she was the next victim and her house was the killer's stash.

Probably to blame her for the death. To redirect the suspicion.

She had to hide the body and burn it before the cops came. Oh boy, the killer probably already called them. Crap crap crap.

Civilian whisked the door open, tossing her grand weapon of plastic and onto a nearby table, and prepared to wrap the body in a black bag.

The body moved.

Civilian screamed.

The body was not a body, it was a living man.

"Oh my gosh sir? Sir! Are you okay? Sir! Sir!" Civilian grabbed her hair and started to paced. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening. There is a bleeding man on my fricking doorstep." She started to ramble, muttering nonsensical curses and words that weren't going to help the dying man.

She was panicking, completely hyperventilating, by the time the man moved more than a shaky, uneven breath.

His eyes opened, revealing a drop-dead gorgeous icy blue. Eyelashes fluttered in the most enearding way as the man struggled to keep his consciousness to himself. Lips quivered as he whole face bunched together in an expression of pain.

Civilian didn't know if she could handle it.

"Are you doing to die?" She asked, rushed and abruptly. The man looked his clouded gaze on her. It took a moment, but he spoke,

"Heroes. Heroes, they are coming. Run, get outta here. Get outta here!"

Civilian shrieked, glancing hurriedly around. An insane plot twist, the good guys were the bad guys and...

Wait, this wasn't a movie.

And why was this man so scared of the heroes? Unless, of course, he was...

A villain.

Civilian covered her mouth and dropped to her knees. A v-v-villain? Was at her door? Civilian pinched herself to see if she was sleeping, but the nightmare didn't vanish. She was stuck in reality. Someone go get her a soda...

Villain's eyelids drooped as he weakly extended his arm. "Please," he begged. "I need help." Then his arm went slack.

Civilian was close to hysterics.

But nonetheless, out of fear, she grabbed the man's arm and attempted to pull him inside. She silently cursed. Her twigs for limbs could barely carry a box of mason jars; what made her think she could drag a two hundred pound full-grown adult male?

It was a taxing project that left Civilian in tangled limps, just begging for sleep. The man didn't stir at all, not even when Civilian's fist went into the gaping wound in his stomach.

Aw man, that was disgusting. Civilian vomited into a nearby trashcan before returning to figure out WHAT THE HECK TO DO!!!

"Can you wake up?" Civilian asked. "Please? I-i... how do I... how do I do this?"

Civilian was on the verge of tears, but then she reminded herself. This isn't a movie, he won't be miraculously healed after a good night's sleep.

With a quick reference to Google, Civilian finally felt prepared. She ran to get a pillow and slipped it under Villain's head. His eyelids fluttered as his eyes cracked open, but then they slipped close again.

Next she removed his shirt and was quite awestruck at the sight. Other than the painted crimson, his abdomen really was the definition of ab-domen. Hard muscles were lined perfectly.

Okay Civilian, someone is dying, don't admire it.

She placed one hand above and the other in the wound to staunch the bleeding. After the blood flow slowed, she lifted his legs to rest on the armrests in a similar position that she was in earlier.

Next, she jumped some hydrogen peroxide in and bandaged the wound. The villain never awoke.

Once the looming danger was gone, Civilian just stood there awkwardly. Dried blood crusted on his skin, but at least it wasn't wet.

So she stood there, arms crossed as meaningless thoughts rushed through her head.

What do call a male ladybug?

Is grass the earth's hair?

Do pineapples come from pine trees?

Why is a villain on my couch?

Civilian sat down, keeping a good three feet distance from the assumed murderer, and turned on the TV to resume her movie.

She leaned her head back, exhaustion tugging at her eyelids, but she refused sleep. Especially when a villain was slumbering next to her with one arm over his face.

He looked like a monkey.

One of those pale faced, brown haired primates from Curious George.

Not that his ears were splayed out or anything, the monkey had very tiny, collected ears that hid under his fluffy brown hair. His nose also held that itty-bitty appearance, perfectly formed to his face with the faintest trace of freckles.

He was cute.

Like a monkey.

Or not, as Civilian found monkeys utterly disgusting.

So cute, like a kitten.

Civilian smiled, looking down at her lap. Another thing Wikihow said that Civilian scowled at and ignored before. Put the victim's head in your lap to calm and keep them comfortable.

It wouldn't hurt, right? The villain wasn't even conscious, and he lost so much blood that he probably wouldn't remember anything if he did wake up.

She just met him.

Stress can increase heart rate which may be detrimental. Civilian scrunched her forehead. Was that even true?

Who cares. Civilian scotted her skinny self over and laid the villain's head in her lap. Then, temptation started its charismatic monologue.

Stroke his head. Be nice, clean his chin. Wipe the dirt off his eye.

Civilian hesitantly put her hand on his grimey hair- ew, he needed a shower ASAP- and gingerly patted it. Patted it, like petting a dog.

It was embarrassingly awkward.

For the next few hours, Villain slept. Civilian also dozed off between getting yummy smelling candles to fend off the revolting scent od blood and crackers to aimlessly gnaw on.

She watched through the first Kissing Booth and the second one when a thought struck her.

Pain.

The villain would be in pain when he woke up.

And the only thing Civilian had was Ibuprofen.

Like those barely took the edge off a headache, much less a gash the size of a baseball.

She reached for her phone to call her friend at the local drug store. Putting on a squeaky voice, Civilian said,

"Can you, uh, get me something for pain?"

"Slow down, Civilian. What?"

"I don't know benadryl or a very strong pain reliever," Civilian bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. Stupid stupid stupid...

"What did you do?"

"I, uh, sprained my ankle."

"You sprained your ankle?"

"Mhm hurts like-"

"Okay! I don't need your swear word dictionary. I'll bring you something after work."

"Thanks, oh owowowowowowo."

"Goodbye Civilian."

The line clicked.

Civilian smiled to herself and popped another cracker in her mouth. Problem solved.

The blood on the door.

Crap.

Civilian set Villain's head back on a pillow and ran to the frontdoor.

Great, just great.

Civilian flipped the middle finger at Villain's sleeping figure and walked out the door. She would meet her friend before she saw the splatters of blood.

Civilian sat herself on the curb, throwing her newly "spraind" leg out, letting out an insanely loud groan, and leaned back on her elbows.

"Oh my goodness! Civilian," her friend leaped from her black car and ran over. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Civilian waved it off. "Just wanted some air and the house is a mess, so."

Civilian, you are dumb.

"You sure? You asked to be hospitalized once because you stubbed your toe and the fact that a sprained ankle isn't bugging you... I am wholeheartedly worried."

"Don't be," Civilian chuckled. "How was work?"

Friend gave her a skeptical look. "Fine," she drawled.

"Good," Civilian nodded slowly, tapping the ground with her fingers. "So thank you for the painkillers."

"Mhm," Friend handed Civilian the plastic bag slowly. "How did you sprain it?"

"Uhhh fell out of the shower."

Friend looked genuinely concerned.

"Tripped and fell," Civilian repeated herself awkwardly. "On the ground?" Why did she have to say it as a question?

She was awkward and sounded hilariously awkward as well.

"Klutz," Friend joked, but her face was still taut with worry. "Need help getting inside?"

"No no!" Civilian exclaimed. Friend stepped back, so Civilian laughed to alleviate the tension. "I should walk it out."

"Ooookay," Friend said, nodding. "Good for you. I'm gonna go. I have a dinner date with this dude from Tinder."

"Oooo good luck," Civilian said, faking a wince as she stood up. Friend rushed in to help.

"Don't," Civilian cautioned, raising her "hurt" leg up. Friend looked at it and scowled.

"Dang leg huh? Well bye-bye. Don't fall out of the shower anymore. Got it?"

"Yup," Civilian said and fake limped back to her house as Friend sped away.

Missiom accomplished.

Villain was stirring when Civilian sat back down.

Perfect timing also.

She rummaged through the bag and grabbed a bottle of valium. She popped the recommended dosage out and approached Villain.

He was still too dazed and disoriented to stop Civilian from helping him swallow, but the second the water touched his tongue, he woke up fully.

"What are you doing? Don't touch me!" He yelled, pulling away. Civilian also backed away, a frown forming on her face.

"Me? I saved your life."

Villain was silent. "How much did you touch me?"

"Enough to save your life."

Villain jerked, looking around as if somone was in the shadows. Paranoid, Civilian copied him.

"What's wrong with you?" Civilian asked.

"You touched me?"

Civilian didn't say anything. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, examining the villain.

Villain jerked to his feet, swaying madly. Civilian's heart jumped. He was so unsteady...

He fell, but Civilian swooped in to catch him.

For a moment, the villain melted into her half-embrace, head resting gently on her shoulder, before pulling away. He bit his cheeks, seemingly trying to keep tears back.

"What... are you? Are, are you scared of getting a hug? Sheesh."

"Mmm no," Villain shook his head quickly, then sat down as if the feat made him dizzy.

"Mmm yes," Civilian sat down next to him. The villain looked confused, but that may be the drugs kicking in.

Soon Villain's eyes starting to droop and he swayed in his sitting position.

"Whatdya give me?" He slurred, a faraway look in his eyes. "Mm tired." He collapsed forward.

Civilian steadied him and helped him lay back down. He groaned pathetically and grappled at Civilian's hand, desperate to hold it.

He held her hand until he fell asleep.

[remedialpotions]

Tomorrow

ffn | ao3

He remembers their first kiss, that chaotic clash of lips and noses and bodies and adrenaline flooding through him. And the second, of course, a softer and sweeter one, in the quiet of an empty Gryffindor common room. In the very beginning, he couldn’t help but quantify it, seeking tangible evidence of what he wanted desperately to believe: that she wanted him, continued to want him, chose him to be hers. Other firsts, too, are burned permanently into his brain: her hands sneaking into his trousers; her knickers on the orange carpeting of his bedroom; her back arching with unbridled delight. But at some point in those weeks after the war, he lost track, and  now when he looks back, it’s all blurred together into a rush of happiness that most of the time seems too good to be true.

At times he worries that it is, that somehow she’ll slip through his fingers and he’ll wake up one morning to find that he never really had her at all - or worse, that the world will find a way to wrench this away from them. It always feels like he’s on borrowed time.

So they’ve snuck away from Sunday lunch at the Burrow to hide in the apple orchard. Even though it’s one of those cool, foggy days for which England is famous, he’s content to lend her his jumper and let goosebumps rise along his skin, because it means he’s with her, and that’s all that matters. 

All is calm between them. They’ve found their favorite little spot at the edge of the orchard, lounging against the trunk of a tree. Hermione’s head rests on his shoulder, her denim-clad legs slung casually over his lap. Her hand slips into his, and as he interlocks their fingers together, he notices ink stains on her fingertips. 

A pang of melancholy shoots through him.

“Have you been revising already?” he asks, causing her head to lift up from his shoulder.

“I supposed I should get started on things,” she replies, only a little bit defensive, “I took a whole year off, I can only imagine how behind I am-���

“Mhmm,” Ron interrupts with a barely-suppressed grin. “You’re so behind that McGonagall’s made you Head Girl. That’s definitely it.”

Her eyes narrow at him. “I just think I ought to be prepared. Now that it’s NEWT year, there’s so much more reading, and I’ve had to start on the schedules for prefect duties too. There’s just a lot to do.”

“And what about ‘spew’?” This only deepens her scowl, but he delights in it. “You starting that up again?”

“You mean S-P-E-W?” she says, tone haughty, before heaving a sigh. “I’m not sure, honestly. My two most active members won’t be there with me.”

“Your most active members?” chuckles Ron. “We only joined under duress.”

She scoffs. “You were hardly under duress-“

“We were!” he exclaims. “You came marching in with your badges, told us we were joining and demanded two Sickles from us. Didn’t have much of a choice, did we?” He laughs again at the recollection. “You even gave us jobs - I was treasurer, wasn’t I?”

“According to the governing documentation, yes, you were,” she confirms with a nod. “Harry was secretary, but he was awful at it. He never took minutes at any of the meetings.”

She joins him in laughter, then, and leans into him, and for a second everything is perfect.

“Like I said,” Ron grins, dropping her hand to wind his arm around her shoulders. Idly, his fingers trace random shapes into the fabric of the jumper. “We were under duress.”

Hermione purses her lips as she looks up at him. “So you’ve changed your tune again, then, from a couple months ago?”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes are shining now, alight with mirth. “I seem to recall a certain someone being very concerned about the welfare of the Hogwarts elves.”

The memory crashes over him like it’s done countless times since it happened: the Room of Requirement, the castle shaking around them, and the never-ending queue of students escaping to the Hog’s Head.

“I just wanted them safe, that’s all,” he says simply. “It’s not like I was standing round trying to think of ways to impress you.“ He sets a hand on her knee, squeezing lightly. “Though, it looks like it worked.”

Ron smiles at her, but his amusement fades when she doesn’t return it, instead puzzling up at him. “That’s not why I kissed you.” As his stomach twists, she adds, “not really, anyway. It didn’t have anything to do with S-P-E-W.”

His fingers stop moving across her shoulder. It had seemed so simple, months ago, when his mind was spinning to process the turn of events: he’d finally done the right thing. Finally proven himself worthy. Had put the last missing piece into place, right in the nick of time, just as everything else was falling apart.

“It is that I looked so dashing about to charge into battle, then? Was that it?”

His attempt at humor falls flat. She’s still contemplative, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance. As Ron watches, her teeth scrape over her lower lip.

“I thought we were going to die.”

The words hang there between them as something tightens painfully in Ron’s chest. Everything about this thing with Hermione has been so marvelously unexpected, right down to the fact that it’s happening at all, but he still didn’t think he would hear that. 

He’s not sure what he even thought she would say. Something perhaps about how she can’t live without him, or maybe something remarkably Hermione-ish about how he had finally ticked all the boxes of her boyfriend criteria and was now deemed suitable. Just not imminent demise. 

Not as the main reason, anyway.

“So did you,” she says gently when he remains quiet. “You said ‘it’s now or never’.”

“I know.” Thoughts swirl through his anxious mind, slowly formulating themselves into something worth speaking. “I just thought it was about more than ‘we’re about to die, so I may as well’.”

She recoils, clearly stung, and pulls her legs roughly off his lap; his arm drops off of her shoulder. “That’s not what I was thinking at all, actually-“

“Well, then - what if it never happened?” he presses on, even as he can see, as though he’s watching himself from above, that he’s on the verge of ruining the best thing he’s ever had. “What if that battle never happened, or I hadn’t said what I did? Would…” The words stick momentarily in his throat. “Would we even be here right now?”

“If that battle hadn’t happened, we’d probably still be starving in the woods somewhere with Harry,” she says, fingers toying with the lush grass between them. “But I don’t really know, because it did happen, and it changed everything.”

“Yeah, it did,” he agrees. “But is it - are you saying that everything changed but you want to… go back to how it was?”

“No,” she says, with such force that he recoils. “No, of course not-” She shakes her head, baffled. “Ron, we’ve - we’ve been having sex, we’ve said ‘I love you’ to each other-”

He holds his hands up, at a loss. “People get caught up in things-”

She goggles at him. “I have no idea how you can think for even a second-”

“Because you just said you thought we were going to die-“

“So did you-“

“But then we didn’t.” The words fall heavy between them. “Now we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, and I’m…” 

He hesitates, because baring his soul isn’t something he’s ever been remotely comfortable doing, but then he figures that there’s no harm in honesty. If he’s going to lose her, he at least wants to know that nothing’s been left unsaid.

“I’m scared.” He can feel her eyes on her, though he can’t bear to look. “I’m scared that now it’s not ‘I’m going to kiss him because we’ll be dead within the hour’, it’s this thing that you’ve done that has consequences now-“

“Consequences?!”

“Yeah, consequences. You kissed me ‘cause didn’t think you’d ever have to deal with it afterward, and I…” He exhales heavily through his nose. He can feel himself shaking. “And I’m scared you got more than you bargained for.”

There’s not a sound to be heard, save the occasional chirping of birds and the trickling of the nearby stream. Beside him, Hermione shifts onto her knees and sits back on her heels. Her hands land on his thigh, warm and grounding despite the damp chill in the air. 

“Ron.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “When you said ‘it’s now or never’... what did you mean by that?”

He forces himself to meet her gaze and finds only concern there, only affection. 

Maybe it’s not completely bungled after all.

“I just didn’t want to die having never kissed you.” Of their own accord, his hands slip around hers. “My life can be complete without a lot of things, but it wouldn’t have been complete without that.”

Hermione swallows, head bobbing in a shaky nod. And yet, beneath the nerves, there’s a glimmer of happiness. 

“I felt the same way - feel the same way. I still do. When you said what you said, about the elves, and Dobby...” The corners of her lips twitch into a faint semblance of a smile. “It didn’t really have anything to do with them specifically. It just reminded me of how wonderful you are, and - and why I love you. I just couldn’t see the point in waiting anymore.”

He picks up her hand, kisses the back of her knuckles. “I love you too.”

Using her hand to tug her close, he leans in to kiss her, but just as their lips meet, she starts laughing against his mouth.

“Do you really think that I just start kissing people for the sake of it whenever I’m in mortal danger?” Even as she’s teasing him, the smile she gives him is downright adoring. He’s not sure what made him question this for even a second, because the proof is right there in front of him. “Is that really what you thought happened?”

“No, of course not,” he laughs along with her. “I just reckoned…” He pauses as the right words slowly come to him. “I guess I just never thought we’d actually have this.”

Her smile fades. “Ever?”

He shrugs. “Somewhere along the way, I just stopped letting myself picture any kind of future, especially a good one, and this - I just reckoned this would be another thing that went wrong. And I wouldn’t get to have everything I want with you.” 

Hermione looks at him, eyes dark and intense, and then swings a knee over him to straddle his lap. With hands half-covered in maroon wool, she cups his face and presses her lips firmly to his. He sinks into it, tension seeping out of him at her touch: it really is going to be okay. It’s the first time he’s actually let himself believe it, even with the war firmly behind them. It finally feels safe to let that hope rise above all of the uncertainty and the anxiety that’s had a hold on him for so long. The future doesn’t just consist of stolen minutes and hours and days anymore. It’s weeks and months and years, and she’s in every single one of them.

“I think you’ve actually gone a bit mad,” says Hermione fondly as her hands slide down to the sides of his neck.

“Yeah, well.” Ron tugs lightly on the sides of her jumper. “Whose fault is that?”

“Just for the record,” she goes on, taking that lofty tone that should drive him mad but that he actually loves, “I kissed you because I want all of that-”

“I know, I know.” He steals a quick kiss, smiling when she leans in for more. “Reckon I already did, it’s just hard to believe sometimes.”

“For me, too,” she admits. Her fingertips graze along his shoulders, down to the scarred skin of his forearms, and she tilts her head in alarm at him. “Ron!”

“What?”

“You’re freezing!”

Another shrug. “A bit, maybe-”

“And here I am hogging your jumper, we really ought to go inside-”

“But I don’t really care,” he tells her plainly. “I just wanted to spend as much time with you as I could.”

“We’ve got time.” Her voice is soft, reassuring, soothing the last edges of his self-doubt. “We’ve got plenty of it now.”

He considers this. They’re eighteen years old, and life stretches out ahead of them with no end in sight. Perhaps he doesn’t actually have to grasp desperately at every second anymore.

“Right.” He pats the sides of her legs. “Get up, then. It’s about to be time for lunch, anyway.”

She clambers off of him, and they rise to their feet, brushing stray blades of grass from their jeans as they walk toward the house. He does feel a bit less frantic now. Hogwarts still looms in the future, but there’s still so much more to come. 

As they traipse through the garden, Hermione’s hand worms into his, her other one wrapping around his upper arm. He looks down to see her beaming at him.

“I was just thinking,” she says, “that just because I’ll be away, it doesn’t mean you can’t still be involved in S-P-E-W. Maybe you can even head up the London chapter-“

Ron holds up a hand to stop her. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

[tessathaitea]

Executed?

Ok, so I’ve been dared to do an entire fanfic on Anisoka, which isn’t my favorite ship but it isn’t terrible so here we go. Up above is the fanfic cover that I made and the title on wattpad. Here’s chapter one. 

“If you believe me guilty, then so be it. Just know that tonight, an innocent life will be taken.” Ahsoka said, trying to put on a brave face. Inside, she was trembling with fear. She hadn’t bombed the temple, but she was being framed. There was nothing she could do but accept the fact that she was going to die. 

“Just-” her voice cracked. She took another deep breath. “Just tell Master Skywalker that I’m sorry.” 

With that, the signal to execute her was given. She felt the clone who was to do it hesitate, but she felt through the force that he would still carry out the task of her execution. After all, he was a clone. Clones had to obey orders.

One, two, three shoots of pain. She fell to the ground, her body and lekku covered in blood. Her vision flickered, but she was still alive. The clone noticed it also, so he shot her one last time. This time, it went straight through her heart. 

Then, in her last, brief look at the world, Ahsoka saw her master running towards her with tears streaming down his face. Then, her world went black. She felt someone pick her up, and lay a kiss on her forehead. Ahsoka knew it was her master, and sighed. She had a crush on her master even before she was his padawan, but knew he would never return the feelings. Ahsoka also hadn’t been willingly to give up being a Jedi for unrequited love. If she’d known the council would’ve thrown her under the speeder like that, she might’ve given up the prospect of being a Jedi.

Ahsoka Tano let her spirit bind with the force one last time. She felt as if she were floating as she was everything and nothing. If she concentrated, she could feel the ability to manifest into her force ghost. She wouldn’t do that now. 

She watched as her body dissolved into the force, her master still crying over her clothing. Ahsoka watched as he grabbed her choker from the bundle of clothes and put it around his neck, tucking it under his robes.

Well, at least he was still his sappy self. Ahsoka watched her master grab her clothes and stalk out of the room, not talking to anyone, but Ahsoka knew where he was going. He was going to his quarters in the Jedi temple. Or possibly to Padme’s somewhere else, but she doubted it. She suspected the couple had broken up last month over some silly argument.

She willed herself through the force, but found that Anakin had already beat her to his quarters. He looked as if he were beating himself up about her death, which he most definitely was. Her old master was talking to himself again, which he probably was.

“-just as I was about to ask you. The galaxy works in cruel ways doesn’t it, Snips.” he said sadly, fiddling with something in his hands. She jumped, thinking that he could see her. Then Ahsoka realized he was talking to himself.

Ahsoka turned around, and nearly screamed when she saw herself in the mirror. She was older, about seventeen, her lekku longer and her montrals were more prominent. Instead of her akul teeth, there was a metal band with orange rectangles on the side. She was in a black bodysuit that had a skirt, high-heel boots, and gloves. Just her season 7 self.

The next week, Anakin talked to himself again.

“You know, I really thought they would clear your name. I was even planning on it, as I predicted that you’d leave the order. But I promise you this. I won’t ever take a padawan again. Nor will I ever fall in love with anyone else except for you,” he murmured, and Ahsoka made a really weird noise in her throat, and Anakin turned around, looking for the intruder. He looked right past her, but with immense concentration she formed her force ghost for the second time (she thought it shouldn’t be called a force ghost, because you can touch anything and not flow through it if you don’t want to). 

“Hey, master,” she said, her voice quavering. Her old master stared at her, eyes wide. He ran her fingers along her jawline, and before she could register what happened, he engulfed her in a hug and she was squished in his arms. Ahsoka felt his chin resting on her montrals, though it felt kind of weird because of the whole force ghost thing. 

She felt like a little child again, and safe from harm. Anakin suddenly pulled away, and she looked up at him and could see the light blush on his cheeks. 

The next thing she knew, her former master had his lips pressed against hers, and she was kissing him back. After what felt like an eternity, they finally pulled apart. His eyes were sparkling.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured. She smirked at him.

“Yeah? How long then?” she said teasingly. He flushed in embarrassment.

“Since I first saw you training when I was a padawan.” In this fanfic Ahsoka was sixteen when she died and Anakin was eighteen, so not that much of a difference. In this fanfic, younglings don’t become padawans until 15.

“Anakin, I’ve been training since I was three years old. You’re going to have to be more specific,” she said. He just shook his head. 

She felt her energy draining fast. Keeping a force ghost that could stay in the physical world for more than 30 minutes was tiring, and she was running out of energy fast.

“Skyguy, I’ve got to go. It’s hard to keep a ghost thing up, but I’ll try to visit tomorrow alright?” she said, kissing him on the cheek. He nodded sadly and she faded back into the force, feeling the energy flowing once more through her spirit.

She walked through the door, and leaned up against the wall. She wanted nothing more than to go and comfort Anakin, though scaring and telling off most of the council came in a close second. She supposed she could go check how Master Plo was doing, as he was the closest thing to a father she had. 

Ahsoka felt herself wandering through the halls of the temple, finally ending up in the council room. They were as close as they could be to arguing, and from what she heard she assumed it was the matter of her death.

“Well now we find out that she was innocent, and we murdered her. We violated the laws of our own code for kriff’s sake! What has the Jedi council become? Sentencing a padawan to death because there was the slightest chance of her committing a crime? Right now and then, we were no different than the Sith,” said Obi-Wan, his hands over his face. Since she was now one with the force, she could feel the waves of regret and sadness washing over him. 

Ahsoka was then reminded that the moment that her loyalties were even questioned, she had been turned on. Her only family, just because there was a possibility it was her, turned on her willingly.

Emotions crashed down on her, pounding her relentlessly. Pain, grief, sadness, and anger. She fell onto her knees, tears streaming down her face. She was a Jedi. She shouldn’t feel these emotions, as they would lead her to the darkside. But something compelled her to. It wasn’t sinister, no. 

It was The Force. It wanted Ahsoka to show the Jedi her pain, and show them their mistakes. It also chided her that it wasn’t her destiny to become a Jedi. The Force told her she would find a different path, one of balance between light and dark. The path of the fabled Grey Jedi. She would be free to love as it was essential to the balance of light and dark. She would feel hatred, but would not let it fuel her. Ahsoka would feel compassion, yet still make attachments.

She let loose the emotions and The Force around the council swirled, making a scene from her mind. 

“Something to show us, The Force has,” said Master Yoda. They watched as the scenes replayed in her mind, but feeling what she was feeling. Ahsoka felt her Force Ghost forming but when she looked at her hands she saw they were turning into the regular orange color. 

The replaying of her thoughts stopped, and she began to feel dizzy. She had recently gotten used to her new force form of body, but now it was becoming real and she was disoriented. She felt the council’s collected gasp, and her heart pumping in her chest. She was alive. 

“She must live, The Force has decided,” said Yoda again, and Obi-Wan rushed to her side. 

“Anakin,” was all she managed to mutter before falling into a deep sleep. 

When she woke up, there was a glaring white light on the ceiling. She climbed out of the bed and saw Anakin sitting on the desk with his head in his hands. Was he sleeping?

“Anakin?” she muttered, shaking his shoulder. He woke up slowly, but started blinking rapidly when he saw her. 

“Ahsoka?” he said in bewilderment. She nodded, and flashed him a smile. Anakin stood up, and grabbed her by the shoulders. 

“How are you alive?” he asked. His piercing blue eyes looked on the verge of tears. Ahsoka looked at herself again. She had an actual body, but had no clue why or how she was alive.

“If I’m being honest? I don’t really know. The Force told me that I was to become a Gray Jedi, and here I am. It also spoke to me that another would be joining me soon,” she said, looking down and fidgeting. 

Anakin lifted her chin up, and gave her a peck on the lips. Ahsoka smiled, and he laughed out loud. She was about to ask what he was laughing about, but he beat her to it. 

“Now I don’t have to deal with my girlfriend being dead, or the fact that I wouldn’t ever see you except for thirty minutes at a time,”  he said. 

They both laughed. The future was uncertain for Ahsoka, but she knew that Anakin would always be at her side. Possibly a little too much.

[annaraebananawriter]

Hope

Yellow again everyone! I’m here with yet another oneshot. This one is a bit of a character study, just so you know. There’s no dialogue, just thoughts. And who else will I write besides the bean himself, Dream!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Dreamtale

Characters: Dream (Who belongs to Joku), with some of Nightmare (Who belongs to Joku)

Warnings: Depression, implied/referenced self-harm, suicidal thoughts, maybe suicide ideation, and I think that’s it? Let me know!

Word Count: 2604

~oOo~

Dream knows that hope is a foolish thing.

He knows that it can hurt. That the more you hope for, the more hope is lost. The bigger you hope, the bigger the disappointment. It distorts reality. It floats out of reach. It makes you believe that things will be alright when it is very likely they won’t be.

He knows this. Knows that, despite everything, you keep hoping. You learn to create hope so big, you can live inside it. You learn to become consumed by hope. Become blinded by it. That way, you are safe. No one can take your hope away. You keep hoping and hoping, your hopes getting higher and higher.

Until…

You get carried away.

You become a glimmer of hope for others, never tending to your own hopes. Basically, giving up yourself to help others. Strangers. Disappearing into a world where you are so blind, so naïve to the reality of the people around you. Float off into a bright cloud of hope, becoming consumed by it until your inevitable crash with reality.

~oOo~

Dream has wanted to give up before. Many times, in fact.

An interesting thing for the Guardian of Positivity to say, huh?

But it’s true. He knows how it feels to get so lost in your thoughts that they stray. They stray out of the light, gathering specks of darkness until you get lost in a sea of bleak things. Dangerous things.

(It’s at these times that he finds himself standing on a cliff. Watching whatever is beneath him. Danger filling him and alarms ringing in his mind. He ignores those signs and stands there. He’s lost. Has been for a long—)

He tries to ignore them. Sometimes, he even tries to use his own aura to calm himself down. To make him think of happier things. Happier times.

…It doesn’t work.

(Like when he wakes up on the verge of screaming. The bad thoughts are at their strongest then. He tries, tears running wild and his chest feeling tight. His aura lights up the room, a soft golden glow that is very pretty for those observing, if there was anyone. It never works. Of course, it doesn’t. He’s meant to help others, not himself. That would be selfish and—)

When his thoughts spiral, they tend to turn to Nightmare.

It’s a weird thing. He feels like he’s lost someone, someone who might be gone forever, left him alone and turned to dust a long time ago and yet he sees this person almost every day. Like their here, yet they’re not. It’s agony.

Is there a word for it? When you lost something, yet it’s right in front of you? Probably not. There should.

He misses Nightmare. Not the one he sees now, but his Nightmare. His brother, not this mockery of him. The one who was happy and confident and nice. The one who took care of him, read him stories, played with him, made sure he remembered to eat. He misses those times. He yearns to go back, but with that yearning comes the bad thoughts, and he would rather avoid them if he could.

The Nightmare of now hates him. These thoughts hurt him. They make him want to curl up and wait for the world to open up beneath him and swallow him. But he knows they’re true. He sees it with every hit, every glare, every fight, every encounter. Every argument, every blame, every word, everything. It seems he couldn’t escape it if he tried, not that he will.

Something inside of himself always says that it’s his fault that Nightmare is this way now. This part says that if he tried harder, if he had stayed with him more, if he had simply not been an idiot. Maybe it’s right. Maybe it’s not.

(He believes that it is.)

~oOo~

Dream knows that hope is a reckless thing.

He knows that when it consumes you, blinds you, you lose sense of what is appropriate. What is right at the right times. It can make you see things the way you want to see things, not the way things are. For example, you will try to give mercy to something that has not shown to understand nor want it. You will try to give mercy to something that hates you.

He knows this. Knows that, despite everything, you keep hoping. You learn to take their words and ignore them, no matter if it hurts and stings you. You learn to become so overtaken by hope, so full of it, that you spill over. Become a fountain for everyone to take from.

Until…

You run dry.

After you crash back to reality, people will fuss. Not over you, but over their source of hope, because they are too lazy, selfish or stubborn to create their own. This may sound nice, but it will not help. You will get worse. Your hope will disappear until only a spark remains. Then, it will continue to fade away until it extinguishes entirely.

~oOo~

Dream fights the Nightmare of now because it is his job. People need him to.

He doesn’t want to. Not really. Because, though he is a mockery of his brother and not the real one, he still bears his name and his body. So, it almost feels as though he is entitled to care about him. To try and save him, almost die trying. But it’s the wrong one.

He wants to save his brother. Not this impersonator.

(Though, there are times that he has seen some hesitation on his face. Which is weird. He hates him. Why would he hesitate to fight, hesitate to hit, hesitate to hurt? It doesn’t make sense. It confuses him. Why would he care about—)

He thinks lots. If this imposter is here, does that mean Nightmare is dead? Or is he trapped? Hidden? If that’s the case, does he need him to come to find him? To save him? Does he even want his help? Does he hate him? Blame him?

He tries to stop his thoughts before they go off.

…It doesn’t work.

(Like when he holds the one knife in his hands. He’s sitting alone in his room, which is dark, as it is most of the time. A perfect contrast. He plays with the knife. Twisting, turning, twisting turning. Cutting. The gold of his blood well up from the accidental cut on his finger. His gazes slips from it to his arm, hidden under his glove. He wonders if—)

Sometimes, he gets overwhelmed.

When this happens, time disappears. It’s a challenge for when this happens during battle. He tries his best, but he suspects that his opponent notices when he stumbles suddenly, looking frantic and breathing beginning to speed up. Then again, his opponent hates him, so he might brush it off. Whatever happens, things haven’t changed.

After battle, he will retreat into his room until this passes. He doesn’t know how long it takes; he never keeps track. Once, his friends got really worried about him. They knocked on the lots of times that day. Eventually, he came out of his room, smiling like always.

He suspects they know he’s not alright, that he’s never been alright.

He’ll never confront them. If he does, he’ll be admitting something is wrong. That he is wrong. Which he isn’t. He’s not hurt. He’s not cracked. And he’s definitely not broken. That would be dangerous, if he was. It would mean the thoughts were right.

It would mean his thoughts, both bad and good and that other part that’s directed inwards, is right.

(It’s his fault. His fault. His fault. His fault, his fault, his fault his fault hisfaulthisfaulthis—)

~oOo~

Dream knows that hope is a determined thing.

He knows this. He doesn’t think he’s too determined, though. He gives up too easily. He also knows, that if you feed hope correctly, it can become a raging fire. A fire so big, you are consumed by it. Though…you are not blinded by this. This one makes you stronger, makes you feel invincible.

He knows this. His hope isn’t this one, nor is it foolish or reckless. He’s not sure what it is. It feels like poison. Like it slips in his soul and thrives off everything he pushes down. Your fiery hope can become like this if you don’t stop feeding it. Give it enough, and it will kill you.

Until…

You let go.

You drop this poison and let it slither away, looking for someone new to fall victim. It’s in its nature. After this, you will start again. You will go through a loop of making a fire, fanning its spark, lose control, and let go. This is it. There is no escaping.

~oOo~

Dream makes a mistake, eventually. He knew he would.

He had been losing control recently. His thoughts slipping through, getting out of hand. He had to upgrade to longer, darker gloves. His friends are concerned; he can see them staring at him when he zones out in the living room. It’s hard to mask that.

He tries. He makes his smiles wider, his tone happier. He spends all day like this, even falling asleep with a smile stapled to his face, which stings. Tears are an urge he pushes away. If he indulges, he’ll be left with evidence. That can’t happen. People will fuss. They always do. He hates it.

(He hates himself more. It doesn’t surprise him when his thoughts turn inwards, that one part of his mind taking control. It’s almost nice. It makes him feel something. For once.)

He remembers that he tried talking before, a long time ago, with his only friend besides his brother in the village. He had had fewer problems then. Though, he had enough to not be okay. He was far worse now. He was past fixing, probably.

So, he had to stay silent. If he is, maybe he’ll get through it.

…It doesn’t work.

(Like when his friends tried to help him. He had been backed into a corner. They had ambushed him, caught him off guard, which was quite hard to do. They shared their concerns, hoping to get through to him. He had stayed silent. He had to. If he talked, things would get worse. He will get through it by himself. He doesn’t need to burden—)

It was during a fight with Nightmare that he made the mistake.

He couldn’t remember entering the fight, or what exactly happened. He only remembered slipping. Something falling off his tongue, out his mouth before he could stop it. He had frozen; his opponent had frozen. The battle had frozen, become quite cold, almost too cold to breathe in.

He remembers panicking. Teleporting away. Away from arms that tried to stop him. Away from his past. Away from his mistake. He had curled up somewhere cold, shivering, arms around his skull, crying. Nobody came. That was good.

He eventually calmed enough to disappear into his mind. It was like he fell asleep, but his eyes were open. He had shut down completely.

(His thoughts were his only company now. They screamed.)

~oOo~

Dream knows hope is a fragile thing.

He knows this. Thoughts can taint it. Thoughts can poison it. Doubt can tear it. Worry can cut it up. Sadness and anger can break it. You will be left with ruined hope, though you will try to make it seem like it is untainted. You will live a lie. You will delude yourself. Lies, lies, lies. These lies will become your go-to defence.

He knows this. He knows that the lies will build a mask. Build a new person, some blank slate for you to play. You get to pick its voice, its clothes, its personality. Anything. As long as it is the opposite of your truth. Because your truth is deadly.

Until…

You give up.

Your hope shatters. Shatters like a mirror. Its shards fall to the ground, so brittle they break into even smaller bits. They become so small; you can’t pick them up anymore. It’s almost like sand, how they fall between your fingers. You cannot fix this. Not by yourself.

~oOo~

Dream doesn’t notice that he gives up.

He doesn’t notice lots of things.

He doesn’t notice his friends become frantic with worry, searching everywhere for him, desperate enough to tell Nightmare about how he has been recently.

He doesn’t notice Nightmare laugh at first, then gradually become serious, worried, joining in searching, realizing how awful he’s been recently, gaining the ability to return to his former self, the one before corruption.

He doesn’t notice the multiverse panic in his disappearance.

He doesn’t notice the balance shifting.

He doesn’t notice the ten months he’s been gone.

~oOo~

Dream knows…

~oOo~

Dream does notice when Nightmare finds him.

He had become submerged in snow. It was difficult to distinguish his bones from the powder. It was hard to tell if he was alive at all. He had become catatonic. Staring at nothing. Staring through Nightmare. Yet he hears things. He hears, he feels, he tastes, he thinks. He hears Nightmare find him.

He hears him stop.

He hears him slowly approach, like he’ll disappear if he moves too slowly.

He hears him kneel beside him. Take his hands away from his skull and hold them. Brush some snow off him.

He hears him talk. Talk about what he missed. Talk about what he’ll have to catch up on, what he’ll have to do. This talk shifts. He starts talking about how sorry he was. How he should’ve noticed.

Nightmare apologizes.

For the first time in months, his eyes brighten. He can see.

~oOo~

Dream knows that…

~oOo~

Dream almost jumps away when he sees his brother, not the imposter he was expecting.

In fact, he probably would’ve. If his bones weren’t frozen and stiff, in dire need of heat. He couldn’t speak either, or he would’ve been asking if this was a trap. He didn’t think it was. He hoped it wasn’t.

He gazes at his Nightmare, who had his head bent low, staring at their hands. He looks just as he remembered. It had been so long. He never thought he’d see him again. The realization that he was in front of him, and the heat on his cold hands making him real and not a hallucination, was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. He fought them.

One escaped.

It slipped down his cheek, dropping into the snow around him. He stared at his brother.

He couldn’t speak. Instead, he reached out with his magic. He reached out to Nightmare, searching for his attention. His magic practically screamed that he was awake, alive, present. He was back.

Nightmare blinked. They made eye contact. Nightmare smiled at him, like nothing was wrong. Nothing was broken. He wasn’t broken. His eyes were barely focused. Nightmare sensed him spiralling and reached out with his magic, shushing him. He gingerly gathered him up, hugging him loosely.

Nightmare welcomed him back.

He didn’t hug back. His head fell to Nightmare’s shoulder, resting.

Something warm entered his soul. It startled him. It was new. Unfamiliar. Yet it felt…nice. Right. It made him relax. It made him itch to hug his brother back. It brought more tears, this time those of relief, as he placed the feeling.

It was hope.

~oOo~

Dream knows that hope is a foolish thing.

However, he also knows that the most foolish thing you can do, is stop hoping.

[dre--scape]

Slow Down (Stephen Strange x Wife!Reader)

So i’m finally done. AND ITS MY FIRST REQUEST!!!! I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT I DID IT AND I DID MY BEST AT EDITING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY. i also wanna apologize for the terrible title and if it may seem rushed, everything played out in my head perfectly, but once I got to writing, it was all there, but it didn’t want to go  d o w n . i also wanted to include billy but icouldntimsosorry

Pairing: Stephen Strange x fem!reader

Word count: 1781

Request by @mrs-walka-blog: Hii Can i request a Stephen x wife!reader ANGST where they are having a heated argument in the car (reader accusing him of cheating with christine) and then the car crash happens. It would be before he got his powers obviously.

Summary: ^^^

I also accept requests!

Warnings: ANGST, Major Character death, descriptive car crash, moderate swearing (3 B---- words)

Your gaze watched the rain race off of the Lamborghini’s windshield and the wipers that pushed them off faster as Stephen drove quickly along the mountainside. The anxious feeling in your stomach made your nausea worse as your husband weaved through the two lanes. But you were certain that your mind was faster.

Stephen had been spending too much time at the hospital lately and you were beginning to wonder if he would come home at all. Of course you knew that being married to a neurosurgeon, you wouldn’t see your significant other for hours at a time (You felt terrible for silently thanking the Libby Zion Act). But the fact that he would be around a past lover most of the time had you slightly on edge.

You felt bad for thinking about it too because Christine was a dear friend of yours and you knew she was extremely kind, that she would never have those intentions. So why was it only now that your mind decided to berate you?

Who would want to be married to a lawyer for Christ’s sake? Oh God, what if he’s cheating on me with Christine? He probably is. He’s around her almost 24/7, so I wouldn’t be surprised. She definitely looks like Regina George. Only so much nicer. But if I had to give a rough estimate, he’d probably leave me in two-

“Darling, you really think that low of me?” Stephen asked through a strained chuckle. He wasn’t hurt by the fact that you thought he would actually leave you. No. He was furious at the fact that you thought he was one of those low-life people who’d do it behind your back.

He hesitantly looked over at your face which was mixed with confusion and embarrassment. “You mumble when you think, Love.” You were too flustered by your vocal thoughts to notice the spite in Stephen’s voice.

“I-I do?” You questioned timidly, carefully looking up at your husband.

Stephen nodded slightly, “Yeah.”

You couldn’t help but quietly ask, “Are you really with Christine though?”

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you and you leaned your head against the cool window. Placing a finger against your lips, your mind started to race again.

A couple of minutes passed before Stephen spoke up again. “Do you really think I would cheat on you?” He asked, a slight edge to his voice. That drew your attention back to the man at the wheel and you shook your head. “No, I don’t.” You mumbled, hands fidgeting out of nervous habit. “I-I just-”

“Thought I was a low life asshole who moves on from woman to the next?” Your eyes narrowed and you gazed at Stephen, wishing looks could actually injure someone. You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. “It was just a simple question, Stephen.” Your brain finally registered how fast Stephen was driving when you glanced at the speedometer. “Now slow down.”

You saw him roll his eyes before placing them back on the road. “And it was a good question because?” Your mind immediately started piling up with evidence against him, but you knew they were all petty accusations. “You’re around her almost all week and when you come home, it’s always: Christine this and Christine that!” You huffed, cheeks turning slightly red.

“Am I not allowed to have any female friends?” The question lingered in the air along with his booming voice. You took a deep breath, calming yourself before speaking. “No, you are.” You said collectedly. “I’m just saying-”

“I’m always spending time with Christine!” Stephen cut you short. “We work together for Christ’s sake!” An irritated groan ripped out of your throat as you shifted in your seat. “Can you stop interrupting me?”

“When you stop accusing me!” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I was going to let it die, Stephen.” You informed him, training your eyes on the dark road ahead of you. You had hoped he would just leave it at that and stay quiet, but as soon as he raised his voice, you knew his ego wouldn’t allow that.

Stephen sneered and you felt the car go a little faster. “And let it run through your head a little bit more?” Your hand instinctively reached for the grab handle and you shot your husband a side-glare. “Can you blame me?” You asked, tightening your grip. “Your ego won’t let anything go because I just asked a question.”

The whole night, something hadn’t been sitting well in your stomach as your husband drove quickly. You blamed it on the speed and the type of road you were driving on. But now it went past that and you felt your breathing pick up. “Stephen, please slow down.” You whispered.

You heard Stephen sigh and you thought he would finally let it go and listen to your pleads. Until he said, “If I knew marrying a lawyer would mean having to justify my work, I would’ve tried to make it work with Christine.” Your chest constricted as you loosened your grip on the handle. “She’d probably be less of a bitch than you are now.”

A breath got caught in your throat as your heart dropped to your stomach. Your jaw dropped slightly and your lip tremble as you looked at Stephen for an apology.

He said he would never hurt you. He said you were enough. He said you were always enough.

But here you are: stupid enough to believe him. You were stupid enough to believe the egotistic man beside you. Tears threatened to spill as you looked away, finally focusing on the car that was seemed too close for your liking.

“Stephen-” Your worried tone wasn’t detected as the back of the Lamborghini sideswiped the car behind you.

That seemed to snap Stephen out of his exasperated stupor as he slammed his foot against the breaks. His hands impulsively turned the wheel to the left to try and straighten out the car. The seatbelt you wore tensed as you were tossed against it and you had the feeling of being slightly choked.

The first hit was expected. However, you never knew how painful it would be to actually hit something. It was somewhat equivalent to getting hit by a truck. The tree hit your side of the car and you were thrown against the seatbelt, feeling the material rub against your skin.

It was another few seconds before the car spun out of control and hit the traffic barrier of the road. This hit launched you head-first into the glass window. That seemed to slow everything down as you felt the car tumble down the mountain-side. Your head throbbed as you were flung around, glass shards flying around you. And if you were screaming, you couldn’t hear it.

The whole thing felt like a death-inducing rollercoaster.

It wasn’t until the third hit against your side, you were finally put into darkness.

Stephen was unfortunately still conscious by the time the car landed in the ditch. He wished he blacked out on the way down, but he didn’t.

The pain finally registered into his brain as he hung from his seatbelt but you were far more important. “(Y/N)...” His voice was slurred as he tried to call out for you. He craned his head the slightest bit which caused a great deal of pain.

But it couldn’t compete with the pain that spread from his chest when he saw you, unconscious and limp, dangling from the seatbelt. Your face was bloodied, bruised and littered with cuts. He saw the incisions on your figure from the glass shards as he attempted to reach out for you, but even thinking about it hurt his body.

“Love…” His voice trailed off as he finally slipped into unconsciousness.

Stephen finally woke up, his hands at his eye level.

He wasn’t put off by the metal needles sticking out of his hands or the stitches that covered them; he was put off by the fact he didn’t have his ring on.

Reality started crashing down on him. The words, the red, the crash, your screams… All of it.

Stephen’s eyes widened slightly as his breathing became slightly laboured. A soft hand placed itself on his shoulder to calm him down. But how could he when he came face to face with the cause of the argument instead of his wife?

“Stephen…” Christine looked like she was on the verge of tears as she glanced up at the doctor.

“Wh-Where is she?” Stephen asked almost immediately, his voice strained, rough, and coarse. He didn’t want to bother with her until he saw his beautiful, beautiful wife again. “Where’s (Y/N)?” When Christine bit her lip to hold back a sob and tears started falling, he knew he got his answer.

“-Severe brain trauma, abrasions, multiple fractures…” Christine mumbled the autopsy report at Stephen’s request.

He deserved to know what he did to you because he remembered his promises to you and your father.

He remembered to keep you safe. To not hurt you. To make you happy. He broke his vows in your last moments.

“She asked me to slow down.” Stephen murmured, cutting Christine off from the painful reading. “It was raining, I was driving at full speed, and she asked me to slow down.” The woman heard the strain in Stephen’s voice as he spoke. “We were fighting a-and…” Stephen let out a soft sob as the female surgeon put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He looked at the point of contact and laughed bitterly. “Do you know what I called her before she died?” Stephen looked out the window, eyes dull and emotionless. “I called her a bitch.” He heard Christine inhale sharply before he continued. “I called (Y/N), my wife, my love and my world, a bitch.”

Tears started flowing again as he let out another sob. “She’s d-dead because of me.” He cried as he leaned forward in his bed, glaring at his hands. “I never even said sorry.”

He felt so guilty. He was riled up and ignored your pleads. He said words he knew he wouldn’t be able to take back.

So when he glared at his hands, he was glaring at himself. His hands were the epitome of his work and the cause of your death. 

I deserve this.

Stephen looked up at Christine, tears falling from his eyes and a sad smile painted onto his lips. His eyes glanced over his bandaged finger, the place where his ring should’ve been, before flicking back up to ask Christine, his voice soft: “Do you think I could’ve saved her?”

[xfilescat]

part two: good morning, sunshine (steve harrington x reader)

word count: 1.3k 

warnings: none! except I wrote this in abt... twenty minutes, so yeah

preview: “At least you’d figured out why you had gotten so intoxicated, but why had you come to Steve’s? Why not Nancy’s? You were closer friends with her than you were with him. Even going to Jonathan would’ve made more sense because you were pretty close with him, too. It wasn’t like you and Steve weren’t friends, but you were ‘have fun together’ friends, not ‘show up to each other’s homes drunk and secretly sad’ friends.”

A/N: hey babes! so I wrote this part at the same time as part one so that’s why I'm posting them within a day of each other! typically, updates won’t be quite that fast, but I'll try my darnedest to get things posted in a timely fashion :) I'm also aiming for longer parts! hope u like this installment, my friends! 

You jolted awake to pitch blackness and thick silence. It took you a solid 30 seconds to understand why you were staring up at a ceiling fan that you didn’t recognize, and why your head felt like it was filled with concrete. You heaved yourself upright and looked around the room. It was empty. So was the kitchen, and so was the foyer. Outside, it was still dark. For all you knew, it could have been mere minutes since you first shut your eyes or it could have been hours.

“Steve?” you called. No answer. He was probably in bed.

You felt much more sober than you had when you went to sleep. Your entire body was killing you, but at least you could think straight. You guessed you’d been out for along time.

You stood up and sat right back down when vertigo slapped you across the face. You groaned. That was the worst part of being drunk.

Drunk. Oh god. You’d actually shown up to Steve’s house drunk. What the hell were you thinking? You cringed at your complete and utter stupidity. You tried to stand up again and this time you made it to your feet, but the dizziness still made you drop your head into your hands.

Out of the blue, you remembered the reason you had stolen your mother’s expensive vodka and downed half the bottle: your two best friends were ruining your life.

Kristen and Sue had been fighting ever since Sue started dating Andrew, Kristen’s ex-boyfriend. In all honesty, you were more on Kristen’s side than you were on Sue’s, but the situation was more of a misunderstanding than anything else. Sue expressed interest in Andrew, so Kristen sarcastically said that Sue could date whoever she wanted, so Sue thought Kristen was actually okay with her dating Andrew, and Kristen thought Sue would never really do it, but Sue really did it. They hadn’t spoken in weeks. You were losing sleep over it.

Each of them expected you to be angry with the other, and both of them were getting more and more annoyed every time you said you couldn’t. Earlier that night, both of them had called you—first Kristen, then Sue five minutes later—to complain about the other. Both of them got mad when you said you felt uncomfortable trashing your friend, and both of them hung up on you. You couldn’t handle the thought of losing either of them, and it felt like you just had. On the verge of tears, you had run downstairs, smuggled the stolen liquor up to your room, and gotten “wasted.”

It was an extremely unhealthy way to cope and you knew that. You were never going to do it again, especially since you’d be feeling the embarrassment from this one drunken experience for the next 50 years.

You sighed. At least you’d figured out why you had gotten so intoxicated, but why had you come to Steve’s? Why not Nancy’s? You were closer friends with her than you were with him. Even going to Jonathan would’ve made more sense because you were pretty close with him, too. It wasn’t like you and Steve weren’t friends, but you were “have fun together” friends, not “show up to each other’s homes drunk and secretly sad” friends.

It’s the story… of a man named Brady…

Another burning question: Why was the Brady Bunch theme stuck in your head?

Once the room stopped spinning, you padded into the kitchen to get yourself another glass of water. You flipped the lights on and peered at your reflection in the window above the sink. Gorgeous: your mascara was smudged around your eyelids, your hair was a rat’s nest, and your face was pallid. You sort of looked a cool goth chick, but only after she’d been hit by a train.

You took a paper towel and cleaned the makeup off of your eyes, and then you smoothed your hair back into the neatest ponytail you could manage. You still looked halfway dead, but it would have to do. It wasn’t like you were going to go wake up Steve to say goodbye. You just had to look decent enough to walk home without scarring any passersby for life.

After drinking a ton of water, which helped dull your motion sickness, you decided you’d write Steve an enthusiastic thank you note and leave it on the counter. You were so grateful that he’d taken care of you. He let you barge right into his house with absolutely no explanation and crash on his couch, for goodness’ sake. Maybe you two were better friends than you thought. You couldn’t help but smile.

As you explored the kitchen in search of paper and a writing utensil, you caught sight of what you were wearing. Your shorts barely skimmed the top of your thighs and your top didn’t leave much to the imagination. You might as well have been naked. You were such a colossal dumbass that it was almost impressive. You remembered that Steve had given you a sweatshirt to borrow and you definitely planned on wearing it home. How you had walked outside during a January cold front in your state of undress was beyond you.

You couldn’t find anything to write your note with and you didn’t want to go rummaging through the drawers and cabinets, so you’d just have to call Steve the minute you got home and leave a message. You shut the kitchen light off, went back into the living room, and tugged his sweatshirt over your head. It nearly reached your knees and the sleeves made it look like you had no hands, but it was warm and cozy and smelled like expensive cologne.

In the foyer, you slipped on your damp sneakers—they felt especially unpleasant since drunk you had elected not to wear socks—and opened the front door. You did it slow and steady, looking over your shoulder the whole time to make sure you weren’t making enough noise to wake Steve up again. Once you had it open, you pivoted and backed out of the house, right into somebody standing behind you on the porch.

You screamed, whirled around, and came face-to-face with Jonathan and Nancy. They looked as shocked as you felt. “Oh my god,” you breathed, your heart pounding in your throat. “What are you guys doing here?”

Nancy looked you up and down, taking in your outfit, and raised her eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

You saw yourself through her eyes: almost half-naked, obviously exhausted, and sneaking out of a boy’s house in the middle of the night. Your stomach dropped and you shook your head vehemently. “No, no, no. Nothing happened. Me and Steve… I just… okay, I was drunk, and… no, I mean, wait. It’s not what you think.”

She blinked. “Okay…”

You shook your head again. “I just showed up here drunk and fell asleep on the couch, that’s all.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Jonathan said. “Is Steve awake?”

“I don’t think so,” you said. “Hey, what’s going on?”

You hadn’t noticed it at first, but they looked frantic and terrified. It seemed like they’d been woken up in the middle of the night, too. Nancy’s hair was in an even messier ponytail than yours and she was dressed in a nightgown with a jean jacket thrown over it. Jonathan was wearing flannel pajama pants with a black sweater.

Nancy bit her lip. “Can we come inside?”

“Sure,” you said, like it was your house. “But you’re kinda scaring me right now. What’s the matter?”

They looked at each other, then back at you. They said nothing.

“Please talk to me,” you said, your breath hitching. “Did something happen?”

It was the vaguest possible question. “Did something happen” could be in reference to absolutely anything. Did you see a movie? Did you make a phone call? Did you run a red light? But you knew that they knew what you meant: Did somebody die? Did something attack somebody? Did the world fall apart again?

They remained silent, but the way their faces fell was all the confirmation you needed.

TAGLIST: @wefracturedmotivation @trashyemonerd

[misscrazyfangirl321]

Together We’ll Weather The Storm

Fandom: Timeless

Pairing: Garcy

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship

Rating: G

Summary: A sleepless night gives Lucy some new insight into the man who's been holding her together for the past few months, and she gets to return the favor.

A/N: For the anon who requested Lucy helping Flynn with a fear or panic attack, to parallel the many lovely “Flynn helping Lucy with her claustrophobia” fics. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

--

She tries to sleep, makes every effort to close her eyes and lie as still as possible, hoping to drift off, but it’s pointless. Every time she can feel the first edges of sleep starting to creep into her mind, a crash of thunder jolts her awake again.

 It must be close, she muses. The lightning and thunder are almost on top of each other.

 Good thing they're in an underground bunker.

 Finally, she gives in, throwing the blanket off of her and rolling off the couch. If she's going to be awake anyway, she might as well see if Flynn's up. He usually is, whenever she goes to look for him. Sometimes, she worries that he doesn't sleep enough, but it never seems to affect him in the field.

 She comes to his room, half-debates knocking, just in case he's changing, and decides to go on in. On the off-chance he is asleep, she doesn't want to wake him. Decision firmly made, she steps into the room, and stops short.

 Empty.

 The bed is made, the empty bottle of vodka still sits on his desk, and a book is open on his nightstand, but there's no sign of the man himself.

 For one tiny, irrational second, she's terrified that he's gone, that he broke out of the bunker and left them all behind. All she can think is, "Not again."

 Then, reason catches up with her. If he'd broken out, alarms would be blaring. Besides, he wouldn't get far in his fight against Rittenhouse without a time machine, and she definitely would have noticed him walking past her to get the Lifeboat.

 (She trusts him, of course, but she can't bring herself to list that as a reason. After all, she had trusted Wyatt, right up until she had realized that he had broken out. Maybe it's herself she doesn't trust.)

 Forcing a shaky laugh, she shakes her head. For all she knows, he just went to the restroom, and she's freaking out over nothing.

 She considers lingering, waiting for him to come back, but her stomach protests the idea. Food, then. She'll go to the kitchen, put together a meal, (probably warm up leftovers, if she's honest,) and come back after.

 With that thought firmly in mind, she steps out of his room, and makes her way down the hallway. She makes it exactly three steps before the bathroom door opens, and a voice stops her.

 "Lucy?" He sounds dead on his feet, and when she turns back to him, he looks it. Dark circles underneath his eyes, hair sticking up in all directions, (very, very briefly, she considers running her hand through it, smoothing the errant locks, but it would be too much, he'd look at her with wide, tender eyes, and she'd do something very stupid,) and shoulders sagging, as if the very effort of standing is too much. "Is everything alright?"

 Instinctively, she knows that she can tell him no, that she wanted to talk, and he'll stay up until all hours of the night, talking about anything and nothing. She also knows that tonight, he shouldn't.

 "It's fine." She smiles reassuringly. "I was just checking on you." The look in his eyes is too much, far too soft and pained, and she clears her throat. "I thought I heard something."

 Technically true; she heard thunder, after all.

 He nods, slowly, and she's about to walk away when another clap of thunder hits. It sounds like it's almost on top of them, and she looks at him, a quip about needing earplugs dying on her tongue. He's... Frozen, for lack of a better word. His eyes are squeezed shut, tension radiating from every surface of his body, and he doesn't seem to be breathing.

 "Are you..." She tries to keep her voice soft and neutral, but a hint of disbelief creeps in. Garcia Flynn, scared? "Okay?"

 He nods again, sharply this time, and opens his eyes. The smile he gives her is painfully forced, and she can't even bring herself to match it. "Flynn..."

 "It's fine, really, I'm just-" Another clap of thunder, and he flinches, eyes falling shut once more.

 He doesn't try to finish the reassurance; it's painfully obvious that whatever he was going to say would have been a lie, anyway. Instead, he stands, eyes closed, as if willing her to go away. It's clear that he doesn't want her to see him like this, and a part of her is tempted to walk away, to give him the space he so obviously wants, but something stops her.

 After everything he's done for her, how can she leave him alone to deal with this?

 Instead, she steps forward, acting mostly on instinct. Wraps her arms around his waist. He stiffens, but when she doesn't let go, he exhales, returning the embrace. One hand settles on the small of her back, the other rests between her shoulder blades, and he traces circles on her back with his thumbs.

 At the next clap of thunder, he pulls her closer to him, briefly bowing his head over hers. His breath is warm against her, and she leans into him even more.

 It occurs to her that anyone could see them, and while she can't bring herself to care, the last thing she wants is for Wyatt and Flynn to go at it again, especially when the latter seems to be on the verge of having a panic attack. She pulls away, but takes his hand.

 "Follow me."

 He does, of course. He always does.

 His room has huge windows, and while the thunder seems to be bothering him more than the lightning, she doesn't want to take him back in there. The living room and kitchen are public areas, with nowhere to hide if someone wandered in. That leaves just one option.

 She leads him across the hallway, to the mostly unused storage closet. He pauses in the doorway, giving her a questioning glance, but before he can find his words, there's another boom of thunder. His grip tightens on her hand, almost painfully for a moment, and he nods, following her into the small room.

 Once, this would have been terrible for her claustrophobia, but now? She's been shoved into a hidden trunk with another person. This may be small, but at least she has room to move.

 There isn't much in the way of furniture, so she settles on the floor, tugging him after her. She rests her head on his chest, over his heart, and waits. Slowly, uncertainly, he brings his arms around her, and she snuggles closer.

 The thunder is muffled in here, she realizes, but it does little to help the way he winces, the way he holds onto her so tightly, she half expects to melt into him.

 "When I was in college, I wanted to drop out of school," she murmurs, both to give him something else to focus on, and because she wants him to understand. Belatedly, she realizes that he may already know this story from the journal, but if he does, he doesn't say it. Instead, he clears his throat, and manages a reply.

 "And what were you planning to do?"

 She smiles against him. "Join a band."

 He chuckles, and for the first time, he seems to truly relax. "You like to sing?"

 Unpleasant memories flicker through her mind, of Hollywood, and Hedy Lamar, and looking Wyatt dead in the eyes, singing, leaping without a doubt in her mind that he would catch her.

 "Sometimes," she responds, quieter than she means to.

 Of course, he notices her change in tone, and nudges her playfully. "So. Dropping out of school to join a band. Clearly, that didn't quite go as planned."

 In spite of herself, she smiles. "Nope. I was on my way to tell my mother, didn't notice the oil slick on the road..."

 As if on cue, the thunder booms once more, and it's hard to say which makes him flinch. Possibly both. She rests a hand on his chest, silently reminding him that she's there, that they're both okay.

 "I went into the river. I was... Trapped in the car. Couldn't get out, couldn't-" Against her will, some of the traces of panic that always come with the memory start to slip in, and she holds him a little tighter. "I thought I was going to die."

 "But you didn't."

 Whether he's reminding her or himself, it isn't clear.

 "No. Someone saved me. I never saw who it was, but I figured... If this was my second chance, I probably shouldn't waste it."

 She considers for a moment what her life might have been like, if she had finished that drive. Would she be a world-famous singer now, or would she have given up that dream long ago? Would her mother have pushed her to stick with her studies, to continue the family legacy? Would she have listened?

 "But ever since then," she finishes softly, finally reaching her point, "I've been absolutely terrified of being trapped in small spaces."

 He makes a soft noise of understanding, understanding of what she's saying: She won't judge him for his fears.

 Outside, the storm crashes on, but he keeps his focus on her, barely flinching at the next clap of thunder.

 "It was storming the night my family was murdered." She wasn't expecting him to share in return, but she certainly isn't going to make him stop. Instead, she tilts her head up to look at him. He's staring straight ahead, eyes suspiciously wet. "And at first, when I heard the shots, I thought... I thought it was just thunder." He chuckles bitterly. "When I went to check... Well. It wasn't."

 She'd do anything to take away the pain in his eyes. In that moment, she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would tear time and space apart to give him back his family, even if it meant he would leave her in the end. But all she can do is hold onto him, offering him silent reassurance that he isn't alone.

 "Now, whenever there's a storm, I..." He shakes his head, trailing off, but she can imagine what he's saying. Being forced to relive something like that must be terrible, especially alone.

 With that thought in mind, she makes a decision. "Next time, come get me."

 He hesitates, finally meeting her eyes, and the uncertainty there breaks her heart. He doesn't want to bother her, to inconvenience her, to be anything but a rock for her to lean on. Doesn't he understand that she wants to be the same for him?

 No, maybe he doesn't.

 She sits up, cups his cheek, and repeats. "Come get me." When he still doesn't agree, she decides to switch tactics. "Unless... This doesn't help?"

 The change is instant. He softens, giving her an almost incredulous smile.

 (And oh, there's that tenderness she was afraid of earlier. Now, though, it's a comfort, and she feels herself leaning in, just slightly. Catches herself-now definitely isn't the time-but his eyes track the movement, and she knows they'll have to have this conversation soon.

 Soon, but not yet.)

 "Lucy..." His accent is thicker than usual, either from emotion, exhaustion, or both. "I don't want to... You need sleep, and-"

 "You aren't alone," she says firmly, leaving no room for argument. He studies her face for a long moment, searching for any hint of insincerity or obligation, but there's nothing to find. She wants to be there for him.

 Finally, shakily, he nods, and she smiles. "Good."

 With that, she curls back into his side, and they stay there for a long time.

-

Also on AO3. 

[shireness-says]

Second Verses and Happy Beginnings

Summary: Killian Jones never expected his life to end up like this when Emma Swan walked into his bar, all those years ago. A follow-up to Maybe I Won’t Die Alone. ~3.1K. Also on AO3.

A/N: Look, Ma, I posted something this week! Even if it is in, barely under the time limit. This story was written as a sequel to Maybe I Won’t Die Alone, my RockStar!Emma AU, and you should definitely read that first, since this piece assumes knowledge of what happened (links to AO3, Tumblr). 

Special thanks to my karaoke consultant, @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, who helped me pick songs for everyone back before I realized that would be way too clunky to actually include. Thanks, boo - you were an enormous help!

Rated T for a little swearing and vague mentions of more enjoyable activities occurring. Un-beta’d, in the true spirit of the original.

Enjoy!

Watching the love of his life hold back the scowl lurking just beneath her forced smile on the red carpet, Killian Jones still has trouble believing this is his life.

------

Their courtship had been almost shockingly traditional, really. The tabloids are particularly disappointed in this - undoubtedly expecting to be some sort of drama or tension associated with a famous rock star dating a normal bloke who runs a bar in London - and Emma is almost giddy with amusement over their confusion and annoyance and outrage. But they’re really… Killian doesn’t want to say boring, but honestly, they’re not that exciting. The most high-profile thing they do is sometimes go and see other bands, established or up-and-coming, and even that doesn’t make for a particularly good story. At the end of the day, they’re just a pair of people desperately in love who want to be left in peace.

But he’s liked this sedate courtship - they both have. After six months, they move in together, selling Emma’s place and hauling everything across town again. True, her old apartment would definitely have been large enough for both of them, but Killian likes this new start - a place that’s for the both of them to grow in together. So they buy a little house in a cute suburb and fill the house with pictures of their family. There’s a nice kitchen, and space for Emma to have a designated music room, and two extra bedrooms he might have thought about filling with children. One day. In the meantime, it’s everything they need, with space to grow.

He and Emma have been dating for nearly two years when he finally proposes. He does it right, too; they’d flown back to Maine for Christmas that year, and Killian had very nervously asked Ruth for her permission to marry Emma. In retrospect, he’s not sure why he was so nervous - Emma’s mother more than approves of the two of them, especially since she views Killian as one of the few people with the patience to handle living with Emma - but he’s a shaking mess of nerves all the same. Ruth excitedly grants her blessing, of course, and then proceeds to grill him about every detail of a proposal he hasn’t planned yet. It’s the Nolan way. Anything less would be out of character.

He probably should have dropped down on one knee that very evening - he has a ring and everything, it’s not like he’s not prepared - but her whole family is there, and watching, and it doesn’t feel like the right time.

The right moment, as it turns out, is all the way in the beginning of March, when he’s still fretting about perfect dates and whether she’ll want flowers or music or something else he hasn’t thought of yet. They’re in the bar before he opens for the afternoon, which is probably the most predictable setting he could have asked for in taking their relationship to the next level. So many of their milestones have happened at the Jolly Roger - it’s probably only appropriate that this one happen here as well.

He’s checking the liquor stocks, making sure everything is ready for the evening to come, with Emma leaning against the counter and watching him with a funny look in her eye. Killian knows that look; it usually means plans and trouble. Killian also knows damn well she’ll say her piece in her own time, usually for greatest dramatic effect. It’s the Emma Swan way. So he smiles the special smile that’s just for her and continues with his pre-opening routine.

He’s just wiping down the bar top one last time when she finally speaks up. “Are you ever going to ask?” she says, the smile evident in her voice.

“Ask what, darling?” he replies absentmindedly, attention focused on scouring one particularly stubborn sticky spot. Honestly, what the hell are these people spilling?

“Me to marry you,” her voice pipes back in, causing Killian to jerk his head up suddenly. He must look ridiculous, all wide eyed surprise at her question. Even if the words are said in a teasing tone, he knows she means them. They’ve talked about marriage before, like the mature and responsible adults they’re trying to be, and both know it’s a step they’re not adverse to. That doesn’t mean he was expecting the matter to come up this particular afternoon, in this particular setting.

Even if they’ve discussed the matter, he’s not sure how she knows he’s on the verge of taking that step. “How do you know about that?” he somehow manages to stutter out past his own tongue. Christ, this is not how this was supposed to go.

She shrugs. “Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret.”

Ah. Of course. He should have figured on that one. Emma’s sister-in-law probably didn’t mean to, but when she has a piece of information she’s not supposed to share, you can practically see it bursting from every one of her pores. It would have taken Emma nothing at all to weasel the information out of her.

Lost in his thoughts, and probably his embarrassment, he doesn’t notice Emma leaning across the bar until she takes his hand, their fingers entwining automatically after months and years of practice turned instinctual reflex. “I’m gonna say yes, you know,” she says softly, and if Killian was shocked before, you could knock him over with a feather now. He knows, somewhere in his mind, that she’ll say yes if he asks, but it’s one thing to know that, and quite another to hear it. He takes another moment to stare, slightly open-mouthed, before responding.

“I’ll be right back.”

And after that, it’s just a matter of dashing upstairs to the apartment he may not live in anymore but still keeps in case he needs to crash one night. With fumbling hands, he yanks open the drawer to retrieve the little blue velvet box from its hiding place. At the time, the apartment’s junk drawer was the only place he could be certain she wouldn’t stumble across it on accident. That planning has certainly come in handy now, with an impatient fiance-to-be waiting downstairs at the bar.

He practically skids around the corner on his way back down, bursting back into the main bar area a few minutes later.

Killian is sure he must look a sight - practically tripping over his own feet, hands faintly trembling with nerves - but Emma’s light laugh as he attempts to arrange his legs into a kneeling position helps.

He had a speech at one point, or half a speech, ready to go, but that was when he had grand plans of dinners and river cruises and Moments with capital letters, but those scripts never took into consideration that he might be having this moment on his questionably clean bar floor. But Emma’s still smiling at him from her perch, and really, that’s all the encouragement he’ll ever need. Killian takes a final deep breath, soaking in one last moment before his life changes forever.

“Emma Swan, love of my life, would you do me the great honor of marrying me?” There’s no need for grand speeches, really; it’s just the two of them, and they’ve never needed the grand gesture.

Emma’s grinning so widely her cheeks must hurt, before she finally opens her mouth and says the word probably their entire family has been waiting to hear:

“Yes.”

------

The wedding is as small as they can reasonably arrange - which is still larger than either would like, but oh well. The point is, it happens, and they’re married.

It’s a very traditional affair, to the shock of none of their friends and all of the magazines. They find a nice garden and Killian wears a black suit and Emma finds a beautiful white dress - fitted enough to suit her tastes, with a lace top that she wears for the ceremony and formal reception to avoid scandalizing Killian’s handful of elderly aunts and uncles any further. But she looks like a princess, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he tears up at the sight of her brother walking her down the aisle.

Killian feels like he should probably remember the ceremony more, but so much of it is a blur. He says the words; she says the words. Mostly, he’s so focused on Emma and the way there’s a couple of wisps of loose hair around her face and how the veil makes her look like some sort of angel, especially with the way she’s smiling at him, that the rest of it is a blur. He’s told to kiss the bride almost before he knows it, and they’re married.

They have two receptions. It’s not for any classy reason, or a celebrity excuse to spend more money, it’s just that there are people they should allow to be there for the cake cutting and first dance and everything else, and the people they actually want to let loose with later. So, two parties it is. The rest of the Lost Girls, with an assist on guitar from Robin,  sing the song Emma first wrote for him (ignoring the disapproving looks of the older crowd), Liam makes the entire room cry with his best man speech, and the cake is this rich chocolate concoction from a local bakery they discovered near the house right after they moved in. It’s… nice, in that way that it’s nice that people are there to be happy for the two of them, but a little formal.

No, the real party is afterwards, when all the people they’re obligated to invite go home and just their immediate family and friends are left - the members of the Lost Girls and Band of Thieves, Regina, Merida, both their siblings. Ruth had been graciously invited, but turned their offer under the excuse of exhaustion. But the rest of them hightail it over to the Jolly Roger for the afterparty of the century.

(And maybe he and Emma are a little later than expected after they sneak in a quickie in the reception hall’s dressing room under the guise of Killian helping Emma detach her veil, but their friends don’t really need to know that, not for sure.)

There’s laughing, and drinking, and fun. They’d arranged for an extra sheet cake to be delivered to the bar, and Smee agrees to man the kitchen in his dress clothes, so they’re all treated to a steady stream of junk food, which Emma in particular appreciates. Really, this is the kind of party they both wanted - small and casual and theirs.

Inevitably, as the hour grows later and the drinks grow stronger - thank you, Merida - things turn to karaoke. It seems appropriate; weirdly enough, karoake kind of brought Emma and Killian together. It’s only right that it features as a highlight of their reception as well. Some participants are more enthusiastic than others - Mulan’s girlfriend, Dorothy, flatly refuses to sing, and Mulan herself threatens to choose “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” if forced to participate - but most of the attendants take a turn. Ruby is particularly enthusiastic (though the cocktails may be to blame for that), and seems to be on stage every other song, aggressively making eye contact with Killian through the entirety of “Goodbye Earl” and serenading the pianist from Band of Thieves with Bob Seger when he attempts to leave and go home to his daughter. Emma chooses a Killers song - “You all know I’m nothing if not predictable” - and Killian is even coaxed onstage after losing a bet with Robin to croon a few love songs at his new bride. Personally,  Killian’s favorite moment is when Will Scarlet drunkenly selects a song in French on accident and refuses to just let it pass, instead insisting on tripping over every word and dedicating the whole mess to Belle, “the only French I speak.” It’s a thoughtful gesture, if somewhat nonsensical in its wording.

(There’s quite a bit of teasing about the seductive powers of bad French karaoke when Nellie Rose French Scarlet enters the world nine months later from a motley collection of doting aunts and uncles.)

Killian and Emma stay at the reception afterparty probably far longer than is typical for a newly married couple, but they do eventually make their farewells, leaving the key with Smee and Merida to lock up. It’s a surprisingly sedate ride home, but then again, there’s only so much you can get away with in the back of a taxi.

“Are you happy, Mr. Jones?” she asks with a smile, words only slightly slurred.

Killian smiles right back at her - at his wife! - before dropping a light kiss on her upturned lips. “Blissful, Mrs. Jones.”

------

And life goes on. A new album is released, not long after Nellie is born, and the Lost Girls embark on a severely abbreviated tour. It’s hard, he’ll admit; Emma leaving for extended periods of time is like a throwback to the days before she was based in London, but now with the added bonus of not being able to sleep properly at night in an empty bed and expecting her around every corner of their house. Killian misses his wife, dammit, and no amount of calls and video chats can replicate the warm weight of her body curled up next to his.

It’s that desperate missing that’s landed them in this latest adventure, most likely. They weren’t actively trying for kids, by any means, but Emma has never been great about adjusting her pill schedule to the various time changes associated with a tour and really, can a man be blamed for wanting to spend some quality naked time with the love of his life when she’s been gone on this latest leg of the tour for four weeks? Absolutely not.

But those actions have consequences - results, really, consequences makes it sound like some awful punishment - and the results in this case are a positive pregnancy test, followed by a sonogram and a tiny, fluttering heartbeat. A baby.

And all those convoluted paths, traditional and less so, have led to this moment: standing on the red carpet at the Grammys, watching the love of his life be interviewed by a reporter Emma looks like she’d rather snap in two.

The interviewer is some tiny slip of a woman, all auburn hair and sweet simpering attitude that Emma has sworn in the past hides the most backhanded comments. Killian can’t help but agree - asking the prerequisite questions about the album that brought the band here tonight, the interviewer sounds dismissive at best, like she doesn’t expect anything from such a record.

“Well this is such an… interesting look for tonight, very daring!” she’s saying, and Killian thinks the strain in Emma’s polite smile could be spotted from the next state. Possibly across the ocean. He takes a step closer to wrap his arm around her waist, hoping she can draw upon his own patience for just a few minutes longer.

“Well thanks, Aurora, I’m not much for the gauzy fairy looks formal maternity wear usually offers.”

She looks stunning, really, all snippy comments aside. Emma’s dressed in some tight, black concoction of a cocktail dress in a fabric he doesn’t pretend to recognize, with gold studs lining the neckline, short sleeves, and under the bust and her hair pulled back in a kicky ponytail to match her dramatic eye makeup. It’s quite the look, one that had left Killian awestruck when Emma wandered out of the bedroom, but he can see why Aurora might have objections, since the dress does nothing to soften or mask the five-and-a-half month bump. He likes seeing the bump, really, even if the interviewer is weirded out by Emma’s tight fashion choices - it’s a easily visible reminder (not that he needs one) that there’s a child in there, a child they made together and will love beyond all reason.

That pest is trying to grill Emma about the babe now, and honestly, that’s about Killian’s limit. What have he and Emma done in their lives that leads this harpy to think it’s alright to demand to know her due date and the baby’s gender? Nothing.

“We’re letting it be a surprise,” Emma replies in that sickly sweet voice Killian knows means she’s at the end of her patience. Thankfully, it seems to be obvious to the brunette as well, as they’re finally allowed to break away and wander inside the concert hall.

“I hate that vulture,” Emma grumbles. Killian is just trying to focus on how cute she gets when she’s angry in an effort to not think about how much he’d prefer to go throttle that awful Aurora.

“I know love, but it’s over, at least. You were very diplomatic, even if I did know you were about to commit a murder.”

She glowers at him, but it doesn’t hold too much threat when they both know the statement is true. It’s with no small relief that they find and take their seats, even if it is earlier than most of the attendees. Emma sinks into her chair with a groan of relief, and Killian can’t help but worry.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Like this kid is way too excited. We’re in a different time zone, shouldn’t he think he should be sleeping or something?”

Killian laughs, reach over to softly rub his hand over Emma’s stomach, searching for the little kicks and punches from their son. And ok, maybe they lied. Maybe they both jumped at the chance to find out the sex of the baby. But maybe, also, it’s no one’s business but their own.

“I don’t think Wiley got the memo, darling.” As if on cue, the little guy himself kicks out at Killian’s hand, receiving a collection of shushing noises and gentle rubbing to where he’s been aiming in response. It doesn’t always work to calm the little lad down, but Killian hopes it will this time, because his poor love deserves a break. The swollen feet are quite enough to deal with, especially in strappy heels.

Glancing back up at his Swan’s face, she’s wearing that soft look he’s come to associate with hormones. “I love you so much, you know that?” she asks with a smile and a small trace of wonder. “Thank you for coming tonight even though you hate the attention, and for keeping me from committing a murder, and for calming down our little kickboxer.”

There’s only one answer, really. “You’re very welcome, darling,” he murmurs back. “I love you too, so very much. You and Wiley both.”

And it might be hard to believe this is his life some days. They might have taken a few paths neither expected that first night she walked into his bar and changed his entire world.

But he wouldn’t change a thing.

Songs mentioned are by Gordon Lightfoot and the Dixie Chicks, because why the hell not.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

[chillihansol]

Night Intruder ; H O S H I

[ bf!soonyoung x reader ]

word count: 1,727 genre: very (if you squint) fluff a/n: i have this in my drafts for the longest time, idk why i just posted it. and omg why am i not posting a christmas scenario,, someone pls save me from my inconsistency. but if im not mistaken, this was requested by anon,, im sorry it took forever to be posted asdffhgkl.. i hope you enjoy it! ps. thank you so much luna for proofreading this, you’re so kind and sweet

53: “My shirt looks better on you.” 54: “Are you sure this is legal?”

It was a cold Saturday night when you thought you were going to die. Dramatic - yes - but the flu can make people think incredible things. A thick, pastel blanket was wrapped around your body. Your feet were being hugged by those warm fuzzy socks your boyfriend had bought you. And, surrounding you was a warm, dim glow from the lamp. Yet, even in the comfort of that room your head was spinning because of a very painful, and unnecessary headache. You had absolutely no energy to move at all, but, still you flinched from the loud thud you assumed that came from the terrace.

Your head pounded as you used your elbow to support your weak body and  lift yourself upright. Through blurry eyes you found yourself squinting, catching a  glimpse of a tall figure standing just outside your room. Yes. Someone is definitely at your terrace.

You suddenly came back to your senses, sitting up straight, and fumbling the nearest weapon you could fine. Unfortunately, that just so happened to be a pen. It could at least leave a puncture to the intruder, right?

Slowly and silently, you crawled out of your bed, tip toeing to lessen the noise of your footsteps. There are two downsides to this, firstly t’s two in the morning, secondly, you’re suffering from a not-so-mild flu - wait - how in the world are you going to think of a plan of attack?! 

You stopped on your tracks. Yep, you were panicking. With a wild look in your eyes you scanned your packed room trying desperately to find a place to hide, but,  it was too late. The terrace door opened, and with that cold shiver of wind you swore it was welcoming your death. 

A loud, yet, hoarse squeal escaped your mouth as the intruder approached. “Gosh , Y/N. Where do you get so much energy to squeal at this time?”

You were struck still as the stranger passed by. He switched on the lights and suddenly you were blinded. A bright light filled the room, and you found yourself squeezing your sensitive eyes shut to compensate. 

When you managed to adjust, you found your boyfriend standing in front of you. “Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung’s mouth was agape as he took in your condition. You had dark circles under your eyes, you lips cracked, and pale, your shirt was inside-out, and a pen gripped between your suddenly very sweaty palm. 

“Y/N, oh my goodness. What happened to you?” He carefully placed the box you didn’t notice that he was holding before walking up to you. Soonyoung quickly wrapped his arms around your hips. 

As soon as he touched you, he felt your fever immediately transfer to his skin. “Are you sick?” he asked, cupping your cheeks with one of his palms. “And, why are you holding a pen?”

You brought a hand to your mouth before coughing. “I caught a flu, probably from the kid next door,” you replied very weakly, attempting to softly push Soonyoung away but he didn’t move a single inch. “As for the pen, I thought you were an intruder. I thought I was going to die tonight. Why didn’t you just knock on the front door?” you whined, pinching his arm.

“Baby, you can’t kill me with a pen!” He laughed, swaying your body to his own rhythm. “And why didn’t you tell me that you’re sick? I would have brought some medicine for you.”

You pulled away from his grip, before proceeding to sit on the edge of your bed. Soonyoung however remained standing  in front of you. “I didn’t want you to get sick, dork. Seungcheol will be mad.” You pouted at him.

“I’d be more mad if you don’t tell me about your health.” He replied seriously, holding both of your hands this time. “Please, tell me next time if you’re not feeling well, okay? Seeing you hurt right now is unbearable for me.”

You felt your lips rip a little from the dryness as you attempted to give him a small smile. “I’m sorry, I’ll tell you next time.” You pulled him down to sit beside you. “You’re not mad at me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.” He chuckled, eyeing you from head to toe except you spotted him narrowing his eyes at your choice of clothing. “I’ve been looking for that shirt for two weeks now.” He mumbled, shaking his head.

When your eyes snapped to the shirt barely engulfing your figure, a very light shade of pink dusted on your cheeks. “You told me I could keep it!” You continued to pout as you snuggled closer to his arm.

“I did?” he asked confusedly. “I don’t remember saying that,” he joked, forcing himself not to smile from your sudden affection.

You peeled yourself from him, mind spinning for a millisecond, reminding you of your existing flu, before letting out a very deep sigh. “Okay, I’ll just give it back to you when–”

“I’m only kidding. You can keep it! Of course, I remember saying that.” He interrupted far too enthusiastically, pulling you again into his grip. “You can have the rest if you want too! My shirt looks better on you anyway.”

“Can I get Minghao’s shirts too? They’re very stylish and–”

“No! My shirts only.”

“Okay.” You laughed, nuzzling your face into his chest.

A  sudden silence fell between the two of you. The only sound was that of your breaths which were remarkably soothing for your pounding head. With the warmth of his body you almost forgot your shivering state earlier when the night breeze crashed into your room. Eventually, your eyelids grew heavy.,

Soonyoung’s fingers were running a marathon on your hair, sending a calming sensation through your sick body. Although on  the verge of snoozing, curiosity started to plague your mind. Why was Soonyoung here are two in the morning?

“Babe?” you mumbled into his chest.

His chest vibrated as he hummed in response. 

“Why are you here again?”

With your question, he flinched, making you sit upright, your sleepiness washed away.

“Right,” He muttered, reaching for the box resting on the floor. This was the second time you noticed that box, and also the time your anticipation grew.

He sat on the floor, legs crossed, and placed the box in his lap. “I found this earlier outside the building.” He lifted the lid to reveal a stray kitten, covered in pure white fur. Its blue eyes shone in contrast to the white, and there on the tip of its tail was a  small black spot. Except, that wasn’t what caught your full, undivided attention, no, it was its one folded ear made your cheeks lift up to heaven.

If you’d have had  more energy right now, you would have jumped and squealed from the sheer cuteness of the kitten, but, you were just too tired . “It’s so cute, oh my gosh. Baby, look at the ears!” Your voice cracked in  attempt to speak in a higher, excitable tone, making Soonyoung burst out laughing.

“Don’t talk like that, you’re hurting your throat.“ His eyes turning into crescents as he gazed at you dearly.

“Does it bite?” The kitten let out a soft high pitched meow which you swore that made your heart dance crazy.

“Oh my gosh,” You cried, obviously falling in love with the kitten. “Can I touch it?”

“Yeah, she’s very kind.” Soonyoung carefully held the cat in his hand, setting it down on your lap.

“She?” You giggled, rubbing its chin.

“Yeah, I’ve checked it already. What name do you think suits her?”

Your eyes widened at him. “We’re keeping her?” you asked hopefully. 

“Yeah, she doesn’t deserve to live on the streets, right?” He scooted closer to you, leaning his body against your dangling legs.

“But you literally stole a kitten from its mother, are you sure this is legal?”

The corners of his lips rose, his mouth pouring sets of laughter because of your statement. “You’re so cute.” He cooed. “It’s legal. It’s not like I’m going to get arrested because I want to take care of a kitten.”

“But you stole it!” you exclaimed.

“I did it for a good cause.”

“Well, you have a point.” You shrugged, still petting the cat.

“Aren’t I a sweet boyfriend? Lending cash, giving you comfy clothes, and a cat, plus I’m a good choreographer, oh and I’m pretty darn cute. I can be sexy too if I try–”

“Who said you have to try being sexy? You already are.” You winked at him.

Though you and Soonyoung have been dating for a while now, you never fail to make his heart flutter. “You’re so in love with me.” He smirked.

“True.” You whispered with a grin plastered on your face. When your attention went back to the kitten she was already sound asleep, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Yet you noticed that she was also shivering. “Babe, she’s asleep.” Your voice very low.

Soonyoung grabbed one of your throw pillows, placed it on the floor, before lifting the kitten from your lap to move it onto your soft, fluffy cushion. You watched the way she shifted her position, making herself at home.

You sneezed, making your boyfriend turn to you his eyebrows scrunched together. “Are you allergic?” He asked softly, stroking your knee.

Sniffling you shook your head twice. “It’s just the flu.”

“Let’s get you to sleep.” He stood, before walking over to switch off your light, whilst you crawled into your bed.

Together you both slipped under the warm blanket. Your tensed muscles relaxed as soon as Soonyoung’s arms wrapped around your body. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway.” You mumbled into his chest.

“Why?” He looked down at you, with a worried expression etched into his facial features.

“I lost one pillow.”

“You don’t need that. I’m your extra pillow.” He chuckled, hugging you closer. “Good night, love you.”

You smiled into his chest, closing your eyes. “Love you too.”

© to the owner of the photos. I do not own any of the photos used.

[nikky-the-writer]

Before I go (Bucky x Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 (Final part)

Masterlist

A/N: This is the final part. Thank you all who stayed till the end!

Summary: After years of fighting with illness, Reader decides to take her life into her own hands.

Warnings: Swearing

At the end, you made rush decisions. You didn't stick with your plan, although you wanted to die with dignity you couldn't. You couldn't force yourself to leave your parents, your family. So, you stayed with them till you couldn't breathe on your own. Your mother held you tight not leaving your side, she didn't even let a tear trying to be strong for you. But your father was different, he couldn't even enter your room without crying. Your whole life he was your rock and now he was broken, lost.

You never saw Bucky again from the day you left, only on the pictures that you stared at for hours. You often found yourself thinking did he hate you or not. You would never find out if it would be better for both of you if you were honest at the beginning. You knew that it would be definitely better for him, but you were scared of being rejected. Thinking that you had every right to feel normal for the first time in your life you didn't think about his feelings although you loved him.

While you were still in the condition to write you wrote him a letter, just to him. You never send it, it was your way of saying goodbye to him. To everyone else, you said it in person so you needed a way to tell him how much he meant to you.

Every day, till your last, you told yourself that he would be alright that he didn't care that much and that he will forget about you, but you weren't right.

Four months later

Bucky never got his answer. He never knew what happened to the girl he met by the sea. As fast as she came into his life she disappeared in the same way. Pietro told him something that should've been his answer on why you left him, but he didn't accept it. He wouldn't believe in the fact that you just left because you wanted it that it was what you do. He didn't know that the words Pietro was telling him were the words you told Pietro when he came visit you in the hospital. You allowed him only one visit because you didn't want him to suffer as he suffered while watching his sister die. At the end of the visit, you gave him Wanda's bucket list that you keep all these years. You crossed some of the things and you made him promise you that he will cross everything else. Bucky tried to move on with his life, to forget about the girl he fell in love, but every day you were the only thing on his mind. Until the day he faced the truth.

˝I'm telling you that's not what happened.˝, Sam said raising his voice at Bucky. ˝You should get over it. She won't call you back.˝, Bucky sat at the large glass table in the conference room. They had a lot of things to do, but Sam was too lazy at the moment. He couldn't stop talking about the girl he met at the bar. ˝She will, I'm telli...˝, when Sam stopped talking Bucky raised his head to see what finally made him shut up. Sam was staring behind Bucky's shoulder through the glass walls. ˝Is Stark our client?˝, Sam asked, but Bucky didn't answer he turned around in his chair looking at Tony and Pepper Stark standing at the reception. ˝Are they?˝ ˝No.˝ ˝Maybe this is because of their daughter...˝, Sam stopped talking feeling sorry for Stark's family. Bucky turned back to Sam confused. He knew who Stark is, but he was never the one for the gossips. He knew that he had a daughter, but he didn't know anything about her. She was probably very different from Stark because he would see his face on the front pages of tabloids almost every day, but he never saw his daughter. ˝She died two, almost three months ago.˝, Sam continued. ˝An accident or something?˝, Bucky asked placing his pen on the table. Sam didn't have any time to answer when the door opened. Natasha stood by the door looking nervous, which was really unusual for her. ˝Bucky, Tony Stark wants to talk with you.˝ Bucky stood from his chair not knowing why would he need to talk with him. He was working at the insurance company and he was sure that Stark didn't have anything to do with his company. He walked past Natasha to the couple that was waiting for him. After the introduction, they all went to Bucky's office where Bucky uncomfortably sat in his chair staring at them. As they were sitting he noticed that they didn't wear wedding rings. Obviously, the marriage didn't survive the loss. When Bucky was ready to say something, Pepper squeezed Tony's hand and whispered him something on the verge of tears. She quickly excused herself leaving them alone. Tony stood from his chair walking to the glass windows behind Bucky. He started talking without looking at him. ˝I lost someone.˝ Bucky didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything observing the man in front of him. ˝She was someone special to me and if I could I would change my life for hers.˝, Tony turned around showing his face to Bucky who was still confused on what was happening. ˝That's my favorite picture.˝, Tony said motioning to the screen saver on Bucky’s monitor. There was a picture of you smiling at the camera, well smiling at the man behind it. You looked happy on the picture, your hair was slightly wet and your face was red from the sun, but you had the biggest smile your father has ever seen. When you came back to America you gave your parents pictures from England. You wanted them to know that you were happy, at least for a while. ˝What?˝, Bucky thought that he heard him wrong. He hoped so because if he didn't that would crush him. Tony stepped closer to him pulling out a white envelope. Bucky could see his name written on it and he recognized your handwriting. ˝Is this some sick joke?˝ ˝I wish it was Mr. Barnes. She wanted me to give you this if you ever come looking for her, but you never did. At first, I wanted to meet you, to thank you for making her happy, but now I just want to punch you in the face.˝ Bucky didn't even notice that he was crying as Tony placed the envelope on his table. ˝Did she..˝, Bucky swallowed the lump in his thought.˝ Did she suffer?˝ Tony smiled sadly turning towards the door. ˝She suffered every day of her short life. Hopefully, she is at peace now.˝

It's been two weeks since Tony gave Bucky your letter. Still, it stood unopened next to your picture on his nightstand. He wanted to open it, but he couldn't. Just as he couldn't get up from his bed. Never in his life, he thought that somebody who he knew for a little over two months could affect him so much. You gave him hope and he felt loved in your arms and now he didn't know what to do. He wished that your father never came to him. He would rather remember you as a girl who loved to listen to the waves crashing on the shore although she broke his heart leaving him than a girl whose every new experience was her last. The girl who will never grow old going through the old pictures looking at her memories.

What he wanted the most was for you to be alive. He wanted you next to him, sharing your secrets falling asleep in each other's arms, but he will never have that. He will never have you again and although he wants to open the letter he can't. No word that was written inside could bring you back. The only thing that could be in the letter is you telling him that you are sorry for lying to him or you telling him to move on, but what ever it was he wasn't ready to find out, not just yet.

Death.

The scariest word among them all, but not as scary as life.

People think that it's easy to die, but hard to live, but they don't understand. You cannot run away from death. It always catches you. So, when you think living is hard, just remember the only reason why you live is so that you wouldn't die. When you try your hardest to live you are trying hardest to stay alive.

Aren't you afraid of the Death? Doesn't it make you shiver under its cold touch when you know it's near? Doesn't it freeze the blood in your body knowing that it's breathing in the back of your neck?

It scared you but still amazed you. You and the Death have been friends for a while. Being on the edge of the cliff for so long with only hers company. You were never free. Never could get far away, but it gave you at least some mercy at the end. It gave you a little time so that you could see what the life actually is. Maybe you were her favorite because she held you so close to her through all those years. But maybe the Death is just death. Maybe it doesn't have any bigger meaning. It's not a person, it's just nothing. Just void after life.

A/N: Thank you all for reading!!!!!

Tag list:   @whatthehellisacastiel, @hardboiledegg21, @aboveaverage-fangirl, @mitra-k-w, @crownie-sr, @tremilyteapot, @barnesnoble13, @aya-fay, @raisaioana71, @aquabrie, @sebstanwassup, @melconnor2007, @littlenerdgirl16, @psychicwitchphilosopher, @infinitepurity,

@heavenlyhavok, @mmauricee

[aint-ashes]

Let’s talk about Eugene: Chapter 2

I’m back! If you were in agony waiting for this chapter, I apologize for taking so long. I hope this is worth the wait. Fair warning: it’s p long. Here goes nothing:

At the start of season 6, Eugene has cleared the air both with himself and with Abraham, having apologized for lying to him and thanking him for his help. Eugene’s character definitely has an air of new beginnings: season 6 is a clean slate. It’s also one of the most exciting development arcs that Eugene undergoes.

But before we delve into that, there’s an important question that needs to be addressed: what has Eugene lost?

In the last post, I broke down the moments that exposed Eugene’s lie to himself: that he is a coward. After saving (or making decisions with the intent to save) the entire run team from Alexandria, we saw Eugene undergo a critical change. We saw him leave the coward behind and become the survivor that was in him all along.

We know a bit of what he’s gained from seeing himself clearer, but he was telling this lie to himself for a reason. So, what did the coward act do for him?

For one, living in fear has kept him on his toes. It’s kept him painstakingly alert to his surroundings. It’s kept him alive. Although we don’t see Eugene until post-outbreak, I can only assume that he survived by hiding, running, and/or relying on more capable people. What I know is that he did not survive by fighting. Cowardice was his handgun, his crossbow, his sword.

Our own nature is one of the hardest things to change about ourselves. We often warn others about it: I’m grumpy in the mornings, I’m awful at keeping secrets, I’m bad at expressing my emotions, it’s just who I am. That explanation—or excuse—allows us to accept these imperfections in ourselves, and leaves it up to others to behave accordingly: don’t talk to her in the mornings, don’t trust him with secrets, don’t expect her to be sympathetic, that’s just who they are. If others don’t behave accordingly, well, however you behave toward them is their fault. You warned them. That’s how we tend to cope with these faults.

And this is exactly what the Coward did for Eugene. Considering himself a coward entitled him to act in cowardly ways. Ways that he wouldn’t naturally be okay with. It also made it easier to not be disappointed in himself when he resorted to such acts—he could always tell himself that’s just who he is.

But, there are times when we see a crack in this façade. Take 4x15, for example, when Eugene leads Rosita to the other side of the tunnel to save Glenn and Tara. When Rosita calls him a liar for leading her astray, Eugene says: “Nope. I never said otherwise.”

When she insists that their priority is getting Eugene to safety, he says: “after I save the world, I still have to live with myself.”

Not only do I appreciate the beautiful irony of this entire exchange, filled to the brim with both lies and truths, but I also recognize how much it tells us about Eugene—that no matter how he tries to defend himself, even he isn’t sold on this act being justified, neither the scientist act (the lie he told others), nor the coward act (the lie he told himself).

He knows that there are consequences to his lies, and that they directly affect others’ lives. And he knows that’s not okay, which is why he tries to minimize that impact. But he still allows a total of nine people to die in the vain belief that he could save lives if they were willing to risk theirs.

When Eugene admits to his lie in 5x5 (“Self Help”), it was at the culmination of these deaths and the close call of nearly killing five more of his friends in the church bus. It was in the heat of a moment that all his guilt, everything that he was carrying on his shoulders, finally burst forth. After a long internal struggle with the justification of this lie, Eugene could no longer accept that that’s just who he is.

Aside from the joke within the episode, I think the title “Self Help” says a lot about what’s going on with Eugene in that episode. The coward-and-scientist double-act was a form of self-help at the expense of others, obviously, but coming clean and facing himself for the first time was also self-help. By taking that first step toward giving up the coward, he took the first step toward becoming who he really is. Who he didn’t think he could be.

Up until “Spend”, Eugene valued in himself what he thought others would value in him—his knowledge. His ability to make things. He honed in on these skills in order to survive, just as we would cater our résumé to a specific job posting. But we see again and again that knowledge is not what Eugene admires in other people—it’s loyalty, it’s bravery, it’s sacrifice. And once he casts the coward aside, he is able to focus on these qualities in himself.

But I digress. Long story short: the Coward kept him alive. The Survivor allowed him to live with himself. Keep that in mind, because we’ll come back to this in season 7.

I want to talk about season 6 Eugene! I’m going to cover 6x1 to 6x7 in this chapter. It might be a bumpy ride, so please fasten your seatbelts and hold on to your mullets. It’ll be fun, I promise!

In 6x1, Eugene’s most important moment is seeing Tara awake and well. He rushes to her bedside, speechless, smiling. He’s not about to brag that he saved her, but he is seeing a direct consequence of his actions. He stepped up, he faced his fears, and this moment of walking through the door and seeing her awake (“holy shit,” he says) makes every second that he was afraid worth it.

Being brave paid off. He did it, and it mattered. Tara’s alive, Tara’s awake, Tara’s okay. And the fact that he was able to save her the same way that she’d saved him so many times must feel so, so good. We can see it plain and clear on his face.

And Eugene’s probably not thinking about it then, but the fact remains that those nine people died on the journey to keep him alive—and saving someone as good, loyal, and brave as Tara is the beginning of his post-apocalyptic life being worth something after that. He’s beginning to pay that debt back. He’s beginning to come into his own. Tara being alive is the sign he needed that he’s now on the right path. What a huge moment.

Aside from gracefully enduring a bit of humility (Denise’s comeback about whether or not he’s a doctor), 6x2 “JSS” is a pretty big episode for Eugene. He’s on screen for probably two minutes in total, but the lengths that his character travels in those two minutes is kind of amazing.

The Wolves begin their ambush on Alexandria while Eugene is in the infirmary with Tara and Denise. When the truck crashes and the Wolves invade, it isn’t long before Aaron. Eric, and Rosita rush Holly inside. She is horribly wounded. They drop Holly off on the operating table, and everyone able-bodied rushes outside to fight the Wolves. Even Tara, who isn’t able-bodied, wants to help. Eugene, who is, does not. When Denise tells Tara to stay and guard the infirmary, she does, reluctantly. Eugene insists:

“I also believe my services would be best rendered right very here.”

Okay. At this point, Eugene would be useless in a combat situation with other living people. His services are best equipped to the infirmary. But for the most part, this was a decision made in fear. You can see it in his face. I’m not convinced that if he had been anywhere else—in his own house, for example—that he would risk his life to get to the infirmary where he could best be of help to others.

Eugene will help because he can, but the offer isn’t selfless—he’s making a case to the others: I should stay inside. I should stay safe. Don’t make me risk my life with you. And, once again, his knowledge allows him to do that.

So he’s not ‘knight-in-shining-armor’ brave. Yet. Still, though the decision was fear-based, I don’t see it as cowardly, per say. Eugene doesn’t lock himself away. He doesn’t hide. He was allowed the grace of staying inside, and that’s as safe as he can get, so even with the threat imminent, he immerses himself in helping Denise to help Holly. And that’s it’s own kind of bravery. Remember, he’s in the transition between what he called stages one and two. He’s becoming a survivor. He’s not quite there yet.

Thank goodness that he was in the right place at the right time. Being in the infirmary allowed Eugene to be afraid, but still do something with the amount of courage he could muster up.

I’m afraid that if he had been hiding away alone somewhere, unable to do anything other than keep himself safe, it might set him back a few paces. Not only would he be more afraid, but possibly guilty. He might consider his bravery at the warehouse a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. In his self-criticism, he might slip back into his defensive mindset: just as I thought, I am a coward.

But he didn’t. The stars were aligned to move him forward.

While helping Denise during the attack, Eugene has a really important moment of self-awareness.

In her fear of being unable to save Holly, Denise falters and hesitates. She argues with Tara in an attempt to justify inaction by saying that she isn’t a surgeon, regardless of the fact that she had planned to be one. Tara won’t have it. She says:

“You’re afraid? I don’t care! Help her! Try! Help her!”

Still, Denise hesitates. That is, until Eugene steps up and says, on the verge of tears:

“You don’t want to be a coward. I know.”

There is so much packed into these two sentences: If you don’t step up now, you’ll regret it. You’ll hate yourself. I know, because I did.

I mean, honestly, Eugene has probably done the math at this point. He probably knows Holly’s chances of survival down to the hundredth of a percent. He probably knows it’s hopeless. But sometimes miracles happen. Sometimes people are safely reunited in walker-filled tunnels. Sometimes a small group of people can single-handedly take down a cannibal empire, gagged and bound.

Sometimes the coward steps up and saves lives. Sometimes a coward turns out to be a brave man, against all odds. And there’s a life on the line, so every hundredth of a percent chance that Holly can be saved is worth it.

Tara is brave, and she’s not the one holding Holly’s life in her hands. She’s right to tell Denise to try, but at this flustered moment, she’s being pretty aggressive. Because there’s a life on the line, she has no room or time to be understanding of Denise’s reservations.  

But Eugene understands. When he faces Denise, his voice is soft, calm albeit shaky, and filled to the brim with empathy.

Tara’s the one who brought Eugene to his feet when the church bus broke down. Now, he sees someone like him in need of the same help. This is Eugene’s own “I know it sucks and it’s scary, but it’s time to be brave.” And it’s his words that put Denise into action. His understanding. His bravery to admit that he was wrong, and to save someone from making the same mistake.

Several aspects of this episode propel Eugene toward the moment in which we see him next (6x7, “Heads Up”): Witnessing the death of Holly. Seeing the bodies in the streets when all is over and done with. Encouraging Denise to be brave. Being unable to help outside, or to defend himself if it had come to that. And this self-realization that he doesn’t want to be a coward, and that he has control over that.

With all of this weighing on his shoulders, Eugene attends weapons training with Rosita. He wants to learn to fight. He wants to be able to defend himself. He wants to be able to defend others. So he makes the decision. He takes his transition from stage one to two into his own hands.

He’s still hesitant and unsure of himself, however, and Rosita (as usual) is having none of it. When she asks him what he’s afraid of, Eugene says: “that would be dying.” She answers:

“Dying is simple, it all just stops. You’re dead. The people around you dying, that’s the hard part. Okay? ‘Cause you keep living knowing that they’re gone and you’re still here. What you should be scared of is living knowing that you didn’t do everything you could to keep them here.”

This is really Eugene’s first taste of the negative consequences of being a survivor. All he’s ever wanted is to stay alive, but I don’t think the price of that has ever really occurred to him. He’s felt guilty about those nine lives that were lost in the attempt to keep him safe, but he considered that a loss on their part—not on his.

But more and more, Eugene is considering these people his family. He is putting their well being on an equal level with, if not above his own. This is his first introduction to what Beth essentially said to Daryl: “When you care about someone, hurt is kind of part of the package.”

He doesn’t have to cope with that hurt, yet, but Eugene will carry that with him all the way to and through season 7.

In the next chapter, I’m gonna talk about Eugene’s tough welcome to stage two in episodes 6x8 (“Start to Finish”) through 6x16 (“Last Day on Earth”). 

I don’t have final exams to worry about anymore, so hopefully there won’t be as much of a time lapse between chapters. Please come back for more! I love talking about Eugene, but I love it even more when others love it too. xxx

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

[dculegacy]

Supergirl: Legacy

Chapter Twenty Two - Promises

Maggie didn’t feel like going out after the Thanksgiving dinner, more so she didn’t really enjoy being surrounded by hundreds of people ready to start a crazy shopping spree. However her fianceé insisted on taking Lucy Lane out before she had to leave National City again; and to be honest, Maggie was never able to say ‘no’ to Alex.

“You should smile a little more, detective.” Lucy nudged the woman walking next to her and giggled. “She just doesn’t like mornings and people…” Alex explained to her friend. Even though they weren’t able to hang out often, the agent wouldn't give up on the opportunity to do that. A few months back, Lucy Lane became the co-director of DEO but she left J’onn in charge to look after the secret military projects. Her father, general Lane had an issue with leaving aliens unattended but his daughter was different; both of his daughters were different. “I didn’t even have my coffee.” Maggie frowned and leaned into Alex’s arms. “Mhmm, is that why you're so grumpy?” The agent sneaked her hand into the back pocket of the detective’s tight black jeans and gently kissed her forehead, “We better get you some coffee then.” “I could use one too actually.” Lucy nodded and proceeded to walk towards the shops, a smile settling on her face. It was a long time since she saw Alex Danvers this happy and she certainly never saw her in love.

They stood patiently in the queue, Maggie was completely hidden in the crook of the agent’s neck; yawning and half asleep. She didn’t pay any attention to the surroundings as long as she could feel the familiar warmth pressing back into her. Alex was in the middle of some very intriguing conversation with Lucy about the wedding when it all started. The roof suddenly split apart and massive pieces of concrete began falling down into the middle of the mall. The cop immediately leaped away from her fianceé and ran to the nearest civilians, starting to direct them to the nearest emergency exit. The panic was tangible in the air, Lucy and Alex noticed a young guy trapped under one of the fallen pieces. They quickly started removing the concrete from his legs, the agent never stopped checking to see if Maggie was safe. If the situation wouldn’t be so hectic, Lane would stop to tell her how adorable that was. Every couple of minutes, Danvers looked up, her eyes instantly finding the cop; and detective Sawyer did exactly the same. But even their constant check ups couldn’t prevent what was about to happen in the next couple of minutes. The ground started to shake, accompanied by loud sounds of metal bending and something heavy hitting the ground. Fortunately, it was outside the mall, unfortunately it caused more destruction of the roof. One of the alloy beams loosened up and fell to the ground. There was no sound of the impact, only loud and somewhat painful scream.

“Fuck!” “Damn it, Alex, don’t move.” Lucy jumped next to her friend, carefully observing her injured leg. The sharp part of the beam pierced her thigh right through. “Babe, what-” Maggie ran towards them, her gaze moving along Alex’s body, “We have to get her to the hospital.” “What about the others?” Lane looked around the devastated mall, noting most of the people were already running outside through the exit just like the cop ordered them. “I already called the precinct, they should be here soon.” Sawyer answered, lifting her fianceé up in her arms, “You good, Danvers?” “Yeah. Not a hospital.” Alex growled, her breathing was ragged and it didn’t take much to guess that she won’t be able to help with whatever was going outside. “DEO? I have a car in the car park.” Lucy offered. “Lead the way.” The cop was right behind her.

Maggie’s arms were locked tight around the agent. She wasn’t losing a lot of blood but her leg would definitely need some time to heal. It wasn’t that long since Alex was hurt and they both knew that this wasn’t a last time for sure. Lucy opened the car door and helped the detective. It wasn’t as easy as they thought since they didn’t want to cause any more pain to the agent who was now on the verge of passing out. They managed to get her inside and before the blackness took over, Maggie leaned in, giving her a gentle kisses; aware of the fact that Alex probably didn’t perceive any of it.

“Are you coming?” Lane started the car, waiting for Maggie to get in. “No.” The cop shook her head, “Get her to safety, I need to…I need to help them.” “She’ll be alright.” The director assured her with a small smile, “Don’t do anything stupid, Sawyer. She really loves you.” “Go.” Her eyes were flooded with tears. She hated to leave Alex’s side but there were others who needed her help now; going to the DEO would be pointless.

She watched the car leave the park before running back in. There was no one else inside and Maggie knew what was the next step of the plan. She needed to find her colleagues and start evacuating the buildings around. She rushed through the emergency door and stopped in her tracks. Half of the skyscrapers around had a huge holes in their sides and most of the streets were covered with wreckage. Screaming and crying could be heard from all sides. A few of the National City cops were just arriving and Sawyer proceeded to meet with them. However, she didn’t make it there as the Martian landed in front of her with the Daxamite right next to him.

“What is going on?” The detective asked, watching J’onn grab one of the passing civilians, presumably reading his mind. “Supergirl is dying…” “That’s bullshit.” Maggie deadpanned, not being able to imagine anything that could hurt Kara. “It is highly un-”

The alien was interrupted by a building behind them falling apart. They all turn around in shock. The almighty Supergirl flew through a building like a ragdoll, crashing into the ground. Above the crater that was created around the Kryptonian body during the impact was flying another silhouette. A man in black armor with a gold lightning on the chestplate, black cape fluttering in the wind. The blonde didn’t even get up properly and the mysterious villain was already landing another punch into her stomach, sending her back to the ground.

“Who the fuck is that…” The cop exhaled in disbelief. You don’t see Supergirl being helpless every day. “Black Adam.” J’onn said, clenching his jaw and his whole body tense as he stared at the intruder. “We...we have to do something.” Mon-El didn’t bother with waiting for a plan, he jumped towards the fight and the Martian had no other option than to follow him into the battle.

Maggie was cluelessly standing around, watching Kara being thrown into another building. This didn’t look like something that would be easily won. For a second she wondered if Alex is seeing this in the DEO but her fianceé was probably surrounded by doctors trying to fix her leg. The detective swiftly ran towards the rest of the police forces and joined the attempts to evacuate everyone into safety. Her mind partially staying with Alex and her eyes searching for Supergirl whenever she got a little room to breathe.

Kara scrambled up from the hole that her body left in the ground, intentionally destroying small pieces of metal between her fingers on the way out. She had no idea who this guy was and why was he in the National City but it didn’t matter at that moment. A big part of the city was already destroyed because she wasn’t strong enough to take the fight anywhere else. It felt weird, he didn’t have any kryptonite, yet he was able to emerge victorious from everything that she had tried. To be honest, he didn’t give her a lot of space to come up with a proper plan but that was not an excuse that Kara was willing to accept.

“Supergirl.” His voice was deep and mocking. The Kryptonian stood up and faced her opponent once again. “The longer we draw this out, the more pain your city will endure.” He scowled when Kara barely dodged the lightning bolt, “Just stay down and die. Make it easier for everyone.” “I’d never-” She got interrupted. The guy in black suit disappeared into the wreckage few metres behind him and Mon-El was now standing in his previous place. J’onn landed next to her, his face twisted with worry. “All those who impose upon my will shall meet the same fate, leave now while you still can.” The warning came from somewhere above them. Kara was hoping to recover at least some of her strength but the guy was already preparing the next attack. “Adam!” J’onn yelled at the uninvited guest. “Martian…” “Why have you brought destruction to these innocents?!” “A debt is owed.” Black Adam scowled and his eyes sparkled when J’onn flew up towards him. It wasn’t hard to dodge his attack thanks to his reflexes. However he didn’t expect the Daxamite from behind, knocking him down from the air. The god touched base on his cheek, barely registering the pain that Mon-El had inflicted. “The girl even hits harder than you... You've made a grave mistake by joining us here today.”

Adam turned on his heel, kicking off the ground with a stupendous amount of force that startled even Supergirl and Martian Manhunter. Before Mon-El could react he found himself soaring from this building clear into the next.

“Who's next?!” Adam barked at the two remaining, waiting for one to put up any semblance of a challenge to the God.

Martian observed the condition that Kara was currently in and took it upon himself to take the lead, soaring toward Adam with great speed and precision. The alien took hold of the self proclaimed god, taking both through the glass and over the metropolitan area. Adam struggled to break free of his inhuman hold, striking his stretched forearms several times before ultimately crashing into the street below. Martian relinquished his hold, striking Adam with a powerful jab that left him reeling for a moment; Adam snapped back to however, his demeanor more menacing than ever. The two exchanged blows and J’onn quickly came to the conclusion that he would not be able to overpower his opponent, at least not by way of physical strength. J’onn beelined toward the foe, dodging bolts of lightning in the process; once upon him he grappled his temples, framing his head before dwelling deeper into the recess of the twisted mind. J’onn was unsure what he was looking for or even what he had planned to show Teth-Adam but he knew once upon a time he had honor and he could remind him of that; at the very least he hoped this surge of memories would disorient him long enough to gain the upper hand. At the bottom of the tyrant’s mind sat Isis, a woman loved by Adam and Kahndaq, a country who he was devoted to in ruling; By pulling both to the surface Martian hoped to remind Adam the gravity of his actions. It seemingly worked, as the man fell to his knees and hands, his breathing sporadic. Just as Martian’s hands left his head Adam took a furious hold of his wrist, slowly ascending above him with rage smeared across his face.

“Wait-What are yo-” Before J’onn could finish uttering his question he was slammed against the pavement with all force possible, creating something of a crater. As he recovered Adam returned, both hands above his head as he held what appeared to be an eighteen wheeler truck. J’onn knew it would be painful but it wasn't until he spotted the fire warning on the truck’s cargo did fear truly set in. He screamed as the God dove down, driving the flammable vehicle directly into the cavity with him. Martian Manhunter was engulfed in flames, his worst fear covering every inch of him in an enclosed space.

Kara dusted off Mon-El, helping him back to his feet as J’onn fought below. Once they heard the screams however they realized the tide of battle had changed and in not in favor their ally. Kara turned to Mon-El, her hand still nursing her wounded abdomen.

“We have to go help him.. Are you sure you're up for this..?” She looked into Mon-El’s eyes asking him of his certainty despite her own being in question. “I've got your back if you've got mine.”

Kara feigned a smile before taking hold of Mon-El’s wrist and diving down toward the raging fire in the street. As Supergirl flew by overhead she released Mon-El, who rolled straight into a fist fight with Adam. Kara however focused on extinguishing the flame to prevent further harm to the now unconscious Manhunter. Despite his best efforts Mon-El was no match for Black Adam and at every turn he found himself taking painful blows and missing what few punches he could actually manage to get out. With J’onn now to safety Supergirl rejoined the battle, attempting to work with the Daxamite. However the moment she got close she was struck was a bolt of lightning, magical in origin. Her vulnerability was shown again as Kara was flung clean across the street into a bank nearby.

“When I struck you the first time it was to teach you a lesson, boy. Don't meddle in the affairs of Gods.” With no one to interfere Adam set his sights on Mon-El, walking toward him with menace as he now struggled to find his footing. With one hand he lifted him by his throat, imbuing the other with an aura of electricity moments before he plunged his hand clean through his chest.

Kara watched in utter horror, unable to find her voice in order to let out the scream building inside her. Instead her eyes began to water, building up before bursting into a sudden smoke as the sadness turned to fury. The heat emitted from her head and soon the windows of the bank she was in burst outward. Supergirl took flight, delivering a powerful uppercut to Black Adam that sent him scaling up toward the top of a skyscraper. The kryptonian pursued after, her body gliding over the windows of the building as she encroached upon him. Adam quickly regained, watching her soar toward him before diving downward to clash with the oncoming attack. As their hands met, a blast of force was released, decimating part of the building they had met on. The civilians inside took shelter, falling over themselves as they scrambled to find safety under their office desks. The building began to give way, dooming all those inside to a deadly fate. Supergirl could hear everyone inside cry out for help, her body yearned to move toward them but the magic of her enemy had taken its toll and she found herself plummeting back toward the ground. The kryptonian managed to pry herself off of the floor, all her senses pulsating as she took in the ruins surrounding her. Adam lorded over her, touching base into a swaggering strut before he stopped at her feet. His mere aura seemed to bring out a weakness in her she had never truly felt before. There was some quality to the God that was reminiscent of Kryptonite and it gave him the upper hand all throughout their battle.

“Had we met under different circumstances I would have valued your strength, perhaps even taught you to hone it but.. you have no such luck. I will take what I am owed, by any means necessary. This city will fall and you will follow unless you do the noble thing: lay down your life to spare your people the same fate. One life in exchange for millions.. think of all those you love before you stand again, Supergirl.”

“Kara…” The CEO was standing in front of her, green eyes barely able to keep eye contact, “I messed up.” “What are you talking about, Lena?” The Kryptonian raised an eyebrow and waited for explanation; She was genuinely lost. One day she rejects her and the other she can barely keep her hands off of her. “Do you want the long story?” Luthor scoffed, her tears making an appearance again. “Just...you know you can tell me anything…” Kara took a step closer, her thumb gently wiping the drops away from Lena’s cheeks. “I never meant to hurt you…” She started, leaning into the touch, “I never doubted that you wanted to be with me…I just…” Her gaze dropped to the floor, “Do you know that feeling when you want something for so long and when it finally happens you realize all the things that could go wrong and you-” “And you run…” The reporter finished, slightly tilting her head to the side, “What could go wrong, Lena?” “I am a Luthor.” “I am well aware of that.” Kara deadpanned, not fazed by this fact. “My mother is already trying to get rid of you...if she finds out...and everyone else...Luthor and a Super, that’s not a good combination. You’d see that in time and then…” “Then?” “Then you’d leave. Just like everyone else did.” Lena broke into tears, she fought them for so long but saying those words out loud was harder than she thought. “Luthor and a Super…” Kara chuckled, “We’ve done this a few times already and it has always worked out, don’t you think?” She wrapped her strong arms around the human and brought her as close as possible, “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, I promise.” “I d-don’t deserve y-you…” The CEO sobbed, snuggling closer into the familiar warmth.

Supergirl snapped out of the memory of her previous conversation with young Lena Luthor, only to jump into another one.

“Alex! Open the door.” She was standing in front of her sister’s apartment. “Go away, Kara…” The agent’s voice was weak, it wasn’t hard to notice that she was crying. The Kryptonian didn’t need to hear anything else. She quickly climbed out of the hallway window and flew into the apartment through the balcony door. Alex was sitting on the floor, a bottle of whiskey next to her. Kara rushed towards her, pulling her close into a hug and not moving until she felt the whimpers stop. “Alex Danvers…” The blonde whispered softly. “Y-yeah?” “I will destroy everyone who will try to hurt you again, even if it would be the last thing in my life. That’s a promise.”

She looked up at Adam who was more than patiently waiting for her decision.

“Mon-El I told you several times that I don’t need a white knight!” “I was just trying to help, you can’t do everything alone…” The Daxamite looked at her confused. She knew he was trying to do a good thing, to be a hero even though she told him not to. “Maybe you just don’t understand-” Supergirl started. “No, Kara, I do understand, you don’t want me to save your life. You’d rather die than sacrifice-” “Don’t you dare to finish that sentence.” She warned him, “I would die for people in this city. This is my home, Mon-El. My family is here, my friends are here. I would not hesitate for a second and you sabotaging the DEO mission just because you thought that I was in danger is something that will not happen again, because if it will, I will kick you back to Daxam myself.”

Her eyes found his lifeless body in the middle of the street. She failed him. Half of the city was destroyed, she didn’t even want to imagine how many people died during the fight. People that she swore to protect. She failed them all. However, she could still keep some of her promises, to Lena, to Alex. Kara could still save them. All she had to do was kneel down and die. Die for something that happened in past, something she wasn’t involved in. If Adam would get to her sister or the CEO, she would never forgive herself, an excruciating pain clenched her chest at the mere thought of that image. The reporter looked around once more. She gathered every detail she could, tears rolling down her cheeks as she began to notice the dead bodies in the wreckage around. It was enough for her to make a decision. She knelt down, her gaze glued to the concrete under her hands. This was the end, end of Supergirl.

The clouds cultivated in the sky above the fallen city, a sudden rush of dark tapered overhead until all semblance of light was now absent. The hairs on the forearms of the Kryptonian began to rise, foreshadowing the danger that was soon to come. As Kara looked to the skies above she bared witness to a massive bolt of lightning diving down toward her. Her eyes closed, her arms opening to embrace the fate she was doomed to. In her head rang one word, a shout from the tyrannical God that commanded the storm.

“SHAZAM!”

[jazelock]

Leigh

The Sia thing was obvious, although even you hadn’t known about Merissa.

(Even Sia has cards she holds close to her chest, it turns out, secrets underneath the mask of free banter and freer affectionate gestures.) And for all of Selene’s paranoia, it is laughable how much of an open book she is with you. You do not ask for her musings to rival Shlomo on dreams and the language of the rubbery men, but you let her pour them into you as you pour both of you two more glasses of ‘79. When she mentions her distaste for the soul trade, you praise the joys of abstraction until you have her on the verge of spitting fury. When you swing your legs over her windowsill and glimpse her attempts to transcribe tentacled burblings and whistles, you tease her for her ridiculous fondness for the creatures. You make no secret of your revolutionary connections and spare no details when recounting the most recent melting of a statue of Fires or bombing of a meeting of financiers that sends scraps of paper flurrying through the air, although always after the fact, of course. She might not turn you in, but you wouldn’t put it past her to sabotage you. (Some days, you bring up Sia, and she makes an aborted movement with her hands before she tells you to stop. You swing mid-sentence into talking about your latest attempt to place a firecracker in a church font or the scandalous story you heard last night down at the docks, yes, all over the Duchess’s boudoir and onto a ship bound for the tomb colonies.) You don’t quite live for the sound of her choked laughter generously interspersed with “Goddammit”s and “For fuck’s sake, Leigh”s, but you bask in it like one of the Duchess’s put-out felines.

So when she vanishes for a few days, you assume it’s Sia again. She’d gotten better about it although you’d noticed that she had made no attempts to contact her yet and occasionally would return from a rare visit to Veilgarden noticeably quieter.

It becomes even more likely that it’s Sia when you start hearing about the capped figure methodically working her way through the ranks of the Black Ribbon even though you know the Black Ribbon is old news for both of you. You wait for a sighting of her exiting the shuttered palace, with a conspicuous lack of blood on her. The next day, you ambush Feducci in the forgotten quarter and put a knife through his eye. You hadn’t planned for particularly dramatic timing, but it occurs anyway as you’re pulling the dagger from his eye socket and shaking a clinging bandage free from the blade edge and she doesn’t make a sound but you happen to look up anyway and meet her eyes as she stands at the top of the plaza steps. Her cap is pulled low over her face, but it’s never enough to conceal the grins, the scowls that cross her lips however fleetingly. The distance and the light, or lack thereof, here though work against you more than her choice of headwear does.

You raise your voice to carry. “Sorry. Did you want a piece?”

She flies into motion but stops just as abruptly, leaving the same shudder-stop jolting your frame. One of her hands drops from where it had been poised over her belt. Both of her shoulders fall. The hand that had been reaching for a weapon glides up to her face. You don’t remember the exact meaning of the sign she makes but you can guess the approximate intent. The two-fingered gesture she slides into as an afterthought underscores the point.

She turns her back on you. It’s too perfect to let slide, really. You don’t mean to miss. You are, some days you will admit and only to her, not the world’s best shot.

The fire in her eyes as she whirls around, dropped into an instinctive crouch at the sound of the shot, although that probably wouldn’t have saved her anyway if you hadn’t hit the column behind her, is finally visible despite the fog and the metres and the cap.

A glint of light in her hand and there are the scissors. You’re moving before the reflection can settle.

She flings her arm up, and your knife catches in the juncture between blades. The momentum sends the scissors snapping shut with a screech of metal against metal. Another pair of scissors in her left hand that you don’t see but do feel as you hiss and jerk back. Light catches on the blades aimed for your neck and you stab at it.

She knees you in the stomach, delivering a painful reminder of the scissors still lodged in the wound there. Twin arcs of blood fly as she grips the handle of your knife in her shoulder and you don’t let yourself think as you yank on the handles protruding from around waist-level.

Metal on metal. You send the knife flying out of her hand, same trick she used, that has to burn, with her scissors too. When you look, not a smart move you know, but guilty pleasures and all, there is nothing. You blink at her retreating back. What.

There is something like irritation reaching up from the back of your mind. You know she knows she won’t die permanently, and you’d both agreed there wasn’t much up there worth braving the sunlight for, and you’ll be supportive but sometimes you wish she’d just get it over with and see it’s not as frightening as she acts like it is. And it’s not as if she doesn’t gleefully send you boxes of rats whenever she can, and she’s killed, ok, fewer people than you have, but enough that isn’t it a bit hypocritical, Selene.

And, really, does she think she can outrun you? Or a bullet?

You’re not the world’s best shot, but you are much faster a runner than she is. Who needs accuracy at this range?

She swerves while you’re still taking aim, and you grin. Pull.

You weren’t aiming to kill with this one; more’s the pity as it’s a perfect hit. She stumbles before she lunges away from you. One more shot if you remember correctly, and you take it. If you’re lucky, it grazed her ear before shattering against the column.

You spin the revolver round in your hand, fingers around the barrel. It occurs to you to wonder why she’s suspended in midair for a beat more than she should be as you pull your arm back to swing, a lantern, unlit, the chain creaking--

The chain snaps, Selene and lantern both sent crashing down, oil flying in an arc of droplets that hang in the air. Oil. Your swing is stopped in its tracks by metal smashing against your face.

“Fuck-- shit--!”

Through the pain and the film blurring your vision, you feel a tug on the revolver and you tighten your grip.

She kicks you. Nausea explodes. Any remnants of vision scatter in that burst of pain.

You blink rapidly around the sick feeling in the base of your spine and stomach. Daubs of color gain shape, definition, in time for you to see down the barrel of your gun. Click.

You grin.

Your head smacks against the ground hard enough to black out your vision, goddammit, again. Bright spots dancing, beyond them, oh, that’s murder in her face and your own revolver rushing towards your face hungry for the crunch of cartilage--

There’s a faint brush of air. You crack an eyelid open. She remains frozen a moment longer with the revolver swung past her shoulder, it must have missed your face by barely an inch, why, before she hurls it away from her. It bounces once with a clatter.

You sigh. And it had been going so well. You hadn’t been losing, of course not, but even if you had, there were always rematches. Although, you suppose, this is the closest you’ve gotten to killing each other before her hesitation kicked in, so it’s progress. “You missed there.”

“Lucky you.”

“Fight me,” you counter immediately. It’s easy, this. Words, if not blows. She is staring at you though, the cap came off at some point, and it’s cute that she’s even trying to hide the calculating nature of her gaze. Calculating is good. Although you can’t fathom why she stopped then. Playing the long game. Some strange idea of fair play. More likely. She doesn’t like planning for the long game; it’s why she refuses to play you in chess. (It’s also no fun when she refuses to cheat.)

“I think I just did.” Her eyes flick to where you can feel your shirt sticking beneath your ribs. Yeah, there’ll be no getting the blood out of this one probably, no matter how many times you wash it. You’re also taking inventory, might as well if you’re going to be taking a break. You did graze her with the last bullet; there’s a line of red striping the cartilage. The other bullet you knew about, the one to her leg, although you can’t see if it exited. The jacket is a loss from the hole in the shoulder and the blood leaking from it. She won’t be happy when she realises, but honestly what was she expecting?

“Why am I still alive then?”

The corners of her mouth flick upwards. “Probably because I didn’t turn your face into butcher’s meat.” Pause. “And then cook it.”

The oil. Oh, that’s terrifying but at the same time you’re strangely proud. You would be prouder if she had actually worked up the nerve to try it. “Oh, I see how it is. But Feducci’s fair game?”

“Feducci doesn’t--” She stops. You smirk at her. “What, Feducci doesn’t count? That’s rather racist.”

She rolls her eyes at you, but there’s something distant now in her expression. Sia again then. You’re not going to say anything, but really, whatever just sparked a memory of Sia probably wouldn’t have distracted her or even come up if she hadn’t stopped.

“Walking through Spite the other day.” She pauses. You stop reaching for the hidden pocket in your trousers. “I saw an urchin.”

“Oh no, not an urchin.”

She rolls her eyes. “She was talking to a deviless. About souls.”

“Oh no, not a deviless.”

“For fuck’s sake, Leigh.” She falls silent for a moment and when she speaks again, her words come in a sing-song. “I asked the little one why, if souls have so little value, was the deviless trying so hard to steal hers.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you did.”

She doesn’t reply, instead watching her hands as she runs her thumb along one of the lines of her palm, back and forth. “I woke up to the room on fire.”

The corners of your mouth plummet. “Which room?”

She shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“Well, I’ll have to know which one not to visit so I don’t inhale a lungful of ash.”

“Wouldn’t that be inconvenient for you.” She hesitates. “It was the bookshop.”

“That’s what you get for living in a firetrap. And for soulblocking.”

There is another moment of silence, and you’re watching as she lifts her eyes slowly to meet yours. They burn. “I’d do it again.” The lilting accent is gone from her voice.

“Better get used to sleeping in infernos then.” And she still protests against being brought too close to the brink of death, when she goes around and does shit like this. Really. Over soul trade, of all things. You do not voice these thoughts. You had once, when wine had left the passage between your tongue and your brain less well-patrolled, and, well. You’d learned that there are three things Selene has strong opinions about: Sia, dying, and souls. Two of which you avoid broaching and being baited into discussing as a result. A philosophy course was not what you signed up for.

“If it’ll keep some of them from being tricked into giving up their souls before they’re old enough to decide.”

She’s about to say something more, but you cut in. “You realise how patronising that sounds, right? They’re old enough to spy for you, but not old enough to make their own decisions about their souls? Anyway--”

“Spying for me doesn’t take something away permanently. I don’t try to trick them.”

“You’re fine putting them in danger. It’s fine if they die, so long as they keep their souls?”

“None of us die permanently, and--”

“Oh, that’s ironic, coming from you. Look.” You hold your hands up. “Let’s not talk about this, alright? This is silly.”

“What would you have done with the Comtessa?” she fires back.

You blink. It’s not that you don’t remember, given it’s a subject you bring up more often than not, but it still seems a non-sequitur. “Would have been hard to set her on fire, what with her turning into stone.”

“Would you have killed her?”

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

“She wasn’t human anymore; the father had already lost her. If he’d pay you anyway, why not? Tie up all the loose ends.” You catch a glimpse of the half of her face not concealed by shadows and sigh. “What does this have to do with anything?”

The look she levels at you is cool, and you don’t like cool. Cool means sulking and avoidance until you can be bothered to find which lodging she’s calling home at the moment and coax or goad her into either getting the last word in or taking a swing at you. Unless you can nip it in the bud since you’re already here.

You’re deliberately slow in flicking out the second revolver. As if you were going to only carry a single gun on you. As you bring your arm up, you watch for her reaction, ready to counter. Just because you’re baiting her doesn’t mean you’re inclined to get punched or kicked again.

She leaps for your face, wow, ambitious, and you see blood on her trouser leg as you grab at it with your free hand and yank. She’s harder to throw than you’d like to admit, but an eye for an eye, a concussion for a concussion; it’s only fair.

Or not, as she falls on her shoulder instead of on her head. Oh well. That’s what the second revolver’s for.

You realise you are on fire in the same moment the pain reaches your brain.

For several moments, your world narrows down to agony and fuck fuck shit fuck. You pull the trigger reflexively, but you’ve no idea if you hit because fire. Some dim memory reminds you to stop, drop, and roll, but fuck that; you’re in pain and panicked but the greater danger here is not the fire, but her, and you’ve no idea what she’s doing right now, you’re not going to just drop to the ground and present a nice prone target—flames reach hungrily for your face and you slap a hand against them even as you struggle with your clothes—fuck, why aren’t these trousers coming off—

Your jacket is also aflame but that’s easier to shrug off and fling as far from you as possible and ok, where is she, she has made a big mistake not taking that opportunity to finish you off because you were trying to play nice and make hers a nice clean death with a bullet through the head but not if she’s going to fucking set your crotch on fire.

She’s not there. You look all around, you look up even, because, hello, you were very recently on fire; you’re allowed some irrationality here. It’s also dark and there is plenty of old blood on the ground given this is Feducci’s favored dueling arena, which is why you don’t see the trail at first, and did you mention having been recently set on fire?

There’s a lot more blood than you were expecting, and you ponder this as you follow the droplets before you remember the wild shot you fired, which must have hit then. You hope it hasn’t killed her off already. That would be disappointingly anti-climactic.

The trail makes an abrupt swerve and you stop, follow it as far as you can with just your eyes. You can’t see from here, but going off the direction of the drops, you’re guessing they’re going to end up leading you through one of those dark windows, yeah, because they don’t scream ‘ambush’ in the least.

There’s blood pooled beneath one of the windows. You stand to one side and listen. You hear nothing. Which means one of three things: she’s waiting just on the other side of the wall and succeeding at remaining silent, she’s not there, or it’s her corpse waiting for you inside. So, no help whatsoever.

Your knife wasn’t there when you looked for it, but you still have bullets. You fire three of them through the window, one to either side of the frame and one below. When that doesn’t work, you fire upwards. Still nothing. You huff a breath of annoyance as you reload. Everything hurts, not that you would admit it or show it, and if she’s banking on that impeding your movements so that she can set up an ambush, well, that would be one way of winning but come on, tedious much? “What, are you scared? After all that talk about death not being permanent?”

Ok, if you were expecting a reply, maybe the jab about death wasn’t the best way to go about things admittedly, but you hadn’t been able to resist. Ugh. You swing your legs over the sill, wince, and take aim at the shadowy corners of the room. Nothing stirs.

Barely any light reaches the interior of the room, and you are forced to crouch and allow your eyes to adjust to the darkness. It doesn’t help much. You can see the droplets of blood closest to the window, but as they lead further in, the darkness obscures them. You’re not stupid enough to risk a light, especially not if that means fire. Not unless you can make sure she’s the one turning into a light source; there’s an idea. Although that requires finding her first. Ugh.

You don’t even try to follow the trail through the darkness. The rooms are big but there aren’t that many of them. That’s how you begin anyway. Your patience runs out before your blood does, but you still press on from room to room until lightheadedness tilts the world around you and you collide with the wall as it rushes towards you. You are very tempted to leave, one way or another, but something inside you screeches at the notion. You’re not leaving this building until one of you is dead. Confirmed dead. If it were anyone else, if it were Sia or Rando or Gi or anyone else, you would be sure they were dead. But you know from experience Selene can be...determined. You would not put it past her to still be patiently waiting for you to walk into the right room—although.

You realise that if she is crouched in a random room, or hanging above the doorway or whatever, she has no guarantee you won’t get sick of searching and leave. You’re not going to, not until you’ve managed to return the painful favor, but she doesn’t know that. If she wants to maximise her chances of successfully ambushing you, then it has to be in a location that you’ll most likely pass through no matter what. For instance, the exit. That you’d be hypothetically leaving through, highly disgruntled after a futile search, at your least likely to be on your guard, or so she thinks.

The window the both of you used as an entrance was on the back of the building. There was no door there. There are however, you note as you enter the foyer or whatever they call this, eyes on the shadows, three exits via the front. No doors, just deliberately missing bits of wall. The roof curves at the edges, you recall. Easy to perch on. Then again, she could have gone the easier route and simply be to the side of one of the doorways. You do remember that the leg shot hit. You pick the door to the left.

A glance outside, revolver at the ready, reveals no Selene. You chance poking your head out to take in the full length of the building front. Not there. Making as little noise as possible and keeping an eye on the overhang of the roof, you step outside and check around the corner. Nothing. The courtyard is an empty expanse of broken tiles and fallen pillars, and the nearest intact pillar you can see that would provide any sort of cover is at a distance you would not risk shooting from. She really did go for the roof then. Daring, although that’s still not going to save her.

One. Two.

On three, you lunge. Revolver trained on the roof, the instant you see movement, you’ll pull the trigger. But it never comes. The roof is still, deserted.

You swing around, even though you just looked, there’s nowhere in the courtyard for anyone to hide, no one leaps out at you from cover that’s not there. The adrenaline pulses out of you.

You turn once more to stare at the building. Did you give her too much credit as to her strategy? The blood loss, panic, sheer ineptitude. She’s not dead; the idea is too ridiculous. She’s not dead; you’re certain of this. You’re staring at the doorway, now on your left, but it would have been the one on the right from the inside. You’re certain she’s not dead. Why? It’s too anticlimactic, she owes you, it’s simply impossible.

Why is it impossible?

Because, you reason, clawing your way through the fog of what must now be the majority of your blood drenching your shirt instead of carrying oxygen to your brain. Because there is a dark smear next to the doorway as if someone with bloody hands stumbled and had to catch herself with a hand on the wall there.

The splatters of blood are nigh invisible against the debris of the cracked and broken pavement, but you can follow them well enough as the trail continues onto more even ground. They lead into another building and you stare at it for a moment before going around it. They resume, coming out of a side entrance. As you begin to reach the outskirts of the quarter, the buildings fall away, and you stop. You can see the Sriver from here, and the bridge that leads across it to Ladybones.

Apparently she is capable of being so discourteous. You scowl and take stock. Burns but they’re not pressing. Your face throbs, but that’s at most some cracked bone, no blood. The ugly gash in your stomach, torn flesh sticking to cloth when you pull at your shirt, is the problem. There’s no way you’re making it back to the embassy, even if it is closer than Ladybones.

The closest building to shore isn’t your idea of an ideal hiding spot, but it’s better than leaving your body out on the street for any random urchin to pickpocket and desecrate. The good news is, as you drag yourself into a dusty room, the way this is going, you won’t even have to waste a bullet on yourself. You can just close your eyes for a bit.

You and the ferryman nod at each other in the barest of greetings before he moves his pawn forward. This is routine now. Mate in twenty.

You don’t see Selene for days after you wake up, no longer burned, new skin hiding the hole in your stomach, pockets miraculously unmolested by thieves. The silence starts to grate after the fifth day. You’re still waiting for a knock on your door though, and it’d better be accompanied by at least a bottle of ‘72.

By the seventh day, you wonder if she’s still healing. If she managed to live, knowing her, she would’ve chosen to heal from her injuries the slow tedious way. She could very well still be bedridden as a result. That or she did die. Although you hadn’t seen her on the boat...but if you’re honest, you hadn’t been looking.

She hates chess.

The townhouse is where you check first. It’s a reasonable guess. It’s not her closest lodging, but it is close, and you know she hates the apartment above the gambling den. Too much smoke and noise. But she’s not there.

You check the gambling den place, because, ok, if she was injured and bleeding, she probably wouldn’t have been picky about noise and smoke inhalation. You get thrown back out the window by the new resident, wow, ok, she could have let you know she wasn’t living there anymore.

Neither of her lodgings near Watchmaker’s Hill prove any more rewarding. There’s only one more place you know she owns, but surely…

The bookstore itself escaped relatively unscathed. At any rate, it’s still open for business and the proprietress smiles at you with all the sweetness and genuineness of prisoner’s honey. No, she’s not seen the lady for weeks now. Yes, it was a lucky thing. The lady had been quite generous in agreeing to pay for the smoke damage to the books though, although it’s hardly surprising how fond she is of them. A valued customer in addition to tenant, even if she’s a quiet one, never stays to chat. No, I can’t just let you into her flat, you look trustworthy, but you never know do you, and anyone can just say they’re a friend, can’t they.

You end up climbing up to her window anyway; you’re not sure why you bothered with the landlady honestly.

The wallpaper’s a loss. The walls are salvageable. The smell of smoke and damp ash still clings to every surface. There’s a conspicuous lack of Selene here as well. A noise rises out of your throat and you spin on your heel, reaching for the window frame so you can duck your head under the glass. You stop, hand hovering. You hadn’t noticed when you entered. There are smears of dried blood on the outer edge of the window frame, just beyond where you had been about to grip the frame. Your finger would have barely brushed one of the streaks.

For fuck’s sake. Is she sulking then? She’s never pulled a disappearing act on you like this before though. Then again, she’d never set you on fire before. Nor had you come this close to killing her before. The both of you, pushing the boundaries of your relationship.

Although that still doesn’t excuse her hiding from you, back in the forgotten quarter or now. You’re upping the peace offering you expect to a ‘44.

There are four distinct streaks that slot neatly against your fingers as you place your hand against the frame. They flake off at a touch, sticking to your palm. You inhale another lungful of the scent of scorched book and damp.

Back in your embassy room, you uncork a fresh bottle of ‘79 and settle down to wait.

And you wait.

Fallen London is © 2015 and ™ Failbetter Games Limited: www.fallenlondon.com.  This is an unofficial fan work.